Free Longarm and the Stagecoach Robbers by Tabor Evans

like some common tramp with this . . . this man.”
    Longarm reached across the table and cuffed him. “Mind how you talk about your mama,” he said.
    Will gave him a sullen look but said nothing more.
    Charlie tried to bring a measure of peace to the table. “We had some leftover coffee,” she said. “It’s heating. It will be ready in a few minutes.”
    â€œListen to me, boy,” Longarm said, peering directly into Will’s face. “Your mama is a good woman. A nice person. She’s talked to me about your pap. She loved him very much. But he’s gone now. Dead an’ buried. And your mama is alive, with all the hopes an’ dreams an’ desires of anybody. Those desires include love, boy.
    â€œI know you understand about sex. You go over to Maybelle’s whorehouse from time to time. You romp with the ladies there an’ think that makes you a man. Well, it don’t. Being a man means letting other folks be who an’ what they are.
    â€œThat, boy, would include your mama. She’s a wonderful lady. An’ I do mean lady. Don’t you be bad-mouthing her or looking down on her for being a normal human person. It ain’t your place to judge your mama. She gives you space to live pretty much the way you please, so give her the same courtesy.”
    Charlie left the table and returned with three heavy crockery mugs. She set them down and poured each full of coffee that was far from being hot. More like tepid.
    Neither Longarm nor Will complained about the temperature. They drank the coffee more like it was medicine than for pleasure.
    And perhaps it was Charlise’s sort of medicine at that, Longarm thought. It gave them all pause to stop their condemnation and complaining long enough to let them calm down a little.
    Charlie gave her son a cautionary look and said, “What were you doing peeping into my bedroom anyway?”
    â€œI . . . I . . .” Will could not come up with any answer but silence.
    â€œYou were peeping at me. Your own mother. You are a peeper. If you weren’t so big, I would take you over my knee and thrash you within an inch of your life.”
    Longarm looked away and tried to ignore the tirade that followed until finally a chastened Will left the table and skulked away.
    â€œHe’ll be all right,” Longarm said softly. “It ain’t always easy for a boy t’ come to grips with the notion that his parents are as randy as anyone else.”
    Charlie watched her son leave. Then she broke down in tears. Bad as this night had been for Will, it was just as unpleasant for his mother.
    Longarm sat slowly sipping his now cold coffee, waiting for an opportunity to escape.

Chapter 32
    The next morning, Sunday, he did not have to drive, so Longarm treated himself by staying in bed—alone—until past seven then got up and shaved, dressed, and went down the street to the café for breakfast.
    Normally he would have wanted to spend time with the Carvers, but he suspected this would not be a good day for that. Mother and son needed time to work out their emotions and reach a measure of peace between them. It probably would be best for him to stay away, he thought, while they were doing that.
    He could use a haircut, but the two barbers in Fairplay were closed for the day. Even the mines were shut down for the day of rest.
    The churches were open, of course, but Longarm was not in the habit of attending services. That was not to say that he should not. He suspected that he probably should. But he did not.
    The cafés and several fancy restaurants were open. But a man could only eat so much.
    About the only other choice was a saloon.
    So Longarm found himself helping to hold up the bar at Ikey Tyler’s Bearpaw Saloon—the full and correct name for it according to the sign out front—along with a packed house of customers enjoying their one day of rest for the