Authors: J. R. Roberts
East of the River (4 page)
“About what?” John asked. “Which job, or if Sam gets to come along?”
“I'll decide whether or not Sammy comes,” Mort said, “and then we'll all decide on the job. How's that?”
“That works for me,” John said.
“Tommy?” Mort said.
“Yeah, sure,” Thomas said. “Why not? We got any coffee, Mort?”
“Coffee,” Mort said, “and I made an apple pie.”
“Mom's apple pie?” John asked.
“Who else's recipe would I have?” the older brother replied.
NINE
Sophie was beating her fists on the mattress, tossing her head from side to side as Clint licked her pussy, teased her with his tongue and lips, even nibbled on her, until she reached down to grab his head in her hands.
“Stop stop, you're killin' me,” she gasped. “T-too much! Too good.”
He looked up at her from between her meaty thighs and grinned.
“How can there be too much pleasure?”
Gasping for air, she said, “I didn't think there could be, but I was wrong. You're good, Clint. Now, why don't you just get up here and stick that thing in me like you're supposed to.”
“You don't have to ask me twice.”
His penis was red and pulsing as he mounted her, pressed against her wet pussy, and then slid in easily to the hilt. She gasped, her eyes going wide, then locked her strong legs around his hips as he began to fuck her . . .
Later they lay together on the bed, her head on his shoulder. She had his penis in her hand and he had an arm around her, his hand clasped to one big breast.
“My God,” she said, “you took me at my word, didn't you?”
“What was that?”
“That we should have us a night to remember?”
He rolled her nipple with his fingers and said, “Far as I can see, the night's not over yet.”
“Are you serious?”
“I thought you were serious,” Clint said. “You mean you're all talk?”
She started to laugh. “I think I've already proved to you that I ain't all talk, cowboy.”
The nipple between his fingers grew hard and chewable.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think I can see that.”
He began to grow erect in her hand, and she said, “I can see it, too.”
“Going to be a long, hard . . . pretty enjoyable night.”
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It was all that.
Long . . .
Hard . . .
Enjoyable . . .
They both woke the next morning exhausted.
“Are you still leaving this mornin'?” she asked, stretching.
“Oh yeah,” he said, rolling over.
She was on her back, and stretching pulled her big, beautiful breasts taut. He reached over and cupped one in his hand.
“I don't believe it,” she said.
He slid his hand down over her belly until he was cupping her gold pubic thatch. He delved in with his middle finger and touched her.
“Believe it,” he said . . .
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“Okay, okay,” she gasped, rolling away from him sometime later, “you win . . . When are you leavin'?”
“Right after breakfast.”
“Breakfast?”
“You want to eat with me?”
“I can't eat,” she said, pressing her face into a pillow. “I'm too tired.”
“Well then,” he said, swinging his feet to the floor, “you stay here as long as you want. I need to have breakfast if I'm going to hit the trail.”
“Where are you heading?”
“Harry told me about a town called Dexter.”
“Well, that's not a very long ride,” she said.
“You saying you don't want me to leave yet?” he asked.
“Well, you could stay awhile.”
“Another hour?”
“Are you crazy?” she asked. “I was thinking more like another day or so.”
“Sorry,” he said, getting up. “I've got to go.”
“Well, I'm real sorry, then,” she told him, “but I don't have another hour in me.”
He didn't want to tell her that neither did he.
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Thomas and John spent the night on the farm, even though they both had rooms in town.
“You really think the kid is ready?” Thomas asked.
“I think we're gonna find out,” John said.
“Yeah,” Thomas said, “as soon as we pick out a target. You got one in mind?”
“No.”
“Me, neither,” Thomas said. “I guess we should just open the store and leave that to Mort, huh?”
“Hey,” John said with a shrug, “he's the big brother.”
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Clint walked to the livery after breakfast to retrieve Eclipse. As he walked him out, Harry Dial appeared.
“How was your night?” Dial asked.
“Great,” Clint said. “How was yours?”
“Quiet.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to apologize again for not bein' able to reach you.”
“Forget it, Harry,” Clint said. “I'll check out Dexter and then head west.”
“I hope you find a game and make some money,” Dial said. “Maybe even enough to make the trip worth your while.”
“I'll check it out, Harry,” Clint said, mounting up. “Listen, if you do manage to get another game together?”
“Yeah?”
“Don't count on me.”
TEN
As he rode into Dexter, Clint could see it was ten times the size of Ajax. Which wasn't saying much, but at least it was a town.
Riding down Main Street, he passed everything Harry Dial had told him was there. Two saloons, two hotelsâunimaginatively called the Hotel Dexter and the Dexter Hotelâa few cafés, a bank . . . he even rode past the sheriff's office. Eventually, he found his way to the livery.
“That's some animal,” the old liveryman said.
“Yes, he is,” Clint said. “He needs very special handling, though. Might take your finger off.”
“I think I can handle him,” the man said. He held up his left hand, which was missing parts of the last two fingers. “I'm already missing some fingers.”
“I can see that,” Clint said. “Okay, he's all yours.”
The man accepted the reins and said, “I'll take good care of him.”
Clint handed the man a dollar and said, “See that you do.”
“Okay.”
“I see this town's got two hotels,” Clint said. “Which one is the best?”
“Try the Hotel Dexter.”
“Thanks.”
Clint took his rifle and saddlebags and walked to the hotel.
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John Archer opened the front door to allow a couple of waiting customers to come in.
“You're opening a little late today, John,” a sixty-ish woman said.
“Sorry, Mrs. Weston,” he said. “We had to go out to the farm last night.”
“How are things on the farm?” she asked. “How is Mort?”
“The farm's fine, and so is Mort.”
“Your mother would be so proud of you boys.”
“I hope you're right, ma'am.”
“Hello, Thomas,” Mrs. Weston said, approaching the desk. “I have a list.”
The other customer was a man called Doyle.
“What are you doin' here?” John asked him, keeping his voice low.
“I was just wonderin' if you had any work, Johnny,” Doyle said. “You know? Work?”
“You wanna push a broom around in here, Doyle?” John asked.
Doyle, in his thirties, had a heavy beard, which was his effort to hide a homely face. Now he scratched it, and John swore he saw a couple of bugsâmaybe liceâjump out.
“That wasn't the kind of work I had in mind, Johnny,” Doyle said.
“Well, that's all we got right now,” John said. “Unless you wanna go out and work on the farm. Been behind a plow lately?”
“Come on, Johnny,” Doyle said. “I'm talkin' about a jobâ”
“Keep your voice down!” John hissed. “As far as the people in this town know, we're legit town businessmen and farmers.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Where are you stayin'?” John asked.
“The Dexter Hotel.”
“You sure? There's twoâ”
“WhaâOh yeah, what's that about? People in this town got no imagination?”
“None,” John said. “Wait at your hotel. We'll be in touch.”
“All right,” Doyle said. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you.”
“And don't come back here,” John said, pushing the man out the door.
As he turned around, Thomas gave him a questioning look from behind the counter. John shrugged, mouthed “Later,” and Thomas went back to filling Mrs. Weston's list.
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Clint checked into the hotel, left his rifle and saddlebags there, and went back down to talk to the clerk.
“Good steak,” he said. “Where can I find one?”
“Across the street,” the man said. “Small café. Don't look like much, but good food.”
Clint put a dollar in the man's hand and said, “Thanks.”
Clint left the hotel and saw the café across the street, but before checking that out, he walked down the street toward the Ox Bow Saloon.
ELEVEN
It was afternoon as he entered the saloon, and the place was about half filled. The gaming tables were still covered, though, and it was too early for any girls to be working the floor.
He approached the bar. Several men standing there turned to watch him.
“Help ya?” one of them asked.
“Are you Eddie Randle?”
“No.”
“Then you can't help me.”
He called the bartender over.
“What can I do for you, friend?”
“He ain't very friendly, Newly,” the other man told the bartender.
“Maybe he just don't wanna talk to a loser like you, Harvey.”
“Hey, wha theâ”
“Just shut up, Harve,” the bartender said, and looked at Clint again. “What can I do for you, fella?”
“I'm looking for Eddie Randle.”
“Mr. Randle owns this place,” the bartender said. “Does he know you?”
“No,” Clint said, “but he knows Harry Dial.”
“Hell,” the bartender said, “I know Harry Dial.” He extended his hand. “My name's Newly Hagen.”
“Clint Adams.”
“Whoa, the Gunsmith?” Hagen said as they shook hands.
“Hey, Mr. Adams,” the other man said suddenly. “I didn't mean nothin'â”
“Shut up, Harve!” Hagen said. “Come on, Mr. Adams. I'll take you to Eddie.”
Clint followed the bartender along the length of the bar until the man came out from behind it. There must have been a platform behind it, for as Clint followed him across the floor, he realized that Hagen was barely five-foot-six.
They went to an office door in the back and Hagen knocked.
“Eddie, got somebody here wants toâ” He stopped short.
Clint entered the office behind the diminutive bartender. It was empty.
“Huh,” Hagen said. “He was here a minute ago.”
“Where does that door lead?” Clint asked, pointing to a door in the back wall.
“Storeroom.”
“And beyond that?”
“An alley in the back.”
“Does he go out that way?”
“Sometimes.”
“So okay,” Clint said. “I guess I'll meet him later.”
“You want a beer while you wait?”
“What I want is a steak,” Clint said. “The clerk at the hotel told me about a place across the street.”
“Across the street? From which place?”
“The Hotel Dexter.”
“Yeah, that café is good,” Hagen confirmed.
“Okay,” Clint said, “then I'll go and have a steak and then come back for that beer. Maybe Eddie will be here by then.”
“He's usually back to take the covers off the tables,” Hagen said.
“Good.”
They left the office, returned to the saloon, and walked to the bar. The men who had been standing there when Clint entered were gone.
“Sorry if I scared away your customers.”
“Harve and his idiot friends? They can nurse the hell out of one beer. Good riddance.”
TWELVE
Eddie Randle entered Archer's General Store, stopped just inside, looked around, and then approached the counter.
“Eddie,” Thomas said.
“I just need a few things, Tom,” Randle said. He handed Thomas a list.
“We can handle all of this,” Thomas said. “How's business?”
“Great,” Randle said. “Business is pickin' up, in fact.”
“Really?”
“How about you?” Randle asked. “How's business in here?”
“Oh, pretty good.”
“And the farm?” Randle asked. “How are things goin' out there?”
“Just fine, Eddie,” Thomas said.
“More and more people movin' to town, Thomas,” Randle said, shaking his head. “Our population is growin'. Pretty soon, we're gonna need another bank.”
“Two banks?”
“Lots of towns have two banks, Thomas,” Randle said.
“Yeah, I know that,” Thomas said. “Just didn't figure this would ever be one of 'em.”
“And towns with two banks, they need more law than most,” Randle said.
“I guess so,” Thomas said thoughtfully. “Let me fill this list for ya and get ya on your way, Eddie.”
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