by Jake Logan
Lying on his back, he stared east at the lightening sky. Coming to Nevada hadn’t been a good idea, but he had made worse mistakes and lived to joke about them. His eyelids drooped and soon he slept, only to come awake just as the sun rose above the horizon. Slocum grabbed for his six-shooter and aimed it at the person silhouetted by the sun.
In spite of his careful ways, somebody had managed to sneak up on him as he slept.
3
“There’s no call for that,” came a soft voice. The touch of humor riding along with the words caused Slocum to sit up, lower his six-shooter, and squint to get a better look. The curves he saw outlined against the sun were memorable.
“You never did tell me your name,” he said. “Now you come sneaking into my camp.”
“My name’s not what you want to know, is it?”
“How’d you track me?”
“You told me how to escape the posse. Since you were so kind to share your trick, I thought you might also be inclined to use it. I was right. I found a spot along the road where the grooves from a sagebrush ran parallel. If wind had blown it, they would not have run straight to that game trail. From there, I just followed the rabbits all the way here.”
“You’re mighty savvy for a city-bred girl,” Slocum said.
“I told you I came from Northumberland. That is quite the forested area. Very bucolic.”
“Do tell.”
“And I still haven’t told you my name.” The woman walked closer and shifted enough so Slocum wasn’t peering into the sun so he could get a better look at her. He caught his breath. She had been mostly hidden in shadow the other times he had seen her. Back at the Virginia City jailhouse, all he had noticed was the iron rod in her hand used to club the guard. On the trail, she had stayed turned away from him.
Now the full light of day highlighted her tanned oval face and midnight dark hair. Blue eyes brighter than any spring flower stared at him with a boldness that he found refreshing. She was no shrinking violet, but he knew that already. Over a once-white blouse and denim skirt, she wore a canvas duster that almost dragged the ground.
“It’s not mine,” she said, slipping out of the duster and letting it drop to the ground.
“It’s a man’s,” Slocum said.
“Yes.” She stepped closer, her black leather riding boots flashing in the sunlight. There didn’t seem to be a scrap or nick on the smooth, well-polished surfaces. Then Slocum wasn’t paying much attention to boots because she was unfastening the tiny pearl buttons on her blouse to reveal breasts about as firm and high and perfect as he had ever seen. She never took her eyes off him, and it took all his willpower to keep from gawking like some young buck as she dropped her blouse atop the duster.
“Do you like what you see?”
“Can’t tell,” Slocum said. This startled her. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. “I need to see more.”
At this, the dark-haired beauty laughed. Her teeth were as white and perfect as her breasts. She licked her lips, the tip of her tongue making a slow circuit that set Slocum’s pulse racing.
“How much more?” she asked.
“How much more is there to see?”
He found out. She reached down and worked at the fastener on her skirt. The denim dropped to the ground, leaving her clad only in frilly bloomers. Through the thin fabric, he saw the dark thatch between her thighs. She ran her hands down her hips and slowly skinned out of the underwear. With a quick kick, she stepped out, leaving her clad only in the calf-high riding boots.
“Well?” she asked.
“I was right. There was more to see. Plenty more.” Slocum studied her trim body from boots to the top of her head and back. Her hips flared and her waist was slender, the perfect combination to make him even more uncomfortable as his erection grew in the tight prison of his jeans.
“Is that all you want to do? Just look? I can oblige, if so.” She turned slowly, giving him a full view of her rounded ass and trim legs and jutting breasts. When she looked back in the direction she had come, she stopped and bent forward, giving him an even more exciting look. Bent over, she peered around at him. The wicked smile on her lips told him what more she wanted.
“I’ve got a question,” Slocum said, standing. He shucked off his shirt and kicked free of his boots so he could strip off his jeans and let his stiffened organ enjoy a moment of morning sun.
“Abigail,” she said. “Abigail Cheswick.”
“That wasn’t the question I wanted to ask,” he said, moving forward to slide his hands around her hips and pull her back into the circle of his groin. His erection parted her fleshy ass cheeks and then dipped lower to stroke along her sex lips. He groaned as he ran back and forth a few times. She was ready for him. Her inner juices leaked out and slickened his organ.
“How I want you to make love to me?”
“That’s not it either,” Slocum said. He pulled her hips back and found the exact spot to enter her. They both cried out as he penetrated her and sank into her tightness.
“What is it then?” Abigail wiggled her rear end, and almost caused Slocum to lose control. She surrounded him like a warm velvet glove that got tighter by the instant as she tensed her inner muscles.
“Why’d you get me out of the jail?”
“Y-you needed help,” she said, bending forward and leaning on her hands so she formed a sexy arch. She widened her stance to allow him better access from the rear, then began thrusting backward to take even more of his hardness inside.
Slocum held onto her hips to keep her from sinking forward. In this position, he was able to thrust and withdraw with sure, hard strokes. He closed his eyes and let the warmth of the rising sun bake his face and bare chest. He couldn’t help comparing this to the carnal heat all around his manhood buried within her.
He shoved forward, paused, then drew back slowly. He wanted to keep doing this all day long, but she was simply too much for him. He reached around her with his arms and lifted her off the ground. Her feet flew up as she threw herself backward into him. He lost his balance and fell to the ground with Abigail atop him. Somehow, he managed to remain inside her the whole while.
She faced away from him as she straddled his legs. She began rising and falling faster, controlling the pace now. Slocum lay back and enjoyed the sight of her round white ass moving and the feel of her around him. Then she cried out and her hips went berserk. Seconds later, Slocum exploded as the white-hot tide rose within him and blasted forth. Abigail continued moving until he went limp within her. Then she twisted around and flopped down on top of him, her taut belly rubbing against his and her breasts moving slowly on his chest.
“That was incredible,” she said, her eyes still a little glazed. “I can’t remember it ever being so . . .”
“Intense?”
“Different,” she said. Abigail kissed him suddenly, and then pushed back to sit across his lap so she could stare down at him. “I’m glad I rescued you. It would have been a shame to miss this.”
“I’ve heard a man gets a hard-on when he’s hanged.”
“That might be exciting for the man but not me, unless—” She grinned her wicked grin and then laughed. “It is ever so much fun teasing you.”
He reached up and ran his fingers over her still-pulsating nipples. She pressed her hands onto his so he would not move them away. She shuddered, closed her eyes, and rocked gently back and forth. Suddenly, she pushed his hands away and stood.
“The posse might be along at anytime. I wouldn’t want them to catch me with my knickers down.”
Abigail bent over to pick up her bloomers, giving Slocum the chance to lightly slap her taut cheek. She yelped and straightened.
“How dare you!”
It was his turn to smile.
“The posse’s not coming after us. They’re coming after me. As long as you’re here, you’re in big trouble.”
“Oh, I’d say the big trouble that was in me was quite fine, thank you.�
� Abigail began dressing, giving Slocum the cue to dress also. He reluctantly got into his jeans and boots. It had been a long, tiring night, and he had not slept for more than an hour before she had appeared. In spite of his tiredness, he was willing to enjoy Abigail’s charms a second time. He could sleep later, but he suspected his chances with her were evaporating as the sun rose in the sky.
He wasn’t even sure why she had sought him out. He asked.
“No good reason other than curiosity. You didn’t have to give me such sound advice when we got away from the posse, but you did.”
“It was the least I could do to repay you for busting me out of jail,” he said. He hadn’t gotten a satisfactory answer from her as to why she had risked her life for a complete stranger. Abigail did not seem the type to do anything on a whim. That thought turned him cautious with her.
“We should get away from those men,” she said. “Hightail it, as you say out West.”
“You’ve certainly got the tail for it,” he remarked by way of compliment.
“And it was indeed high. Be that as it may,” she said almost primly, buttoning her blouse and tucking in the tails under her skirt’s waistband, “we should find sanctuary elsewhere.”
“You have a place in mind, I take it?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “If we return to the road, it will take only a day, but if we cut across the mountains, it might take . . . several.”
“Over the mountains it is then,” Slocum said. “But I’m all tuckered out, and my horse isn’t likely to go far before collapsing under me. I doubt your horse is in better condition.” He looked around and listened hard. Then he sniffed the cool morning breeze as he searched for any trace of her horse.
“I left the poor beast down the side of the mountain,” she said. “I didn’t want you flinging lead all about in an attempt to kill a pursuer from the posse.”
“I don’t fling lead all about,” Slocum said.
She eyed the worn butt of his Colt Navy and nodded slowly. Without another word, she turned and hurried away, following the game path. Slocum went after her, more to take a look at the road some distance away. He doubted the posse would be after him at all, but he dared not take a chance at being caught.
It was a good thing he looked. In the distance toward Virginia City, he saw a fair-sized dust cloud showing somebody was traveling in his direction.
“Hurry up. We got company on the way,” he called. Slocum looked for her, but didn’t see where she had gotten off to. Uneasily, he watched the approaching dust cloud until he made out the dim shapes of several men. He had hoped it might be a stagecoach, but he had asked about the stage in town and had been told it only showed up once a week or so. Heavy wagons rolled along the road carrying bullion, but these weren’t guards for such a shipment. At this distance, he could not make out individual faces, but he knew he would recognize at least one if the riders got closer.
Mac was not going to give up.
“Abigail!” He slid his six-gun from its holster and started downhill to find her. It wouldn’t be much longer before the posse reached a spot in the road where they could see anyone on the hillside and wonder who might be camped there.
He had gone only a dozen yards when he heard her muttering under her breath and found her tugging at a balky horse. The animal refused to budge, even when she yanked on the bridle.
“That’s not going to get the horse up the hill,” Slocum said. He slipped his pistol back in the holster, took the reins from her hand, and vaulted into the saddle. The horse tried to buck. Slocum rode out the first few attempts to unseat him. Then he applied his spurs to the horse’s flanks. This caused it to rocket forward and come out on the flat in front of the shallow cave where Slocum had tried to sleep. When the horse tried to keep running, Slocum drew back on the reins and shifted his weight to the hindquarters, forcing the horse to rear. He fought for control for a few more seconds until the horse surrendered to his abilities. Slocum jumped to the ground and handed the reins to Abigail.
“You got yourself a right spirited animal,” he said. “I’m surprised he didn’t throw you a long time back.”
“Oh, this sorry excuse for a horse has tried,” she said.
“I wouldn’t call the horse ‘sorry,’ ” he said. “It’s a powerful stallion, but you ought to ride something with less spirit that you can control.”
“I rode you and you have quite a bit of spirit,” she said.
Slocum laughed ruefully. She turned everything into a joke. “What are you doing out here? You don’t have enough supplies to have ridden far.”
“Shouldn’t we ride farther into the mountains? To get out of sight of the posse?”
“You’ll have to answer my questions eventually,” he said. Slocum helped her mount and then saddled his own horse. They rode along the sheer rock face for a quarter mile, then turned into a canyon with towering walls on either side. Slocum didn’t like the notion of having the posse trap him in a box canyon, but areas like this were favorites of the Indians. A few scouts along the rim, a box canyon, and a half dozen warriors behind made for an effective trap. Firing from above was easier than shooting from below, and they also had the ability to push down rocks. A small avalanche could take out an entire cavalry troop.
“This canyon opens on the other side of the range,” she said.
He looked at her sharply and asked, “How do you know that?”
“This is the way I came on my way to Virginia City,” Abigail said. “Retracing my path will take me directly to camp.”
“Your camp?”
She only smiled, snapped the reins, and trotted ahead of him. Slocum became less worried about pursuit as he studied the ground. The trail they followed was hard-packed dirt and did not hold hoofprints well. In spite of this, he saw evidence that two riders had emerged from the canyon and one had ridden back. From what he could tell, the rider ahead of them had passed through less than a day before.
Slocum pieced together what he knew since Abigail wasn’t up to telling him. She and another rider had gone into Virginia City and the other rider had left her there and retraced this trail. This was about as far as Slocum got because he began to doze in the saddle as the day wore on. The sun warmed the rock walls and turned the canyon into a furnace. If it had not been for a small trickle of a stream, he would have insisted they stop. As it was, a drink now and then and the gentle rocking of the mare under him lulled him to sleep.
“There,” she said. “Ahead.”
Slocum jerked awake. He reached for his six-shooter and then relaxed.
“Ahead, John, there’s camp.”
His keen eyes found the makeshift corral with a dozen horses in it. Four large, colorful canvas tents had been pitched, and flapped in the sluggish wind blowing through the canyon. Two men gathered together and pointed. Another emerged from a gaudy blue and gold tent and held what looked like a meat cleaver in his hand.
“Those are the servants,” Abigail said. “Pay them no heed.”
“Your servants?” Slocum was speaking to thin air. The woman galloped toward the camp, her long dark hair fluttering behind like a battle pennant. She drew rein and kicked up a cloud of dirt as her stallion dug in its heels. Then she dismounted. Without breaking stride, she handed the reins to one of the trio who had watched her approach.
Not sure what he was getting himself into, Slocum rode into the camp. The servants, all liveried, watched him suspiciously. No one offered to take his horse when he dismounted, so he tugged on the reins and kept the mare close.
Abigail had rushed to the largest tent and drawn back the flap. She called something he couldn’t make out, but it brought forth a waspish man matching Slocum’s six-foot height, wearing his jet black hair pulled back and fastened with a silver cord. He stood beside Abigail, waiting. Slocum had the impression of a cat waiting for a mouse.
“John, do come here. I want you to meet someone.”
Slocum walked closer, aware of the man’s dark eyes
boring into him.
“This is William.”
“William?”
“William Cheswick.”
“Your husband?” Slocum sucked in his breath and wondered what was going to happen now.
“No, silly, he’s my . . . brother.”
Slocum felt a flood of relief at not having cuckolded the man, but he wondered at William Cheswick’s reaction to the introduction. His face turned hard, and the eyes became cold chips of dark ice.
Slocum wondered what the hell he had gotten himself into.
4
“Pleased to meet you,” Slocum said, sticking out his hand to shake. William Cheswick looked at the dirty hand and sneered a little before making a show of shaking. Then he made no attempt to hide his contempt when he snapped his fingers. A servant hurried over with a towel so Cheswick could wipe his hand clean.
“You are such a typical figure of the Colonies,” Cheswick said. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Nothing in what the man said set well with Slocum. He reeked of some perfume, and looked as if he bathed several times a day. From the way the servants jumped at his slightest command, he probably ruled over them with an iron hand. In short, William Cheswick was everything Slocum hated. How he had ended up with such a lovely—and sexy—sister was one of the mysteries Slocum knew had no answer.
“Now that Abigail is safe, I’ll be riding on,” said Slocum.
“Oh, John, don’t go. Not yet.” She grabbed his arm and clung to him.
Slocum saw the surge of anger in her brother quickly hidden. It wouldn’t take much for that anger to explode. Perversely, Slocum wished it would. He had been falsely accused of murder, chased by a posse, and had built up a powerful lot of resentment. Punching Cheswick would go a ways toward relieving the tensions he felt, but the Britisher made no comment or move that would have let Slocum uncork a haymaker.
“Nothing for me here and plenty on my back trail,” he reminded her.
“Tea,” said Cheswick. “We’re about to have tea. Quinton, prepare a tea. For three.”