Longarm 397 : Longarm and the Doomed Beauty (9781101545973) (15 page)

When he'd pulled out the third time, he began hammering against her, harder and harder and with the regularity of a ticking clock—over and over, over and over, making the table lurch loudly back and forth across the floorboards, and evoking piercing love howls and coyote-like yammers from deep in the girl's bosom.

As he toiled, Longarm reached around her and cupped her flopping breasts in his hands. She released her own right hand from the table and mashed it hard over his right hand against her breast, and swore as he continued ramming himself deep inside her.

They came together in a cataclysm of hot, naked, sweating flesh, love cries, and jetting fluid. When their joint screams had died, Jo flopped breast down against the table, and for a moment he thought she'd stopped breathing. Then her sides expanded as she drew a breath, and he lifted her, turned her around, and kissed her.

She snaked her arms around his neck and clung to him, returning his kiss and mashing her breasts against his chest.

“Oh, God,” she groaned when he stopped to scoop her up in his arms and carry her over to one of the two cots on the room's far side. He laid her onto the furs, then walked over to the hearth and chunked several more logs on the fire.

Brushing his hands across his thighs, his dong still at half-mast and swinging back and forth, half slumbering, he strode to the window and looked out. Nothing. He opened the door and walked out onto the worn area in the ground fronting the cabin. The stove, steam, fireplace, and heat of his and Jo's passion had stoked a fire inside him, and the cooling night air felt good sliding against him.

The breeze smelled like pine. Smoke from the chimney hearth slithered down over the roof and flitted away on the breeze stealing over the granite crest of the mountain.

“Longarm!”

He bolted back inside the cabin, half expecting to see an unshaven brigand grabbing Jo and holding a knife to her throat. “What the hell is it?”

She rolled over on the cot to face him with an enticing grin. “That was fun. Will you do me again?”

“Christ, girl,” he said, closing the door. “Thought ole Babe Younger's boys had ya.”

“Nah.” She giggled and lowered her eyes to his cock. “Just horny!”

Longarm chuckled, picked up his gun and shell belt, and returned to the cot. He coiled the rig around the right post at the front of the cot, so that the .44's handle was within easy reach if he should need it. Sagging down beside the girl, he kissed her while she stroked him back to life again, pulling at his cock, massaging his balls.

When he was fully erect and could feel his blood washing in his ears, he positioned himself between her legs, which she spread as wide as she could and made little grunting sounds as she scuttled down lower on the cot and dug her heels into the backs of his legs.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, running a hand down his unshaven jaw. “Fuck me one more time, and I'll never ask you for another thing.”

Longarm fucked her slow and easy at first, taking his time. After about ten minutes of this, the cot creaking gently beneath them, he rose up on his outstretched arms and his toes, and drove her hard.

She mewled beneath him, panting and grunting and flopping her knees and digging her heels into his legs, occasionally lifting her head to close her mouth over his shoulder. He was nearly to his climax—thrusting, withdrawing, and thrusting again—when he saw a shadow move in the front window to the right of the door.

His loins heaved deliciously, and he exploded inside the girl, who lifted her head and loosed an ear-rattling shriek as she bucked up against him.

Longarm looked at the front door. The metal knob turned slowly.

Unable to stop to save his life, Longarm reached forward and, as he continued pumping, his seed jettisoning into the screaming girl, he slid his Colt from its holster.

The front door slammed inward with a bang. A coated, bearded figure bolted into the cabin.

Longarm extended the Colt straight out from the bed and fired twice, the blasts sounding like cannon fire in the tight confines. As the man there screamed and spun back out the opening, the back door blew open and another man ran into the cabin, raising a carbine and aiming toward the bed.

The Colt leaped and roared twice more in Longarm's hands. The second shooter flew back against the wall, firing his carbine into the ceiling before piling up at the base of the range, blood oozing from the two holes in his forehead.

Longarm lowered the smoking pistol, rose up on his toes, and finished flooding the girl with his hot jism.

She stared up at him, wide-eyed, laughing hysterically, believing, it seemed, that the shooting had been merely to celebrate his and the girl's simultaneous fulfillment.

Longarm dragged the second man he'd shot through the brush lining the creek. He had the man's ankles clamped under his arms. He trudged forward through the thick brush, dragging the man behind him.

When he came to the place to which he'd dragged the first man, he dropped the second dead man's feet without ceremony. The man's boots thudded to the ground, crunching last year's dead leaves.

He backed away from the cadavers, who lay staring upward, both men's mouths still stretched in the same grimaces they'd worn when Longarm's bullets had slammed through them. The lawman dropped to a knee, looking around and listening, his breath frosting in the air before him.

The stars winked sharply overhead—more sharply in the east than in the west, where the sun had dropped only about an hour ago. A coyote howled in the toothy, rocky ridges rising in the north. There was a slight breeze that made the willow limbs scratch together and the new leaves flutter, and the stream chuckled quietly over its stony bed.

Otherwise, it was quiet out here.

No unnatural sounds, anyway.

Longarm rolled a cold cheroot from one side of his mouth to the other as he continued to look around. Were these two the only two gang members out here? Or were there more? These two might have scouted the clearing alone, but others might have heard the shots, which would have carried far and wide on such a quiet night here in this natural amphitheater formed by the large block of granite looming from atop the western ridge.

Others might have come and be out here now. Or be on their way.

No way of telling.

Longarm cursed and bit the end of the cold cheroot angrily. He'd been wrong about the Younger bunch growing bored with stalking the girl and hightailing it back to wherever they'd come from. Deep down, he'd known it was a long shot, or at least a medium-long shot. Men like that didn't give up easily once they'd set out on a mission. Also, they'd see the killing of the girl for testifying against their leader as a matter of pride.

The only good thing about Longarm's and the girl's situation now was that he'd managed to whittle the gang down by five over the past two days. That left eight, if he'd counted correctly. Long odds, but better than they'd been. He'd been up against eight before.

He remained there on a knee, looking around and listening, for nearly ten minutes. Finally, when he'd heard nothing that seemed out of sorts, he rose and walked a few yards out of the trees, hugging the creek, as he made his way slowly over to the stable and corral. He checked on the horses, then continued tramping north away from the cabin, all his senses alert.

He spent another ten minutes at the far edge of the clearing, where the stony slope rose toward the northern ridge, scrutinizing every rock and shadow, his brain keen to even the slightest leaf rustle or the soft thud of a cone tumbling from a pine.

He traced a broad circle back toward the cabin, cutting across the center of the clearing, ready to drop and fire his .44 at the slightest shadow movement, click of a gun hammer, or crunch of a grass blade. Seeing or hearing no one, he returned to the cabin, tapped quietly on the door with two knuckles.

“Jo?” he said just above a whisper, looking across the dark, star-shrouded clearing behind him. “It's me.”

He heard the scrape of the locking bar being lifted from its metal brackets. The latch clicked, and the girl pulled the door open, stepping back, her eyes wide in the starlight. Longarm stepped inside, closed the door quickly, and returned the locking bar to its brackets.

“Anything?” Jo said, keeping her voice low. She held Longarm's rifle in her arms across her chest.

He shook his head. “Got a feelin' the gang had split up to scour the pass. Likely, the others heard the shots, though. We'll have to assume they did.”

Jo nodded, set the rifle across a chair, and sat down at the table upon which Longarm had laid out all his spare pistols and ammo. The coffeepot stood at the end of the table. She glanced at it. “Would you like a shot?”

“I reckon.” Longarm looked around, wondering if there was any way to make the cabin more secure than he'd already made it by closing and latching the shutters over all the windows and barring both doors. They had a fire popping in the hearth, and another one made the range tick.

Jo filled a coffee cup and slid it across the table. Longarm sagged down in the chair, picked up the cup, and looked through the steam rising from it. Jo closed her upper lip over the rim of her own tin cup.

“How you doin'?” he asked her.

She sipped from the cup, swallowed, and glanced at the pistol. “Scared as hell.” She hardened her eyes. “But if they get me, I'm gonna go down shooting.”

Longarm smiled and reached across the table to take one of her hands in his and squeeze it affectionately. “Mr. Cable's not gonna recognize you.”

She returned his smile. It faded quickly under an expression of concern. “No more out there, though, huh?”

“I don't think so. If they were, they would have showed themselves by now.” Longarm scratched a match to life on the scarred surface of the table. Lighting the cheroot and puffing smoke, he said out one corner of his mouth, “We could pull out of here, head deeper into the mountains. But I'm inclined to hole up here.”

He blew the match out with a puff of smoke, tossed it onto the floor, and drew a bracing lungful of the pungent tobacco. “The cabin's sturdy enough, and might be as secure as any cover we'd find out there. They might try to burn us out, but they'll have trouble getting a torch onto the roof with us returning fire from the windows.”

“I guess we just watch and wait, huh?”

Longarm sipped his coffee, nodding.

“Those two human grizzlies who lived here had a good store of coffee beans, anyway. I'll keep a pot going.”

“Good—we'll need it.” Longarm looked at her. “Why don't you crawl back into bed? You could do with some shut-eye.”

She shook her head. “Too keyed up, I reckon.” She stared down at the steaming cup she held between her hands and cleared her throat. “I just want you to know, Longarm—I wouldn't want to be holed up in a tight spot like this with anyone but you.”

Her eyes grew soft, and a smile touched her mouth corners.

“Me, too, Miss Jo.”

She canted her head to one side, speculatively. “You got a girl at home, Longarm?”

The lawman glanced down at the copper moon-and-star badge pinned to his coat. “Just this one here. Besides, I'm fun in the short run but tiresome outside of a few days. You'll see.”

“I hope so,” she said with a sigh. “More coffee?”

“Don't mind if I do.”

 

They drank coffee for a time, mostly in silence, waiting, listening.

The night deepened, chilly air pushing through the rough chinking between the cabin's logs. After Jo grew sleepy and decided to lie down for a while, Longarm turned the lantern low and kept the fire built up. He sat in a chair with his back to the door, holding his rifle across his thighs, ears pricked though the only sounds he heard were the occasional breeze, the infrequent scuttle of a night bird pecking at the sod on the roof, and the sporadic, thin, distant cries of coyotes and wolves.

He dozed for a time, then lifted his chin from his chest suddenly, squeezing the rifle in his hands. He frowned, looked down at his gloved hands on the rifle, wondered what had awakened him and why his heartbeat had quickened slightly.

Had he heard something?

He looked at Jo, who slept beneath the skins on the bed. Her blond hair shone like honey in the faint light emanating from the lamp. Her shoulders rose and fell deeply as she slept. Likely, it wasn't her who had awakened Longarm.

He rose from the chair, wincing as the old, dry wood creaked beneath him, then walked quietly over to the back door. Holding the rifle across his belly, he tipped his head to the door, listening.

Nothing.

He removed the locking bar, leaned it gently against the wall, then unlatched the door and stepped outside, quietly closing the door behind him, stepping to one side, and sitting down with his back against the cabin. Here, his shadow would blend with that of the shack.

He stared through the screen of trees and brush toward the creek, a rippling silver sheen running along the base of the western ridge. The night was still, but the threads of isolated breezes ruffled the willows' uppermost branches. The air smelled fresh, cold, and loamy. Longarm frowned as he worked his nostrils. On the chill air was also, faintly, fleetingly, the smell of cigarette smoke.

He continued to sniff the breeze as he tried to find the direction from which the smoke, which he could now no longer smell, had emanated. From the other side of the creek, possibly. From the north.

His pulse quickened once more as he gained his feet and stole quickly through the brush to the creek. A downed tree provided a ford. He crossed it on the balls of his feet. He was almost to the opposite side when his right foot slid off the wet log and made a dull plop as it hit the shallow water.