by J. Roberts
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
ONE - YUMA PRISON
TWO - LABYRINTH, TEXAS
THREE
FOUR - WICHITA, KANSAS FOUR AND A HALF YEARS AGO
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
Watch for ANATOMY OF A LAWMAN
Long Time Coming
The street was just starting to come alive, and for the moment nobody noticed the two men talking to each other. But when they moved out into the street, facing each other, that was when people stopped to watch. That could only mean one thing.
Clint saw people starting to notice them, figured they’d better get it over with before a crowd gathered.
“Go ahead, Tarver,” Clint said. “Do it.”
“That’s right,” Tarver said, “I heard you always give away the first move. That’ll cost you, this time. Cost you big.”
“Just shut up and do what you’ve been waiting four and a half years to do—die.”
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THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him . . . the Gunsmith.
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THE HUNT FOR CLINT ADAMS
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition / July 2010
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ONE
YUMA PRISON
Three men.
Four horses.
Just outside the main gate of Yuma Prison.
Barclay looked at his watch impatiently.
“He was supposed to be out by now,” he said.
“Relax,” Dexter said.
“Whaddaya think the holdup is?” Gerald asked.
Dexter looked at him.
“The warden’s tryin’ to make him sweat,” Dexter said. “Don’t worry about it. Tarver ain’t gonna sweat. He’s been waitin’ for this day for five years. Another couple of minutes ain’t gonna make a difference.”
“You think he’ll be . . . different?” Gerald asked.
Dexter was Tarver’s age, late thirties. He looked at Gerald, who was in his late twenties.
“He’ll be tougher,” he said.
“Yeah, but will he be as fast?”
“Fast don’t go away, kid,” Dexter said.
“Lotsa fast guns get killed when they get older,” Gerald said. “I read it—”
“Stop readin’ dime novels, kid,” Dexter said. “I told you, fast don’t go away. It’s the nerve that goes away, and Tarver’s just fine.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
Barclay looked at his watch again and shook his head.
Tarver walked the hall, one guard ahead of him, another behind. When they got to the warden’s office, the front guard opened the door and stood aside. Tarver entered the room, and the guard closed the door behind him. He saw his belongings on the Warden’s desk.
“You processin’ prisoners out yerself now, Warden?” he asked.
Warden William Bankhead looked up from his desk. He smoothed his gray hair unnecessarily and stood up.
“Only in special cases, Tarver.”
“And I’m a special case?”
“From the first day you got here.”
Tarver frowned.
“I done my time, Warden,” he said. “I didn’t cause no trouble.”
“I know,” th
e Warden said. “That’s why you’re getting out six months early.”
“I earned it.”
The warden stared at Tarver for a few moments, then said, “Pick up your things.”
Tarver approached the desk, grabbed his clothes and the meager possessions he’d had in his pockets when he was caught.
“What about my money and my gun?”
“The money was stolen,” the warden said, “and I’m not about to let you walk out of here with a gun.”
“That gun is mine,” Tarver said. “You got no right to keep it.”
The warden hesitated, then opened a drawer and took out a gun and gunbelt. There were no bullets in the gun or the belt.
“Tarver, you think everybody is fooled by your good con act, but I’m not. I know that within the month, you’ll either be dead or back in here.”
“Not a chance either way, Warden,” Tarver said.
Right in front of the warden he stripped off his prison clothes, donned his old shirt and pants, and pulled on his boots. Then he strapped on his gunbelt, checked his Peacemaker. It needed to be cleaned and oiled.
And loaded.
“Thanks, Warden.”
“The guards will walk you out.”
“Great,” Tarver said. “I hope I never see you again, Warden.”
“You will.”
Tarver walked to the door, then turned and looked at the older man.
“Well then, Warden,” he said. “I guess what I mean is, you better hope you never see me again. Ya see, I know where you live. I know you got a wife.”
The warden stood up. Physically, he was an unimpressive man.
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m just tellin’ you, Warden,” Tarver said. “I’m just tellin’ you.”
He opened the door and walked out.
When the front gate opened the three men straightened and watched as Tarver walked out.
“Wait here,” Dexter said.
He walked up to Tarver and the two men shook hands.
“Tarver and Dexter, together again,” Tarver said.
“It’s good to see you, Tarver.”
Tarver looked past Dexter.
“That Gerald?”
“Yeah.”
“How old is he now?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Who’s the other one?”
“Barclay,” Dexter said. “You don’t know him. He’s . . . okay.”
“I need better than okay, Dexter,” Tarver said. “You know that.”
“Yeah, okay,” Dexter said. “I got some boys in mind. Where we goin’ first?”
“Yuma,” Tarver said. “I need a drink, new clothes, and some good food. And a woman.”
“Anything else?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tarver said, touching his gun, “some bullets.
TWO
LABYRINTH, TEXAS
Lisa Bonner was rolled over onto her belly and smiled at Clint Adams. Her long black tresses were a pretty mess, but her buttocks were two pale, inflated-to-bursting bubbles. And she had the breasts to match. She was a woman bursting with sexuality, which was what had attracted him to her in the first place.
It had been her first night in Labyrinth when they’d met in Rick’s Place, Rick Hartman’s saloon and gambling hall. Rick not only allowed women in to drink but to gamble as well. The vivid blue gown that Lisa had been wearing, which was so low cut that her luscious breasts were almost spilling out, attracted every eye in the room when she entered. But when their eyes met across the room, it was like an electric shock in the air. Even Rick noticed it.
“Wow,” Hartman said, “and without a word.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that woman is already destined for your bed tonight, and you haven’t even spoken a word. I don’t know how you do it.”
Rick was right. She was in Clint’s bed that night, the next night, and this past night. For the third morning in a row he was looking at her hair, her skin, her butt, and wishing she’d turn over so he could see her breasts.
“You ain’t goin’ anywhere, mister,” she told him. “Not yet.”
“It’s morning,” Clint said. He had pulled on his trousers and was now buttoning his shirt. “I’m hungry. I’m going to have some breakfast.”
“Uh-uh,” she said, shaking her head.
“Lisa,” he told her, “you make a man build up an appetite.”
“Clint—”
“There’s only one way you’re going to stop me from going out that door,” he said.
“How’s that?”
“You’ll have to turn over onto your back.”
She smiled at him, revealing beautiful white teeth, then bit her bottom lip and rolled herself over very slowly. Lying on her back, those solid, chubby breasts were like two mountains of flesh.
“Oh boy,” he said, stripping off his shirt.
He moved to the bed, slid his hands over her breasts, rubbing his palms over the nipples, which grew beneath his touch.
She moaned and put her hands over his.
“I love when you touch me,” she said.
He leaned down and kissed her mouth, then her neck. He slid his hands farther down, over her belly, down into the tangle of bushy black hair. His fingers parted the hair until he saw something shiny and glistening, wet and pink. He rubbed his palm over her pussy and she arched her back. He slid his middle finger up and down that moist slit until she was moaning and writhing beneath his touch. Then he stopped.
“Wha—”
He moved around the bed so he could look down at her, then unbuckled his belt. She watched as he got naked again, his rigid penis jutting out at her.
“Oh, yes,” she said, her eyes brightening, “now that’s what a girl calls breakfast!”
She pulled him down onto the bed with her, rolled him onto his back and mounted him.
“I don’t want to waste any time,” she told him, lifting her hips and sliding down on him, enveloping him in her heat. “Just lie still and let me have you, and then you can go and have your breakfast.”
Almost an hour later, Lisa once again watched from the bed as Clint got dressed.
“This time I’m going to make it out the door,” he promised her.
She laughed, wrapped in the white sheet so that only her pale shoulders showed.
“You know,” she said, “I’m supposed to leave town today.”
“That’s right,” he said. “You’ve got other shows to do, right?”
“That’s right,” she said, “but I could be persuaded to stay a while longer.”
“That wouldn’t be very good for your reputation, would it?” he asked. “Missing a show?”
“Well,” she said, “you give it some thought. I’ll wait right here for you, and when you get back you can tell me if you want me to go or not.”
“I don’t think I should have any say in the matter, Lisa,” he said, “but okay, if that’s the way you want to play it.”
“I’ll just take a little nap while you eat,” she said, “because, Clint Adams, you do tire a girl out.”
THREE
When Clint walked into the café, Rick Hartman was sitting there with a plate of steak and eggs in front of him.
“You’re late,” Hartman said as Clint approached his table. There were only a couple of other tables still occupied, as most people had finished their breakfasts and gotten on with their day.
“Couldn’t be helped,” Clint said, sitting across from Rick. “By the way, late for what?”
“This is where you’ve been having breakfast most of the time, lately,” Rick said.
“And you usually have it at your own place,” Clint said. “What’s changed?”
“Well, I figured I’d find you here, but . . . why don’t you order first and then we’ll talk,” Hartman suggested.
The waiter came over and Clint ordered the same thing Hartman had.
“Steak and eggs comin’ up, Mr. Adams,” the waiter said.
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“Thanks, Ed.”
Clint picked up the coffeepot, righted the cup on his side of the table, and poured it full. He drank some of the brew then topped off his mug.
“Okay, Rick,” he said. “What’s on your mind? Must be something important for you to eat somebody else’s steak and eggs.”
“Tarver.”
Clint looked at Hartman over the rim of his coffee cup.
“What about him?”
“He’s out.”
“Is it time, already?”
“The word I got is he was let go early,” Hartman said. “Good behavior.”
Clint laughed. “Good behavior,” he said, shaking his head. “Jed Tarver?”
“Sounds funny, all right.”
“Where is he now?”
“That I don’t know,” Hartman said.
“Tell me what you do know, Rick.”
Ed came back at that point with Clint’s breakfast, set the plate down in front of him with a basket of fresh biscuits and some butter.
“Thanks, Ed.”
“Sure, Mr. Adams.”
“Okay,” Hartman said. “The Yuma guards saw three men waiting for Tarver when he got out. They said he was real friendly with one of them. The other two sort of stood by and watched the reunion. Any idea who that man would’ve been?”
“Probably Bart Dexter,” Clint said. “They always rode together, like brothers.”
“Dexter know you?”
“He does.”
“Tarver’s going to want to come after you, you know,” Hartman said. “He’s been waiting for this.”
“I figured that all along,” Clint said. “I knew he’d come after me when he got out.”
“What do you want to do about it?”
“Not much, I guess,” Clint said. “What would you suggest?”
“Maybe you should find him before he can find you,” Hartman said.
“And what? Kill him?”
