Longarm and the Stagecoach Robbers (6 page)

It was a good thing Longarm had been paying attention when Will made up the team on those days the past week. Even so, it took him some time to sort out which horse should go where and how the various driving lines should be distributed. Finally he thought he had it right, hooked the traces, and climbed onto the top deck.

He took a deep breath and muttered a little prayer then took up contact with the horses' bits and shook the lines. “Hyup, boys. Hyup.”

Damned if they didn't move out for him just like he knew what he was doing. Fortunately the team knew enough to make up for what Longarm lacked when it came to driving a four-up. But he knew good and well that if the team had been a six-horse hitch, he would have been worse than useless up there on the driving box.

He wheeled the coach around to the front of the Carver Express Company office and pulled to a halt there.

“Sorry for the delay, folks. We've had a little problem, but we're all right now. Let me help you with those bags, an' we'll get under way,” he called down to the impatient and by now irate passengers.

He climbed down, loaded up the luggage and a package for the Bailey postmaster, helped the passengers into the coach, then made the climb up on top again.

Longarm tipped his hat to Charlise, who gave him a grateful look. Then he picked up the driving lines and, taking another deep breath, put the team in motion.

He was not sure about popping the whip to get them racing out of town. It would have ruined his day—and ruined the team for their future cooperation—if he accidentally nicked an ear with the popper, so he left the whip in its socket and drove with the lines alone.

It surprised him how much raw power was coming off those horses and being transmitted to his hands. Surprised him, too, how tiring the driving was, wearing on his shoulders and making his fingers ache.

Come nightfall, he was going to need a stiff drink and perhaps an application of liniment. Or two. Of each.

By the time they reached Guffey, he hoped the mail robbers would not show themselves during this trip because he was not at all certain he would be quick enough with his .45 to take them.

Come the next trip, he intended to bring a shotgun along, too. At least with a scattergun, you did not have to be as precise as with a revolver. There was room for error while still getting the job done. No wonder shotgun guards and stagecoach drivers carried the weapons they did, he thought.

And now he was a coach driver himself.

He safely delivered the passengers to Lake George and picked up two more there on their way over to Bailey, dropped them and the postmaster's package off there, and picked up two men and a matronly woman for the run back to Fairplay.

They pulled in at the Carver office in Fairplay well after dark.

But they, by damn, got the job done. Longarm felt good about that. And Charlie looked ecstatic.

“I was getting worried when it got dark and you still weren't here,” she admitted while she helped Longarm break the hitch and tend to the horses for the night. “You must be hungry. Can I offer you supper as a way of saying thank you?” she suggested.

“I . . .” He was going to turn her down, then at the last moment changed his mind, and what came out of his mouth instead of a rejection was, “Yes. Thanks. That'd be nice o' you.”

He set down the hoof he was working on and picked up another, certain that before this night was over, his back would break and he would be crippled for life.

“That was wonderful, Charlie. Thank you,” Longarm said, folding his napkin and laying it beside his now very empty plate. He smiled. “If you ever give up the stagecoach business, you could make it down in Denver as a high-class chef.”

Her response was a loud, uninhibited guffaw.

“I have a question,” she said.

“Shoot.”

“Now I don't mean to give offense, but from the stiff way you are holding yourself, I'm going to guess that your back hurts. Am I right? Or am I right?” she said.

“You're right,” he admitted. “Those boys pull hard, an' I'm not used to driving them. Haven't yet learned when to relax an' when to hold tight.”

“Will's back gets like that sometimes, and he handles them every day. Would you like me to help you out with that?” she offered.

“If there's anything you know t' do short of shooting me to put me outa my misery, yeah, I'd appreciate it.”

Longarm was thinking in terms of a few good shots of whiskey. Instead Charlise said, “Take your shirt off.”

“What?”

“The shirt. Off.”

“If you say so,” he said and began fumbling at the buttons, his fingers still stiff from the day hanging on to those driving lines. He could scarcely imagine what it would have felt like had the Carver line run six-horse hitches.

Charlie helped him out of his vest and shirt, his coat already hanging by the door. She carefully folded both and laid them aside. “Now the gun belt if you don't mind.”

Longarm complied, trying without success to hide a yawn.

“There is only one comfortable way to do this,” she said. “I know from past experience with Will. You need to lie full length, facedown, and there is only one place in this little house where you can do that, so follow me, please.”

He did, and Charlie led him past the kitchen to her bedroom. The bedclothes were surprisingly fluffy and girlish and the place smelled of powders and perfumes.

“There,” she said. “On the bed, please.”

Longarm did as she directed, stretching out facedown. Charlie perched on the side of the bed.

She picked up a small bottle and poured some of the contents into the palm of her hand.

“Don't worry,” she said. “This is just a light oil. It isn't scented.”

Longarm grunted his acceptance, and Charlie began smearing the oil onto his back. She oiled him with a liberal hand then began kneading his tight muscles with a relaxing, healing touch.

“Nice,” he murmured at one point.

Then amazingly, he drifted off to sleep while Charlise Carver massaged him.

When Longarm awoke, he was on his back and Charlie was tugging at his belt buckle. She already had his fly unbuttoned.

“You're awake,” she said.

“Barely.”

“There is something you should know. I am a widow. And a lusty woman. If that bothers you, now would be the time to get mad and storm out of here.”

Longarm only smiled.

Charlie pulled his boots off and tugged his trousers down over his hips. When she saw the size of what he had to offer, she gasped. And smiled back.

She stood and quickly shed her dress and underclothes.

Charlise Carver was not a big woman, but she was nicely put together. She had full tits with protruding nipples and exceptionally large areolae. Her waist was small with a puffy vee of dark hair in her crotch. Her thighs were slender—he liked that—and failed to meet at the top.

He could see droplets of juice clinging to some of her pussy hair. The lady was more than ready.

She carefully folded each of her own garments and laid them aside then returned to again sit on the side of the bed, her hands falling quite naturally on his lower belly.

“It's beautiful,” she said. He did not ask her what she meant by that. He was pretty sure he already knew.

Charlie's hand found his cock. Her fingers curled lightly around the shaft. She squeezed. Ran her hand up and down.

“If you don't stop that,” he said, “you're gonna have a handful o' jism to clean up.”

Charlie laughed. “There are worse things that could happen. Are you close to coming just from this little bit?”

“It's been a few days since I got laid,” he admitted.

“Then let me take the pressure off. We can romp and play later, but for now . . .” She bent low and took him into the warmth of her mouth.

“D'you think . . . ah, that's nice . . . d'you think you can take it all? Just push on through int' your throat. Ah!” Longarm arched his back and cried out aloud as Charlise pressed down onto him, his cock filling her mouth and on into her throat.

He could feel the head pass through the ring of cartilage at the upper end of her throat. There was a slight resistance when it penetrated to that point, then it burst through.

Charlie gagged a little but she did not back off. She cupped his balls in her hand and, with one fingertip, lightly tickled his asshole.

Longarm was loving the feel of all this, but he could not hold back. Almost immediately he felt the gather of cum deep in his balls and then the quick, spurting release deep into her mouth.

Again he cried out aloud. Then collapsed onto Charlise Carver's feather bed.

There would be time enough for proper play—so to speak—later. But for now . . . it was good.

Longarm lay still, enjoying the peaceful predawn. He had gotten some sleep through the night. A little anyway. Now Charlie lay on her back. Longarm was on his side, his legs scissored in with hers, his dick filling her.

Charlie moved a little, then moaned. She proved to be easily and deeply aroused, quick to reach her own climax and quick to bring him to his.

Despite the full night of screwing, his dick was ramrod stiff, with the kind of hard-on that made men claim a cat couldn't scratch it. Longarm knew the expression but had never actually attempted to see if it was true.

He moved his ass just enough to draw his cock to the entrance of her pussy then rocked forward again, stroking her a few inches at a time. Charlie's breath began to quicken and her pussy lips fluttered and clenched as she reached what must have been a powerful climax, at least judging from the way she stiffened and gasped.

“Nice,” he said.

“I agree,” Charlie said, sitting up and swinging her legs off the side of the bed, “but it's coming on toward dawn. I need to open the office, and you need to make that hitch and bring the coach around front.”

She stood and reached for her clothes. Longarm, too, left the bed. He helped himself to a splash of cleansing water from the pitcher and basin on a bedside stand, then he quickly got dressed, ready for the day. He needed to stop by the hotel and change to fresh clothing when he got time, he noted to himself, and he needed to pick up his clean clothes from the Chinese laundry.

Then he grinned silently to himself, thinking that neither of those routine chores was half as interesting as fucking Charlise Carver.

“We have time for breakfast,” Charlie said. “I'll put some coffee on to boil if you run next door to the bakery for some crullers.” She smiled. “Coffee and crullers. Always a perfect breakfast.”

Longarm finished buckling his .45 in place and reached for his hat. “Back in five minutes,” he said.

“Take your time. The coffee won't be ready quite that soon.”

“In that case,” he said, “I'll get the pastries an' then go around to start putting harness onto the boys. They don't know me yet, an' I sure don't know either them or the harness quite yet. You can tend to the coffee an' call me when you're ready to set down to eat.”

Charlie nodded, rose onto her tiptoes to deliver a light kiss on the corner of his mouth, and went scurrying off to the stove to prepare their coffee.

Longarm stepped out back to the corrals and tried to remember which team of four he was supposed to drive this morning, reminding himself that today he ran the reverse route and started in Bailey then on around to the other way stations.

He genuinely hoped the Carvers would be able to make a go of the company. He liked both of them and wished them well.

“You've been smoking again,” Charlie said. “I can smell it on you.”

“Yes, I have,” Longarm agreed, “an' I intend to keep it up. Lady, I been smoking since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. I ain't gonna change that now. Are these crullers all right? The fellow said they're fresh this morning.”

“Hiram's baked goods are always fresh. Every evening he takes whatever is left over and gives them to the burros that work in the mines,” Charlie said.

“Burros?”

“They work underground. They're of a good size to work in the tunnels, and their dispositions are better than bigger animals,” she said.

“I had forgotten that,” he admitted, reaching for a cruller.

“Wait. We need to pray first,” she said, stopping his hand before it reached his mouth.

“Reckon I forgot that, too.”

“Pray for an easy trip around and pray for Will to get back on his feet soon,” Charlie said. “But I guess you aren't in the habit, so just do your praying silently and I'll do the same. It comes across either way, I've been told.”

Longarm nodded and took Charlie's hand. He bowed his head and waited quietly until she gave his hand a squeeze to let him know she was done and they could begin eating.

After breakfast he went out back and finished building the hitch and pulled the coach around to the front of the Carver Express Company office.

Two passengers were waiting and another was making his way up the street.

It was time for the day to get started.

“Well, now look what the cat dragged in,” Longarm said with a smile as he pulled around to the corrals and found Will Carver waiting there to help with breaking the hitch and tending to the horses.

Not that Will was much real help. He was on crutches and could not do much. But he tried and he did what he could.

“Mom says you should come in to have supper with us when we're done here,” Will said.

“Glad to. So how're you doing now?”

“Fair,” Carver said. “Doc says I should be on crutches for a couple weeks, but it won't be that long. I figure I can take over driving again next week.” He scuffed at the dirt with the toe of one boot, then looked up and reluctantly added, “But I have to admit that I'm hoping you will still be with us a little longer. Handling the horses on the ground and, well, and everything. It's a big help.”

“I'll stay as long as I can, just so's you know that I have a job an' it comes first,” Longarm said.

“Fair enough,” Will told him. “And we do really appreciate all your help, both Mom and me.”

“Good,” Longarm said, hanging up the heavy harness that had come off the wheelers. “Then let's wash up before we go in to one o' your mom's fine meals.”

Later, his belly full, Longarm gave Charlise a look and a nod to tell her he would be around after Will went back to his own place for the night. Then he turned to Will and said, “Let's go up front. Out there on the porch is the only place your mother lets me smoke. That woman is gonna drive me crazy with her evil ways.” Past Will's shoulder he winked at Charlise.

Longarm led Will to a line of wicker bottom chairs beneath the front overhang, where in the mornings passengers could wait for the stagecoach to be brought around. The two of them settled into adjoining chairs, and Longarm reached for a cheroot. Will pulled out a plug of tobacco and bit off a chew.

When Longarm had his smoke lit, he leaned back and said, “Now you know not t' get into arguments with men who carry guns.”

“An argument? Is that what you heard?” Will said. “It was no argument, Marshal. The truth is, I never saw whoever it was that shot me.”

“How'd that happen?” Longarm asked.

Will leaned forward and spat into the street, then said, “I was over at Maybelle's whorehouse. Two of the girls got into a fight.” He laughed. “Oh, they were really going at it. Ripped each other's kimonos clean off so there they were, the both of them bare-assed, brawling like a couple kids in an after-school fight. Hissing and spitting and pulling hair. It was quite a show.

“Then I heard a pop, not half as loud as I might have expected, and my leg felt like somebody had whacked it with a maul. However it happened . . . maybe somebody's pistol went off by accident or something . . . but however it happened, my leg just buckled right out from under me, and I went down on my ass.

“I didn't even know that I'd been shot until my friend Anson saw that I was bleeding. I couldn't see the wound very well. It's up high on the back of my leg. Anson and some other fellows carried me over to Doc's place, and that damn doctor cut up my best pair of jeans to get to the wound. And now”—he indicated the crutches leaning on the chair beside his—“now I have this to deal with. I'll heal quick enough, but it's a nuisance for sure. My mom and me are grateful to you for your help, Marshal.”

“Any idea how far away the gun was when you were shot?” Longarm asked.

Will shook his head. “No idea at all. Like I said, it must have been an accident. I mean, it wasn't like I was arguing with someone or that somebody might have a reason to shoot me. I was just standing there watching those girls fight. The next thing I knew, I was down on my back bleeding all over Maybelle's rug. Doc said I could have bled to death if Anson hadn't jumped in to help.”

“Lucky,” Longarm said.

“Very,” Will fervently agreed.

Longarm took a long drag on his cheroot then closed his eyes and pondered the delightful things he intended to do with this young man's mother once Will went home for the night.