Tyra's Gambler

by Velda Brotherton

  She pulled from him, grabbed his hand, and dragged him down the grassy slope to where the water swirled into a peaceful little cove. “Bathing is first thing.” She was out of her clothes before he got started good with his. Mostly ’cause all he could do was watch her peel off the britches and shed the shirt to reveal a moonlit ivory body that yanked his breath right out of his throat and made him stick out like he had a pole between his legs.

  “Ah, shit.” He struggled with his own britches, hung them on his pole, then got them bunched up along the tops of his boots and had to sit on his bottom in the grass to tug his way out of the wadded mess. Thumbs hung in his drawers, he like to never got them off. When he did, she was in the water, both arms held up to him.

  “Wish we’d bought some soap.” She snugged up close, and he slithered down her full length into the creek. Belly to belly, thigh to thigh, breasts to chest. It was enough to make his teeth grind.

  Ripples of passion shot to all the right places. The cold water sent back a message that did its best to douse that fire, made him shrink right up.

  “Now, don’t you forget,” she said, tweaking his shriveled-up penis, “we’re taking a bath first.”

  “No problem there. My head says one thing. This blamed cold water tells another tale. But you’d better get clean quick, ’cause my brain is taking over, and I got all sorts of ideas.”

  “Then get to washing.” She ducked under and came up spluttering, red hair plastered down around her face. Laughing, she leaned back in the water. Long red locks spread out around her, the moonglow caressed her cheeks and pale breasts. She rubbed under her arms, then slowly across her nipples and down over her stomach into the patch of curls barely visible in the darkness.

  “Woman, you got till the count of five to get out of here or quit doing that.” Cold or not, he was getting all kinds of urgent messages from between his own legs that something had better happen soon.

  “Behave and get some of that sweat washed off. I could help.” She cupped up a double handful of water and dumped it over his head.

  “Dammit, that’s cold. I’ve a better idea.” He grabbed her hands, trapped them under his arms, then bent forward and nibbled at first one breast, then the other.

  “Mmm, that’s so nice.”

  Hard to tell if she was humming or moaning. He sure as hell was enjoying himself. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to plain explode. Enough of this do-daddling around. He swept her into his arms, waded from the creek, and deposited her on the sloped bank. Knelt and raised her knees, then parted them.

  She lay very still, gazing up at him. “Tell me what to do.” The words and the tone not coming from the wild and crazy woman he knew but from a scared young girl.

  “Don’t be afraid. You know I won’t hurt you.” Liar, this might still hurt a little, them not having time to do much since those first two times. Tell her the truth. He leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. So soft, so sweet, so trusting. God, how did women do this? Let some man put a damned hard-as-iron rod between their legs, breaking through a thick skin, then having to act like they liked the damned pain.

  He pulled her close, listened to her heart, his cheek against her breast, then tilted till his mouth covered the nipple. Sorry, sweetie, I’m so sorry.

  His rigid thick penis slipped between her thighs. She tightened her legs, took a deep breath.

  “I don’t want to hurt you. You know that.” How huge he was in there, poking around.

  “Zach, it’s okay. It’s just I’m scared, is all, that you’ll stop wanting me after I keep letting you do this. It’s what you’ll think of me afterward. Men don’t like women who are easy.”

  He laughed. “Well, honey, you ain’t easy, believe me. I’ve been wanting this since we dallied in the water hole. How long ago was that? Besides, we already know what I think of you, don’t we?”

  “I think so. I hope so. Tell me the truth, right now, Zach. I promise we can do it even if you don’t love me, ’cause I know men have to have this.”

  She might as well have slapped him. “Don’t you do this for that reason. I love you, you love me. This is what’s intended when you love someone and they love you. Not, by God, ’cause I’m an animal with no control.”

  “Don’t be mad at me. I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant that if you need this, then I want you to have it because I love you. I’m not saying it very good, is all.”

  “What about you? What do you want?”

  “I thought you knew. I want you to make love to me, all the time. I’m afraid you’re going to leave me when you go after Josh’s killer. Just tell me, that’s all.”

  He leaned back. “Oh, Tyra, honey. I wish you would go home and let me do what I have to do. Then I’ll come and get you, and we can go anywhere you want. I’m afraid you’ll get hurt.”

  She stared up at him with tears glistening in her eyes. “And I’m afraid you’ll get killed, and I’ll never see you again. Please, Zach, let me go with you. I swear if you don’t I’ll follow you, and you can’t stop me.”

  “I know.” He whispered the words. “Dammit, I know.”

  “Then that’s settled. Now come on. Show me what to do.”

  Damn, she was impossible. “Okay, put your legs around my waist.”

  “Like this?”

  Her thighs touched his bare skin, her fine little ass wiggled against his hard-on. His heart thundered, and he swore he was nearly struck blind. “Yes, just like that.” With one finger he traced down her throat, around each breast, then bent forward and followed the invisible line with his tongue. Her flesh was cold and goose pimply, a nipple cool in his mouth. He moved on to the other breast, and when she did that strange humming and arched her body, traced a line down her belly with his tongue. She shuddered, tightened her legs a bit, but otherwise lay very still.

  He lifted her bottom and moved lower and lower. Licked his fingers and moved them slowly inside her. She was wet and swollen, cried out in surprise, then with delight.

  She was as ready as he could make her.

  “Relax, honey.”

  “I don’t think I can. Do that some more.”

  He did, then moved to enter her. She enclosed him, slick and tight and hot.

  The top of his head was going to fly off. Stars fell all around them. The world tilted, and they slid off together. He slipped inside, deeper, deeper. She clenched her knees and cried out. He stopped.

  “Tyra?”

  “Okay, it’s okay. Don’t stop.”

  And so he didn’t, and when he finished he could hardly breathe or see or hear. It was a sensation like nothing else in the entire world.

  He gathered her into his arms. She was crying.

  “Oh, honey. Don’t cry. I’m so sorry. Don’t cry.”

  “It was wonderful. I’m crying because it was wonderful.”

  He squinted to make out her face. The moon cast only shadows. He held her close while she sobbed.

  “It’s okay. You’re fine now. I love you.” She crawled into his arms, curled up there.

  Filled with wonder, he held her. She was a fine little liar herself, but she would stretch out more to fit him. She might be sore still, and if she was he would let her recover, then see how she felt about him. No wonder so many women hated having sex. What kind of God did something like that? What would the world be like if the breaking-in pained men as much as women? He’d never thought of such a thing before. After the moon set and the night grew black as pitch, he fell asleep, her coiled in his embrace.

  Zach lurched upright, and the world turned topsy-turvy. His head nearly burst, and he was so dizzy he couldn’t sit, let alone struggle to his feet. What the hell had happened? Making love didn’t do something like this.

  “Tyra?” His voice sounded garbled like when he talked underwater.

  He rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands. Tried again to see anything that made sense. Two of everything. Hard to focus. The back of his head thudded, and he reached to ex
amine it. Damn, that hurt like the Devil. He stared at his fingers. Covered in blood. His vision wasn’t clearing, but as sure as he drew breath Tyra was gone. She wasn’t next to him, and when he called her name again no one answered. She could be dead, nearby where he couldn’t see.

  He crawled around on the ground, using his hands to search. After a long while he gave up. He was right. She was gone, and so was her Morgan. He half-stumbled, half-crawled to the stream and drank, then sloshed cold water on his face and the back of his head. That hurt like hell. He rocked back and forth on his butt for a while, but that only made matters worse. Somehow he had to get over being dizzy so he could go after her. In this condition, he’d fall off his horse trying to ride.

  Temporarily confined to hugging the ground, it would save time if he hunted for tracks or sign of some sort to tell him which way they’d taken her. In the army he’d learned a bit about tracking from an Osage hired by the colonel of his outfit. Zach was no expert, but he’d learned a thing or two. Most people running from danger didn’t take the time to cover their tracks. And the bigger hurry they were in, the more sign they left of their passing. Especially if they thought they’d left only the dead behind.

  This was the case here. Several riders, maybe six or seven, had lit out from the camp as if pursued by an army, churning up globs of mud. They took the path of least resistance, which was another thing people fleeing did. No one wants to light out through scrub and thorny vines and the like, not if there’s an animal trail to follow. So it didn’t take long to find which way they’d fled with their prize.

  With no idea how long she’d been gone, he managed to get to his feet and walk without staggering around like a gut-shot deer. Once he reached that condition, he packed up his gear and hers, tied everything on the pack horse, including the Morgan’s saddle, and, with the reins of the extra horse in hand, climbed on board Cabron. Swaying in the saddle, clinging to the animal’s sides with both knees, he took the same path. They’d gone northwest, and so did he.

  Who would take her? And why? They didn’t even know anyone in these parts. Except maybe a few poker players, and this didn’t seem like something any of them would do. They wanted revenge, they’d have clubbed him and taken the bundle of money.

  That only left one possibility. A small raiding party of Comanche or Apache. Only a few left off the reservations now, but they were violent and daring. Two or three to stand guard while two more grabbed her. Didn’t make sense why they didn’t grab him.

  If they hurt her, he’d hunt them down and skin them alive, one by one, and leave what was left of their corpses hanging in a tree. Upside down. So help him, God.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A gut-wrenching bounce startled Tyra from darkness to light. Her wrists and ankles were on fire. What was happening? Eyes flickered open, then closed. Open again. Dirt and rocks and grass flew past beneath her. An overpowering odor of horse and dust and the stink of sweat clogged every breath. The blurry vision cleared a little. Holy hell. She was hanging face down over the back of a horse. Her wrists were lashed to her ankles under the beast’s belly, its hooves hammering the ground in a full-out gallop. Morgan. She was tied to Morgan’s bare back. Churned up grit clogged her nose and her throat was bone dry. Someone kept hitting her in the head with a rock. Hard.

  No, that was before. While she was lying next to Zach. Where was she? Where was Zach? Had they killed him? Who were they?

  Last night she’d fallen asleep in his arms, whimpering like some danged baby over a little discomfort. At least it might have been last night. That hurt was not near as fierce as this one. Another attempt to swallow failed. If they didn’t give her water soon, she would choke to death.

  Not knowing who “they” were stirred an angry concern. For herself. For Zach. There were several riders, all silent. She twisted her head. Moccasin-covered feet, no stirrups, bare ankles. That was as far up the legs as she could see.

  Come on, you bastards. Say something, fall off, sing, anything to tell me more.

  But they did not talk or laugh or yell. Just rode flat out. She couldn’t see a blamed thing. A brutal sun burned the bare skin on her back. Had she been naked when they took her? Maybe so. Couldn’t really tell if she had on any clothes. There was a rough blanket under her, no saddle. Had she dressed after she and Zach…? Tears filled her eyes. They’d made love, and it was glorious. Now for all she knew he was dead. Killed by these savages. Indians of some sort. No white man rode around like these no-good buckets of shit.

  Maybe this was a dream—or worse, a nightmare. Maybe it wasn’t real at all, and she was still in camp in Zach’s arms, the two of them sleeping close together on blankets on the ground. Or worse, this was real, and he lay back there in a pool of blood. Dead. If only she could figure out what was going on, then maybe she could do something about it.

  As soon as they stopped, she’d get away. Somehow. Some way. Just had to remain calm and silent and plot an escape. Rather die of thirst in nowhere-land than go at their hands.

  But they were never going to stop. The awful ride went on and on, till the sun hit the horizon, then slipped away. Darkness enclosed them before they rode into an encampment. Campfires, crude shelters of branches lashed together, spread among trees, women laughing, pointing. Nothing mattered at the moment except that she get off this blamed horse and get water. And soon.

  Children ran alongside them, yelling and laughing and throwing rocks at her. Rocks. The little monsters. Some struck her, sending pain to all the places she thought might never feel anything again. One struck her on the head, and she hollered. Or tried to. No sound came from her parched throat.

  At last they all reined in and slid off their ponies. Someone sawed at the rawhide binding her, then dragged her off and dumped her on the ground. Legs dead, she plopped there like a sack of feed, grunted and cursed, but the words remained in her mind. What would Calamity Jane do? Wipe these assholes off the face of the earth, that’s what. Now, if only she had something to wipe them with. The idea struck her as funny, and she hacked out a chuckle.

  “Water, please give me water.” A croak that even she couldn’t understand.

  Someone did, though, and threw a bucket of water on her. It was icy cold, as if recently dipped from a stream. She caught her breath, licked at her own flesh to wet her tongue. After a moment a young dark-skinned woman, probably about her age, knelt beside her with a pottery cup, raised her chin, and tilted it to wet her lips. Tyra pawed at the rim, tried to suck water into her mouth.

  The girl said something she didn’t understand, then helped her sit so she could gulp down the liquid. Wouldn’t bring her more. Instead rubbed her hand on her own stomach, then made gagging motions.

  Easy to read that message. Too much cold water would make her sick.

  She remained slumped where they had dumped her and peered around to get her bearings. Clearly they were Indians. Dirty ones. Everything about them was filthy. Hair, clothing, skin, living quarters. Comanche. She’d read about their bad habits when it came to hygiene. Dear God, she’d also read other things about them. Like their penchant for torturing and killing white men, enslaving their women, working them to death. Or worse, making them couple with the young men until they were used up, then discarding them like so much waste.

  Finally coming to her senses a bit, she stared at her own cut and dirty body. They had dragged her naked from Zach’s arms, which likely meant he was dead. She shed bitter tears. Not only for herself but for him. A kind, thoughtful man who loved her as much as she loved him. Some of the children danced around her, making crying sounds, pointing and laughing. The little urchins needed a good spanking.

  It appeared they were allowed to do whatever they wanted. No one cared if those young monsters stoned her to death. An older woman, accompanied by a boy of about fifteen or so, shuffled to her side, jabbering. Each took one of her arms and dragged her into a shelter built of limbs, leaves, and a couple of stretched skins. They plopped her into a corner on a
buffalo hide with several pillows covered in some kind of soft white fur. The boy grinned at her, then at the old woman, and pointed at the front opening. The woman frowned but left. Tyra glanced back at the boy to see him peeling off his clothes, or what little he wore.

  Ah, shit. She searched frantically among the piles of clothing scattered around on the floor. A knife, a stick, anything she could use. She had teeth. If he got close enough she’d bite his ear off. Just as he pounced and reached for her arms, her fingers closed around what felt like an eating utensil of some sort with a pointed end. It would have to do.

  He fell on her, and calling on the last bit of strength she had, she jabbed upward with all her might, driving the object into the soft tissue of his throat. Blood gushed from the wound, spurting over her with the beating of his heart. No time to think about anything but escape.

  On hands and knees, more like an animal than a human, she scrambled to the back of the crude shelter, broke through the piles of brush, and loped off into the woods. What she needed was a place to hide, and quick. Maybe they’d leave the boy alone to enjoy his prize for a while and wouldn’t know she was gone. But once they discovered what had happened, they’d have no trouble tracking and catching up with her. She couldn’t outrun them but would have to outwit them.

  Her head hammered so hard she was nearly blind with the pain, and her legs, so long tied, came awake in agonizing spurts. Bursting through some thick brush, she took a step and the ground disappeared from under her. She went down, rolled over and over through dead leaves, banging against boulders and trees, till she finally came to rest in a small rivulet half full of water. It was running at a good speed, and she tumbled along till her windmilling arms finally struck a small tree hanging over the vicious little stream. Grasping, pawing, clinging, she hung on, hoisted herself out onto a flat rock.

  Exhausted, she took some deep breaths, couldn’t think what to do next.

  From somewhere up above, the sound of feet plowing through dried leaves, voices calling out to each other. They were about to find her. She cast about for a weapon, anything. But it was hopeless. Only a Colt would hold off that bloody bunch of savages. She was lost.