Two for Home

by Tinnean

  “We can stop at the general store.” He gave Steve an easy smile. How could he be so casual about this situation? “It’s all right. There’s no need to worry.” He touched Steve’s sleeve. “Trust me.”

  The thing was, Steve did trust him. The sheriff knew what a bad egg Weatherford was, so at worst when it came out what Sharps had done, he might have to spend some time in jail. Steve felt his jaw tighten. When—if—that happened…Frank was a lawyer, and he’d get Sharps off. The people of Woody Draw knew how things were in Willow Crick, and they were aware Weatherford was behind that town’s bad reputation. Any jury would decide the varmint needed killing and Sharps wasn’t guilty.

  And if the verdict turned out to be anything else, Steve would just break his boy out of jail.

  “Steve?”

  “Right. Let’s go.”

  “Just one second.” Sharps crossed to the piano, where the player had seated himself again and placed his beer on its lid.

  Steve followed him. What was Sharps up to? They had to go. In spite of the talk he’d given himself, he was certain at any minute the sheriff would return to arrest his boy.

  Meanwhile, Sharps pressed the greenbacks into the hand of the piano player.

  “I—I don’t work upstairs,” the young man said, looking a little scared.

  “It’s not for that. You’re a good player. Maybe one day we can do a duet. Or a trio.” He sent a grin Steve’s way, nodding toward the banjo once again hanging down his back. He lowered his voice. “Buy yourself something pretty.” His words were so soft no one else could hear him.

  “Thank you.” The piano player ducked his head, but not before Steve saw the blush that mounted his dark cheeks.

  Steve shook his head and followed Sharps out of the Diamond Garter. “Are you sure you want a bath?”

  “Yep.” Sharps winked at him, and suddenly Steve wasn’t in such a rush to leave town. What did his boy have in mind?

  “All right, then. Where’s Sorrowful?”

  “I left him at the livery stable.”

  “Why don’t you get some clothes for us while I put up Bella? I’ll meet you at the bath house.”

  Sharps gave him a slow smile, tugged at the brim of his hat, and headed to the general store.

  Chapter 33

  Sharps blew out a breath as Steve hurried down the walk to where he’d left his mare. He hadn’t been certain Steve would go along with his suggestion. A bath would be nice, but he could wait for it. The thing was, it would be suspicious if they left town just as word got out Weatherford was dead.

  And he knew beyond a doubt the son of a bitch was dead. He’d always been a good shot, thanks to Pa, but Colonel Sebring had seen to it he’d become a crackerjack at it. He just wasn’t sure how Steve would react to him killing the man. He’d known Weatherford would make a move—he’d taken his measure back in Willow Crick and had been subtly goading the man all through the game. He’d bided his time, and once Weatherford had gone for his gun, he’d waited for the sheriff to make his move. It was serendipitous that the bartender had taken out his rifle. It had taken perfect timing, but the bartender’s shot had concealed the sound of Sharps firing his quieter-sounding derringer at the same time. And if anyone questioned it, he’d bring up the possibility of the bartender’s bullet ricocheting off Weatherford’s derringer.

  He’d have to tell Steve—he knew his captain was suspicious—but it could wait.

  Sharps needed to get them clean clothes first.

  * * * *

  Sharps entered the general store, and the clerk behind the counter jumped when the bell above the door announced his presence. “I’m…I’m closing up,” the man said. He looked as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and Sharps was afraid the man would shoot him as soon as look at him, which would be a hell of a way to die after all he’d lived through.

  “I won’t keep you,” Sharps assured him. “I just need two shirts, a couple pairs of dungarees, and some socks and drawers.”

  “Don’t have any.”

  “But…” Sharps could see shelves stocked with the clothes.

  “I said we don’t have any.” The clerk’s hand hovered just out of eyesight, and Sharps wondered if there was a gun below the counter similar to the one the bartender kept behind his bar.

  Sharps held up his hands. “Okay, thanks. Sorry to take up your time.” He backed out of the store. Woody Draw seemed like a peaceful town. Had something happened to cause the man to think even someone as harmless-looking as Sharps could be a threat to him?

  Well, now that he wasn’t able to buy clean clothes, he had to give some consideration to his dilemma.

  The thought of putting on the same clothes he’d been wearing for days—clothes that could almost stand upright on their own—wasn’t something he was looking forward to, but he reckoned they didn’t have much of a—

  Abruptly an idea crossed his mind. He looked at it from every angle, then nodded. It just might work.

  He strode to the cottage the town council had given Mrs. Fox. She just might be willing to sell him some of her husband’s clothes. Mr. Fox sure wouldn’t be needing them anymore.

  * * * *

  The man at the bathhouse was more relaxed than the clerk at the general store. He glanced up when Sharps entered. “You Browne?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your pardner’s waiting for you in the back room. He’s already paid for two baths, soap, and towels. I’ve gotta get home for supper. I’ll be back in about an hour to shut the place down. See you’re done before then.”

  “Right. Thanks.” Sharps waited for him to leave, then locked the door behind him and went into the back room. As the man had stated, two tin tubs were set up, along with a couple of jugs, steam from the water rising in gentle wisps. Steve’s clothes were in a neat pile in the corner, and beside them was the banjo Pa had made for him.

  Steve sat in the nearest tub, his hair-dusted legs draped over the sides. Sharps came closer, and he swallowed. The water was clear, but the ripples obscured the perfect lines of his captain’s lower body.

  “Howdy, there.” Steve had his hat on.

  Sharps grinned at him. He set the clean clothes on a shelf next to some towels, stripped off his boots and his own clothes but left his hat on as well. “I’m gonna wash your back. Lean forward,” he crooned, pleased when Steve brought his legs back into the tub and leaned toward his bent knees. Sharps picked up the piece of soap, worked up a lather, and stepped around the back of the tub. Then he began to stroke the lather over Steve’s shoulders…those broad shoulders with their thick, ropey muscles. He stooped, took Steve’s hat between his teeth, and lifted it off, then tossed his head, flinging the hat aside.

  “Now wet your hair,” he murmured. He got a tingling feeling in his belly when Steve again obeyed him without question. Sharps pressed a kiss to the hollow at the base of Steve’s skull, then ran his soapy hands through the soft, dark hair, flexing his fingers and kneading his captain’s scalp.

  “Oh God, that feels good,” Steve groaned. “Do I get to do that to you?”

  “If you want to.”

  “If I want to?” Steve swiveled his head to stare into Sharps’s eyes. “You bet your boots I do.”

  Sharps loved his captain’s amber eyes. He…loved his captain. He ducked his head and smiled. “All righty.” He left off massaging the lather into Steve’s hair and brought his palms under Steve’s arms, toying with the hair that grew there, almost giggling when Steve jerked. The man was obviously ticklish. He’d remember that for future reference. “We have to get Bart to build us a house with a bathroom as fine as the one he’s planning for his wife.” He scooped up water and let it trickle down over Steve’s back and shoulders.

  “I’ve never had a bath feel so good.”

  “Just see you never do.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. You want a bath, I’ll give it to you.” Sharps kissed Steve’s ear, then tossed the soap into the tub before he
reached for a jug of warm water. “I’m gonna rinse your hair. Close your eyes.”

  Steve hummed and did as Sharps ordered. His lashes fanned over his cheeks, taking Sharps’s breath away. He pressed a soft kiss to those lush lashes, loving the feel of them fluttering under his lips. Then he poured the water over his captain’s head.

  With the jug empty, he set it down and went around to the foot of the tub.

  Steve whipped back his head, trying to get his wet hair out of his closed eyes while not letting the water drip into them. “Where are you?”

  “I’m right here, Cap.” He threw aside his own hat, stepped into the tub, and eased down. “Where’d the soap go?”

  “How am I supposed to know? My eyes are closed.”

  Sharps laughed and brushed a kiss over Steve’s lips. “You can open them now, if you like.” He searched for the soap under the water but found something much more interesting.

  Steve cleared his throat. “That’s not the soap.”

  “I reckon it’s not.” Sharps bowed his head to hide his grin as he continued to fondle his captain’s prick and balls for a few more minutes. He relished Steve’s breathy moans, but mostly he savored the fact Steve did nothing to stop him.

  And then Steve did. He found the soap, but instead of washing Sharps, he soaped his own chest. His gaze was sleepy as it locked with Sharps’s, and Sharps felt his mouth become dry as his captain rubbed soapy hands over his torso, dipping down below the water. He didn’t fondle his own prick, but rather searched for and found Sharps’s. Sharps swallowed, but it didn’t help, especially when Steve used his free hand to tweak nipples that peeked through the thicket of hair that covered Steve’s torso.

  Jehosephat. Sharps was so hard he was afraid he’d become unmanned at any second.

  “Come join me, soldier.” Steve pulled Sharps against his soapy chest, and Sharps’s prick rubbed up against his captain’s hair-covered loins.

  “Ohhh.” That was all it took for him to spill into the bathwater. He shook and shivered and gasped, and when he found Steve’s collarbone beneath his lips, he latched on to silence his cries of completion. In all his born days, he’d never come so hard.

  Steve’s lower body bucked up, driving his prick between Sharps’s thighs and against his balls to brush past his hole, and heat warmer than the quickly cooling water splashed against him. From their previous lovemaking, Sharps knew his captain preferred to take the passive role, and Sharps himself would rather do the penetrating, but he’d seen how much Steve enjoyed the act, and he couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like if his captain buried himself in his body.

  He hummed in pleasure as Steve pulled him closer and dropped a kiss on his hair.

  They stayed like that for a few minutes, and then Steve set Sharps away from him and searched for the soap “Let’s finish washing you up.”

  Chapter 34

  Steve loved having his hands on his boy, loved cupping Sharps’s cock and balls, which in spite of the younger man’s compact build more than filled his hands. He loved running his fingers through Sharps’s straight-as-an-arrow, ink-black hair and having the strands curl around his fingers and cling to them. When it came right down to it, Steve loved everything about him.

  They didn’t have enough time to play, though. The man who ran the bathhouse would be returning soon, so they made quick work of their bath. Then they rinsed in the second tub, used the towels Steve had paid for to dry themselves off, and dressed in the clothes Sharps had gotten for them.

  “Where did you get these?” Steve bit his lip to stifle a laugh. The shirt he wore left most of his forearm exposed, while the trousers left his ankles in the same situation.

  “The clerk in the general store seemed kind of nervous, so I reckoned I’d better find another source. I bought them from Mrs. Fox.”

  “That explains it. Albert Fox was a little less than average height.” And even that lack of height still would have had him looming over Sharps. That was why the sleeves of his boy’s shirt draped over his fingertips, and he had to roll the trouser cuffs numerous times to avoid tripping over them.

  Sharps sighed. “I used to hang from tree branches, hoping that would help stretch my legs.”

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work, but I like you the way you are.”

  “You do?”

  “You bet.” It made Steve happy to see how happy his words made his boy. He stepped into his boots, then reached for his banjo. “We’ll have to visit the sheriff’s office to retrieve our guns,” he said while he slid the banjo over his shoulder, then gathered up their dirty clothes.

  “The Chinese laundry is closed now, but the next time we come to town, we’ll have to drop off our clothes there. I am not wearing Mr. Fox’s clothes any longer than I have to.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.” And Steve couldn’t blame his boy for not wanting to wear clothes that made it look like he was dressing up in his father’s discarded shirt and trousers. “What—” He watched as Sharps took something from his right boot before he slid his foot into it. Steve realized it was a derringer.

  Sharps saw him staring and shrugged. “This is the little beauty you gave me.”

  “You kept it all these years?” He was gratified.

  “Of course. It’s always in my boot.” Sharps tilted his head and grinned. “The sheriff doesn’t need to know all my secrets.”

  Did anyone know them? “He’s got my Colts, and I saw your holster in his desk drawer.”

  “Yeah.” His hair was still damp, but he put his hat on his head. “Let’s get the horses. Then we can get our guns and go back to Mrs. Hall’s valley.”

  “Hummingbird Valley is a nice place.”

  “It is, but it isn’t really our home, is it?”

  “No, I reckon that’ll be our own valley.” Steve was gratified when his boy wrapped his arms around him, and he brushed a kiss to the hinge of Sharps’s jaw.

  They walked out of the bathhouse and into the evening. The man who ran the bathhouse was just approaching. “All done?”

  “Yes. It was a pleasure. Although I’m afraid we left something of a mess.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I have a boy who’ll take care of that in the morning. You’re the folks from the Pettigrew valley, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  He nodded. “I hope you’ll come by again.”

  “We’d like to, but…winter’s coming on.”

  “Yes, but you may have noticed there’s a fireplace in the bathing room.” He grinned and winked. “You’ll be plenty warm.”

  “Then we’ll be seeing you.”

  They shook hands, and Steve and Sharps headed for the livery stable.

  Once they got there, they saddled their horses and bundled their clothes behind their saddles. Steve mounted, but before Sharps stepped into his saddle, he stooped and removed the derringer from his boot.

  “Sheriff Cottyn can’t see that.”

  “I know.” Sharps performed some sleight of hand, and the derringer was no longer there.

  “Where did you hide it?”

  “In my dirty clothes.” Sharps leaned against Sorrowful and stroked the pinto’s neck. “The sheriff will never think to look for it there. Just like I doubt he’ll think what you’re carrying is anything more than a pretty banjo.” He placed his toe into the stirrup and swung his right leg over the gelding’s back.

  Steve was willing to agree with him, but to tell the truth, his nerves were beginning to stretch again. All he wanted was to get back to the valley and the bedroll they shared.

  * * * *

  By the time they rode up to the jail, the doctor was leaving the building, tsking and shaking his head, and four men were entering, three of them carrying a board.

  “I wonder who they are,” Steve murmured.

  “That’s Mr. Gainforth,” Sharps told him. “Don’t know about the others, but I met him when the town council spoke to Mrs. Fox about becoming the schoolmarm. He’s the undertaker.”
>
  “In that case, I reckon it’s safe to say Weatherford is no longer among the living.”

  “I reckon it is. I hope the sheriff isn’t too busy to give us our guns back.” He took a step forward, then stopped. “You’d better go in first. The sheriff might wonder about me going in ahead of you.”

  Steve studied him for a moment. Sharps met his gaze, and there was something in it…” All right.” He walked into the jail, knowing Sharps would be behind him.

  Cottyn stood at the rear of his office, along with the undertaker and the three young men who’d accompanied him. They looked enough like the undertaker to most likely be his sons.

  “Damn, I hate when people in my town get killed,” the sheriff was saying. He looked tired.

  Gainforth patted his shoulder. “It happens.”

  “I’ll have to explain it to that partner of his. I just hope he doesn’t cause trouble.”

  “You’ll do a good job of it. You always do.” The undertaker looked down at the body. “I’m sorry it took a while to get here. I had to send for my boys.”

  So the three men were his sons.

  “Sorry to interrupt your courting,” Cottyn said.

  Gainforth’s sons ducked their heads, blushed, but grinned. “That’s okay, Sheriff. It was getting late, and our girls’ papas were about ready to kick us out anyway.”

  That’s how it is in a small town, Steve thought. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.

  “What’ve we got here?” Gainforth asked.

  Steve peered over the undertaker’s shoulder. It looked like Weatherford had barely made it to the door leading to the cells before he’d collapsed to the floor. A pool of blood fanned out beneath him.

  “Doc can’t figure out how Jacob’s shot killed Weatherford. Jacob’s a damn good shot, and he never misses. He aimed to shoot the gun out of Weatherford’s hand.”

  “Looks like he shot off a couple of his fingers.”

  “Yeah, but that wouldn’t have killed him. Damn fool must have flinched—”

  “Resulting in him catching the bullet to his chest when it ricocheted off his derringer?” Steve asked mildly. He watched Sharps from the corner of his eye and found he wasn’t surprised when his boy had no reaction to his words.