She caught hold of his wrists and brought his hands to her firm, pear-shaped breasts. Her hard nipples stabbed into his palms like little daggers of flesh. Shudders of culmination rippled through her body as Longarm began to empty himself into her in a long series of white-hot spurts. She was still pumping her hips and spasming when he had finished coming. Then, abruptly, she froze in place for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, face taut with the ecstasy that gripped her. Her breath came out of her body in a long sigh, and she was suddenly limp, sprawling forward over his chest. She nestled her head against his shoulder and lay there, breathing hard.
Longarm rested one hand on the enticing swell of her bottom and used the other to stroke her hair. He chuckled. “I reckon that's why some folks call it the little death,” he said. “It's damn near as good as dying and going to heaven, ain't it?”
“Don't ... swear,” said Amelia.
“I won't smoke no cheroots, neither, if you don't want me to. But one would taste mighty good right about now.”
“In a minute,” she said. She patted his chest and snuggled against the thick mat of brown hair. “Just lie there and let me enjoy the feel of you.”
Longarm trailed a finger through the cleft between the cheeks of her rump, and his intimate touch made her wiggle her hips. He was still buried inside her, and her movement made his shaft start to stiffen again in response. She lifted her head and her eyes widened in surprise as she exclaimed, “Already?”
Longarm moved his hips. Amelia sighed again, a soft, breathy sound. “Oh, my, yes.”
They had managed to keep their hands off each other during dinner, which they had shared in the dining room of Carson City's elegant Oriental Hotel. The bill for Longarm's lodgings here was going to be more expensive than Henry liked, but Longarm figured he could get the clerk to approve it. Henry could be a reasonable manâwhen he wanted to be.
After dinner, they had come here to Longarm's room for brandy, and the genteel atmosphere that went with the whole situation had lasted for a while.
Almost a whole minute, in fact.
And then they had been pulling each other's clothes off as fast as they could, laughing and stroking and squeezing, until Amelia had pushed Longarm down on the bed, straddled his hips, and lowered herself onto him so that she was riding the long, thick pole of male flesh.
It had been one hell of a ride, and Amelia, bless her heart, was ready to go again.
Â
“I think I'll go to Virginia City,” Amelia said. She pinned her hair in place and settled the prim little hat on her head. She was fully dressed and looked every bit the lady again.
Longarm, on the other hand, was still sprawled naked on the bed, his head propped up on the pillows and his hands locked together behind his neck. The air in the room was a little chilly, but he didn't mind. Amelia looked at him in the mirror over the dressing table and said, “You look positively decadent, Custis.”
“Thanks,” he said with a grin. Then he became more serious as he asked, “You know anybody in Virginia City?”
Amelia turned away from the mirror and shook her head. “No, not a soul,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”
Longarm frowned. “To be honest, I'm a mite worried about you. Virginia City's a rough place. It's full of miners and cowboys and gamblers and gunmen.”
“It sounds exciting,” Amelia said with a smile.
“It ain't the kind of place for a sweet little Mormon gal who don't know what she's getting into,” said Longarm bluntly.
Amelia clapped her hands together in delight. “Why, Custis, you're worried about me!”
“Well, of course I'm worried about you. You and me are friends, ain't we?”
“More than friends, I'd say.” Amelia's eyebrows lifted and her smile became suggestive.
Longarm sat up and reached for his long underwear. He didn't want Amelia getting any ideas about taking her clothes off again and distracting him from what he wanted to say.
“Listen,” he told her, “I know you didn't like living in Utah. I reckon you probably come from a big familyâ”
“Eight sisters and seven brothers,” she said.
“How many wives does your father have?”
“Three. My mother is the oldest.”
“And I know you don't have your heart set on living the same wayâ”
“Elder Torrance has been looking at me ever since I turned fourteen,” Amelia broke in, her expression serious now. “That was five years ago, Custis. I'm surprised he's waited this long to start pressuring my father to arrange the marriage.”
“How old is this Elder Torrance?”
“Fifty-two. I would be his fifth wife.”
“I don't reckon I blame you for not being too fond of the idea. You sound like an educated woman ...”
“I've read a great deal. My father never wanted my mother to teach me how to read, but she got her own way occasionally. That was one of the occasions. And Father has regretted it ever since.”
Longarm pulled his pants on over the long underwear and reached for his shirt. “And you figure you've got a pretty good idea what the rest of the world is like,” he went on. “But you don't, Amelia, not really. There are plenty of folks in places like Virginia City who'd take advantage of you.”
She glanced at the bed. “Like you did here, Custis?”
His face flushed in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “This wasn't the first time you'd been with a man,” he said.
She shook her head. “No, it wasn't.”
“But that doesn't make you the kind of woman that half the men in Virginia City will assume you are. You'd be better off staying here. Living in Carson City ain't like being in church, but it's not as wild and woolly as Virginia City.”
“No, and I'd wager it's not as exciting, either.” Amelia shook her head. “I'm afraid I've made up my mind, Custis.
I want some excitement in my life, and Virginia City is the place where I'll find it.”
He sighed heavily. “Then I reckon I'll just have to go up there with you so I can be sure you make it all right.”
Her expression was transformed by the smile that spread across it. She threw her arms around his neck and said, “Thank you, Custis, thank you so much.”
Longarm patted her on the back and wondered if this was what she had had in mind all along.
Â
He was up early the next morning. Amelia had given him the key to her room, so he unlocked the door quietly and peeked inside. She was still asleep, her breathing soft and regular. Longarm left her there, mounded under the blankets, to sleep in peace.
After breakfast in the hotel dining room, he walked down the street to a building he had spotted the day before on the way from the depot to the hotel. It was a big, barnlike structure, and a sign hanging over the large double doors read California & Nevada Stagecoach Company. A smaller sign below read Burton Augustus Thompson, Esq., Prop. To one side of the double doors was a smaller door, no doubt leading to the offices of the stage line. Longarm went to it and opened it.
A man was sitting at a desk inside the room, which was evidently the office that Longarm had assumed it to be. He wore a gray tweed suit that went well with his longish hair, which was brushed straight back. His cheeks bristled with a short but bushy beard that was mostly gray but had some strands of silver mixed in with the rest. He looked up at Longarm with dark, intelligent eyes.
“Mornin',” the man said with a nod. “What can I do for you, mister?”
“Looking for the ticket agent,” said Longarm. “I need to buy a couple of seats on the next stage to Virginia City.” He could start his investigation there as well as anywhere. The gang that had been holding up stagecoaches and stealing silver from the mail pouches operated throughout the area.
“I can sell you those tickets,” the man said. He stood and extended a hand over the desk. “I'm Thompson, the fella who runs this line. Call me Bat, after my initials.”
Longarm grinned. “Like that fella who's the marshal over at Dodge City, eh? I've run into him a time or two.”
Bat Thompson winced. “Just once, I hope somebody comes up to Masterson and says his name is like mine. But I reckon if it ever happens, I'll never know about it.” He opened a drawer in the desk. “Goin' to Virginny City, are you?”
“That's the plan,” said Longarm. Since he had been lucky enough to encounter the owner of the stage line that had been having so much trouble with outlaws, he decided to do a little probing. He wouldn't reveal to Thompson that he was a deputy marshal, though, not just yet anyway. Longarm had found over the years that he sometimes got better results if he kept his true profession a secret, at least in the early stages of an investigation. He continued, “I hear you've had a little trouble in these parts lately. Holdups and such.”
Thompson had taken two tickets from the desk. He surprised Longarm by throwing them onto the floor and jumping up and down on them. Longarm watched in amazement as Thompson continued to jump on the tickets and generally turned the air around his head blue with profanity.
“... with a red-hot poker, the no-good, lowdown sons o' bitches!” concluded Thompson. “That'd teach 'em!”
“You're talking about the gang that's been stopping your stages?” asked Longarm.
“Who else?” Thompson practically howled. “They're about to run me outta business! The bastards got the federal gov'ment down on me by stealin' silver shipments outta the mailbags!”
Thompson wasn't telling Longarm anything he didn't already know, but Longarm pretended sympathy as he shook his head. “That's too bad. Reckon it's safe to ride your stage?”
That provoked another outburst of profanity from Thompson. He bent over, snatched up the tickets from the floor, and tore them into tiny pieces which he threw into the air. They settled back down around him like snow. “There!” he ranted at Longarm. “If you think you won't be safe, you don't have to ride the damned stage!”
Longarm held up both hands, palms out. “Take it easy, old-timer,” he said. “I didn't mean no offense. I just like to know what I'm getting into.”
Abruptly, a crestfallen look came over Thompson's face. “Reckon I did it again, didn't I?”
“Did what again?” asked Longarm.
“Went plumb crazy. I been doin' that every now and then ever since them holdups started.” Thompson brushed aside the pieces of the torn-up tickets that had landed on the desk. “I'm sure sorry, mister. I'll write you up some new tickets. It's just that, well, I built this stage line up from nothin'. Startin' out, I drove the teams and rode shotgun and mucked out the barns. I've put damn near thirty years into it. And now it looks like I'm liable to lose the whole thing, all because o' that damned Mallory!”
“Mallory?” repeated Longarm. He didn't have to pretend to be interested. This might be his first lead.
Bat Thompson nodded. “Fella's name is Ben Mallory. Rumor has it he's the leader o' the gang that's been robbin' me blind.”
Longarm shook his head and said, “Never heard of him.”
Thompson took two more tickets from the desk drawer and started scrawling on them with a quill pen. “No reason you would have, if you ain't from these parts. He used to be a silver miner before he got fired for causin' too much trouble. And considerin' how rough that crowd is, that'll tell you just what a hellion Mallory is. He swore he'd get even with all the mine superintendents when none of âem would give him a job, and he started gatherin' up a bunch of other hell-raisers. They rode off into the mountains, and that was the last anybody seen of 'em. But my gut tells me that it's Mallory's bunch who've been hittin' my coaches.”
“This fella have a particular grudge against you?”
Thompson shook his head as he handed Longarm the tickets. “Nope. All he wants is the silver. He's got all the superintendents pullin' their hair out and tryin' to figure a way to get their shipments out safe. Mallory hit their ore wagons, and now he's hittin' my coaches 'cause that's where the silver is.”
Longarm rasped a thumbnail along the line of his jaw and said, “If I was you, I might tell those mine superintendents they couldn't ship their silver with me anymore.”
Thompson sighed wearily. “I've thought about it, believe me,” he said. “But they're just about the most important fellas around here. I have to try to cooperate with âem if I want to stay in business. It wouldn't pay to cross 'em.”
It sounded to Longarm like Thompson was caught between a rock and a hard place, all right.
“Otherwise,” Thompson went on, “I wouldn't have agreed to let 'em try to ship another load up here from Tonopah tomorrow.”
Longarm perked up even more. “You say there's silver coming up from Tonopah?”
Suddenly, Thompson's face darkened with suspicion.
“Say,” he exclaimed, “you been askin' a hell of a lot o' questions, mister! Maybe you're a damned spy for Mallory!” His hand dipped toward the still-open drawer of the desk. Longarm knew there was probably a pistol hidden in there.
Sure enough, Thompson hefted an old Dragoon Colt with a barrel that looked as big around as that of a cannon. Longarm stood still and kept his hands in plain sight as Thompson pointed the gun at him. He didn't want to do anything to spook the old man, who had already demonstrated that he could fly off the handle easily.
“I ought to blow your damned head off,” grated Thompson.
“That would be a mistake,” said Longarm. He kept a tight rein on his instincts. He didn't care for having a gun pointed at him. “I'm not an outlaw, and I never heard of Ben Mallory until you mentioned him. But I've got a good reason for all the questions I'm asking.”