“I’ve been working on that myself,” Taylor said. “Pine’s got one cousin who’s still in town. I was gonna go question him.”
“Good, we can do that together.”
“And you’ll come to the house for supper tonight,” Taylor said.
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“Miriam would insist, just to be a good hostess. Don’t worry, she’s not gonna be part of this. As far as I’m concerned she’s played her part already.”
And played it well, Clint thought. But he was going to be glad if he didn’t have to deal with the strong-willed woman again beyond supper.
“I hear you’ve been a lawman for a long time, and I don’t want to step on your toes, but—”
“Hey,” Taylor said, “I know your reputation, Adams. Just tell me what you want to do.”
“First, I’d like to check out your gun.”
“My gun?”
“And your office guns—rifles, shotguns, whatever you’ve got.”
“No problem,” Taylor said.
He unlocked the gun rack on the wall so Clint could check the Winchesters and shotguns there. They all seemed to be clean, and in proper working order.
“You got guns at home?” Clint asked.
“Just like the office,” Taylor said. “Rifle and shotgun.”
“I’ll check on them tonight. Let me see your Colt.” Clint held out his hand. Taylor removed his gun from his holster and handed it over. Clint quickly unloaded it, broke it down on the desktop, examined it, and then reassembled it.
“I’ve never seen anybody do that so fast,” Taylor said.
Clint handed the gun back. “You seem to take care of your weapons.”
“Like you said,” Taylor replied, “I’ve been a lawman for a long time.”
“And you’ve never come up against a situation like this before?”
“Oh, sure,” Taylor said, “but I had deputies, and no wife. That, uh, seemed to make a difference.”
“You know,” Clint said, “I have to tell you a married lawman is something I can’t really understand. When you’ve got somebody waiting for you at home, I don’t think you can do the job the way it needs to be done.”
“You might be right,” Taylor said. “After this, I guess I’ll have some thinking to do.”
Clint wondered if he meant thinking about whether or not he still wanted to be a lawman, or a husband.
SEVENTEEN
The Taylor house was warm and filled with aromatic smells coming from the kitchen. Whatever else Miriam Taylor was, she was apparently a good cook.
Clint and Andy Taylor were in the living room holding glasses of whiskey.
“It’s all I have in the house,” Taylor had said, and Clint told him it was fine. When Miriam joined them, she also held a glass of whiskey, which she sipped without a hint of daintiness.
“I’m so happy you came around to our way of thinking, Clint,” she said.
“Miriam,” Taylor said, “Clint has decided to help us because—”
“I talked him into it,” she said, interrupting her husband. “Isn’t that right, Clint?”
Clint just lifted his glass to her and said, “That’s exactly right, Miriam.”
At the dinner table, she asked, “So what are we going to do about Ned Pine? Arrest him as soon as he shows his face? Go out and hunt him down?”
“Miriam . . .” Taylor said warningly.
“Am I not to ask?” she said. “Not to be curious?”
“It really wouldn’t be smart for two men to hunt down a dozen or more, Miriam,” Clint said.
“No smarter for a man to meet them in the street.”
“Pine wants to meet me man-to-man, Miriam,” Taylor said.
“Well, even you said he’ll have his men backing him up,” she pointed out. “Will it be enough to have the Gunsmith backing you up?”
“Probably not,” Clint said.
“Well, what if we somehow passed the word that Clint Adams was a deputy—”
“I’m not a deputy,” Clint said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Clint is not wearing a badge.”
“Why—”
“It’s his choice, Miriam,” Taylor said, cutting her off. “He’s offered his help. Let’s not question him about it.”
“Very well,” she said. “I’m just the wife, I’m not to ask any questions.”
Clint did not respond. It was up to Taylor to deal with his wife’s feelings.
But Taylor avoided that problem for the rest of the meal, and eventually Clint found himself on the front porch with the sheriff, each with an after-dinner cigar.
“You said you were just passin’ through when you got here,” Taylor commented.
“That’s right.”
“What are we keeping you from?” the lawman asked. “Where were you headed?”
Clint decided to tell Taylor the truth. There was no harm. He explained how someone had tried to kill him under strange circumstances and he was on his way to try to find out why.
“He had a telegram in his pocket?” Taylor asked.
“That’s right.”
“And you’re going to the town the telegram originated from?”
“Right again.”
“And you don’t think that might be a trap?”
“I’m sure it is,” Clint said.
“And you’re still goin’?”
“That’s where my answers are.”
Taylor had been staring straight out at the lights of the town, but now he turned to face Clint.
“So how is that different from what you’re accusing me of doin’?”
“Well,” Clint said, “first of all, I don’t have a wife to think of, or a job. I’m on my own.”
“And second of all,” Taylor said helpfully, “you’re the Gunsmith.”
“I was going to say, second of all, I’m not you,” Clint replied, “but that amounts to the same thing, I guess.”
“So what will you do if you get where you’re goin’ and there are twelve guns waitin’ for you?”
“If that happens I’ll have three options,” Clint said.
“What are they?”
“Turn around and leave, forget about it.”
“And second?”
“Find help.”
“I can’t see you walkin’ away,” Taylor said, “so my guess is you’d look for help. Somebody like Wyatt Earp or Bat Masterson?”
“Or both,” Clint said, “or some other friend. But don’t be so sure I wouldn’t walk away. If I couldn’t find any help, I’d be down to my third option.”
“And what would that be?”
Clint let out a cloud of blue smoke and said into it, “Die. ”
EIGHTEEN
When the knock came at Clint’s door later that night, he frowned. He put down the Twain book and grabbed his gun. Now what? Or more precisely, who? Maybe Taylor had thought of something else he wanted to talk about.
He opened the door as he had the night before, with the gun behind his back. He was surprised to see Miriam Taylor, not the sheriff. She had a shawl pulled tightly around her.
“Miriam, what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you without Andy around,” she said. “May I come in, or must we do it out here in the hall?”
“Yes, all right. Come in.”
She entered and watched him holster the gun.
“It must be a terrible way to live,” she said, “to have to answer every knock on your door with a gun in your hand.”
“It becomes second nature,” he said. “What’s on your mind? Did I not thank you enough for the delicious dinner?”
“Well, you’re testy.”
“You’re another man’s wife in my room late at night, Miriam,” he said. “That’s not a comfortable position for me to be in.”
She laughed briefly. He was aware of her smell, as if she’d just stepped from a bath.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid
of Andy.”
“If anything,” he said, “I’m more afraid of you. Does he know you came here to see me?”
“Oh, no. He’d never stand for that.”
“Where does he think you are?”
“Visiting a sick friend.”
“That’s a very old excuse,” he said. “Did he believe you?”
“Yes,” she said, “because I do have a sick friend in town, a dear lady who has pneumonia. I’ve been looking in on her for the doctor, who’s been very busy lately.”
“Then what are you doing here?” he asked. “You should be with her.”
“I checked on her on the way here,” Miriam said. “She’s just fine, sleeping like a baby.”
“What made you think I wouldn’t be sleeping like a baby?”
“A man like you? You wouldn’t be asleep this early. I am wondering, however, why you’re not at one of our fine saloons, making the acquaintance of our fine saloon girls and whores.”
“Actually, I was trying to keep a low profile, but I guess there’s not much point in that while I’m dealing with you and your husband.”
“I’m sorry it’s such a hardship.”
“It’s going to be a hardship, Miriam,” Clint said. “It’s going to be a hell of a hardship when Ned Pine arrives.”
“Well, I just wanted to come over and thank you personally for agreeing to help Andy.”
“You did that,” he said. “You thanked me at your house.”
“No,” she said, “I mean . . . thank you . . . personally.”
Abruptly, she let her shawl fall to the floor. It was such a dramatic move that he expected her to be naked beneath it, but she would never have been able to get out of the house that way.
The fact that she wasn’t naked, though, didn’t make the situation any less explosive. She was extremely sexual, and he was feeling the effects of it as she undid the buttons of her dress.
“Miriam, don’t—”
“Come on, Clint,” she said. “I see the way you look at me.”
“You’re a beautiful woman,” he said. “I look at beautiful women.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “but you want me.”
“No,” he said, “I don’t.”
The buttons were undone, and she tugged the top of the dress down so that her shoulders and the upper slopes of her pale breasts were showing. If he allowed her to get to her nipples, he wasn’t sure he would be able to resist her. So he took quick steps forward, which she misinterpreted. When he grabbed the edges of her dress and tugged it back up, covering her breasts and shoulders, it surprised her.
“Wha—” she said.
“I told you, don’t do it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I told your husband I wasn’t interested in you,” he said. “You’re another man’s wife.”
“But you are interested in me.”
“But you’re another man’s wife,” he said again. “I draw the line there.”
She frowned at him. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” he said. “Besides, I don’t understand what you think you’re doing. I had the impression you loved your husband.”
“I did once.” She started buttoning her dress.
“When did it change?”
“When I realized he wasn’t going to leave this godforsaken town and take me away.”
“You thought he would?”
“I thought I could make him eventually.”
Clint laughed.
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not” he said. “You’re just not the first woman to underestimate the lure of the badge.”
“Obviously,” she said. “You men and your pieces of tin.”
“Not me,” he said. “I took it off a long time ago, and it stays off.”
“Andy Taylor is not the man I thought he was,” she said. “That’s why I’m here. But I guess you’re not the man I thought you were.”
“I’m real sorry we both disappointed you, Miriam.”
“Yes,” she said with a sniff. “So am I.”
She left the room without saying good night, leaving her scent in the air. Clint didn’t think he could stand it, so he decided to leave until the smell—of woman and sex and soap—dissipated.
He strapped on his gun and headed for the nearest saloon.
NINETEEN
Miriam Taylor had been right about one thing. He’d wanted her. How could you be in a room with a woman like that with her naked to the waist, and not want her?
So when he found Buckskin Bill’s Saloon and entered, he was not only receptive to all the girls working the floor, but they flocked to him. It was as if they could sense that he was ready.
He stood at the bar, drank beer, and flirted with the four girls while trying to decide which one he was going to take back to his room with him.
There was a brunette named Rio, who had big breasts, a Spanish accent, and a bawdy laugh.
A blonde named Santana who was long and leggy and had great big blue eyes.
A redhead—oddly named Raven—with green eyes and a quick smile.
And finally, another brunette named Cory, this one short and nicely chubby.
Clint was leaning toward Rio. He liked her accent and her body, and she was the tallest of the four, which appealed to him tonight.
But Cory, the small brunette, kept rubbing herself against him, all bulbous breasts and padded hips, and he could feel the heat of her through both of their clothes.
At one point, when all four women were busy working the room, he turned to the bartender and said, “Another beer.”
“Comin’ up.”
He went off, came back with a frothy mug. He put it down on the bar and remained standing there.
“Can I help you?” Clint asked, picking up the mug.
“Want some advice?”
“That depends,” Clint said. “About what?”
The man leaned on the bar with his elbows. He was medium height, middle-aged, seemed to know his job well, so Clint thought that whatever bartenderly advice he had— about whatever—might be good.
“Seems to me one of them gals is goin’ back to your room with you tonight.”
“I was thinking that.”
“Well, was I you, I’d forget about Rio.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“She’s got a man.”
“That’s so?”
“Well . . . he sorta thinks she’s his girl.”
“And what does Rio think?”
“She thinks he’s annoyin’.”
“Then why should I take him into account?” Clint asked.
“He’s big, mean, ugly, and can use a gun.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah,” the bartender said. “He’s been glaring at you from a corner of the room all night.”
“Which corner?”
“Back right.”
Clint turned with his beer, looked around the room before zeroing in on that corner. Sure enough, there was a man there who matched the bartender’s description. He was glowering at that moment, more than glaring.
“What’s your name?” Clint asked the bartender.
“Bruno.”
“Bruno, what’s that fella’s name?”
“His name is Winston,” Bruno said.
“Winston?”
“Yeah,” Bruno said, “it’s part of what makes him so mean.”
“And what does he do for a living?”
“Works on one of the ranches,” Bruno said. “I understand he pulls tree trunks out of the ground—with his hands.”
“And he can use a gun?”
“Yep.”>
“How good?”
“He hits what he aims at.”
“Come on, Bruno,” Clint said. “I want to know if he’s killed anybody.”
“Lately?”
Clint reached out and grabbed Bruno by the shirt. He was short-tempered because he’d had to turn Miriam Taylor awa
y, and because he was still in town when he was supposed to have left that morning. He was short-tempered because he’d gotten himself involved in a situation that was none of his business—again!
“Bruno, you’re making me ask a lot of questions because you’re trying to be clever.”
“He’s killed a few men with his hands in fights, never with a gun . . . that I know of.”
Clint released his shirt.
“Then why should I be worried about him?”
Clint drank his beer, ordered another. Suddenly—with him in his present condition—Rio had moved up to the top of the list.
TWENTY
Even the other girls sensed that Clint had decided on Rio, and stayed away.
“Do you know what makes you interesting, señor?” she asked him.
“No,” he said, “but if you tell me I’ll do more of it.”
She laughed and said, “No, no, it is that no one here knows who you are.”
“That’s good,” he said. “I’d like to keep it that way.”
“You will not tell me who you are?” she asked, moving closer to him. “Not even me?”
“All you need to know is that my name is Clint,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist, “and that I want to take you back to my room with me tonight.”
“You have chosen me?” she asked, blinking her eyes at him innocently. “From all these other beautiful women?”
“You know you’re the most beautiful,” he said, nuzzling her neck, “and most desirable.”
“Of course I know that,” she said, putting her hand on his chest. “I was wondering when you would realize it, Clint.”
Suddenly, there was a crashing sound. Clint and Rio both looked up and saw the big man, Winston, stalking toward them. He had knocked over his table and chair in his haste.
“Oh, Lord,” Clint heard Bruno say behind him.
“Friend of yours?” Clint asked Rio.
“No,” she spat. “I hate him. He smells.”
“So he’s not your boyfriend?”
“I do not have a boyfriend, Clint,” she said. “It is not a wise thing to have in my profession.”
“You’re probably right,” he said, “for just this reason. You better stand aside.”
Way with a Gun Page 5