by Jake Logan
Slocum listened to other sounds. Small critters stirring in the dark, distant lowing from cattle. So few cattle, he reflected, his thoughts beginning to drift as he fell asleep.
He came awake instantly when he heard creaking rungs on the ladder leading to the loft. The sound was slow, methodical. Finger curled around his rifle trigger, Slocum sighted in on the dark square in the loft floor. An indistinct head showed.
“You don’t have to shoot me.”
A hand reached up and pulled away a scarf, freeing a cascade of blond hair that turned liquid silver in the faint light as it spilled forth.
“Your pa tell you I was up here?”
“Papa plays it close to the vest. I figured it out all by myself.”
Marta climbed the last few rungs and twisted about, sitting on the edge of the opening.
“Are you going to help me up like a gentleman?” She held out her hand. When he didn’t budge, she said, “So? It’s going to be like that, is it?”
She hiked up her feet, stood, and came to him. Her foot slid on dry straw and sent her stumbling. Slocum had no choice but to toss aside the rifle and catch her as she fell on top of him.
“So it’s going to be like that, is it?” he said, laughing.
Before Marta could answer, he pulled her closer and kissed her. She tried to force herself away, but he held her down. Her initial struggles died, and she began to return the kiss until they both gasped with ardor. Slocum wasn’t sure if her tongue invaded his mouth first or a slight parting of her lips allowed him to intrude in hers. It didn’t matter. Their tongues began darting back and forth, playing hide and seek, stroking, touching, tips rubbing, lips crushed together.
Slocum broke off, panting heavily.
He let Marta reposition herself, straddling his waist. She was bathed in the moonlight coming through the open loft door. He reached out and laid his hands on her breasts. Beneath her blouse he felt her heart hammering. Pressing down, he caught the hard points of her breasts. The nipples hardened even more as he tweaked them.
She closed her eyes and threw her head back, letting her hair dangle behind her. Then she jerked her head to one side and brought the hair about. With it clutched in one hand, she drew it teasingly across his face. She bent forward and worked that silvered whip down to his throat and began swishing it faster until he wanted to laugh.
“That tickles,” he said.
“Does this?” She reached behind and worked to pop open the buttons on his fly.
With a quick move, she reversed her position. Still split over his waist, she bent down and used her hair to torment his already stiff organ. Every light brush across the tip, the sensitive underside, his balls, made him a tad harder. Then she bent almost double and took just the end of his manhood between her lips, using the tongue that had toyed with his only minutes earlier. Dragging her hair all around as she applied her mouth more seductively caused Slocum to arch his back.
She used her free hand to swat his thigh.
“Not yet. When you’re ready and not an instant before.”
Slocum closed his eyes and swallowed hard to keep control. She knew all the spots to touch to arouse him fast. But he could play that game, too. He reached out and ran his hands under her blouse, moving up her sides. His fingers traced out each rib as he went. When her blouse pressed into the crooks of his elbows, he jerked hard. Buttons popped off her blouse and rattled about.
She gasped as he reached around and caught her breasts. He mashed them flat and began rotating his palms to stimulate them. His only clue that he’d succeeded was that she stopped sucking on him because she was moaning so passionately. Her hands pressed down atop his to hold them over her breasts.
But Slocum had the advantage on her now. She had thought to keep him on a short leash, but he had turned the tables. His hands moved from her tits and down to her heaving belly. He slid his fingers into the waistband of her skirt to repeat the move. The two buttons holding her skirt in place shot like bullets as he jerked hard.
It took a bit of maneuvering to skin her out of her skirt, but he did. She hadn’t worn any undies. Before he allowed her back down, he skinned her out of her destroyed blouse. Naked, she shone like a fine marble statue in the moonlight, but no cold stone met his hands as he stroked over her back, her ass, her thighs. This was warm flesh, trembling flesh under his control.
As she settled back, still facing away from him, his finger pressed into her thatched mound and finally curled about to prod into her moist interior. She shook uncontrollably now. He saw her back muscles flex and flow as he began moving her to a new rhythm of his finger slipping deeper into her core before wetly coming back out.
“Oh, John, I’m all trembly inside. Don’t . . . don’t do it like this. Not yet. I, aiieee!”
Her body tensed, and she threw back her head as orgasm crashed through her. Her long blond locks brushed his face again, tormented his lips with the memory of her kiss, touched his neck.
He rammed his finger even farther into her hot center, whirled it about, and then pressed into her nether lips when he retreated. Her body shook as if she had a high fever. He ran his left hand up and down her back, tracing out each and every bone in her spine. It was as if his fingers set off new explosions of delight within her. Every time he pressed down, she groaned and jerked about. He kept up the steady movement of his finger in and out of the tightness between her thighs, but her climax had passed.
She was more in control now as she reached down and stroked from the base to the tip of his hardness. It was his turn to surrender. She used her fingernails along his upper legs, every scratch fire and every touch pure pleasure.
When she caught him, lifted her hips slightly, and slipped back down, he felt himself entering paradise. Her tight warmth surrounded him totally. Tensing and relaxing her strong inner muscles gave him a new type of massage he would never forget. The aching in his length as she began twisting her hips from side to side turned to outright pain.
“Can’t take more of this. Move, damn you, move!”
He circled her waist with his hands and lifted. She resisted at first, then allowed him to set the pace. He started fast and worked to a pitch that had them both crying out once more. She clutched down all around him with her inner muscles an instant before he erupted. Her fingers stroked his balls even as her depths milked him for every drop held there.
He arched his back as she slammed her hips down. They ground together, separated, and tried to continue, but both were too spent. Marta leaned forward, her rounded behind taut for him to stroke across. She gripped his ankles, then worked her way back to a sitting position.
“You fell out.”
“You wore me out,” he said.
“For the moment?” Marta lifted one slender leg and spun about, facing him now. “How long?”
“You’re mighty persuasive,” he said. “Why don’t we find out?”
She slithered like a snake down between his legs so her head disappeared between his thighs. But he knew exactly where she was—where her mouth was. She kissed and licked and sucked until he was ready again.
This time the lovemaking lasted far longer. The urgency had passed and each one tried to show tricks and touches, kisses and caresses the other didn’t know. Slocum doubted either of them learned anything new, and it hardly mattered by the time they lay entwined, arms and legs wrapped in a pretzel.
Slocum dozed but came awake when he felt the woman disengaging from the amorous Gordian knot. He muttered as if he still slept, watching her the best he could as she gathered her ruined clothing. Marta crept naked to the ladder, looked back at him, blew a kiss, then disappeared into the barn below. He strained to hear her bare feet on the floor. She moved too much like a blond ghost.
He stretched, then rolled onto his side to get some real sleep. But it eluded him. Brushing away the straw on the loft floor gave him
a spot to press his ear. Distant sounds alerted him that someone was moving about beneath him.
Slocum hastily dressed and fumbled around for his rifle in the dark. He found it just as a head poked up through the trapdoor.
A bullet ripped past him and tore a splinter in the barn wall. Slocum wasted no time triggering a round from his rifle. The foot-long orange muzzle flash dazzled him. He hoped it blinded his attacker as much, but from the new fusillade tearing toward him, he doubted it.
Slocum crouched, spun about, and then launched himself out into space through the loft door.
12
Slocum strained to grab the rope. It fluttered just beyond his fingers. He started to fall. His rifle tumbled away, but he concentrated completely on the rope hanging from the loft pulley. As he fell, he twisted. Behind in the loft came angry cries as the Deutsch brothers scrambled through the trapdoor in pursuit.
He fell and then at the last possible instant caught the rope and jerked around hard. His hands slipped, leaving rope burns on his palms, but the plunge had halted. Slocum swung out, then came back toward the barn as bullets ripped the air around him. This time he let go of the rope that had saved him from a nasty fall and dropped a few feet to the ground. His hand flashed to his six-shooter.
He drew and fired almost parallel with the barn wall. His slug missed Lucas Deutsch as he leaned out the loft door, but it didn’t have to hit him to halt the deadly rain falling on his head. Deutsch ducked back inside, giving Slocum the chance to scoop up his rifle.
He held it close to his body, then rolled on his shoulders and came to his feet just inside the barn in time to see feet groping for the ladder from the loft. He fired. His first round took off a boot heel and brought forth a long, loud string of curses. The second round he put through the flooring just to the left of the trapdoor brought a groan of pain. He knew the injury wasn’t serious. It didn’t have to be.
A few precious seconds had been bought with that round. He saddled his horse, fired a couple times through the loft flooring, then swung up and galloped from the barn, bent low and angling away to prevent Lucas from getting a good shot from the outer loft door.
Lead sang through the air but came no closer to him than a few feet. Then he rode out of range. Cutting across the pasture, he headed for the woods a quarter mile off. Before he reached the safety of the copse, hoofbeats behind him warned of pursuit.
He rubbed his crotch, remembering the night with Marta. Had she only kept him there until Rory Deutsch found his boys and sent them to kill him, or did she enjoy the lovemaking? He had gotten a great deal of pleasure from the coupling. She was energetic and inventive. But the fact remained that she had kept him occupied so her brothers could fill him with lead after she left him in the barn.
Slocum slowed and finally came to a halt to rest his horse. The Appaloosa’s sides heaved from the effort of getting to safety. Slocum swung about in the saddle and looked at his back trail, waiting for the brothers to come into view. It wasn’t sporting, but he was all out of fair play. If they showed their ugly faces, they’d get them blown off.
His rifle pulled to his shoulder, Slocum gave up after a few minutes. There had been no mistaking the hoofbeats pursuing him. That meant they tried to circle and cut him off. He considered thwarting them by riding back to the ranch house and capturing their pa. Rory Deutsch had sent his boys out to do his dirty work. It seemed only fair if he got pulled into this deadly hide and seek.
A horse pushing through thick undergrowth to his left alerted Slocum to the approaching brothers. He had been right. One came from his right flank and the other from his left. They thought to get him in a cross fire. If he played his cards right, he could slip away and let them shoot each other.
Going back across the meadow would expose him to both men’s fire. But riding straight through the woods had been left open as an escape route for a reason. They knew the ranch better than he ever could. They wanted to herd him forward.
Slocum decided to fall into their trap, whatever it might be.
He rode slowly until he came to the edge of the woods, where he could see how the land dropped off as suddenly as it did at the Rio Grande Gorge. The cliff was hardly a hundred feet above a river, but he had no chance to slide down it as he had the similar incline Marta had called Suicide Hill. This was too steep, too far, and the last time he had gotten lucky with the woman pulling his ass from the river.
He would never survive the fall from this cliff. With two angry, armed killers behind him, fighting his way to freedom looked impossible. Slocum kicked his feet from his stirrups, then carefully stood on the saddle. The horse shifted uneasily under him as he reached up and caught a limb.
His fingers barely curled around the pine sap sticky branch, forcing him to jump. As he did, his horse neighed loudly and trotted forward. Slocum dangled from the limb for a moment, then kicked hard, got a leg over the branch, and pulled himself up to lie flat. The green wood began yielding under his weight. The tip dipped down and the slender limb shook, about to tear free from the trunk.
Slocum kept his weight as spread out along the branch as he could. It still trembled as if caught in a high wind when Lucas Deutsch rode beneath him.
“There’s his horse,” Lucas shouted. “Don’t see where he got off to. You see him, Tim?”
“Naw. Got a shot at the horse.”
“Don’t kill his horse, dammit. That’s a fine piece of horseflesh. It’ll bring a pretty penny in town.”
“Where’d he go, Luke?”
“Don’t know. He musta gone over the cliff edge, but why he’d try to kill himself like that’s a poser.”
Lucas Deutsch rode a few yards farther. If he moved any more, Slocum would lose his chance. With all his strength, Slocum kicked away from the pine tree and crashed down. He misjudged his fall and his intended target.
His hands raked Deutsch’s back rather than grabbing his neck. All that saved Slocum was the sticky sap. His hands pulled the man’s coat away from his body enough to get a firm grip. As Slocum fell to the ground behind Deutsch, he yanked hard on the trapped coat. The man exploded off his horse and sailed through the air.
Slocum thrust his hands into dirt to get rid of the sap, then went for a struggling Lucas Deutsch. The outlaw had landed on his left shoulder and thrashed weakly, grabbing for it as he moaned.
“Move and you’re a dead man,” Slocum said, pointing his Colt at the fallen man.
“You busted my shoulder. You busted my damn shoulder! Tim! Tim!”
Slocum kicked and landed the toe of his boot on Deutsch’s chest. This knocked him off balance—and saved his life. Timothy Deutsch opened fire. The man’s shots went high and wide but would have winged Slocum if he’d remained standing. He sat, kicked Lucas Deutsch again just out of spite, then took careful aim on the hulking man a dozen yards away.
The sap on his fingers betrayed him. Slocum cocked the Colt, but his thumb stuck. He triggered a round and missed by a country mile. Timothy Deutsch returned fire, then wheeled about and galloped off, running out of range before Slocum could cock the pistol a second time.
“You busted my shoulder,” moaned Lucas Deutsch, still weakly wiggling in the dirt.
Slocum grabbed him by the shirtfront and lifted. From the way his face turned white, the pain overwhelmed him. Slocum paid no attention as he shoved Deutsch along to where his horse nervously pawed the ground.
It took only a few seconds to reach the animal, but this gave Slocum all the time he needed to decide what to do. Chasing Timothy Deutsch would be more dangerous than the pursuit merited. He had one of the Deutsch brothers. Using him as bait to draw in Rory and Timothy would work.
“Get up there,” Slocum said, shoving Lucas forward.
The man passed out. Slocum knelt and lifted an eyelid. This wasn’t a charade. He had conked out. Finger probing Deutsch’s shoulder told the story. He had disloca
ted the joint when Slocum pulled him from horseback. The distinctive feel convinced Slocum he had to do something. Deutsch wasn’t going to die, but riding wouldn’t be possible either, unless he was draped over the saddle and taken into town that way. Doing so slowed the trip and gave his brother and father a chance to rescue him.
Slocum sat with Deutsch on his back. He gripped his wrist and put one foot in his armpit and the other on the side of his face. Slow, steady pressure straightened the arm and pulled the arm out enough so it snapped back into place. Deutsch never regained consciousness but the loud pop! along with the way his entire body went limp told the story. Using the arm anytime soon would be painful, but he could ride.
Slocum slapped him a couple times until his eyelids fluttered.
“Get in the saddle. We’re riding back to Taos.”
“Ride?” Deutsch sat up and rubbed his shoulder. “Hurts like hell. Can’t ride.”
“Then I’ll shoot you right here,” Slocum said, brandishing his six-shooter. This got Deutsch to his feet.
Slocum retrieved his Appaloosa and rode back to where Deutsch struggled to mount. The man finally oozed up and into the saddle.
“You’re a dead man, Slocum. If I don’t kill you, Tim will. And if he don’t—”
“Shut up. If you don’t, I’ll yank that arm back out of joint.”
Lucas Deutsch grumbled but not loud enough for Slocum to make out the words. He got his bearings and started back for Taos, prisoner in tow.
• • •
“You imbecile!” Judge Locke raged. “There’s nothing to hold him on. I have to let him go! You didn’t find one whit of evidence he or his brother or pa killed my son!”
“There wasn’t any evidence to be found,” Slocum said.
“They murdered him!” Judge Locke paced across the small jailhouse office. Marshal Donnelly edged to the door and fled into the night. Locke never noticed.
