by Tabor Evans
“I . . . I might,” she confessed. “I don’t know. With my father in prison and with all the terrible things that have happened . . . my mind is confused.”
Kent reached down and his finger found its way between her silken thighs. He kissed her lips until she felt as if she was going to swoon and then he knelt before her and his tongue slipped into her wetness. Jessica moaned and spread her legs, backing up against the wall as he pushed and probed.
“Kent,” she breathed, knowing she should have told him about Longarm but afraid that he would have been so hurt that he’d have refused to help. “Oh, Kent!”
His tongue and fingers knew exactly what she liked best and when her legs began to tremble and she felt she was about to collapse, he led her to his big leather couch and laid her down saying, “Just like old times, Jessie. Just like it used to be with us.”
Jessica felt his rod enter her and she found she was eager to take all of him in a rush. Her long legs wrapped themselves around his narrow waist and she groaned with pleasure as he began to thrust.
“Just like old times,” she breathed. “You were my very first and it was on this same couch.”
“Yeah,” he panted, thrusting hard and grinning hugely. “I never forgot and I’m glad you didn’t, either. You were my only virgin, Jessie, and I never had another woman on this couch . . . none would have compared.”
“But you have had other women.”
“Oh, yeah,” he grunted, slamming his rod in and out of her slick honey pot. “But you’ve always been the only one that I’ve loved. Ever will love. Come on, Jessie, come on and let go!”
And then Jessica did let go. Her entire body began to shake and her fingernails scratched his back as her body convulsed, and she cried out, feeling a hot rush explode between her legs. He took her so violently and with such passion that she knew that he had not released his seed in a long time. Kent just kept giving it to her until she felt limp and began to laugh for no reason at all.
Kent took her once more, this time as she leaned over his desk and he came into her from behind. She had always loved to have him take her that way and his rod touched places that had not been touched even by Longarm, who was even more skillful as a lover but who did not love her.
When Kent cried out and slammed himself up into her while roaring his delight, Jessica laid her head down on his desk and smiled knowing that he would do anything to help her get her father out of prison and when he did, she would marry him just as her father had always hoped.
“Kent,” she said a short while later, still naked as they sat on his leather couch holding hands.
“Yeah.”
“I came back with a man.”
“Is he your lover . . . or . . .”
“We’ve made love.”
“Is he in love with you?”
“No. He’s definitely not.”
Kent looked into her eyes. “Are you . . .”
“No,” she said. “I’m not in love with him, either.”
“Then why did he come back with you?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I want to hear it all.”
And so Jessie told him and when she was finished, he said, “I can’t even think about you being in adjoining hotel rooms and making love with him while we do the same.”
“I’ll get another room.”
“Not good enough,” Kent Hamilton said, his voice firm and final. “We’re going to find a justice of the peace and be married today. You’ll become my wife before he returns to Yuma.”
“Or you won’t help my father?” she asked. “Even after what we’ve just done and what we mean to each other?”
“Yes, even after all that.” Kent began to dress. “If I thought you were in love with him or making love with him . . . it would destroy me after what we’ve just done here. Marry and move in with me . . . or I’m sorry but we’re done. My heart just won’t stand up to more pain or loss.”
She understood and began to gather her clothes. She needed a towel to soak up his seed, which was running down the insides of her legs. “Kent, I’m a mess. Please find me a towel or something and then we’ll get dressed and get married.”
“What is the marshal going to do when he finds out you’re no longer willing to go to his bed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will he just get back on the train and leave for Denver?”
“I don’t think so. Part of the reason he’s doing this is that he knows how much my father meant to his department and boss in Denver.”
“And the other part?” Kent asked.
“He loves to lay me down just as much as you do.”
“Well, if he leaves, we’ll just have to find a way to help your father get out of prison without his help.”
“I guess so,” Jessica said. “But when you meet Marshal Custis Long, you’ll understand why we really need his help and protection. He’s tough and determined, Kent. He can shield us from Marshal Beeson and all the corruption of the man’s office.”
Kent nodded with understanding. “Okay, but he has to realize that once we’re married, he’ll no longer get to bed you.”
“He’ll understand. At heart, he’s a southern gentleman. And besides, Custis is the kind of man who can find women quickly and easily. He won’t be heartbroken and he won’t be jealous or resentful.”
“Given how you look and make love I find that pretty hard to believe.”
“Believe it,” she told him. “Custis Long isn’t a man whose heart can ever be broken by a woman . . . any woman . . . even me.”
Kent came over and kissed her breasts before she could finish covering herself. “After we’re married we can’t go away and have a proper honeymoon.”
“No,” she said, realizing that was true.
“But we will, Jessie. When we’ve gotten your father free and all this bad stuff is past, we’re going somewhere beautiful and we’ll have that honeymoon that we used to talk about.”
“You talked about.”
“All right, so I talked about it all the time. But it’s going to come true,” Kent vowed. “With you as my wife, I can’t be stopped by anyone or anything.”
Jessica pulled his face into the soft mounds of her breasts. “Kent,” she whispered, “I don’t deserve you.”
“Probably not,” he agreed. “But then who said people get what they deserve . . . for good or for ill . . . in this world?”
Jessie hugged him tightly. She was going to be married within the hour and she had no earthly idea what Longarm would do or say when he found out.
Chapter 12
Longarm had bought four bottles of the saloon’s cheapest whiskey and then he’d rented a skinny, bigheaded blue roan. However, it had an easy gait and wasn’t lazy so he had no complaints. As he splashed across the Gila River, riding north, he was thinking about how he would react if he were fired upon by the claim jumpers. No doubt he should have brought his Winchester instead of just a sidearm, but he hadn’t wanted to provoke a fight when he would be badly outnumbered. His hope was that he could ride onto the claim and pretend that he was making a little money delivering and selling whiskey. Maybe he would be invited into the mining camp and the claim jumpers would get drunk and talkative.
“There they are,” Longarm said out loud to himself after he’d ridden only a mile or two. He reined in the gelding when he saw a sign hanging on a piece of mesquite with the crudely written words NO TRESPASSING! Longarm dismounted and tied the blue roan to a bush, then moved off the road toward a low and rocky hillside that overlooked the river. Flattening out on the hilltop, he studied the work going on about a quarter mile north. Right away he saw two shirtless men busting rock, talking and laughing while another pair came and went delivering wheelbarrows of ore extracted from the mine.
Longarm studied the men carefully saw that
none of the men were packing pistols so he returned to his horse, checked his gun, and remounted. Then, forcing a smile to his face, he rode up the track, ignoring the sign, and came right up on the miners, who were so busy at their labors that they didn’t notice him.
“Good morning!” he called. “You boys sure are hard at work!”
The pair that had been busting rocks jumped up as if they’d been shot in the pants and lunged for the rifles. Longarm didn’t make any attempt to go for his gun because none of these men looked particularly dangerous. What they really looked like were overworked and underfed prospectors.
“Hold up there!” Longarm called, raising his hands. “I didn’t mean any harm and was just following the river north.”
One of the miners raised his rifle and pointed it at Longarm. “Mister, didn’t you see the sign that says no trespassing!”
“I saw a sign, but I never learned to read. I mean you no harm.”
“Turn that skinny blue horse of yours around and git!”
Longarm patted his bulging saddlebags. “Truth be told, I’m a whiskey peddler.”
All four men lowered their rifles and grinned. “You bring some whiskey to sell to us?”
“That’s right. Four bottles. You men look like you could use a little whiskey to make your lives easier.”
“We could at that,” a miner with a long, gray beard agreed. “We ain’t been allowed to go into Yuma in more’n a week. When you work as hard as we do in this heat, a week is a long damn time.”
“Sure is,” Longarm agreed, trying to look sympathetic to their plight. “So I’ll bet you boys have built up quite a thirst.”
“We have,” another man said, swallowing hard. “Nothin’ sounds better to me than to sit in that Colorado River and drink whiskey while the water runs over my bare skin like the soft, cool hands of a woman.”
“How much a bottle?” one of the miners asked.
“Two dollars.”
“We ain’t got eight dollars between us,” another said. “But we got these rifles in our hands and you ain’t got shit in yours. Maybe we’ll just shoot you out of the saddle and take your whiskey, your horse, and any money you might be carrying along with that pistol you’re packin’.”
“You could do that,” Longarm told the men, “but Marshal Beeson and his deputies consider me a friend and they’d be pretty unhappy about you robbing and then killing me.”
“Marshal Beeson is one of the fellas that hired us!” a miner growled, raising his rifle and taking aim.
Longarm suddenly felt sweat begin to trickle out of his armpits. “Sure he did, along with the judge.”
The men exchanged questioning glances. “Are you friends with Judge John Thompson, too?” one asked, cocking his head a little to one side as if a slightly different perspective might lend him some important insight.
“That’s right. They all like their whiskey and I sell it to them cheap. But enough of this foolish talk of killing and robbing. I came here in peace to try and bring some small measure of comfort and a little joy to your lives. So why would you want to kill me and put yourselves at odds with the marshal and the judge? You don’t need that kind of added grief.”
“He’s got a point there, boys,” one of the miners said. “Why, I’ll bet he’d take four dollars right now for them four bottles and we could pay him the rest next time the marshal sends a couple of replacements out here like he promised so we can go into town and get drunk.”
The smallest of the miners scrubbed his scraggly whiskers and nodded. “Mister,” he said, still clutching his rifle. “You reckon you’d sell us four bottles and trust us for the rest of your money come our payday?”
Longarm sighed and made a big deal of considering the request. After a few moments, he said, “Well, boys, I can see that you ain’t getting rich out here working in this gawd-awful country. When do you get paid next?”
“Next Wednesday. Surely you can wait that long.”
“Maybe I can at that,” Longarm slowly decided as he dismounted and began to open his saddlebags and pass the bottles around. “As long as you fellas give me your word that you’ll pay me the other four dollars next week.”
“Hell yes, we will!” the biggest of them shouted. “Won’t we, boys!”
The other three nodded their heads vigorously and then scooped up the bottles, popped their corks, and drank fast.
Longarm loosened the cinch on his roan and tied it to a rusty piece of mining equipment. He glanced at the cave and then strolled over to the ore pile and studied it, looking for flakes or gold nuggets. The ore was heavy with pink and pearl-colored quartz and shiny. Longarm didn’t know much about prospecting, but he did know that gold was often found alongside quartz.
The four miners were drinking fast and two of them shucked off their clothes and waded out into the Colorado River where they sat in the mud with the cool water running up to their necks and drank their whiskey.
“Give ’em an hour,” Longarm said to himself. “Or maybe even less and they’ll tell me everything they know.”
• • •
The hour passed pleasantly enough. Longarm had to smile as the miners whooped and hollered and splashed each other laughing uproariously. But by and by they finished their bottles of watered-down whiskey and laid down on the muddy bank in a half-drunken stupor.
Longarm walked over to them and sat down on the bank far enough from the water where the sand was dry. All bare-chested and dripping wet, the miners were underfed, ribs clearly outlined. They had stringy muscles and oversized hands probably due to years of swinging a pick and clasping the heavy handles of wheelbarrows. Longarm knew that he had nothing in common with these men and he also knew that they weren’t experienced with weapons. Most likely they had been ordered to keep strangers at a distance and work like hell.
“I hope you boys enjoyed my whiskey,” Longarm said, matter-of-factly. “I can see that you don’t have much fun around here.”
“You can say that again!” one of them agreed with a lopsided grin. “The boss comes around about every three days and he expects a couple of ounces of gold. We get paid on a percentage but I think he cheats us.”
“Sure, he cheats us!” another said. “We ain’t makin’ all that much money considerin’ how poor the food is that they haul out to keep us here. And we’re expected to drink that muddy river water, too!”
“That’s pretty hard,” Longarm commiserated. “Your boss’s name would be . . . ah . . .”
“Mitch Lang,” one of the miners said. “He’s the one we answer to but we all know he takes his orders from Marshal Beeson and Judge Thompson.”
“Yeah,” Longarm said. “I knew that. But didn’t this claim used to belong to a lawman from Denver and his daughter?”
“That would be Tom Ray and that pretty gal named Jessica. Old Tom is gonna die on Prison Hill and his daughter ran off someplace. I expect they sold the claim before it started payin’ out so good.”
“Timing,” Longarm mused aloud, “is everything in life.”
“You can say that again,” a miner said, nodding his head up and down. “My life ain’t shit and I think it’s because I was born in a damn thunderstorm up in the mountains and I was blue and my ma said I was colicky. If’n I’d been born on a sunny day like this, I’d have been a lot better off.”
The other miners considered this statement with great care. Finally, one said, “Well, my ma said that I was born in a chicken pen in Arkansas and when she was birthin’ me she got to thrashing around in there and I came out and slid across a bunch of fresh chicken shit! So my timing wasn’t so damn good either!”
Longarm had to laugh, but not too much because the man clearly blamed his fate on the pen and the chicken shit.
“Oh,” another said, “I was born well enough. My pa was a coal miner in Pennsylvania and I was born dry, warm, and clean. But
pa died in a mine cave-in and I had to go to work in the coal mines when I was twelve. So I started out in my life with good timin’ and all, but it didn’t mean much.”
“What about you?” one of the miners asked, jerking a thumb toward Longarm. “You look big and strong. Is the whiskey business good to you and were you born with good timing?”
Longarm considered the question thoughtfully. “Tell you the truth, boys, I can’t remember where I was born and so I don’t know if my life started off good or bad.”
“Humm,” another mused. “It probably started off good because you look to be doing pretty well. And if you have a bad day, you can just get drunk on your own supply of whiskey any damn time you feel like it!”
“I could,” Longarm said, “but if I drank all my whiskey up, then I wouldn’t have any to sell.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true enough.”
Longarm had learned about all that he expected he could learn from these working men. The sun had moved over the yardarm and he was getting hungry and thirsty, so he figured it was time to ride back to Yuma.
“Say, mister,” one of the miners said, wobbling over to stand beside Longarm. “It’d be doin’ us a favor if you didn’t tell Marshal Beeson, the judge, or anyone else that we took the day off to get drunk and have a few laughs. Think you can do that for us?”
“I sure can,” Longarm promised. “I give you my word on it.”
“We’ll pay you that four dollars next time we’re in town and after we get paid.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” Longarm mounted the horse and waved to the naked miners sitting in the mud, grinning and laughing among themselves. He would return before long to reclaim this mine for Jessica and her father, and he sure hoped he didn’t have to kill any of these poor, simple, and hardworking bastards.
Chapter 13
“How’d you like my blue roan?” the liveryman asked as Longarm dismounted and handed him the reins.
“He’s a good horse and he moves well. I’ll rent him again if I have the need, but I think you should feed him better. He’s close to being skin and bones and is too good a horse to be starved.”
