Lady Outlaws

by Lady outlaws (NCP) (lit)

  “Do you want me to stop?” she asked, combing her fingers through his wet hair once more. Traces of soap lingered but a good dunk in the water would get rid of that. She’d offer conditioner but doubted he’d need any. His hair wasn’t dry and damaged like hers. How cruel was that?

  Romy seemed focused on something on the opposite shore. She followed his line of sight, seeing nothing. The sun was beginning to set and a breeze danced through tall grasses; other than that there was nothing.

  “Sara,” he said. His voice sounded odd. Strained, like he was just recovering from a bad case of laryngitis. “I must be with you now.”

  The implication struck her with alarm, as did the way he spoke, the need that filtered into the tone: threatening, almost brutal. It was her own fault for stirring him into this. She had spent the last several minutes stroking and massaging, a definite invitation for closer union.

  She froze, waiting for his humor to return. He still watched the distant shore.

  “I am a man, Sara. You touch me in many good ways, and I have been patient, but I know I can no longer wait. I must have you.”

  By sitting quietly he wasn’t acting on his demand. And Sara understood why. Silently he was giving her a chance to run away. He warned her of his intent, and if this wasn’t what she wanted, he’d control himself for a few more seconds to ensure she could escape. The sultry generosity made her want him even more.

  Sara pressed her cooled flesh against his shoulder blades, folding her arms across his chest. She dug her chin into the hollow of his neck and whispered, “Not only are you a man, but you are my man, and I’ll touch you when and how I want.” The temptress in her had reared up. She nibbled the soft place between his jaw and his throat. Dancing her fingers over the hair on his chest she tweaked one nipple. His head thrust back into her shoulder, forearms circling behind her, the weight nearly knocking her off balance. Scooping up water, she splashed some over his chest, a ploy to caress his skin.

  He gasped something in Spanish and moaned heavily as she rolled her tongue up and down his throat, pausing only to nibble his voice box. Coarse stubble tickled her cheek but she didn’t care; Romy had become putty in her hands and by the noises that gurgled unashamedly from his throat he was thoroughly enjoying being seduced.

  Sara had no misgivings, however. Once he demanded control she would be unable to continue at will. She would be a slave to his actions. For now, however, he was letting her play and play she did.

  “Did you know,” she whispered salaciously, “that your neck and nipples are called erogenous zones?”

  He rolled half opened eyes to greet her grin. “Does this mean pleasure places?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Si, I know this but there is another ... better place.” Clutching her wrist he drove her hand under the water. “Not just for me, but for you.”

  “Oh.” This she hadn’t expected. Perhaps because they were still sitting in the water or perhaps because she thought when the time came he’d throw her to the ground without further ado, but she underestimated his own sensuality. Romy sought approval, and when it came through a short gasp of delight, he smiled. Triumphantly.

  As the ripples on the water surface calmed, she made out the distortion of shadow, the heavy black hair of his groin. He disturbed the water briefly by inviting her clasp, his own fingers wrapped round hers. And he watched, chin tipped, as she stroked him.

  “Does this please you? This, that I have?” he whispered, pouting lips against her neck. He was no longer watching her touch, but glancing at her face, finding more confirmation she was contented to be with him, to accept what was offered.

  This was the calm before the storm, these few seconds it took for Sara to consider an answer. Whatever she said would cause the cloud to break and the pounding rain to begin. She needed to feel its aggression. Her mind was ablaze with depraved acts of fulfillment, and it was caused her whole body to flush.

  “Does this please you?” he repeated.

  Sara flexed her hand, sensing him swell slightly within her palm. He was not small and although her experience was limited, nothing she had known or seen compared to this. “I don’t know,” she answered finally, a remnant of tease still left. “That’s up to you.”

  “Then the answer is yes.” With this he got up, water streaming down his legs like a fountain. So abrupt was he that Sara started to fall backwards against the slope of the pool. Catching herself she looked up to see Romy towering over her, wet hair glistening black over his shoulders. Her eyes lowered. His chest lifted with heavy breathing, drawing her eyes to the narrow line of hair to his stomach, and then lower still.

  No, he was certainly not a small man. And yes, it pleased her immensely.

  Ping. A bullet ripped the water not one foot from where she sat.

  “Now ain’t that the purrtiest ass you ever seen, boys?”

  Romy swung round, crouching, aware that his pistol and knife were both out of reach. “Bastardo,” he growled, focusing on the three horsemen that laughed as they appeared through the brush on the opposite shore.

  They were a motley crew, clothing worn and tattered with frayed hats to match. Each sported moustaches but the one who had fired grinned so widely beneath his that he displayed two missing teeth at the front. The horses sauntered across the stream.

  “Better give her yer spyglass, Biscuit,” the leader said, glancing to the rider on his left. “That way this poor girl can actually find that sorry piece of string dangling between his legs.”

  “Flicker,” Romano scowled. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Flicker folded his arms on the saddle horn, leaning forward with a chuckle. “Ruinin’ yer fun obviously,” he answered. “Quite honestly it’d pain me to watch any more of this sorry display of vulgarity.” He looked at Sara. “And saving this pretty girl from being sorely disappointed.”

  Romy swore and moved towards his clothing, bunched on the rocks.

  “If you want a real man, sweetheart,” Flicker continued, winking at her, “Then this could be yer lucky day.” The others laughed.

  There was no way to avoid it. She’d have to stand up to reach her clothes as well, and this uninvited and unwanted company made no polite move to shield their eyes. Annoyed, she picked her way to the shore and reached for her own clothing. In doing so a litany of whistles and caterwauling erupted.

  “I thought you were in Flatwater,” Romy said, aggravation oozing from his tone. He was glaring fiercely at each in turn while he dressed.

  “Headed that way now. Heard you were in the vicinity and thought we’d invite you to ride along with us. Safety in numbers, my old gamblin’ pal.”

  “News travels fast,” Romy said. He was buckling his holster around his middle.

  “Specially when it’s good news,” Flicker grinned. He reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a folded paper. “Good news for cutthroats and bounty hunters, that is.”

  Romy snatched the paper from his hand and studied it. “Three thousand dollars?” he said, throwing a shocked glance at Sara. He showed her the poster. Five crude sketches were drawn under the word “Wanted”. Certainly Devon and Romano and Budd. The other two could be loosely interpreted as Brandi and her.

  “Oh my God,” she exclaimed in horror. “Is that supposed to be me?”

  “Reckon it is, missy,” Flicker confirmed. “Lady outlaws. Surely got us interested in seeing fer ourselves. So when we heard…”

  “Where’d you get this?” Romy asked, still irritated.

  Flicker’s saddle squeaked as he shifted his weight. “Pick a town. They’re decoratin’ walls in every one from here to Denver.”

  “Since when can the likes of you walk into a town and look at posters? You’re as wanted as I am.”

  “Not me.” Flicker nodded to the other rider. “But Peddie can. His purty face ain’t on display. Yet. You keep that one, Romy. Think of it as a present.”

  Romano bunched up the paper into a ball and threw it
into the water. It floated downstream. He kicked into the pebbles, scattering several.

  “So, where’s the other three?” Flicker asked, unconcerned that his gift was so coarsely treated. “That other lady outlaw as tasty as this one?”

  Romy grabbed his pistol, pointing it at Flicker.

  “Whoa there, buddy,” Flicker warned, barely perturbed by the threat. “I reckon you could use my services right about now. Don’t you go gettin’ me upset.”

  Romy was grinding his jaw so hard it cracked. “Bad enough you sneak up on us,” he spit. “You do not insult Sara.”

  “I surely won’t. Put yer iron away. I’m faster than you, remember?”

  Point made, Romy reluctantly put the weapon back in the holster.

  “There now, we’re all friends again. As yer friend I’ll tell you what I know. Not three miles from here there are two hunters. They ain’t awful smart but I’d hate to see them fall upon you by accident. You know, when yer distracted doin’ somethin’ else. So a word in yer ear--best pack up and ride with us to Flatwater.” The absence of teeth was revealed again to Sara. “That way this lovely girl can have a proper bed fer the night.” He picked up his reins. “And I can see if yer as anxious to let yer guard down over a game of cards.”

  “Get your things,” Romy whispered to Sara. “We better go.”

  By the time Sara had packed her carpetbag, Romy had saddled Taboo yet again. Helping her up she asked, “Who are those guys?”

  “Rascals of the highest order,” was all he said. He didn’t look pleased and Sara wasn’t sure if it was because they were interrupted, or if it was because of the poster. Either way they had little choice but to keep moving. If Flatwater was filled with other such rascals then they’d be amongst comrades.

  And the idea of a night in a real bed, with Romano, certainly sounded appealing.

  Chapter Four

  The stars were so bright that shadows danced everywhere. Sara rode beside Romy as they followed Flicker and his outfit. It was a trail this group knew well, even in the subdued half-light. Being rascals, she suspected they were used to traveling nocturnally. Thieves. Horse and cattle rustlers no doubt. Brandi had told her often how these groups operated under the cover of darkness. Despite the unsavory reputation, Sara felt safe. Better to be with a bunch of thieves than be imprisoned or hung. Whether she liked it or not, she too was considered a rascal.

  It was the middle of the night by the time they rode into Flatwater. And it was correct to assume the whole town enjoyed nocturnal delight. Groups of lanterns swung at the entrance of the one hotel and the three saloons, and even more dotted the main street. Laughter and shouts wafted from every door. If the movies she had watched were correct there’d be a burst of gunfire any minute, resulting in one or two spinning bodies dropping to the ground with fatal gunshot wounds. Nothing of the sort happened. Sara chuckled. “Hollywood,” she tutted.

  Romano waved Sara to ride over in front of the hotel.

  “Don’t you linger,” Flicker shouted from across the street. He had tethered his horse near a saloon. “If I can’t have yer woman, I’ll sure as hell take yer money.”

  A rabid growl rumbled from Romy’s throat. “I’ll knock his other teeth out before long,” he said.

  “He’s just trying to get you going,” Sara comforted. “Don’t give him the satisfaction. And don’t fret about me. I can take care of myself. In fact,” she stated, pulling her carpetbag free from the saddle, “I’ll go with you.”

  “Ladies shouldn’t go into saloons,” Romy stated in all seriousness.

  “Hey, might I remind you where we met?”

  “I know, but here…”

  Sara had already started for the swinging doors. Romy ran after her, more alarmed than perturbed.

  Her first impression was that she had judged Hollywood sets a little too prematurely. A long polished bar stretched down one wall where several men stood, boots resting on a rail as they leaned together in conversation. Tables were filled with card players while the air was blue with smoke and abuzz with voices. A billiard table at the back hosted players while the stuffed bear’s head on the wall looked mutely on. One of the half dozen saloon girls was drifting up the stairs with a drunken customer. It was surprisingly civilized for being a place where society’s worst behaved outlaws found entertainment.

  Few took notice when she walked in. Except Flicker. He had settled at a large round table to play poker, each man with a bottle between them. Two chairs were empty. “Look out, boys,” he warned the others. “We got a wild filly outlaw amongst our ranks.”

  “Get yer money out,” Sara teased, enjoying her new role. She poured herself a shot of what she suspected was gut rot whiskey and waited to be dealt a hand.

  “What are you doing?” Romy gasped, taking the chair beside her. “A woman should not do these things.”

  All ears around the table were straining to hang on every word between them. Only Flicker dared to speak his thoughts. “You playin’, Romy, or are you gonna let the little lady show you up?”

  “Deal me in,” Romy said. He threw Sara a disapproving glare, one she ignored.

  Cards scattered over the green baize covering. Flicker leaned back, fanning out his hand. A cigar fit perfectly in the hole where front teeth should have been.

  Sara wasn’t certain which rules they followed. Her experience with poker had been limited to watching games at a casino when she dated Clyde. She had watched in horror as he promptly lost every cent he had, usually a loan from her. This time she played with her own money and grinned, knowing the bills she carried were counterfeit, meant to be play money in a town that wasn’t real. Her only concern now was the authenticity of the bills. Would the others notice?

  They didn’t. Greed crept into their grins as they eyed her stuffed purse.

  It was no surprise she lost the first couple of games. Flicker hollered exultantly as he collected the pot. “Ain’t no challenge playin’ with a bunch of kids,” he said. “I expected the filly outlaw to lose but Romy, yer just as bad.”

  Romy flinched but kept quiet. His jaw snapped as another hand was dealt.

  Despite losing, Sara was having fun. She felt warm from the several shots of whiskey she had drunk and it added to her carefree demeanor. And this time she had been miraculously dealt three queens. Keeping her expression as stony as possible, she kept in the game until the others had thrown down. It was between her and Flicker.

  “I reckon yer bluffin’,” he said, scrutinizing her every movement.

  “Pay to play,” she said coyly.

  He leaned back in his chair, confident in his assessment, and raised the pot by ten dollars. The others looked at Sara. She winked and threw in another ten dollars.

  Flicker cracked a nervous laugh. “You must like to lose, missy. After all, look who yer with.” It was weak insult. No one paid any attention to it, except Romy. His fists were clenched.

  “Well?” Sara asked. “What next?”

  Flicker’s eyes narrowed. He was no longer grinning. “Twenty,” he said, throwing another bill on the table.

  It would be no surprise to Sara that the man was cheating and had somehow pulled him self a cracker of a hand. Yet, she had to go on the chance. The game had drawn the attention of several onlookers; even the table next to them had interrupted play to watch. Money was high but a greater stake was pride. She’d dearly love to kick Flicker’s ego.

  Gulping another shot of whiskey she slammed the glass on the table and wiped her mouth. “Okay. Twenty it is.” She threw her bill next to his.

  Flicker’s lip curled. “You callin’?”

  “Nope.”

  Gasps all round; the whole room was watching and listening.

  “Damn it woman,” Flicker sneered. “Either you got a screw loose in that purty head of yers or yer sporting balls. I ain’t decided which.”

  No one moved. So excited by the situation Sara’s fingers were trembling. Her opponent caught the shiver, and raised the bet
again.

  The game had gone far enough. Besides, Sara thought, the money she had left could be used easily for other things, things she and Romy might need for their trip to Mexico. Since the counterfeit bills weren’t recognized as such, she could buy some new clothes without question.

  “Call,” she said.

  The audience turned to watch Flicker. He proudly fanned out three jacks.

  She luxuriated in the moment of victory, a thrill pounding her heart double time. “Well,” she said, trying to sound disappointed. “That certainly is a good hand.”

  Thinking he had won Flicker was reaching for the money. He stopped dead in his tracks when she spread out her three queens, her fingers still shaking so badly she could hardly contain them. There was a second of stunned silence and then the room erupted in laughter. The cigar in Flicker’s mouth dropped to the floor.

  “Close, but no banana,” she squealed and stretched her hand over the table to scoop up the money.

  Brushing off the shock Flicker’s face flushed with anger. He grabbed her wrist so hard she shrieked, more surprise than pain. “You cheatin’ bitch,” he snarled.

  The laughter died. Silence filled the room again.

  Romano was on his feet. “Get your dirty paws off her,” he warned, his teeth clenched.

  “You fed her those cards, didn’t you?” Flicker accused, without obeying the command. He twisted Sara’s wrist, the pain streaking up her arm. “Yer in on this together, you and yer mangy outlaw whore.”

  Romano lunged, his steel body so coiled the force knocked the table over. Sara’s wrist freed, she fell to one side at the outburst, a shower of glasses and bottles dropping with her. Chairs were tipped aside as several bodies leapt into the altercation. Covering her head as best she could Sara crawled to the safety of the corner and only then found the courage to witness the fight.

  Flicker was pinned on the floor. Romy was on top of him, smashing his fist into the outlaw’s jaw. Three other men were trying desperately to pull Romy off but to no avail. Blood spurted from a broken nose and still Romy kept bashing away. Only when a bottle crashed into Romy’s temple did he falter. It gave the others the chance to drag him off, several hard kicks into his ribs and stomach adding to his thickening dazed state.