Ticket to Yuma (6 page)

SEVENTEEN

Clint didn't push Handy. After his meeting at the Tin Pot, if it yielded nothing, maybe he'd go back and try applying some pressure. Handy didn't like his cousin, the sheriff, but he was also careful. Another man who was from a bygone time.

He decided to go to Hannah's to kill the time until the meeting. When he entered, only one table was taken, and Hannah was waiting on the man herself. Ben was nowhere to be seen.

“Mr. Adams,” she said, facing him with a coffeepot in her hand. “Just the man I want to see.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Coffee while we talk?”

“If it comes with a piece of pie.”

“Peach?”

“Of course.”

“Have a seat.”

She went into the kitchen, came out with a slice of peach pie and a fresh pot of coffee. There was already a cup on Clint's table. She filled it, put the pie in front of him, then sat across from him. It was his first good look at her face. She was a pretty woman, but did nothing to enhance it. She was a hard worker, probably concerned only with paying her bills and raising her son. Beneath her apron was a womanly, almost matronly figure. Nothing unattractive about that, at all.

She stared at him with frank and very brown eyes.

“What have you got my son into?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” she said. “He's so excited to be helpin' the famous Gunsmith. So what have you got him into?”

“Nothing much,” Clint said. “He's asking some questions for me.”

“The kind of questions that will get him hurt?”

“I doubt it.”

“The kind of questions that will keep him from his job here?”

“He said no.”

“I see.”

Clint looked around.

“Doesn't look busy. Maybe he'll be back for the rush.”

“The rush is over, and he was here,” she said.

“Then there's no problem, is there?”

“Maybe not,” she said. “Maybe that remains to be seen.”

She looked over at her other customer, who seemed to be finishing up.

“Let me take care of this customer,” she said. “Enjoy your pie.”

“I will.”

She stood up, walked to the other table, and settled up with the gentleman, who seemed very satisfied with his meal.

“Everybody seems to leave here happy,” Clint said when she came back.

“Is that so?”

“Seems to be the case.”

“What about you?”

“I leave happy every time.”

She stared at him, a new look in her eyes. She was appraising him, measuring him.

“You know,” she said, rubbing her palms along her hips, “I work very hard.”

“I'm sure you do.”

“I have a lot of stress.”

“You're running a business,” he said. “Comes with the territory.”

“I don't get very many opportunities to . . . relax.”

“Does Ben live with you?”

“He does, and it's a small house.”

“What about here?”

“He's usually here all the time,” she said, “but tonight he's not.”

She reached behind her to untie the apron and let it fall to the ground. The dress she wore beneath it was cheap, the material thin, and it clung to her, showing off her hips and breasts. She wasn't making any secret what she had on her mind.

“What do you say, Mr. Adams?” she asked. “Want to help me relax? No obligations afterward?”

“I think we better lock the door.”

“I think so, too.”

She walked to the door, closed it, locked it, and pulled the shade. Then she pulled the shades down over the other windows. She turned to face him and shrugged off her dress. He stood up, staring at her. Her breasts were pendulous, with large brown nipples and aureoles. Her hips were wide, thighs almost chunky. She was not built to be a saloon girl in a gown, but her body was perfect to be naked in a man's bed.

EIGHTEEN

He approached her as she stood, almost shyly, with her hands behind her. He touched her, immediately raising gooseflesh on her.

“This is bold of me,” she said. “Don't think badly of me.”

“I won't,” he said. “I promise. But what if Ben comes back?”

“The door's locked, and he doesn't have his key,” she said. “He'll go home.”

“Well, then . . .” he said.

He pulled her to him and kissed her. Her body was hot; the smell of her was a heady combination of sweat, food, and her own natural scent. She opened her mouth to him and they kissed avidly. He slid his hands down her bare back to her buttocks, then gripped her tightly and pulled her to him even more. She moaned into his mouth and her hands grabbed for his belt.

“Wait,” he said. “Here?”

“Right here,” she gasped. “I can't wait.”

He removed his gun belt, set it down nearby, where he could get to it. He let her undo the belt of his trousers, then the buttons, and yank them down to his ankles. He lifted his feet so she could pull off his boots, and then remove his pants and underwear completely.

His hard cock stood up and poked at her. Her eyes widened as she took it in her hands and stroked it lovingly.

“Oh, my,” she said.

“Oh, yes,” he said. He pushed her back until her butt struck a table, which she then sat on. He spread her legs, stood between them, and kissed her mouth, her neck, her shoulders, and her breasts. When he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked it, she gasped and grabbed his head, holding him there.

He switched to the other breast, sucked it hungrily. Her breasts were solid, the skin smooth. And her nipples were a delightful mouthful.

He continued to kiss her, down over her abdomen and her belly, until he had his nose and mouth buried in her pubic hair.

“My God,” she said, “what—” She stopped short when his tongue darted out and touched her. “Oh!”

He began to lick her avidly, and she grew wetter and wetter, both from him and from her own emissions. She groaned and began to rock as he sucked and licked her. The table jumped noisily, and threatened to break beneath her weight.

“Oh, God,” she gasped, “don't stop . . .”

* * *

Ben entered the Hotel Kellogg and approached the front desk. His friend, Larry Kellogg, whose father owned the hotel, was working the desk.

“Hey, Ben,” Larry said. “How are ya?”

“Good, Larry, good,” Ben said. “Listen, I been askin' around to see if this feller was a guest in any of the hotels a few weeks ago.”

“What fella?”

“His name's Harlan Banks.”

Larry's face immediately reflected his recognition of the name.

“Geez, Ben, what are ya askin' about that for?”

“I'm askin' for a friend of mine,” Ben said, “whose name happens to be Clint Adams.”

Larry's eyes went wide and he said, “The Gunsmith?”

“That's right.”

“And he's your friend?”

“Sure he is.”

“And he's lookin' for this fella, Banks?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“I don't care why,” Ben said. “I'm just tryin' to help him out. So?”

“So . . .”

“Come on, Larry,” Ben said. “The way you're actin', I know the man had a room here.”

Ben reached for the register. Larry made a halfhearted attempt to stop him, but Ben opened the book and saw that a page had been torn out.

“Larry . . .”

He turned the book around so Larry could see.

“Ben, look,” Larry said, “my dad said not to say nothin' . . .”

“And who told your dad not to say anythin'?”

“Well, he's on the town council,” Larry said. “So it musta been the mayor.”

“But why?”

“I dunno,” Larry said. “Pa just does what the mayor tells 'im to do.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ben said. “A lot of people do.”

“Not your ma,” Larry pointed out. “She pretty much does what she wants ta do.”

“I know,” Ben said. “Ma's a strong woman.”

“Yeah,” Larry said sadly, “my pa ain't like that.”

“Okay, so,” Ben said, to get back on the subject, “you remember this Banks fella?”

“Yeah, I do. He was—”

“You don't gotta tell me,” Ben said, cutting him off. “Will you talk to Clint?”

“The Gunsmith?” Larry asked. “You want me to talk to the Gunsmith?”

“Yeah,” Ben said. “I'll put the two of you together.”

“Well, gee . . .”

“Larry? Come on, man.”

“Yeah, okay,” Larry said. “Okay. I'll talk to 'im.”

“All right,” Ben said. “You stay here and I'll go and get him.”

“You know where he is?”

“I'll try his hotel,” Ben said, “and then I'll see if maybe he went to the café. Just stay here 'til I get back, you hear?”

“I hear ya, Ben,” Larry said, not sure he was doing the right thing. “I hear you.”

NINETEEN

Clint lifted Hannah off the table, afraid it was going to break beneath her weight. It would certainly break under their combined weight.

“The kitchen,” she said, hanging on to him, kissing his neck, wrapping her strong legs around him. “There's a table in the kitchen that's strong.”

He nodded, took them both to the kitchen, which was hotter than the rest of the place because of the stove, even though it had been shut down for the night.

“There,” she said, pointing.

He saw the table. Somebody had built it to be extra sturdy. He went over to it and set her down on it, spread her legs, and wasted no time. He drove himself into her and she gasped, her eyes going wide.

“Oh my God,” she said very loudly, “it's been so long . . .”

She grabbed for him as he drove himself in and out of her, and before long the room was filled with their grunts, the smell of their combined perspiration, and the sound of their flesh slapping together . . .

* * *

Ben went to Clint's hotel, asked the desk clerk if he was there.

“I seen him go out, Ben,” the man said. “Ain't seen him come back.”

“Did he ask you about a man named Harlan Banks?”

“He did,” the man said. “I don't know nothin' about that.”

“Okay,” Ben said. “When he comes back, tell him I'm lookin' for him. You know where I live?”

“I do.”

“Then you tell 'im.”

“I will.”

Ben nodded, turned, and headed for the café.

* * *

Clint slid his hands beneath Hannah's butt, got both his hands full, and pulled her to him. She grunted every time they came together, their breathing coming in hard raps . . . and then there was a banging on the door.

They stopped.

* * *

Ben got to the café and tried the front door. It was locked, the shades were drawn, but the lights were still on. He figured his mother was inside, cleaning up. He put his hand in his pocket, but realized he didn't have his key.

He started pounding on the door.

* * *

“It's Ben,” Clint said.

“Oh, God,” Hannah said, clinging to him.

They remained that way for a moment, and then the banging started again,

And then they were laughing, trying not to laugh out loud.

“Shh, shh,” she said, “we can't let him hear us.”

“What if he keeps knocking?”

“He'll stop,” she whispered. “He'll figure I left the lights on and he'll go home.”

They stayed pressed together until the knocking stopped. They listened intently, hoping to hear footsteps walking away.

“He's leavin',” she said.

“Yeah.”

She wiggled her hips.

“You're still hard inside me.”

“And you're still gorgeous.”

He kissed her, tentatively at first—in case the knocking started again—but then more avidly, and in no time, they were lunging at each other again . . .

* * *

Ben stopped knocking, tried to look underneath the drawn shades, but in the end he decided his mother must have forgotten to douse the lights. He'd have to go home, get his key, come back, and put them out.

He backed away, wondering where Clint might be. Maybe on the way home he'd stop in a few of the saloons and see if he was there. He was still hoping to get Clint together with Larry that night.

Ben finally walked away from the café, turning once to look over his shoulder. His mother hadn't left the lights on in a long time. He wondered what she had on her mind that made her do it this time.

TWENTY

Hannah pushed Clint away and got herself down off the table. Then she turned him around so she could get on her knees in front of him. He leaned back against the table as she took his hard cock in her hands, stroked it, cupped his balls, licked the shaft, and then took him into her mouth.

Clint groaned as she began to suck him, her lips sliding up and down him wetly.

“Mmm,” she moaned as she sucked him. She ran her hands over his thighs, up over his belly and chest, and then around behind him to grab his ass and squeeze it.

“Jesus, Hannah,” Clint said, putting his hands on her shoulders, then on her head as she bobbed up and down on him.

She started to make slurping noises, and he felt that if he didn't stop her now, it was going to be over before he was ready.

He reached down, slid his hands beneath her arms, and lifted her forcefully off his cock with an audible
pop
. He turned her, bent her over the table, spread her buttocks, and entered her from behind.

Hannah almost screamed, bent over so that she was lying flat on the table, her breasts flattened beneath her, as he drove in and out of her. She gasped and cried out with each thrust, and copious sweat was covering both their bodies.

Clint gripped Hannah's generous hips and continued to take her that way. He felt the buildup of his release in his legs first, and then he was spewing into her, roaring as he ejaculated in powerful streams.

Hannah felt the heat of his emission inside her, bit her bottom lip, but finally had to scream as she felt her own release push her over the edge . . .

* * *

Ben got back to the house he shared with his mother, found it dark. Annoyed, he entered and lit a lamp. It was obvious his mother had not been home. He wondered if he should go out and look for her, or keep looking for Clint Adams.

On the other hand, if he remained where he was, maybe one of them would show up there.

He decided to wait.

* * *

“Oh my God,” Hannah said, catching her breath. She stood in the center of her kitchen, naked, and looked around.

“We didn't do any damage,” Clint said. “I don't think.”

“It's so hot in here,” she said. “I'll open the back door to air it out.”

Clint sniffed the room. She'd be airing out not only the heat, but also the smells of their lovemaking. It was probably a good idea.

“What will Ben do when he gets home and you're not there?” he asked.

“I know my boy,” she said, opening the door. The breeze that came in immediately cooled the sweat on their bodies. Clint felt cold, but he couldn't get dressed until he had dried off. He doubted there was a bathtub anywhere in the building.

“I know what you're thinkin',” she said. “I have water, and cloths. I can bathe you.”

“And he won't come back?” Clint asked. “And catch us?”

“No,” she said. “He'll wait.”

“Well . . . okay, then,” he said, “but I get to bathe you, too.”

“Don't you think that would defeat the whole purpose?”

He stared at her breasts, her nipples still distended, and said, “I'm sure it would.”

* * *

He stood in the center of the kitchen while she dipped the cloth into a basin of water and washed the sweat from his body. When she got to his softening cock, it grew hard again as she dried it.

“Jeez,” he said, gritting his teeth.

She washed his balls, his thighs, and his legs, then dried him off with another cloth.

“Oh my,” she said, looking at his hard cock, “you're ready again so soon?”

“It's your fault,” he said.

She laughed, then used the cloth and basin to clean herself. When she washed her breasts, and then her own crotch, his cock became even harder.

“If we don't get dressed pretty soon . . .” he said.

“Yes, I know,” she said, and laughed.

They went back into the dining room to get dressed. As he pulled his clothes on, he watched her don her dress, felt a sense of loss when her lovely body was covered.

“Well,” she said, “now what?”

“You better go and find your son, explain why he couldn't get in here.”

“And you?”

“I have a meeting with somebody.”

“To find the man you're lookin' for?”

“To find out about him, yes.”

“Who are you meetin'?”

“I don't know.”

“What if they mean to hurt you?”

“They probably do,” Clint said. “I'll have to depend on myself to keep that from happening.”

“You need help.”

“There's nobody to help me.”

“The law?”

Clint shook his head.

“They just want me to leave. I don't think they'd mind if I did that by getting myself killed.”

“But . . . if you don't know who you're meeting, why go?”

“On the off chance they actually do have some information.”

“Maybe Ben can help you—”

“No, I don't want to put him in danger. The only way he could help me is if he's already found something out.”

“Well then,” she said, “let's go ask him.”