Slocum #422

by Jake Logan

  “She’s been acting the proper lady, sir. Her maid’s a bit of a hellion, though.”

  Burlison’s eyebrows arched. “Sarah Jane? Are we talking about the same girl? Sarah Jane was hired to hold down my daughter’s high spirits. My wife and I interviewed dozens of young ladies before deciding on her.”

  Slocum thought that the daughter’s wild ways might have been passed along to Sarah Jane but said nothing.

  “I escorted them back to the train.”

  “Escorted?”

  “They’d gone into town to do some sightseeing. It wasn’t anything that could get them into trouble,” Slocum said, working to keep his face impassive. He had won big poker pots that way. This lie took all his skill.

  “I respect your desire not to get my daughter into trouble, sir,” Burlison said.

  “You hired me to keep her out of trouble. That’s what I’m doing.”

  Burlison slapped him again on the back and laughed. “Good man. You go clean up while I talk to my daughter.”

  “Depending on when the Yuma Bullet leaves, I need to get into town to buy some clothes.” Before he could ask Burlison for an advance on the promised pay, the man waved him off.

  “I’ll have none of that. Jefferson can fetch you some of my discarded clothing. It should fit you reasonably well.” He stepped back and studied Slocum critically. “Can’t do anything about the boots. My feet are considerably smaller than yours, but a shirt, coat, and vest and pants can serve you. Sarah Jane is adept with a needle. She can tailor the clothing for you on the way across the Sonora Desert. That’s a boring, barren stretch of hot sand. Utterly boring. Nothing ever happens there that’s worth mentioning.”

  He went off muttering to himself. Slocum took a deep breath and found himself a little woozy. From the tickling down his back, he realized he was still bleeding. With the earlier loss of blood from Big Joe’s buckshot, he needed a thick juicy steak to build up his strength. At the moment peeling off the filthy duds and getting cleaned up would have to do.

  He went to the second Pullman car and made his way up the iron steps. He heard a muffled argument between Burlison and Marlene in the other car. Going in, he stopped and stared, thinking he had entered Marlene’s car by mistake. But she and her father were in the other, and this was hooked up in front of the mail car, indicating it was of lesser importance. If this was where he had to endure the Sonora Desert and the rest of the trip to Texas, he was in tall clover.

  He stooped and tested the softness of the couch along one wall. It was a sight better than sleeping on the hard ground under the stars with nothing more than a threadbare blanket over his shoulders. Moving toward the rear of the car, he found a small bathroom, a ­copper-­plated tub set to one side. A stove outside was perfect for heating not only water but the entire car if there had been a need. Crossing the desert in late spring reduced the need to use the stove. And that presented Slocum with a dilemma. He needed to haul water for the tub and heat it in a stove lacking fuel.

  “There’s plenny o’ coal from the tender.”

  Slocum turned to see the conductor with clothing draped over his arm. Jefferson dropped it to a chair.

  “Mistah Burlison he said that was foah you. Ain’t never heard tell o’ him givin’ ’way his clothes before.”

  “I ruined what I was wearing.” Slocum turned to show his back.

  “Lordy, you did a deed. I’ll get watah heatin’ and you set yo’sef down in the tub. Won’t take long, hot watah and coal.”

  Slocum went into the small bathroom and gingerly peeled off his shirt. He felt strips sticking to his wounds. That had to come off in the bath. After he hung up his ­six-­shooter on a clothes hook, he sat on the edge of the bathtub and worked off his boots. Wiggling his toes felt good. He looked up when Jefferson came into the room with two large buckets.

  “This heah watah’s pipin’ hot aw’ready. Got it from the Bullet’s boiler. You be careful gettin’ in. I got more watah heatin’ on the stove.”

  Jefferson sloshed plenty of water in. Steam rose. Just holding his hand in the rising heat soothed Slocum. Before he shucked off his pants, he grabbed a bar of soap and sniffed at it. Ladies’ perfumed soap would make him stink to high heaven. Somehow, he didn’t care what Jefferson or Mad Tom or any of the other crew thought about that. The memory of being clean was so distant he would gladly trade a bit of stinkum for that feeling again.

  He stepped into the water. It stung but he plunged on in. The hot water burned the spot on his leg where Big Joe had shot him. He peeled off the bandage and tossed it aside, then slowly lowered himself in the water. It sloshed about but didn’t go over the sides. The tub proved larger than he had thought. He couldn’t quite stretch out his long legs, but sitting up, his back against the tall end, let him relax. He closed his eyes and began to drift off to sleep. Slocum came awake with a start when the soap slipped from his hand.

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  He jerked around as a hand plunged under the water hunting for the soap and found something more. The fingers stroked along his thigh, his inner thigh, then a tad higher until they danced over his privates.

  “There’s no need to be so tense,” Sarah Jane said. “I do this all the time. I’m quite expert.” Her fingers stroked over him, circled him, began to gently squeeze until he hardened under her erotic aggression.

  “Do you do this for Morgan Burlison?”

  Sarah Jane jerked back and angrily spat like a wet cat. Before she could protest, Slocum grabbed her arms and pulled her back to the side of the tub to give her a long, hard kiss. She fought a few seconds, then melted. Her kiss turned into an amazing dance of her tongue slipping and sliding past his, dueling and teasing.

  “I want that kind of motion,” she said breathlessly. “But down lower and with this.” She grabbed hold of his organ and stroked vigorously.

  Slocum didn’t think he could get much harder, but he did just by thinking about possessing this wicked, wild woman. Hands wet and fingers slippery with soap, he worked to get her blouse open. Her breasts tumbled out, naked and free. They bobbed just enough to entice him to bend lower. The water in the tub sloshed out onto the floor, but he didn’t care. All he could see were those two creamy globes capped with brownish nips. As he sucked one of those fleshy caps between his lips, he felt the hammering of her heart. He pressed down with his tongue as he increased suction.

  She arched her back, trying to jam her entire tit into his mouth. He denied her. Running his tongue about in a spiral, he slipped down one slope and worked his way up the other to repeat his licking and teasing.

  “You like that, don’t you?”

  “I want more. I told you. I’m wet. For you.”

  “I know,” Slocum said. He slipped around in the tub and pulled her in so she straddled his legs.

  His hands reluctantly stopped stroking over her chest and worked lower, pushing up under her clinging wet skirt. He found her trembling thigh. Squeezing and pinching lightly brought her to labored gasps. She almost passed out when his thumb slipped upward through the lush garden of her bush and into her innermost reaches. He gripped down around her leg with his fingers as he moved the thumb in and out. Strong inner muscles tried to clamp down on him, to hold him, to get the most possible excitement imaginable from his hand. But his thumb was too small.

  He moved out of her oily interior and hiked her skirts even higher until they rolled about her waist so her privates were fully exposed.

  “If you like what you see, what are you going to do about it?”

  He lightly swatted her behind, then grabbed a handful of luscious ass flesh and maneuvered her so she was poised directly over the head of his throbbing manhood. Without a word, he pushed down on her hips. She tried to resist, playfully wanting more. Slocum found his need too great for more foreplay. After all he had been through, he needed her.

  He twis
ted her from side to side until she lowered her hips. He gasped as his thick head pressed between her pink lips and then plunged balls deep into her heated core. For a moment, they remained still, unable to do anything but let the sensations pound through them. Then Sarah Jane moved.

  Slowly she lifted herself. Slocum guided her and then slid his hands up her sides and cupped both breasts. Catching the nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, he twisted and turned. She moaned softly and tried to follow the directions he moved her body. Then he pulled downward.

  Once more she engulfed him. His shaft jerked hard within the tight female sheath. Then it got even tighter. He had gotten a hint of how strong her inner muscles were when his thumb had been diddling her. Now she squeezed powerfully until he thought he was in a virgin. He abandoned his post on her tits and once more roved her sleek body. This time his thumb stopped at the top of the vee just above where he disappeared into her. Pressing down here produced a skyrocket effect in her.

  Sarah Jane arched her back, jammed her hips down even harder into his groin, and let out a long, loud shriek of carnal release. He felt her shudder and settle back down, but he was nowhere near through with her. His finger parted her fleshy ­half-­moons and probed until he found another hole to enter. This caused her to rise. He controlled her perfectly by how he rammed in and out of her back.

  Faster and faster he sent her rising and falling. The water had long since sloshed out of the tub. What remained evaporated and chilled his flesh. The contrast between her fiery innards and the coldness of his legs and midriff spurred him on until he felt fire ignite deep within his loins. The ­white-­hot tide rose along his length, and as Sarah Jane pumped up and down in a passion, he exploded. He pulled her chest to his face and buried himself between her boobs. His arms circled her and held her tight, to keep her in place, to prevent her from slipping away as he spurted powerfully.

  Only when he began to melt within her did he release the woman so she could rock back and look at him. Her face flushed and her skin rosy all the way down to the tops of her breasts, she eyed him like a hungry wolf did a rabbit.

  “I knew you were something special, John. It’s never been this good.”

  “Might be you learned a thing or two spying on that gent back in the whorehouse.”

  “I knew all about that before. I only wanted to see if he did anything ­different—­or she did.”

  “She was a professional, after all,” Slocum said. He idly stroked over her body, occasionally flicking his thumb against a nip. The blood was retreating now that her passion faded, but she still appreciated the attention. When he tried to move on, she clamped both of her hands over his and pressed down until he felt the soft flesh compress.

  “More,” she said in a husky voice. “I want more.”

  “So do I,” he said. She grinned just like that wolf, then turned mad when he said, “I want more hot water for my bath. Go fetch it.”

  Sarah Jane sputtered, then pushed herself to a seat on the edge of the tub. Scissoring her legs so she lifted first one and then the other over his head to give him one last look at the paradise where he had been, she got to her feet and wetly padded out. He heard the car door slam. Slocum leaned back in the tub, then got out himself. He had water to heat and a proper bath to take before he put on the fancy duds Burlison had given him.

  If the rest of the trip to Texas rivaled the way it had started, he was ready for ­it—­and seeing more of Sarah Jane along the way.

  6

  The Yuma Bullet lived up to its name as it pulled away from the San Diego yards. Slocum had felt a mite uncomfortable wearing Burlison’s hand-me-downs, especially so when he had shaken the railroad officer’s hand for the last time before their trains went in different directions. Burlison had chugged away to his meeting in San Francisco and the short train carrying his daughter finally steamed past the spot where the rail had been removed and burst out into the arid countryside.

  Slocum stared out the window of his Pullman car. Marlene and her sexy maid were holed up in the first car. Even over the clanking of the steel wheels, he heard snippets of an argument. If he had been more interested, he would have spied on them the way Jefferson did. The conductor stood on the narrow platform between cars, making no bones about eavesdropping. When the dry wind began blowing off the hard desert, the conductor came back into Slocum’s car and looked around.

  “You shore do live like a king heah,” the conductor said.

  “First time for everything,” Slocum said. He had found a small bar and had poured himself three shots of whiskey. Holding up the glass, he silently offered one to the man. Jefferson shook his head.

  “Not whilst I on duty.”

  “What are they arguing about?” Slocum’s eyes darted toward the front of the train.

  “You cain’t figger that out? You smarter ’n that, Slocum.”

  Sipping the whiskey relieved some of the aches and pains he had accumulated in San Diego and while repairing the engine. The bath had cleaned out the scrapes and cuts and Sarah Jane had done her best to make him forget the worst of his injuries. For her part, she had succeeded better than the fine whiskey.

  “That’s a strange pair,” he said.

  “They don’t look so strange to me, but what do I know? I’s only a po’ black fella who don’t git to look on no nekkid white lady. That ain’t what’s evah gonna happen.”

  Slocum laughed. “I meant Marlene and Sarah Jane, not Sarah Jane’s, uh, endowments. It hardly seems Sarah Jane works for the boss’s daughter the way she acts.”

  “She do be a quiet one.”

  “You’ve got quite a sense of humor. The pair of them were in a cathouse and Sarah Jane was watching a man take one of the soiled doves like she was a dog. Spying on them through a peephole in the wall.”

  “Do tell. Sarah Jane’s got mo’ to her than I’da thunk.” Jefferson checked his watch, studied it as if the secrets of the universe were revealed, then snapped shut the lid and replaced the gold watch in a vest pocket. “We’s ’bout ready to cross the ribber.”

  “You sound worried. Should I be?”

  “That there trestle’s been mighty shaky ever’ time we rolled ovah it. We don’t get ovah that bridge, we don’t go nowheah.”

  Slocum downed his whiskey and let it warm him. He couldn’t help comparing this warmth with what Sarah Jane had sparked inside him. That was better. Climbing to his feet, he stretched. Seams across the coat’s shoulders gave way. Slocum was broader there than Burlison and the shirt flapped around his chest and middle. Burlison carried greater girth than did Slocum, but the fine cloth felt as good as anything he’d ever worn, other than Sarah Jane, in a long time. The clothing was expensive and gave him the look of a man of means, even if he didn’t have two dimes to rub together.

  He settled his ­six-­shooter at his hip and followed Jefferson forward. Since the train had pulled out, he hadn’t budged from his car. If he wanted to talk to Mad Tom, he had to pass through Marlene’s ­car—­and get another look at Sarah Jane.

  The car had been partitioned so there were two sleeping quarters. Marlene sat on a chair in the common area working on needlepoint. When Slocum and Jefferson entered the car, she looked up and smiled. Slocum recognized the expression and wasn’t about to do anything about it. She was the boss’s daughter. Besides, he had a spitfire in Sarah Jane to keep him company whenever she could sneak away from her mistress.

  “Good day, Mr. Slocum.”

  “Ma’am,” Slocum said, touching the brim of his hat.

  “You folk, now, you do go on and settle mattahs.” Jefferson disappeared through the front door and worked his way outside along the tender to talk to Mad Tom.

  “I should go, too,” Slocum said, but a strange reluctance to leave held him as if his boots had been glued to the floor.

  He glanced down at a table where a book was laid facedown.
<
br />   “Do you know Mark Twain, Mr. Slocum? That is his newest title. It hasn’t been published in this country yet. That is a Canadian edition.”

  “Sounds like me.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Slocum tapped the book. “The Prince and the Pauper. I’m a pauper all duded up in your pa’s finest.”

  “There needs to be some tailoring done. I will be happy to do it if you let me take your measure.” Marlene blushed and looked away. “That didn’t come out the way I’d intended.”

  “Where’s Miss Mulligan?”

  “Why, I . . . she was feeling poorly and is taking a nap. The heat, you know. It is brutal and will only get worse when we cross the river.”

  “Past Yuma gets mighty hot this time of year,” Slocum said. “It’s kind of you to let your maid sleep like this.”

  “There’s nothing to do or see along this stretch of the line.” A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. “What else could I do to pass the time?”

  “You could read the book,” Slocum said, glancing in the direction of the Twain novel.

  “I suppose I could. I’d rather work to get that coat of yours to fit properly.” She stood, then stumbled when the train suddenly braked, falling into Slocum’s arms.

  Slocum caught her. She fit into the circle of his arms nicely. He took a deep breath and caught the faint gardenia scent of her perfume. She looked up, her eyes wider than normal, then pushed away from him and tried to smooth out the wrinkles in her skirts.

  “Why did we come to a halt?” Sarah Jane came from the larger of the two sleeping quarters, her dark hair mussed and her eyes bleary. “We can’t be in Yuma yet to take on water and coal.”