Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit. Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.
A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.
By George! c Dec1875
Chapter 2: Friends Like These?
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"Heyes ain't a bad influence!" objected Kid in a hoarse voice. Blue eyes winced in pain as he moved again. "And Clem never had me wrapped around her finger."
George flashed a saucy smirk at her young friend. The bed linens slipped down from Kid's chin to reveal bare chest muscles. The twenty-one year old swayed back and forth, much like the soup container George dangled by the wire handle from her fingers.
"Don't flatter yourself Kid," responded the brunette. "I never said the real sweet boy was you."
Kid groaned and he clutched one bare arm across his middle. Heyes pushed past George in a hurry to reach his partner. The dark haired man grabbed Kid by the shoulders.
"Sssh," soothed Heyes as he pressed Kid back against the pillows. "Lean back. Remember the Doc said you needed to rest."
The quilt dropped lower to reveal bandages wrapped around Kid's lower ribcage. George's mouth gaped open. Dark eyes blinked in shock as George attempted to regain control of her mouth.
"Bandages?" asked George. "Since when do you need bandages for a bad cold?"
"Doc wrapped his ribs, he thinks they're cracked," snapped Heyes.
"From coughing?" George's voice rose incredulously.
"No, from some bounty hunter lassoing him and dragging him off his horse three days ago. That's why he was late getting here," answered Heyes. "Of course Kid's horse throwing him in the stream on his way into town today didn't help any."
Dark brown eyes glared at George as if Kid's pain were her fault. The blond man struggled against Heyes' grasp, trying to sit up.
"Heyes, we gotta get out of here," rasped Kid.
"Sssh, we're not going anywhere until you're better," murmured Heyes. "Now lie down…"
"George knows who we are!" interrupted Kid. "Her father is a Texas Ranger! She'll turn us in!"
Heyes shoulder muscles tightened at Kid's words, but he hardly spared George a glance as he tried to settle his partner.
"Hmmph, keep talking like that, and I might," sniffed George in an affronted tone.
The slim woman turned away, blinking her eyes at Kid's comment. Setting the soup container on the nearby washbasin, she took a moment to brush one hand across her eyes before she pulled a spoon rolled up in a linen napkin from her pocket. She picked up the soup container again and turned back to face Curry and Heyes. George forced a bright smile across her face.
"Five hundred dollars reward is a lot of money, but it isn't enough incentive to make me turn you in Kid," continued George in a nonchalant voice. "For some silly reason, I like you."
Heyes' brown eyes drilled into her, his face a stony mask.
"Since the Midwest Bank started adding to the bounty last April, the price on our wanted poster has gone up to a thousand dollars," informed Heyes in a steely tone. "Each."
The thought of what two thousand dollars could do for her froze George. It was enough money to get Remy De Moines off her trail. She could start over. George looked at Kid. George's face softened. The sweet boy Clem had introduced her to years ago in Amarillo was a grown man now. Kid Curry might be an outlaw, but he was still her friend. She could never turn him in. The brunette smiled sweetly and turned back to Heyes. George could tell he had noticed her momentary hesitation.
"Heyes, I'd turn you in for a thousand dollars or maybe even ten dollars, but I wouldn't want to upset Kid when he's not feeling well," responded George in a cheerful tone, her smile broadening with each word. "So I guess you're safe for now."
George clanged the spoon against the metal soup tin. The jarring noise echoed across the room.
"Time for dinner Kid," urged George.
Her gaze followed the curly haired blond as he slumped back against the pillows, exhausted, shaking his head.
"I'm not hungry," mumbled Kid as he closed his eyes.
George jerked her eyes upward to meet Heyes' worried brown eyes.
"He must really be sick."
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The next morning, George tapped lightly on the door to the big front room registered to Mr. Rembacker and Mr. Owens. Hannibal Heyes opened the door a crack, pistol drawn as it had been the night before.
"Merry Christmas," greeted George with a sunny smile almost as bright as the yellow dress she wore.
"What are you doing here again?" asked Heyes.
George put her hands on her hips, glared at Heyes and leaned closer. Shadows hung under his eyes and his once crisp black shirt was wrinkled.
"Is that anyway to greet me?" demanded George in a low hiss. "Don't you wish a person Merry Christmas?"
Silence reigned as the pair scowled at each other.
"Merry Christmas," responded Heyes grudgingly. The smile that started across George's face was dashed by his next words. "I thought we got rid of you last night."
"Hmmph, not a chance," snorted George. "I'm here to check on Kid, he's my friend too."
The brunette moved her hands to push against the door. It thumped against Heyes boot. The slender man leaned his weight upon the door, keeping her out.
"Aren't you worried about your reputation?" questioned Heyes in a testy tone. "What's a fine lady like you doing hanging out with a couple of outlaws like us?"
"The hotel staff is already under the belief that you are an old family friend of my dear, departed husband," sniffed George.
"Now where did they get that idea?"
George rolled her eyes in exasperation at his snide tone.
"Where do you think? You've been having breakfast in the hotel restaurant with me for the past three days," reminded George.
Heyes snorted and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "no good deed goes unpunished", but he didn't back away from the door.
"And now that my dear baby brother has arrived," George smiled as she watched the dark brown eyes blink, "I've asked Bertha to bring breakfast up here since he's not feeling well."
Heyes rubbed a hand across his face, brown eyes still blinking, whether in surprise at her words or just plain tiredness, George didn't know. Her chin jutted out and balled up hands resumed their station against her hips.
"Are you gonna leave me standing out here in the hallway on Christmas Day?" demanded George indignantly.
The exhausted man sighed. Taking a step backwards, he released the door. George pushed against the wood and strode inside.
"Now put that thing away," hissed George with a disdainful glance at the pistol. "Who on earth are you planning on shooting anyway?"
Heyes looked at the pistol in his hand, shook his head and holstered the weapon. George glanced around. Heyes' black hat still sat atop the neatly made bed farthest from the windows. In the next bed, Kid sprawled beneath the green and white quilt, one feather pillow over his head, another on the floor below. George was pleased to note the lid of the soup container was now on the wash stand, spoon handle neatly laid across the top.
"Wasn't planning on shooting anyone, just wanted to make sure no one tried to shoot us," muttered Heyes.
"If you didn't want people shooting at you, you're in the wrong line of work," retorted George.
Heyes opened his mouth to respond, but an involuntary yawn overtook him. He rubbed his hands across his face. George's anger evaporated. She remembered the past three days, anxious waiting on his part. And although Heyes had generously paid for her meals he hadn't eaten much himself.
"Did you eat the soup?" asked George in a soft voice. "Or Kid?"
If George had thought his dimpled smile was dazzling before, she was mistaken. A real Heyes smile showed his relief. Brown eyes twinkled. Dimples deepened as the skin around his eyes crinkled upwards.
"Kid woke up coughing a little while after you left," answered Heyes. "I coaxed him into taking some of the broth, told him it would soothe his cough. Before he knew it, he'd eaten the whole thing. Then he went right back to sleep, Kid hasn't coughed since."
"So you stayed up all night, watching him," deduced George.
Broad shoulders shrugged in response to George's comment, as if a sleepless night was nothing. Heyes turned to look at his sleeping partner. Sunlight streamed in through the big front windows lighting up tips of blond curls peeking from beneath the pillow.
"Kid kicks the covers off when he sleeps," Heyes explained.
"I'll take your word for it," smirked George. The slim woman gestured towards his empty bed. "Breakfast won't be here for at least an hour. Why don't you lie down for a bit and I'll watch Kid while you sleep."
The warmth disappeared from Heyes' brown eyes, leaving a guarded expression on his face.
"Why did Kid think you would turn us in last night?" asked Heyes. His voice was soft, but George felt a hint of danger in his tone. "If I laid down and went to sleep, would I wake up to find us surrounded by lawmen? Perhaps even a Texas Ranger?"
"In case you've forgotten," George spluttered in outrage, "we're in Colorado. Texas Rangers wouldn't have any jurisdiction here!"
"Why should I trust you?" demanded Heyes. "Sick as he is, Kid wanted to run when he saw you."
George's shoulders slumped. Kid's reaction last night had hurt, and the comment about her father just reminded George how messed up her life had become. Her old friend didn't trust her and her father… her father… George's chin quivered.
"I don't blame Kid for what he said," gulped George, "but it was Remy set the Sheriff in Beaumont on Kid, not me."
Eyebrows above a pair of dark eyes soared upwards in disbelief.
"And that's supposed to make me trust you?" questioned Heyes in a mocking tone. "Surely a good con woman such as yourself can do better than that."
"Con woman?" echoed George in dismay. She tried a flustered attempt at denial. "What? How? I'm not…"
"Are you the same man my late husband introduced me to?" repeated Heyes with a slight falsetto. Voice dropping to a low growl, he declared, "I know the man who invented that scam."
George's chin wobbled. She had been in Poncha Springs too long. And when she first saw Heyes, in the guise of Willard Rembacker, George had thought he might be scammed for enough money to get her on her way again, away from Remy. The introduction was the start of one of the many scams she had learned since meeting Remy, but Rembacker had never fallen for any of her lures. Rembacker wasn't interested in her late husbands stocks, or mining rights, or helping her sell her engagement ring. The only thing the dark haired man had done was pay for breakfast.
"You're right, I was going to try to run a scam on you, but that was before I found out you were Kid's friend," admitted George with a forlorn expression on her face. "I'm not gonna turn you in to the law!"
"Oh really?" Heyes' eyes rolled in disbelief. "Why would you expect me to believe that?"
"Because I don't want to go to jail either," wailed George. "After everything that's happened, even my own father would arrest me."
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Nearly an hour later, George sat in the overstuffed chair by the window. She looked down at the twisted, crumpled white linen handkerchief in her hands. Who would have thought a hardened criminal would carry such a thing? And offer it to a distraught woman? She looked across the room to where the sleeping outlaw leader lay atop the red and blue checked quilt, his black hat covering his face. Heyes snored. In front of her, the mound that was Kid rolled over. Blue eyes blinked open. Kid regarded her with a cold gaze for a moment.
"George," finally acknowledged Kid with a scratchy edge to his voice.
"Kid," encouraged George, "your voice is sounding better."
"What are you doing here?"
George's nose tilted up in the air. She passed him a clean, dry blue shirt.
"Put that on before the housekeeper arrives with breakfast," admonished George. "And is that anyway to greet an old friend? How about Merry Christmas? Or maybe good to see you George?"
"The last time I saw you in Beaumont…" began Kid as he sat up and gingerly slipped one arm into a sleeve.
"It wasn't me that told the Sheriff you were wanted," interrupted George quickly. "That was all Remy."
Kid frowned. George remembered, Kid never trusted Remy. At the time, George had thought it was because Clem didn't like Remy, but now she wondered. When the charming man invited George to go to Wichita, both her friends had urged her not to leave Amarillo even after they had seen the huge sparkling diamond ring on George's finger.
"Is that rich French jeweler around here somewhere? Waiting to make more trouble?" asked Kid. He slid his other arm into the second sleeve and reached for the buttons.
"He wasn't rich, or French, or a jeweler," stated George looking back down at the crumpled handkerchief in her hands.
"Huh?"
"Remy De Moines was an alias, he was born in Paris Texas, not Paris France, and his name is really Jeremy D. Moynihan," explained George. It was somehow easier now to tell the story of Remy's betrayal after having poured the tale out to Heyes earlier. "Do you remember that fancy box with all those jewels he carried around?"
Kid nodded.
"Fakes," explained George. "And introducing me to people as his fiancée in Wichita was just an excuse to set up scams. We robbed people."
"You did what?" Kid's voice rose up in astonishment, setting him to coughing again.
"I'm a jewel thief," wailed George. She dabbed Heyes' handkerchief to her eyes again and sniffled. "When you saw us in Beaumont four years ago, in all the commotion between Remy and the Sheriff, I ran off."
Kid's coughing settled. Warm blue eyes now looked at George in concern.
"Remy's been after me ever since," declared George. "If he shows up in Poncha Springs, we're both in trouble."
A knock on the hotel room door stopped any additional questions Kid might have. With a swift movement, Kid reached for the pistol in the holster dangling from the bedpost.
"Put that away," hissed George. "It's only Bertha bringing breakfast."
"Can you see through walls?" snarked Kid. "You're not the only one with someone chasing after you."
The slim brunette glared at Kid until he slipped the pistol beneath the covers. His clenched jaw let George know he wasn't going to put the weapon away. George stood up and walked briskly towards the door. Flinging it open, George revealed a stout serving woman pushing a cart laden with steaming serving dishes and an ornate silver teapot.
"Merry Christmas Bertha, I can't thank you enough for bringing breakfast up to the room," greeted George. With a sharp glance at Kid, she continued, "My poor dear brother is not feeling well enough to go down to the hotel restaurant."
With a nod the older woman pushed the cart into the room. Bertha stopped when she realized that Heyes was asleep on the bed closest to the wall.
"Who's paying?" demanded Bertha with a suspicious glance at George.
"Charge it to the room," responded George airily.
Bertha started shaking her head, but stopped when Kid beckoned. She departed a few minutes later, after collecting the money due and ensuring that Kid had a cup of tea liberally dosed with honey. George lifted the lid of one serving dish to reveal fluffy yellow scrambled eggs.
"Are you hungry?"
Over breakfast the two old friends became reacquainted, catching up on the events of the past several years. Finishing the last bite of food on her plate, George patted the napkin to her lips and leaned back in her chair with a sigh.
"Remy is my bad influence, just like Heyes is yours," remarked George.
Kid's head jerked up. The warm blue eyes were now glaring at her with an expression that made George shiver.
"I told you last night Heyes ain't a bad influence," stated Kid. "He's my partner. If anything, I'm a bad influence on him."
"He led you into a life of crime," asserted George.
"No…," began Kid.
"Actually, I did," called Heyes. The dark haired man sat up on the bed, swung his legs over the side and stood up. In three long steps he reached the breakfast cart. "I hope you saved me something to eat."
Heyes lifted a napkin and retrieved a golden biscuit. He peeled the top off and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. His eyes closed in satisfaction at the taste.
"You ain't nothing like Remy," declared Kid.
Heyes swallowed. Brown eyes opened and he looked down at the remains of the biscuit in his hand. Heyes broke it apart before speaking.
"Remy sweet talked George into leaving Texas with a lot of false promises," reminded Heyes with a smirk. "Got her into all sorts of trouble with the law."
"And?" challenged Kid.
"George is a regular damsel in distress," continued Heyes in a cheerful tone. "And her story sounds a lot like the way I talked you into leaving Texas, and I got you into all sorts of trouble with the law too."
Heyes popped another chunk of biscuit into his mouth. How a man could chew food and smirk at the same time was beyond George. The slim woman glanced from Heyes' smiling face to Kid. She recognized the signs of an argument brewing.
"There's just two things wrong with your theory Heyes," growled Kid. He held up one finger. "I ain't no damsel in distress…"
Kid raised a second finger, but before he could speak, he doubled over as another fit of coughing interrupted his sentence. George moved closer to Kid and began to pound him between his shoulder blades.
"And the second thing is neither am I," declared George indignantly.
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