The Lincoln Ransom

by JR Roberts

Clint put his glass down untouched and stood up. “Thank you.” He was talking to her, not him.

  He followed her to the front door. She opened it and stood aside, her drink still in her hand.

  “Good-night, Gemma.”

  “Wait,” she said, as he started out.

  He stopped. She stepped to him and kissed him on the mouth. She tasted of brandy, and something else that only she could taste of. She broke the kiss and licked his lower lip before stepping back.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  “Because I don’t have time to fuck you,” she said.

  He took a step, put his arm around her, pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. When the kiss was done they were both out of breath.

  “Oh my,” she said.

  “My loss,” he said, and left.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Clint went back to his hotel. When he arrived there was activity in the lobby. Angie and her father were there, with Benny the clerk, and two policemen. And coming down the stairs from the second floor was Detective Kingman, who spotted Clint coming in the door.

  “Mr. Adams,” he said, “come on in. You’ll find this very interesting.”

  “What’s going on?” Clint asked.

  He and Kingman met in the center of the lobby, with the others standing on the outskirts.

  “Apparently,” Kingman said, “somebody broke into your room.”

  “Is that a fact? Did they get anything?”

  “Well,” Kingman said, “we’ll need you to tell us that. Would you come up?”

  “Lead the way, Detective.”

  As they walked past Angie’s father he said to Clint, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Adams …”

  “It’s not your fault, sir,” Clint said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  He followed Kingman upstairs and down the hall to his room, where the door was wide open. Inside the room had been torn apart. Even the mattress was on the floor, having been sliced open.

  “What a mess,” Clint said.

  “Can you tell if anything’s missing?”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I didn’t have that much to begin with.”

  He went through his saddlebags and put them down.

  “My saddlebags are still here, so’s my rifle,” Clint said. “That’s about all I had.”

  “Yes,” Kingman said, “but what did someone think you had?”

  “Damned if I know,” Clint said. “Did they break into any other rooms?”

  “No,” Kingman said, “just yours. That’s why I’m wondering what they thought they’d find.”

  “I can’t help you,” Clint said. “Maybe they just knew where my room was and wanted a momento.”

  “Just wanted to say they stole something from the Gunsmith, huh?”

  Clint shrugged.

  “Except you say they didn’t get anything.”

  “Did someone scare them off?”

  “No,” Kingman said, “the owner’s daughter said she came up and found the door open and the room a shambles.”

  “I see,” Clint said, still looking around. “Well, I don’t see anything missing, Detective. Maybe they were just vandals.”

  “You mean like Lincoln’s Tomb?”

  Clint looked at the man.

  “Yes,” he said, “exactly like Lincoln’s Tomb.”

  “Uh-huh. Why don’t we go back downstairs?”

  The two men walked down the hall, and down the steps to the lobby in silence.

  “All right, sir,” Kingman said to Angie’s father, “we’ve done all we can.”

  “Thank you, deputy.”

  “Detective.”

  “Yes, of course,” the man said, “Detective.”

  Kingman looked at Clint.

  “I’m sure this gentleman will see that you get a new room.”

  “Of course,” the manager said, “of course. Benny? Another key for Mr. Adams.”

  Benny didn’t look happy, but he turned and grabbed another key and handed it to his boss, who in turn handed it to Clint.

  “Good-night, gentlemen,” Kingman said, then executed a slight bow and said to Angie, “Miss.”

  He left, with the other officers following him.

  “Mr. Adams,” Angie’s father said, “I’m terribly sorry—”

  “That’s all right,” Clint said, “not your fault. I’ll just move my things to the other room.” He nodded to Angie and headed for the stairs.

  On the way he heard the man say to Angie, “We’ve got to get up there and clean that room!”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Clint moved his belonging to the new room, which did not have a window overlooking the street. He sat on the bed and thought about it. The only person he could think of who might have ransacked his room was Brad Wyatt, looking for the ransom money. In fact, he might have even been doing it while Clint was talking with Colonel Wentworth.

  Wyatt must have been disappointed to find nothing of value in the room. The question was, did Wentworth send him, or did the security man act on his own?

  Clint had one more day in Springfield. Or he could simply board a train the next morning and leave. It was obvious he was going to have to make the trek to Colorado to pay the ransom. He decided to wait until morning to make the decision.

  He decided to do some reading and found himself hoping that Angie did not come to his room, as she had promised. Maybe her father would keep her occupied.

  But he was unable to distract himself with Mark Twain, found himself just sitting, pondering his next move. How smart had it been to reveal himself to Colonel Wentworth? And yet Wentworth, and his colleagues, all knew who was bringing the ransom money. Facing the man here in Springfield had probably done no harm. But maybe it was now time to get to the task at hand.

  Yes, he determined that he should leave in the morning.

  As he was preparing himself for bed there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was Angie, he nevertheless carried his gun to the door.

  “Angie, I’m afraid—” He stopped short when he saw Gemma Wentworth, wrapped in a capelike coat.

  “Sorry,” she said, “not Angie. May I come in?”

  Clint peeked each way in the hall to determine that she was alone.

  “I’m quite alone, I assure you.”

  “Come in.”

  She entered, moving past him with a swish of skirts, trailing a heady scent behind her. As with the taste of her when he kissed her—or she him—this was a small singular to her.

  She turned to face him.

  “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t just let you go.”

  “Let me go?”

  “Let you leave Springfield,” she said. “Are you going tomorrow?”

  “I was actually going to stay another day, but I’ve just decided tonight to leave in the morning.

  “Then it’s good that I came when I did.”

  “Do you have something for me?” he asked. “Some … information?”

  “Information, perhaps,” she said, “but something? Definitely. And something for me.”

  She reached to the tie that held her cape in place, pulled it. The cape fell away, revealing the top of her frock to be plunging. Her shoulders were bare, as were the slopes of her generous breasts.

  “I was beautiful in my youth,” she said.

  “You’re beautiful now,” he said.

  “I’m happy you think so.” She reached behind her with both hands, causing her breasts to jut forward. She undid the dress with both hands and it dropped to the floor, leaving only a silky undergarment. With a whisper of silk she discarded that was well, and stood naked before him.

  Gloriously naked, a body that was full and firm, breasts like ripe fruits …

  “After kissing you,” she said, “I needed more … much more.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Clint took her hand with his free hand, guided her toward the bed. As he slid his gun back into the holster on the bedpost, he could feel the heat coming off her body.

&n
bsp; With both hands now free he reached for her breasts, cupped them in his hands, enjoying the weight of him. Her nipples were light brown, the flesh around them dappled with goose flesh. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to his touch.

  “What about your husband?” he asked.

  “He has other things on his mind,” she said. “Besides, he and I are married in name only. There is nothing between us.”

  “Well, that’s good …”

  He lifted her breasts to his lips, kissed the flesh, licked the nipples, then bit them lightly, lovingly.

  “Oooh,” she said, “it has been a long time.”

  He could tell. She was already wet, and he could smell her readiness. He continued to caress her breasts with one had, and slid the other between her legs. As expected, she was soaking, and sensitive. She gasped as he slid his finger along her moist slit.

  Abruptly, he pulled her to him, kissed her soundly, then turned and lowered her onto the bed. As she lay there on her back she watched him undress, and when his rigid penis came into view her eyes widened.

  “It has been a long time,” she said. “But … I’ve never seen anything … you’re beautiful.”

  He crawled over her, lowered himself onto her, and guided the head of his cock to her wet portal. He pierced her with ease, and she immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, locking him into place.

  They began to move together, her moans coming loud and long in his ear. Just for a moment he wondered if others in the building could hear her, but then decided it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was what was happening between them.

  “Oh God, yes,” she groaned. “That’s it … ooh-ooh-ooooh … don’t stop …”

  “Why would I stop?” he breathed into her ear.

  She reached around to hold him by the cheeks of his ass, pulling on him each time he thrusted into her. He, in turn, slid his hands beneath her, cupping the cheeks of her butt and doing the same.

  Before long they were both grunting with the effort of fucking, the bed rail banging against the wall, all but fairly leaping off the floor, and before long she bit his shoulder to keep from screaming, and he stifled his own rising shout, and it was if that effort only intensified the sensations they were each feeling, eventually leaving them both totally drained …

  “My God,” she said, a little later. “I’m so glad I decided to come here.”

  “So am I.”

  She reached for him as they lay side-by-side, took his penis in her hand, just holding it. It grew semi-hard just from her tough.

  “I wish you weren’t leaving tomorrow.”

  “I have to leave,” he said, “and you know why.”

  “I know remarkably little,” she said, “beyond the fact that you’re paying a ransom, and what that ransom is for.”

  “So you can’t tell me who else is involved?”

  “Aside from my husband and that idiot, Wyatt? No. My husband is involved with a band of zealots who can’t admit the Confederacy is gone.” She stroked his cock, making it harden even more. “You should be very careful. I believe they’ll all mad as hatters.”

  “I’m always careful.”

  “I have to get back to the house,” she said, “but first …”

  She rolled over, lowered herself to his crotch. She continued to stroke his cock until it was nice and hard, and then lowered her mouth over him. She engulfed him, hotly, wetly, and began to suck, moaning as she did so, and kept it up until he grunted and exploded into her mouth …

  He watched her dress, also wishing he wasn’t leaving in the morning and that she could stay until then. Angie had been a nice diversion in the tub, but Gemma was a real woman, whose hungers had been reawakened after years of unhappiness with her husband.

  “I do have something else to tell you,” she said, patting her hair into place.

  “And what’s that?”

  “My husband is an old goat, and so are some of the others,” she said, “but they have managed to convince younger men to join them. In essence, they’ve recruited new soldiers into the Confederacy, so you have to be very careful. I suggest that before you go anywhere near Segundo, you recruit some help, yourself.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I was already considering that.”

  “Good.”

  She went to the bed, kissed him quickly and backed away as he reached for her.

  “I have to leave now, or not leave til morning.”

  “That’d be okay with me.”

  “I don’t want to give my husband a reason to come after you before you leave.”

  “Would he be jealous?”

  “It wouldn’t be jealousy,” she said. “Just that your had something that belonged to him.”

  “Why don’t you leave?”

  “And go where?” she asked. “Do what? No, I’m trapped where I am. But I thank you for giving me moments of freedom, Clint. Just do me a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t get yourself killed.”

  “I’ll do my best, Gemma.”

  She blew him another kiss and slipped out the door.

  Chapter Twenty

  He woke the next morning feeling oddly refreshed after an energetic night. When he went downstairs to check out Angie’s father was behind the desk.

  “Leaving early, sir?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened—”

  “That has nothing to do with it,” Clint said. “I simply have to go.”

  “Of course.”

  “Is Angie around? I’d like to say goodbye.”

  “I’m afraid not, sir,” he said. “She went up to see if your new room was satisfactory, and when she came down she was quite upset.”

  Uh-oh. That probably meant she knew about Gemma.

  “Well,” Clint said, “please say goodbye for me.”

  “Of course.”

  Clint paid his bill, went across the street to get Eclipse, who seemed to be in fine shape.

  “He eats more than any two horses,” the hostler said.

  “Do you want to charge me extra?” Clint asked.

  “Hell, no,” the man said. “My pleasure to have him in my place.”

  “Thank you,” Clint said.

  He left the livery, started walking Eclipse toward the train station. He didn’t know what time the first train left, and would need to make arrangements to get Eclipse onto a stock car.

  When he got to the station and went inside he found Detective Dan Kingman sitting on a bench. The man rose as he entered.

  “Waiting for me?”

  “I am.”

  “What made you think I was leaving today?”

  “Let’s just call it a hunch.”

  “Well, I have to find out when the first train leaves, and make arrangements for my horse. What can I do for you?”

  “You said something about having a name for me before you left town.”

  “I did say that, didn’t I?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re gonna disappoint me?”

  “No,” Clint said, “I don’t think what I have to tell you will be a disappointment.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I’m fairly certain Brand Wyatt was the inside man at the cemetery.”

  “I suspected as much,” Wentworth said. “That’s nothing new.”

  “Well, you might look into a man who has a carpenter’s shop here in town. His name is Samuel Wentworth. Actually, he calls himself Colonel Wentworth.”

  “Colonel?”

  “A Confederate Colonel.”

  “Really?”

  “There are still those who haven’t accepted the outcome of the war.”

  “I hate zealots.”

  “I know that you mean.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I believe Wentworth’s wife is an innocent,” Clint added, for Gemma’s sake.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Kingman put his hand out, and Clint shook it. “Than
ks.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “I’m sure I shouldn’t ask if you enjoyed your stay here in Springfield.”

  “Actually,” Clint said, thinking of Angie and Gemma, “it had its moments.”

  The detective left the station as Clint stepped to the window to make his travel arrangements.

  Next stop: Denver.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Denver, Co

  Talbot Roper sat back in his chair and considered everything his friend had just told him.

  “Why the heck would they bring the body and the casket all the way out here?” he asked.

  “I have the same question,” Clint said.

  “There’s no way they could have removed the body from the casket,” Roper went on, “not after all this time.”

  “Agreed. If they traveled with it, they had to travel with the entire thing.”

  “You know what I think?” Roper said.

  “No,” Clint said, “but that’s what I want to know, Tal, what you think.”

  “I don’t think they intend to give the body back when you pay the ransom,” the detective said. “I think if you want that body back you’re going to have to take it.”

  “Makes sense to me.”

  Roper waved to the waiter for the check but when it came Clint grabbed it.

  The two friends left the restaurant and the hotel to walk aimlessly.

  “Okay, my friend,” Roper said, “what do you want from me besides my opinion?”

  “First, I’m wondering if the thieves came all the way by wagon,” Clint said, “or if at some point they put the casket on a train.”

  “I can check on that.”

  “Then I need to know what the situation is in Segundo,” Clint added. “Is there any law-and-order there? Or is it an outlaw hold?”

  “I can find that out, too,” Roper assured him. “Anything else?”

  “Well,” Clint said, “like you said, I think I’m going to have to take the body back. I was kind of hoping you’d ride down there with me, and watch my back.”

  “You know I will,” Roper said. “What about Masterson? Can we get hold of him?”

  “I sent some telegrams, but got no word back,” Clint said, shaking his head. “I don’t know where Bat is, or what he’s up to.”