Chapter 14
Amanda Cross had known for some time that the Army had profoundly changed Kenny Kitsom. He'd been a sweet little boy and a kind young man, even if he did have to work harder learning things than most people. But in the Army he'd become something different, especially after that misunderstanding about him being dead. This new Kenny seemed just as sweet, but it was an act. You didn't f**k strangers for a living without gaining an in-depth feeling for what was true and what was fake.
Whatever he was, he still loved his Auntie. Standing in the doorway to the Mexican guest room, watching him hold Marta's hand as she lay on the king sized bed, she could tell he loved her too. Good on him. It was about time he found himself a woman.
But this one was sure a lot of trouble. A few hours ago at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m., he'd carried Marta in the front door for the second time in less than a week. And instead of the jeans and jacket she'd been wearing when she left yesterday with that strange man and Deputy Corny, she was wearing only a big old t-shirt. Yesterday she'd been real upset about leaving but said she had to. "Tell Kenny that I love him. Tell him to be good." Amanda had been dreading having to tell Kenny about it when he got back, but Marta just wouldn't stay no matter what Amanda said.
The lounge and most of the rooms had been empty and all the girls asleep when Kenny barreled through their swinging saloon doors. The regular doors were always open at that hour to let in some fresh air. Kenny said, "She won't wake up. I think she's got a concussion. She won't wake up." His clothing and face was a mess of dirt and smudges. He had a long tear in this pants and blood down his leg. There was something real heavy in his pocket and he was wearing that backpack he always had on him. At least that was what Lorraine said. She'd been doing her morning exercises, and woke Amanda up. They put Marta and Kenny in a clean guest room. The Mexican was ready since the Doc hadn't been out for a week.
Lorraine, God bless her, checked Marta's pulse and eyes and stuff. "I used to be a nurse until I started making better money f**king. I don't think she's concussed. Looks more like an infection or a flu or something. She's got a bad temperature and she's having trouble breathing. Amanda, you got all that first aid stuff I told you to get?"
Being way out in the country hosting a bunch of men who … ah, exercised more than they usually did and sometimes got carried away with their fun, Amanda kept a really well stocked first aid station, all the stuff the law required for brothels and some extra stuff, just in case. And having a former nurse like Lorraine working for her had been a Godsend.
Now Marta was breathing easier. They'd pumped her full of aspirin and packed an ice bag on her head trying to get the fever down. Kenny gave her water when he could get her awake enough to swallow. Lorraine showed him how to stroke her throat to encourage it to get down.
Lorraine had also bandaged the long nasty gash in Kenny's leg, after he – Kenny himself, mind you – stitched it closed with a sterilized needle and catgut from the kit. No painkillers and he didn't even grimace. Lorraine had watched him in awe. "You've done this before, haven't you?"
He'd nodded. "Oh yeah, more than once." He showed her a long healed gash on his left leg and a shorter one on his right. Lorraine said the long one was probably a bullet wound. He hadn't put his trousers back on, just wore his boxers. (Kenny had never really had a lot of modesty. Living in a dorm probably took it out of him and Lord knows the brothel hadn't exactly helped.) Out of his discarded pants he took the biggest automatic pistol Amanda had ever seen and some other stuff, dumping all of it in his backpack. She was grateful for that. They had Wild West revolvers bolted to the walls in several guest rooms, but this was no antique. It looked efficient and deadly. So did Kenny handling it. This was one of the ways she knew Kenny had changed.
He asked her to burn his pants in the trash bin outside and sat down and began to tend to cuts on Marta's face and arms. She had a cut and a nasty bruise close to her hairline and long scratches on her arms. He used butterfly closures and a heavy coating of spray-on bandage to protect the wounds.
"Want me to call Doc Winters for her?" Amanda asked when she came back from the trash bin job. His worry was something awful to behold. Winters was the Ranch's on-call and a good client too. He came out for a visit at least once a week. And he did all the girls' annual health board certificates. Probably a conflict of interest, but nobody was complaining, not yet anyway. Probably 'cause he did stuff for the Sheriff too, some of it under the table, like making sure the deputies' pee tests checked out okay even when they didn't. Out here where marijuana grew wild in the river beds, there were sometimes misunderstandings about stuff like that.
Winters was a GP, not a bad doctor, just liked his p*ssy hot and spicy. Everybody knew what he liked, even the Sheriff, and what he liked was putting on one of the Ranch's Mexican wrestler costumes and playing in here in this very room with Tawny and Fawny. He always wanted both of them together, sometimes even more. They all had to wear black wigs though, so they looked Mexican. Wigs, costume, sex toys, all of it was in the big bureau against the wall.
Kenny looked grim. "Auntie, I'm not going to lie to you. Some serious stuff happened last night. Marta and me, we didn't do it, no matter what they say, but they might come looking for us." He looked at Marta lying on the bed, his anguish plain as day. "We really should leave here. If they come for us, I can't protect everyone."
"Nonsense. If I can't take care of my baby boy, who can I take care of?" Years ago when Kenny had first wandered in, Amanda had asked around about adopting him. Turns out prostitutes were considered unfit mothers. That didn't change how she felt. "Okay, if you've gotta hide, I have an idea."