“Carry me, please?”
Longarm picked her up, and immediately revised his estimate of how much Miranda weighed, adding another ten or twenty pounds. Staggering through the door, he caught his toe on a throw rug, and they both crashed to the floor, laughing.
Three or maybe four seconds later, they were tearing off their clothes and racing for the bedroom wearing nothing but their new wedding rings. Longarm pounced on Miranda the way a mountain lion might jump on a deer, and Miranda squealed with delight and wrestled fiercely, pretending to fight him off. They struggled like that for a few minutes, and then he pried her legs apart and entered her with a hard thrust.
“Oh!” Miranda cried. “Please stop!”
She didn’t mean it. The woman loved it, and when she locked her legs around his waist, Longarm began to plunge in and out of her like a stallion. He covered her right breast with his mouth and licked her nipple as his body worked. Soon, Miranda was bucking and squealing with pleasure, and then she rolled Longarm over and rode him a while. It wasn’t anything like what a couple of newlyweds would probably do in real life, but Longarm didn’t give a damn. He and Miranda were great together in bed, and when something worked this well, you didn’t screw around and try to change things.
Miranda moved up and down his big rod, her red hair cascading forward over his chest and her breath coming faster and faster. Longarm’s fingers were buried into the firm flesh of her buttocks, and he was moving her around and around and groaning with animal pleasure.
“Honey,” he grunted, “I’ll bet that newlyweds were never this good together!”
“We will be.”
Longarm didn’t want to know what she meant by that, so he kept quiet and kept her moving over him until her bottom began to twitch and bump. At that moment, Longarm rolled her over and plowed her field good, planting his seed.
In the morning they made love again, only without the pretense and the games. Miranda was feeling very happy. “I am so glad that you decided to let me come with you,” she told him.
“You didn’t give me any choice.”
“That’s true,” she agreed. “But at least you’re not acting grumpy or trying to punish me for my insistence. I like a man who can lose gracefully.”
Longarm didn’t like her use of the word “lose,” but he managed not to make an issue of it. He left Miranda and went over to the Federal Building, where he found that his travel money and his letter from Billy guaranteeing him a month’s paid vacation were waiting. “There are also tickets in that manila envelope,” Billy told him.
“Coach, no doubt.”
“Of course! What did you expect, first class?”
“Yeah, that would have been nice.”
“Not on the taxpayers’ money,” Billy said. “Anyway, here is the letter from Miss Mason. Please give her my best regards and try not to seduce her. She’s an old family friend.”
“Sure, sure,” Longarm said, having already decided that it was not in his own best interests to mention that Miranda was coming along to keep him company. “Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of,” Billy said. “Oh, yeah, I do have a few newspaper articles on murders that I suspect might be related to this Anasazi artifact gang-“
Billy went to his desk and rummaged around among its clutter until he found an envelope. “Read these accounts. In every one it mentions that the victim was in some way, shape, or form connected to Anasazi artifacts.”
Longarm noticed the envelope’s thickness.
“There’s that many people involved?”
“And more every year,” Billy assured him. “Scientists are describing Mesa Verde, Hovenweep, and some of the other ruins that are scattered all over the Four Corners area as the greatest archaeological sites in America.”
“I see.”
“Do this job well,” Billy said, “and there might be a promotion in store for you this fall.”
“Like you got to a desk job? No, thanks!”
Billy wasn’t offended. Quite the contrary. He just smiled, and then he went back to his desk as Longarm headed for the train depot to get Miranda a ticket to Pueblo. She wouldn’t be all that pleased riding coach either, but their destination was less than a full day’s journey away, and they could easily tolerate the sometimes rough and ready men who frequented the third-class coach cars and who could be a bit uncouth and insulting.
Chapter 3
Longarm and Miranda were a little late getting to the train station, and damned if the third-class coach wasn’t nearly filled with a collection of rough cowboys, miners, and workingmen headed south. Miranda was the only young woman to enter this coach, and although Longarm was not a jealous man, he bristled at the bold and hungry-eyed looks she received as they moved down the aisle searching for a pair of seats together.
Unfortunately, there weren’t any. In fact, there was only one empty seat in the entire coach, and the only reason it was empty was that it rested beside one of the biggest, dirtiest-looking men Longarm had seen in a good while. He must have been a mountain man or a trapper because he was wearing buckskins and a thick black beard. A huge Bowie knife protruded from under a beaded Indian belt. The man stank like a dead animal.
“Oh, the hell with this,” Longarm snapped. “We’ll go find the conductor and change our tickets to first class.”
“What’s the matter?” the mountain man challenged, eyes fixed on Miranda’s ample bosom. “I don’t mind the lady sitting here beside me. Maybe we could have ourselves a little fun, huh, lady?”
“I’d rather sit beside a goat,” Miranda replied.
The mountain man’s eyes blazed with sudden anger. “Well, ain’t you the real uppity little bitch. You ain’t so gawdamn grand! I’ve fucked prettier than you more’n once.”
Longarm slapped the mountain man across the face so hard his lips broke and bled. “Mister, apologize to the lady or prepare to learn some manners.”
The mountain man wiped a big paw across his mouth, saw the blood, and exploded. “You sonofabitch, nobody slaps Abe Tasker and lives to tell about it! I’ll gut you like a fat buck!”
Longarm would have sledged Tasker in the face and maybe ended the fight quick, except that someone pushed Miranda in between them, and by the time he shoved her clear, the mountain man was out of his seat and on his feet with that giant Bowie knife clenched in his fist.
Longarm drew his six-gun and said, “Drop the knife or I’ll drop you in your tracks!”
“No, you won’t,” Tasker said, grabbing Miranda and holding her in front of him as a shield. He placed his knife to Miranda’s throat and laughed meanly. “Drop the gun or I’ll slit her pretty gullet.”
Longarm felt a sudden rivulet of sweat run down his spine. Tasker was clearly a lunatic. He looked as if he might even enjoy killing Miranda.
“All right,” Longarm said, dropping his double-action Colt .44-40 to the floor. “Just turn her loose and we can settle this with our fists.”
Tasker giggled obscenely, then pushed Miranda aside.
“Sorry,” he said, waving the Bowie back and forth, “but I’d rather fight with knives.”
“I don’t have anything but a pocket knife,” Longarm said tightly.
“Too bad,” the mountain man replied, taking a vicious swipe at Longarm’s belly and barely missing.
Longarm had all that he was going to take. Any minute, some fool might decide to try to help him and get himself skewered. The lawman reached for his watch. Its chain, instead of being attached to a watch fob, was affixed to a very mean-looking twin-barreled .44-caliber derringer.
“Your turn,” Longarm said, cocking the derringer. “Drop the knife or I’ll put two bullets through your brisket. And I can’t miss at this range.”
Tasker squinted at the derringer. It was compact, but the double muzzles were plenty big and intimidating. Tasker dropped his Bowie knife and raised his big fists. “You said something about fighting?”