The Town Council Meeting (10 page)
Read The Town Council Meeting Online
Authors: J. R. Roberts
“What did I say earlier?”
“That my juices are not all dried up.” She leaned forward and gripped his thigh tightly. Her breasts almost fell out of her nightgown. “Do you know why I dress like this to go to bed?”
He had to moisten his mouth to answer.
“No, why?”
“Because I like to touch myself when I'm in bed,” she said. “No, that's not right. It's because I have to touch myself, because nobody else will.”
“Barbaraâ”
“I need a man's touch, Clint Adams.”
“You have a lot of men working on this ranch,” he said. “I'm sure any one of them would be happy to oblige you.”
“You're probably right,” she said, “and now that Big Ed is dead I'll probably pick out a couple, but tonight . . . I want you.”
She stood up, looked down at him, and dropped her robe to the floor.
“I'll make it easy for you,” she said.
Next, she shrugged off the nightgown.
“I'll let you see what you'll get if you agree.”
She had a marvelous body. Full breasts and hips, brown nipples, nice thighs, only the slightest signs that she was in middle age. And her smellâshe was in heat, all right, like an animal, and he could smell herâand like any male animal, his body reacted.
She reached out and took his chin in her hand.
“Stand up and kiss me,” she said. “If you tell me you didn't like it, I'll get dressed and go with you.”
So that was his way out. All he had to do was kiss her and tell her he didn't like it. How hard could that be?
He stood up and faced her. The heat coming from her body actually made him start to sweat. But he was in control. He knew he could do this. A simple kiss, and then they'd be on their way.
But two things undid his resolve as he leaned forward and their lips met. It wasn't that she pressed her body against him, crushing her breasts into his chest.
And it wasn't that the smell of her started to make him dizzy.
It was something she did and a sound she made.
First, just before their lips touched she moistened her mouth with her tongue. It was an incredibly sexy thing for her to do at that moment.
And second, as their lips met, she made a sound into his mouth. He wasn't sure he could describe it, because it was a decidedly female sound.
The only way he could describe it was that it was kind of like . . . “Mmmm.”
TWENTY-SIX
“Where do you suppose he went?” Delbert Chambers asked the table at large.
“Maybe he went to see Rivers and Holmes,” Ben Lawson suggested.
“Why would he do that?” The judge asked. “Both of them came here and spoke to him.”
“Maybe he wants to see each of them alone,” Lawson said.
“Yeah,” Chambers said, “maybe he wants to beat the truth out of them.”
“Or threaten them with his gun,” Lawson said.
“Didn't the two of you pay any attention when he was here?” the judge asked. “That's not the kind of man he is.”
“The judge is right,” the mayor said. “Adams wouldn't threaten them with his gunâhe'd just shoot them.”
Lawson looked at the mayor.
“You think he killed Kennedy?”
“No,” the mayor said, “I don't.”
“You know,” the judge said, “you can ask him all these questions when he comes back.”
“You really think he's comin' back?” Lawson asked.
“Oh yes,” the judge said, “I'm certain of it.”
“How certain?” Lawson asked.
All four men put their cards down.
“Are you proposing a wager, Ben?”
“This is interesting,” Chambers said.
“Quiet,” the mayor said. “Let's listen to Ben and the judge.”
“I say Adams is gone,” Lawson said, “never to return to this table, this saloon, or this town.”
“And how much are you willin' to risk on your belief, Ben?”
“Two hundred?”
“You don't have much faith in your beliefs, do you?” the judge asked.
“Okay, five hundred,” Lawson said. “Five hundred dollars says Adams doesn't come back.”
“I'll cover that, Ben,” the judge said, “but I've got another five hundred that says he's back by this time tomorrow.”
“What time is it, Delbert?” Lawson asked.
Chambers took out his watch and checked the face.
“It's ten p.m.”
“All right,” Ben Lawson said, “five hundred more says he's not back by this time tomorrow.”
“We'll each write two checks,” the judge said, “and the mayor will hold them.”
“Agreed,” Lawson said.
“Well, get to writing the checks, then,” the mayor said, “so we can get back to our game.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Andy Rivers sat in the most comfortable chair in his study and smoked his cigar. On the table next to the chair was a snifter of brandy. When Parker Stark came to the door he stopped right there.
“Cigar?” Rivers asked.
“No.”
“Brandy?”
“No.”
Rivers took his cigar out of his mouth and blew a long plume of smoke before speaking again.
“Every time you come in here I offer you a cigar and a brandy, and you always say no. Why is that?”
“You pay me for my services, Mr. Rivers,” Stark said, “and you pay me well. I wouldn't enjoy your cigars and your brandy. I smoke three-for-a-nickel cheroots and drink rotgut . . . and I like it. You wanted to see me?”
“Yes,” Rivers said. “Do you think you can take the Gunsmith?”
“I don't know,” Stark said. “How can anybody know that?”
“I'd like you to try.”
“Then the question is,” Stark said, “can you pay me enough to try?”
“I might have a bottle of cheap whiskey around here somewhere, Stark,” Rivers said. “Maybe we can have a drink and . . . discuss it?”
“Why not?”
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Over drinksâRivers expensive brandy, and Stark cheap rotgut whiskeyâthey discussed the price and came to an arrangement.
“When do you want it done?” Stark asked.
“Tomorrow.”
Stark finished his whiskey and stood up.
“I want it done in the street, Stark,” Rivers said, “All legal.”
Stark sat down, poured the last of the rotgut into his glass.
“We have more talkin' to do.”
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By the time he finished that glass they had agreed on a price. Stark would face the Gunsmith in the street and kill him. Hopefully.
Stark stood up.
“Half now, half after it's done,” Rivers said.
Stark sat down.
“Give me some of that brandy you're always braggin' about.”
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By the time they finished their brandy Stark saw the wisdom of Rivers's offer.
“If he kills me,” he said, “I won't have any need of the second half.”
“Or the first, for that matter,” Rivers said.
“I might be able to figure out a way to hedge my bet,” Stark said. “Any objection to that?”
“As long as it looks legal,” Rivers said, “I don't have a problem.”
Stark stood up, staggered a bit.
“That brandy of yours has quite a kick,” he said.
Or, Rivers thought as Stark went out the door, half a bottle of rotgut.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Clint kissed Barbara Kennedy, and then kept on kissing her. While he was kissing her, and feeling her body against his, he thought, well, why not? What was the rush to get back to town? The morning would do.
His hands roamed over her body, kneading her opulent flesh, enjoying the feel of her smooth, hot skin.
Her hands were between them, doing some kneading of her own through his pants.
Finally, the kiss broke and she pulled her head back, but did not take a step back.
“So?” she asked. “What's the verdict?”
“Can't you tell?”
She squeezed him through his pants.
“Yes, I think I can.”
She took his hand, then led him to the stairway, up to the second floor, along a long hallway to her bedroom. Inside he saw the bed she had been talking about. It was, as she had said, wonderfulâlarge, comfortable, perfect for sex or sleep . . . or both.
She pulled him to the bed, then kissed him again, long and hungrily. He could taste the whiskey on her, but combined with her own sweet taste it was not unpleasant.
He broke the kiss and stepped back to look at her again. She was breathing hard, her breasts heaving, and her nipples were standing out irresistibly.
“Your husband has been a fool for many years,” he said. “In fact, any man who wouldn't want you would be a fool.”
“Oh, for chrissake,” she said, “stop talking!”
He smiled at her and began to take off his clothes. She pulled the bedcovers down and got in bed to await him. Reclining on the bed she was even more exciting to look at.
He crawled onto the bed and onto her. This was a body that deserved time, and they had all night . . .
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Matt Holmes stood at the front window of his house and gazed out at his ranchâor what he could see of it in the moonlight. His wife of forty years came up behind him, handed him a cup of tea.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“Ed Kennedy,” he said. “The West is going to miss him. We needed men like him.”
“You hated Ed Kennedy,” she said.
“Yes, but I admired him, too. I certainly would never have hired anyone to kill him.”
“So who do you think hired this man . . . the Gunsmith . . . to kill him?”
“No one.”
“Then why did he do it?”
“I don't think he did.”
She sipped her own tea and said gently, “All right, then, who did? Andy Rivers? He has that gunman, Stark, working for him.”
“Andy's more likely to send Stark after Adams. He wouldn't have sent him after Kennedy.”
“You're sure of that?”
“Very sure.”
“Well then,” she said, “I suppose the killer came from Kennedy's own ranch.”
He looked at his wife. His eyes always saw her as they had first seen her, forty-one years agoâa vibrant, lovely young woman. As soon as he laid eyes on her he knew they would marry.
“You're a very smart woman,” he said.
“Smart enough to say yes to you when you asked me to marry you.”
“Happiest day of my life,” he said, touching his wife's face.
“So, tell me,” she said, “do you intend to get involved in all this Ed Kennedy hoopla?”
“No, not involved,” he said. “I'll just remain an interested observer.”
“And you won't let Andy Rivers draw you into anything?”
“No,” he said, “I'm still my own man, Martha.”
“I haven't forgotten that, Matthew,” she said.
They stood for a few moments in front of the window, he with his arm around her waist, and she with her head on his shoulder.
After a while she said, “I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Are you coming?”
“In a few minutes,” he said. “I think I'll sleep better if I have one more brandy.”
“Well, you know what drinking does to you,” she said. “Don't expect me to wake up all eager to pleasure you.”
“You pleasure me every single day we're together, Martha,” he assured her, kissing her lightly on the lips. “Go to sleep and sweet dreams. I won't wake you when I come to bed. I promise.”
TWENTY-NINE
Clint wanted to take his time with Barbara, but she was insistent. She grabbed at him, his erect penis, and tugged him on top of her.
“Put it in, put it in!” she demanded. “You can be gentle later. I just want you to pound me!”
Well, he thought, okay, if that was what she wanted. He certainly had some frustrations he could work out by “pounding” her.
He got on his knees between her legs, pressed the head of his penis against her wet pussy, and . . . rammed himself in.
That was what she wanted. Her eyes went wide and she breathed, “Oh yeah! Finally!”
She wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Yeah, yeah, come on, do it . . .” she said, as he started to pound away at her.
He grabbed her legs, pulled them away from him, took her by the ankles, and spread her wide. Holding her that way, he gave her what she wanted and took what he wanted.
It was a win-win situation.
Parker Stark went back to the bunkhouse to turn in for the night. Finally, he'd made the deal that would set him up for life somewhere. Working for Andy Rivers, squirreling away his paycheck, trying to save the money he'd need to get settle somewhere was taking a long time. But now, with one act, he could make enough money to change his life.
All he had to do was live long enough to enjoy it.
Stark had a corner of the bunkhouse to himself. There were more bunks than men, and since he didn't really interact with the other men, they all made sure their bunks were away from his.
The other men in the bunkhouse were afraid of him. That always suited him. But in his new life, he was going to be someone else. One way or another, facing Clint Adams in the street was going to be the last act of Parker Stark's life.
He'd either succeed and walk away, leaving “Stark” as dead in the street as Clint Adams.
Or he'd be the one lying in the street dead, all alone.
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