Garrett continued to level his shivering, sad eyes on her even while scraping ladlefuls of nothing into men’s cups. They probably would have stood there over the empty pot until a hungry tracklayer hit them over the head with it, but Irene came back from the Bucket of Blood then and eased the ladle out of Garrett’s hand.
“Thanks for the break,” Irene chirped. “They’re ten deep at the bar in the Bucket of Blood. Old Roy Farnsworth was trying to get fresh with me, but I told him I had to get back here and…”
Irene continued blathering while Liberty and Garrett pulled away from the sideboard, still staring at each other. Liberty must have made an instant decision, for she found herself wiping her hands on her apron and saying, “Come with me.”
Garrett grinned happily, and Liberty barked at Irene, “We’re going on a mission to find your necklace. Pot’s empty. Ned! More stew!”
Tossing aside her apron, Liberty even dared to grab ahold of Garrett’s hand in full view of the crowd. It would have been easy to lose him in the milling, punching, stumbling horde—that was her reasoning. But frankly, it was nice to feel his broad, dry hand in hers, the long, tapered fingers twining around her own. When they bumped into each other in their weaving through the crowd, his firmly muscled body exuded a warm reassurance that gave her a giddy excitement.
Maybe it was part of the new way she’d been acting ever since that run-in with the stranger on the train. Liberty had been constantly surprising herself with actions even a modern suffragist might find shocking. Something about her encounter with that alluring stranger had set into motion a whole new attitude in Liberty. For example, would she ever have dreamed she’d be serving a congregation of roostered railroad men? Mingling with prairie flowers, highwaymen, and gamblers, without the oversight of a chaperone?
That was how things were done in the Far West. How she had wanted to ask Ivy about the stranger on the train! She knew she was in love with him. She could still feel his hands around her waist and his soft lips between her teeth. His handsome, stately face was etched into her brain, and she imagined she’d look up and see him standing next in line for her stew. He couldn’t be a tracklayer, gambler, or shyster—not dressed that way, in a clean greatcoat, clean Stetson, and smelling of hay.
But she couldn’t ask Ivy. Not that it would have been unseemly—the sisters were close and not afraid of sharing secrets. It was just that Liberty could not describe the man to Ivy. She hadn’t gotten his name. And how many men in Laramie City wore greatcoats and Stetsons? The tattoo was probably the only descriptive feature, but Liberty had been too busy licking the tip of his nose to really notice what the tattoo was.
She didn’t let go of Garrett’s hand until they were around the corner onto Grand Avenue. There, away from the crowd, she was forced to release him and stroll casually. She was aroused by his long-legged, loping gait. His long arms swung easily at his thighs, and he cast her many devilish, playful glances. From his beautifully rich drawl she reckoned he was from the South.
Liberty said, “I’ll show you where Taggart was last known to live. Irene pointed out the house to me. Perhaps he left behind some indication of where he went.”
“I thank you very kindly,” Garrett said in his beautiful, resonant voice. “It’s suddenly become a very important undertaking for me, to find either one of these gents.”
“I’m very sorry about your wife,” Liberty said experimentally. Some people didn’t want to discuss dead spouses. Yet others looked for the chance to pour out their hearts.
Garrett said, “Yes, she was a good woman. She died during the recent War Between the States. So you can see why I’m very anxious to get her wedding ring back from that shit—I mean, that bad egg.”
Liberty laughed and wished she could take his hand again. She was becoming so fast, so loose! It had all started with the tattooed man, and she had been glad every night that she had brought her woman’s toy with her from Hyde Park. Every night she had been lost in such a whirlwind of lust for that man, she had plunged the long, fat implement into her pussy, imagining it was her secret lover’s penis. She writhed on her back on her mattress, imagining she was splayed out for his eyes only, trying to muffle her sighs from the household’s ears. She licked her fingers and pinched her nipples, pretending her lover nibbled and bit them.
That explained it. That was why she was now having carnal ideas about Garrett. Her female hysteria had been leading her down dark avenues. She had been playing with her toy too much. Its use had only toned her muscles and increased the blood flow to her vagina. As a result, she now craved more. She must remember to put that gadget back into its box and slide it far under her bed. Otherwise, she might get so carried away and finally reach that “hysterical paroxysm” she’d heard about. Women had discussed it openly at the Women’s Rights Convention in New York, but none had seemed to have ever actually obtained that feared paroxysm. It seemed to involve a complete mental annihilation of a woman’s soul—that, or something so ecstatic one might die.
One would have to be a tomfool blockhead not to notice that this elegant man who loped so easily next to her was not a thoroughbred of the highest order. He may have been a half-breed, one could tell a mile away from his lovely café au lait skin, but his exquisite bones were put together beautifully, like a sculpture of a Nubian god.
“Don’t feel bad about cussing,” Liberty said now. “I’d cuss, too, in your shoes. Here’s the house.”
It was just a small affair, a two-room hastily built house. Someone had gone to the effort to add a covered porch that wrapped around three outer walls, and there looked to be a well connected to the new city water system, but it was nothing fancy.
“Should we bother knocking?” Garrett wondered. “Someone might be squatting in there.”
Garrett knocked, but as expected, no rustling came from inside. He opened the unlocked door.
The house was almost completely empty. There was never much garbage in the Far West—settlers found a use for everything. A table contained nothing but some steer bones, an empty bottle of pepper sauce, and a few scattered corncobs. The next room boasted an empty wardrobe and a bedstead with no mattress.
“At least the windows have glass,” Liberty noted.
Disappointed, they went onto the back porch and stared at the well. A shovel stood propped against the well, and Garrett had the idea to look into the well, but he saw nothing but water.
He grinned at Liberty in that mischievous way. “Was hoping to find Taggart’s body in there.”
Liberty perched on the edge of the well. “Can’t say as I blame you, Garrett.” She had already stopped calling him “Private O’Rourke.”
He put his hands on his lean hips, and Liberty saw he was equipped with a pair of Colt Army revolvers. “They’re bad men, Miss Libby. Taggart’s associate, Shady Barnhart, was the Indian agent out at the fort. I used to help him, because I’m familiar with the Lakota language and he never bothered learning.”
Liberty smiled. “He sounds like a regular shit.”
Garrett grinned warmly. “Well, a few days ago the new agent came to the fort and found out that Shady made off with all of the Indians’ supplies. So this new agent is my partner now in tracking down these shit sacks.”
Liberty stood, jamming her hands onto her hips, too. “This Shady bastard stole all the Indians’ supplies? No wonder there are so many damned little Indian nippers wandering around town literally sobbing with starvation! I’ve heard stories, too, about settlers just up and taking land that was supposed to be for Indians.”
Garrett’s Nubian face took on the appropriate look of empathy. “That’s part of why we’re after Shady, miss. Seems he’s also sold off all the land he was supposed to give the Sioux.”
Liberty walked in little circles fuming, she was so angry at these bastards. She instantly saw why Garrett felt compassion for the Indians. He had obviously once been a downtrodden slave, too, loathed by upstanding white society, and his lot had not much improved
since the War and coming West. “How I detest people like that, Garrett! Part of what I wanted to do by coming to the Dakota Territory was to help, to organize. Son of a gun, I know that soon women will have the vote! And then we’ll see what’s what—women would never vote for anyone who would condone such outright thievery!”
“Bully for you, miss!” Garrett’s waving fist urged her in her tirade.
“Do you know that I bought a pair of men’s trousers yesterday at Freund and Brothers? By God, I’m going to wear them, too! I don’t care what all these stuck-up Mrs. Grundys think. That’s one of the reasons I came West—I knew there’d be more freedom, more liberties, things would be more relaxed. There would be more ground to pioneer!”
Liberty knew she was making a scene like all possessed, but it felt good, and Garrett was encouraging her. “I know I’m not going to make a difference by serving chile at the Cactus Club, so I had an idea to start a school. A school, Garrett! Laramie City’s first school. With all these people coming to town, there are enough children to start a school.”
“That’s a bully idea, miss! This new agent friend of mine could even help—would you be accepting Indian children in the school?”
“I hadn’t thought about that yet,” Liberty admitted. “Maybe just the ones who already know English, at first.”
“Wait!”
Liberty was stunned when Garrett grabbed her upper arms, his beautifully fringed eyes aglow with excitement. He turned her around so that she faced the meager building, his face heavy with importance.
It took her a few seconds to understand what he was getting at. When she did, she slowly lifted a hand to cover her open mouth.
Taggart’s old house. Her new school!
She grabbed ahold of Garrett’s upper arms, too, and they jumped around in circles. “Garrett! You’re a genius! I’ll figure out who owns the house—I’m sure we can buy it for thirty dollars—and then I’ll just have to find furniture and school supplies. Books, and—”
Garrett tried to still her. “I can help. I’ve built many a table and chair in my time. We’ll just need to find lumber.”
Liberty carried on. “Someone to paint it—oh, how about a nice red? I can’t have an unpainted school.”
She was so abuzz with excitement she didn’t notice that it was Garrett’s turn to open his mouth, dumbfounded. He released her, stood erect, and took slow steps toward her new school.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Someone told me to check the roof,” it sounded as though he mumbled.
Liberty asked, “I thought you didn’t know where this place was?”
Ignoring her, Garrett circled two sides of the building, scanning the roof. Liberty followed, more interested in the remodeling that would be required to bring the building up to par. Her father could supply the lumber for the desks and chairs Garrett offered to build. What a dear, offering to help her, when they’d only just met!
She turned to go back inside the back door and visualize the new school afresh. But Garrett caught her by the arm. He was pointing at the roof.
“There,” he said in a new, mystical voice. “See that thing sticking out from underneath the overhang?”
“Yes,” Liberty said vaguely. It seemed important to Garrett, though, so she looked again. An implement that resembled a fireplace poker had been jammed into a gap, and now her curiosity was piqued. “How do we get it down?” It was about two feet too high for Garrett to reach even on his tiptoes, and there were no chairs in the house. “We could go drag that table out here, and—”
It felt almost natural when Garrett got behind her and bent at the knees, encircled her hips in his long, strong arms, and carried her to the roof. It was exhilarating to be held up like this by such a solid tree of a man. His face was jammed against her back so firmly she could feel his hot cheekbone through her calico gown. He didn’t wobble or wiggle in the slightest as he lifted her, and she easily yanked out the object, which appeared to be a pair of tongs.
“I’ve got it,” she said breathlessly.
Her body twisted and turned as he let her down, and she had to lift the tongs so as not to bash him in the head. His closely shorn skull raked against her bare breastbone, instantly stiffening her nipples. When his sharply sculpted cheekbone slid against her neck, the creaminess of his skin made her lose all reason. As he set her gently on the ground, she stayed on tiptoes, the better to wedge the toe of her slipper into his boot top.
Their faces met. He panted so heavily she was afraid she’d been too weighty for him, and she decided to eat less bread. Then she knew he didn’t pant from the exertion of lifting her. No, the corners of his eyelids were wilted with lust.
She felt as though she clung to an immobile pillar, he was so muscular. One second she was searching his expressive, fervent eyes—the next second he was pressing her against the schoolhouse, voraciously kissing her.
Garrett lifted her up the wall and burrowed his strong hips into her. He had her pinned against the wooden boards so firmly she was light as air, and it was easy to lift her other slipper and wedge it in his boot. The metal tongs thudded to the ground. He moaned in the pit of his throat as she nibbled and licked his succulent lips. The scent of his fresh sweat aroused Liberty so, the lips of her sex expanded and nearly clenched from wanting him.
She felt his long donkey’s prick prodding her shivering pussy. Her pussy seemed to have a mind of its own for measuring and sensing, as her core instantly discerned that Garrett was possessed of a cockhead as big as her fist. Her pussy responded to this normally shocking tidbit by fluttering strongly, the entire inner canal of her sex clutching for that juicy appendage.
It was admirable that he restrained himself from fucking her right up against the wall. He did not hump her fully clothed, as she had done to the man on the train with shameful abandon. He merely pinned her to the wall with his powerful hips and kissed her hungrily yet respectfully. It was obvious he was holding back his lust. Garrett O’Rourke could have strangled a wild boar barehanded, but he cradled Liberty’s ass as though he weighed baby chicks.
She ran her palms over the coarse, cropped hair that covered his skull, something new and enticing. When he briefly pulled back a fraction of an inch to whisper, “Miss Libby…” against her mouth, she knew she had lost him.
He pulled away completely, wiping his face with his hand as though to rid it of shame. He regarded her wide-eyed, as though he’d never seen her before in his life. He raised his hands in surrender, whispering humbly, “I’m sorry.”
She giggled, to rid herself both of awkwardness and also of lust. “It’s quite all right,” she said lightly, to smooth over the moment. At least I know who you are. That other man, I didn’t even know his name. “It’s my fault. I’ve been lacking manners ever since I came out West. It must be all this”—she waved her hand to include the entire town—“hobnobbing about with roostered slobs who don’t have manners enough to carry guts to a bear.”
Garrett shook his head and placed his hand on his chest. “No. It’s my fault. I took advantage of both our joys. You were excited about the school, and I was excited about the—”
“Yes!” cried Liberty, glad for an excuse to change the subject. She bent to retrieve the tongs and looked at them remotely, as though they were her entire focus of interest. Certainly not Garrett’s giant cock tenting out the crotch of his red drawers as he unsuccessfully tried to stuff it beneath his army coat. No, the tongs were decidedly more interesting.
“Yes, that thing,” Garrett said weakly, reaching out a hand to accept the tongs. He turned them this way and that, frowning.
Liberty said, “I’m sure I’ve seen tongs like that around this town. I think it’s a railroad thing. Something they use to lay the railroad ties.”
“Yes, it’s got markings on it. It says UP.” That stood for Union Pacific.
“My father does a lot of work with the railroad, selling them lumber and ties. Can I borrow those tongs? I can show them
to him, ask him what the numbers mean.”
Garrett had finally relaxed enough to smile shyly as he returned the tongs to her. “That would be helpful.”
“But how do I find you? Send someone to the fort?”
“I’ve been granted leave, so I don’t rightly have a fixed address right now.”
Liberty gasped. “You could stay here—in the schoolhouse! No, don’t protest, I insist. You’ve already promised to build desks and chairs, so you have more right to sleep here than any other old squatter.”
Garrett shrugged, still smiling. “That would be nice. Until we leave on our mission.”
“Well. You have to figure out where you’re going, first. And these tongs might help. You know, I’m sure my father would donate lumber for you to build furniture with. I’ll ask him tonight, when I tell him about the schoolhouse and everything else.”
The smile dropped off Garrett’s face then, as though something had just occurred to him. “Who is your father, may I ask?”
He was probably worried about some irate bruiser chasing him down for kissing his daughter. He didn’t need to worry about Simon Hudson. Simon was a follower of Spiritualism, a cohort of Alcott and Emerson who would be meditating next to a lake if there weren’t oodles of money to be made selling railroad ties. Simon had forced the entire family to live in a tent for a month once because he thought the world was coming to an end.
Liberty touched Garrett’s arm almost timidly. “Don’t worry. My father is Simon Hudson. He’s the biggest lumber merchant around, so I’m sure he can spare the wood to build the furniture.”
Garrett’s expression changed completely then. It was such a thorough transformation it was almost as though another being suddenly inhabited his body. He tensed, and his eyes grew wide with fear. “So you’re…Libby Hudson?”
Disorder in the House [How the West Was Done 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 4
