by Kurt Barker
The blonde grinned at Blackshot. “You've just met Captain Mike,” she said. “He's my pa, and the main reason Captain Mike's Saloon doesn't turn a profit.”
“I get the feeling that even if the whole room had been on fire, it wouldn't have troubled him much,” Blackshot said.
“Not as long as he could get to the whiskey before the fire did,” the girl laughed. “At least I don't have to worry about him going out in the cold and freezing!”
“Well, I can't blame him on a night like this.” As Blackshot looked over his shoulder at the snowflakes dotting the fogged window glass, a movement in the dark street outside sparked his memory suddenly. “Khamsin!” he muttered, leaping to his feet.
“What?”
“My horse; I left him out in the street!”
“We've got a stable right around the back!” the blonde called as he pulled open the door.
The Arabian stallion was prancing impatiently in the snow-blanketed street, shaking the flakes from his sleek coat with a snort that sent plumes of steam billowing into the dark night. Blackshot took up his reins and led him around the side of the saloon, where he found a small stable sitting across a little open lot. Once inside, he found the stable to be decently roomy and well-stocked with hay, and empty but for an old sway-backed nag that showed them no more interest than Captain Mike had done.
Having installed Khamsin in an open stall and taken a few minutes to rub his coat down and supply him with hay, Blackshot returned across the barren lot to the front of the saloon. The ferocity of the wind had lessened but the snow was still falling in dense sheets, already accumulating up to his boot tops, and he was glad to get back into the warm bar room again.
“Good news,” the blonde said as he came through the door. “It looks like your gal pal will be staying alive tonight.”
Chapter 3
Blackshot crossed the room and knelt down beside the wounded girl. Her face was buried in the blonde's throat, but he could see that the blueness had left her cheeks, and she was breathing steadily now.
“That's a relief,” he said. “I wasn't holding out much hope, to be honest.”
“Yes, but there's still work to be done,” the blonde replied. She slipped one slender arm out from under the blanket and held it up to show Blackshot the smeared blood that stained it. “Her injuries are going to have to be seen to.”
“I don't suppose there's any chance of finding a doctor around here?” Blackshot inquired.
“As a matter of fact, we do have a doctor in town. Here, lay her down on the rug by the fire.” The blonde slipped out of the blanket and picked up her coat from the floor. The supple curves of her back and ass were glistening with sweat as she stood up and wrapped herself in the leather duster.
Once dressed, she left the room and Blackshot turned his attention to the unconscious girl; he spread out the rug by the hearth and softly lay her on it, covering her again with the blanket and his coat. After a few moments, the hall door opened and the blonde returned, carrying a black patent leather medical bag.
“Alright-y, let's have a look at the patient!” she said.
“You're the doctor?” Blackshot asked in disbelief.
“Acting doctor,” the blonde corrected with a smile, dropping the bag onto the rug and kneeling beside it. “The real doctor is home sleeping off a snoot-full, as usual. He's taught me some of the basics of patching folks up so as I can help him when he's too drunk or when his hands are shaking too bad to do it himself. Have you still got that bottle of brandy?”
“Sure, since the real doctor's not here, there's still enough left to clean the wounds,” Blackshot grinned.
The girl laughed. “Good luck getting the old lush to drink the cheap stuff! And Pa doesn't charge him because they're best drinking buddies. 'A good Irishman doesn't take another Irishman's coin for to wet his whistle' Pa always says.”
“Reason #2 why Captain Mike's Saloon doesn't turn a profit, eh?”
“Oh, that's a long list,” the blonde said, wiping down the girl's back with an alcohol-soaked cloth. “A mighty long list.”
A barely audible groan emanated from the raven-haired girl as the alcohol touched the raw whip burns, and she stirred slightly but did not wake. With the dried blood cleaned away, Blackshot was relieved to see that the cuts on her back were not as deep as they had at first appeared when he had found her in the woods.
“Look at that.” The blonde held up the girl's arm and pointed to her wrist, which was bruised and chafed.
“She's been tied up,” Blackshot muttered. Now that the fear of the girl dying was passing from his mind, it was quickly being replaced by anger; anger for a nameless, faceless man that had left no sign of who he was but the marks of his cruelty on the girl's body. The blonde seemed to feel the same emotion, and shook her head bitterly as she continued with her work.
Once the girl's back had been carefully cleaned and bandaged, they moved on to her battered calves, cleansing and tending to the wounds as gently as possible. Here too they found no deep gashes, although they were badly bruised. With her legs bandaged as well, Blackshot covered her with the blanket again while the blonde blotted the blood from her lips and cheeks.
“We've done all we can for now,” the blonde declared with a sigh, wiping her hands on her coat and getting to her feet. “Now it's time to put the good brandy to use.”
“Spoken like a true woman of medicine,” Blackshot said.
He found the bottle on the shelf and the blonde set out two cups on the bar. The cups were quickly filled and drained, and the girl motioned for him to repeat the process. Once they had polished off the second round, she banged her cup down on the bar and held out her hand to Blackshot.
“Maisie Grady,” she said. “I can't say I was pleased to make your acquaintance at first, but now I'm working my way around toward changing my mind.”
“Funny how the good brandy can have that effect,” Blackshot replied, taking her hand. “Tom Blackshot at your service.”
She looked him up and down. “So what are you, Tom Blackshot; a lawman?”
“Not exactly.”
“Ooh, a bad man, then?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, what exactly then? You don't strike me as a farmer, and you surely don't carry those things around to shoot squirrels,” Maisie said, indicating the Colts slung from his hips.
“No, those are for shooting rats,” Blackshot chuckled. “You can say that I solve problems for people; the kind of problems that can only be solved with tools like these.”
“For fun or for profit?”
“Cash up front every time. No point in hunting down your outlaw and then having to hunt down your client, too.”
“I like a man with a practical nature,” Maisie stated, taking up the bottle again. “Have another?”
“No thanks, I don't want to have my name added to the list.”
“Well, I want another and I don't want to look like a pathetic lush who drinks alone, so do it for a lady's honor.” She filled both cups again.
“Only a scoundrel wouldn't drink to protect a lady's honor,” Blackshot said, raising his glass to her in a lighthearted toast.
After the cups had been emptied once again, Maisie put her hands on her hips. “Well, what did you think?”
“Of the brandy? You were right not to waste it.”
“No, I mean what did you think of my body?” She arched an eyebrow mischievously. “You saw about everything there was to see. Did you like it?”
Blackshot smiled back at her and leaned on the bar. “You know, in all the haste of tonight's proceedings, it seems my recollection has become a bit hazy. Perhaps you could refresh my memory?”
Maisie's eyes twinkled as she drew open the duster and let it fall from her shoulders. “I don't ask out of vanity, you understand,” she purred, running her hand across the soft bulge of her breast and down her side to the sinuous curve of her hip, “it's just that the girl over there has got my blanket and
your coat, and we've got to figure out some way to stay warm tonight.”
Chapter 4
“As a man who solves problems for people,” Blackshot said, running his hand through the thick golden hair at the nape of Maisie's neck and drawing her body against his, “I think I can come up with a very satisfactory solution to this little dilemma.”
He crushed his lips to hers, and the chill in his bones from the night's ride was instantly dissipated by her sultry, brandy-scented breath. Their mouths met again and again, like a blade against a flint, with no shortage of hot sparks to match.
“That's why I like a man with a practical nature,” Maisie murmured, running her tongue across her bared teeth. Her small, soft hands caressed his broad, muscular chest, before gathering a fistful of his shirtfront. Tugging him along after her, she backed toward the hall door, still matching him kiss for kiss with hungry lips.
Maisie's bedroom door was only a short way down the hall, but Blackshot's shirt did not complete the journey, reaching only the end of the hallway. Maisie's hands were working fast, and his belt only just made it inside the door of her room before it became a casualty as well.
The room was small and square, dominated by an over-sized mahogany wardrobe that had obviously been designed for a much more spacious room, with the bed taking up most of the remaining floor space. Blackshot turned Maisie around and looped an arm around her waist, lifting her up off her feet.
“Now it seems to me, problem solver that I am,” he said, “that the first thing we need to do is to warm up these sheets.”
Blackshot laid Maisie down on the bed so that she rested on her elbows and knees, her firm legs spread wide. He slid his big hands along the hollow of her stomach and up the hard ridges of her ribs until he reached the heavy, succulent breasts that swayed beneath her as her body moved. Cupping the warm mounds in his palms, he probed their peaks with his strong fingers until they swelled hard, and he felt the girl's body tremble.
Maisie groaned and buried her face in the sheets as the powerful hands continued their work, her hair spilling in golden waves onto the bed around her. Blackshot bent over her and pressed his lips to the back of her neck, and then trailed them down to kiss her again between her shoulder blades. One of his hands was moving down her body again, too; a finger pressed in her navel elicited a giggle of delight, which cut off in a sharp gasp when the fingers ran through the short tuft of her bush and caressed the lips of her entrance.
“I hope you're finding the sheets to be sufficiently warmed up,” Blackshot whispered against Maisie's ear as he teased her with his fingertips. “Because in solving that problem I think I've identified another problem that needs my close attention.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she panted. “I didn't give you the good brandy so you'd leave the job half done!”
“Never fear, ma'am, Tom Blackshot always sees a job through to the end; satisfaction is guaranteed!”
The lips of her pussy were wet to his touch as he pushed his fingers between them and plunged them into the torrid heat of her body. Maisie moaned and her body convulsed against his as his purposeful fingers explored her, his other hand still kneading one of her swollen tits. Her face was still turned downward against the bed, and he could see her gather handfuls of the sheet into her clenched fists as he brought her to the heights of desire.
Maisie turned her head to cast a sidelong look at Blackshot through the unruly locks of blonde hair that covered her face. “You're getting' there, but I think it's time you threw something else at this problem,” she gasped. “I hope you've got a tool that's right for the job.”
“As it happens, I have just the thing I need to finish the job in a very satisfactory manner,” Blackshot grinned.
Maisie turned around on the bed to face him, still on all fours. “Why don't I be the judge of that?”
She grabbed onto the waistband of his jeans and with one hand and drew him toward her while her other hand tugged at his fly. Blackshot made no protest; his jeans had been getting steadily tighter since the first kiss, and he was ready to get some relief from the pressure. With a final yank of Maisie's hands, the stiff fabric was torn away and his long, thick cock swung out erect.
Maisie licked her lips playfully as she ran her fingers lightly along his rigid length. “Ooh, it looks like it'll do the job alright,” she drawled, “but now I think we've got another problem that needs solving.”
“One problem after another! And no end in sight!”
“Don't worry, I'll handle this one,” Maisie purred. When her tongue touched the head of his cock and began to meander slowly down his shaft, it felt to Blackshot like a searing flame. He groaned heavily as she took his girth between her strawberry lips, sucking gently as she guided him into the sultry warmth of her mouth.
Maisie swept her hair back from her face and her head began to bob slowly, then faster, as she slurped eagerly on his stiff manhood, drawing him deeper into her. Her fiery lips moved further, seeking the base of his shaft, and Blackshot could feel his head sliding down into the wet, hot cauldron of her throat. The steamy breath against his skin and the ravenous gulps as she took in his whole length were more intoxicating to him than any brandy!
Blackshot grunted and his hands clutched Maisie's hair, holding her against him as every last shred of control he possessed over his body melted away. With a shuddering jerk of his hips, he exploded into her mouth in intense waves.
As the aftershocks subsided, he let his hands drop to his sides and Maisie drew his rod from her mouth with a gasp, his juices spilling from her lips and down her chin. She looked up into Blackshot's hard gray eyes and smiled, her ample breasts shaking with each panting breath.
“I think we can cross that problem off the list,” she huffed.
“That just leaves one last matter to attend to,” Blackshot said, taking Maisie by the waist and turning her around so that he stood once more between her open legs.
She moaned softly as his hand ran across the curve of her ass and down into her wet bush. “Is that tool still ready to work?” she murmured.
Her answer came suddenly as the thick head of Blackshot's cock parted the lips of her pussy and drove deep into her body. Maisie squealed in ecstasy as his girth stretched her and plunged deeper into her than any man ever had.
Blackshot gripped her waist and began to thrust hard and fast, grinding his hips against her buxom ass with each impact. The luscious cheeks jiggled and shook as he pounded into her with an ever increasing rhythm. Soon beads of sweat were standing out on her back, and her hips were slick against his palms.
Maisie's hands clutched the sheet, knuckles as white as the thin fabric, and the hair that flew in wild strands around her face began to stick to her glistening forehead. A whimpering cry escaped Maisie's lips as a deep orgasm rushed through her body, shaking her to her core. The passionate sounds coming from her and the movement of her body were to Blackshot like a flag waved in front of bull; with a feral growl, he lifted one of her thighs up with a jerk, rolling her onto her side. This new angle of attack, with Maisie's leg across his muscled shoulder, allowed him to ram into her pussy with increased vigor; her bulging tits jumped and bounced against the bed as their bodies collided again and again.
Sweat was dripping from Blackshot's chin onto Maisie's jiggling ass, and as she climaxed again, digging her heel into his back as she writhed against his cock, he could feel himself losing the battle against his desire as well. With a heavy groan he drew his shaft from her loins just as his release rushed forth, shooting in hot jets across her glistening back and ass.
Maisie lay motionless on the bed, panting raggedly, her golden mane masking her face. Blackshot collapsed onto the bed beside her, and they lay silent for a while, breathing in the cool air. The little window above the head of the bed was thoroughly steamed over, but still a little light streamed through onto their glistening bodies from the pale moon which had emerged from the clouds. It appeared that, much like its counterpart ins
ide, the storm outside had expended it's fury.
Maisie raised herself onto one elbow and pushed the hair back from her face. “I'm gonna need another drink,” she groaned.
Chapter 5
“So, who is she, anyway? That girl out there, I mean.”
The bottle of brandy sat now beside the bed, a little lighter than it had been when they left it, and Maisie lay snuggled beside Blackshot with her head resting on his broad chest.
“No idea,” Blackshot admitted. “To be honest, I had hoped you might be able to tell me who she was; I found her not more than a mile or two from town, so I thought maybe she lived here.”
“No, I'm sure I've never seen her around here,” Maisie said. “I think I'd remember her; she's a pretty little thing. Nice ass, too. Did you see the ass and thighs on that girl? Must be from riding horses or something.”
Blackshot laughed. “Well, that will help us identify her! We can go around knocking on every door in town saying, 'Excuse me, sir, did you misplace a woman? Black hair, beat to hell, nice ass?'”
“She sure was beat to hell, poor girl,” Maisie mused. When she spoke again there was a note of anger in her voice: “What kind of low down rat would do that to a woman; whip her like a dog and leave her out in the cold to die?” She shivered. “I hate to think that there are folks that rotten in the world.”
“There's certainly no shortage of them, from what I've seen.”
“Well, it's not a very comforting thought. I wish somebody could do something about people like that.”
“At least we got to this girl before she died. Saving one life is better than nothing.”
