The Gunsmith 385 Read online

  “Who’s in charge?” Jennifer asked.

  “Apparently,” he said, “I am. According to Mayor Jackson, that is.”

  “So what are we going to do?” Delia asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “I’m going to hit the trail tomorrow to track down the men who hit Rick. That means I can either shut the place down, or leave somebody in charge.”

  “Who?” Jennifer asked.

  “Which are you going to do?” Delia asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Look, we’ll just keep it open today if you girls are okay tending bar until I make up my mind.”

  “The other girls will be in soon,” Delia said. “We can handle it.”

  “I’ll be in Rick’s office for a while.”

  He walked to the back and went inside. A file drawer was open, an empty cash box was on the floor, and there was blood on the floor. Other than that, there was no indication that anything had happened in the office that morning.

  He picked up the cash box and walked around behind the desk and sat, setting the box down on top. He knew Rick kept a cut-down colt in the top drawer, but when he looked, it was not there. He went through some of the other drawers, but didn’t know what he was looking for, so he found nothing. He was just groping.

  He sat back in the chair, took off his hat, and rubbed his forehead. What was he supposed to do now? He knew Rick would want to keep the place open for his employees. There had to be another male bartender around.

  There was a knock on the door at that point.

  “Come in.”

  Delia opened the door, entered, and closed it.

  “The other girls are here,” she said. “We’re going to divvy up the jobs, and alternate behind the bar.”

  “Whose idea was that?”

  “Mine.”

  “Is there another male bartender?”

  “Henry worked all the time,” she said. “There is a relief bartender, but he only worked sometimes.”

  “Is he any good?”

  “Rick hired him, and liked him.”

  “Can you find him?”

  “I’m sure we can.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “bring him in. Delia, what if I left you in charge?”

  “Why me?” she asked.

  “You’re smart and—don’t get insulted—you’re a little older than the others. Will that be a problem between you and the other girls?”

  “I—I don’t think so.”

  “I can leave it up to you,” he said. “Run the place as long as you can after I leave. If it gets to be too much, shut it down.”

  “I think I can handle it,” she said, “with the other girls. Don’t worry about it, just do what you have to do.”

  “Thanks, Delia.”

  “You’re not leaving ’til morning, right?” she asked.

  “Right.”

  “Can I . . . come by your room tonight?” she asked. “I think you’ll need company.”

  “I think so, too,” he said. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll go back to work and tell the other girls,” she said, and left.

  “If any of them want to talk to me, I’m available,” he said, thinking somebody might have a complaint about the decision.

  “I’ll tell them,” she said, “but I don’t think they’ll be a problem.”

  As she left, he sat back in his friend’s chair, then decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He wanted to go and check on Rick’s condition again.

  He left the office and started for the door, but stopped short when he recognized a man who was standing at the bar, holding a beer.

  Travis.

  His stalker.

  TWELVE

  Watching from his vantage point, Travis had observed the activity in town. He knew there had been some shooting, and somebody was dead. He saw the man shot down in the street, had seen the glint of light off the tin on his chest. And he had recognized Clint Adams when he came running up to the scene, and then went into the saloon. He’d watched as Rick had been carried to the doctor’s office, although he didn’t know who he was.

  He had broken camp, saddled his horse, and ridden into town. By keeping his ears open, drinking in a couple of smaller saloons, he was able to figure out what had happened.

  That was when he decided to go to Rick’s Place and have a beer.

  * * *

  “What brings you here?” Clint asked, joining him at the bar.

  “Beer,” Travis said. “Also heard there was some excitement in town.”

  “Some, yeah.”

  “Seems to me I been hearing that you’re gonna go out after the men who shot up the town. Five men, right?”

  “That’s the number we got from a couple of witnesses,” Clint said.

  “Well,” Travis said, “seems to me you’d need some help chasing them down.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I heard the sheriff’s dead, and there’s no deputies.”

  “That was the case, yeah,” Clint said. He took the badge out of his pocket. “They asked me to carry this.”

  “Well then,” Travis said, “you’ll be needin’ a deputy, won’t you?”

  “You volunteering?”

  “Anybody else step up?”

  “Not so far.”

  “Then you don’t have much to pick from, do you?”

  “But why would you want to do it?” Clint asked. “You’re not from this town, you don’t know the people involved.”

  “I know you,” Travis said.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Okay,” Travis said, “from what I’ve observed, you’re gonna go after these men alone, and five-to-one odds, that ain’t good for anybody.”

  “If I take somebody with me,” Clint said, “it would have to be somebody I knew I could trust to watch my back. You I don’t know.”

  Travis shrugged.

  “Suit yourself,” he said. He looked pointedly at the badge in Clint’s hand. “You’re the law.”

  Clint put the badge back in his pocket. He looked at Delia, who had been watching and listening with interest.

  “Delia,” he said, “give the man what he wants from the bar on the house.” Then he looked at Travis. “Drink your fill and then go.”

  “I’m gone,” Travis assured him.

  Clint looked at Delia again.

  “I’m going to go and check on Rick’s condition, and then I’ll be in the sheriff’s office.”

  “Okay.”

  Clint left the saloon and headed for the doctor’s office.

  * * *

  “He’s resting comfortably,” the doctor said. “That’s about all I can say.”

  “Is he awake?” Clint asked. “Can I talk to him?”

  “Let me check.”

  Clint waited while the doctor went into the other room. When he came back, he said, “You can talk to him for a minute.”

  “That’s all I’ll need,” Clint said. “Thanks.”

  Clint went into the other room and saw his friend lying in a bed. He’d been through this kind of scene more than he liked to remember in the past. Rick looked pale, but his eyes were open and—most important—he was breathing.

  “Hey,” Rick said.

  “Rick,” Clint said. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Rocky,” his friend said. “I’ve been waitin’ for you.”

  “Waiting for me? Why?”

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be awake,” Rick said, “or alive. I’ve got to tell you what I know while I can. You are going after them, right?”

  “I am,” Clint said. “First thing in the morning.”

  “Well”—Rick licked his lips to moisten them—“one of them called the other one Tom, and I knew I’d seen him in the saloon about a week ago,
maybe ten days.”

  “This Tom?”

  “Yeah,” Rick said. “He was the leader, and he’d been in here before. When I heard his first name, I got it. His name’s Tom Barry.”

  “Barry,” Clint said. “I don’t know that name.”

  “Well, he’s the leader,” Rick said. “The others do what he says.”

  “So they’re a gang.”

  “That’s what I figure.”

  “Why did a gang come to town and hit your place rather than a bank?”

  “You—you can ask them that when you see them.”

  “I will. Anything else I can do?”

  “Keep . . . keep the place open.”

  “I am,” Clint said. “Delia and the girls are going to take care of it.”

  “They’re good girls,” Rick said, his eyes fluttering, “they’ll do fine.”

  “I think so.”

  Rick nodded weakly.

  “Hey,” Clint said, “before you go to sleep, you’ve got to tell me which one shot you.”

  No answer.

  “Rick?”

  Still no answer, and from the way he was breathing, Clint could see that he had fallen asleep.

  “Yeah, okay,” Clint said. “I’ll just make them all pay. All five of them.”

  THIRTEEN

  Clint sat behind the desk in the sheriff’s office. It was funny—all he’d had when he rode into town was his horse, and now he had two offices, this one and Rick’s in the saloon.

  First he went through the wanted posters to see if he could find anything for a man named Tom Barry. Normally, he would have sent Rick a telegram to ask him to find out about Barry, but with Rick laid up, he had only one other source. On his way from the doctor’s office to the sheriff’s office, he had stopped in the telegraph office and sent a message to his friend Talbot Roper, a private detective working out of Denver. If anyone could get him information on the man, Roper could.

  He found nothing in the posters. Next he went to the gun rack to see what the lawman had, but there was nothing there that was better than his own Winchester. He remembered, though, that there was a Greener behind the bar at Rick’s Place. If it was still there, he could borrow that and take it with him. Fire a shotgun like that into a group of five men and you would immediately cut down the odds.

  He left the sheriff’s office. Unable to lock the door behind him, he didn’t think anyone would go in and steal anything. At least, he hoped no one would. The gun rack was locked, but the key was in the top drawer of the desk. He’d have to suggest to the mayor that they have someone at least sit in the office during the day.

  He went to the saloon to check on that Greener.

  * * *

  The place was busy. It was as if word had gone out that Rick was alive, so people thought it was all right to come back.

  There was a man behind the bar with Jennifer. Clint looked around, saw Delia working the room with the two other girls.

  He stepped to the bar and Jennifer smiled.

  “Hi. How’s Rick?” she asked.

  “He’s holding on,” he said.

  “Beer?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “This is Cable,” she said, indicating the young man. “He was Henry’s relief bartender. That is, when Henry thought he needed relief.”

  “Which was hardly ever,” Cable said. “Hello, Mr. Adams. I heard you’re in charge now.”

  Clint accepted the beer from Jennifer and said to Cable, “That’s right. You think you’re ready to hire on as the full-time bartender, son?”

  “You bet I am.”

  “Okay, consider yourself hired.”

  “Thanks.”

  Delia came over and said, “How’s Rick?”

  “Okay, so far. I came back for the shotgun behind the bar. If it’s still there.”

  “Somebody picked it up off the floor after . . . well, after this morning. It’s there.”

  She went around the bar, brought the shotgun out, and handed it to him.

  “I’m going to take this with me,” he said. “I’ll bring it back.”

  “Hey,” she said, “you’re in charge. It’s yours.”

  “Right. I’m heading for my hotel now, Delia. Going to get some sleep.”

  “I’ll come by later if I can,” she said. “Things are pretty busy here.”

  “I know. I’ll see you later, or tomorrow.”

  Delia nodded and went back to work. Clint left the saloon.

  * * *

  He was beat by the time he got to his hotel, so he took off his boots, stripped down, and got into bed. In moments he was asleep, with his gun hanging on the bedpost.

  FOURTEEN

  Clint was awakened by a rustling somewhere close to him. When he opened his eyes, he realized he’d been sleeping for a while longer than he’d first guessed. The only light came from the pale half-moon hanging in the sky, which was just enough to illuminate the familiar figure looming directly above him.

  “You’re here?” he mumbled.

  Delia smiled down at him. Her hair was tousled and hung down around both sides of her face like a soft blond curtain. “Told you I’d pay you a visit,” she whispered.

  Clint reached up to find she was even closer than he’d originally thought. Instead of standing near him, she was lowering herself directly on top of him. More than that, when his hands found her in the near-darkness, they touched smooth naked skin. He moved his hands up and down to find not one stitch of clothing. When he cupped her bare breasts and ran his thumbs against her nipples, Clint’s entire body woke up.

  “If I’m dreaming, I’d rather not wake up,” he said as the tired fog in his head began to clear.

  “Let’s see,” she whispered. Delia reached between his legs to stroke his growing erection. “Seems like you’re awake to me.” She lowered her mouth onto his cock. Her lips wrapped around him, and she began to lick his shaft from top to bottom. When she felt his hands on her body, she said, “Oh yes. Definitely awake.”

  “Get over here,” he said while taking hold of her and pulling her back on top of him. Rather than climbing onto him, Delia swung a leg over his head and straddled Clint’s face. Her slick pussy was directly over his mouth and she moaned softly when he started to lick her. Soon, she lowered her head again and sucked him with renewed vigor.

  They tasted each other for a few minutes, Clint licking the moist lips between her thighs while she took his pole into her mouth. It wasn’t long, however, before she craved more and crawled forward to sit on his rigid penis. Clint lay back and admired the view as he slipped inside her. Delia’s back had a smooth line that started between her shoulder blades and ran all the way down to the slope of her buttocks. Keeping her back to him, she started rocking back and forth while holding on to his legs for support.

  Although he enjoyed that well enough, Clint wanted to see her face as he pumped into her. Once again, all he needed to use was his hands to guide her to the exact spot he wanted her to go. Delia was more than willing to oblige him, and with a little bit of repositioning, she was astride him so they could look directly into each other’s eyes. Her hair looked like strands of silk in the moonlight, and her skin was cool to the touch. As Clint moved his hands along the front of her body, she closed her eyes and slowly writhed on top of him.

  His hands went to her breasts and stayed there as she reached down to guide his cock into her. After taking him all the way inside, she placed her hands on top of his and leaned her head back while letting out a measured breath. Delia ground her hips in a circular motion until he hit just the right spot inside her. Then it was her turn to guide Clint to where she wanted him to go. She moved one of his hands down along her stomach and below her waist. Taking her direction one step further, Clint started rubbing the sensitive nub of flesh just above her opening. Delia gasped as
he stroked her clit and soon she was sitting fully upright and massaging her breasts as if she was pleasuring herself in a quiet moment alone.

  He kept rubbing her, savoring every moment of the show she was giving him. It wasn’t long before she urgently whispered, “Right there. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

  Clint wouldn’t have stopped if two fires had started within a stone’s throw of where he was lying. When she climaxed, Delia riding his cock as if she ached to feel every inch of him was almost enough to drive him over the edge. Locking her eyes on to him, she pressed her hands flat against his chest and bucked her hips in a steady pumping motion.

  As her pleasure built even more, Delia whipped her hair back and clenched her eyes shut. Sensing she was running out of steam, Clint started thrusting up into her. Although she opened her mouth to speak, she was unable to make a sound. Her legs tightened their grip on either side of him. Her nails dug into his skin. Clint buried his cock between her legs with one last push as Delia’s climax finally subsided. Although she was able to open her eyes again and relax somewhat, she was far from through.

  Her entire body moved in an almost serpentine rhythm as her hips thrust back and forth. Knowing all too well the effect she was having on him, she rode Clint a little faster. Delia ran a finger between her breasts and then placed that finger upon his lips so he could taste the sweat she’d worked up while riding him. Clint pulled her down to kiss her hungrily as he exploded inside her.

  She lay on top of him for a while, running her hand over his chest and slowly shifting her weight. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d be ready for her again. Judging by the smile on her face, Delia knew it, too.

  FIFTEEN

  Somebody coughing and spitting woke Tom Barry the next morning. He rolled out of his bedroll, staggered to his feet, and made his way to the campfire.

  Irish O’Brien had taken the last watch, so it was he who had put the coffee on. The strong smell of the trail brew popped Barry’s eyes open.

  “Pour me a cup,” he growled at O’Brien.

  “Sure, boss.”

  O’Brien poured it and handed Barry a cup.

  “Hey, boss,” the Irishman said, “can we talk before the others wake up?”