Mittman, Stephanie (31 page)

"I
got her for ya," another man said. "And she's more'n a handful!"

"Kyle,
you just lie back and we'll get ya set up proper," Sloan heard. A smile
cracked his face in two. Three men's voices. All in one little room. Tidy. It
was right tidy.

The
rest was just a matter of timing. Sloan paid close attention to the grunts and
groans, waiting to hear all three men pumping away in earnest. It wasn't a very
long wait. He only wished that he were more agile and could slip through the
window on two good legs. Well, if life wasn't perfect, it was getting damn
close. Besides, the windowsill would hide his own arousal. All that bumping and
grinding had put him in a mood of his own, and he promised himself a return trip
as soon as Jackson and his friends had been dispatched.

He
moved until he was centered in the window, a gun in each hand. All three men
were buried to their thighs in their women, and a fourth woman sat smack on
Kyle's face.

"Howdy
there, gentlemen," he said in a carrying voice. "Seems I've caught
you at a rather inconvenient time."

Jackson
and Williams looked up, and Sloan smiled.

"Ladies,"
he said politely, "I'd sure appreciate it if none of you moved."

"What
the hell?..." the woman sitting on Kyle's
face said. Without taking his
eyes or his guns off Jackson and Williams, Sloan addressed her.

"Especially
you, ma'am. See, I got my hands full with these two, and I'd consider it a real
favor if you just kept old Kyle there in the dark a while longer."

The
woman laughed and rocked her body a little. Loud sucking sounds came from
beneath her.

"Now,
you gentlemen," he said to the two men. "I want you two to come over
right by the window. Easy now."

"Whadaya
have in mind, Westin?" Jackson asked, unmoving.

"It
is
you! I thought I recognized those dimples," one of the women
squealed. "I heard you were dead."

"Yeah,
twice now," Sloan agreed. "Guess I'm one of them cats with nine
lives, sweetheart."

"What
did these guys do?" another woman asked.

"Stole
my horse and left me and my lady friend and my baby to die in the desert,
that's all."

The
woman who had recognized Sloan punched Jackson. "You ain't never plantin'
your root in my garden again!"

"Mine
neither!" the other one said. "Imagine! Sloan Westin's got a baby...."

"How
long do I gotta do this?" the woman on Kyle's face asked.

"What
the heck is this?" Williams demanded finally. "Your horse is out
front. You want him? Take him and get the heck outta here."

"Darlin',
you got any rope in there?" Sloan asked, ignoring the man's questions.

"Course
we do," a blond said with a giggle.

"Tie
their hands behind their backs, will ya?" He leaned against the
windowframe, still smiling.

"What
about our pants?" Jackson said, moving toward a pile of clothes.

"Another
step and you're a dead man," Sloan said, the smile finally gone from his
face. "Just tie 'em up, ladies. They were anxious to get their pants down
around my lady friend, now they can just keep 'em down."

The
girls hurried to do Sloan's bidding, tying the men's hands with silken cords.

"Can
I put a little bow on this one's pecker?" the blond asked.

"Touch
it and I'll kill you," Jackson warned.

"Sure,"
Sloan said and then looked over toward Kyle. "He still breathing?"

"Yes!
Yes! Yes!" the woman answered, fairly bouncing over his face more and more
quickly until she screamed out and stopped, her hands supporting her on the
bedpost as she gasped for air.

"Someone
tied me up real good out there on the desert. Tried to restore the capacity to
bend my bad leg. I'm obliged for the effort, gentlemen, and I'll be glad to do
the same with old Kyle's arm."

Kyle
was wiping his mouth and trying to get his bearings. One moment he'd been in
heaven with two women, and now the ghost of Sloan Westin was standing in the
window like some pirate with two guns drawn, and Jackson and Williams were
standing in the middle of the room, their hands tied behind them and little red
ribbons around their shafts.

"Confusin',
ain't it?" Sloan sympathized. "Now get the hell outta that bed. Here,
girls, you tie him up."

"Westin,
I think you've had your fun. You want your rifle? Jennie's got it at her place.
She kinda took it in trade, if you know what I mean."

"Thanks,
Jackson. I can wait on the rifle till after I've delivered you boys over to the
sheriff."

"Now
how the heck you gonna do that without our pants on?" Williams asked.
There was a great deal of
scuffling between the women and Kyle, punctuated with howls and nasty words.

"It
don't bother me none," Sloan shrugged. "You girls got old Kyle tied
up yet?"

The
women giggled and stood back. Kyle was tied like the others, with a third red
bow decorating his manhood.

"All
three of you stand against that far wall, with your tongues on the paper."

"What!
Westin I'm gonna plant you so deep in the desert even the coyotes won't smell
you."

Sloan
cocked the revolver in his right hand and aimed it straight at Daniel Jackson's
most vulnerable spot. The three men turned and walked slowly toward the wall,
grumbling and cursing as they went.

Once
their backs were turned, Sloan sat on the windowsill, swung his good leg in and
then maneuvered his stiff one.

"Harlin
Tate do that?" one of the women asked.

"That
ain't all he did," Williams said, backing up slightly from the wall.
"According to Mason Tate's woman, he ain't no man no more, neither."

The
women stared at Sloan, and his finger itched to pull the trigger.
Mary Grace
O'Reilly. How could you have done that to me?

"Don't
you worry none, darlin'," he said to the woman closest to him. "I'll
be back later."

"They
hang horse thieves," she shouted at Williams as Sloan herded them out the
door in their long johns with their private parts tied up like early Christmas
presents for all to see.

Out
on the street he steered them down the hill to the jail, people gawking and
pointing, the men laughing, the decent women turning their heads and hiding
their smiles behind their hands.

Sheriff
Roberts found it hard to keep a straight face in light of the cute little red
bows tied to the three men's privates, but he sobered quickly as Sloan related
his story of being set upon by the three in the desert. He told of how they had
frightened his female companion and that he was still unsure what had actually
occurred because they had knocked him out, tied him up, stolen all his weapons
and his horse, and left him, Mary Grace, and his infant son out in the desert
to die.

"Untie
each other," the sheriff suggested after tossing the three into a cell
without freeing their hands. Then he turned to Sloan and asked, "And where
are the woman and the baby now?"

***

"Mason?"
Mary Grace called quietly after opening her door just a crack. "Is anybody
out there?"

"Just
me," Wilson said with a wide smile as he stuck his head around the corner
just inches from her door.

"Oh."
Oh, shit.
"Good morning, Wilson. Where's Mason?"

"Why
I believe he's taking another bath, Mary Grace," he drawled, leaning
against the wall and inching his way toward her room. "He's keepin' a
whole lot cleaner since you came our way. Why do you suppose that is?"

"Maybe
smelling like goat shit has lost its appeal."

He
was close enough to reach out and grab her, and she was grateful when Ben began
to cry.

"Oops.
Gotta see to the baby." She slipped back into her room and slammed the
door. She'd let her bladder burst before she'd make the trip to the outhouse
with only Wilson Tate around. What a stupid plan she and Sloan had made. She'd
been so panicked, so afraid he'd do something foolish, that she hadn't thought
anything
through. She'd promised to meet Sloan in Jerome, but she hadn't the faintest
idea where Jerome even was, let alone how to get there.

She
picked up the baby and tried to soothe him. She had no more diapers in the room
with her, and she went to the window to look on the line. Instead of diapers
she saw Harlin's face, a stupid grin on it, staring back at her. Her scream
only made him howl with laughter and gave Wilson an excuse to burst into her
room uninvited.

She
was shaking like a leaf as he approached her. "Harlin," she said,
gesturing toward the window. "He was, he was staring in and..."

Wilson
reached out and put a hand on her neck. "You're almost pretty when you're
scared. I can feel the blood pumpin' through your veins. I can feel you
swallowin' real hard. You scared of me, Mary Grace?"

"She
got a reason to be?" Mason Tate asked. He gestured at Wilson. "He the
reason you screamed?"

She
shook her head and tried to calm herself. Mason stood with his hair dripping on
her floor, seething at his brother. Everything was out of control.
"Harlin," she said. "He was just looking in the window and it
startled me."

Ben
was howling. Mason took him, noticed he was wet, and handed him over to Wilson.

"He
needs changin'," Mason told him.

"So
change him," Wilson answered, holding the baby out for someone to take.

Mason
looked at him like some prairie dog that managed to steal a bear's honeycomb.
"Who you askin' to do that, Willie?" he said smugly.

Wilson
wouldn't bite. He put the baby on the braided floor mat and turned on his heel.
"He can sit in his shit for all I care."

Mason
stormed out the door after him, and Mary Grace was left with the now hysterical
baby and her own racing heart. She looked around for something to put the baby
in and remembered all of Emily's things. When everything was quiet in the hall,
she took Ben, as much for her protection as his, and tiptoed across to Emily's
room.

She
opened the door only to find Mason standing there, his shirt off, shaving cream
on his face and a razor in his hand.

"Oh,"
she stuttered. "I'm sorry. I thought this was Emily's room, and I was just
looking for something to put Be... the baby in." She'd better stop
thinking of him as Ben for the time being. The name
Horace
refused to
come to her lips.

Mason
turned to her slowly, the hair on his chest still glistening from his bath. He
was the opposite of Sloan, his skin a deep yellow compared with Sloan's bronze,
his hair nearly black, while Sloan's was dark blond. His weight puddled at his
waist and spilled over his pants.

She
turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. "You can come in, Mary Grace.
I ain't gonna hurt ya. I gave you my room when Emily was still alive. I didn't
know how to ask ya to leave. The room, I mean."

Sometimes,
like when the shaving cream covered his scar and he tripped over his words,
Mary Grace had to remind herself that he was a killer and the enemy. Right now
he was also her protector and the only thing between her and rape at best. She
didn't want to think of what Harlin might have in mind. The youngest of the
brothers seemed to get bored easily, and she might be their only diversion for
a while.

"I'd
be happy to switch with you," she said. "This room is better for me
anyway. If it's all right for me to use some of Emily's things."

"No
point savin' 'em for her," he said. His eyes were fixed on the neckline of
Emily's nightgown, which Mary Grace still wore. She clutched at it and mumbled
about having no clothes.

"I'd
like to get you some new things," Mason said. "But going into town
ain't such a good idea for us, if you know what I mean."

She
nodded.
Because you're all wanted killers and thieves.
"I
guess," she said. "Where is town, anyway?"

"Southwest
of here, maybe twelve miles or so. I never was much good with measurin'."
He returned to his shaving.

She
put the baby on the bed and opened what she suspected were the baby's drawers.
Diapers filled the top one, and she took one out triumphantly. "OK, B...
little fellow, let's get you changed."

"You
got any children?" Mason asked, his eyes on her behind as she leaned over
the bed and worked on the child.

"No,
why?"

"You
keep going to call Horace somethin' else, don't ya?"

"My
little brother," she explained quickly. "Ben. He was just a baby when
I left home. Guess I miss him more than I thought."

"You're
a right handsome woman," Mason said. He had finished shaving and had put
on his shirt, and was just leaning against the dresser looking at her.

Nervously
she looked around the room. "I need a clean washcloth for this little
one's bottom."