The Gunsmith 385 (2 page)

THREE

Labyrinth, Texas, had not changed. It never did. The town looked the same now as it had the first day Clint had ridden in. That was a lot of years ago, but Labyrinth was happy with its identity.

And Clint was happy with Labyrinth as a place to lie low from time to time. Faces changed—blacksmiths, bartenders, hotel clerks—but the buildings remained the same. And Rick Hartman was always there. He hadn't left town in a very long time, and he preferred it that way.

Clint left Eclipse at the livery stable, handing the horse over to the same man who had been there the last time he'd come to town, a few months before. He remembered that his name was Russell.

“Hey, you're back!” Russell said as Clint walked Eclipse into the stable.

“Well, that certainly makes me feel real welcome,” Clint said.

“Oh, I wasn't talkin' to you,” the older man said, “I was talkin' to this handsome feller.” He went to Eclipse and stroked the big Arabian's neck. In his sixties, Russell had been working with horses a long time, and Eclipse could feel that.

“I get it,” Clint said.

Russell was cooing to Eclipse, stroking his neck. Clint removed his saddlebags and his rifle without interrupting the reunion.

“Any idea how long you're stayin' this time?” Russell asked.

“I don't know,” Clint said, “A few days, maybe more.”

“Hopefully more.”

“Just take good care of him,” Clint said.

“Oh, I will.”

“And there may be another man riding in behind me,” Clint said. “A youngster in his twenties. If he does come in, would you send me a message over at the hotel?”

“I'll do that,” Russell said.

“Labyrinth House this time,” Clint said.

“Yes, sir.”

Clint left the livery, walked over to the hotel, and checked in. The clerk was new, but he must have been informed that Clint came to town from time to time, because he greeted him in a very friendly manner.

Clint left his saddlebags and rifle in his room and walked over to Rick's Place.

 * * * 

“Put a beer on the bar for my returning friend, Henry,” Rick said as Clint entered.

“Hey, Rick.” The two friends shook hands warmly.

“You've only been gone a few months,” Rick said. “What's been going on?”

Clint grabbed the beer and drank some of it to clear his throat of trail dust.

“I've got a story for you,” Clint said. “It's kind of interesting.”

He went on to tell his friend about “Travis.”

“Following you for months?” Rick said. “I'm surprised you put up with that.”

“He's good at it,” Clint said. “Whoever taught him did a damn fine job.”

“So you're impressed with him?”

“Considering his age, yeah, I am.”

“And he had the nerve to come walking into your camp,” Rick said. “Maybe he's not so impressed with you.”

“Maybe not.”

“Two more, Henry,” Rick said. When the fortyish bartender set them on the bar, he grabbed them. “Let's have a seat.”

Clint followed Rick to his regular table in the back. The saloon was sparsely populated in the afternoon, and the gaming tables were still covered. There were also no girls working the floor yet. From this table, Rick could observe the entire place.

He set the two beers down and asked Clint, “So he doesn't look familiar to you?”

“No, he doesn't,” Clint said. “I've been trying to figure out if maybe I wronged his parents, but if I did, I don't remember them. Not enough to see them in him anyway.”

“You think he followed you here?”

“I know he did,” Clint said. “Nothing happened in camp that night that would make him quit.”

“And you didn't hear him outside your camp over the next few nights?”

“Not a sound.”

“I'm looking forward to meeting this young man,” Rick said. “I wonder if he'll have the nerve to come walking in here.”

“I don't see why not.”

“What else has been going on?”

Clint took the time to tell Rick about some of his adventures, especially surviving the flood on Bayou Teche—thanks to Travis.

“Sure doesn't sound like he means you harm,” Rick commented. “I would think the curiosity would be killing you.”

“It was for a while,” Clint said. “But then I decided it was all up to him. He wants something. Eventually, I'll find out what it is.”

“So how long do you figure to stick around this time?” Rick asked.

“Don't know,” Clint said, reaching for the fresh beer. “I'll just take it as it comes.”

“Got some new girls working,” Rick said. “Maybe that'll interest you.”

Clint drank some beer and said, “If I'm going to be meeting some new girls, I guess I'd better have a bath.”

“We'd all appreciate it,” Rick said.

FOUR

Clint finished his beer and went back to his hotel for the bath. He kept his gun close at hand while in the tub. It wasn't because of Travis; it was just something he always did.

After the bath he dressed in fresh clothes, took his dirty trail clothes down to the Chinese laundry, where they knew him.

“You come back to town, Mr. Clint,” the Chinaman who ran the place said. Clint could never pronounce the man's name, so they just agreed between them that Clint would think of him as the Chinaman.

“I from China, and I a man,” the Chinaman said, “so no insult.” He cackled. The man could have been anywhere from forty to sixty. He had a big family working for him in the laundry—his wife and four daughters. No sons.

“But we not finished trying,” he'd told Clint once, cackling again. His wife had a smooth, handsome face, and her age was also difficult to figure, but Clint thought she was well beyond childbearing age.

“How are your girls?” Clint asked.

“They growing up,” the Chinaman said. “Pretty like their mama, not ugly like me.”

“How old are they?”

“Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and eighteen,” the man replied. “Too young for you, Mr. Clint.”

“I agree,” Clint said. “You've got nothing to worry about from me, but I'm sure there are some young men in town who are sniffing around.”

“They sniff too close, I chop off sniffer!” the Chinaman said. “I got hatchet.”

“I know you do,” Clint said. “I'll come back for my clothes tomorrow, if that's all right.”

“You take ticket,” the Chinaman said, handing Clint a ticket. “You no have ticket, you no get shirt.” The Chinaman cackled again.

“I'll see you tomorrow.”

“I be here,” the Chinaman said. “I always here.”

Clint left, thinking that maybe he should try pronouncing the man's name one last time before he left town. Just to show respect.

 * * * 

“Travis” sat on his horse just outside Labyrinth, Texas, wondering how long Clint Adams meant to stay in this small town. During all the time he'd been trailing Adams, the man had never stopped here before.

Using his binoculars he saw that Adams had gone into the hotel, then a saloon called Rick's Place, and then the hotel again. Later he came out and went to a laundry. At that point he decided that Clint Adams meant to stay in Labyrinth for a while.

The Gunsmith would probably expect him to come into town after him. Maybe he would, but he wouldn't do it today. He decided to camp for the night, and maybe he'd ride into town in the morning.

Maybe . . .

 * * * 

Clint waited until it was after dark to return to Rick's Place. Walking from the hotel to the saloon, though, he turned and looked up into the hills east of town. He could see the light of a campfire. It wasn't hard to figure who was camped up there. “Travis” was once again advertising his location. Clint thought about riding up there and surprising the young man in his camp, but decided against it. He was still determined to let the young man call the play.

He turned and entered Rick's Place, looking forward to meeting Rick's new girls.

 * * * 

Rick did not employ whores.

The bulk of his business was whiskey and gambling. The girls he hired were window dressing. Their job was to serve drinks, that's all. Anything else they wanted to do was up to them. Rick was always careful to explain to new girls he hired that there were no cribs or rooms for them to take men to. No “nickel nights” at Rick's Place. If they wanted to do that, there was a whorehouse in town they could work for.

Clint entered and went to the bar. The place was busy. There were other saloons in Labyrinth, but Rick's was the most popular place in town. It had the best beer and whiskey, and honest games.

And pretty girls.

Rick was always careful to hire very pretty girls. Working the floor were a blond, a redhead, and two brunettes, all of whom were pretty, none of whom was thirty.

In the past Rick used to tell the girls to pay special attention to Clint, as he was Rick's good friend. But Clint had put a stop to that.

“If one of these nice young ladies shows interest in me, I'd like it to be because of me, and not because you told them to.”

Rick had shrugged and said, “Whatever you want. I was just trying to be helpful.”

So Clint stood at the bar with a beer in hand and watched the new girls work the floor.

FIVE

One girl caught Clint's eye.

She was blond and, at maybe twenty-eight or so, older than the other girls. She was tall and lean, except for her breasts, which were impressive. And her trim waist made them look all the more so.

He watched her work the room, gliding effortlessly away from the groping hands of drunk cowboys.

“I see you've zeroed in on the class of the bunch,” Rick said, coming up next to him.

“What's her name?”

“Delia.”

“How long has she been working here?”

“About a month,” Rick said. “She was very pleased to discover we didn't expect her to sell her wares.”

“I imagine she'd do very well if she did.”

“No doubt,” Rick said. “But she's happy just slinging drinks.”

“Smart?'

“Very,” Rick said. “She's exactly your type, my friend.”

“What type is that?”

“You get just what you see,” Rick said. “There's no pretense about the girl.”

“That's good.”

“There's no pretense about you either,” Rick said. “I've known that about you from the start.”

“I wasn't always like that, but it's the only way I know how to be after all these years,” Clint said.

“Well,” Rick said, “it looks to me like she's interested. She keeps looking over here.”

“Well, you're her boss,” Clint said. “She keeps looking at you.”

“I don't think it's me,” Rick said, “but I'm going to my office to do some paperwork, so you'll find out. I'll see you later.”

Clint raised his mug to his friend, who turned and walked to the back of the saloon, entered his office. Clint then glanced over at Delia, and saw her looking at him. When their eyes met, she held his for a long moment, then turned her head.

Clint looked around at the gaming that was going on. He saw faro, roulette, and blackjack, but no poker. He had played the other games, of course, but poker was his preference. At the moment, he had no desire to partake in any of those other games.

But he and Delia were playing a game with each other, tossing glances back and forth. As the night wore on, the glances became hot. Finally, she passed close enough for him to reach out and grab her arm.

“I was wondering when you would make a move,” she said frankly.

“Do you know who I am?”

“It doesn't matter,” she said. “You're a cut above the rest of them. What are you looking for, sir?”

“Just some time,” he said. “Some pleasant time to pass. And you?”

“The same,” she said. “I'm not looking for a boyfriend or a husband.”

“Seems we're looking for the same thing.”

“What hotel are you in?” she asked.

“Labyrinth House.”

“What room?”

“Twelve.”

“I get off here at two.”

“I'll be awake,” he said, “reading.”

“Ah, you read?” she asked. “Like I said, a cut above.”

“I hope you'll still feel that way,” he said, “in the morning.”

SIX

Clint was reading when there was a knock at the door. He marked his place by folding a page corner and set the book aside. He hoped Mr. Twain would not object.

He walked to the door with his gun behind his back in his left hand. When he opened it, he saw Delia waiting in the hall.

“Miss me?” she asked.

“Terribly.”

“That's good to hear. May I come in?”

“Please.”

He let her enter, then closed the door, walked to his holster hanging on the bedpost, and slid the gun home.

“Do you always answer the door with a gun?” she asked.

“I do.”

“Oh, right,” she said. “I did ask about you after you left. I guess the Gunsmith has to be careful, doesn't he?”

“All the time.”

“Want to frisk me for a gun?” she asked, raising her hands. She had changed into a dress more suited for walking in the street than the revealing dress she'd been wearing at work.

“Not necessary,” he assured her.

When Delia smiled at Clint, it was an invitation that he was more than willing to accept. She stood in front of him with her arms at her sides and a glint in her eye. As he approached her, she reached up to place her hands upon his shoulders and open her mouth just enough for the tip of her tongue to slip out so she could lick her upper lip.

That was all Clint needed to see. He'd had something in mind to say to her, but instead allowed himself to give in to his instincts by grabbing her by the hips and pulling her close. She leaned her head back and let out a grateful breath as Clint tasted the side of her neck. Delia's golden blond hair brushed against his face, and her breasts pressed against his chest. His hands moved along her body, feeling her generous curves through the layers of clothing she wore. Within seconds, he was pulling that clothing off, stripping her bare with a need that grew by the second.

He wasn't the only one that was anxious. Delia's hands were busy as well, unbuckling Clint's belt, pulling his shirt open, and throwing his clothes aside until her fingertips were raking against his naked skin. There was a perfectly good bed nearby, but Clint wasn't about to wait long enough to take the five or six steps required to get there. Instead, he pushed her against the closest wall and reached down for her thigh.

Delia lifted that leg up to wrap it partway around Clint's waist. His cock was already hard and grew even harder when it found the damp patch of hair between her legs. Looking hungrily at him, she ground her hips slowly, rubbing the lips of her pussy up and down along the length of his shaft. Wrapping her arms around the back of his neck, she locked her eyes on him and whispered, “You like that?”

“You know I do.”

“There's something I'd like even more.”

“Let me guess,” Clint said while reaching down to guide himself between her legs. The moment his rigid pole entered her, they both let out satisfied moans. Delia leaned her head back and closed her eyes, smiling as he started pumping in and out of her. Clint reached down with both hands to cup her buttocks, which also allowed him to drive into her with even more force. Every time he thrust his hips, Delia grunted and was pushed against the wall. Her nails dug into his back, and her hips moved with his rhythm.

When Clint lifted her, she wrapped both legs around him and gripped him tightly with them as well as her arms. He wanted to take her to the bed, but when he got halfway there, he could feel Delia's entire body tensing. She leaned back, swaying slightly while her hips ground against him with building force to ride him even harder.

Before long, her eyes snapped open and she stifled a moan as tremors started working through her body. Delia embraced him and gasped into his ear while her climax ran its course, sighing with satisfaction when it was through. Clint then carried her to the bed and set her down. Delia's body glistened with sweat and she barely had the strength to move.

“God, Clint,” she gasped. “That was . . . that was . . .”

Smirking, he told her, “I'm not through with you yet.”

She lay on the mattress with her legs hanging over the edge. As he moved his hands along her legs, she spread them for him and stretched both arms over her head to grab hold of the blanket beneath her. Clint slipped inside her while pulling her toward him. Delia moaned with approval and gripped the blankets even tighter as he started to thrust in and out.

Clint got a breathtaking view of Delia's full, rounded breasts as he pumped between her long legs. Her large nipples were erect, and when he reached out to cup her breasts, she clasped her hands on top of his to hold them in place. Massaging her tits while burying his thick cock inside her again and again, Clint moved his hands down the front of her body. He savored the smooth texture of her skin while driving into her faster and harder.

Delia moaned loudly, opening her legs wider to accommodate every one of Clint's thrusts. In one last powerful motion, Clint drove in as deep as he could go before exploding inside her. Delia's breathing quickened with another explosion of her own, and when Clint opened his eyes again, he found her looking up at him with a tired smile.