Dorothy Garlock (32 page)

“Hush up calling me that. You know I don’t like it when we’re alone . . . come over here.”

Della laughed softly and moved up onto the desk so she could cross one knee over the other. “What were you ranting at that poor man about?”

“Nothing that concerns you. Come here. I’ve got a need for you.”

Della’s eyes roved over him from the top of his head to the bulge in his crotch.

“Call Cecilia, your little Mexican whore. She’ll give you a quick screwing. You know I don’t like a short one. It’s not worth getting all messed up for.”

“Gawddamnit, girl!” Adam roared. He leaned forward and banged the glass down on the desk. “You know I don’t like for you to talk like a slut!”

Della’s tinkling laugh filled every corner of the room. “Yes, you do! You know you do! Nothing makes you more eager to fornicate than for me to whisper all those dirty things in your ear.”

“That’s different, by Gawd!”

“You’re afraid I’ll not be able to act the perfect lady when the time comes. That’s it, isn’t it, Papa?” She leaned forward, knowing he could see down the front of her dress almost to her navel. “We’ve not been together in Denver for a long time. I can be just as hoity-toity as Mama used to be, but I’ve got a lot more under my skirts than she ever had.
That,
my dear Papa, makes a world of difference. The dear ladies of the Elite Club love me for a sweet, innocent girl; their men love me because I can give them more—much more—than any whore in town! And it’s doubly exciting for them because each thinks he knows something about me that no one else knows.”

Adam jumped to his feet. “Are you screwin’ around with every struttin’ popinjay that comes along?” His face had taken on an angry, red flush. Veins stood out in his neck as he shoved his face toward hers.

“Not
all
of them, darling. Only the ones with the money and influence. Are you jealous?” She laughed lightly, happily. “Where do you think I learned all the tricks that make you so happy and . . . horny? I hope you’re not so old-fashioned as to think men should have the exclusive right to all the sex they want? Darling!” she chided softly. “You’ve so much to learn—”

“I won’t have it! Do you hear me, Della?” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “You’re mine, now. You’ll not spread your legs for anyone but me!”

Della looked at him calmly and then smiled sweetly. “I don’t belong to anyone but myself. And if you don’t like me the way I am, I’ll . . . pack up and move to Denver.”

“Don’t threaten me, girl!” he roared. “You’ll not leave this ranch without my permission. You’ll do as I say, hear?”

Della threw her head back and laughter bubbled from her lovely mouth. She was so incredibly beautiful that Adam couldn’t even remember what he was angry about. Her eyes shone like stars and her soft lips spread, showing perfect white teeth. Her head was tilted back and he could see the pink wetness inside her mouth. Anger flowed out of him as desire flowed in. Godamighty! She was too beautiful to be real. He silently cursed the God that had not brought her to him when he was young and in his prime, then praised him for having brought her to him while he was still able to give her what she wanted. She was his. Totally his! She made him feel young . . . as if he was just beginning.

He put his hands beneath her armpits and roughly dragged her across the desk. Papers, account books, pens and ink bottles scattered to the floor. He picked her up in his arms, carried her to the big leather chair, and sat down with her on his lap.

“Papa . . .”

“Shut your mouth! No, by Gawd! Open it—wide.” He clamped his mouth to hers as if he were dying of thirst, and his big hand moved roughly beneath her skirts until his fingers found the damp well between her legs. The hand of his arm holding her to him slipped inside the bodice of her dress and he filled it with her breast, squeezing it tightly. Minutes passed before he lifted his head and glared down into her face. His breath came in short gasps and he could hear the thunder of his heartbeat.

“I’ll kill you, girl, if I ever find you with another man. No one but me will ever touch you here—” he gripped the space between her legs with strong rough fingers. “Or here—” he squeezed her breast. “Or here—” he placed his lips so bruisingly hard against her lips that he cut them against her teeth and she tasted the blood on her tongue.

Exultant, Della knew she had raised a devil in him, that she was the one with complete control, although he wasn’t yet aware of it. This was the way she liked him best; aroused, angry, rough, demanding. She wiggled against the hard lump that pressed her buttocks.

“Take me upstairs, Papa,” she gasped when she tore her mouth from his.

“No, by Gawd! You’ll service me here on the floor like the whore you are!” He dumped her from his lap and followed her to the floor, his knees on each side of her. He knew nothing excited her more than his cruel, masterful love-making. He opened his britches, threw her skirts over her head, and plunged the full length of his throbbing erection into her moist opening. She let out one long cry of ecstasy and wrapped her slim legs around him.

Later, Adam sat in the big chair with Della cuddled on his lap. His hands gently smoothed her hair. At times like this she could ask him anything, make him promise to do anything she wanted him to do.

“What made you so angry, Adam darling?” Her fingers played on his soft white mustache.

“It’s that Indian, lovey. He and that Spurlock woman took off for the canyons, and I’ve had men looking for their hideout for a couple of weeks. They didn’t find it, but the Indian found them and ran off their horses. One of my drovers came in to say they were walking back to the ranch and wanted a wagon sent out for them. To hell with them! It’ll do them good to walk—teach them a lesson.”

“Why don’t you just give up and let the Indian have the land?”

“Hell, no, I’ll not give up and let a gawddamn redskin have that range. I’ve put a bounty on the bastard’s head that should draw in some—”

“You’ve done what?” Della asked sharply and straightened up to look him in the eye. “You’ve put a price on his head? That wasn’t very smart of you, Adam.”

Adam laughed. “Don’t get all riled up, lovey. I just sent out for a few gunfighters. You know I can’t afford to be connected with killing him outright. It might be that one of my men might take it on himself to ambush him. I told them to bring him in alive . . . if they could. It’s got to look like a fair fight or word would get down to Denver I had him killed. It might not set too well with the Central Committee.”

“Did you send someone out to kill Case Malone?”

“That dumb bastard took it on himself to backshoot Malone. He wanted to be foreman and thought it’d put him in good with me. Malone had it coming. He crippled three of my men.”

“He could’ve killed them.”

Adam chuckled. “It would’ve been better if he had. Then we could’ve lynched him—all perfectly legal.”

“What if word gets to Denver about you burning out the Spurlocks?”

“Who would believe it? Accidental fires happen all the time. Why would I let them stay there two, three years, then burn them out?” His face tightened when he thought of the girl standing him off with the rifle. Goddamn her! He’d gotten his revenge.

“When are we going to Junction City?” she asked idly.

His hand slid up over her breast and cupped her chin. “I’m going in a few days, but you’re not going to town till some of the riffraff clear out.”

“You either take me, damn you, or I’ll follow,” she said softly with a sweet smile.

“You do and I’ll beat your ass.” His voice came out thick and unsteady.

“You do that anyway,” she said saucily and jumped off his lap. At the door she turned and looked back at him. “We can stay in your rooms above the saloon. Of course, you’ll have to get rid of that whore you keep there.”

Adam grinned. The little devil was jealous! “Bessie’s no whore. She puts on a damn good show that brings customers to the saloon.”

“That cow!” Della exclaimed haughtily. “I could put on a performance that would bring men to that saloon like flies on a pile of fresh cow shit!” She flung up her head and flounced out. She could hear his roar of laughter as she went up the stairs. Let him think she was jealous, she thought with a sly smile. The old fool! If only she could be sure that brother of hers wasn’t included in his will . . .

*  *  *

Della sat in the buggy, her folded parasol on her lap. A mile back she had thrown off the duster she wore to protect her white dress, removed the scarf from her head, set the white straw hat with the blue satin roses on the top of her high-piled hair, and secured it with a pearl-headed hatpin. They had turned the bend in the road and were coming into town.

“Sting that lazy horse with the whip, Samuel, so he’ll step lively.”

“Yas’m.” The black man dressed in a white shirt with a high, starched collar, black coat and pants was sweating profusely. He flicked the whip out over the horse’s back.

“Sit up smart!” Della commanded sharply. “Show these yokels some quality.”

“Yas’m.”

Early that morning, Adam and two riders had left the ranch without a word as to where they were headed. Della waited until noon, and when he hadn’t returned she packed a few things in a bag and told Samuel to hitch up the buggy. A glimmer of an idea had been floating around in her head since the night Adam had bragged about Bessie. It was a reckless, mad idea, but she reasoned she needed some excitement after the boring weeks she’d spent on the ranch.

“Ya’ll wants me to go the preacher’s house, ma’am?” Samuel asked. Della usually stayed there overnight when she came to town because the hotel was so dirty and run-down.

“Not this time. Take me to the saloon.”

“De saloon? Ah . . . missy . . . ah doan—” Samuel turned his shiny, sweat-slick face toward her and rolled his eyes.

“That’s right. You don’t know anything. Hush your mouth and take me to the saloon like I told you.”

“Yas’m.”

There was more activity in town than usual. A freight wagon was unloading boxes and crates at the mercantile. The mules, standing in their heavy harnesses, flicked off flies with their dusty tails. The fat woman who ran the eatery sat on the porch fanning herself. A drover on a mangy bronc came into town from the other end of the sweet stirring up a cloud of dust. The hitching rail in front of the saloon was crowded with tired, patient horses. Loud, drunken laughter floated out into the street when two dusty, whiskered men came through the swinging doors at the same time.

Samuel pulled the horse to a stop beside the board porch and Della hissed, “Not here, you fool. Move on down.”

The men coming from the saloon stopped to stare at the lovely vision all in white, then bounded down the split-log steps and loped after the buggy. When it stopped they were beside it.

“Yeeee . . . doggie! Do ya see what I see?” The man’s wind-burned face was split in a wide grin and his bright blue eyes were watery and red streaked.

“Whoooeee . . . We done found us a woman what looks like a dolly. Where’d ya come from, dolly? Yo’re as purty a sight as I ever did set my eyes on. Yessiree bobtail! What you doin’ with that dressed-up boy, purty thin’? Hee, hee, hee . . .” His laugh was a high-pitched giggle.

The other man crowded in and placed a rough brown hand on the side of the buggy. “Ya shore do smell purty. I could give ya a fine time in the saloon. I got me a whole ten dollars.”

Della smiled sweetly at him while her hand groped for the whip handle. She was still smiling when she brought it sharply across his face with all the force she could put behind it. He let out a strangled cry and staggered back, his hand going to his face to cover his eye. Still smiling, Della jumped lightly from the buggy and stood on the boardwalk, the whip in her hand.

“Ya bitch!” he croaked and staggered off down the street. His companion took a step toward her, an angry scowl on his face.

“Ya had no call to do that! He was only funnin’.” He eyed the smiling woman with the whip. The scowl changed to one of puzzlement as he realized she had obviously enjoyed hurting his partner. He lifted his hand to snatch the whip, then changed his mind and followed his friend down the street.

Della felt strangely elated. How wonderful to be able to have physical control. She looked up the street and saw the fat woman gawking, and down the street to where two women had paused in front of the mercantile to peer from beneath stiff-brimmed calico bonnets. A man stood on the saloon porch and spit a stream of yellow tobacco juice into the dusty road. Good, Della thought triumphantly. In five minutes everyone will know that Della Clayhill had come to town.

“There, Samuel. See how easy it is? I’ll just keep this with me,” she said and wrapped the thin, leather strap around her gloved hand. “Bring my valise,” she ordered, and started up the wooden stairway attached to the side of the saloon building.

The door at the top of the stairs opened onto an L-shaped hallway that ended with steps going down into the saloon. There were four rooms on the upper floor; two small ones at the back, and two large rooms at the front with windows looking down onto the street.

“Go on back to the ranch,” Della ordered crisply, and took her bag from Samuel. He tilted his head, his eyes large and frightened. “Do as I say. I’ll tell Adam I made you go.”

Samuel went to the door, turned and looked at her with a puzzled look on his black face. “Mastah ain’t agoin’ ta be a likin’ it.”

“That’s no concern of yours,” Della snapped. “Go on!”

“Yas’m.”

She waited until he went out the door before she went down the hallway and pushed open the door to one of the front rooms. It was dark and the air was heavy with a sweet musky odor. Heavy draperies covered the two windows. Della set her valise inside the door, went to the windows, pulled back the covering, and looped it behind a metal holder attached to the frame. Light sprang into the room. It was a large room with a four-poster bed in the center of it. A naked woman with tangled, dark red hair lay on her stomach in the middle of the bed. Clothes were thrown over the backs of the two chairs and spilled out of the open chest of drawers. Beside the bed, a chinaware chamber pot, its lid askew, smelled as if it hadn’t been emptied for a week.