The Town Council Meeting Page 8

  She pulled him to the bed, then kissed him again, long and hungrily. He could taste the whiskey on her, but combined with her own sweet taste it was not unpleasant.

  He broke the kiss and stepped back to look at her again. She was breathing hard, her breasts heaving, and her nipples were standing out irresistibly.

  “Your husband has been a fool for many years,” he said. “In fact, any man who wouldn’t want you would be a fool.”

  “Oh, for chrissake,” she said, “stop talking!”

  He smiled at her and began to take off his clothes. She pulled the bedcovers down and got in bed to await him. Reclining on the bed she was even more exciting to look at.

  He crawled onto the bed and onto her. This was a body that deserved time, and they had all night . . .

  Matt Holmes stood at the front window of his house and gazed out at his ranch—or what he could see of it in the moonlight. His wife of forty years came up behind him, handed him a cup of tea.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  “Ed Kennedy,” he said. “The West is going to miss him. We needed men like him.”

  “You hated Ed Kennedy,” she said.

  “Yes, but I admired him, too. I certainly would never have hired anyone to kill him.”

  “So who do you think hired this man . . . the Gunsmith . . . to kill him?”

  “No one.”

  “Then why did he do it?”

  “I don’t think he did.”

  She sipped her own tea and said gently, “All right, then, who did? Andy Rivers? He has that gunman, Stark, working for him.”

  “Andy’s more likely to send Stark after Adams. He wouldn’t have sent him after Kennedy.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Very sure.”

  “Well then,” she said, “I suppose the killer came from Kennedy’s own ranch.”

  He looked at his wife. His eyes always saw her as they had first seen her, forty-one years ago—a vibrant, lovely young woman. As soon as he laid eyes on her he knew they would marry.

  “You’re a very smart woman,” he said.

  “Smart enough to say yes to you when you asked me to marry you.”

  “Happiest day of my life,” he said, touching his wife’s face.

  “So, tell me,” she said, “do you intend to get involved in all this Ed Kennedy hoopla?”

  “No, not involved,” he said. “I’ll just remain an interested observer.”

  “And you won’t let Andy Rivers draw you into anything?”

  “No,” he said, “I’m still my own man, Martha.”

  “I haven’t forgotten that, Matthew,” she said.

  They stood for a few moments in front of the window, he with his arm around her waist, and she with her head on his shoulder.

  After a while she said, “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Are you coming?”

  “In a few minutes,” he said. “I think I’ll sleep better if I have one more brandy.”

  “Well, you know what drinking does to you,” she said. “Don’t expect me to wake up all eager to pleasure you.”

  “You pleasure me every single day we’re together, Martha,” he assured her, kissing her lightly on the lips. “Go to sleep and sweet dreams. I won’t wake you when I come to bed. I promise.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Clint wanted to take his time with Barbara, but she was insistent. She grabbed at him, his erect penis, and tugged him on top of her.

  “Put it in, put it in!” she demanded. “You can be gentle later. I just want you to pound me!”

  Well, he thought, okay, if that was what she wanted. He certainly had some frustrations he could work out by “pounding” her.

  He got on his knees between her legs, pressed the head of his penis against her wet pussy, and . . . rammed himself in.

  That was what she wanted. Her eyes went wide and she breathed, “Oh yeah! Finally!”

  She wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “Yeah, yeah, come on, do it . . .” she said, as he started to pound away at her.

  He grabbed her legs, pulled them away from him, took her by the ankles, and spread her wide. Holding her that way, he gave her what she wanted and took what he wanted.

  It was a win-win situation.

  Parker Stark went back to the bunkhouse to turn in for the night. Finally, he’d made the deal that would set him up for life somewhere. Working for Andy Rivers, squirreling away his paycheck, trying to save the money he’d need to get settle somewhere was taking a long time. But now, with one act, he could make enough money to change his life.

  All he had to do was live long enough to enjoy it.

  Stark had a corner of the bunkhouse to himself. There were more bunks than men, and since he didn’t really interact with the other men, they all made sure their bunks were away from his.

  The other men in the bunkhouse were afraid of him. That always suited him. But in his new life, he was going to be someone else. One way or another, facing Clint Adams in the street was going to be the last act of Parker Stark’s life.

  He’d either succeed and walk away, leaving “Stark” as dead in the street as Clint Adams.

  Or he’d be the one lying in the street dead, all alone.

  True to her word Barbara let Clint go slow next time, but he didn’t expect that the next time would be right away. They were both so out of breath after the first time that he was surprised when she came right back at him.

  “No rest,” she said, flipping him on his back with surprising strength. “I don’t know when my next time will be, but I’m almost certain that it won’t be with you. So come on.” She grabbed his penis. “Get hard again.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Barbara,” he complained. “You can’t just say ‘get hard.’ There’s got to be some rest involved.”

  “I’ll show you rest,” she said. “Just lie back.”

  She stroked his penis with one hand while using her other hand on other parts of his body. Before long he was hard again. She sucked him wetly, stroked him, fondled his testicles, and then smiled up at him and said, “Oh, you don’t need any rest.”

  She crawled up on top of him and sat down on him, taking him inside.

  “Oooh, I’m gonna go real slow, this time.”

  He grabbed her hips and said, “That’s fine with me.”

  The town council had learned one thing from Clint Adams as a group.

  Take a break.

  The judge and the mayor went to the bar. They didn’t know where Chambers and Lawson went. Probably upstairs to get some sleep.

  “For a bunch of old men we sure are puttin’ in a lot of hours,” the mayor said.

  “I can never sleep, anyway,” the judge said. “Might as well play poker.”

  “You know,” the mayor said, “I can’t sleep, either. Drives my wife crazy, me prowling around the house all night.”

  “I know how you feel,” the judge said. “Funny, we’ve known each other for years, and we didn’t know this about each other.”

  “I wonder what else we don’t know?”

  They got a beer each from Sammy, who was still fuming over being closed.

  “When do I get to open up again, Judge?” he asked, setting them up with beers.

  “As soon as Clint Adams gets back, Sammy.”

  “Great,” the bartender said. “Are you payin’ for these?”

  “Put it on my tab.”

  “Figures.”

  As the bartender stormed off the mayor asked the judge, “You really believe Adams is comin’ back?”

  “I wouldn’t have risked five hundred dollars if I didn’t,” the judge said.

  “Five hundred. The bet I heard was a thousand?”

  The judge laughed.

  “I figured you’d be good for the other half. We are partners, right?”

  “Have been for forty years,” the mayor said, “but this time I would like to have been asked.”

  “You don’t think he’s
comin’ back?”

  “I think we might have backed a killer and let him get away, all to get a poker lesson.”

  “It was more than that, Walter,” the judge said. “We were bored, lookin’ for somethin’ to lift the boredom, and in walked Clint Adams.”

  The mayor stared at the judge, sipped his beer, then started laughing.

  “It is the only excitement we’ve had for quite a while, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “It is.”

  “What will you do if Adams ends up in your court-room?” the mayor asked.

  “I’ll do what I always do,” the judge said. “Listen to the evidence and make an impartial judgment.”

  “You could make an impartial judgment on Clint Adams in this instance?” the mayor asked.

  “I can,” the judge said, and then added, “that is, unless he costs me five hundred dollars.”

  THIRTY

  Barbara rode Clint slowly. Rather than sliding up and down on him, she was grinding her hips, moving them back and forth, forward and back and round and round. She kept her eyes closed, a dreamy look on her face, making noises deep in her throat, like the sound she made when he first kissed her.

  Clint found it fascinating to watch her. He fondled her breasts, kissed her nipples, massaged the flesh of her thighs, feeling the muscles beneath. She was the quietest woman he’d ever been with. He’d heard women moan, groan, cry out, yell, and scream during sex. This one seemed to be keeping all of that inside, and he didn’t know how.

  Finally she began to ride him up and down, slowly at first, then faster and faster as she began to chase her orgasm. And even then, even when she was overwhelmed by the sensations, even when the cords one her neck stood out and the muscles in her thighs became as hard as iron, she remained silent . . . until she collapsed on him with a great sigh.

  “I’d like to ask you something.”

  “Hmm?” She was lying on his shoulder, her hand making circles on his belly.

  “How can you be so quiet during sex?” he asked. “I mean, after going without it for so long, I’d think you’d be . . .”

  “Screaming?”

  “Well, yes.”

  She laughed.

  “Not very modest, are you?” she asked. “I’ll bet you’ve made a lot of women scream in your time. You know, I could’ve been having sex with my husband for years, I still never would’ve had a night like you’ve given me tonight . . . so far.”

  “So far?”

  “We’re far from done,” she said. “You still have a chance; you might make me scream, yet.”

  Clint thought he could have spent the whole night on Barbara’s breasts and nipples. Her breasts were as heavy and firm as Jennifer’s, even though Jennifer was much younger. And Barbara’s nipples were so big when they swelled that he loved just rolling them in his mouth. They were like gumdrops.

  She was still quiet while he sucked and licked her nipples, making those sounds deep in her throat. He squeezed her breasts then, making her catch her breath, squeezed them and bit them and sucked them . . . and then kissed his way down her body until his face was nestled between her thighs. She was very wet and he lapped it up, spreading her pussy lips so he could run his tongue up and down, and also in and out. He felt her breathing quicken, until she was almost gasping, and suddenly it became his goal to make her cry out. Not necessarily scream, but at least make some sound.

  “Ooh, ooh,” she said, reaching down for his head. She tried to push him away. “I know w-what you’re trying to d-do, you bastard!” she said.

  He didn’t answer. That would have meant taking his mouth off of her, and then he would have had to start again.

  No, he didn’t move his mouth, but he also brought his fingers into play. While he licked her, wetting her even more, he slid first one finger inside of her, and then a second. He slid them in and out as his tongue circled her hard little clit. He had learned all he could over the years about a woman’s body. He had even talked to doctors about them. He loved women and absolutely loved giving them pleasure. And he knew that was why women liked him. He knew what to do.

  He kept working on Barbara’s pussy, and at one point slid his hands beneath her ass, cupping her and lifting her so he could really press his face into her. He used his lips, and his tongue, even his teeth and, once or twice, his nose. She was gasping and writhing beneath him and finally, as her body went as taut as a bow, it finally happened.

  “Oooh, ahhhh,” she cried out, “ohh, yessss . . . damn you . . . all right . . . you win . . .”

  She went over the edge, tumbling into her orgasm with abandon. She bucked and shook and quivered and tried to push him away but he persisted, kept going and going until, finally . . .

  She screamed.

  “God,” she said, moments later, “Jesus, God, were you . . . trying to kill me?”

  They were lying side by side, naked, and she kept running her hands over her own body, as if she couldn’t believe what he had done to her.

  “Hey,” he said, reminding her, “this was your idea, not mine.”

  “I know,” she said, “I know . . . it was a good idea, wasn’t it?”

  “Oh, I thought you were complaining.”

  “Me?” she asked. “I’ve got nothing to complain about. You were everything I wanted, and much more.”

  They lay there for a few moments, each catching their breath.

  Then she said, “Do you want to know why I was so quiet? Why it was so hard for me to . . . let go?”

  “Why?”

  “Because for years,” she said, “the only pleasure I got was from . . . myself. Here, in my bed. With my own hands. So I had to be quiet. I couldn’t let . . . him . . . hear me.”

  “I understand.”

  “But now, tonight, there’s nobody in the house,” she said. “Nobody but me and you.”

  “And you let go.”

  “Finally,” she said. “It was wonderful just to . . . scream.”

  “And it was loud.”

  She laughed.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll try not to be so loud, next time.”

  “Next time?” he asked.

  “Well, yes,” she said, turning on her side to look at him. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

  “Well, I thought . . . the way you say I was all you had wanted . . . I thought that meant we’d at least . . . get some sleep?”

  “Well,” she said, “I did mean that, when I said it. But what I really meant was that . . . you gave me all I wanted . . . so far.”

  “So far?”

  She smiled.

  “Take a little nap, darling,” she said, running her finger from his forehead to his chin, and then sliding her finger into his mouth.

  “But just a little one,” she said, “because we’re not finished . . . yet.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  It was an amazing night, but finally, a few hours before dawn, they both fell asleep. When they woke up and she started to crawl onto him with her big, naked, hot body, he slipped out from beneath her, falling onto the floor.

  “What are you doing on the floor?” she asked, looking down at him with an amused smile.

  “Oh no,” he said, “we’re done. I’m not going to let you get me started again.”

  “I could do that?” she asked. “Get you started again?”

  “Yes, you could,” he said, “very easily, and then we’d never get to town.”

  “Oh,” she said, “town. I haven’t been to town for a long time.”

  “Well, it’s time for you to keep your part of the deal, Barbara. Remember?”

  “Yes,” she said, “yes, I do remember.”

  “So, get up, get dressed, and let’s get going.”

  “Without a bath?” she asked, appalled.

  “A bath?”

  “Yes,” she said, “and frankly, you could use one, too.”

  A bath didn’t sound like a bad idea. After all, they did both kind of . . . smell, after their exertions
all night.

  “Okay,” he said, “okay, a bath. But a quick one. I want to get going.”

  “Well,” she said, “I know how we can bathe quicker,” she said.

  “How?”

  “You draw the water for me . . .” she said.

  “I could do that.”

  “. . . And then we’ll take a bath . . . together.”

  “Together?” He got up off the floor, grabbed his pants, and hopped on one foot and then the other as he pulled them on. “Oh no. I’ll draw you a bath, madam, but we’re not getting into the tub together.”

  She pouted. “Why not?”

  “Because,” he said, hurrying to the door, “we’d never get out again.”

  He went out, then a few seconds later he opened the door and stuck his head in.

  “Where is the bathtub?”

  Eclipse was pissed, and Clint didn’t blame the animal. He’d been left out front, saddled, all night. Clint felt bad. While Barbara bathed he took Eclipse into the barn, unsaddled him, rubbed him down, fed him, and didn’t dare tell the horse he’d be saddling him again in about a half an hour.

  He went back inside, and while Barbara dressed he took a quick bath, using the same water, and kept the door locked so she couldn’t sneak in with him.

  The last thing he’d expected, the night before, when he had sneaked into the house, was the kind of night he’d spent with the not-so-grieving widow. He hoped that whatever ranch hand she chose as her next lover would be able to keep up with her.

  Or the next two.

  The woman had enough sexual energy built up that she could probably keep several ranch hands busy trying to satisfy her.

  He had taken his clothes and his gun into the bathroom with him, so that when he came out he was fully dressed and had his gun strapped on.

  He went to Barbara’s bedroom to see if she was ready. When he didn’t find her there he went downstairs. Maybe she was in the kitchen getting something to eat.