The Gunsmith 386

by J. R. Roberts

  “Truly, sir,” the man said, “there has been nothing personal in this for me. Except to repay my debt to Mr. Dunn for saving my life during a stagecoach robbery.”

  “I’m not concerned with your debt to Mr. Dunn,” Clint said, “only mine.”

  Clement looked dismayed, but had no answer for that.

  “Where’s the rest of your crew, Dunn?” Clint asked.

  “The rest?”

  “If I’ve learned anything about you, it’s that you always have backup. Men you’re willing to give up if you have to.”

  “And you?” Dunn said. “According to the tracks you left when you got your horse back, you’ve got a man with you.”

  “Just for true backup,” Clint said. “So I don’t get bushwhacked again.”

  “Well,” Dunn said, “that was a mistake. This time it’s between you and us.”

  “And these two,” a voice said to Clint’s right.

  He, Dunn, Sands, and Clement all looked and saw Cain holding a man in each hand by their collar. The men seemed unconscious as he dropped them to the ground.

  “And I will bet there are two on the other side of the house,” Cain said.

  At that point the two he was referring to stepped out and started shooting.

  “No!” Clement shouted. “Wait!”

  The others had no choice.

  Dunn and Sands drew their guns.

  Clint cleared leather well before they did.

  Cain went into a crouch and raised his rifle. However, for a man almost seven feet tall, a crouch looked like a normal standing man. He made an impressive target, and the men from the other side of the house forgot their instructions to focus on Clint and began to fire at the big half-breed.

  Dunn noticed quickly that the young man he had assumed would die first was now firing at the half-breed. The Indian fired back, and shot the young man in the chest.

  First one dead, as he’d predicted.

  Unless the two at the Indian’s feet were also dead.

  He drew his gun, and saw that Clint Adams’s gun was already out.

  Damn, he thought, not so past it.

  As the lead began to fly, Clement hit the deck and covered his head with both hands, still yelling “Stop! Stop! Stop!” The lead slammed into the wall of his house, and broke the glass in the front window, showering him with fragments.

  He was beginning to be sorry Adam Dunn had ever saved his life.

  Then he heard other sounds, wet, slapping ones as lead struck flesh, and he felt the warmth of blood on him.

  Someone else’s blood.

  Clint fired quickly, taking Dunn in the belly and Sands in the chest and head. He saw the blood fly from Sands’s head.

  He looked over at Cain, who was down on one knee firing his rifle. Suddenly, the big man jerked and Clint knew he’d been hit.

  He turned his attention to the two men who were firing at Cain. The big half-breed was right. He wasn’t that good with a rifle. One of them was down, but one was still firing. Clint squeezed off a quick shot and put him down.

  And it was quiet . . . except for Clement, who was still screaming, this time because somebody’s blood was on him, and he thought it was his.

  Clint went to check on Cain first . . .

  “You hit?” he asked.

  The big man was still down on one knee and said, “Clipped me on the hip.”

  “Bad?”

  “It is . . . numb.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “lie back.”

  Instead, Cain got to his feet.

  “Let’s see if we can stop that man from screaming,” he said.

  Clint went to the porch, with Cain limping behind him. He leaned over Clement and checked him out.

  “Okay, you’re all right,” he said, “stop screaming, stop—” He slapped the man in the face, which cut off the screaming right away.

  “Stand up,” he said, putting his hand beneath the man’s arm. “You’re all right. It’s not your blood.”

  “It’s—it’s not?”

  “No,” Clint said. He helped the man to a chair on the porch and said, “Sit.”

  Clement sat, patting himself to see if Clint was right.

  “This one is still alive,” Cain said, “but not for long.”

  Clint walked over, looked at Dunn. Cain was right. The man was gut-shot, and all color had drained from his face. His eyes were dull, but they were open.

  Clint leaned over the dying man.

  “Dunn, who hired you?” he asked. “Who hired you to kill me?”

  Dunn laughed, but it sounded like a death rattle.

  “You better . . . start watching . . . your back trail . . . really close . . . he’s got a lot of money . . . a lot of . . .”

  The man died.

  Clint stood up, looked at Cain, whose face was stoic, but etched in pain.

  “Come on,” he said, “let’s get you to a doctor.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  Her nipples were so hard he could feel them through her blouse. When she reached back to feel between his legs, she found that he was hard as well. Clint pulled her blouse loose so he could reach beneath it to fondle her bare breasts. Her breaths were quick and shallow. When he started pulling her skirts up around her waist, she groaned, “Yes. God, yes.”

  Clint unbuckled his belt and couldn’t get his pants down quick enough. Once they were out of his way, he tore off the last of Maria’s undergarments and hiked her skirts all the way up. As soon as she felt his hand on the small of her back, she leaned forward and grabbed on to the table in front of her as if she’d been shoved down. Judging by the way she moaned Clint’s name and spread her legs apart for him, she wouldn’t have protested one bit if he had taken an even stronger hand with her.

  Maria’s ass was round and firm in front of him. Clint took a moment to admire her curves, but couldn’t wait long before guiding his rigid pole into her. She let out a slow, shuddering breath as Clint gripped her hips tightly, pulled her close, and buried his cock as far in as it would go. Just when it seemed she was about to burst with anticipation, he began pumping in and out.

  At first, Maria let him go at his own pace. Soon, however, she started bucking against him, prompting him to pound into her even harder. Every impact rolled through her body to rattle the table against the floor. Whipping her hair back, she grunted, “Yes! Fuck me harder.”

  Clint reached forward to put one hand on her shoulder while keeping the other on her ass. Every time he pumped into her, he shook her entire body. Maria groaned loudly, slapping the table with one hand while moaning, “Harder!”

  Now Clint put both hands on her shoulders and pulled her toward him with every thrust. Every now and again, he caught a glimpse of a smile on her face when she craned her neck to look back at him while letting out a breathy grunt.

  Clint reached around to feel her breasts swaying with the motion of his body pounding into hers, and then settled both hands once again on her plump buttocks. She was so wet between her legs that he glided in and out of her with ease. As much as she’d demanded for him to speed up, he drove her even wilder when he slowed down.

  Holding her in place, he eased back until he was almost out of her and then slid back in so he could feel her lips glide over every inch of him. Maria arched her back and clawed at the table. When he moved back and forth in the same manner, she trembled with an approaching climax. Then, after sliding out again, Clint drove into her with everything he had and kept thrusting until she screamed loud enough to be heard in the next county.

  Maria’s voice was breathless when she tried to say his name, which didn’t stop Clint from pumping into her again and again. When he finally exploded inside her, she was too winded to say much of anything at all . . .

  • • •

  Clint had returned to Hastings with Cain,
making sure the half-breed got back safely. He’d driven him there in a buckboard, with their horses trailing along behind.

  However, before leaving Kerrville, he had stopped in to see Clement again.

  “It was impossible to get the blood off my clothes,” the man said, letting him in. “I had to burn them.”

  “You’re lucky that’s all you had to do,” Clint said. “I could press charges against you, you know.”

  “For what?” Clement seemed shocked.

  “You gave them a place to stay, hid my horse even though you knew it was stolen, and supplied them with men to kill me.”

  “I didn’t . . . they threatened me. I was in fear of my life.”

  “Never mind the lies,” Clint said. “If I pressed charges, I’d have to stay around here.”

  “So you’re not?”

  “No,” Clint said, “but I have one last question.”

  “What is it?”

  “Was it you?”

  “Was what me?” Clement asked, looking genuinely confused.

  “Was it you who hired them to kill me?”

  “God, no! Why would I do that?”

  “Before he died, Dunn said the man who hired him had a lot of money,” Clint said.

  “That doesn’t mean it was me.”

  “I could kill you right now, just to make sure.”

  Clement moved back a few steps, put his hands up in front of his face, and said, “You—you can’t!”

  “I can,” Clint said, “but I won’t. But if I find out it was you, I’ll be back, and I will kill you.”

  “It—it wasn’t me. I swear!”

  Clint left the house, feeling fairly sure Clement wasn’t the man behind Dunn and Sands.

  But who was?

  • • •

  Clint left Maria asleep in the room, checked out of his hotel, and walked outside to where Eclipse was waiting.

  “Sorry, big fella,” he said, rubbing the Darley Arabian’s nose, “this one got a little out of hand.”

  He mounted up and rode out of Hastings. This wasn’t over. There was still a man out there—a man with many resources—who wanted him dead.

  Not over at all.

  Watch for

  MEXICO MAYHEM

  387th novel in the exciting GUNSMITH series from Jove

  Coming in March!