Anna Marie turned her head so that she could see him. There were tears in her bright green eyes. “Custis, you are ... you are like no man I have ever met!”
In her line of work, she had probably said that same exact thing to plenty of men, so Longarm took it with a grain of salt. She must have seen the doubt in his eyes, because she lifted herself on her elbows and went on quickly, “No, I mean it! You have brought me so much joy, so much ... I cannot find the words!”
Longarm put a hand behind her head, burying his fingers in the thick, red hair, and pulled her closer to him. “I know what you mean,” he said quietly, then brushed his lips across hers.
Anna Marie put her hand on his jaw and kissed him harder. Longarm would have thought it unlikely, if not impossible under the circumstances, but he was convinced he felt a slight stirring in his groin again.
He broke the kiss and twisted around so that he could bend over the lamp on the bedside table and blow it out. Darkness fell over the room and brought with it silence, broken only sporadically by giggles, moans, and the soft, sibilant sound of flesh on flesh.
For a couple of hours, Longarm didn’t even think about the job that had brought him to Del Rio.
Chapter 8
Unfortunately, midnight rolled around all too soon, so Longarm wasn’t able to spend the night sleeping in Anna Marie’s arms. He had to get up and go over to the hotel, where Lazarus Coffin was waiting anxiously to be relieved of guard duty.
“I got to get me a drink,” said the big Ranger as he started down the stairs. “You need me, I’ll be over at Kilroy’s.”
Longarm was glad that Coffin didn’t mention the redheaded saloon girl. He didn’t want any more trouble over her with Coffin—but at the same time, he wanted Anna Marie to be able to spend the night dreaming about him.
That thought brought a wry grin to Longarm’s face. Deep inside every man, he supposed, no matter how old the fella was, there was a half-grown boy who still wanted to think that any gal he kissed was going to dream about him. In this case, it was about as likely as a longhorn sprouting wings and flying away ... but the feelings were there inside Longarm anyway.
“Be here by six o’clock,” he warned Coffin.
The Ranger stopped halfway down the staircase and glared back up at Longarm. “Why the hell so early?” demanded Coffin.
“For one thing, I’m liable to want some breakfast by then. For another, we don’t know what time these fellas are going to get started again.”
Coffin shrugged his acceptance and went on down the stairs and out of the hotel lobby, grumbling all the way. Longarm sat down in the chair that Coffin had been occupying until recently.
The rest of the night passed quietly and peacefully. Longarm still would have preferred spending it in Anna Marie’s bed, rather than dozing in a chair in a second-floor hotel corridor. But morning eventually came, and with it Sheriff Sanderson.
The local lawman trotted up the stairs as Longarm was standing and stretching stiff muscles. “Mornin’,” Sanderson greeted him. “Any trouble last night?”
“Not around here,” replied Longarm. “Heard anything about El Aguila’s bunch?”
“Nobody in these parts has seen hide nor hair of ‘em since that little set-to early yesterday mornin’. And that’s all right with me.”
“Seen Coffin? He’s supposed to be here any time to relieve me.
Sanderson frowned. “Is that right? Well, then, I reckon I’d better go back down the street and let him out of jail.”“Jail!” exclaimed Longarm. “You’ve got him locked up?”
“Seemed like the thing to do at the time. Otherwise he was bound and determined to bust up Kilroy’s place. He was mad ‘cause that redheaded gal won’t have anything to do with him anymore.”
Longarm bit back a groan. Trouble had cropped up after all, even though he hadn’t been aware of it. “When did this happen?”
“’Bout one o’clock in the mornin’.” Sanderson yawned and scraped a hand over the bristles on his jaw and chin. “Must be why I’m so tired this mornin’. Spent too much of the night rasslin’ that big buffalo into a jail cell.”
Longarm was surprised Sanderson had been able to arrest Coffin by himself. The Ranger would have made almost two of the sheriff. Obviously, Sanderson was tougher than he looked. Either that, or Coffin had held back out of respect for the local star-packer. That seemed unlikely ... but then, Coffin was something of a contradiction to start with.
“Sorry I didn’t hear the ruckus,” Longarm told Sanderson.
“It don’t matter none. You couldn’t have come over to give me a hand, even if you had. Now could you?”
Longarm glanced down the hall at the closed doors of the suites housing the diplomatic parties. “No, I reckon not.”
“I figured as much. Don’t worry about it, Marshal. I handled ol’ Lazarus all right. Don’t forget, I got plenty of experience at it. That boy’s been raisin’ hell around here for a long time.” Sanderson started down the stairs. “I’ll go turn him loose and tell him to get his sorry ass over here. That way you can go get a surroundin’.”
“Much obliged, Sheriff,” Longarm called after him.
Coffin showed up a quarter of an hour later, his face as dark with
anger as a thunderhead. “I swear,” he said as he came up the stairs,
talking to himself as much as to Longarm, “one of these days I’m goin’ to
whup that little son of a bitch-“
“No, you won’t,” Longarm told him. “He’s a lawman, and you are too, Coffin.”
Coffin glared at him. “You never had to go up against a badge-toter in your time, Long?”
“Not an honest one,” Longarm said, remembering a few crooked—not to mention homicidal—lawmen he had run into over the years. A badge didn’t always mean a fella was on the same side as he was, but Longarm was usually willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt until he proved otherwise.
Coffin jerked a thumb at the stairs. “Aw, hell, go get your breakfast. I’ve already et.”
“The sheriff fed you, huh?” Longarm couldn’t resist asking as he started down the stairs. Coffin just glowered darkly at him.
By the time Longarm got back to the hotel, Coffin had already had breakfast sent up to the suites from the kitchen. The little Italian cook wasn’t happy about having to prepare food for such a small number of people, Coffin informed Longarm, but he was doing it.
“You reckon they’ll finish up their jawin’ today?” Coffin asked hopefully.
“I’d be mighty surprised if they did,” said Longarm.
They didn’t. Three more days rolled by, in fact, and although Franklin Barton and Don Alfredo Guiterrez both seemed optimistic that an agreement would be reached soon, Longarm couldn’t tell if they were getting any closer to being finished. Though Barton got along well with Don Alfredo, he was as prickly as ever with Longarm, Coffin, and his assistants, constantly finding fault with nearly everything they did. The meals weren’t right, the hotel beds were uncomfortable, the weather was too hot and dusty—and somehow Barton made all of that seem like Longarm’s fault.
Longarm hoped these meetings wouldn’t go on for too much longer. He would purely hate to have to wire Billy Vail in Denver with the news that he’d punched Franklin Barton right in his obnoxious face.
And then there was Sonia Guiterrez.
Longarm had never been one to be too upset when an attractive woman was interested in him, but Sonia was about to make him go plumb crazy. She seized every opportunity to rub up against him or make low-voiced comments about what she would like to do to him and what she wanted him to do to her. There was never any chance to act on her attempts at seduction, however, and after a while Longarm got the idea that was the way she wanted it. He was about to decide that she was one of those women who liked to get a fella all hot and bothered, all the while knowing that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.