“I couldn’t agree more,” Worth mumbled against Foster’s neck. Foster’s hand encouraged Worth to unbutton his pants.
Tabitha’s mouth watered as she watched Worth fondle the long, thick penis. She had only sucked on her husband’s penis before—he had not allowed her to pleasure any other men in their bed in that manner. So she had no idea whether she was talented in this arena. She hoped her enthusiasm would make up for lack of skill as she fell to the ground and clutched Foster’s hips.
She enjoyed just watching Worth’s hand fondle the long, red prick. She added her hand to the mix and caressed the shiny, taut mushroom glans while Worth gripped the shaft. Worth clamped a thigh around Foster’s hip, as he humped him through their clothing, to steady himself. Imagining Worth’s plump cock stroking the cleft of Foster’s ass made Tabitha so slimy between the thighs, she sat on her own slippered toes. She didn’t care if she was ruining the blue suede as she set up a lusty rocking motion of her hips.
She had to rise a bit on her knees in order to face the giant, drooling prick. She easily sucked the large mushroom cap of it into her little mouth, and she remembered to cover her buck teeth with her lips, as Parker had taught her, so as not to nick the sensitive penis. She could tell by Foster’s muffled moans that Worth was kissing him, and Foster reached down and cradled her skull in his hand, encouraging her in her sucking.
She swallowed more of the massive appendage, but it was a struggle. She wanted to imitate Worth’s powerful sucking jaw that had given Foster so much pleasure. But her mouth was much smaller. Perhaps only men could be talented at this! Foster’s penis was much bigger than her husband’s, and already her jaw hurt trying to encompass it all.
Yet when she popped her eyes open, she saw Foster’s hand fumbling in Worth’s crotch. He must be stimulated by her inept sucking, for they were loving in the way men do, Foster wrapping his hand around Worth’s impressive tool. Watching the two men fondling spurred Tabitha to greater heights, and she put her utmost into her renewed effort. Squiggling her tongue about the underside of the massive prick, she felt little tiny surges of semen undulate toward the tip. She was surprised when a few drops of jism spurted down her throat, and its saltiness reminded her of other happy days with Parker.
Now Foster frigged Worth’s cock in earnest. Worth had rent Foster’s shirt and was frantically pinching his nipples as they kissed sloppily, as men were apparently prone to do. Worth’s cock stuck out at a right angle as though panting, the tip shining tightly with the drops of jism that Foster spread there almost lovingly. Tabitha squeezed and rubbed the enticing covering of fat above the base of Foster’s prick as she sucked, coordinating both motions at once.
This seemed to get him off, for right then he exploded in her mouth. She had watched Worth struggle to contain Foster’s load, but her capacity was much smaller. Some of the warm seed came out her nostrils, out the sides of her mouth, as she labored to swallow it all.
To add to the confusion, Worth chose this moment to ejaculate, hitting Tabitha square in the eye with his stream. She was simply drowning in jism. Her eye stung, semen dripped from her nose like snot, and some jism had gone down the wrong pipe.
When she finally disengaged and fell back onto her slipper, she had to laugh weakly. Foster was still squeezing the final drops from Worth’s prick, milking it with his agile thumb. Worth’s head lolled on a rubbery neck, and he rested it on Foster’s shoulder. Fine tremors ran up Foster’s thighs, and he leaned on the tree.
She wiped seed from her face. “Wow.” She laughed. “I’m sure I’m not as skilled as Worth, but I hope I’m tolerable.”
Foster fell to his knees before her. Although they sat in the shade, his brow was sweaty from his exertion. He took her hands in his. “My pet. You are more than tolerable. You are sublime.”
He kissed her then, although her mouth was still coated with his jism.
A sudden throat clearing sounded in the glen. All three heads swiveled to see Montreal Jed standing lamely, holding his score card. “If you are quite done with your shenanigans, there is a lady visitor to see you, Mr. Richmond.”
Foster rose slowly. One hand assisted Tabitha, while the other fumbled at his crotch to button it. “How did a lady find us out here?”
“I have no idea,” Jed answered tersely. “But I must say, I do not have a good feeling about this.”
Tabitha didn’t either. What sort of lady would follow them all the way to their riding and shooting range? If it were one of her sisters, Jeremiah would have said “one of your sisters.”
Before Tabitha could ask who the lady was, the lady herself stepped out from behind a cottonwood. She was shorter than Tabitha but buxom, and her radiant red hair fell smoothly to her shoulders in thick waves. Her mouth was a perfect cupid’s and bowed sort of arrogantly, as though she sneered at them. “Hello, Foster.”
Tabitha looked at Foster. He appeared dumbfounded. Unable to speak. His mouth moved, but no sound came out.
The lady appeared quite happy to see Foster. Her gray eyes were alight with the joy one felt at being reunited with a loved one.
Foster finally came forward. “Orianna,” he said, so the lady didn’t have to.
Chapter Thirteen
Foster was stunned to the core.
He had said good-bye forever to Orianna two years ago. Walking away from his son was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, but Orianna was adamant. She was taking Abe to California without Foster. She wished to wed Arthur Firestone, the San Francisco magnate, and get away from this backwater town of Laramie. Arthur would provide everything she ever wanted, although, of course, she would still accept the gold that Foster sent her for the care of Abe.
Foster didn’t care that Arthur had more than enough money to spoil Abe. He continued sending it, because his beef wasn’t with Abe. His beef was with Orianna.
Of course, when first catching sight of her heavenly face—the face he had loved to kiss, that fiery hair like his own he had loved to thread his fingers through—his heart had leapt automatically. Like a puppy trained to drool when sniffing savory campfire fixings. Within a fraction of a second, though, Foster’s rational brain reminded himself that this Orianna was an illusion. Maybe in more ways than one, too. This Orianna could feasibly be a spirit. Maybe she had died and no one had bothered telling him.
He was in love with Tabitha Hudson now. Two years had passed, and he was a changed man. He wiped whatever overjoyed reaction he’d had from his mind.
“Orianna,” he said with no expression. “Is Abe with you?”
She answered in her smooth, cultured way. “No, he’s at Arthur Fire—at his own house in San Francisco.”
Foster frowned. “You came all the way out here to see me and didn’t bring the one person I most want to see?” Or…does she want to see me? Maybe there’s some other motive for this visit.
“I suppose it looks that way,” Orianna said coolly. “But Abe is the reason I wish to talk with you. May we speak in private?”
Foster’s heart near about stopped. “Is Abe ill?”
“No!” Orianna eagerly calmed Foster’s fears. “Not at all. He’s being well taken care of.”
“I’m Tabitha Hudson,” Tabitha said, sticking her paw between Foster and his former flame.
“Hudson,” mused Orianna, not taking Tabitha’s hand. “Are you related to Simon Hudson of Union Pacific fame?”
“His daughter.”
Orianna nodded sagely. “Ah. I remember some other Hudson daughters a couple of years ago.” Her eyes flickered back to Foster. “All sorts of creative girls. Quite open-minded, as I recall. Unconventional.”
Foster knew this wasn’t meant as a compliment, but Tabitha pretended to take it that way. “Yes, we are from New York so are often in the forefront of modern thinking. What brings you to Laramie?”
Orianna’s gaze didn’t waver. She pinned Foster down with her thoughtful yet evil scrutiny. “I need to talk to Foster. May we speak privately?”
Although Tabitha, Worth, and especially Jeremiah cast suspicious looks upon this intruder, of course Foster wanted to know what Orianna had to say about Abe. He led her closer to the babbling stream, and he barely heard Jeremiah snarl, “Dog-killer,” as they passed by.
Foster wished he could be so blunt himself, so he didn’t cast Jeremiah a withering glance. After all, he agreed with Montreal Jed. It was a ninety-nine percent sure thing that Orianna had killed Phineas, and Foster wanted to hurt her for it. But again, as the mother of his child, it would barely behoove him to even have her arrested, if one could even be arrested for murdering a dog. His son would then know he had a jailbird mother. There was seemingly no way out of the whole Phineas debacle.
They walked to the water’s edge, but Orianna was too high-bred now to sit on the log. So Foster stood, too.
It was unnerving to see her beautiful face after so long. He had mostly gotten over her betrayal, which had come seemingly out of the blue. Foster had thought he was a good, reliable beau and had planned to marry Orianna, especially once Abe came along. But one day, out of nowhere, Orianna had proclaimed she would take the train to the end of the line and marry that shipbuilding bastard, who had obviously written her a letter or several. One didn’t just marry a shipbuilding bastard out of nowhere.
So, of course, Foster had been devastated and betrayed. He had even abandoned his law practice to ride off with Custer—that’s how much he had not wanted to see Laramie or their former friends. Now she was back to torture him some more, now that Foster was finally building a cheerful future for himself. His only thought was that Abe was ill, but Orianna had said Abe was fine.
Orianna folded her hands in front of her lap and lowered her eyes modestly. “I have come to many realizations lately. Abe was only one year old when I went to California. But he’s three now, Foster. He knows Arthur isn’t his real father. Every day he asks me questions about you. Who you were, what you did. He asks me to retell your amazing exploits because I read to him about Custer from the newspapers. I admit, I pretend you are constantly at Custer’s side, as though you’re his aide and not a scout.”
Foster frowned. “If you thought I was with Custer still, what brought you back to Laramie? Custer only told me to bring a message to Laramie, say, two weeks ago.”
Orianna regarded him, expressionless. She had never been a terribly emotional person, now that Foster reflected on it. Her one expression was that of thoughtfulness. She was constantly thinking, pondering, musing. There was never any real happiness, joy, or mirth in her face. She was quite a serious woman, actually. “It was an instinct, I’ve concluded. I had a dream one night that you were headed back to Laramie. I knew it was time for me to come.”
That intrigued Foster, as all of the other strange goings-on had intrigued him the past week. “What did the dream entail, exactly?”
“Well, in the dream you were riding with someone else—might have been that fellow you were playing the game with back in the clearing.” So Orianna had been watching them for awhile. If she had seen the hoops, had she also seen the cocksucking? No matter—it was none of her concern.
“What else? What did you see in your vision?”
“Well, I knew you were returning to Laramie with some urgent message. A voice in my head kept saying, ‘Your husband is arriving with a message,’ although that’s absurd, of course. You and I were never married.”
“Did you ever marry Firestone?”
She actually had to pause to think about that? “Ah…no. We never wed. Anyway, there was something to do with sunflowers. You were picking some, and then you found a stone with an inscription. I just had an urgent need to get ahold of you once I had that dream.”
That was fantastic! Was Orianna inclined to the paranormal, as well? “Wait here.” Foster went to his horse and got the baby rattle from the saddlebag. He hadn’t known where else to put the rattle, as he really had no home at the moment. His three friends were gone from the clearing now, probably back to the shooting range.
He opened his palm to Orianna. “This appeared on our dining table yesterday. Out of the clear blue sky.”
Orianna didn’t seem that amazed by the sight of her son’s rattle, having obviously materialized a thousand miles away from San Francisco. To Foster, all of these things were omens. Of what, he didn’t know. “I haven’t seen that in a long time. He’s three now and obviously doesn’t use it anymore. Your dining table? Have you wed that Tabitha girl?”
“Not yet.”
“But you’re in love with her?”
Foster didn’t have to ponder on that. “Yes. I am.”
Orianna’s bland expression didn’t change. “Well. I am here to beg then, I suppose. Foster, Abe needs his father. He needs you. This rattle is obviously a sign from above, telling you that Abe needs you. I am not above begging if I know it will be for the betterment of my son. Our son. And from the upstanding, noble man I remember you to be, you will agree with me.”
“I suppose it depends upon what you mean by Abe ‘needing’ me, Orianna. If you’re asking me to come back to San Francisco to lie around and act like an uncle to him in your palatial estate with Firestone, I’ll have to think long and hard about that. I’m about to reopen my law practice here. And there’s Tabitha to consider. Does Abe not like Firestone?”
“Oh, he used to like Arthur just fine. The past year, though…he has missed you terribly. ‘Where’s my daddy?’ he constantly asks me. He sobs and cries nearly every day. I had to buy him a soldier doll so he can pretend it’s you, and he’s inseparable from it.”
“But…” Foster thought. “He was only one when you left Laramie. He was just learning to walk. Do toddlers really have memories that early?”
“Apparently so. Foster, he’s gotten to the point where he just drags on my skirts, sobbing, demanding that I come out here and get you.”
Foster sighed mightily. This was indeed a conundrum. He had just begun to forge a whole new life with Tabitha and Worth. This afternoon he was planning to look at an office on First Street that Harley had mentioned he could use for his law practice. Of course he wanted to do what was right by his son, but asking him to alter his entire life was a large request. Especially when this woman had abandoned him under such acrimonious terms. How convivial would their example be for their son when they loathed each other?
Orianna said, “I don’t hold anything against you, Foster. In fact, my strongest wish is that you can forgive me for leaving so suddenly.” Emotion now filled her words. “It was a mistake, I know that now. I’m very chagrined you’ve found love again, but of course I should’ve expected that. You’re a very intelligent, hearty man.” Her look became lascivious then. “And handsome, of course. You are some pumpkins, Foster. I very much long for the old days in Laramie when you were my pumpkin.”
Foster chuckled a bit at that. The redheaded couple had cut quite the figure around Laramie. He had thought everything was so perfect with Orianna. He had been slapped into an unpleasant reality when she had walked up and informed him she was leaving with Abe. Only recently had he found some peace in the wilderness with the Seventh Cavalry, and now here she was, wreaking havoc once more.
Orianna continued, “I made a huge mistake thinking that Arthur Firestone’s money would be our salvation, Foster! I want to extract a promise from you that you will at least consider my proposal.”
Foster made his mouth a thin line. “I am not giving up Miss Hudson, if that’s what you mean. Is there any possibility you could bring Abe here to Laramie?”
Orianna’s placid face was wreathed in smiles. “Yes, that was one option I had considered. I am so glad you’re considering my proposal!”
Was he considering it? Foster supposed he was. It would be heartless to reject a son one had sired. Many fellows did that, of course, some claiming they weren’t even the father when it was clear that they were. He could not leave his son in a house with a jackleg that Abe didn’t even like! If Abe truly disliked Arthur, Oriann
a was right. No amount of money would raise a happy boy.
Orianna put her palms on Foster’s chest. “We must spend more time together, Foster. You will see. I’ve changed immensely. I no longer believe money is the root of all happiness, for example. I had everything perfect with you. I’ve been beating myself senseless ever since for ruining all of that! You must allow me to make amends.”
Must he? He could be a good father without starting back up his courtship with Orianna. But he agreed—he definitely needed to resolve his resentment of Orianna, or his son would notice it.
“There’s a fellow in town I’d like you to meet,” Foster said. “I think he could be of assistance with this strange situation. The rattle, the sunflowers, the stone… He’s already helped us quite a bit.”
“I’d like that.”
My dead dog. How can I ever forgive Orianna for killing Phineas?
And she is hopeless and desperate, according to Caleb. If she would kill a dog, what else is she capable of?
* * * *
“You must get that witchy woman out of town!” cried Harley, waving his whiskey glass about. “Tabitha, I merely pretended to like that woman because my good pal Foster liked her, but… She was the most execrable, malignant, superficial, manipulative excuse for a woman I’d ever hope to meet! She was constantly lording her French hats and fashions over Ivy, as though Ivy would want to wear a Dolly Varden walking suit out on our ranch. Or in the Union Pacific telegraph office.”
Tabitha soaked her lips in her whiskey glass, dead-eyed with gloom. “I can’t get rid of her. Even if I could, Harley, she’s the mother of Foster’s son.”
Harley was smoking mad, though. “Yes, and about that! It was clear to anyone who could read a calendar that she conceived practically the moment they met. In this day and age of pessaries and sponges, that sort of behavior smacks of entrapment!”
Karen Mercury Page 13
