“OhmyGod! Oh…oh…oh Jesus.” She reached down and grabbed his head, tangling her fingers in his hair as she pulled him tight against her core. Jake lifted his head, pulling away from her hands.
“No, don’t,” he said. “Put your arms back above your head and leave them there.”
She looked at him for a moment, studying his expression. Then she smiled, closed her eyes, and raised her arms back above her head. Jake leaned back down and kissed her again, moving from her pussy to her tummy and waist. He spent a moment dipping his tongue into the dimple of her belly button, then moved up to her breasts. He lathed each firm, full globe completely, saving her areolas and nipples for last. Amanda continued to writhe and twist under his touch, moaning her pleasure at what he was doing.
As he sucked her nipples, pressing the large, pebble-hard buds between his lips, her moans and whimpers became more insistent. “Oh God, Jake…please…”
He kissed up her neck to the hollow beneath her ear. “Please what, Amanda? What do you want? What do you need?”
She looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “You. Your cock. Oh God, Jake. My pussy’s on fire. I need you to fuck me. Fuck me now.”
Jake held himself above her on one arm. With his free hand he gently stroked her face. Goddamn, she’s beautiful, he thought. How can a woman so sexually erotic be so fucking beautiful?
Holding her chin and cheek in his hand he tilted her mouth toward his. Just as he slid his tongue deep into her mouth, his cock nudged the entrance to her pussy. With one thrust of his hips, he shoved his dick into the depths of her core. Taken by surprise, she clawed at his back, her loud moan muffled by his passionate kiss. Pushing her arms back above her head, he secured both of her wrists in one hand, pinning her to the mattress. He broke the kiss and lifted his head, looking down at her. She stared up at him through lust-glazed eyes, her mouth open, her breath shallow. He could feel her vaginal muscles clutching at his cock, squeezing him in rhythmic spasms.
“Amanda Sloane, I’m going to fuck you senseless.” He began to fuck her, his hips and cock a ramrod plunging over and over into her wet flesh.
“Yes Jake! Yesss! Fuck me. Fuck me…fuck me…fuck me…”
Amanda came with a scream, her head back, her eyes shut tight, her hips thrusting her pussy up to meet his plunging strokes. Jake felt his own climax ignite, a burst of white-hot flame that started in his cock and spread like a wildfire to every cell in his body. He groaned and shoved his cock deep, surrendering to the surge of pleasure that roiled his consciousness.
Finally the waves of ecstasy subsided and he collapsed, his body immobile on top of Amanda.
“You can let go of my wrists now. I’m not going to scratch you again.”
Jake unclamped his hand and rolled to one side with a deep sigh. He put an arm around her. “My God, that was…”
“Bliss,” Amanda said. “Pure bliss.” They lay quietly for a moment and then Amanda said, “I guess you know you’ve ruined me. For sex.”
Jake lifted to one elbow and looked at her curiously. She looked back at him and grinned. “Where am I ever going to find another man who can fuck me like that? My toes are still curled.”
“New York is a big city. Got to be a lot of men there.”
“You’d be surprised,” she said, sliding out of his embrace. “Come on cowboy. I’ve got a plane to catch.”
****
As soon as Jake had his jeans and shirt on, Amanda gave him a quick kiss and pushed him out the door. It took her ten minutes to pack and dress for the trip to the cabin and then back to New York. She found Jake in the kitchen, where Rosita had prepared breakfast burritos they could eat on the way. Amanda had brought her camera to take pictures. The cabin was an interesting historical facet of the provenance of the Indian artifacts. Jake tossed some empty boxes and packing material in the back of the open top Jeep, and they set off across the creek and up the rolling hills.
When they were within half a mile of the cabin, Jake said, “What the hell,” and sped up, the Jeep jostling from side to side as it bounced over the rough terrain.
As they got closer, Amanda could see that the cabin door, which Manuel had been sent to padlock the evening before, stood wide open. A wisp of dark smoke curled up from the cabin’s chimney. “What the fuck,” Jake muttered as the Jeep dropped into a shallow draw and rose back up, the front wheels catching air as it soared over the opposite side. He punched the accelerator, guiding the vehicle around boulders and through patches of cactus and thickets of mesquite.
As they reached the cabin, Jake stomped on the break, sliding up next to the open door. He and Amanda both leaped out of the Jeep and rushed to the open door. The new padlock dangled uselessly, hanging on a hasp that had been ripped out of the doorframe.
Amanda stepped inside, a hard knot forming in her tummy. She felt something crunch under the sole of her boot. “No!” She cried. “Oh my God, no!”
The floor was littered with shards of broken pottery. Broken chunks were also scattered on the table and bunk beds. As she looked around in the dim light, she saw that every pot had been shattered. The Native American blankets had been sliced to shreds and burned in the pot-bellied stove where they still smoldered.
The chests at the ends of the beds were open, their contents scattered. She couldn’t believe the destruction. Why in God’s name would the man do this? The only answer was that he was truly insane. She looked around, her eyes filling with tears. Based on what Chi and Underwood had estimated, she was looking at a quarter of a million dollars’ worth of destruction. Native American artifacts destroyed before they could be appreciated.
“That goddamn cock-sucking son of a bitch!” Jake was livid with anger.
“Do you think your cousin…?”
“Hell yes! Who else would do it? I’m going to kill the son of a bitch for this.”
“Jake, you can’t…”
“Yes, I can. Watch me. When a rattlesnake is that dangerous, you have to kill it. Get in the Jeep. We’re going back to the lodge.”
As they got in the Jeep, Amanda said, “How did he find out about the pottery and blankets? How would he even know what was in the cabin?”
“Hell, Amanda, half a dozen hands knew we took Chi and Underwood to the cabin. And I sent Manuel up here with a goddamned fifty cent lock!”
On the trip back to the lodge, Jake was silent, but she sensed she was sitting next to a seething volcano. She wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know what to say. What could she say? This man she was beginning to care about was plagued by a man—a monster. “Jake, I’m so sorry…”
He said nothing. But when he looked at her, his eyes were as hard and dark as flint. When the Jeep pulled up next to the lodge, Justin was standing on the porch, waiting for them. He looked at Amanda, and then at Jake. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
“The pottery and blankets in the cabin were destroyed.” Jake said. The fire in his eyes was now at a slow burn. “The son of a bitch smashed every pot, burned every blanket. A quarter of a million burned and smashed to smithereens.”
Justin’s face went pale and he glanced at Amanda. She nodded her confirmation of Jake’s unbelievable statement. Justin turned livid. “The goddamn fucking son of a bitch. You should’ve let me shoot him.”
“I should have. But then I’d have to run the ranch all by myself once your ass was in prison down at Huntsville.”
“If we don’t come up with another quarter million dollars soon, we may not have a ranch to run. Unfortunately, I know why the son of a bitch is doing it.”
“Because he’s an insane asshole.”
“He is that,” Justin said. “But he’s also a sneaky fucking sidewinder.”
Amanda watched Jake and Justin, waiting.
“He’s got Daddy’s note. He bought it from the bank.” Justin seemed broken.
“How the fuck do you know that?” Jake looked at his younger brother in disbelief.
“I called Lloyd Masters at the ba
nk this morning. Told him we would have half the money this week when we sell the blanket and pot to Chi Long. I said we would have the other half once we sold everything still in the cabin at auction. Told him we would need a month’s extension until the Santa Fe auction in June. Masters said if it was up to him that would be no problem. But it wasn’t up to him. It was up to the man who held our note. And that man is…”
“Winslow,” Jake said, his voice barely a whisper. “That sneaky son of a bitch. He didn’t want the painting. Or the pots and blankets. He wants the goddamn ranch!”
“And he may get it, too, now that he’s destroyed our chance to sell the pots and blankets.”
“That fucking piece of cow shit,” Jake snarled, his voice laced with venom.
“He needs to be shot.” Justin’s body seemed to seethe with rage.
“Yes,” Jake agreed. “But we won’t be the ones to do it. You were right when you stopped me before. Now take your own advice and back off.”
Amanda was relieved to see Jake take a deep breath and begin to calm down. Nothing good could come out of a confrontation between Winslow and Jake or Justin.
“The question,” Justin said, “is what do we do now?”
Jake had gained control of his anger and now seemed to be thinking rationally. “First,” he said, “I think we should sell the first phase blanket and Onapi pot to Chi Long. He said he would fly back down to pick them up if we wanted to sell. At least then, we will have half the money in the bank.”
“I agree,” Justin said. “I’ll call him today. And the pots and blankets in the cabin? Was there anything salvageable?”
Jake shook his head, looking at Amanda.
“No,” she said. “It was all destroyed.”
“We need to go back and clean it up.” Jake said. “Manuel could go, but I think I’d rather do it myself. I’ll get a broom and some plastic bags from Rosita.”
“I’ll come.” Justin said. “I want to see just what the bastard has done.”
Jake looked at Amanda. “I guess you’ll still be leaving this afternoon.”
“No,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to the cabin with you and clean up. Tomorrow is Saturday. I can leave then. If I can rearrange my flights, I’ll still be able to stop in Austin and see a friend from college.”
“You’re welcome to stay another night,” Jake said. “But you don’t have to help us clean up the cabin. I’m afraid that’s going to be a depressing chore.”
“I know,” she said. “But I want to help.”
A dark cloud of discouragement hung over the Jeep as Justin, Jake, and Amanda drove back up the winding path to the cabin. It was hard for her to believe anyone could be as evil as the Morgans’ cousin. But the evidence was on the cabin floor and in the pot-bellied stove. She certainly couldn’t forget the burned painting that had brought her to Texas in the first place.
Chapter Twenty
At the cabin they opened the door and windows to let in light, and Jake lit the lamp sitting on the table. The image of Amanda sitting on the table with her legs wrapped around his neck, screaming in orgasm, seemed a lifetime away.
Any hopes they might have harbored that the pots could be glued back together vanished when they saw the destruction on the cabin floor. Every pot was smashed to bits, leaving no piece bigger than a silver dollar.
While Jake began to sweep up the shards of pottery, Justin and Amanda pulled what was left of the blankets out of the pot-bellied stove and stuffed the charred remains in large plastic bags.
“Jesus,” Amanda muttered, holding up a two foot square corner of a beautifully woven blanket. “There’s not even enough left to make a shawl.”
“That bastard,” Justin raged. “That limp-dicked fucker. You should have let me kill him the other day when he burned the Randell painting.”
“The fake Randell, you mean,” Jake corrected.
“Let’s finish up and get out of here,” Justin said. He kicked a shard of pottery across the floor. “I’m tired of looking at our last hope of paying off Daddy’s note scattered all over the goddamn floor.”
They finished cleaning up the cabin and loaded the bags of trash in the Jeep. As Justin cupped his hands around the lamp chimney to blow it out, Jake had the disheartening thought that blowing out the lantern was akin to extinguishing their future. Try as he might, he couldn’t see a flicker of light at the end of this dark tunnel.
****
“Wait,” Amanda cried, a moment before Justin blew out the lantern. “Wait. What’s that?” She was pointing to an object tucked in a corner above the cabin’s central rafter.
“I don’t know,” Jake said. “It’s not big enough to be another blanket.”
The object was just out of Jake’s reach so he pulled one of the chairs over to stand on. The object was stuffed tight between the rafter and roof and it took a minute to work it free. “It’s a bedroll.” Jake stepped down from the chair and held it out. “A really old bedroll.”
The canvas bedroll was weathered to a dark grey. It was about three feet wide and six inches in diameter, tied in a roll with two strips of rawhide. “It looks like it was stuffed in there to stop a leak in the roof,” Amanda said. She could see daylight coming through a hole in the roof and the bedroll had a large water stain on one side. She moved closer to see what Jake was holding.
“Let’s take it outside,” Justin said. “So we can see it better.”
Jake took the bedroll out and laid it on the hood of the Jeep. He tried to untie the rawhide strips that held it together.
“Wait,” Amanda said. “It’s filthy.” she took a broom and dusted off the outside, brushing off a thick layer of dirt. One again Jake tried to untie the rawhide strips. The leather was so old and brittle, there was no way to get them undone.
Justin stepped up next to Jake. “Here.” He handed his brother a pocketknife. “Cut the damn things.”
Jake took the knife and cut the binding strips, then slowly unrolled the stiff fabric. Amanda could see that the water stain on the outside of the canvas had not seeped into the interior and, while the bedroll looked old, the inside seemed to be fairly clean and in remarkably good condition.
“I’ll bet this has been tied behind a lot of saddles,” Jake said. “And slept on under a lot of starry nights. It looks like it’s at least a hundred years old.” As he unrolled the bedroll, they saw that it was two layers of canvas sewn together with a thin pad between them. “The pad is probably horsehair,” Jake said. “They used that a lot back in the 1800s. And it looks like one side has been coated with something, probably buffalo fat, to make it waterproof.”
Halfway down the length of the bedroll, another piece of canvas appeared—white and small, about twelve inches wide by eighteen inches high.
“Careful Jake. Go easy.” Justin cautioned.
Jake gave his brother a look and then continued to slowly unroll the bedroll, revealing more of the smaller canvas.
“It’s got writing on it,” Amanda said. She felt her pulse suddenly speed up. The three of them moved closer, crowding in to read the message on the small canvas. The writing had been done with paint and a small brush.
Amanda read slowly, “To gunslinger Odel Morgan—thanks for posing for me. Rawhide Outlaws has returned my illustration, which I’m giving to you. Your picture will be in the June issue if you have a chance to find a copy. “Hot Lead for Horse Thieves” is a good yarn. I think you will like it. Thanks again for the canvas you gave me. I hope Mr. Goodnight wasn’t too upset about you cutting up his chuck wagon. Good luck with your ranch. I know you’ll do fine. Your friend. It’s signed, CMR.” Amanda said. Beneath the initials was an outline of a buffalo scull.
Amanda’s heart was pounding, racing so fast she thought it might explode from her chest. Reaching out, she gently picked up the small canvas and carefully flipped it over on the bedroll.
“I’ll be damned,” Justin said. Jake echoed his comment.
Amanda whispe
red, “Oh my God.”
In the center of the small canvas an elegant illustration had been drawn of a young cowboy dressed in chaps and boots and hat with a pearl-handled six-shooter in a holster at his side. The gunslinger was wearing a blue shirt with a bright red bandanna knotted loosely around his neck. The colors seemed as bright and vibrant as the day it must have been painted. The cowboy was the central figure of the illustration, with only a few strokes of paint indicating a corral and Western saloon in the background. Otherwise, the cowboy was surrounded by plain canvas. The canvas had yellowed slightly, but the painting looked as if it could have been painted yesterday.
Across the bottom of the painting was the notation: R.O. 04 / 89—Hot Lead for Horse Thieves.
Amanda turned toward Jake. She had been holding her breath and had to exhale before she could speak. “You know what I think this is?” Her excitement was barely contained.
Jake looked at her, waiting.
“I think this is an original Charles Marion Randell illustration for a story in the Western periodical Rawhide Outlaws. I’m sure I saw a copy of this very illustration while I was researching the painting you own.”
“You mean the fake, burned Randell we own.” Jake said. “What makes you think this one is real?”
Amanda glanced up at him, sensing his hesitation. “Mostly a gut feeling. We need to get back to the lodge so I can compare it to the examples on my computer. Rawhide Outlaws used several Randell paintings to illustrate their stories about the West. Time-wise, the stories were published about the time Randell was painting in Judith Basin, Montana.”
One Hard Ride Page 19
