The Gunsmith 386 (3 page)

Clint went back to the Jack of Hearts later that night, had a few beers, watched the activity going on. Every so often he looked at the bartender—whose name was Mack—and he'd shake his head. No strangers.

There were poker and faro tables, but nothing else. The seats were all taken, but even when one opened up, Clint was not interested in playing.

There was something—rather, someone—who was attracting his interest, though. Her name was Maria, a Mexican with a lovely Spanish accent. She worked the saloon floor very gracefully, managing to avoid most of the groping male hands and laughing about it. When she laughed, her eyes flashed. Every so often she tossed her head to get her black hair out of her eyes. And during the course of the night, she kept finding reasons to come over to where Clint was standing at the bar.

One time she said, “I hear you're lookin' for some strangers.”

“A couple,” he said “See any?”

“Only you.”

“That's what I keep hearing.”

“Well, my name's Maria. I'll keep my eyes peeled.”

“Thanks.”

Later she came back with an empty tray and set it on the bar for the bartender to fill with drinks.

“Not interested in gamblin'?” she asked him.

“Not tonight.”

“Maybe you'd just like to talk?” she asked.

“That would be nice.”

“Yeah, well, I noticed you haven't been talkin' to any of the men around you, so I thought maybe . . . a woman?”

“Do you have anyone in mind?”

She smiled, picked up her tray, and said, “I'll let you know.”

As it got later, she stopped by him more often, and they did talk. She'd been living in Hastings for five years, had bought herself a small house outside town. She admitted to him that she used to work as a whore, but for the past few years she'd only been working as a saloon girl. No men. At least, not for money.

“Only when it's somebody I like,” she said. “Or somebody who intrigues me.”

“And which am I?”

“A little of both, I suppose,” she said.

And in the end, when her shift was over, she took him home with her, with the promise of a bath . . . and a lot more . . .

 • • • 

She drew a bath for him, told him she'd give him some privacy. Alone in the room, he stripped, set his gun on a chair by the tub, and lowered himself into the hot water.

He lay back in the bathtub, enjoying how the steaming water soothed his aching muscles. After the day he'd had, it did him no end of good to just relax and have some peace and quiet. His arms hung over the sides of the tub. When he shifted one hand, his fingers bumped against something that was warm, soft, and hadn't been there before. He sat bolt upright and turned to find Maria circling around the tub. She wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing, and his fingers had brushed against the smooth, dark skin of her leg.

“I surprise you?” she asked in her sultry Spanish accent.

“Maybe a little,” Clint replied.

She glanced toward the nearby chair, where his holster hung along with his hat. “You want to get to your gun?”

“Do I need it?”

She smiled and climbed in with him. Sitting with her back against the opposite end of the tub from Clint, Maria nestled against the curved metal. When she rested her arms along the edge, water splashed against her breasts, causing her large, dark nipples to harden. “You don't need that gun,” she said with a smile. Her foot moved beneath the water to slip between Clint's legs. “But I think you might need this one.”

Clint was surprised she could fit inside that tub with him. He was surprised again when she found the room to move forward as if to sit on his lap. He met her halfway by scooting forward until she was able to straddle him properly. Her hands slid along the edge of the tub until they met behind his head. Maria looked down at him and smiled expectantly with her full, deep red lips.

“I can feel your gun now,
señor
,” she said while grinding against his growing erection.

“You'll feel it even better in a minute.” With that, Clint wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. Maria's fingers slid through his hair as she arched her back and her entire body trembled when he started teasing her nipples with his tongue.

Her body was taut and muscular. Her skin smelled of perspiration, smoke . . . and yet a heady, sensual smell, as well. When Clint touched her, she responded out of pure instinct, twisting and turning to guide his tongue where she wanted it to go while shifting her weight until his hard cock brushed against the right spot between her thighs.

Clint licked one breast and then the other before running his tongue straight up between them to taste her neck. She was salty. The bath would take care of that.

He kept one hand upon her rounded hip while reaching down with the other to guide his rigid pole into her warm pussy. As soon as he entered her, Clint pumped up to drive every inch of his cock into her tight embrace. Maria gripped the edges of the tub with both hands, leaning back until her long dark hair touched the water behind her.

With both hands on her hips again, Clint held her in place as he drove into her again and again. With a bit of gentle encouragement, he got her to lift herself up just a bit so he could plunge into her at a better angle. When he buried even more of his cock into her, she opened her eyes wide and pulled in a sharp breath. Maria's smile widened and she exhaled slowly amid a long string of whispered Spanish words. Before long, she took the reins by leaning forward and holding on to the tub near Clint's shoulders. Her body writhed slowly back and forth, riding his shaft while continuing to whisper into his ear.

Clint ran his hands up and down along her back while kissing her breasts and neck. He found a sweet spot that got her moving faster as he licked it, and when he tested her with a few gentle bites, Maria's entire body tensed. She stopped moving, which prompted him to start thrusting again. This time, he moved with shorter, more powerful strokes. Maria responded by looking him straight in the eyes and grabbing the back of his head with one hand.

They remained locked that way for the next several minutes. She watched him with eyes that told him everything he needed to know. As soon as she wanted more, he gave it to her. When she was ready to be pushed over the edge, he grabbed her hips in both hands and took her there.

Maria sat up straight and bounced up and down as Clint pounded into her. Her back became rigid and she held on to the sides of the tub for support while opening her legs as far as she could. Water splashed over their bodies and onto the floor. Her breasts swayed to the rhythm of their movements, and her voice became strained until it caught in the back of her throat. Clint waited for a second until she caught her breath. Then he drove up into her again, burying every inch of his rigid pole between her legs. Maria leaned back and let out a shuddering cry until her climax rolled through her entire body like a storm. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled and started riding him with renewed vigor.

Clint leaned back as she bounced on top of him. Maria knew exactly how to shift her body and when to pump her hips to drive him out of his mind. Finally, she took every inch of him inside her and rocked back and forth until he was past the point of no return.

The next morning Clint slipped out of Maria's house without waking her. He walked back to his hotel and had breakfast there, then went over to the vet's office. This time he went to the front door again, and when he knocked, it was opened by an older man.

“Dr. Martin?” he asked.

“Doc Martin is fine,” the man said. “I'm a vet, not a doctor. You must be Mr. Adams.”

“That's right.”

The two men shook hands.

“Come on in,” Martin said.

Clint entered, and Martin closed the door and turned to face him.

“That's a mighty fine animal you got there,” the man said. He was tall, probably seventy or so, so there was a slight stoop that took away some of the height he used to have.

“Yeah, thanks,” Clint said. “He's kind of special.”

“Well, I'll take you see to him,” Martin said. “I gotta tell you, Andrea took real good care of him while I was away.”

Clint followed the vet through to the room he used for large animals, where Eclipse was standing calmly. There was no sign of Andrea.

“There he is,” Martin said. “Like I said, my daughter did a fine job with him, and he's gonna heal just fine.”

“How long?”

“A few days, I'd think. I guess you can find something to do in town until then. I understand you're lookin' for the men who shot at you and hit your horse.”

“That's right,” Clint said.

“You intend to kill them?”

Clint decided to be honest.

“If all they had done was shoot at me, maybe not,” Clint said, “but they shot my horse.”

“Believe me,” he said, “I understand that. Especially an animal like this one.”

“Tell me what I owe you—” Clint started.

“We can take care of that later,” the doctor said. “We still have some time.”

“I'm sorry your daughter's not here,” Clint said. “I'd like to thank her.”

“I'm sure you'll see her again when you come to pick your horse up,” Martin said. “Here, I'll let you out this way.”

Martin opened the side door to let Clint out and said, “Come by anytime.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Clint was coming back around the corner when he saw the sheriff coming the other way.

“I stopped at your hotel and they told me you just left,” Ingram said. “We've got the body over at the undertaker's.”

“Good,” Clint said. “Let's go over and take a look.”

Ingram led the way.

When they got to the undertaker's, Ingram took Clint right in to see the body. The undertaker himself wasn't around.

“Do you know him?” Clint asked.

“Never saw him before.”

Clint took a look at the face again. He had the same reaction as he'd had out on the trail—nothing. He didn't know the man, didn't think he'd ever seen him before.

“Find anything on him?”

“Nothin'.”

That fit with what Clint knew. He'd gone through the man's pockets and had come up empty.

“What about a horse?” Clint asked.

“Didn't find one. It either ran off, or his partners took it with them.”

“What about a trail left by the other two?” Clint asked.

“I've got my best trackers out there lookin',” Ingram said. “If they left a trail, we'll find it.”

Clint took a last look at the body. The clothes were trail worn, as was the gun. This was a man who was not used to having money, so he'd probably taken the job for that reason rather than something personal.

Clint had just killed a young man named Travis, who had something personal against him, but took months to reveal himself. This man had clearly done what he did for money. The question was, what about the other two? Maybe one of them had a personal grudge and had hired the other two to back his play.

“Seen enough?” Ingram asked.

Clint shook his head and said, “I've seen nothing. There's nothing helpful here, so yeah, I guess I'm done.”

“Come on,” Ingram said, “let's get a drink.”

They left the undertaker's office and walked to one of the smaller saloons. When they entered, the only person there was the bartender.

“Leo, beers for me and my friend.”

“Comin' up, Sheriff,” the bartender said.

He set two beers on the bar. Ingram picked one up and handed it to Clint.

“What are your plans now?” he asked.

“My horse needs a few days, so I'll be around waiting to see what your trackers come up with.”

Ingram raised his beer mug and said, “Maybe you can even relax.”

“I doubt that,” Clint said. “I've sent out some telegrams to see if I can pick up some information.”

“You think maybe somebody out there is after you?” Ingram asked. “Spending some money?”

“Maybe.”

“Well,” Ingram said, “I hope we can come up with the answers for you.” He drank half his beer and set the mug down on the bar. “I've got to get back to work. I'll see you later.”

“Thanks for your help, Sheriff.”

“Just doin' my job, Mr. Adams,” Ingram said.

“Thanks anyway.”

Ingram nodded and left the saloon. Clint looked at the bartender, who was cleaning a glass and watching him.

“What's on your mind?” Clint asked.

The man shrugged.

“I was just listenin'.”

“And?”

“I may have somethin' for you.”

“Like what?”

“Information.”

“And what's it going to cost me?”

“A few bucks.”

“It will have to be worth it.”

“There was a stranger in here last night.”

“Just one?”

“Just one, but he talked about a partner.”

Clint didn't think he had enough money in his pocket to make the man talk further. He could have shaken it out of him—or scared it out—but he decided not to.

“Okay,” Clint said. “I'll be back for the information.”

“Don't you wanna know how much I want?”

“I'm going to come back with some money,” Clint said. “With however much I feel the information is worth.” He put down his beer mug. “And you're going to take it.”

He turned and walked out, headed for the bank.

Clint needed to send a telegram before he could go to the bank. He also needed to get a reply.

“I'll be at the café across the street when the reply comes in,” Clint told the telegraph operator.

“Yes, sir.”

“Any replies from my other telegrams?”

“Well, yes, sir,” the young clerk said. “I took them to your hotel, like you said. Left them with the desk clerk. You wasn't there.”

“No, I wasn't,” Clint said. “Okay, I'll be across the street.”

“Yes, sir.”

Clint walked out, crossed the street, and entered the café. It was between breakfast and lunch, so he had his pick of any table. He chose one against the back wall. Just once he'd like to sit at the window and look out while he ate, but the Gunsmith in a window was just too much of a target.

“Sir?” the waiter asked.

“Coffee, and pie,” Clint said.

“Apple, rhubarb, or peach.”

“Peach,” Clint said.

“Comin' up, sir.”

He was waiting for his pie when Andrea Martin entered the café. She walked directly to him. She was wearing a simple cotton dress and boots, carrying a drawstring bag.

“Hello, Miss Martin.”

“Mr. Adams,” she said. “May I sit down?”

“Of course,” he said. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

He signaled the waiter to bring two cups when he brought the pot. The man nodded.

“Is this a coincidence?” he asked.

“No, it is not,” she said. “I saw you come in here.”

“I saw your father this morning.”

“I know.” She lowered her eyes. “I was in another room when you came. I was . . . avoiding you.”

“That makes it odd that you'd come in here looking for me,” he said.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “I was . . . ashamed, so I came to apologize.”

“For what exactly?”

Before she could answer, the waiter came with the coffee and pie.

“Anything else for Miss Martin?” the waiter asked.

“No, nothing,” she said. “Thank you.”

He nodded and withdrew.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Eat your pie.”

“Will you answer my question?”

She sat back in her chair, took a deep breath.

“I apparently misjudged you yesterday,” she said. “I'm sorry for that. I suppose . . . you're not like other men.”

“I'd like to believe that,” Clint said.

“I'm also sorry I avoided you this morning,” she said. “That was . . . silly.”

“It's okay,” he said. “I forgive you.”

“For which time?”

“Either,” Clint said, “both. Take your pick. I don't hold a grudge.”

“Not even against the men who shot your horse?”

“Well,” he said, “them . . . that's different. No, I don't hold a grudge against you.”

“I hope not,” she said.

“Your father said you did a fine job on Eclipse.”

“The horse wasn't really hurt that bad,” she said. “Be good as new in a few days.”

“Good.”

She took one sip of coffee, then put the cup down and stood up.

“I have to go and pick up a few things for my dad,” she said.

“Can I walk you?” he asked. “This time?”

She studied him a moment, then said, “Sure, why not?”

“Finish your coffee,” he said. “I'll finish my pie, and then we'll go.”

She sat back down.

 • • • 

Before he'd finished his pie, the clerk from the telegraph office appeared in the doorway.

“Got your answer, sir,” he said, handing Clint the telegram.

“Thanks.” Clint gave him a dollar and the man left.

“What's that?”

“A telegram for the bank,” Clint said. “I need to withdraw some money.”

“The bank is right next to the apothecary, where I'm going,” she said.

“Well then,” he said, putting his napkin on the table, “let's go.”