Ball and Chain

by J. R. Roberts

  Nobody would be sneaking up on the place. Clint was certain of that much.

  After assuring Ellie she was safe, Clint urged her to get some sleep. Actually, he’d insisted she go home, but she wasn’t having any of that. Since she wanted to stay with him and make certain he didn’t rip his stitches, she planted herself at his side and wasn’t about to budge. Finally, she’d gone to sit in the big chair and even picked up the knitting needles to do some work. Her hands moved so quickly that Clint became convinced she spent plenty of time in this cottage. Considering her father’s sour disposition, he didn’t blame her.

  Before long, Ellie’s breathing had become deeper and her head had fallen forward. Clint made sure she was comfortable, wrapping an afghan around her so she would stay warm. Then he took a position where he could see outside in every direction. Once there, he extinguished the lantern and stood in the dark until his eyes adjusted to the shadows. After that happened, the light from the moon and stars was enough to give him a good look at the street and garden.

  Clint stood and moved his arm in a slow circle. His elbow felt as if it had been dipped in kerosene and lit by a match, but it still bent just fine. When he felt the first trace of blood trickling beneath his bandage, Clint removed his shirt and unwrapped the bandage around his elbow.

  Now that his elbow had been cleaned up a bit, the wound didn’t look so bad. Of course, being closed up by stitches helped. The wound itself looked more like a tear in his flesh. The edges were as ragged as ripped parchment, held together by thread. Flexing his arm a few times, Clint watched as the wound shifted with every movement. The blood that had come out was barely a trickle and was already drying up.

  He lowered his arm, made a fist, and glanced at the windows. There was nobody outside. In fact, it was late enough that even the rowdy echoes from the saloon had faded away. The street was just as still as the garden, which made even the occasional nocturnal critters easy to spot.

  The more he moved his arm, the easier it became. Now that he’d seen the wound up close, Clint tested himself a bit further. He reached for the Colt, took hold of it, and pulled it from its holster. His grip slipped a little, which caused the end of the barrel to snag upon the edge of the holster.

  Clint dropped the weapon back in place and drew again. The movement was smooth, but not as fast as he would have liked. He tried again, speeding himself up to something closer to his normal pace. The weapon came up freely, so he tried again.

  If Clint’s life had been on the line against someone who knew what they were doing, he knew he would be in trouble. Against the two men who insisted on coming after him, however, he put his odds at well above average.

  Just for the hell of it, Clint holstered the Colt and allowed his arm to hang normally. He took a few breaths, imagined he’d spotted someone through the window, and then went for his Colt as if he intended on pulling the trigger.

  Pain shot through his arm in mid-draw, tripping him up before he cleared leather. Clint swore under his breath and replaced the gun.

  “You shouldn’t be doing that,” Ellie said. “Not yet anyway.”

  Clint looked over at her and grinned. “Just seeing where I stand.”

  “You’re standing in front of open windows. Didn’t you say that was bad?”

  “Bad for you and your father,” he told her. “I wouldn’t mind it if those two decided to stick their necks out and give me a clear shot for a change.”

  Ellie winced as if she were the one who’d been wounded. “You are a gunfighter. I knew it.”

  “Just because I carry a gun doesn’t make me a gunfighter.”

  “Is that a bad thing? Being a gunfighter, I mean?”

  “Not as such,” Clint admitted. “Most folks just think of gunfighters as killers and murderers. Gunfighters sell their trigger fingers to the highest bidder or shoot men for the pleasure of it. I just go about my business and do what needs to be done. I don’t know what you’d call that, but gunfighter doesn’t seem to suit it.”

  “Neither does flower courier,” she said with a chuckle.

  Clint laughed a bit, too. “What about protector of fine arts?”

  “No,” she said as she moved closer to him. “Not that, either. I’ll have to come up with something more suitable before you heal up.”

  “I’m doing well enough. Since those two haven’t made another play at me, I think they’re off somewhere licking their wounds. I’ll head back to the room I rented once there are more people about. That way, plenty of folks will see where I am. If those two idiots are still in town, they’ll see it, too.”

  “But you can’t just go away,” Ellie said. “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s nothing. I can still hold my gun.” Seeing the critical look in her eyes, Clint added, “I can hold it good enough to go up against them.”

  “And what if those stitches tear and you can hardly move your arm?”

  “Then I’ll draw with my left. It’s not as fast as the right, but it’s good enough. You and your father were almost shot tonight,” Clint told her as he grabbed her by both arms and stared at her so she knew he meant business. “You stay around me too long and those idiots will get the wrong idea. They might even try getting to you so they can get to me. The quicker I get away from you, the better.

  “Those bushwhackers have always gone for the easy shots. They’ll wait until I’m alone or until they can get the drop on me. I’m not about to hide in a crowd,” Clint said, “but I won’t let them get the drop on me again either. You don’t want to be around if they decide to take another run at me.”

  Ellie’s face took on a darkness that had nothing to do with the lantern cooling on its hook. “You’re not going anywhere tonight, Clint. I’ll see to that.”

  Clint glanced at the window that faced east. “You’ve been asleep for a while, Ellie. There isn’t much left of tonight.”

  “Fine,” she said as she pulled the string that kept the front of her dress laced up. “Then I guess we’ll just have to make the best of the time we have.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Ellie’s dress came off like water running down her body, pooling at her feet. Stepping out of the bundle of clothing, she wrapped her arms around Clint’s body and pressed her nakedness against him. The moment she felt his hands upon her waist, she let out a slow, contented sigh.

  “I want you, Clint. I want you so bad.”

  “Maybe we should get away from all these windows.”

  Suddenly, every muscle in Ellie’s body tensed. It felt awfully good from Clint’s side, but she obviously wasn’t so comfortable since all of her clothes were piled up at her feet. Rather than wait for her to regain her composure, Clint picked Ellie up and carried her in his arms to the only other room in the cottage.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and swung her legs during the short ride.

  Clint stepped through the narrow door, finding that the room was just as small as it had looked when he’d peeked inside earlier. The bed wasn’t large, but it took up most of the space within the closet-sized area. Other than the bed, there was only an oval mirror hanging on the wall.

  “You said this was your aunt’s house?” Clint asked.

  “She didn’t live here for years before she passed on,” Ellie told him.

  “And where did she pass?”

  “At another of my aunt’s places in Illinois.”

  “All right,” Clint said as he put Ellie down onto the bed. “Just making sure.”

  Quickly positioning herself so she was on her knees at the edge of the mattress, Ellie pulled at Clint’s buttons as if he weren’t doing it fast enough. “Don’t worry about a thing, Clint. Nobody comes here anymore.”

  “And your father? He knows we’re here.”

  “He must already be asleep. It’d take a hell of a lot more than gunshots to pry that old man from his pillow.”

  By this time, Clint’s shirt had been ripped off, his gun belt had been set aside, and his jeans were being pulled down.
After kicking off his boots and taking a good look at Ellie, Clint didn’t want to discuss anything else.

  Her hair looked dark red in the shadows and her skin looked even paler in the moonlight that trickled through the small, plate-sized square of a window. Her breasts fit perfectly in Clint’s hands and she trembled when he cupped them. She moaned louder when he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. As the soft, pink skin became taut, Ellie’s left hand wandered along the front of her body and then worked its way down. When her fingers drifted through the soft downy hair between her legs, her eyes snapped open and she looked ready to blush again.

  “I didn’t think,” she said in a hurry. “I was just . . .”

  “That’s all right,” Clint assured her as he placed his hand over hers. “From here it looks just fine.”

  Ellie kept her eyes open and slowly moved her hand between her legs. Before long, Clint urged her to rub even faster and she let her head drop back. Her legs opened a bit more and she moaned softly as Clint’s hands ran up and down the tips of her pussy. Just as her legs were starting to shake, Ellie felt something else between her legs.

  Clint eased forward until the tip of his cock brushed against her hand. When she looked down to see his hand was no longer between her legs, Ellie pulled in a quick breath. Rather than pump any further, Clint reached down to scoop both hands under Ellie’s backside. From there, he lifted her up a bit and pulled her toward the edge of the bed. As she was brought forward, Clint moved into her.

  “Oh . . . oh my,” she stammered.

  Her pussy was tight around him and her entire body trembled. Clint could tell by the look in her eyes that her trembling was due to pleasure rather than nervousness. He smiled down at Ellie and gently eased in and out of her.

  As she became wetter, Ellie was able to lie back and enjoy what Clint was doing. After spreading her legs open wide and reaching down to rub herself as he pumped back and forth, Ellie began to breathe quicker in expectation of an oncoming climax. Even though she’d braced herself for it, her orgasm still took her by surprise.

  Ellie arched her back and reached out with her free hand to grip the blankets on top of the bed. Short, gasping moans came out of her as she bucked and wriggled on the bed.

  Clint enjoyed watching her for a few seconds, but then he reached down to place his hands upon her chest. Rubbing her nipples against his palms, he waited until her orgasm had subsided before pumping into her even harder. Ellie’s thighs were slick with her own moisture, so she took every inch of him without a problem.

  When she opened her eyes, it was as though she were just waking from a very good dream. She reached between her legs again, slipped her fingers on either side of Clint’s shaft, and rubbed up and down. “You like that?” she asked.

  Clint leaned his head back to savor what she was doing to him. “Yeah. I sure do.”

  “I want it harder,” she said.

  Feeling Ellie’s fingers on him while he was inside of her made him as hard as he could get, but Clint was pretty sure she wasn’t talking about that. He leaned forward as Ellie lifted her legs so her ankles were resting upon his shoulders. Grabbing onto both legs just above the knee, Clint thrust into her with a little more force.

  “Yes, Clint. Harder.”

  Clint pumped into her harder.

  “Oh, God! Like that!”

  Clint tightened his grip on her legs and pounded between her legs. Ellie grabbed onto the bed and begged him to keep going. Soon, she couldn’t even make a sound because her entire body was gripped in a climax that caused all of her muscles to jump beneath her skin. Entering her while her pussy gripped onto him that way was more than enough to push Clint past his limit. One more thrust, and he exploded inside of her.

  “Good . . . good Lord,” Ellie gasped. “I’ve never felt so good.”

  “Just wait,” Clint replied. “We’ve still got plenty of time until morning.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  The sun was barely up high enough to smear its light upon the lowest clouds. It was a crisp morning and the air was still cold enough to turn every one of Hank Mason’s breaths into steam. His hands were stuffed into his pockets and the collar of his jacket was raised so it could cover a good portion of his neck. When he spotted a familiar face while hurrying down the street, Hank nodded quickly rather than return the wave he was given.

  “Mornin’, Hank,” a storekeeper said as he swept his front stoop.

  “Yeah.” Hank grunted.

  A butcher carried a ham hock on his shoulder from the wagon that had brought it into town. “Cold day, huh Hank?”

  “Yeah.”

  Someone else asked about the state of the mill, but Hank didn’t even respond to them. He was close enough to see his destination, so he hurried there without dawdling for so much as a second. By the time he got to the front door of Iris’s cottage, he’d built up almost enough steam to crash through the door without opening it.

  Hank reached out with both hands. One hand grabbed the door handle and the other stuck his key into the lock. Both hands worked together so he turned the key a fraction of a second before shoving the door open. After yanking the key out and stuffing it into his pocket, he rapped his knuckles upon the door a few times.

  “You still here, Adams?” Hank bellowed. “Ellie? Where the hell are you? You’d better not be . . .”

  Having only taken a few steps into the cottage, Hank stood in front of the open door with the dining table to his left and the knitting chair to his right. Directly in front of him was the narrow door leading into the bedroom. What Hank saw through the door took the breath from his lungs and lit a fire in his belly that showed as an inferno in his eyes.

  Clint was lying upon the bed. Hank could just see his upper body, but that was enough to tell him that Clint was undressed. He could see the same applied to Ellie, since she was on top of Clint, supporting herself with both hands against his chest. If Hank had any doubt about what they were doing, they were erased by the expression of wide-eyed terror Ellie wore when she looked back at Hank.

  “What are you doing here, Pa?” she screamed as she hopped off Clint and raced around the bed.

  Hank stood where he was. His arms were frozen where they’d been when he’d stopped walking. Even his legs were partially bent as if he were a statue that was supposed to be moving instead of a man who couldn’t. Even though he’d changed Ellie’s linens since she was a baby, seeing her bare bottom as she ran to gather her clothes wasn’t a welcome sight.

  “Why didn’t you knock?” Ellie shouted. “What are you doing here?”

  Clint rolled out of bed so his back was to the door. He picked up his clothes as well, but wasn’t doing it nearly fast enough for Hank’s liking.

  As Ellie peeked through the door again, Hank finally found the strength to move again. Ellie shouted and may have even started crying, but Hank didn’t care about any of that. All he wanted to do was get out of that cottage as quickly as his legs would carry him.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!”

  Clint pulled his jeans on and shrugged into his shirt, hoping Ellie would settle down a little when he was done. Even as he buckled on his gun belt, she was still fretting with the laces on her dress and muttering those same words again and again.

  “It’s all right,” Clint said as he placed his hand upon her shoulder. “He’s gone now.”

  That didn’t help matters in the least. In fact, she seemed to boil over even more when she felt his hand upon her. Pulling away as if Clint were burning her, Ellie rushed out of the bedroom. Her arms were crossed and she huddled down as if she were afraid of knocking her head against a low beam. “It doesn’t matter if he’s gone. He saw us!”

  “Yeah, well . . .”

  Wheeling around, she shouted, “How can you be so calm?”

  “It was embarrassing, that’s for certain. I’m not exactly happy to be found that way either. Come to think of it, how about I just have that picture sen
t over to your house when it’s ready? That way—”

  Clint couldn’t see Ellie at the moment, but he could hear her crying in the next room. He followed the sounds all the way to the large chair that was surrounded by knitting supplies. “It’s embarrassing, but it’s not worth all of this,” he said.

  “You don’t understand,” she said from behind both hands.

  Clint looked around the cottage until he found what he was looking for. Walking over to where his boots had been dropped, he collected them and then pulled one of the dining chairs over to where Ellie was sitting. “He’s not my father, but I sort of know what you’re talking about. When I was a boy, someone once found me while—”

  “It’s not like that,” Ellie snapped. “Boys get away with murder, but girls aren’t expected to do anything.”

  “Your father doesn’t hit you, does he?”

  When Ellie looked up at him, her tear-streaked face seemed even more appalled than it had before. “No! Pa loves me!”

  “All right, then. He’s also not stupid, so he must know you’ve been around men before. I mean,” he added while pulling on one boot, “you’re not a virgin. We both know that.”

  Ellie lowered her head. “We know that . . . but he doesn’t.” Stopping with his other leg extended and his second boot halfway on, Clint asked, “He doesn’t?”

  “What do you think I should have done? Gone up to Pa after I met Bobby Hayes in his barn, tugged Pa on the sleeve, and told him why I snuck out that night?”