Slocum and the Warm Reception (5 page)

Reid Flanders was a typical blowhard. His belly was fat from too much town cooking and his hair was pasted to his scalp by sweat and a cheap concoction that smelled of musk and saddle leather. He wore his secondhand suit as if it did something to hide the guns strapped under his arm and to his hip. In the mood Slocum was in when he stepped inside the assayer's office, he wished the fat man would be stupid enough to make a move for one of those smoke wagons.

Just as Slocum had figured, any broker interested in mining claims was also interested in buying the ore that was dug out of them. After the tedious process of weighing some of the silver Slocum gave to him, Flanders winced and said, “Silver prices are down lately.”

“Why's that?”

“Had a run on the stuff recently and I ain't been able to unload it. Broker I see every now and then from California ain't offering me as much as usual.”

“That's not my problem,” Slocum said.

“It's both our problems, mister. I can't get rid of it, then I can't pay as much for it. Now gold, on the other hand . . .”

Still carrying the saddlebag over one shoulder, Slocum shifted his feet as if he was suddenly more aware of the weight of the gold he'd left in his pouch. Coming to Reid's place now was a way to test the waters and see how much he could get from the broker. So far, he wasn't liking him well enough to trust him with the rest of what he'd brought.

“What's the best you can do on the silver?” Slocum asked.

“For what you got here . . . fifty dollars.”

Truth be told, it was more than Slocum was expecting. He didn't let that show on his face when he asked, “Can you do sixty?”

The broker shook his head. “Only reason I'm giving you that much is to let you know I run a square business.” Apparently, Reid knew when he was being sized up. A man in his line of work was under close scrutiny by anyone who walked through his door. “I can do fifty-five, but that's only if you agree to give me first crack at whatever you get a hold of next.”

“What makes you think I have any more?”

“A man like yourself . . . riding into town with a dead outlaw strapped to your horse . . . trading unkind words with the sheriff . . . I'm guessing you'll acquire something else soon enough that you'd be wanting to trade for cash. Just so you know, I deal in all sorts of things other than gold and silver. Anything you might find valuable, just bring it my way. No questions asked.”

“No questions, huh?”

Reid grinned and nodded. “That's right. I don't care where it come from—as long as I can sell it further down the line, I'm interested. Even the occasional stray animal. Know what I mean?”

Slocum nodded back at him, but only so he could get close enough to reach out and grab the broker by the front of his shirt. “I
do
know what you mean and I don't appreciate it!”

“I . . . I only . . . only meant that . . .”

“I know what you meant. You think I'm a horse thief or some damned ghoul who steals from dead folks and sells what I find to rodents like you.”

“Not at all!” Reid protested. “Just a mistake! That's all it was, sir. I swear to you.”

“You're damn right it was a mistake. Come to think of it, I imagine the bigger mistake was on the sheriff's part when he didn't look in your direction for word on where to find the real thieves around here.”

Despite being lifted to his toes by Slocum's grip, the broker appeared offended as he quickly came to his own defense. “I've never stolen a thing in my life!”

“Maybe not, but you're willing to take stolen property and sell it. That tells me you have experience in this regard and I'm betting you must have built up a base of customers who do steal for a living. From what I've heard, a man named Ellis Jaynes could be one of your biggest clients.”

Reid continued to shake his head. “All I do is broker transactions. Times being what they are and with us stuck out here in such rough terrain, folks have to do what they can to survive. They need to sell all sorts of things and I'm the one they come to. That's all.”

“What about that talk concerning the stray animals?”

“Just what I said,” Reid replied. “Recently I took some pigs off a man's hands for a good price. He told me he found them in an abandoned spread and I believed him. We both made a good profit.”

Slocum didn't want to hear any more of what came out of the broker's mouth. It had been a trying day and the saddlebags were becoming particularly heavy on his shoulder, so he let Reid go and snarled, “I'll take that fifty dollars.”

“Of course,” he said. “Of course! My apologies for the misunderstanding, but I assure you that's all it was.”

“Fine.”

“Usually a man who hauls in the body of a wanted man is always looking to make good money. He also tends to have various items land in his possession that he wants to sell. All I meant before was—”

“You want a good piece of advice?” Slocum offered.

“Certainly.”

“Stop talking.”

The broker swallowed hard, dug into his till, and took out the money he'd promised.

* * *

The room Slocum rented was above a saloon on Second Street. He didn't catch the name of the saloon, but was drawn there by the lack of noise that usually filled such a place. There was nobody playing a piano or banjo. No stage where dancing girls might try to sing or draw hoots and hollers from a drunken crowd. There was only a bar and a few tables surrounded by smoke from a cooking stove in the back room. Slocum thought he could detect the scent of burnt toast and potatoes, which meant there likely wouldn't be much of a crowd for meals either. The nameless place suited his needs just fine.

He felt better once got into his room and no longer had to carry those damn saddlebags everywhere. Once they were dropped into one corner and the pouch was tucked safely into his boot, he headed out again. Nobody greeted him on his way down. In fact, the man who'd given Slocum the key to the room barely even acknowledged he was there. The sole customer in the saloon was too drunk to lift his head and the girl who'd been sweeping the floor when he'd arrived had already wandered off to find another chore to do.

Perfect.

On his way back to the stable, Slocum heard a train rattle up to the depot. It rolled past those groups of men and their telescopes, stopped just long enough to restock its coal stores, and huffed away by the time he approached the stable's front door. It was locked, so he walked around to try the side door. Although that one protested a bit, it came open after a few more tugs. Inside, Slocum found the gelding he'd ridden across the desert. “Hello there, boy,” he said in a warm tone. “Looks like you're feeling better.” After looking over the cuts and scrapes to find they'd been nicely cleaned, he checked the trough for water. A feed bag had been left open next to it so the horse could nibble at the remaining oats inside. “Better than I am anyhow. Looks like you could use a good brushing. Even if I have the money to pay extra, there's no reason I can't do the job myself.” Slocum quickly found a brush nearby and picked it up. “Not like I have anything better to do anyway.”

The process of brushing the horse was a simple and familiar one. His muscles moved on their own accord and he went about the task without having to truly think about what he was doing. In fact, the labor proved to be relaxing in its simplicity. It wasn't long before he worked up a sweat, and when he stripped off his shirt, the stagnant air felt somewhat cool against his damp skin.

The more he moved, the more he sweated. And the more sweat rolled down his body, the cooler he got. Since he was in a stable, he didn't even have to worry about appearances or unpleasant odors. Horses weren't mindful of such things, which made Slocum's time in that stable even pleasanter.

When he finished brushing the horse, Slocum looked for a pitchfork to move some hay around. He'd just found one when he heard the front door rattle before it was pulled open. Reflexively, his right hand found its way to the .44 at his side. When he saw who entered the stable, he relaxed his grip but kept his hand where it was.

“Oh!” the blond woman said as she jumped back a bit. “I heard someone in here and thought it was Cam.”

“He's the one who owns this place?” Slocum asked.

“He is. I must say, though, I'm much more pleased to find you here instead of him.”

“And why's that?”

She took a few steps inside, paused, and then reached behind her to pull the door shut. Sweat glistened on her skin as well, but not as much as Slocum's. Her long, straight blond hair was tousled by the wind and her skirts flapped around her thanks to a gust of wind from the door swinging into place. “Because I like the way you looked at me.” She stalked toward him like a cat, clasping her hands behind herself to arch her back and display her proud, ample breasts. “When you first arrived and put your horse up . . . you looked at me.”

“Would have been rude to look away,” Slocum said as he approached her. “Considering how pretty you are, it would have been a downright shame.”

“I could tell you were a gentleman when I first laid eyes on you.”

Slocum stepped right up to her, placed his hands upon her hips, and pulled her in close. “Gentleman? You'd be the only one in this town with that opinion.”

She leaned back in his grasp; not exactly pulling away but not exactly giving in either. “People around here have plenty of opinions. I don't have much use for them.”

“Considering what I've heard about you, I don't blame you.”

This was another way for Slocum to test the waters. This time, the waters were very warm indeed. The blond woman placed her hands upon his, guiding them up along the sides of her body until he could feel the smooth slope of her breasts. Easing his palms downward to take a slower tour of her waist and hips, she said, “I don't give a damn what they say about me. If I worried so much about all of that, I wouldn't have time to enjoy my life. When you've seen the sort of pain and misery I have, simple pleasures become very important. I can tell that you know what I mean.” She moved her hands along the scars and old wounds scattered along Slocum's body like a roadmap of the very pain she'd just addressed.

He allowed his hands to do some wandering as well. She was easily a foot shorter than him, but when she looked up at Slocum, it was with eyes that commanded attention. Whoever this woman was, no matter how much of what he'd heard was true or not, she wasn't to be taken lightly. “What's your name?” he asked.

“With all you've heard, you were never told my name?”

“No. I was just told to steer clear of you.”

As her hands drifted lower, she traced a line along the top of his belt and then slipped one hand between his legs to cup a growing erection. Her fingers moved deftly back and forth, stroking him in a way that sent chills through his entire body. “You're doing a bad job of steering clear, Mr. Slocum.”

“I don't listen to all the talk either. Even if some of it bears some truth.”

“You believe what they told you about me?”

“Some of it.”

She shrugged and rubbed up and down along the length of his stiffening cock. Pressing her breasts against his chest, she said, “Did you hear I was accused of hurting someone?”

“I did, but didn't hear why you'd do such a thing. There are plenty of reasons to hurt someone.” Slocum moved his hands from the sides of her breasts to her hips and then around to cup her backside. Reaching down a little farther allowed him to feel some of the heat between her upper thighs. “There's also plenty of reasons to give someone the benefit of the doubt.”

“I thought you were going to say you could learn to trust someone,” she whispered.

“Trust doesn't come easy,” Slocum said in a matching whisper. “But we don't need all of that to enjoy a few simple pleasures.”

She smiled widely and started tugging at his belt buckle. “My name is Vivienne.”

Slocum began unfastening the hooks on the back of her dress until the upper portion of the garment fell away. Her breasts were firm in his hands. Her bare flesh had the texture of smooth cream. “From what I've heard, you're a bad girl, Vivienne.”

“Well now,” she said as she lowered herself to her knees in front of him. “I'll see what I can do to live up to that.”

As Vivienne's lips wrapped around his penis, Slocum slid his fingers through her straight blond hair. Her head bobbed back and forth and her tongue pressed flat against the underside of his rigid member. When she quickened her pace, she started sucking and her hands reached up to slide against his bare stomach.

Slocum closed his eyes and took deep breaths. The pleasure she was giving him was quickly growing, and if he didn't make some concerted efforts, he could very well be led to a swift climax. But he had other plans for her, and before she led him too far down that particular road, he eased back.

They looked at each other, knowing all too well what was to come without a word passing between them. Vivienne was helped to her feet and then allowed Slocum to remove the dress from her body. Beneath it, she wore a simple white slip, which she slowly peeled off while Slocum removed his clothing. She undressed so as not to rob him of the show, and she made certain to turn at the right moments so he could see the curve of her taut buttocks as she spread the slip upon the fresh hay in another stall. After lowering herself to the ground, she leaned back and propped herself up with both arms while arching her back to put her proud bosom on display.

Slocum stood naked in front of her. His cock was hard as iron, and every fiber of his being wanted to take the woman in front of him. As he lowered himself to the floor, Vivienne opened her legs and placed one little hand upon the thatch of downy hair between them. Her fingers wandered over the lips of her pussy and she let out a low, trembling moan.