ROMANCE: Badass Boss (Billionaire Alpha Bad Boy Romance) (Western Mail Order Bride Calendar Contemporary) (66 page)

Chapter 3

The Black Notebook

Tyson is sitting at the bar in the Hanged Man, the saloon in Atoka in Northwest Coleman County.  He has no desire to go home to his wife, Emily, and it is likely that she has no desire for him to come home either. No, instead, Tyson is sitting in the Hanged Man, waiting for his contact to arrive with some more information, definitively linking Sandra Ammor to at least one of the matches that has been made.

Tyson is unsure exactly his contact has had with the men that the matchmaker has set up with Eastern women, but he does know for sure that she has had extensive contact with at least one of the men: Dandy Darby.

Sally is a pretty, black former slave woman who has lived the life of a prostitute ever since she was a young woman, and until Sarah Anne Tarter arrived in Coleman on the train, she was Dandy’s main supplier of sexual trysts. This, of course, was because Dandy did not think he was ever supposed to marry, and as such, he made use of Sally and the other whores, who congregated around the walls of the Hanged Man in an attempt to provide for themselves.

Tyson is on his fifth beer when he feels a tap at his shoulder, and he turns to see Sally standing there, wearing a fine scarlet dress ornamented by many different feathers, creating a very appealing effect against her caramel skin.

“Hello, Tyson,” she said, walking up to him, to which Tyson grunted a reply. “What? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“I s’pose so,” he answered with the air of a man disgusted by the woman to his left.  He does not look up from the tall mug of beer that he is sipping on.

“What’ll you have, Sally,” The bartender, Travis, asked, sidling up to her.

“A shot of whiskey, Travis,” she answered, flashing him a smile of perfect teeth.

“Coming up,” Travis answered before walking down the bar to get a bottle of whiskey for her.

“So, what do you have to tell me?” Tyson asked, still not looking at the prostitute.

“Well, I know who the matchmaker is, and how she has been doing this.”

“I know who the matchmaker is, so what makes you think that you have anything that can help me?”

“Okay, you know who she is, but do you know how she has been doing the actual matching?”

“No,” Tyson admits, grudgingly.

“And do you know how you can prove that the matchmaker set up my best customer with that hussy from Kentucky?”

“Again, no.”

“Then you need me, or else you would have already blown this whole situation sky high. After all, everyone in the county knows that you have got it in for the matchmaker. Well, I can give you what you need to prove who she is, and can give you what you need to prove that she is the one who set up Dandy.

“And what do you get in return for helping me?”

“Revenge. It’s as simple as that,” Sally answers before throwing the whiskey that Travis had just delivered down her throat. “Another, Travis.”

“Okay then,” Tyson says to her, “what can you tell me?”

“Well, first of all, you say you know who the matchmaker is…who is it?”

“I thought you knew?!”

“I do…I just want to know who you think that it is.”

“Fine. It’s Sandra Ammor, that bitch who works at the train station, sorting the mail.”

“Exactly. And how do you know?”

“That night in McCulloch street, after everybody left, I found…this,” Tyson says, pulling out the black notebook. “It has her name embossed on the cover, and there is information inside showing that she set up her brother with that whore from Atlanta.”

“Okay.”

“I can’t find anything about Dandy, though,” he said.

“Okay.”

“How do you know that she set up Dandy with the hussy from Kentucky?”

“Because she paid me to steal a picture of Dandy. There is only one, and he got it when he was riding shotgun for the rangers years ago. She didn’t say what it was for, but we all know that she’s posting pictures of the men in the county in marriage magazines. Why else would she need the only picture of Dandy, and he magically gets matched two months later?”

“You have a fair point,” Tyson agrees. “Do you have anything about Junior?”

“No, Mr. Abrams…I know about Dandy because she came to me to ask for the picture, and I could only get it because he kept it in his room, here in the Hanged Man. He, of course, brought me into his room regularly…until she showed up. He used to pay me very well too.”

“Are you really hurting for money? You are a whore,” Tyson spits at her, viciously.

“No, I’m not hurting for money, but he was paying me pretty well.”

“Well, I’m sure I can help you out there a little bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll show you,” he says, completely ignoring the fact that he is a married elder of the church, and he gets up to go upstairs, but only after draining his mug of all beer.

Sally watches him go, and shakes her head. Draining her glass of whiskey once more, she heads upstairs to conduct some business.

Chapter 4

Junior’s Response

Dwight and Pauline Butler are sitting at the dinner table, enjoying their evening meal when they hear hooves approaching from a distance.

“Who could that be, this late?” Dwight says aloud to his new wife.

“I don’t know, baby,” she answers, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Things around the Butler residence have been especially worried since the events in McCulloch Street a few weeks ago. Dwight knows that the elder, Tyson Abrams, is crazy, and whenever he sets his mind to doing something, he pursues it with a vicious focus until it has been done, the consequences be damned. Dwight also knows that Tyson has set his sights on running Pauline out of town on a rail, and he controls a dangerous sect within the church community in Coleman County. If anyone could manage to discredit Dwight and make Pauline leave, it would be Tyson.

For now, however, he is enjoying his honeymoon as best he can, despite the ruckus and craziness in town. Last week, he officially married Pauline, the gorgeous widow from Atlanta. Unfortunately, however, they were unable to share the wonderful moment with anyone other than his sister, Sandra, his daughter, Emily, and Dandy Darby, who witnessed the union before the Justice of the Peace. This has caused Dwight no small amount of frustration, because there was a large wedding party when he married his deceased first wife, Amanda. He feels that Pauline too is deserving of a huge wedding party, but instead she had to marry him in secret because of the actions and attitudes of one radical hypocrite.

Dwight opens the front door to determine who is approaching, and at once he recognizes the pinto horse that Dandy rides. He steps out onto the front porch of his ancestral home and leans against the roof support, watching Dandy approach.

“What’s going on, Dandy?” Dwight asks the younger man when he comes to a stop. Usually, Dandy would be home to Sarah Anne by now, so it must be important.

“I got a telegram today, ‘Wight. From Junior.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he and Ruth are coming back. He says that he’s going to sort Tyson out so we can live in peace.”

“Do you really think he can stop Abrams?”

“I don’t know, but I know that Tyson has never wanted a fight with Junior. I don’t know why.”

“Well, let’s hope that Junior can shut that filthy dog up.”

“Yeah…I just wanted to let you know. I need to get up to Atoka, Sarah Anne has probably got supper ready for me.”

“Okay. Bye, Dandy.”

“Bye,” he says, turning to ride away once more. Dwight enters the house and Pauline looks nervous.

“What’s wrong?”

“Who was that?” she answers.

“It was Dandy. He wanted to let me know that Junior is coming back.”

“Oh, good. I must admit, I was worried.”

“Yeah, first you have to get married in secret, and now you are scared of your own shadow because of that sonofabitch.”

“It’s okay, honey…”

“No! It isn’t okay! He needs to be shut up!” Pauline can see that Dwight has been bottling up his frustrations, and quickly walks around the table, hugging him from behind. Her large breasts press into the back of his head like a firm pillow, and Dwight feels his anger ebbing away at the touch of his bride. “I love you,” he says, much more calm.

“I love you too, Dwight. I would have married you in burlap if it meant having you.”

“I am definitely yours, Pauline,” he answers softly, turning to kiss her. She presses her lips to his mouth, but instead of a quick kiss, she slips her tongue into his mouth, instantly arousing him. Their dinner sits forgotten as the two newlyweds clutch at one another, ripping their clothing to shreds.

Quickly, they are both naked, and Dwight flings everything off the table, laying his extremely attractive wife down on the wooden surface. He sits back in his chair, and proceeds to insert his tongue into Pauline’s dripping wet channel. He thoroughly tastes her essence, quickly bringing her to a climax, releasing even more moisture, which he thirstily takes into his mouth while Pauline’s hips write and roll in his hands. “Oh, honey! I love it when you do that!” she yells her pleasure.

When she has calmed down once more, she sits up, pressing her mounds into his face, which he hungrily laps at with his tongue. She slides off the end of the table, and immediately settles down on his erect lance, sheathing his enormity in her cleft. She begins to ease up and down the length of his shaft while he sits in his chair, enjoying every second of the pleasure she gives him. He holds her large, firm hips in his hands while he continues to nibble and suck at the tips of her mountainous breasts.

Several minutes later, Pauline screams out in orgasm once more while Dwight’s erection explodes inside her, filling her passage with his seed. They are both exhausted from the power of their respective orgasms, but continue to sit there, with his length buried inside her while they kiss and talk for several long minutes.

Chapter 5

The Proof

Meanwhile in a room on the second floor of the Hanged Man Saloon, Tyson Abrams himself is pulling up his pants. He has spent the last thirty minutes fulfilling his most debased fantasies with the prostitute, Sally. She remains lying in the bed, hurting from the abuse she has received for coin, questioning for the first time her choice to service the horny men of Coleman County. True, she has never come across a customer with tastes so debased and horrific as Tyson’s, but she fears ever coming across another again.

He did pay her well, however, as he had promised he would downstairs, and succumbing to his desires had the added benefit of refocusing him on the task of ruining Sandra Ammor’s plans to continue matching local bachelors with mail order brides from the east.

“Thank you for that, nigger,” Tyson says, “Emily won’t ever let me do that to her.”

“Well, you paid me,” Sally says, wincing. “Let’s look at that journal of yours.”

“Fine, it’s in my coat, over there,” he says, indicating his duster in the corner. Sally stands, and walks naked over to the coat, searching the pockets for the small black book. When she finds it, she sits back down, her large chocolate breasts hanging free. She lights a cigarette, and waits for Tyson.

When he is finally done dressing, he walks over and sits down beside her, a cigar clenched between his teeth, and together, they fill the room with smoke. He finally picks up the book, and turns back to one of the earliest entries, dated July 14th. “Do you want me to read it aloud?” he asks Sally.

“Yes, I can’t read it myself.” Tyson clears his throat and begins to read:

July 14, 1887

I have decided to do something about the single men in this county. The single women who live here do not deserve husbands as good as many of the men who live here. My own brother, David, is a fine man, and would make a great husband for any woman, but he himself has told me that the women in Coleman County do not attract him for a variety of reasons, chief among them being the desperately low number of Christian women and the correspondingly high number of whores who parade bold as brass in the street. What man wants to marry a former whore who has slept with every man in the county at least twice? Not one.

“Well, that makes me feel great,” Sally says sarcastically.

“She has a point, nigger,” Tyson says viciously.

“You weren’t complaining fifteen minutes ago!”

“Because I don’t have to take you home, now do I? Now shut up!”  Tyson spits at her, turning to another date, this one in August.

August 2, 1887

I have decided on my first match. Junior Parker is a fine man who is God-fearing and more than a little wealthy, but he has never married, and David says that this is because he is afraid that the women in the county will only want him for his money.

I have to say that he’s likely correct.

I recently picked up a copy of the San Antonio Star when I went with David for some tack. I read it over on the way home, and I have decided to send a letter to a Miss Ruth Stafford, a stunningly pretty young woman from Charleston, South Carolina.  If all goes well, I will send her money to buy a train ticket to the Coleman Station. I certainly do hope that she is not abject to marrying an older man, as she is only 19, and Junior is nearing forty.

“Well, there you have it,” Tyson says. “Proof that Sandra is the matchmaker for two of the matches, and her brother was the third match! I’ve got her now!”

“Good,” said Sally, still wincing.

“Now, I think I want to celebrate. Lay down, nigger,” Tyson commanded her, undoing his trousers once more.

“You only paid for once, Tyson. And I’m too sore right now.”

“I said…LAY DOWN!” Tyson screamed, his eyes popping in his skull, smacking the naked prostitute hard in the face. Sally begins to scream as the animal forces himself on to her, reveling the sadistic power he has over the poor woman.