High and Wild
Page 23
The pretty dark-haired whore, Kansas Kate, stepped out in front of him, blocking his path and pressing her back against the bar to his right. She raised a knee coquettishly, brushed it against his leg. She raked her eyes across Haskell’s broad chest as she said, “Care for a French lesson tonight, Bear? I’ll give ya one on the house to make up for losin’ to that rascal Diamond Dave.”
Haskell looked at the girl’s black corset and bustier barely holding in her breasts. Kate followed his gaze, grinned, and shook her hair back from her face.
His cock was heavy with need. Except the one he needed was Raven York. Damn his flea-bit hide, but he just didn’t have the desire for any other girl.
Not tonight.
“Thanks anyway, Kate,” he said, his own cravings making him feel like a whipped dog. “This ol’ Bear’s ready for hibernation.”
He tramped on past her and up the stairs. He stopped in front of his second-floor room. Haskell always set a rifle cartridge on the floor of his room, just inside the door. It was his way of keeping himself from walking into a bushwhacking, which was always a risk, considering all the enemies he’d made over the years as a Pinkerton.
The tactic had saved his life so many times that he remembered to implement it even when howling drunk, as he too often was.
He got down on hands and knees and peered under the door. The silhouette of the .44-caliber round shone just on the other side, where someone would likely kick it as they stole inside.
He fished his key out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. He stooped to pick up the bullet, and then, pocketing the shell, he drew the door closed behind him. Grumbling and cursing under his breath, he dragged his boot toes over to the dresser and got a lamp lit beside his open bottle of Sam Clay.
At the same time that the lamp’s glow chased the shadows into the corners of the small room, he smelled the fragrance of ripe cherries.
His heart skipped a beat.
A cat meowed.
He turned to the bed. His beautiful partner lay there beneath the blankets, resting her head and shoulders back against the headboard. Her black hair was down. It hung messily along her flushed cheeks.
The widow’s weeds were tossed across a chair.
Briar’s tabby cat stared at Haskell from beneath the chair. Gustav’s eyes glowed green in the shadows. The tabby meowed once more and then hunkered low on a folded blanket.
Haskell gave a snort and looked back at the bed. Raven glared at him, cobalt-blue eyes sparking angrily.
“God damn you, Haskell,” she said, enraged by her desire.
She swept the covers aside to reveal that she wasn’t wearing a stitch. Her hair curled down along the sides of her large, pale breasts. The nipples were distended, beckoning. She spread her legs with a catlike groan, and the pink petals of her cunt shone wetly behind the tufts of silky black fur.
She drew a breath through parted lips as she stared at him, her gaze dropping to his crotch. Her breasts were rising and falling heavily.
She cupped them in her hands as she said throatily, “Hurry!”
Bear chuckled.
As he unbuckled his cartridge belt and kicked out of his boots, he thought of the .44 cartridge he’d left on the floor. “How in the hell . . .?” He let his voice trail off.
Of course, she’d have found a way around that old trick. He’d have to come up with another one.
Later . . .
About the Author
Peter Brandvold has penned more than 70 fast-action westerns under his own name and his penname, Frank Leslie. He is the author of the ever-popular Sheriff Ben Stillman novels and the .45-Caliber books featuring Cuno Massey, as well as the Lou Prophet and Yakima Henry novels. Head honcho at Mean Pete Publishing, publisher of lightning-fast western ebooks, he lives in Colorado with his dog. Visit his website at www.peterbrandvold.com. Follow his blog at: www.peterbrandvold.blogspot.com.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Peter Brandvold
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First Pocket Star Books ebook edition April 2014
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Cover illustration by Craig White
ISBN 978-1-4767-3011-0