The Gunsmith 406

by JR Roberts

  “I don’t know nothin’, Mr. Adams,” Buck said. “Yeah, I hear some things, but I can’t put them all together. I mean, not ever.”

  “You ever hear Restin talk about his daughter?”

  “Sure,” the bartender said, “he says he loves her and wants the best for her. To him that means sendin’ her to school in Sacramento.”

  “Does he think somebody might be trying to keep her from getting there?”

  “I don’t think so,” Buck said, “but then he’s hirin’ the Gunsmith to take her there, so what’s that mean to you?”

  “Something I don’t like, Buck,” Clint said. “Something I don’t like.”

  Clint went back to his hotel. As he entered, the clerk started waving again.

  “You better calm down, friend,” Clint said, approaching the desk. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.”

  “Sorry, sir, but she’s been sittin’ there, waitin’ for you for a couple of hours.”

  “She?”

  The man inclined his head. Clint turned to look, expecting to see Beth. Instead, seated on a sofa in the lobby was Terry Restin.

  Vance Restin came charging out of his house, yelled out Ray Owens’ name.

  Owens came running out of the livery up to the house and stopped in front of his boss.

  “What’s the matter, Mr. Restin?”

  “Have you seen Terry?”

  “Ain’t she in the house?”

  “If she was in the house would I be asking you if you had seen her?”

  “No, sir,” Owens said, “I ain’t seen her.”

  “Is her horse in the barn?”

  “I, uh, didn’t notice. I was lookin’ in on that new foal—” the foreman tried to explain.

  “Never mind that,” Restin said, cutting him off. “Go and check!”

  “And if it’s not there?”

  “Then saddle mine,” Restin instructed. “I have an idea where she might be.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  While Owens went back to the barn, Restin didn’t wait. He went back into the house.

  “Terry,” Clint said to her, “what are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About what my father has hired you to do,” she said. “Let’s go to your room.”

  “Oh no,” he said, “I’m not taking you to my room.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because a Restin has already gotten me thrown into jail for something I didn’t do.”

  She firmed her jaw and asked, “Do you really think I’d cry rape?”

  “I don’t know what you would or wouldn’t do to avoid going to Sacramento,” he told her. “If you really want to talk to me, let’s go someplace else.”

  “The Drinkwater, then.”

  “I’m not taking you to a saloo—”

  “Relax,” she said. “My father owns it. I go there all the time. There’s never anybody there.”

  “Well,” he said, after a moment, “okay, but I’m not buying you a drink.”

  “Let’s just go,” she said. “I can buy my own damned drinks.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Clint walked Terry over to the Drinkwater Saloon, which he had only just left.

  Actually, she stormed over there ahead of him and he had to hurry to catch up. She was a tall girl who took long strides when she was angry.

  He entered the saloon behind her and she stalked over to the bartender.

  “Give me a beer, Buck!” she demanded.

  “Miss Restin,” Buck said, “you know I can’t do that. What would your father say?”

  “Goddammit!” she swore. “Is every man in this town afraid of my father?”

  “Buck works for your father, Terry,” Clint said. “It’s not fair of you to ask him to do something that will cost him his job.”

  She turned and looked at Clint.

  “Well, you’re not afraid of him, I can tell that much,” she said.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Then why are you working for him?”

  “He’s paying me five thousand dollars.”

  “Money means that much to you?” she asked. “It makes you work for a man you despise.”

  “And what makes you think I despise your father?” he asked her.

  “I can tell.”

  “Terry,” Clint said, “Let’s sit down. Buck, can we get two coffees?”

  “That I can do,” the bartender said.

  They sat down at a table and Buck brought over two cups of coffee.

  “Thanks,” Clint said.

  Buck gave him a look behind Terry’s back and then returned to the bar.

  “What’s on your mind, Terry?”

  “I want to buy you off, Clint,” she said. “What’ll it take? Money? My lily white body? I’m very good in bed. I may be young but I’m very experienced.”

  “I’m sure you are, Terry,” Clint said, “but the answer is no on both counts.”

  “But why?”

  “Can you keep my ass out of jail?” Clint asked. “Do you have any influence over the sheriff and the circuit judge? Can you keep me from being charged with – and tried for – shooting a man?”

  She looked down at her cup and said, “No.”

  “Can you convince your father not to frame me for murder if I don’t deliver you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I think you better go on home and get yourself packed for the trip. And pack light. We’re leaving on horseback.”

  “What? No stage? Or train?”

  “We’ll see, Terry,” he said. “Go home.”

  She stood up, started away, then turned back.

  “Go home! Pack!”

  She turned and walked out the door.

  “Beer?” Buck asked from the bar.

  “Definitely.”

  Buck brought it over.

  “You didn’t have to worry about that little hellcat,” the bartender said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “I had my hand on my shotgun the whole time.”

  Clint finished his beer and once again made the walk to his hotel. This time when he walked through the lobby the desk clerk averted his eyes.

  Clint went up the steps and approached his room. When he got there the instincts that had kept him alive all these years kicked in. He placed the palm of his hand flat against the door and it was as if he could feel the presence of someone on the other side.

  He drew his gun, slid the key into the lock, and swung the door opened violently.

  The girl on the bed jumped and held the sheet up to cover her nudity, and then realized it was him.

  “Jesus, Clint!” she said. “You scared me half to death.’

  “The desk clerk was acting funny.”

  “I paid him to let me in.”

  “I didn’t know it was you, Beth,” Clint said, grateful that he hadn’t brought Terry up there with him.

  “How did you know anyone was up here?”

  “Like I told you, the clerk was acting funny,” he said, “and I could feel that someone was here.”

  “Well,” she said, “now that you know it’s me could you put the gun away?”

  He looked down at the gun in his hand, which was still pointing at her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  After he holstered the gun, then removed it and hung it within easy reach, she tossed the sheet away to reveal her nude body.

  “Beth,” he asked, “where does your family think you are this time?”

  “Still working on that damned dress,” she said. “I told them it’s been givin’ me starts and fits.”

  “And they believe you?”

  “My family always believes what I tell them, Clint,” she said.

  “That’s all well and good,” he said, “but what are you doing here now?”

  She pouted because she had reached for him and he’d stepped back.

  “You’re gonna be leavin’ tomorrow, aren’t
you?” she asked.

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then this is the last chance I’ll ever have to be with you.”

  “Beth—”

  “After you leave I’ll have to go back to my husband,” she said. “Clint, he’s so boring!”

  ”And your son?”

  “Harry is wonderful, but this is not about him. This is about you and me.”

  “Beth …”

  She settled down on her back, raised one knee, put her hands behind her neck and said, “Are you going to say no to this?”

  Her nipples were already hard.

  “You’re the only man who makes me feel this way, Clint,” she said, “wanton, and sexy. When you leave it will all be gone.”

  He stared at her naked body, then shook his head. There was no way to turn her down and still be human. He undid his belt and trousers and growled, “Damn you, woman!”

  As Terry was riding out of town she saw her father riding in.

  “I thought I’d find you here.”

  “Daddy—”

  “What were you trying to do?” he demanded. “Convince Adams not to take the job? Do you know what will happen to him if he doesn’t?”

  “Of course I do,” she said. “He told me. Don’t worry, he turned down everything I had to offer him—and I offered him everything.”

  “I don’t want to hear that,” Restin said. “Let’s get back to the house.”

  “I know,” Terry said. “I’ve got to pack!”

  Clint ran his finger along Beth’s naked spine as she lay on her belly beside him.

  “You have a beautiful back,” he told her.

  “You see?” she said. ”That is something Ben would never say.”

  “You can’t hold that against him, Beth.”

  She rolled over onto one elbow, so that her breasts were no longer crushed beneath her.

  “Do me a favor will you?” she asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t defend my husband to me while we’re in bed together.”

  He sat up.

  “I told you this was a bad idea,” he said.

  “Wait—”

  He stood up, grabbed his pants.

  “I think you better go back to your family,” he told her.

  “They’re going to be looking for you.”

  “But Clint—”

  “Come on,” he said, sitting on the bed to pull on his boots. “I have to go and do something.”

  “A-all right,” she said. She got off the bed and put her dress back on.

  “What’s so important?”

  He didn’t have anything to do, exactly, but he wanted her to go.

  “I have to get ready to leave tomorrow.”

  “The word around town is that you’re workin' for Vance Restin.”

  “That’s the word?” he asked. “I’m doin’ a job for him, under duress. That is not working for him.”

  “Taking his daughter to California?”

  He stared at her.

  “That’s what they’re saying around town?”

  “You better watch out for Terry Restin, Clint,” Beth warned.

  Now he really did have something he had to do—find out who put the word out about him and Terry Restin.

  “You’d better get home, Beth—” he said, moving to get off the bed, but she stopped him, using surprising strength to push him down on his back.

  “Hey!” he said.

  “Not so fast,” she said. “Since you’re gonna be out on the trail with that pretty young girl, I better give you somethin’ to remember me by.”

  “What the—”

  She reached down to grasp his cock, began stroking it with one hand, while fondling his balls with the other.

  “Beth—”

  “Hush,” she said. “Ben doesn’t let me do this to him.”

  “Do wha—oh.”

  She slid down between his legs and began to lick his penis, from the base to the head, over and over again, until he was good and wet, and then she opened her mouth and took him inside.

  “Jesus …” he said, lifting his butt off the bed.

  She began to suck him, sliding her lips up and down the length of him, wetting him even more, so that her saliva ran down onto his testicles and thighs.

  She sucked him avidly, moaning and even growling, inflaming him so much that it wasn’t long before he was exploding into the hot depths of her mouth …

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Clint let himself into the sheriff’s office without knocking, even though he really had no intention of going back there.

  “Adams,” Moreland said, looking up in surprise. “What’s on your mind? You look … agitated.”

  “That’s a good word for it.”

  “What is it?”

  “I heard that the word has gone out around town about my little job for Restin.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yeah, that. Do you know who opened their big mouth about it? I assume it wasn’t you.”

  Sheriff Moreland put his hands up and said, “I didn’t say a word.”

  “Then who?”

  “You got me,” Moreland said. “Maybe you should just ask Restin.”

  “Restin! Why would he say a word?”

  “I don’t know,” the lawman said. “Weren’t you wonderin’ why he hired you in the first place? So, why not ask another question?”

  Clint shook his head. Restin would be crazy to say anything, but Clint still didn’t know the whole story.

  On the other hand, it could have been Terry Restin, herself, looking to make things difficult from the very beginning.

  “But you know,” Moreland said, “a ranch hand, a bartender, one of Restin’s gunnies … all it would take is one.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  “So calm down,” the lawman suggested. “Just do the job and get it over with.”

  “Believe me,” Clint said, “that’s what I intend to do.”

  “Do you want me to ask around town and try to find out who talked?”

  “No, just forget it.” Clint replied. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

  “Well, just do me a favor,” the lawman said.

  “What’s that?”

  “If you find out who did it, don’t shoot anybody,” Moreland said, “at least, not in town.”

  “Agreed,” Clint said.

  Clint left the sheriff’s office, stopping just outside. The only thing left to do was buy some supplies for his trip with Terry Restin. Vance Restin’s expense money was burning a hole in his pocket.

  He went to the General Store, bought some things that would fit easily into a burlap bag, which he would then hang from his saddle. He didn’t want a take a pack animal along. It would only slow them down.

  By the time he was done he had bought enough beef jerky, beans, bacon, cans of peaches, coffee, ammunition for both his weapons, as well as two new blankets that he knew he’d be hanging from Terry’s saddle, as well.

  “Will you be takin’ any of this with you now, sir?” the clerk asked.

  “No,” Clint said, “I’d like to pick it all up early tomorrow morning.”

  “Of course, sir,” the man said. “And shall I put this on Mr. Restin’s tab?”

  “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Uh, well, I just assumed, after what I’ve been hearin’ around town—”

  “And just exactly where did you hear what you heard?” Clint asked, cutting him off.

  “Um, I don’t rightly know, sir, just … around.” The clerk looked nervous.

  Clint said, “You know what? Go ahead and put this all on Mr. Restin’s tab.”

  “All right, sir.”

  “And add some more of this … and this … and this …”

  Rhodes, Banks and Spenser were in town, drinking in a saloon called the Black Queen.

  “No matter what we told Dave Peterson,” Rhodes said, “or what Dave told Restin, I ain’t okay with this.�
�

  “I don’t got a problem with it,” Spenser said, “as long as we’re gettin’ paid as much money as Peterson said we was gonna.”

  “Oh, hey,” Stan Rhodes said, “don’t get me wrong. I didn’t say I wasn’t gonna go through with it, I just said I didn’t like it.”

  “Hey!” Banks said. He was standing at the bat wing doors, looking out over them. “Look who’s here.”

  Rhodes and Spenser joined him at the door and looked out at Clint Adams, who was crossing the street. They watched as he strode on past.

  “This would be real easy, now,” Banks said. “All we gotta do is step out--”

  Rhodes put his hand on Banks’ shoulder to stop him from saying more.

  “I wanna kill him as much as you do,” Rhodes said. “But not enough to mess up our chance at a lot of money first.” He slapped Banks on the back. “Come back to the bar and drink your beer.”

  Rhodes walked back to the bar.

  “He’s right,” Spenser said. “Come on.”

  He followed Rhodes back to the bar and, reluctantly, so did Banks.

  He left the General Store after spending much more of Vance Restin’s money than he’d intended to. As he crossed the street he pretended not to see three of Vance Restin’s hired guns watching him from the doorway of the Black Queen saloon.

  He briefly considered going into the saloon and playing with the three men, because they must have been ordered not to brace him at any time—at least, until the job was over. But in the end he decided to stay away from them. After all, he’d promised the sheriff he wouldn’t shoot anybody.

  Not in town, anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Clint woke early the next morning, happy to be alone in his room. Beth was pleasant to be with, but he was tired – and a little ashamed – of violating Ben Ballard’s marital bed. He felt badly about not saying goodbye to the boy, Harry, but felt it couldn’t be avoided.

  By the time he got Eclipse saddled and rode him over to the General Store, the clerk had the supplies separated evenly into two burlap sacks—all except the two new blankets, which Clint tossed over Eclipse’s back, for the moment.