by Jake Logan
“I hope something more’ll happen,” Abigail said, pushing away. Slocum didn’t follow her when he saw what she was doing. As she turned, she had begun shedding clothing. Her blouse was the first to go, leaving her bare to the waist. He caught glimpses of her fine, firm breasts as she turned from him, then coyly looked back over her shoulder and batted her eyelashes.
The coppery rings around her nipples pulsed as her excitement rose. Slocum watched the rubbery buds grow harder, longer, ready for his lips to kiss and mouth to suckle. He stepped forward, but she held out her hand to stop him.
Silently, he let her continue her striptease. It excited him watching her unfasten her belt, holding her skirt and then beginning to sway to and fro to get it over her flaring hips. Inch by inch Abigail lowered her skirt, giving him tantalizing glimpses of paradise. Just under her belly poked up a tuft of silky blond fur. It vanished as Abigail turned from him and bent forward, her bare buttocks inviting Slocum to step up and do what he wanted.
Slocum dropped his gun belt and got out of his shirt. Then he unbuttoned his fly and let his raging organ out. The tensions mounting in his body knew no bounds. He had to possess her. Now.
“Go on, John,” she said in a sex-husky voice. “Do it. Take me any way you want, but take me now!”
She moaned softly as he stepped up behind her and ran his hands over the satiny curves of her rump. The flesh trembled under his touch. He gripped a double handful of taut buttocks and squeezed down. Abigail moaned louder. When he ran his hand between those meaty half-moons all the way to the fleecy slit hidden between her legs, he thought Abigail was going to collapse with desire.
She wobbled, and he supported her with his other hand, running his arm around her waist. Tensing his arm a mite, he drew her back into the circle of his crotch.
“Oh, so hard!” she cried, feeling his throbbing manhood now. “I want it all. Now, John, give it to me.”
He pulled her back even more, his thick, fleshy cylinder driving between the slabs of meat as he hunted for the target they both wanted him to hit. The topside of his stalk ran between her nether lips and sampled the moistness bubbling from her innards. Slocum had to use both hands now on the sultry blonde’s waist to hold her. Abigail trembled and moaned and began swaying as her knees threatened to buckle from the intense sensations lancing through her.
With infinite care, Slocum drew back, dipped down just a little and then felt her pinkly scalloped lips part for him. The purpled knob of his manhood sank an inch into her seething interior. Slocum hesitated now, letting the heat wash through him from her aroused body.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Hard, John, do it hard. Take me like a stallion!”
He could hardly restrain himself. The feel of her buttocks pressing into his groin, her body trembling like a thoroughbred horse ready for the chase, the way her breasts dangled down as she bent forward, all of it aroused Slocum to the breaking point. He slammed full depth into her and thought he was going to lose control like a young lad experiencing such carnal delights for the first time.
Abigail began bucking like an unbroken mustang, shoving her haunches back into him as hard as she could and rotating about to stir his length deep within her. Slocum held on, relishing every moment of being buried within her smoldering insides. Powerful muscles clamped down on him and tried to milk him, but Slocum was immovable. All he could do was stand like a statue and let the pleasure echo throughout his body.
Reaching forward, he slid his hand over her heaving belly and upward to her dangling tits. Slocum caught one nipple between thumb and forefinger and began teasing it. This produced even more activity on the beautiful woman’s part. Abigail tossed her blond locks and threw back her head, as if she was a coyote ready to howl.
Slocum knew the feeling. He wanted to howl and cavort about as he stroked over her breast, leaving the rock-hard nipple and taking the entire mound of soft warm flesh in his grip. As if he kneaded dough, he began squeezing and pressing his palm down hard into Abigail’s bosom. With his other arm still circling her waist, he lifted her up.
This caused him to enter her at a new and excitingly different angle. Abigail was past coherent speech now, mewling and moaning and crying out in ecstasy as he stimulated her on several fronts at the same time.
Breast and belly. Buttock and buttery warm interior. He stroked with his hand and arm and increasingly painful erection. Slocum slid from her and then rammed back with breathtaking speed. The heat around his length built as he felt her strong inner muscles grip down firmly on him.
He started moving with slow, steady, powerful strokes that set off the woman’s ultimate ecstasy. Slocum clung on, trying to get as much from her as he could. As Abigail’s climax faded, he began pistoning faster and faster, letting her down enough so she could rest her palms on her knees for support. But every forward thrust was too powerful for her and drove the blonde to hands and knees.
Without missing a stroke, Slocum followed her down and kept pumping furiously until he was no longer able to contain himself. The heat within his loins exploded and raced outward. Slocum heard a cry of delight from a distance and then realized it was Abigail again cresting her summit.
Then he sank back on his heels, staring at her rounded white buttocks now gleaming like alabaster in the dawn light. Slocum might have seen a more beguiling, lovely woman, but he couldn’t remember when or where right now.
Abigail pushed up to her knees and looked over her shoulder at him, grinning broadly.
“I brought blankets for us to use.”
“It’d be a shame to let those fine new blankets go to waste,” Slocum said. He got to his feet and thrust out his hand to help the naked woman get up. Her bare skin rubbed against his as they kissed and then slowly made their way to the tent to continue their lovemaking. It was almost noon before Slocum wasn’t up to continuing.
He lay on his back, head sticking out of the tent so he could stare up at the cloudless blue Nebraska sky. In the distance swayed the short-grass prairie and behind him what remained of No Consequence gave a mute reminder of Ferguson’s treachery. As sweet as it was spending a few hours so delightfully with Abigail, Slocum knew he had to get on Rafe Ferguson’s trail. He didn’t know what direction the man had taken, but there had to be a clue somewhere.
Ferguson couldn’t run far enough fast enough to get away from John Slocum. Slocum owed the man for everything he had done to the citizens of No Consequence, to Abigail and probably to Big Ben London.
“I can’t go on, John,” Abigail said.
“I’m all tuckered out, too,” Slocum said. “You’ve damned near worn me to a nubbin.”
“No, not that,” she said, swatting at him playfully. “I meant I can’t start over in town.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Everything came crashing down around me when I found Carleton and Westfall were no-account thieves and had been using me to bilk so many good people. How can I face the farmers and those in town after I convinced them to invest their money?”
“Won’t be easy,” Slocum allowed, “but you’ve got to do it. There might not be anyone else in No Consequence willing to go to the ends of the earth to bring the crooks to justice.”
“I certainly have a good reason.”
“Revenge,” Slocum said, thinking of all the reasons he had to track down Rafe Ferguson. The sight of Big Ben toppling from his horse rose but was quickly replaced by another vision even less appealing. Abigail had been the prime force in selling the bonds. The people who had been bilked out of their life savings might not take too kindly to her, even if she claimed to be an innocent victim.
“I feel insulted,” Abigail said primly. “They duped me. I did something good for the town, and Carleton and the mayor lied to me. They were out to steal the money all along.”
Slocum fell silent as he considered all that had happened.
Then he asked, “You know any special place Westfall or Carleton woul
d feel safe?”
“Do you think they would take the money from the vault and hightail it there to divvy up with Ferguson? I don’t know, John,” she said, pursing her lips as she thought hard. “Westfall and Carleton weren’t the type to go out onto the prairie much. When they did it was always for business reasons.”
“Let’s get into No Consequence and ask around. Somebody might know more about their haunts. I’ve found that men fall into a rut, doing the same thing over and over from habit.”
“But Ferguson isn’t one of them?” she asked. “You seem intent on Westfall and Carleton.”
“They look to be the best way of getting to Rafe Ferguson,” Slocum said. He had no idea where Ferguson might hide out. The prairie stretched endlessly for miles, rolling gently and not affording much in the way of a lair. Slocum figured Ferguson and his partners would head for some faraway spot and not stay around any longer than necessary. He also figured there wasn’t any love lost between the crooks from No Consequence and Rafe Ferguson.
They wouldn’t trust one another and that gave Slocum his only chance of finding them.
He and Abigail dressed, got the tent and blankets rolled up, and walked back into town. The light breeze off the grasslands had carried away much of the charred smell, but the amount of wood that had been burned showed Slocum how much work was ahead in rebuilding the town. The brick buildings were still standing, but many had damaged roofs. In other circumstances, the fire would have been serious but not fatal to the town. But with all the money stolen, Slocum wondered if No Consequence would end up a ghost town.
Then he saw how determined the citizens were as they cleared the debris and began repairs. Even the Prairie Delight Saloon had the look of a place rising from the ashes. Paul Gorman and his brother hauled soot and debris from the middle of the main room where the bar had been. Slocum waved cheerily to them as they passed and Paul called, “Come on back when I get open again.”
“When’ll that be?” asked Slocum.
Gorman shrugged, grinned and said, “My brother’s loaned me a bottle or two. Come on over right now, and I’ll give you one on the house!”
“I’ll take a rain check,” Slocum said, itching to be on Ferguson’s trail.
“Everyone looks so happy,” Abigail said in awe. “I thought they would be as disheartened as I am.”
“As you were,” Slocum said, hearing hope in her voice. “How long will it take to get the store open again?”
“I need to sift through the ruins and see what’s left, but—” Abigail stopped and stared. At the far end of town a few people gathered. Then more came out from their labors, until most of the citizens lined the main street to stare at the spectacle.
Slocum frowned when he saw the wagons all decked out in parti-colored crepe and bearing signs announcing the arrival of the Platte & Central Plains Railroad.
“What the hell’s this about?” Slocum asked.
“I don’t know,” Abigail said. “It looks like a parade, but I don’t know any of those men.”
Seated in the back of one long wagon were four confused looking men dressed in their Sunday best. They huddled together, and when they separated they weren’t confused as much as they were angry. One jumped to the ground and looked around before calling loudly, “Where’s the mayor?”
Slocum went to the man and blinked as sunlight caught on the headlight diamond the size of his thumbnail holding the man’s cravat down. Although a mite dusty, the man wore clothing that cost enough to keep most folks in food and shelter for a year.
“The mayor’s not here,” Slocum said, wanting to draw the man out to see what this was about.
“Then I need to speak with Mr. Carleton.” The man scowled when Slocum didn’t respond and the crowd went silent. “The town banker. This is No Consequence?”
“It is, sir,” Abigail said, pushing past Slocum. “I’m Abigail Stanley. Who might you be?”
“Crandall Reed Davis, president of the Platte and Central Plains Railroad.”
Slocum didn’t know whether to laugh or punch out the crook. Abigail put a hand on his arm to keep him from doing the latter.
“Uh, Mr. Davis, there isn’t any such thing as the Platte and Central Plains. That was all a swindle thought up by Rafe Ferguson. Our mayor and banker were in on it, and I suspect you must be, too.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. These gentlemen are three of my directors and we’re here for the ceremony of collecting your bond money to finance the spur into No Consequence.”
Slocum had a sinking feeling that he had just discovered the twist to Rafe Ferguson’s swindle, and it wasn’t a gentle tweak.
16
“Where’s the money? I need to get my crew started on laying track,” Davis said, puffing out his broad chest and hooking his thumbs under the armholes of his elegant red brocade vest. He looked around, scowling at the perplexed citizens of No Consequence. “Well? What’s it going to be? I don’t care if Carleton’s off fishing, I need the money. I have expenses and a railroad to run.”
“Why’d you come personally?” asked Slocum.
“For the money, man. Are you deaf?” Davis roared.
“With three other directors and all those others?” Slocum pointed to the confused people huddled in the two wagons trailing the one Davis had ridden into town.
“There was supposed to be a ceremony. Mayor Westfall asked for a show of support from the Platte and Central Plains and this is it. I’m here, he isn’t.”
“I was in Omaha and nobody’d ever heard of the Platte and Central Plains,” Slocum said.
“You, sir, are wrong. Very wrong. Now, where is the company’s money? The sooner we are given the money, the quicker the railroad can come to town.”
“There isn’t any money,” Abigail said, seeing how her neighbors looked to her to be their spokesman. It wasn’t a role she had sought but one she found thrust upon her by circumstance. “The mayor and bank president stole the money.”
“A pity,” Davis said sarcastically. “However, I want my company’s money now. Any further... ceremony... would be a waste of my precious time. We need to lay the track before winter if we want this to be a terminus by next spring.”
“Sir,” Abigail said, raising her voice. “I just told you we don’t have the money. It was stolen by the very men who made the deal with you.”
“And I said it was a shame. However, the township of No Consequence owes the Platte and Central Plains Railroad one hundred thousand dollars. Today. Now. This very instant. Those were the conditions of the contract.”
“You can’t get blood out of a rock,” Abigail said.
Slocum watched Davis’s reaction and went cold inside. Rafe Ferguson was a genius at concocting swindles that would leave him out of the picture after he walked off with his booty. This was one of his best schemes, since it pitted the citizens of No Consequence against the railroad officers and no one mentioned Ferguson’s part in stealing the money. It was almost as if he had never existed.
Slocum wasn’t going to let him get away with this.
“You are wrong, Miss Stanley,” Davis said. “We were promised the money. We have a legally binding contract signed by your mayor. If you don’t have the money raised by a bond issue, then No Consequence must find the money somewhere else.”
“There isn’t any,” Abigail said with growing desperation, “and you might as well tear up that contract.”
“I will not. My duty to my company and its shareholders will not permit such action on my part. I could be held criminally liable if I did so with no good reason. Moreover, since I hold a valid contract insured by the land holdings of No Consequence, I will exercise foreclosure rights.”
“Wait a minute,” Slocum said. “You can’t foreclose on the town because the mayor was a crook.”
“I can and I will.” Davis snapped his fingers and one of the mousy men in the second wagon hurried forward to hand him a sheaf of papers. Davis leafed through them and found
one that satisfied him. “No Consequence owns all the land in a ten-mile radius from the town hall. That is—” He snapped his fingers again and the assistant spoke up right away.
“Three hundred fifteen square miles,” the man said.
“This contract guarantees title transfer to the railroad of three hundred fifteen square miles of Nebraska countryside if you do not give us the agreed upon sum of money.”
“That’d take in my farm,” called a man from the back of the crowd.
“And everything in town,” Abigail said. “You can’t steal our land!”
“It’s not theft,” Davis said coldly. “It’s business. The Platte and Central Plains is building a spur line here, either using bond money or the proceeds of selling land owned by the township. Which it is lies beyond my caring.”
“But—” Abigail sputtered.
“No buts. We shall return in one week for the money, since that is the last day of the grace period afforded by your contract. If there is no money forthcoming then, we repossess the land.”
Jeers and catcalls followed Davis and the wagonloads of railroad officials as they left town, heading back toward Omaha. Slocum watched them go, shaking his head.
“This can’t be legal,” he said. “Adam Westfall is a crook and knew he was committing fraud when he signed that contract. He was in cahoots with Ferguson and Carleton and planned to steal the bond money all along. It can’t be legal.”
“We need to know for sure, John. Ride with me to North Platte. I know a lawyer there who can tell us what to do.”
“Davis might be a fraud, too, another of Ferguson’s confederates.” Slocum rested his hand on the ebony handle of his six-shooter, then moved away from the sidearm. As much as he hated to admit it, a lawyer was the town’s best chance for a peaceable settlement.