Free Friends and Enemies by Stephen A. Bly Page A

daughters . . . his granddaughters. Just exactly what do you have?” Jamie Sue asked.
    The man began to read the invoice in his hand. “Two spring boards, two feather mattresses, four feather pillows, two pink comforters and matching pillow slips . . . two mirrored dressers, two wardrobe closets and two four-poster beds.”
    Jamie Sue’s mouth dropped open. “They wouldn’t happen to be in French provincial, painted white with gold trim?”
    â€œYep, them is the ones. What room do you want them set up in?”

CHAPTER THREE

    Jamie Sue’s perfectly parted brown hair was curled and pinned above each ear. “Well, Mr. Railroad Inspector, are you ready for your first day at work?”
    Robert stopped by the cook stove and planted a soft kiss behind her ear. There was a strong aroma of rose perfume. “It’s not exactly like the first day of school.” He strolled over to the doorway to the dining room.
    â€œYou’re right. I didn’t have to pack a lunch bucket for you.” Jamie Sue scooted by carrying a copper pan with a hotpad. “I do wish I had my serving dishes.”
    Robert carefully hung his gray suit coat on the back of the chair. “It is somewhat ironic that we left the army to have more time together as a family, and on my first day of work I’m going to be gone for a couple of days,” he murmured.
    â€œIt is logical that they need you to set things up at Rapid City.” Jamie Sue fluttered back to the kitchen, taking the rose fragrance with her. “Besides, you aren’t facing renegade Chirachuas, but railroad rules and bookkeepers,” she called out.
    Robert took a deep breath of crisp fried bacon. “I’d rather face the Indians.”
    She waltzed back in carrying a napkin-covered basket of biscuits. “It should be a pleasant enough trip. You don’t have to take control of train security for a week or so. Let’s sit down. There’s no telling when the children will get up. I thought they should get their sleep this morning.”
    The back door slammed shut as Little Frank sprinted into the dining room.
    â€œSlow down and wash your hands, then come eat,” Robert insisted.
    Little Frank disappeared into the kitchen. “Guess where I’ve been?” he called out.
    â€œIn the backyard, I presume?” his mother answered.
    Little Frank appeared at the doorway, towel in hand. “No, I was down at the livery and . . .”
    Jamie Sue laid her fork on her plate. “You were where?”
    Little Frank scooted into the chair between his mother and father. “Down at the Montana Stables and . . .”
    â€œAt 7:00 A.M.?” Jamie Sue challenged.
    â€œActually, I was down there at daylight and . . .”
    Jamie Sue took the milk pitcher and poured Little Frank’s glass full. “Wait a minute . . . you took off downtown and didn’t tell your parents?”
    Little Frank scooped out a large mound of scrambled eggs. “I hollered at you, Mama. Would you please pass the Tabasco?”
    His mother passed the hot sauce. “When did you holler at me?”
    â€œAbout 5:30.”
    â€œYou yelled at me at 5:30 in the morning?” his mother challenged.
    The bite of eggs towered out of his fork and into his mouth. “Yeah, didn’t you hear me?” he mumbled.
    Jamie Sue took a sip of strong, bitter coffee. “I couldn’t hear a stick of dynamite if it exploded under my bed at 5:30 in the morning!”
    Little Frank waved his empty fork as he talked. “Daddy was already gone down to the hardware. So I headed that way but met up with Quintin Troop and he . . .”
    â€œWhat about Quintin?” Patricia, clad in pink cotton robe and matching slippers, scooted into the dining room. Her long brown hair hung down her back, almost to her waist.
    Little Frank clanked down his fork and rubbed his long, thin nose.