Red River Showdown

by J. R. Roberts

  “I didn’t even have to wake her,” the lady explained. “Her spare key was on a hook where I keep mine. You can keep it for as long as you want. If she needs it, I’ll say I took it and I’ll come find you.”

  “I appreciate this,” Clint said. “I’ll try to get this back to you as soon as I can.”

  “Just try to catch that crazy man. If you need anything else, you just ask for Lucy.”

  “Lucy?”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “It’s just what everyone calls me. You won’t get nowhere if you ask for me by my real name.”

  Clint tipped his hat and left. Now that the riverboat was moving again, the poker games should be back in full swing. Just to be safe, Clint decided to change clothes and wait awhile before paying a visit to room number five. On a boat full of gamblers, the odds of finding an empty room would only increase as the night moved along.

  TWENTY-TWO

  By the time Clint made it back to his room, he was itching to get out of the borrowed suit and into a familiar set of clothes. That itch became even greater when he opened his door and got a look at what was waiting for him inside. Seeing Gretchen lying on his bed with nothing but a sheet draped over her made Clint forget all about getting into his own freshly stitched suit.

  “What are you doing here?” Clint asked in surprise.

  Gretchen stretched her arms over her head and arched her back. Those motions dropped the sheet almost all the way off of her body. The only reason it didn’t fall completely off of her was because it hung on her breasts just long enough for her to get ahold of it again.

  “If you object to me being here,” she said, “I could just leave.”

  Clint stepped into the small cabin and closed the door behind him. Like most of the other cabins on the Misty Morning, his was just big enough to hold a cot, a trunk and a stool. Simply stepping all the way inside to let the door close was enough to put Clint close enough to smell the sweet scent of Gretchen’s skin.

  “You don’t have to leave,” Clint explained. “You just caught me off guard. How’d you know which room was mine?”

  She sat up so her back was against the wall, one leg was curled beneath her and the other dangled off the side of the cot. She used both hands to hold the sheet over her breasts, but let enough of her show to make it obvious she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing underneath. “I asked one of the crew.”

  Although that wasn’t much of an explanation, Clint didn’t need to hear much more to imagine her powers of persuasion. In fact, he was feeling some of those powers at that very moment.

  “I hoped you’d be heading back here,” she told him. “Since you probably wouldn’t be leaving the tables too much later on, I wanted to get ahold of you when I had the chance.”

  Gretchen repositioned herself so she was on her knees on the bed. She dropped the sheet and leaned forward so she could pull Clint closer to her. “I love being on boats,” she whispered. “We’re always moving, and it makes me want to grab hold of someone and move some more. I knew you were that someone the moment I felt your hands on me.”

  Clint tried to think of when he’d had a chance to put his hands on her. Rather than waste time with that, however, he took the opportunity that was right in front of him and placed his hands on the smooth contours of her sides and hips.

  Pressing herself even closer against him, Gretchen nuzzled her face against Clint’s neck and all but purred when she felt his fingers glide along the gentle slope of her back. She then began pulling off his suit, and was so quick to get his pants off that she ripped one of the seams.

  “Sorry about that,” she said.

  Clint laughed and ripped the pants some more as he kicked them off. “Don’t worry about it. I borrowed the suit.”

  The sound of the fabric ripping seemed to light a fire inside of Gretchen, because she sat on the edge of the cot and wrapped her lips around Clint’s cock as if she was starving for the taste of him. Her mouth tightened around him, and she took every inch of him in while her tongue circled his thick column of flesh faster and faster.

  Clint braced himself against the wall as Gretchen sucked him vigorously. Soon, he pulled her head back and pushed her onto the cot so he could climb on top of her. He was right in thinking that would excite her even more, because Gretchen let out a pleasured gasp when her back hit the cot. She spread her legs open wide and squirmed anxiously as he settled on top of her.

  The cot was just wide enough to sleep one person comfortably, so two people putting it to use was something else entirely. After a few quick trials, Clint realized he would have a problem if he continued along this same path. Since stopping wasn’t an option, he pushed the cot away from the wall so he could straddle both it and Gretchen.

  The hair between her legs was the same golden shade as the long strands from the top of her head. It felt wet and soft as Clint plunged his cock into her. Gretchen let out a throaty moan as she reached back to grab hold of the cot on either side of her head. Every time Clint thrust into her, she pumped her hips forward.

  Pretty soon, Clint had to tighten his grip on the cot to keep it from moving around too much. He found it was easier to grab hold of Gretchen instead. Actually, that way turned out to be a whole lot more fun as well.

  Her backside was plump and soft in his hands. Clint lifted her just a bit off the cot so he could thrust between her legs without pushing the cot against the wall. With her still grabbing onto the other end of the cot, they struck a perfect balance that allowed Clint to pound into her again and again, while Gretchen arched her back and let her orgasm pump through her.

  When her climax was over, Gretchen’s body went limp. Clint set her onto the cot and stood over her to catch his breath. She lay with her hair flowing to one side and sweat glistening between her breasts. That sight was more than enough to give Clint the energy he needed to straddle her once more.

  Rather than hold her up, he lifted her legs so they were lying upward against his chest. He slid into her easily from that angle and drove all the way inside. Gretchen moaned softly as Clint slipped in and out of her. When she looked up at him, it was with an exhausted smile. She pulled her legs back until her knees were close to her chest. That way, Clint could settle on top of her a bit more and enter her from a slightly better angle.

  Clint knew he was hitting a sweet spot inside of her because he could feel Gretchen’s entire body tremble. Running his hands along the gentle curves of her backside, Clint buried his cock deep inside of her. When he pulled out, he allowed himself to slip completely out of her and then slid right back in again.

  A few more of those, and Gretchen was breathing heavily as another orgasm built up. This time, when she let out a long, pleasured moan, Clint did the same. He drove all the way inside of her and pushed just a little deeper, until his own climax made him weak in the knees.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Clint was up a hundred dollars and could have been up even more if he hadn’t been trying so hard to lose. The main room was full of new faces, but most of the ones at his table were familiar. Jones and Barry were still there. Mia sat in her normal seat and, every so often, someone else would drift in and out of the game.

  The only time anyone asked any questions was when someone got up to leave the game. When that happened, people looked at the deserter with confusion and pure shock. The night was still young and they were all there to gamble. If not, then more than a few people would ask what else better there was to do on that boat.

  Gretchen wasn’t anywhere to be seen after Clint left his room, so that excuse wasn’t available.

  He didn’t want to risk being spotted walking in the wrong direction if he simply said he had to relieve himself by getting rid of some of the beer he’d been drinking. That only left one more reason why a gambler would volunteer to walk away from one of the best poker games around.

  Clint had to lose.

  At first, it seemed like a fairly easy thing to do. He didn’t want to be too obvious
about it, because that could draw as much suspicion as cheating to win. He also didn’t want to lose too much because he still planned on playing some cards when he was done sorting through his other business.

  Unfortunately, Lady Luck still wasn’t done smiling on him after the gift Clint had gotten in his room earlier that night. Even though he meant to lose a chunk of his winnings for the sake of getting some time away from the poker room, Clint couldn’t possibly throw away some of the hands he was dealt.

  Tossing a natural flush was the same as asking him to toss a pet over the side of a cliff.

  Pitching the straight flush he’d filled in after drawing one card would have been harder than cutting off his own arm.

  Finally, Clint swallowed his gambling instincts and folded after glancing toward his cards without actually looking at them. “I need to get some fresh air,” he said.

  “What?” Barry asked. “Why?”

  “I just want to get up and stretch my legs.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Maybe I’ll come with you. I got a few things I’d like to discuss.”

  Clint had no clue what could be on Barry’s mind, but he didn’t want to find out. Before he was roped into an entire conversation about it, he waved the man off and waited for his next hand to be dealt. This time, he smirked and only asked for one card after raising the bet. When he got his card, Clint raised again.

  “I think I got you now,” Barry said.

  “Can you beat a flush?” Clint asked.

  “Aw shit.”

  Clint laid down his cards and started to reach for the chips. Before he could touch one of them, his hand was grabbed by a cold, iron grip.

  “Not so fast,” Jones snapped as he pulled Clint’s hand away from the pot. “That’s not a flush.”

  “What are you talking about? That’s a ten-high club flush.”

  “That ten isn’t a club. It’s a spade.”

  Clint squinted down at the cards and then glared up at Barry. “You see what happened? I wanted to stretch my legs, you made me stay and now look!”

  Barry winced and gave a halfhearted shrug.

  “You mind if I get up and take my stretch now?” Clint snarled.

  “Nope,” Barry replied.

  “Alone?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Clint walked out of the room looking every bit as frustrated as he felt. It seemed that winning as much as he did had had its disadvantages after all. The players either wanted to get their money back or keep their eye on him to make sure he wasn’t cheating. Either way, they sure as hell didn’t want to let him go. After Clint’s display, however, the table was more than willing to give him some time to himself.

  The moment he stepped outside into the night air, Clint felt better. The cool breeze felt like a splash of water on his face, and the sounds of the river were a welcome relief from the noise that filled the inside of the Misty Morning’s poker room.

  Since there wasn’t anyone else wandering the deck, Clint made a straight line for the door that led down into the section where the sleeping cabins were located. As soon as he got to the bottom of the stairs, Clint could tell he wasn’t going to be alone in the hallway. A few voices drifted to his ears, and stopped at the sound of Clint’s first step.

  It was too late to think he might get in without being noticed.

  In fact, the longer the voices stayed quiet, the more uncomfortable Clint felt.

  When he heard the first steps heading toward the stairs, Clint felt completely exposed.

  The top of the stairs wasn’t lit, so Clint was standing in the middle of thick shadows. The door behind him was closed, and he kept it that way by holding one hand on the knob. Just before he caught sight of feet in the hallway at the base of the narrow staircase, Clint threw open the door and stomped outside.

  As soon as he was clear of the stairs, Clint eased up on his footing so his boots didn’t slam so hard against the deck. There was a door leading into the riverboat’s dining area and saloon, which was on the same level as the deck he was on. Clint entered the saloon and hurried toward the thickest cluster of people he could find.

  Behind him, Clint heard the saloon door open again. He didn’t even glance over his shoulder. Instead, Clint kept a casual smile on his face as he brushed past several gamblers trying to talk to some very attractive ladies, and kept moving toward the door at the opposite end of the room. It was only a matter of seconds before Clint reached it, but he felt as if he’d run a mile to get there.

  Clint eased that door open just enough for him to slip through. Once outside, he ran around the corner to wind up at the door leading back down to the private cabins. There was a man wearing a gun belt standing with his back to Clint, looking around the first corner that Clint had turned to get to the saloon. Now that he’d gotten around and behind that man, Clint moved quickly and quietly to the smaller door leading to the first hallway.

  Walking down those same stairs this time around, Clint’s head was spinning. He’d basically run in a wide circle, but had gone through so many doors that they all seemed to blend together. This time, there were no voices in the hallway. Clint couldn’t see very far past the bottom of the steep stairs, so he headed down them prepared for anything.

  There was one man standing at the door marked by a number five. He was already looking toward the stairs with his hand on his holstered gun.

  Before the armed man could say anything, Clint anxiously asked, “Are you the one who might be able to help those other two?”

  “What other two?”

  “The ones who just ran up those stairs. They told me to tell the other one to get up there and help them with—”

  Clint didn’t even need to finish his lie before the gunman bolted past him and charged up the stairs. Not wanting to waste a second of the time he’d bought for himself, Clint took the maid’s key from his pocket and unlocked the door to room number five.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The room actually wasn’t much bigger than Clint’s. Although the cot appeared to be a bit more comfortable, the only other difference was the table situated against one wall. Clint headed over to that table and took a look at the solitaire layout that was there.

  He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, so Clint just started rummaging. Part of him felt a little bad about going through someone else’s things, especially since he wasn’t completely sure they belonged to the man he was after. Since it didn’t seem like there was going to be much to find anyway, Clint sifted through what was there and hoped for the best.

  Unfortunately, his luck wasn’t holding up there as well as it had been in the poker room. There was no knife lying out for him to find, another bloody piece of clothing or anything else that might possibly be of any help. Even if the things he found did belong to the man with the knife, none of them would do him any good.

  That’s when Clint stopped and reminded himself of what he was after in the first place. He needed something to tell him why someone would go to such lengths to stow away aboard the Misty Morning, where they might have gone once they were on board, and who that person might be. If he found something to tie the man to attacking Clint, that would be even better.

  Clint’s heart pounded faster and faster as if he could feel the gunmen coming back from being distracted. He had even less time available if he wanted to walk out of that room rather than fight his way out. With no better ideas coming to him, Clint dropped to his hands and knees to get a closer look at the floor.

  As he shuffled toward the cot, Clint’s right hand slapped against a flat piece of paper mostly hidden beneath the bed. At first, he thought it was an invitation similar to the one he’d gotten. His hopes soared, since an invitation like his would have a name on it.

  The envelope turned out to be the wrong size to contain an invitation. It was also empty. There was, however, some writing in one corner of the back of the envelope. Clint held it closer so he could read
the scribbled letters in the room’s dim light: DCRM1—that was all that was written on the envelope. Since there wasn’t anything else there and the floor was otherwise clean, Clint got up and started walking toward the door. He stopped when he spotted something on the table that caught his attention. Along with the cards spread out in a solitaire game layout, there were other decks of cards on the edge of the table. But what had caught Clint’s eye wasn’t the cards. The glint of metal coming from beneath one of the decks interested him even more.

  Lifting that deck, Clint recognized the small tool beneath it as a set of shears used to trim the edges of cards so the dealer could manipulate who got what. If there were shears in the room, that meant the person in that room was a card cheat. It also meant the odds were very good that trimming edges of cards wasn’t that person’s only method of getting his results.

  Clint picked up the deck and examined the backs of the cards. For the most part, they bore standard patterns that could be found on any cards. Since he had some idea of what to look for, Clint soon picked out a few marks here and there that didn’t belong.

  Whoever had marked the cards was smart. The marks were difficult to spot and might have gone unnoticed if Clint wasn’t certain they’d be there. Even though he did spot them, the marks weren’t in any particular pattern to make them easy to read. That was a trick used by more sophisticated cheats, since they had to memorize an entire alphabet of code rather than a simple pattern of marks in certain spots telling number or suit.

  Even marks within suits were different, which would have made the deck more trouble than it was worth to most cheats. This one, however, didn’t mind memorizing fifty-two disconnected markings. It also meant he had to be awfully good at substituting his deck in the middle of a game. As Clint was about to put the cards back where he’d found them, he realized something else: The marks on the back were exactly like the ones used in the Misty Morning’s poker room.