Karen Mercury (9 page)

Yes, he’d find some spurs, but he’d also find Spenser. There was something delicious about that buckaroo. He should find at least one of his sisters, sign those papers, get new chaps, and find Spenser.

Or Fidelia.

Chess realized he wanted and needed them both.

* * * *

“Now you see, my dear boy, that the ghost of Hamlet’s father must be utterly filled with drama and…what do you call it…” On the sidewalk, Bullet Bob paused and squinched his face at the sky.

“Anger?” Spenser suggested.

“No, that is not it…” Bullet Bob held his hand as though weighing a bull’s testicle. “He must have the proper…”

“Fury? No. Outrage? Are you thinking more along the lines of rage that he was murdered? Passion? He wants vengeance, right? His soul cannot rest and must walk the earth, rattling his chains until someone solves or arrests his—”

Bullet Bob cried, “
He is miffed!
That’s it. Hamlet’s father is
miffed
because he was murdered.” Relieved to have found the correct word, Bullet Bob continued walking down First Street.

Miffed?
Spenser mouthed the word to himself. Somehow it seemed much too weak of a word for the ghost of Hamlet’s father. Then he started thinking about Ulrich and how Ulrich’s ire must be similar to that of Hamlet’s father. Obviously, Ulrich was appearing to Fidelia and Spenser alone because he knew they were capable of discovering his murderer. They had to conjure up Ulrich again and obtain better clues so Spenser could help pinpoint which absinthe-drinking Gallery patron was responsible.

Spenser was reminded of the giant spurs when Chess himself trotted up on a fine bay. He dismounted clumsily, catching a spur on his saddle’s cantle. Spenser grinned to see Chess pound on his woolies to rid them of dust. About the only thing Chess got right was the expert and fine knot he used to tie up his mount.

Chess needed Spenser. Sure, Chess had all the hands at Serendipity to outfit him in the proper gear. But it would be a lot more fun if Chess would allow Spenser to help.

Bullet Bob seemed lost in his own world. Rowdies milled around him, crashing into him as though he were an inconvenient statue. His idealistic hands were held to the sky as he recited, “‘But know, thou noble youth. The serpent that did sting thy Father’s life now wears his crown.’”

A few boors even shoved Bullet Bob. “Move it, frog!”

Spenser tugged the theater manager by the arm. “Come, Bullet Bob. There’s my friend Chess going into Freund and Brothers, and you wanted me to invite him to the Oddfellows Hall tonight. Let’s go in and ask him now.”

Bullet Bob’s face went aghast at the sight of Chess’s shapely, rounded ass as he clanked through Freund’s front door. “Chess Hudson,” Bullet Bob whispered reverently.

Perhaps Bullet Bob
did
want to worship Chess in more ways than one, for he went like sixty across the street, heedless of the wagons and buggies that wheeled down the middle of the dusty road. Spenser had no choice but to follow, dodging out of the path of a flock of sheep.

Inside Freund and Brothers, Chess slammed his hat onto the counter and removed his spurs. Bullet Bob, strangely, hid behind a table laden with Indian blankets. Standing by Chess, a handsome fellow with a gravelly voice was telling one of the Freund brothers, “He wants to swap these spurs for some regular Texas ones. These are too big.”

Chess dropped the Californio spurs onto the counter and started unbuckling his chaps. “And you sold me winter woolies.”

“Yeah,” said the smooth fellow, already threatening, although the Freund brother had not refused to accept the returns. “What kind of swindle’s going on here? What kind of bunko game are you trying to play? Oh, he’ll take this blue bandanna too. You’ve got to have some color, to stand out from the crowd. Here, try these spurs.”

Spenser grabbed some reasonable chaps and shoved them at Chess. “And try these. Let’s go over here.” Taking Chess by the arm, they took their armloads of items into a back storeroom, where they shoved out a clerk. Spenser rolled a barrel of raw beans in front of the door.

Chess frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Bullet Bob. You know that fellow I mistook you for, that gambling frog, that theater manager? Well, for some bizarre reason, he offered me the part of Hamlet’s father but only if you show up with me.” Spenser didn’t want to tell Chess he’d been given the boot at the Wavy Stick. It might look as though he was trying to get a new job out of Chess.

“What? That dandy’s got some sort of case on for me. Well, I’d like you to get the part, of course. But he gives me the creeps.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s what he wants, actually. He seems to…to
worship
you in some strange way. He called you Zeus. He gives me the creeps too, Chess. But yes. I do want that part.”

Chess’s mouth turned up at the corners, which was as much of a smile as Spenser had ever hoped to get. “Maybe he’d like to suck
your
cock.”

“He doesn’t seem to be interested in me, other than to get to you. Here. These chaps should be much better. Protect you from thorny bushes. Once you decide on your cattle brand, you can stamp it onto these washers.” Spenser dropped to his knees to assist in fastening the washers with thongs all down Chess’s leg, and Chess fondled his head.

“You’re so good to me,” said Chess, with a hint of wonder. As though no one had ever fastened up his chaps for him before.

“No big deal,” said Spenser curtly. “It’s not difficult to be good to you.” It really wasn’t. He got a chance to put his hands around the powerful thighs, and his face was practically shoved in the bared crotch between the chaps. Chess’s cock bulged proudly in his denim pants, pulsating at the proximity to Spenser’s face.

Chess toyed with the other items Spenser had thrown onto the pile. “What’re these leather cuffs for?”

“They protect your shirt cuffs against reins and ropes—if you choose not to wear gloves.” Spenser did up the washer at Chess’s hip, giving him a chance to cradle the full ballsac in his palm and gently squeeze. Yes, the cock elongated at his touch. Spenser was filled with a proud sense of power, to be able to manipulate such a virile buck like this, to get such an immediate reaction. He could easily just pop those buttons and swallow the cock whole, but Spenser had other ideas in mind.

He wanted to be spanked, bound, toyed with, and whipped by a brawny stud in chaps and spurs. That was his fantasy since that older vaquero had convinced the bunch of hands to masturbate on his writhing, bound body. The older vaquero had later drained Spenser’s eager penis with his mouth, but it was Spenser’s dream to be dominated by a masculine stud in chaps and spurs.

“Let’s try them.”

That had been Spenser’s perverted hope, of course, and Chess now yanked him to his feet. He stood obediently as Chess laced the cuffs at Spenser’s wrists.

“Have you seen Fidelia?” Chess asked casually.

“Yes. And her brother, Ulrich.”

Chess’s fingers stilled, and only his eyes moved to glance up at Spenser. “Brother? He’s dead. Fact, she thought I was his murderer until I showed her my train ticket.”

“Oh, he’s dead all right.” Chess went back to his lacing. Spenser tilted his hips toward the other man, displaying his desire. “He’s back in spirit form.”

Chess really did chuckle now. It was a magnificent sight in the rugged, handsome face—a sight Spenser didn’t see in Chess often. Chess glanced about, easily finding a reata he could thread through the cuffs, and tossed the ends expertly over a beam. As though he did this every day. Which he probably did.

Yanking on the reata ends so Spenser’s bound hands lifted in the air above his head, Chess said, “Spirit form, eh? Perhaps he’s the one who’s been giving her those ridiculous clues about the murderer’s identity.”

Spenser didn’t want to distract Chess from his work of unbuckling Spenser’s gun belt, dumping it heavily on the floor, and unbuttoning Spenser’s pants to bare his ass. Spenser’s tool sprang up stiffly at a right angle, angry and purple, demanding attention. Chess’s appreciative hand fondled Spenser’s ass, giving it an experimental whack. The delicious sting radiated through Spenser’s balls, and he spread his feet farther apart to indicate his willingness, his submission.

Spenser said, “Actually, yes. Ulrich’s spirit, well… He sings songs that give her the clues.” He didn’t want to tell Chess about the song Ulrich sung about Chess wedding Fidelia. “He told her how his murderer drinks absinthe, goes to the club where a woman poses as Eve, and wears the giant spurs.”

“Well, I’m not wearing the giant spurs any longer. Is Fidelia completely loco?”

Spenser twisted so he could watch Chess pick up the quirt Spenser had quickly added to the pile of items. Chess tested it out by slapping it against his own palm and seemed satisfied. Chess now eyed the helpless Spenser with a new, ragged lust.

“I don’t think so, Chess,” Spenser said darkly. “I saw the spirit with my own eyes.”

Chess paused for a brief moment as if considering this. Then he chuckled and slapped his own palm again. Spenser liked the hungry look in Chess’s tough face. Spenser had seen—and suckled greedily at—Chess’s enormous horse’s cock, as those bathhouse fellows had termed it. But it had never bulged as insistently as it did now, cradled so deliciously between the calfskin chaps, packing the crotch of his denims as Chess debated his task at hand.

Approaching his partner, Chess ran a broad palm down Spenser’s abdomen, squeezing a handful of the fat covering at the root of his jutting cock. He gripped a handful of Spenser’s bush, drawing his balls even tighter, and spanked Spenser’s ass harshly with the quirt.
Ah. Delicious
. Spenser felt a couple drops of semen dribble from the tip of his taut meat at the sensation of this delightful whipping. “Maybe you’re the loco one,” Chess suggested.

“I swear,” Spenser gasped, as the quirt’s whippings came faster and more furiously. “I swear, Chess. I saw this goddamned dastardly clown wearing a half-assed porkpie hat, and he plays a guitar and sings.”

“You think it’s funny lying to me like that?” Chess whispered angrily. He shook the handful of pubic hair and spanked the bare ass even harder, causing Spenser to gasp, and little stars swam before his eyes. Clamping his brawny thighs about Spenser’s bare hip, Chess humped him with authority, like a dominant pack dog. His long, thick horse’s prick rubbed perversely against Spenser’s milky white sensitive skin, already leaving red marks from the friction of the denim.

“No lie!” Spenser cried. “I saw him, Chess, standing right there next to Fidelia. Strumming away with his guitar! Only, Fidelia and I were the only two people who could see him.”

Whack!
“Liar!” Chess growled.
Whack! Whack!
“Why are you trying to tell me these damned lies? I’ll make you pay for handing out such absurd lies.”

Chess fumbled for the buttons at his own denim-covered crotch, revealing the thick phallus that Spenser was aching to pleasure. This is what he had wanted—to be dominated by a potent, commanding stud wearing chaps and spurs to boot. Chess spat into his hand and rubbed it over his cockhead before jabbing it between Spenser’s stinging, smarting ass cheeks. “I’ll teach you to lie, boy. Your sweet, meaty ass has got me all riled up. I’m going to fuck you brutally, like you want it. Right, boy? That’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s why your juicy white ass has turned all red when I spank you—because you want to be ravished by a deviant stud like me.”

As Spenser wondered if he should protest—sometimes, that brought out the brute in men even more, to pretend to protest—Chess surprised him once again. As he nudged his thick cock up Spenser’s clenching asshole, Chess materialized a blue bandanna, which he now tied around Spenser’s prick, down at the base, painfully catching some pubic hairs in it, giving it a yank to tighten it.

Chess snarled into his ear, “Look at your bulging prick, heavy with jism, just dying to come. You want this, don’t you?”

“God, no!” Spenser squeaked. He allowed the very real pain of his cinched cock and the tool being driven up his rectum to spur him to greater heights. “Your stallion’s penis is much too big, Chess! For the love of God, Chess, don’t brutalize me like this. I swear to you. The damned ghost predicted something about a boss’s hat and a piece of paper—”

Whack
. This time Chess’s bare hand struck Spenser’s behind. Between blows, Chess caressed the red, stinging flesh. “I’ll teach you to lie. Take this, boy. Take my big stallion’s cock up your sweet, slick ass.”

Spenser was shocked to the core when Chess spit into his palm again and squeezed Spenser’s pulsing cock. Chess had never touched his cock before, had never expressed interest or appeared to have given the tiniest shit about Spenser’s pleasure before. This was new and exciting, and when Chess squeezed and stroked, Spenser felt the big brute’s body shudder with ecstasy. Of course Spenser, too, was instantly on the verge of orgasm with his beloved’s hand around his straining prick like that.

“Watch how fast you come,” Chess snarled. Maybe it was Spenser’s imagination, but he sounded gentler now. “I want to see how far you shoot.
Mon Dieu
, my sweet Hercules. You’re a magnificent stallion. Let my hand pleasure you. Enjoy the rough fucking I’m giving you, and—”