Karen Mercury

by Manifested Destiny [How the West Was Done 4]

  “Yes,” Worth agreed. “What was that all about? It looked as though he just exploded.”

  Foster waved Neil Tempest over, and Harley came as well. As the two men probably the most accustomed to seeing the insides of people’s bodies, they discussed Smack’s explosion.

  It was Harley who came up with the first logical theory. “As a demolition man, perhaps he had some equipment on his person. It did look like the sort of damage that dynamite would do. Does anyone else have a headache? The nitroglycerine will do that to you.”

  Indeed, the grass surrounding where Smack had stood was burnt, and a section of fence was blasted away.

  “There’s that sweet, hot metal smell of gunpowder,” said Foster. “Could Smack have had dynamite in his pocket?”

  “That’s entirely possible,” said Harley. “When he fell over from the impact of the spear, if he had a blasting cap and dynamite in his pocket, hitting the ground could’ve ignited it. And he’s not terribly intelligent. If his brains were dynamite, there wouldn’t be enough to blow his nose.”

  Tabitha now slapped her brother-in-law. “Very cute, Harley. Neil, what are you going to do with Orianna?”

  The bedraggled yet feisty woman sat handcuffed in a wagon while one of Neil’s deputies hitched it to a mount. She struggled, as though she could find a way out of the bracelets.

  Remington Rudy said, “I doubt anyone will slip her the key. Right, Neil?”

  Neil said, “I don’t really know what we can charge her with.”

  Tabitha said hotly, “She hurled that spear directly at me!”

  Neil said, “All right, some sort of attempt at murder. Alameda is the justice of the peace. She can assist with the charge.”

  Worth mentioned, “But you want Orianna to return to San Francisco and get your son.”

  Tabitha said, “Perhaps you can go, Foster. Retrieve the boy. That way we’re assured of no shenanigans while Neil holds her here in jail.”

  Foster’s face was lit up with glad emotion. He seemed to be considering the idea when Harley pointed to a sheep that was being pushed across the prairie by the force of the wind. “We should take cover in our homes. This is a regular hurricane gale.”

  Rudy gathered all of his hoops and spears while Worth, Tabitha, and Foster mounted their ponies. It would be Neil’s business to take Orianna to the brig, and nobody particularly wanted to look at her. They knew she was capable of actually having caused this storm with her conjuring and spells. But a passing spectator rushing to her buggy could not be ignored, as her open parasol was caught by a sudden, enormous gust, and the parasol went sailing.

  All three watched the parasol whip into the sky, a disc of cornflower blue against the blackened clouds. It sailed fairly ten stories before pausing, as if wondering where to dive. It seemed to make up its mind, plummeting back to earth handle-first.

  It had only one mind, and that was to stab Orianna directly between her shoulder blades. She was so far away from them, all Worth could tell was that her mouth turned into an O and all expression dropped from her face. She slumped forward, and Neil Tempest was there to examine her.

  None of the three riders moved toward her. Only Worth dared to say, “Now, that was the strangest thing I’ve seen all day.”

  “She’ll be all right,” a calm voice came from behind them. “Just a random parasol jabbing.”

  “Caleb!” Tabitha cried, wheeling her mount about.

  Foster patted the saddle behind him. “Hop on, partner. We’re getting out of this cyclone.”

  Caleb mounted from the right, “off” side of the horse, Indian style. He had a bit of a difficult time, though, owing to the lengths of reata that bound his ankles. He had to disentangle the ropes from his feet and toss them onto the prairie before settling in behind Foster.

  Worth chuckled. “Don’t tell me, Caleb. You were the calf that Jeremiah saved.”

  Caleb smiled serenely. Nothing ever seemed to rankle him. “That’s why Orianna’s pole made a beeline for me. She knew on a deep level that once Tabitha got out of her way, I was her next most loathed target. Or you could say the pole knew once she had imbued it with her hex.”

  Foster smiled crookedly. “And who imbued the parasol with a hex?”

  Caleb only smiled. They struck their spurs and the horses trotted toward Laramie.

  Tabitha asked, “Will we ever be safe, once they let Orianna out? Can people with an evil vendetta such as that change, I suppose is what I am asking.”

  Caleb said, “There are some protective things I could do for you. Incantations, herbs, drawings and the like. I have word from fellow Sioux that they do not hold you responsible for the Black Hills gold rush. Apparently you were their friend and created goodwill by preventing a fellow from cutting off his wife’s nose, staying behind to hold a funeral for a fallen soldier. Every other white miner, however, is still hexed.

  “I can invoke the spirits of your past life selves to keep a watch over you. And it would probably behoove you to situate Orianna, and your son, too, unfortunately, way over on the other side of town. We can request Ezra Kind to watch over you, since he seems to have developed a fondness for you. He did prophesize that today’s rodeo would reveal all.”

  “Yes, good ideas,” said Tabitha. “Request Bettina and Pierre to keep a watch over me and Foster. Perhaps I could ask her questions before I retire at night and have the answers written down in the morning.”

  “That sounds logical,” said Caleb, “only you might get a more direct response from Pierre.”

  Foster frowned. “Why?”

  Caleb hugged Foster’s waist and appeared content, almost happy. If it was possible for such a powerful, complex visionary to be happy. “Because Pierre is Tabitha’s past life soul, and Bettina is yours.”

  There was a silence as the horses headed for the dirt road that would turn into First Street, following the rail line.

  Worth thought this was a thoroughly amusing turn of events. “So it’s possible, then. For men to reincarnate into women and vice versa.”

  “I thought so!” Tabitha burst out. “I started wondering, certain things Foster would say. I started wondering when he said Treasure Island was his favorite book, as well as Bettina’s. Then when he spontaneously told me he wouldn’t throw my name to the wind, and Bettina repeated those exact words in her next diary entry.”

  Foster was still speechless, so Worth filled in for him. “So you’re old Bettina Badeaux. My, you’ve changed. You’re much prettier now, for one.”

  “Do not mock,” Caleb instructed. “Every human has qualities of the opposite sex. They are not so opposite, after all. We simply ascribe certain qualities to each sex—women are gentle, sensitive, more emotional, for instance. The reincarnational cycle ensures that most humans become balanced with these seemingly differing qualities. Thankfully, only infrequently does a fellow come along who is so thoroughly ‘male’ he winds up wiping out an entire civilization. Usually men are tempered by thoughtfulness or concern for others.”

  “If only concern for their mothers,” goofed Worth. But this made sense. Men and women weren’t that different, after all. It would make sense that for a spirit to attain enlightenment, they would have to experience lives from both viewpoints. “Orianna was trying to kill me, too. Foster, perhaps you could promise never to court a witch like that ever again.”

  Foster, who now seemed fine with having been Bettina Badeaux, replied sunnily, “Have no fear, partner. I will never, ever throw the name of Tabitha Hudson to the wind.”

  The couple shared loving glances. Worth’s heart felt warmer just to be near them.

  Epilogue

  October, 1874

  “All right. Next gift.”

  The trio was in Vancouver House’s parlor. Their house—appropriately named Kind House, after their dear guide Ezra—was not finished being built a few blocks away. Foster’s new law practice was going well, especially after being introduced to the many clients that Harley and Senator Spiro r
an into in their lines of work. Between his law practice and the Black Hills gold claim, he could now afford a third bedroom for his son, Abe. The principal bedroom would be connected to Worth’s by a dressing room and a bathroom. Then Worth had demanded a darkroom and Tabitha a jewelry-making room and greenhouse, and… Well, it would take another couple of months to complete.

  Spouses and their demands. Foster wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Foster and Tabitha had been married a month earlier in the Baptist church where he had sung her the birthday song. Alameda Spiro, as justice of the peace, had officiated, and only a few people knew that the Newfoundland Phineas was also in attendance. She guarded the wedding flowers and ate all the grasses that decorated the bouquets. They continued to see the fluffy giant dog quite often, but she always stayed away when there were sexual doings in the air. Apparently, spirit dogs did not move into a higher plane when their earthly business was settled. They did not age, either, or eat, so she was a welcome addition to the family.

  “This one’s from Ivy, Neil, and Harley,” said Worth, reading the card.

  Foster watched as Tabitha withdrew a tissue-wrapped champagne flute. And another. And another.

  “More wine glasses,” Worth said dully.

  Foster looked to the table where what seemed like thirty-two liquor glasses were already lined up. “Is someone trying to tell us that we spend a lot of time drinking?”

  Tabitha smiled, her little beaver teeth as cunning as ever. “Now, Mr. Richmond. Mrs. Richmond says that these glasses will come in handy the next time we have an enormous dinner party.”

  Worth said, “The next time we have a circus, you mean.”

  Tabitha’s look became quizzical. “Wait. What’s this?” She lifted out of the box a black leather contraption with many straps and buckles. When she revealed the long penis-shaped leather dildo, it all came back to Foster. The dildo with straps they had found in Harley’s bedroom, ages ago. They had not been able to use it, as two men alone would have no use for such an item.

  Tabitha giggled with the realization. “Was this a mistake that this got stuck in the box?”

  Foster whipped it from her hand. “I don’t care if it’s a damned mistake. We’re going up to try it out.”

  The two men nearly stumbled over each other in their efforts to reach the bedroom first. In fact, at the very door, Foster had to peel Worth away from the doorjamb so he could enter first. They took off their boots with such abandon they stumbled over the bootjack and were flinging clothes freely about when Tabitha finally entered.

  Oh. Right. It wouldn’t be much fun without her.

  Foster felt his face redden at the censorious look Tabitha gave them. But she, too, went to the dressing table and unbuttoned her bodice. “My men,” she said with mock shame. “That will look funny when I have to explain to Dr. Remington Rudy that you broke your legs racing to try out a new dildo.”

  “I’m sure he’d understand,” Worth said casually, grabbing the bottle of Ross’s Cantharides Oil from the table. It was supposed to be a hair restorer, but it greased the skin just dandy and gave a better tingle to one’s penis than Chang’s infamous prick tea.

  Foster assisted Tabitha with the velvet-covered buttons at her hips. “Who would you like to use the contraption on, my pet?” Of course, Tabitha knew he hoped it would be him. It was certainly pleasant to be buggered by Worth while Tabitha tended to his prick with her mouth or to be fucked by Worth while Tabitha frigged him, or to be fucked by Worth while Tabitha did pretty much anything. But it would be something new to be impaled by Tabitha herself.

  “Who do you think?” Tabitha asked slyly. In the mirror before them, she watched while Foster lifted her chemise above her head. Her breasts were revealed—round, plump, with the nipples sitting pertly high upon the globes.

  Foster brushed his palms over her nipples and bit her earlobe. “I would like to be fucked by you.”

  Worth appeared then to shake Foster by the shoulder and shove the leather dildo at Tabitha. “Come on, you Scottish Jock.” He led Foster to the bedstead and poured out a palmful of the Spanish fly oil. He lovingly smeared it over the slope of Foster’s ass, tickling the anal rim with his fingertip. Foster held a bedpost and wiggled his hips to indicate his willingness, his penis stiff and throbbing already, anticipating the fucking he’d receive…from his own wife.

  He had never seen Worth’s eyes shine with such eagerness. Foster looked over his shoulder to see Tabitha clad in only her pink stockings, the leather apparatus strapped about her pelvis. The leather cock stuck out lewdly, with a glans shaped with tiny stitches that would hopefully pleasantly tickle the inside of one’s ass. She had added a twist to her getup. She had quickly donned one of Foster’s neckties, making a casual cravat between her breasts. And she had stepped into a pair of Foster’s knee-high boots.

  “Oh, Jiminy Crickets,” moaned Worth when he got an eyeful of her. “His ass is ready, Miss…What should I call you? Miss Gladiator?” Worth now moved on to fondling Foster’s cock with a palmful of the tingly oil while humping Foster’s hip with his own stiff meat.

  Tabitha’s mouth quirked up at one corner. Evidently, she liked that moniker. But she had a better one for herself. “I am Pierre Badeaux, pirate of Cuba, New Orleans, the Gulf of Mexico. Now prepare yourself, slave. I am going to screw that gorgeous ass and show no mercy.” She slapped Foster’s oily ass. The combined sting of the slap and the oil made with the toxic cantharides beetle stimulated Foster unbelievably, so he played up the part.

  He wiggled his ass submissively. She was playing that he was a slave, perhaps on one of Pierre’s ships, so he begged, “Spank me again, Pierre. I’ve been a horribly bad slave. I was sucking all those other cocks when I should’ve been in your quarters sucking yours.”

  “That’s right!” “Pierre” scolded manfully, smacking Foster’s reddened rump several more times. “I’m going to give you the fucking you need to straighten up and be a satisfactory slave.”

  “Oh, please,” Foster panted. He was absolutely on fire now, and it wasn’t just the Spanish fly oil Worth was now frigging his tool with. His asshole craved being filled with—was it his wife’s dildo he wanted? Pierre the pirate’s cock? “Please, Monsieur Badeaux. Don’t punish me too heavily. I was just sucking cock, something we both enjoy.”

  Slap! That one hurt! Foster’s entire skin twitched with pain, all the way up to the roots of his hair. “We both enjoy sucking cock? I think not, slave!” Tabitha positioned the tip of the leather cock at his anal ring. Assisted by Mr. Ross’s oil, she didn’t need to hump hard to insert it an inch inside her husband. “Why would I enjoy sucking cock? I am the Old Pirating Dog, Badeaux the Bad, and it is I who command to have my cock sucked! I care only for my own fulfillment, not that of others.”

  His wife was quite good at this, actually. She reached around his chest and tweaked one of his nipples—harshly, sending arrows of pain and pleasure mixed directly to his crotch. The slimy leather penis inched its way roughly up his rectum, and the sheer, shivering ecstasy of Worth’s hand corkscrewed his cock enthusiastically. These two very different sensations battled maddeningly for the upper hand. When Tabitha made a great lunge of her hips and filled his asshole to the hilt with the leather prick, he had to stay Worth’s hand or he would’ve shot immediately.

  “Fuck me,” he begged the pirate leader. “Fuck me like I deserve to be fucked. I’ve been bad, and I need your superior authority to put me back in my place.”

  “Oh, I’ll fuck you, all right,” Tabitha snarled roughly. She didn’t let up on the slapping, each punishing blow sending a fresh wave of stimulation through Foster’s balls and prick. “You like being fucked, don’t you, slave? You like being dominated, shown who is the big frog around here.”

  She fucked him in earnest now, big, sweeping lunges of her hips that filled him to the hilt, then took the leather glans back down to the anal rim. Worth, his enormous erection displaying how hot this scene made him, caught Foster
’s submissive mouth in a voracious kiss. For now, he merely squeezed Foster’s bulging, oily prick.

  Then Worth pulled back and muttered against Foster’s mouth. “You like it when the master fucks you, don’t you, you lowly, mewling slave. You enjoy being violated, having your body plundered.”

  All right, that was perhaps taking it a bit far. Foster would tolerate it from his wife but not from his partner! So he resisted, stiffening his thighs and torso. “No! I am doing this under duress! Take your hand off my penis immediately, you damned buffoon!”

  Of course, this only made Worth massage his meat even more sensuously and purr, “You like it, don’t you, you lowdown, worthless slave.”

  “Oh, he likes it, all right,” Tabitha panted. “He likes being penetrated by a thick, long pole like this. Admit it, slave. You like being fucked by other men. It makes you hot to be impaled by a cock. It makes you randy to be screwed by a juicy, thick, exploding prick.”

  That was it. “Worth,” Foster whispered. “I’m about to—”

  Foster exploded forcefully then under the insistent caresses of Worth’s palm. He gave one resounding groan that seemed to vibrate the very walls, and shot out across the bed’s counterpane. The streaming arc of jism instantly puddled on the tufted bedspread, and Worth coaxed more seed from him with his loving hand.

  “That’s good, slave. Show your master how much you like being fucked up the ass. It makes you hot, doesn’t it? You’re craving that long, thick black prick up your ass.”

  Little transparent bubbles swam before Foster’s eyes, and he was certain he’d collapse on the bed. Tabitha slowed down her humping but still held him by the hips as she mounted him. She clearly enjoyed being the male aggressor.

  “Good slave,” she growled, slapping his rump less harshly now. “You display to me how fired up you get when you’re fucked well. You shot that semen nearly all the way to the wall.”