“What for, dear? Poor Tommy is already worn out. Can you believe it? One, two little climaxes and he’s done for. He is in his bed snoring up a proper storm. And so satisfied that he’s sleeping with a smile on his silly face. He didn’t give me near enough, dear. So I thought I would come visit you and get the rest of what I need tonight.”
“No, thanks. I’m not interested.”
“Of course you are, dearest.” She squeezed his cock. Rather sharply this time. “Besides, if you don’t do what I want, darling, I just may scream and burst into such big old tears that anyone, just anyone, would have to believe that you tried to molest me.”
Longarm took her hand and pulled it away from his pecker. “Leave me alone, damn you.”
“I’ll scream. Believe me, dear, I can wake up this entire camp. What will they think, hmm? You could go to one of those prisons you’ve helped to fill with those horrid, nasty little bad men. You might even hang for trying to rape me. Oh, doesn’t that make you all hot and horny just thinking about it? You could die for me, love. Even if you don’t especially want to.”
“Mrs. Wingate, whyn’t you go fuck yourself if it’s a fuck you want so awful bad.”
“I’m warning you, Marshal. I’ll scream. I will.”
“Go ahead.”
“What?”
“I said go ahead. Scream your fool head off. If anybody hears you … an’ I doubt that they would, seeing as how we’re buried under three, four feet o’ dirt and sod in this dugout … but even if somebody does hear you, they wouldn’t hang me without a court-martial. An’ just think what it’d do to your reputation when my friend Quentin Cooper, the stage driver, testifies about you giving me blow jobs on the roof of the coach on the way up here. You thought he didn’t notice? Hell, Quint thought that was one of the funniest things he ever saw, you on your knees with your face full of cock. And once Quint testifies, darling … just think what effect that will have on Colonel Wingate’s family.” His voice hardened. “Think what effect Quint’s testimony will have on your allowance.”
“You wouldn’t!” she gasped.
“Scream, bitch. That’s the only way you’ll really find out if I’m running a bluff. You wanta make sure you’re heard? Step outside before you yell. Make sure someone comes to rescue you. Then see how it works out from there.”
“You bastard.”
“You bitch.”
“I hate your guts, damn you.”
“Seems fair enough since I don’t have a helluva lot of regard for you neither.”
“God, I want you. Fuck me. I’ll leave you alone after that, dear. I promise. But I’m so hot I’ll burn up if I can’t get your cock inside me right now.”
“Sorry. Not interested.”
“Liar.”
But in fact he was not. His erection had subsided by now, and no amount of kneading and pulling would bring it back. Mrs. Wingate dropped to her knees and tried to blow him again, sucking and making wet, gobbling noises in her anxiety to prove that she could command pleasure from him.
Her efforts were in vain. All she managed to do was to make him wet with her saliva. Longarm’s pecker remained flaccid and limp in her mouth.
For one awful moment he thought she was going to bite in her frustration, but fortunately she did not think of that. He was sure the only reason she would refrain, however, was because it did not occur to her. Restraint … and for that matter, rational behavior … did not seem to be the lady’s long suit.
“Bastard,” she spat at him when finally she let his prick slide out from between her lips.
“Bitch.”
She stood and slapped him across the face. Hard.
Longarm slapped her back.
“Oh, God, yes. Do that again.”
Thoroughly disgusted, Longarm spun the woman around, planted a foot in her backside, and gave her a shove that sent her tumbling through the doorway and out into the moonlit night.
He found her hat and the much-remembered duster on the floor, gathered them into a clumsy wad, and threw them out too.
The woman picked herself up and stood there for a moment glaring at him, her expression one of unalloyed hatred.
For half a heartbeat he was convinced she was going to do it, that she was going to scream and cry rape after all.
But she had too much to lose.
After a time she bent—she really was one fine-looking figure of a woman, damn her—and retrieved the hat and duster. She yanked them on and stormed away into the night.
Longarm sighed with relief as he turned back toward the borrowed bed in what passed for Visiting Officers’ Quarters at Camp Beloit.
Chapter 30
“Are you sure you won’t stay, Longarm? Mrs. Wingate was saying only last evening what a nice man you seem. I know she would be pleased to entertain you. I, uh, I have rather a lot that I must do right now. To tell you the truth, Longarm, it would be something of a favor to me if you could stay longer. Keeping Amanda amused, don’t you see, so that I can get my work done.”
“I’d like to, Tom, but I have to get back to the agency and see can I keep things calm.” Longarm finished tying his gear onto the saddle—his own saddle this time, thank goodness—and dropped the stirrup in place. “If the Piegan an’ Crow go at each other, you’ll have a lot more to do than the administrative stuff here.”
“I suppose that is true.”
“Thanks for the hospitality,” Longarm said. He smiled and added, “An’ thanks for the hat.” It was no Stetson, but the officer had come up with an old Kossuth—probably obtained from the camp trash heap—that he’d given to Longarm. The sloppy, floppy rag of black wool felt was no substitute for Longarm’s favored brown fur felt. But it was indisputably better than nothing, and so Longarm was pleased to have it.
Longarm swung onto the back of the chestnut pony, and gave the fractious animal a few moments to settle down. The horse was not accustomed to a bit and bridle, Indians generally preferring to use a single rein knotted around the lower jaw to control their mounts. Longarm could ride with that arrangement in a pinch, but it was not comfortable for him. And if one of the two had to be in discomfort on this score, he figured it could just damn well be the horse. He did his part by giving up his comfort for the horse’s when it came to a choice of saddle, the McClellan being a fine fit for a horse’s back but a real ball-buster for the human rider who had to suffer on the upper side of the thing.
“Any idea when you’ll be back?” Wingate asked.
“None,” Longarm admitted. “But I’ll make it a point to come back through an’ bring you up to date even if things go well. If they don’t, well, you an’ your boys can pick up the pieces an’ ship me back to Denver.” If there’s any of you left either, Longarm thought to himself, but refrained from saying aloud.
“Now there is a voice of confidence,” the captain said with a small smile.
“If I can’t be confident, Tom, I can at least be practical.” Longarm leaned down to shake the man’s hand, then backed the chestnut a few paces and lightly touched the brim of the ugly Kossuth hat. “Come a-runnin’ if you hear the sound of guns, Tom.”
“I’d be happier if you can keep those guns quiet, Longarm.
Longarm nodded and reined the chestnut north, toward the Indian agency.
Yellow Flowers stepped out of the lodge, took one look at Longarm, and fainted dead away.
It was, Longarm thought, an unusual form of greeting, to say the very least.
He jumped down off the chestnut and dropped his reins to ground-tie the animal. That was usually an invitation for a horse to declare itself free, but in this case he didn’t much give a shit. He wanted to see to Yellow Flowers. Besides, if the chestnut did run away, it was not likely to run any further than the Crow horse herd, and there would be no real harm in that.
Longarm knelt beside Yellow Flowers and rubbed her cheeks and her wrists the way he’d seen others try to revive stricken ladies. “Yellow Flowers? Are you all right? Talk to me, Yellow Flowers. What’s wrong? Where’s Tall Man?” Longarm’s initial thought was that Tall Man had been killed and the tribes were on the brink of war. That or … God knows what other possibilities could exist. “Yellow Flowers?”