by Jake Logan
“Go on, Slocum, go for the hogleg,” called Rafe Ferguson, standing behind the two men. “I want a reason to cut you down where you stand.”
“You’ve got no call to shoot me, Ferguson,” said Slocum. “What’s this about?”
Slocum found talking wasn’t what the two men had in mind. They both rushed him. He swung clumsily and hit one, knocking him aside. But Slocum was off balance and fell against the building, leaving him wide open for the second man’s attack. Strong arms circled his waist and carried him back. The two of them fell to the ground, flailing about. Neither was able to land a solid punch.
Finally twisting around, Slocum got to his hands and knees with the man behind him. As the man approached him, Slocum kicked out like a mule. His foot landed smack in the middle of the man’s belly, doubling him over. But the first man surged at Slocum again, this time brandishing a knife with a long, wickedly shining blade.
“You’re gonna die,” the man said.
Slocum rolled to get away, came to his feet and went for his Colt Navy. He drew his six-shooter, cocked and fired in one smooth motion. A cloud of white smoke momentarily blocked the attacker from Slocum’s view, then he saw the result of his quick shot.
The man fell to one knee, clutching his other thigh. Blood oozed out between his fingers and drenched his denim jeans. He looked up, pure hatred in his piglike eyes.
“I’m gonna kill you for this, Slocum.”
“You had your chance,” Slocum said coldly. He cocked his six-gun again, but before he could aim it he heard another, more ominous sound.
The noise a double-barreled shotgun makes when both hammers are pulled back was too distinctive for Slocum to ignore.
“You jist point that smoke wagon of yours in some other direction. Like down at the ground. I got a shotgun aimed at yer back and I’ll cut you in half if you so much as twitch.”
“Ferguson has bought himself quite a gang,” Slocum said, doing as he was told. There was a time to fight and a time to talk. He could only die now if he tried to shoot it out.
“Don’t know no Ferguson, sonny, but I seen what I seen. You shot that feller.”
“He was coming at me with a knife. See? There, on the ground.”
“It’s not mine!” the wounded man cried. “He musta dropped it. He shot me and threw down the knife to make it look like I was tryin’ to cut him.”
Slocum said nothing. If the man behind didn’t work for Ferguson, the truth would be obvious. There was no call to plant a weapon if he could fire a second time and finish off his assailant.
“Why don’t we all mosey on down the street to the jail? I’ll let the marshal sort this out. I ain’t paid enough to do that chore.”
Slocum stepped forward and put his foot on the knife as Ferguson’s henchman grabbed for it.
“Let him carry it,” Slocum said coldly.
“A right good idea, mister. And I’ll take that six-gun of yers, too.”
Slocum let the deputy take the gun from his grip, then pick up the knife and tuck it into his belt. The badge shining dully on the man’s vest confirmed Slocum’s suspicion about what had happened. The owner of the saloon had sent for the law the instant Slocum left.
“I can’t walk,” whined the injured man, hobbling more than he had to so he could garner some sympathy. Slocum wanted to kick his other leg out from under him, but he didn’t budge.
“You might offer to help him,” the deputy said.
“I might,” Slocum said, not moving a muscle.
“Get a-walkin’, you two,” the deputy said, realizing he had a pair of hard cases in his sights.
Slocum seethed as he went toward the calaboose at the far end of town. Rafe Ferguson ought to be the one with the shotgun pointed at his spine. But by the time Slocum went into the small jailhouse, he had calmed down enough to avoid the pitfall too many cowboys fell into: Arguing with the marshal and calling him names was a sure ticket to the iron-barred cells lining the rear of the office. If he wanted to get out of North Platte without spending a week in the lockup, Slocum had to be persuasive.
“What we got here, Jed?”
“Fenstermacher at the Hangman’s Noose warned me there was gonna be trouble. I caught this one pointin’ this at that one.” The deputy dropped Slocum’s Colt Navy on the marshal’s desk, then added the knife.
“He tried to murder me!” blurted the wounded man. “See? He shot me!”
“That the way it happened?” asked the marshal. Slocum wasn’t certain who the lawman was speaking to, so he held his tongue. The deputy spoke up.
“Can’t really say, Marshal. Got there too late for anything but stoppin’ what would have been a killin’.”
“Lock them both up for a week. Disturbing the peace.”
“Don’t put me in the same cell with him! He tried to kill me once already today. Now that I’m sorely wounded, he’ll murder me for sure!”
“Shut up,” the marshal said without rancor. He motioned to the deputy to lock up his prisoner in the end cell. The lawman ran his fingers over the worn ebony handle of Slocum’s six-shooter, then picked it up, cocked it and listened to the way the sensitive mechanism worked.
“You put a lot of time in maintainin’ this here weapon, don’t you?”
“It keeps me alive.”
“You’ve used it a lot, too,” the marshal said. “You aren’t a professional gunman, are you?”
“I brought in a herd from Texas. Just sold it to Mr. O’Malley.”
“Did you now? So you get likkered up and go out shooting men? Or did you have a quarrel with him?” The marshal jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the cell.
“Don’t even know who he is. I wanted to talk with an old acquaintance named Rafe Ferguson. I trailed him out of the saloon and was set upon by that owlhoot and another one.”
“That true, Jedediah? You see a second—or third—gent out there?”
“Nope, Marshal, these two was the only ones I seen.”
“Any reason I shouldn’t lock you up?”
“He tried to kill me, Marshal!” shouted the prisoner. “Don’t let him walk out of here a free man!”
“He came at me with the knife.”
“Shut up,” the deputy said before his prisoner could protest further. To the marshal, Jed said, “It don’t seem too plausible that that gent would drop a knife between shootin’s. The knife prob’ly belongs to this one and the one with the gun was only defendin’ hisself.”
“Jed’s a shrewd observer, but this needs sortin’ out when the judge gets back from ridin’ his circuit,” the marshal said.
“So you’re going to lock me up?” asked Slocum.
“Reckon so.” The marshal had stood, ready to escort Slocum to the cells, when the sunlight coming through the open office door suddenly darkened. And then the light swept into the dingy room.
“Why, Marshal Durant, you know the facts. I heard part of what you were saying and I am sure you have it right. Mr. Slocum was only defending himself from that ruffian.”
“Miss Stanley,” the marshal said, grinning like an idiot.
Slocum stepped back and let Abigail Stanley talk him out of his jam. Before he knew it, he was following her outside into the hot Nebraska sun, a free man.
3
“That’s twice I have to thank you,” Slocum said, moving closer to Abigail as she walked briskly down the boardwalk. The alternating flashes of sunlight and shadow on her face turned her into some exotic creature that thrilled Slocum. He tried to keep from staring but couldn’t do it. The petite blonde never looked at him as she bustled along, occasionally greeting the merchants and their customers coming and going from the stores.
“You look to know everyone in town,” Slocum said. “But I get the feeling you don’t live in North Platte.”
“That’s very astute. Why do you say that?”
“From what O’Malley said, he would have homed in on you like an eagle going after a field mouse if you had been a
resident.”
Abigail laughed and it was like silver bells ringing. She locked her arm through his and never broke step.
“O’Malley is married. I would never have anything to do with a married man.” For the first time she cast a sultry look in Slocum’s direction. “Are you married, John?”
“Nope,” he said. From the slender-fingered hand resting on his arm, he saw she didn’t wear a wedding ring. “Neither are you. Why not?”
“Why, John, that’s such an impertinent question. I certainly don’t owe you an answer, but I will give you one, nonetheless.” For a moment she sounded like a schoolmarm lecturing her students. But no schoolmarm Slocum had ever seen was this pretty. “I have a destiny to fulfill, and that involves building my hometown into the biggest, best city in all Nebraska.”
“North Platte is pretty good sized,” Slocum said, “but then you don’t live here, do you? Where do you hail from?”
Abigail hesitated a moment, and Slocum thought she was going to lie. Then she pulled herself up straighter and said, “No Consequence.”
It took him a second to realize that was the name of her town.
“No Consequence, Nebraska?”
“You’ve heard of it?” she asked hopefully. Then Abigail’s expression melted a little when she realized he hadn’t. “That’s the problem. It is a wonderful place to live and work, but without a railroad, we’ll never amount to a hill of beans. North Platte has a railroad line. But No Consequence will have a spur line soon.”
“You come to North Platte often to do business?” Slocum guessed. The way the citizens knew and respected her, that had to be the answer.
“Only once a month or so, but it is enough to get to know these fine people. I’ve even extended invitations to some of the people to move to No Consequence. So far, none have taken me up on it, but that’s going to change.”
“When the railroad line gets to No Consequence,” Slocum finished for her.
“Yes,” she said, a flush coming to her cheeks. Slocum had seen religious fervor before and this was it. Abigail was passionate about putting her town on the map. He wondered what else she was passionate about.
It didn’t take long to find out.
“Do come up to my hotel room, John,” she invited. “I have so much to show you.”
“What might that be?” he asked.
Abigail batted her eyelashes at him and tried to look coy. Instead she looked more bold, especially when she licked her lips and squeezed a mite harder on his arm.
“Oh, maps and plans and... things.”
“I like things,” Slocum said, letting her guide him into the hotel. He had not realized they were blocking the front door of the three-story hotel until she turned and got him moving inside.
“Hello, Miss Abigail,” greeted the clerk. His eyebrows arched slightly when he saw Slocum was accompanying her, but he said nothing more. Slocum could read the man’s mind. Pure envy flowed forth.
Abigail Stanley hurried up the stairs, holding her skirts higher than she needed to. Slocum caught a glimpse of her fine ankles and lovely tapering legs as she turned at the top of the stairs. Looking up at her made him catch his breath in anticipation. Her firm, pert breasts jutted out nicely, their size emphasized by her tiny waist.
Abigail stared at him and him alone as she reached up and unbuttoned the top of her blouse. He started to warn her about someone seeing, then stopped. The stunning blonde knew what she was doing—and he was the only one who could see as she continued to unbutton her blouse until it lay open. Frilly ruffled undergarments hid her firm breasts but not for long. Abigail fumbled a couple times and then pulled free the satin ribbons holding everything in place.
Her garments fell away, leaving her naked to the waist.
Slocum stared at her firm white breasts capped with tiny nubs of coral. He fancied he could see them pulse with every beat of her heart as they hardened with lust for him. Three quick strides, taking the steps two at a time, brought him up to a spot two steps lower than Abigail. His mouth was on a level with her chest.
He bent forward because this seemed to be what she wanted. Abigail sighed softly when his mouth engulfed her left breast. His tongue began laving the sleek slopes, and when he came to the hard nipple at the top, he closed his lips firmly around it and suckled.
“Oh, John, yes,” she said, sagging slightly. Abigail reached out and laced her fingers behind his head to hold it in place. He wasn’t going anywhere, although being in public like this made him a little uneasy. Then Slocum realized it also excited him as much as it did Abigail. She had a reputation to lose and was willing to risk it by this open dalliance.
He pushed his head back against her entrapping fingers and moved to the other delicate cone. He started at the base and slowly spiraled his way to the crest, taking his time and letting his rough tongue dish out incredible excitement to the woman as he worked upward. He caught the rubbery nubbin in his teeth and lightly bit.
This time Abigail’s knees did buckle. Slocum caught her easily, but she wasn’t going to let him carry her off to her room. Not yet.
“Go on,” she urged, lifting her skirts. “There’s nothing between me and your wonderful tongue.”
Abigail hiked her skirts even more, revealing those marvelous legs Slocum had noticed before. And he quickly found that she was telling the truth. No silken or frilly undergarments kept him away from paradise. The tightly tangled blond fleece nestled between her legs was dotted with sparkling drops of her inner oils.
Slocum thrust his head under her skirts and for a moment was left in the dark. Then he worked his way up until he found the moist slit rimmed with the silken fur and gave it the best tongue lashing he could. Abigail’s knees had buckled from reaction before. As he ran his mouth over her nether lips, she collapsed completely.
“I ... I thought I could continue here. I can’t. There, John, that room. Mine.” She was almost incoherent as she pointed.
When Slocum scooped her up and carried her into the small room she did not protest at all. He dropped her on the bed. Her sudden weight on the creaking springs caused her to rock back and forth. Somehow, she managed to lift her skirts and again reveal the pleasures hidden from everyone else.
“Don’t be shy,” she said, urging him on. “I’m not.”
“I noticed,” Slocum said, dropping his gun belt and working on his shirt and jeans. It took him longer to get out of his boots than he liked, but Abigail was doing things to him to keep him interested—as if he would ever walk away now.
As he slid off his boots, her hands roved his back and over the myriad scars there from knife and bullet wounds. Then she worked around his waist to his crotch and firmly grabbed the organ jutting up like a flagpole.
“So big, John, so very, very big.” Abigail stroked up and down its length. “You’re like a stallion.”
“Ready to be ridden?” he asked, turning to her and taking her in his arms.
“Ridden but never broken,” she said huskily before she started nibbling on his earlobe.
Slocum felt her breasts flatten against his chest as he drew her closer. Their lips crushed passionately, and he felt as if he would explode like a young buck with his first woman. Abigail was gorgeous and she was willing and there was no sense in holding back.
He bore her down to the bed. It creaked mournfully beneath their weight as he positioned himself in the V of her slender legs. Slocum stroked over the tender flesh of her thighs and then worked higher. Abigail closed her bright blue eyes and thrashed about on the bed, her fine blond hair forming a halo around her head. His fingers worked their way into her most intimate recess. He stroked a few times and then knew he couldn’t keep on like this. As much as it pleasured Abigail, it was pushing him to the limits of his endurance. He had been six weeks on the trail without a woman.
He slipped his fingers from her and then worked his hips around until the crown of his manhood poked insistently into her trembling nether lips.
“D
o it, do it hard, John. I like it hard and fast and—ohhh!”
She gasped out in pleasure as he slid full-length into her. For a moment Slocum hung suspended, relishing the feel of her tightness all around him. Then he began retreating, slowly, an inch at a time until only the thick knob on the end of his shaft remained within her pinkly scalloped lips.
He looked down into the woman’s passion-racked face and knew she was enjoying this lovemaking as much as he was. Slocum’s hips moved of their own accord and sent him surging forward. Their crotches ground together, and Slocum felt the heat within his loins turn into a raging forest fire.
Still locked together, he bent forward and lightly lapped at her nipples, her breasts, the deep valley between. Then he worked up to her delicate throat, where a vein pulsed powerfully. He did not stop moving, licking, nipping, kissing until he once again kissed her hard on the lips.
She clawed at his back, her fingers curling into claws. This spurred him on. He began thrusting rhythmically even as he kissed Abigail. They strove together, melting into one another until Slocum found it hard to figure out where he ended and Abigail began. The heat from his loins spread throughout his body and caused sweat to bead and run in tickling rivers along his skin. Then the impossible happened. The feel of her movement under him, around him, all over him made him even harder.
“John, you fill me up so, so big, so—aieee!” She arched her back and crammed her hips against his so her crotch rubbed frantically against his. Slocum felt as if he had thrust into a mine shaft and had it collapse all around him. He was crushed flat within the moist, soft, firm, exciting female sheath. Slocum kept thrusting, moving faster, deeper, giving every thrust a little rotation as he cork-screwed his way in and out.
Abigail shrieked out her pleasure again, and this time Slocum was unable to continue. He spilled his white-hot seed as climax totally possessed him.
Slocum rocked back and got up on his knees so he could look down on the blonde. Her cheeks were flushed all the way down to the tops of her breasts. She panted heavily and tiny specks of sweat beaded like tiny jewels on her face and body. When she opened her eyes, they remained unfocused for a moment. Then she reached out to him.