by Neil Hunter
‘Why of course,’ she said. ‘My father wasn’t here the night you fell oil your horse right outside. I had some help to bring you inside and then I got your clothes off, cleaned you up and put you to bed.’
‘That’s a hell of a pastime for a young woman!’ Bodie shook his head at the thought.
‘I happen to be a trained nurse, Mister Bodie,’ Lynda said evenly. ‘You aren’t the first man I’ve had to strip! Or the first I’ve seen naked! ’
‘Must beat the hell out of needlework!’
Lynda’s eyes sparkled with brief anger. ‘From my experience, Mister Bodie, there isn't anything very remarkable about a naked man! Very little worth seeing.’
A wild desire ran through Bodie. He had to fight back the urge to throw off the blankets and … he only smiled, and said, ‘Maybe you’ve been looking at things the wrong way.’
She held back a wry smile. ‘Mister Bodie, I can’t stand here all day debating your anatomy!’
Bodie shrugged. ‘Another time, Lynda Jordan.’
At the door she glanced back over her shoulder. ‘Yes ... another time, Mister Bodie!’
‘Hey ... the name’s just Bodie.’
‘All right — Bodie — I’ll go and bring you something to eat. But no clothes yet. I don’t think you’ll need clothes for awhile — not today at least.’ She paused for a deliberate moment before adding, ‘Or tonight!’
And then she was gone! Leaving Bodie with a throat still dry and a distinctly disturbing sensation beneath the bedclothes. He had a third glass of water to cure the dry throat. But there wasn’t much he could do about the other problem. There was something - but Bodie figured he might as well wait until night. See if anything developed. He had a feeling that something very definitely might. There was an old saying about everything coming to him who waited. He had nowhere to go and nothing else to do but wait.
A few minutes later the door opened and a tall, handsome man entered the room. He looked to be in his late forties, dressed in an immaculate dark suit and white shirt.
There was a look about him that reminded Bodie of someone, and after a few seconds he realized he must be looking at Lynda Jordan’s father.
‘For someone who treats his body with such disrespect, Mister Bodie, I must say you’re looking better.’ The man held out a hand. ‘I’m Phillip Jordan.’
Bodie took the hand. The doctor’s grip was firm and genuine. ‘It looks like I’ve been getting the best attention. I’m grateful, Doctor Jordan.’
‘Just how do you feel?’
‘A little sore. Stiff. Mainly, though, I’m hungry. And not too wild about being stuck in this bed.’
Jordan smiled. ‘Put up with it for one more day.’
‘One more day might be too long.’ Bodie eyed the doctor steadily. ‘I figure you know who I am and what I’m doing?’
‘The town’s marshal, Jim Treece, put me in the picture. You have quite a reputation, Mister Bodie.’
‘Some might say different.’
‘I like to think I’m intelligent enough to understand that there’s a need for your profession, Mister Bodie. We I live in a wild and uncivilized society out here. Oh, there are those who would argue that point. They’ll tell you about the towns, the churches, the law enforcement. They pretend the violent part of the frontier life doesn’t really exist. But I know different. As a doctor I see more of it than most. The results of violence. Bullet wounds that maim and kill. Men cut to shreds with knives. Faces slashed with broken bottles. I’ve lost count of the limbs I’ve had to amputate because of gangrene after wounds turn septic. Men crippled, blinded, scarred. Some by accident, many because of arguments. Drunken brawls. Too many hurt because of men like Linc Fargo. Cruel, brutal men who are too damn lazy to work. They prefer to steal from others, kill if need be. The world can do without Fargo’s kind, Mister Bodie.’
There was a long silence. Jordan moved away from the bed and stared out of the window. After a minute he cleared his throat, turning to glance at Bodie. The doctor looked faintly embarrassed.
‘You’ll have to forgive me, Mister Bodie. I tend to get carried away with my own enthusiasm.’
‘Hell, don’t apologies,’ Bodie said. ‘There’s room for a few more with your viewpoint.’
‘Before you passed out completely you gave Marshal Treece directions as to where he could find the bodies of the two men you were involved with. They were buried as soon as we found them.’
‘That’ll be a couple more spaces in Hell filled up,’ Bodie observed dryly.
‘If you hadn’t had the presence of mind to seek me out you could have ended up alongside them,’ Jordan pointed out. ‘Those whip marks would have gone septic very quickly if they hadn’t been treated.’
‘Your daughter’s handiwork. You’ve got a great girl there.’
Jordan smiled. ‘As you say, Bodie. She is also quite a handful. As well as her late mother’s beauty she also inherited her independent character. I find myself envying the man who ends up marrying her, and also feeling a little sorry for him. He’ll have to be strong willed or she’ll give him hell.’
Bodie smiled. ‘I know what you mean.’
‘Yes, of course, you’ve already met Lynda!
‘We’ve traded words.’
Jordan smiled. ‘I see. Well, Bodie, I’ll look in later. It’s time I started work. Pretty quiet today. Couple of pregnant mothers due to give birth. Cowboy with three broken
ribs out at one of the ranches. Few other odds and ends. Now you just rest easy. I’ll see you this evening. Anything you need Lynda will take care of it.’
I’ll bet she will! Bodie sank back on his pillow as Jordan left the room. He began to think about Linc Fargo, wondering where the man was, how far he’d got. He was certain that by now Fargo would be over the border in Mexico. Fargo, Jubal Keller, and the statue of the Mission of San Felipe. Bodie let his mind trail back over the confused train of events that had taken place since the statue had been taken. The lives lost directly and indirectly because of the theft of a solid gold, two-foot-high statue. Linc Fargo had a lot to answer for. A lot of dead men. Some of them damn good men.
He would pay. Sooner or later. Bodie would see to it!
Without knowing it he drifted off into a light sleep. He came instantly alert as soft noise filtered through his relaxed senses.
Lynda Jordan was beside the bed again, placing a loaded tray on the small table beside him.
‘Hungry?’ she asked.
There was a plate holding thick slices of fried ham, a couple of eggs, browned potatoes. There was freshly baked bread and a pot of rich, hot coffee. Food had never looked or tasted so good to Bodie. By the time he’d finished he felt as though he’d never move again.
‘Hell, woman, what’re you trying to do? Get me on my feet again or keep me on my back for good?’
‘That’s a leading question, Bodie,’ Lynda said as she left the room with the tray.
‘Come back when you’ve figured the answer.’
‘I’ll do that.’
A little later she returned with a dressing gown belonging to her father. She tossed it to Bodie.
‘There’s a hot bath ready for you. And I’ve laid out my father’s shaving things. Along the hall. Last door on the right.’
Bodie sat up. He reached out for the dressing gown. Glanced at Lynda who was standing by the door.
‘I figure I can handle it all on my own,’ he said. ‘Don’t you have any patients? Maybe some helpless man who needs his pants taking off?’
Lynda’s eyes sparkled. ‘Go and have your bath, Bodie!’
‘If I need my back scrubbing I’ll yell,’ he said to her retreating back.
‘Don’t hold your breath!’
Bodie sank into the steaming tub with a grateful sigh.
The water was hot and it set his blood racing. He clenched his teeth against the tingle created by the heated water soaking into the still tender lash marks. He leaned back, relaxing. He felt better alre
ady. He drew a hand across his freshly shaved face. It was surprising what a shave did for a man’s self-satisfaction. There was a bar of soap on the edge of the bath. Bodie took it and lathered himself.
He heard the bathroom door open, felt the cool inrush of air before it closed again. A telltale hint of perfume reached his nostrils. The soft hiss of a dress brushing against the side of the tub.
‘I thought you might like a drink.’
Bodie glanced up at Lynda Jordan. She held a tumbler of amber liquid in one hand. ‘The best whisky in the house,’ she said.
‘Sounds good. Be hard to hold with soapy hands.’
She got down on her knees beside the tub. ‘Here,’ she said, and held the glass to his lips.
The whisky was excellent. The way it was being served was superb. Bodie looked across the glass and caught Lynda’s eyes. Her lovely face had caught a gentle flush. It could have been the heat of the bathroom, the rising steam. It could have been ...
‘Good?’ she asked.
‘Very.’
‘How’s the water?
‘Hot.’
She put aside the empty glass but made no attempt to rise.
‘You didn’t yell,’ she said.
‘Haven’t reached my back yet.’
‘Give me the soap.’
‘You’ll get your dress splashed.’
She stood up and went to the door. Bodie heard the key turn as she locked it. Then she returned to kneel at the side of the tub.
‘I said you’ll splash your dress.’
Lynda smiled slowly. ‘I heard the first time you said it.’
She reached up with slim hands and deliberately undid the buttons of her dress from collar to waist. Easing it from her white shoulders she pushed the dress to her hips. A thin cotton shift covered her body. Lynda loosened the thin laces securing it. The shift peeled away from her supple body easily and she slid it down to where her dress hung. ‘I won’t get it wet now, Bodie,’ she said, leaning slowly over the tub. Her ripe, naked white breasts swung gently forward. The nipples were rose pink, the erecting tips puckered and tender. ‘Give me the soap, Bodie,’ she said, and took it when it was offered. She began to gently soap his naked back, fingers massaging his flesh. Her breasts began to move back and forth with the motion, gleaming softly as the steam made her perspire, pink nipples enlarging. The soap slipped from her fingers and vanished beneath the lathered water. Lynda sank both hands into the tub, searching for it.
‘Honey, that ain’t the soap,’ Bodie said hoarsely.
Lynda looked up at him, her face flushed, moist. ‘Bodie, to hell with the soap! ’
Bodie slid one arm around her lithe body. His free hand cupped the heavy, swollen fullness of a naked breast, exploring, caressing. Lynda’s face moved close to his and Bodie caught her soft lips with his mouth. She moaned softly. Under the water her slim fingers were busy. Bodie slid a hand down to where her dress hung from her hips.
His fingers tugged at buttons and laces until the dress and her undergarments slid down her long, trembling thighs.
He ran his hand across her pulsing, flat belly, through the soft thatch of golden hair nestling between her thighs. A quivering little cry burst from Lynda’s lips as his fingers sought out and discovered the inviting softness hidden below. She was warm and moist and more than ready.
‘Bodie ... oh, Bodie, yes please ... !’ she whispered.
As he rose from the tub, water spilling from his body, Bodie saw her move away. She stepped out of her tangled dress, slipping off her shoes, turning to spread her clothes out on the bathroom floor. Then she faced him, pressing her heated flesh against his, squirming as she felt his thrusting hardness against her soft belly. She ground her supple hips against him and Bodie gripped her taut, naked buttocks, holding her close. They eased down onto the spread—out dress, Lynda spreading her white limbs, and she threw back her head, sighing deeply as Bodie entered her. She gripped him with her powerful thighs, sharp fingernails digging into his naked back as he thrust deeply into her slippery flesh. Ecstatic cries rose in her throat with each penetrating thrust, her moist young body twisting and humping beneath him. A sudden climax gripped her, Lynda’s body arching as the spasm held her, and then she resumed her lusting drive. She climaxed a second time, an instant before Bodie’s own powerful release, and they lay together, motionless, limp, drained, silent.
Lynda ran her tongue over her dry lips, turning her
head so she could see Bodie’s face. ‘Bodie ... again, Bodie ... again!’
He kissed her, felt her eager response, and felt his own arousal.
‘Make it last longer, Bodie,’ she gasped. ‘Please, Bodie ... oh ... please!’
Again he drove into her, striving to satisfy her unrelenting passion. It occurred to him that she had an odd way of scrubbing a man’s back! But it was nothing compared to her method of getting him dry once he stepped out of the tub! The only drawback he could see was that he was never going to get much satisfaction from using a plain old-fashioned towel after this!
Chapter Fourteen
Bodie sat his horse on a low ridge, looking down on the small Mexican village he’d ridden a long way to find.
All the way down from Pinalo, following a cold trail that led south, always in the shadow of the San Andres.
Trekking slowly mile after mile until he reached the border, crossing and skirting the wild hellhole called Juarez.
Then on into Chihuahua, first to a tiny settlement called Valerio, where for a few well-placed dollars, he was able to find out where the two Americanos had gone. Bodie rested overnight in Valerio, moving on at dawn. He rode slowly now, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of the Rurales, the Mexican law force. A lone gringo could find himself in bad trouble if he got on the wrong side of the Rurales. They were hard, ruthless enforcers, much given to execution without trial. Especially when it came to dealing with errant Americanos, who didn’t really have any business being in Mexico anyway! He neared the village by the end of the day, making camp in a secluded dry creek bed, hidden by high, overhung banks. And with the new day growing around him, he set off on the last part of his journey.
It was mid-morning. Hot. The sun blazing down out of a brassy sky. Heat hammered at him. Sweat trickled down Bodie’s unshaven, dust-grimed face. It stung his eyes, making him blink furiously. Flies buzzed around his horse and around Bodie. He was feeling distinctly grubby. And every time he thought of how dirty he was, he recalled a town in New Mexico. Pinalo. And a certain doctor’s house. Also a girl with golden hair and blue eyes, with a bedside manner second to none. A girl with a unique bathroom manner. Bodie smiled in reflection. Thinking back he realized that they never did find the soap Lynda had dropped in the tub!
He jerked back to reality with a soft curse. What the hell was he playing at? He wasn’t here for fun!
Bodie turned his attention back to the distant village.
»Smoke drifted skywards from cook fires. Here and there white-clad figures moved with languorous ease in the plaza. But no Fargo or Keller.
He dismounted and led his horse to cover, tethering it securely. Bodie slid his rifle from the sheath and checked that it was fully loaded. He did the same with his Colt.
Both weapons were fully loaded and he had full belt loops.
He moved back to the crest of the ridge and sank down on the hard, hot ground, and waited.
He didn’t have as long to wait as he might have expected.
From the east appeared a small wagon, pulled by a matched pair of black horses. Two men sat on the seat. A pair of outriders followed the wagon. The slow-moving wagon rolled on by Bodie’s position, following a well-defined trail that led directly to the village. The man handling the reins was big, running to fat. He wore an expensive dark suit, a pearl grey hat, grey gloves. He looked completely out of place with his surroundings. He should have been in San Francisco. Or New York. Not somewhere in the wilds of Chihuahua. And not alongside the man seated beside him.
&
nbsp; Joseph Kimble! —
There was no mistaking the man. Kimble sat huddled forlornly on the seat, shoulders sagging. He had a white sling supporting his right arm and he favored his left shoulder, wincing in pain each time the wagon lurched over rough ground.
‘Son of a bitch!’ Bodie muttered softly. He had to give the man credit for persistence if nothing else. He watched the wagon and the grim-faced outriders enter the village, circling the dusty plaza before drawing to a halt outside a two-storey adobe building. Nothing happened for a minute, then a Mexican stepped outside and began talking to Kimble. The man beside Kimble climbed down off the wagon and moved around, wiping his face with a large kerchief. Eventually the Mexican vanished inside the building. He was only gone for a few seconds, reappearing quickly, nodding in Kimble’s direction. As Kimble began to climb awkwardly down from the wagon, Linc Fargo and Jubal Keller came out of the building.
Bodie watched the pair as they talked with Kimble.
There was an ugly gleam in his eyes as he gazed at the men he’d come so far to find. After everything that had happened. The deaths. The twisted, torturous trail he’d had to follow. Finally, he had them in his sights. Linc Fargo, the man who had set the whole bloody episode in motion.
And Jubal Keller, his second in command, a killer only topped by Linc Fargo himself.
Easing his Winchester onto his shoulder Bodie settled the sights on Linc Fargo. The range was just under two hundred yards. Well inside the Winchester’s capabilities.
Bodie eased back the hammer, his right forefinger easing the trigger ...
He held his shot while he allowed for distance and the drop in the land from the ridge to the village plaza. Even when he had taken everything into consideration Bodie slacked off from pulling back on the trigger. He settled himself in a more comfortable position before snugging the Winchester to his shoulder again. Picking his target, Bodie began to squeeze, felt the trigger coming back easily, steadily.
‘This is from Father Ignacio, you son of a bitch!’ he murmured, and completed his pull on the trigger ...