Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) (24 page)

“Who wants to know?”

He reached into his vest, took from it a couple of American silver dollars, and stuffed them down between her full breasts, enjoying the way she flinched from the cold metal. His fingers lingered on her for a moment, and he remembered what it was like to top a woman.

“We are trying to find an old friend.” He smiled at her suggestively, reaching a hand under the table and putting it on her knee.

She smiled, sipped her drink. But under the table, he felt her spread her thighs so he could stroke her there.

“Nagnab it, ask her,” Petty whined.

“Shut up, Reb.” Big ’Un spat a spray of tobacco juice on the sawdust floor. “Give him a chance.”

Ringo heaved a deep sigh and gritted his teeth. He’d had a bellyful of these two half-wits. When they finally recovered the payroll, he intended to figure out a way to cheat them out of their share. Then he hoped they did kill each other.

He worked his hand along the woman’s warm, tender flesh, squeezed her thigh very close to where it joined her body. She wasn’t wearing underclothes. “As I said,
señorita,
we look for an
amigo
, a tall, blond
americano
on an
overo
pinto stud.”

Her face brightened; then she frowned. “Ah him! Si, he was supposed to meet me in this cantina but never showed up. Some other girl he found prettier, no doubt.”

“Then the hombre was a fool! You must be the prettiest girl in all Mexico.”

She colored with pleasure in the dim light, and laughed. “My uncle in Remolino says so! He thinks I should come there. He promises to introduce me to a captain of the Federales.”

Ringo smiled, his fingers stroking the moistness between her thighs. He watched her gasp and, through her thin blouse, saw her nipples swell with hardness. “Tell me more about that hombre,” he said.

She shrugged. “Not much to tell,
señor
. He was here for one night only.”

“Christ!” Big ’Un grumbled. “He’s got a real head start on us then.”

Petty took out his watch. “We ain’t got all night, Ringo. See what else she knows.”

“Shut up!” Ringo snapped, “Now,
señorita,
which way did our friend go?”

She looked at each man, raised an eyebrow. “Why do you seek this man?”

Ringo said, “He’s a friend, that’s all.”

He saw the greed in her dark eyes. “I think I don’t remember more.”

“Could you remember for a little more money?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged and her blouse slipped off her shoulder. Her thighs gripped his stroking hand. “
Señor
, why don’t we go out to the shadows of the creek and talk?”

The thought chilled him. She’d laugh at his attempts to satisfy her. But by the way he stroked her, looked into her eyes, how could she know that all he hungered for was another drink?

He leaned closer, smiled. “I thought you’d never ask! Slip out ahead of us, and we’ll meet you there.”

But she frowned, shook her head. “Not those two”—she pouted—“just you. I like pistoleros.”

He gave the other two the slightest shake of his head to silence their protests. “Go on, Angel, I’ll be there in a minute.”

She stood up, shook her skirt down. With a wink, she turned, threaded her way through the noisy, smoky cantina, went out the door.

“Christ!” Big ’Un spat. “You gonna cut us out?”

“Yeah, Ringo, we don’t get none?” Petty drawled.

“Naw, I ain’t gonna cut you out!” Cold sweat broke out on Ringo’s furrowed face. He wiped his brow with a shaky hand. More than anything, he dreaded these two watching his futile performance. “Let’s go. We’ll get the information from her, and you two can have a little fun, too.”

Big ’Un guffawed as the trio stood up. “Like with that Apache squaw, right?”

“She was a good one,” Petty agreed, his hand on the hilt of the rusty butcher knife. “It’s always so much fun when they fight you!”

Ringo drained his glass, savoring the taste. God, he’d like another one, but he could scarcely stand now. “Okay, let’s go.”

How in the hell was he gonna do this? “You two walk far back in the shadows so she won’t see you.”

The creek bank was darkly shadowed, the moon throwing little slivers of silver light on the water. The girl lounged against a tree. “Ah Señor Gunfighter.” She came into his arms and he kissed her, pulling her to him with fake passion as if he were still a virile stallion of a man. Over her shoulder, he saw his partners crouching in the mesquite.

“Pretty one,” he murmured, slipping his tongue between her lips, running his hand down the front of her blouse to cup her big breast. “Now tell me about my friend.”

“Not yet.” She laughed. “You will make love to me, give me more money, no?”

You bitch, he thought savagely. I ought to rape you with my pistol barrel. But he smiled, nibbled her ear. “Maybe I should take you with me, Angel. Have you seen Mexico City? San Antone? Now tell me what I need to know.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. It was amazing how even the sliest
puta
could be flattered into foolishness.

“All right,
señor
. The
tejano
was headed south when he left here, in the direction of Monterrey. There’s many big ranches in that area. Perhaps he seeks a job at one of them.”

That was all he needed to know. For a split second, he wondered whether he could ride off without the pair of idiots in the shadows, then shook his head. No, he’d seen that Texan shoot. It would take all three of them to get him, and even then they’d need a little luck.

He kissed her again, motioned to the pair hovering in the shadows like a pair of coyotes. “I don’t suppose you’d want to make my friends happy, too?”

“Those two filthy pigs?” She spat in disgust. “Not unless they pay many, many
americano
dollars.”

“Oh, but what they had in mind was free,” he said, clasping his hand over her mouth. If he didn’t let his partners satisfy their lust, they’d bellyache about it all the way across Mexico.

The girl struggled and fought him as he stuffed a bandana in her mouth, twisted her arms behind her.

Petty and Big ’Un joined him.

“Enjoy her quick,” Ringo growled. “We got to get a move on!”

Big ’Un’s eyes widened with anticipation. “This is gonna be better than that squaw. Christ! Why is it better when they fight you?”

Ringo forced her to the ground, ripped away her clothes. “Hold her ankles, Petty.” He clasped her wrists together, forced them down to the ground above her head. The motion made her back arch, forcing her big breasts up.

“I got her,” Petty drawled. “But why does Big ’Un get to go first?”

“What difference does it make?” Ringo snapped. “It’s only a minute or two.”

“Less than that,” the Yankee crowed, straddling her slim body. He unbuttoned his pants, shoved into her while his two large hands cupped her breasts, squeezed so that the nipples stood up for his eager mouth.

The girl struggled but between Ringo and Petty, she couldn’t get away while Big ’Un rode her, sucking and chewing at her breasts.

Even the sight of him mounting the girl like a stallion didn’t cause Ringo’s manhood to harden. There was nothing left—nothing. Drink had taken its toll.

Petty licked his lips as they watched the Yankee hump between the girl’s thighs. “Ain’t she a purty one, though? Hurry up, Big ’Un, I get my turn next.”

Big ’Un drove into her hard, stiffened, lay still. “I want another turn.”

“Nagnab it, no fair!” Petty whined. “It ain’t fair, is it, Ringo?”

“I swear! You two got to fight over even this! Get up. Big ’Un. Give Petty a chance at her!”

The big man moved to hold her ankles while Ringo held her wrists down. Her dark eyes above the gag were angry. Petty licked his way across her breasts while she struggled.

“Christ!” Big ’Un said, “we ain’t got all night for you to mess around! Get done and get off!”

Petty finished, lay there a long moment. “Umm, as sweet and hot as sticking it in sun-warmed honey!”

“Now I get another turn!” Big ’Un said.

“All right, you two, we ain’t got all night! Some of these vaqueros would take a knife to your
cojones
, make steers out of you for this,” Ringo warned them. “Let’s vamoose.”

Petty sat up, still hanging onto the fighting girl. “Hey, Ringo, ain’t you gonna take a turn?”

He could not face the ridicule of letting them know he was no longer capable.

Big ’Un scratched himself. “Hey, Ringo, didn’t you hear Petty?”

“Yeah, I heard him. All right, I’ll get a little and then we’ll get the hell out of here. You two go stand guard.”

Petty frowned as he handed over the struggling girl. “Hell, Ringo, I wanted to watch. We ain’t got to watch you do it for a long time.”

“I like my privacy,” Ringo lied, holding onto the struggling girl. “Now you two stand guard.”

Grumbling, the two moved away and Ringo looked down at the girl. “I’d love to do it to you, Angel,” he said through clenched teeth. In the moonlight, he saw the expression in the girl’s eyes change when he hesitated. Then disbelief, scorn came into her face. She knew . . . she knew.

“Damned
puta!
” he said, and clipped her across the jaw, He left her sprawled unconscious, smeared with male seed, her bare breasts gleaming in the moonlight like some pagan mating sacrifice.

He crept out of the mesquite. The scent of claret cup cactus came to his nose as he took a deep breath. The sound of rock crunching under his boots, the echoing howl of a coyote, laughter and guitar music, all drifted faintly on the still air.

“Christ!” Big ’Un spat a spray of tobacco juice. “You through already?”

Ringo laughed easily. “When the gun’s loaded, it don’t take a second to pull the trigger! Why do you think women like gunfighters, anyway? There’s some connection in their heads between a man’s tool and that long, hot, hard pistol barrel.”

Petty grinned admiringly. “Ringo, you’re sure some stud!”

He thought of the girl lying with her dress torn, her thighs spread. He should have ordered Big ’Un to cut her throat like he had that Apache squaw’s. “Let’s get the hell out of here! The Texan’s headed south.”

They walked toward the horses tied before the stage station cantina.

“Nagnab it,” Petty ran his fingers through his tangled beard. “How we gonna track him across all of Mexico?”

Ringo shrugged as he swung up on his gray gelding. “Same way we been doin’. How many fancy
overo
studs with blue eyes do you suppose there is below the border?”

Big ’Un nodded. “That’s right, especially ridden by big, blond Texans? It may take us awhile, but for twenty-five thousand dollars, we got the time.” His saddle creaked as he mounted.

Petty’s ugly mouth smiled. “Ain’t we, though?”

He mounted and the three of them headed south at a slow canter.

Colonel Mackenzie looked up from the dispatch Sergeant Murphy had just handed him. “God damn them,” he said. “God damn them to hell!” He threw the dispatch on his desk, paced his office.

“Crossed the border again, did they, sir?”

“Oh, don’t act so ignorant, Mike.” He knew Murphy would have read the dispatches on his way across the parade grounds. “A camp of poor Czech cedar choppers. Patrol saw the smoke and investigated. By then, those damned Kickapoo, Mescalero, and Lipan were headed back across the river to the safety of Mexico.”

The beefy Irishman tipped his cap back. “Do you suppose, sir, we’re ever gonna get permission to go after them bloodthirsty redskins?”

Mackenzie didn’t answer. He just tapped his deformed right hand against his desk nervously. Sheridan and the secretary of war were due at the fort sometime that day. Whatever it was that brought such highly placed men to this isolated country, it had to be important. “Don’t even think it,” he snapped. “To cross that border might bring on another war with Mexico.”

Murphy sighed. “Beggin’ yore pardon, sir, if we could do it, it sure would suddenly make Union troops popular with the Texans. Them greedy merchants over at Remolino is makin’ a fortune dealing in Lone Star beef and horses.”

“We all know that, Sergeant.” Mackenzie felt more irritable than usual today. His old war wounds were aching again.

The red-faced Irishman smiled agreeably. Mackenzie knew his troops would follow him into hell. He wasn’t having trouble with jealousy and bickering as the hotheaded Custer was further north.

“Sir,” Murphy said, “it must be very, very important for those two to be comin’ to this godforsaken spot.”

“That’s not for us to speculate on.” Mackenzie frowned, and was immediately sorry for his irascibility. “We just do our duty, Sergeant.”

There was a sharp rap at the door. Mackenzie turned. “Come in.”

They both snapped to attention as General “Little Phil” Sheridan, President Grant’s man, entered along with the Secretary of War.

“At ease,” Sheridan said. He was a short, stumpy man with long arms and a head too large for his body. “Good to see you, Ranald!”

They shook hands, and Mackenzie nodded toward the sergeant. “Dismissed!”

Murphy saluted sharply, left the office.

Then Sheridan put the briefcase he carried on the desk, and introduced the Secretary of War. The three men stood listening to Murphy’s footsteps echoing down the hall.

Sheridan pulled at his mustache, studying Mackenzie. “Aren’t you going to offer two tired, dusty men a drink?”

“Certainly.” Mackenzie went to his desk, poured, handed each man a glass. “I suppose this isn’t a social visit?”

The whiskey tasted fiery and at once lukewarm in the humid weather. He waited.

Sheridan sipped his drink. For a long moment, he said nothing and the sound of soldiers drilling drifted through the window. “Colonel, have you guessed why we’re here?”

Mackenzie’s heart beat faster. Hardly daring to hope, he looked at the rotund Secretary of War, who drank his whiskey and fiddled with the gold chain across his vest. Obviously the man was going to leave the responsibility to the military.

Mackenzie said, “It’s not my place to question anything, sir. I just do my duty and carry out orders.”