“I’m not a cowboy, lady.”
She laughed, the sound of it hearty and indeed quite genuine as she responded, “And I’m no lady, cowboy.”
Longarm chuckled. “Thanks for the invite, ma’am, but it’s a mite early in the day for that. I only came in looking for a bite o’ lunch.”
“All right. No drink. Buy me some lunch instead.”
“Persistent, ain’t you?”
She hooted loudly, pretending he’d said something outrageously funny, and gripped his arm as she leaned forward and licked his earlobe. While she was in the neighborhood she whispered, very softly, “I want to talk to you, Marshal. In private.”
“Whyn’t you and me have that drink in my room, lady,” he suggested. Loudly enough that anyone who wanted to overhear was welcome, and able, to do so.
“A lovely idea, cowboy,” she said, gathering up her skirts in one hand and her handbag in the other.
Chapter 13
He hadn’t any more than gotten the door closed than the damn woman was on him like a barn cat after a field mouse. She was trying her level best to suck his tongue clean out of his mouth. Or maybe she was kissing him. He wasn’t exactly sure which she had in mind.
She smelled of cheap perfume and cheaper whiskey, and he was fairly certain that she’d had sardines for breakfast. Being kissed by this no longer handsome female was not one of the finer pleasures of life.
After a bit of a struggle—fortunately he was bigger, stronger, and possibly meaner than she was, and managed to extract his tongue from her mouth without having to actually punch her—he backed warily away and pointed her at the lone chair in the hotel room. NOT, thank you, at the bed. “You, uh, said you wanted t’ talk?” he suggested.
She smiled at him. “Yes, Marshal. That too.”
“Too?”
“After you screw me.”
“But …”
“I love to screw, Marshal.” She batted her eyelashes at him, a quite perfectly ludicrous come-on that she herself laughed at, delighted with the silliness of her own gesture. “Am I shocking you?”
“It takes a lot t’ shock me, ma’am.” He grinned. “But you’re coming pretty nigh to it.”
She laughed appreciatively and said, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jane Webster Sproul of the Carolina Websters and widow of the late Judge Walker Martin Sproul. Which probably means absolutely nothing to you but which is quite a mouthful for anyone who grew up around these parts.” She laughed again. And there was something in the open, honest ring of her voice when she laughed that warned Longarm that if she didn’t quit it pretty damn soon he might actually commence to like this odd woman. “And you, I believe, are named Long, are you not?”
“I am, ma’am. Custis Long. Longarm t’ my friends.”
“Then I hope I shall be permitted to so address you.”
On an impulse, bowing low and saying, “Permission granted, ma’am.”
She clapped her hands. And leaped off the chair to bound across the room—well, it was only a couple steps but she managed to convey an impression of great bounding … and in fact her massive tits flopped so wildly that she might as well have been bounding over a series of fences to reach him—and envelop him in a hug. And in a repeat of her wet, loose kiss as well.
“Now I know why everybody else in this town is s’ damn unfriendly,” he said once he had the use of his mouth back.
“And what reason would that be, dear friend Longarm?”
“It’s because you got the friendliness market cornered, Janie. There’s none left over for them others t’ use.”
She threw her head back and roared. Then turned and, just as casual as if it was the most normal and natural thing possible, began removing articles of clothing and dropping them onto the chair.
Longarm was beginning to get the idea that this interview was not going according to plan. Not to his plan anyhow.
“If you hear talk about me, friend Longarm, and I certainly hope you will, there are several things you should keep in mind. One is that I do what I damn please. I never let other people’s opinions stand in the way of a good time. Or anything else, for that matter. Another thing is that there is more than enough reason for most people around here to be jealous of me. You see, I am without question the richest woman within a hundred-mile radius. Or possibly further.” By now she was down to her lacy smallclothes but showed no signs of slowing down, continuing to shed cloth like a molting hen in a wind storm.
“Another thing to bear in mind, my friend, is that most of what you hear will quite probably be true. If you hear something outrageous, that is. I love to tweak these fools’ noses, and for some reason plain, simple, pleasant sex is a good way to do that. Can you imagine? Why would anyone care what anyone else does in bed? Or with whom?” She tossed the last wisps of lace onto the chair and turned, huge and flabby and about as appealing to look at as a three-days-dead trout, to display herself in all her glory.
“You see, my dear new friend, this has always amazed me but never discouraged me. The simple truth is that I like sex. More, I love sex. I just plain adore the feel of a stiff poker in my snatch. I love the sight, the texture, the taste of something nice and hard. And I love to feel them inside me. Anywhere inside me I love it all. If you can think of a way to get one into a nostril or an ear canal I’m game to try the position. You know?” She giggled and flopped onto the bed, legs asprawl and her furry mound prominent. “I’ve loved it ever since Randy … isn’t that a perfectly delightful name for a girl’s first beau? … ever since Randy Travers grabbed my tit… at the time it was hardly big enough to be grabbed, actually… and put a hand under my skirt to feel me up. That was at my thirteenth-birthday party. We were playing hide-and-seek, and Randy and I were both hiding in the hay loft.” She laughed again. “It took them a hell of a time to find us, let me tell you. Long enough for me to get off four, five times right in a row there. The first couple times from Randy fingering me and the rest when he put his cock in me. He didn’t want to. Can you imagine? He thought he was scaring me when he shoved his finger in me. Ha! He’s the one who ended up scared. I liked it so much I wouldn’t let him go until he satisfied me. But he got over being scared. Randy and I went at it nearly every day the summer after my birthday that year. Then Randy enlisted and went off to the war.” Her expression changed, becoming wistful and slightly sad. “He never came back, of course. He was fifteen when he left. I never heard how old he made it to before he got himself killed. Clumsy little guy. He wasn’t much, poor Randy. But in his own way he loved me.”
She sighed. “He was my first, though of course no one ever knew. Not until years later.” Her mood brightened. “He certainly was not the last, though. I tell you truly, I loved it and I still do. But one thing you have to know. I have never, ever, not in my whole life taken anything in exchange for screwing. Not money, not secrets, not favors, not anything like that. I spread my legs for the pleasure of it, dear friend Longarm. Not for any other reason. And don’t you let anybody, I mean not any living soul, try and tell you otherwise. Promise me that, will you? Please?”
“Janie, I believe you. Indeed I do.”
Her smile was sweet and soft. “Thank you, dear friend Longarm.” She opened her arms wide. And her legs as well. “Now come over here, cowboy, and give me some fun.”
“I thought you wanted …”
“To talk? Of course. But later, okay? First we screw, then we talk afterward. Now come here, sweetie, before I get so wet I’ll drench your bed and you won’t be able to sleep dry the whole time you’re here.”
Now just what the hell was a man supposed to do when faced with a flabby, homely, naked female that he really did not want to screw? He didn’t want to insult her, dammit. But he didn’t want to crawl on top of her either. Janie Sproul reminded him of one of those female spiders that takes a mate and then kills the used-up little sonuvabitch by sucking all the juices out of its body afterward. Looking at Janie lying there with one saucer-sized nipple tucked into each armpit … well … it wasn’t a sight to promote a hard-on, that was for sure.