PRIDE AND PROSTITUTES
Adventurotica
by
Amanda Gannon
and
Paul D. Batteiger
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Adventurotica on Smashwords
Pride and Prostitutes
Copyright © 2011 by Adventurotica Publishing
Cover by Amanda Gannon
Smashwords Edition License Notes:
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.
* * * * *
Pride and Prostitutes
* * * * *
Chapter 1: Secrets, Lies, and Sunday Dinner
Chapter 4: Mysteries of the Black Lash
Chapter 8: Big Trouble in Little Dolly
Chapter 11: Backdoor to Trouble
Chapter 12: Up the Down Stairs
Chapter 14: Buckshot in the Backdoor
Chapter 15: Who Watches the Watcher . . .
Chapter 17: How to Ruin a Picnic
Chapter 18: More Hat Than Cattle
Chapter 21: No "I" in "Adultery"
Chapter 22: Night of the Saxon
Chapter 26: Into the Briar Patch
Chapter 28: Speak of the Devil
Chapter 36: A Saxon in the Hand
Chapter 38: Topping from the Bottom
Chapter 39: Slipping Into Bald Cave
Chapter 43: Penny For Your Thoughts
Chapter 44: All Hell Breaks Loose
Chapter 45: Rendezvous With Death
Chapter 48: Meet Me at the Graveyard
Chapter 49: Gates of Purgatory
Chapter 50: Dead, Hot, and Ready
Chapter 51: Won't Be Caught Dead
Chapter 53: Three Bullets and Naked
Chapter 55: The Victorious Dead
Bonus Scene: Deal With the Devil Woman
* * * * *
Chapter 1: Secrets, Lies, and Sunday Dinner
Dolly had just pulled the ham from the oven when she heard her sister arrive. It was Sunday at the Pride house, and she always cooked a big dinner and invited all the deputies who worked for her husband, the sheriff, and anyone else she knew didn't have a hot meal waiting for them at home. She closed up the oven and was just moving the ham from pan to platter when Delilah swirled through the Dutch doors in one of her extravagant red gowns.
The two were twins, mirror images of one another, yet they could not have been more different. Dolores worked hard keeping her house up and taking care of her husband and his father and his deputies, whom she considered extended family. Dolly wore a plain house dress and kept her blonde hair tucked back in a tight bun under a proper bonnet.
Delilah was the owner of the Merry Widow and the most famous whore in the state of Kansas. She dressed in red habitually, this time a lovely, flowing dress with a tight crimson bodice that accentuated her considerable bust. She'd teased her hair up into a pile of gold ringlets that spilled over her left shoulder, affixed with a nodding peacock plume.
"Good Lord above, can't you just once wear a proper dress to Sunday dinner?" Dolly stabbed the ham with a fork and tried to lever it up but it was too heavy. She reached for the knife but Delilah was faster, caught it up with a flashy twirl and helped her sister lift the meat onto the platter.
"This is the most proper dress I own, dear. You pitched such a fit over the last one I tried and tried to find one you might feel was acceptable." She set down the knife, snapped out her fan and fluttered it.
"Oh stop it," Dolly snorted, getting a grip on the platter. "You'd come to dinner naked as Eve if you thought I'd let you."
Delilah's blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "Shall I try it? I think you'd be the only one to object."
"I like to think my husband would have something to say about that. Part of his job to uphold public decency and all." Dolly sniffed. "Would you bring the bread, dear? I haven't a free hand."
Delilah caught up the bread basket. "We could ask his father. I daresay I know what he would think. He's been to the Widow enough—"
"Good Lord, Lilah! It's Sunday dinner! Bad enough my twin sister has to be a whore, but do you have to be so shameless about it?"
"Shame might make you feel better, but it wouldn't do a thing for me." She followed Dolly into the modest but well-appointed dining room.
Around the table were all Dolly's menfolk: Hawkeye Pride, her dear husband and the sheriff of Century. She caught him feeding a scrap of chicken to the dog and glared at him until he straightened up with a little grin. The office of sheriff didn't pay well, but Dolly was thrifty and took great pride in their home, making sure everything was always clean and squared away. They didn't have many rich things, but she took good care of what they had. That was her approach to life in general, and so far it had served her well. Still, it always made her nervous to have Delilah over; she was sure her modest home couldn't compare with the opulence of the Widow.
Next was her father-in-law, Abraham Pride, with his drooping gray mustache and handsome but hangdog face. Last, Hawk's trusty deputies: Hector Darling and Buckshot Bobby Creed. Both of them were big boys. Hector was a smiling, sweet-faced farmboy, and despite the often rough nature of his job, he was unfailingly polite and respectful. Dolly had always liked him. She'd never been sure what to make of Bobby, a squint-eyed brawler with scars and a bad shave, even on Sunday. He wasn't that much older than Hector, but he'd led a rough life, and that had left him with a hard worldliness that Dolly just didn't see in Heck. She knew Bobby spent a lot of time at the Widow, and had always tried not to think about what that might mean.
They all smiled and thumped the table at the sight of Dolly and her sister with ham and fresh bread. Dolly set down the platter and sat down next to Hawk, while Delilah squeezed herself in between Hector and Bobby, both of them stealing looks at her bosom as she arranged herself. Delilah caught them at it and broke into a saucy, sidelong smirk. At least Hector had the decency to look chagrined. Bobby just leered.
Hawk cut the meat and the others passed the dishes around. When everyone had been served, Delilah and Bobby went to dive in, but Dolly coughed politely.
"Hawk, would you say Grace? The Reverend couldn't be here tonight, but it is Sunday."
Hawk set his fork down guiltily. "Yeah, sure. Okay. Ummm. Good Lord, let us be thankful that we got food to eat, and that we ain't starving. Let's give thanks we got a town with law and order, and not some wild cow town. And let's give thanks for the Black Lash for helpin' that be true. Amen."
"Amen," they all said, and then fell on dinner. Dolly wished she could get them to eat a little less like savages, but at least they used forks. Delilah ate like a princess, taking little bites and chewing carefully. The boys just wolfed down their meal, with only old Abe taking time to taste it.
"Really, dear," Dolly ventured. "I don't know that it's proper to thank some wild woman vigilante in a Sunday prayer."
Hawk swallowed. "Well now, I think it is. Woman or not, we'd have a heap of trouble without her. All the toughs and ne'er-do-wells are gettin' chased out of the cow-towns and rail-stops and they're all lookin' for someplace else to set up. We're right here on the river, and with a new train station we're gonna have a heck of a lot of trade comin' through. The town's growing. It's gonna get interesting, that's for sure."
"Have you ever seen her?" Delilah said. "They say she rides like a Comanche and shoots like Annie Oakley."
"And snaps her whip like a devil," Bobby added, ducked his head when Dolly glowered at him. "Pardon my French."
Hawk nodded. "I seen her shoot a sixgun out of a feller's hand from twenty yards and then put another shot in his saddle horn. I saw her hang off the side of her horse and use that whip of hers to cut a man's gun belt off at a full gallop. Darndest thing I ever saw. Pardon my French."
"Well, now." Dolly cut in. "All you boys can ride and shoot. You work hard to keep this town clean and safe. I think you deserve just as much credit. The Black Lash must be a woman of extremely low character to ride and fight like that. I mean, the very idea!"
"Used to be a feller," Abe said. "Back in the day. Then he stopped comin' around and a bit later this lady Lash turned up."
"Figure it was her dad?" Hector said. "Maybe he died and she took up for him?"
"All I know is I'd need twice as many deputies to keep things in order without her. Even if she don't corral every troublemaker with a pistol and a bone to pick, she still puts the fear into 'em." Hawk smiled and lifted his glass. "So here's to the Black Lash and the Whipcrack Kid. Keeping Century safe."
"Hear hear!" They all drank except for Dolly, who frowned at her mashed potatoes.
Hawk set his glass down. "Gonna need 'em too. I hear the Vandal brothers are back in town."
"We run 'em out once," Bobby said. "We can run 'em out again."
"Yeah, I just don't fancy getting' shot doin' it this time," Abe said, packing his pipe.
"Please," Dolly said a bit too loudly. "Let's not talk about anybody getting shot at Sunday dinner. It's not proper table conversation."
Hawk patted her leg. "Easy, darlin'. Nobody's gonna get shot, don't get all worked up."
"Indeed," Delilah said with her one-sided smile. "You should relax, dear. I'm sure these boys have it all under control."
o0o
Delilah left early, after the men retired to the back porch to smoke and sip the whiskey Dolly pretended she didn't know Hawk kept under the porch. The sisters got the table cleared and then Delilah took her shawl off the hook and swirled it over her shoulders. "So sorry, darlin'. You know I'd stay, but I have a gentleman waitin' for me."
Dolly waved her away. "Oh, don't fret about this." She cocked her head and gave her sister a long look. "Don't you ever miss being properly married? You meet so many men, surely one of them would make a decent husband."
Delilah's bright eyes darkened and she shook her head slowly. "Oh, no. Nobody could ever replace Horatio. After he died . . . well, there didn't seem a point to lookin'."
"You don't have to stay in Century, you know. With all the money you've made at the Widow you could go anywhere. Marry a doctor or a banker or someone like that. You could give up all this . . . well, you could put your profession behind you." Dolly poured water from a pail into the dry sink, set to rolling up her sleeves.
"And what makes you think I'd give up whoring if I got married?" Delilah said, one brow arching.
"Oh, you! Must you be so utterly wicked?" Dolly flicked water at her sister, who smirked.
"One of us has to be. You set such a clean example it inspires me to new heights of depravity daily." Delilah fluttered her fan. Her voice was light but careful. "Do you really want me to move away so badly?"
Dolly sighed. "I just want you to be happy, Lilah. I fret about you, is all."
"Not all of us want to be married like you." Delilah smiled. "Some of us are enjoying every inch of our lives. And I mean every inch. I could give you names—"
"God, no! Last thing I need is to be informed of what dreadful sinners my neighbors are."
"Well-hung sinners, some of 'em."
Dolly squeezed her eyes shut, blushing furiously. "Oh! Leave me to my blissful ignorance, please!"
"So you don't want to know whose husbands pay me good money to top me and pretend I'm you?" Delilah prudently stepped back as Dolly rounded on her with uplifted spoon.
"Don't you dare! I'd never be able to look them in the face again!" Dolly brandished the wooden spoon like a hatchet. "Bad enough for you to indulge them like that, worse yet to cavort with married men, you hussy." She was only half-frowning.
Delilah shrugged. "If it weren't for cheating husbands I wouldn't make half as much money, and if it weren't for cheating wives I'd make twice as much."
"You wretched tramp." Dolly said without malice, turning back to the sink. Delilah sidled up and embraced her. Dolly wouldn't touch her fine dress with wet hands, but she leaned in until their foreheads touched.
"You should have married the preacher instead of the sheriff," Delilah said.
"Unspeakable temptress," Dolly said, smiling.
"Goody Two-Shoes," Delilah replied. She kissed her sister on the cheek and swept to the door. "I'm off. I'll give him one for you." She giggled and was gone before Dolly could think of anything clever to say.
o0o
All three stories of the Merry Widow were lit up with the new electric bulbs, and Delilah was justly proud of it. Her husband had not left her much when he'd been killed three years back. Delilah had been left to fend for herself with nothing more than a small dry goods store with an apartment above it, two horses, a wagon, and their debts. She'd been faced with the choice of selling out and moving in with her sister, marrying again, or finding some other way to make do. She had no desire to intrude upon her sister's happily married life, and thought that her own grief might make that unbearable for her, too, so Delilah had decided to go into business for herself. Over the years plenty of men had made it plain they would pay well to bed her, so she'd simply hung out a sign and put her newly-widowed ass to work.
It was easy, shockingly so, and before long the men who came around were calling her place "The Merry Widow" instead of just calling her that. She hired three more girls, and then some fellows to protect them, and the rest just fell into place. After a year she had the whole place torn down and rebuilt while she worked out of the Imperial Hotel, and two years back the Merry Widow proper was open for business. Three floors, a gaming room, saloon, electricity, modern plumbing, and many lush decorative improvements: rich hardwood floors with oriental rugs, the finest mirrors and lewdest paintings all shipped from the East by train, sparing no expense.
Ordinarily Delilah enjoyed mixing in the common room, chatting up customers and watching the card games. As a local celebrity, she was expected to put in appearances, but tonight she had an assignation. She slipped off the coach before they reached the pool of light out front and sashayed down the dark side of the building to the concealed door that only she knew how to open. A press at the right point and part of the wall swung out, letting her into the narrow spiral stair that ascended quickly to her own rooms on the top floor.
She opened the secret panel behind the hanging and emerged into her sitting room. Soft red shades muted the electric light to a Dionysian glow, shining on her gilded divan and the deep pile Persian rug. The bead portiere was still swinging gently, and so she knew he was already here.
She drew off her shawl and let it flutter to the back of the divan, unpinned her hair so it spilled down in a cascade of blonde ringlets. She stalked toward the bedroom, unlacing her bodice as she went so that her creamy cleavage began to spill out. "Saxon? I know you're here, you devil. Don't make me hunt you down."
She unpinned her dress and squirmed easily out of it, left it on the floor like a snakeskin. Her corset of black lace and gold silk over red velvet worked with roses and filigree thorns covered nothing that a corset ought to cover, and left her full breasts and swelling hips on display.
She slipped through the beaded curtain and struck a pose. Red light gave the scene a sensual cast, the lamp reflected in the ornate round mirror over her vanity. A Chinese dressing screen stood beside her enormous wardrobe, all making way for her vast four-posted bed – besides herself, the foremost tool of her fleshy trade.
Saxon Vandal reclined on the bed, all black clothes and blacker glittering eyes. The leather of his gloves creaked as he toyed with his plated revolver. His hair was shaggy and dark, the tips reddish in the lamplight. His beard hadn't been touched in at least three days and it darkened his cheeks and jaw. Every time she saw him, she imagined he'd grown more handsome. Every time. "I've been waiting," he said. He spun the pistol on his finger and then tossed it aside on the bed, held his hand out. "Come here."
"You're early, darlin'." Delilah prowled closer to the bed, peeling off her long gloves with deliberate slowness. She tied them in a knot and threw them on him. Saxon flicked them away and came up out of the bed fast as a wolf, gripped her bare arms in his gloved hands. He pulled her close until her tits were flush against his vest and then he bent to kiss her. He smelled of leather and horses and whiskey and he kissed her like he was trying to control her. Delilah pawed at his chest, at the buttons of his shirt as her mouth opened to taste his tongue. This was one part of her job she really enjoyed.
He groped her, suddenly seemed to realize he still had gloves on and ripped them off. His bare hands were rough and warm, and Delilah gasped when he swept them up her arms, up the sides of her neck, to her face. He pulled her back into the kiss. His stubble scratched her as he claimed her lips with his, kissed down to her neck, hands cupping and squeezing her breasts. She got his vest open, then his shirt, ran her hands over the scarred muscles of his chest. He took her golden curls in two hard fistfuls and kissed her like he was drowning, then he drew her back and licked her mouth.
"Down," he said, nodding.
She went to her knees, sliding over the lean muscle of his body until she knelt on the carpet, the heels of her boots digging into her ass. She slid a hand under his gun belt and undid the buttons of his jeans with her small fingers, until she had room enough to reach in and pry his hard length free. It throbbed in her fist and she squeezed it hard, the way she knew he liked. She dragged her lower lip across the underside and breathed on it, taking in the smell of him. Perfumed city-boys were fine enough, but Delilah liked men.
"Been too long, sweet piece," he said, his voice hoarse. And she took him in. She pressed her lips to it, then her tongue, and she let her saliva drip down his shaft before she slipped the head into her mouth and twisted down to her fingers in one smooth motion. "Ohh, yeah. Way too long."
She sucked him, working her mouth up and down his thick cock, letting the drool flow until it dripped onto her tits and pattered on the floor, until her hand was slick with it and she took it away, worked him with just her lips and tongue. Delilah knotted her hands in the leather of his chaps and pulled him deeper, let him slip past the back of her throat until her lips were flush against his base, dark hairs tickling her nose. Already, salty-sweet fluid dripped from the tip – she could taste it on the upstroke, slick across her tongue.
He breathed harder, his cock twitching, his hips hunching forward. He twisted his hands in her hair and fucked her mouth, driving to the back of her throat until she almost choked, but Delilah had done this far too many times to lose control. She slipped her hands down between her stockinged thighs and slithered her fingers through her slick furrow, groaning as Saxon drove his cock into her mouth. She felt herself go lightheaded and closed her eyes, letting him use her until he tensed. His cock throbbed powerfully and then her mouth was full of the sticky saltiness of him as it came coursing out. There was too much for her; with him pushed so far into her mouth she couldn't swallow, and the excess flowed over her lips and ran down her chin to drip onto her breasts.
She drew back, looked up at him with a trail of his spending stretched between his cock and her lips. She spat rudely onto his shaft and he growled, pulled her up by the hair and flung her belly-down on the bed. There was just enough time to push up on her toes before he took the lower edge of her corset in one hand and sank his cock into her with one long thrust. He ground hard at the base and she gasped, let out a long groan as he pulled away and then buried himself in her again. She could feel her own wetness, pushed out by his cock, flow over her mound, over her thighs, trickling up her belly. His spending was slippery between her breasts, and the smell of him was all over her.
Saxon paused there, and she heard his belt jingle. He dropped his gun belt across her back and she grunted from the weight. She heard his chaps drop and then he could thrust into her with nothing more in the way. He dug his fingers into the laces of the corset and pulled her back against him, fucked her hard enough to make her ass jiggle when his hips smacked into her. Delilah put her face down in the satin coverlet and moaned. She rubbed herself furiously where he split her, tickling his cock as it speared in and out. Her thighs were wet to her stockings.
He slipped the knot and ripped at the laces of her corset until it began to loosen, then withdrew suddenly, earning a whimper of protest. He rolled her on her back and threw her down among the pillows, a merciless lust in his eyes. The busk parted under his eager hands, he threw the edges of the corset aside and slid his hands over her creamy belly and heaving tits. She spread herself for him eagerly, sat up far enough to watch him slide his cock back into her hairless furrow.
"Ohhh, yeah," she sighed. "That's the way I like it." She brought her legs up around him as he started a slow, steady pounding that had her climbing the walls. Her well-padded frame jiggled and jounced as he slaked himself, his jeans around his thighs, rivets tapping her flank. Delilah rubbed diligently at her button and he grinned a feral grin. "That's just the way." At last she arched up, clamping her thighs against his sides, wailed as he pounded her through a galloping climax. He ground deep into her, control slipping away. She felt him throb as he buried himself completely and came inside her, hissing through clenched teeth.
o0o
After, they lay in the languor that came after a good fuck. Saxon lay next to her and played with her tits with lewd affection. They both took a while to catch their breath. Delilah looked down and chuckled. "You didn't even take your boots off, you savage."
"Anything keepin' my cock from gettin' into you right away is keepin' me too damned long." He rolled a nipple between his fingers. "Besides, I can't stay. I have to go meet someone."
"You wastrel, I won't let you dilly off with some other girl. I won't leave her a drop left in you!" She grabbed his half-hard prick and wrung it. A few drops trickled from the tip and she caught them on her finger. He hissed and jerked away and she laughed, licked her fingertip. "I'll wager you couldn't get it up for an hour or better anyway."
"Not a girl, sweet piece. I got work to do," He rolled her on her side and slapped her ass just to make it jounce.
"I hope it's payin' work, because you owe me for that tumble just now, plus two more last year you haven't paid for yet. You're lucky I fancy you or I'd have left you to screw a knothole until you pay up." She rolled onto her belly and propped herself on her elbows, knowing the expanse of cleavage squeezed between her arms would make him stupid.
"It's payin' work, darlin'. It's gonna pay good, too." He glanced around, lowered his voice. "Old Man Whitlock is movin' some of his gold tonight, in a coach from his ranch to the bank. All of it secret so's he don't have to worry about it gettin' stole. Only it's gonna get stole for sure." He ran his hand down the channel of her spine. "Then I'll pay you up smart, Lilah. I'll buy you for a week and you'll fuck me like I was Croesus himself." He chuckled, cocked his head quickly as the church bell tolled ten. "But I gotta get goin' or my brothers'll have me hided to the barn."
He kissed her hard and deep, rolled off the bed. She watched him dress, handed him his gun belt when he started looking for it. At last he grabbed his silver Colt from the bedspread and twirled it before he socked it away. He flipped his hat on and tapped the brim to her. "Later, sweet piece. I get back, I'm gonna fuck you like a ranch of stallions." He swaggered more than he had to on his way out, leaving the bead curtain clicking behind him.
Delilah sighed and rolled out of bed, stretched until her spine popped and shook her head. Then she started unlacing her boots in earnest. There was gonna be trouble, and it was time for the Black Lash to ride.
* * * * *
Chapter 2: Kiss of the Lash!
It was almost midnight when the heavy wagon came clattering down Main Street towards the monolithic First Century Bank. Despite the hour, the streets of Century were far from empty, even on Sunday. Men still reeled from saloon to saloon, brothel to brothel, some lying drunk in the alleys between buildings or under the boardwalks. Main Street itself was less traveled this time of day, though, fronted mostly by honest businesses that had closed up decently on Sunday, and the two men on the wagon stood out in the dark and silent street.
They were probably the only sober men awake on the whole street at that hour, and they carried their shotguns and rifles easily and ready to hand. The wagon was a fine one, and the horses were the best.
They kept their eyes sharp as they drew up in front of the bank, as did the two horsemen who followed. The fellow they were supposed to meet stood in the shadow of the front door to the bank, waved them down cautiously. The two riders moved to screen the wagon from the street even as the shotgun rider hopped down, not quite pointing his weapon at the shadowy figure.
"Password," Shotgun said, waiting for the code he'd been given.
The figure tipped back a bowler hat and took a step forward. "The password is see you in hell!" He slapped the shotgun barrel aside even as it blasted the window behind him, and then a huge Bowie knife flashed and stabbed deep. Shotgun yelled and sagged to the street, and all hell broke loose.
Two riders burst from an alleyway between the barbershop and the Imperial Hotel and opened up with pistols blazing. Shots ripped through the night and cut down the wagon's escort in a hail of hot lead. They went down firing, bullets cracking off walls and smashing windows. Horses screamed as the driver tried to snap the reins and draw his pistol at the same time, ended up doing neither very well. The terrified horses lurched and the driver got off one ill-aimed shot that shattered a streetlamp. Then the first dark figure leaped onto the buckboard and whipped the bloody knife through the driver's throat. The man gagged and fell sideways, clutching at the torrent of blood.
Dane Vandal leaped into the seat, shoved the driver off with one foot and grabbed up the reins. His vulpine face was covered by a kerchief, and his narrow eyes gleamed. He stabbed his Bowie into the wood beside him and lashed the reins. "C'mon! Step up!" The horses kicked into a nervous walk and Dane steered the wagon into a tight turn. He scowled as his brother Saxon ran up and vaulted up beside him. "Get back on yer horse!"
"Horse caught a bullet," Saxon worked the lever on his shiny new rifle. "I'm ridin' shotgun."
Norman galloped past, pistol in hand. "Get a move on, you two! We just woke up the whole damn town!"
Dane got the team pointed the right way and cracked the reins again. "Let's ride!" The horses kicked up speed, and the wagon bumped as they ran over one of the bodies in the street. Dane spat to the side and grinned. This was going to be easy money.
o0o
Dolly started awake as Hawk leaped out of bed, already groping for his pants in the dark. She turned up the gas lamp beside the bed as he struggled into his clothes and grabbed his gun belt. "Darlin', what is it?"
"I heard shots." He grabbed his rifle from beside the door as he darted out of the room. "A lot of shots," he called over his shoulder.
Dolly heard it too, a barrage of pistol cracks coming closer by the moment. She grabbed her dressing gown off the hook and clutched in front of her as she ran after her husband.
Hawk reached the front door and threw it open just as a wagon went rattling past with the horses going flat out, a rider following behind it. Shots cracked and he ducked as one crunched into the wooden porch-post. He whipped up his Winchester '76 and drew down, but the men on the wagon were already out of sight. He had a shot at the rider's horse, but didn't much want to take it.
He whirled as hooves pounded down the street behind him, then relaxed when he saw it was Heck and Bobby charging up with a third horse in tow. Bobby was still in his undershirt and looked mighty pissed, but his shotgun was ready in his hand.
"They killed two or three fellers back by the bank and stole the wagon!" Heck said, tossing Hawk the reins. "They're hurrahing the heck out of the town. I think it's the Vandals."
Hawk swung into the saddle and nodded. "Let's round 'em up." He urged his horse to a gallop and the three of them went tearing off into the midnight darkness.
Dolly tried to shout after them to be careful, but they didn't hear. She stood there for a moment, watching them, her stomach knotting as it always did when Hawk rode after trouble. She didn't even hear Abraham come up behind her until he smacked her uncovered behind with one rawhide hand. "Dammit girl, when will you learn to keep your pretty ass out of sight when there's shootin'?"
Dolly jumped, flushed red as an apple, and ran for her room, clutching the gown around her. Abe spat off the porch as he watched her go, snapped a round into his buffalo rifle. "Your skin's too pretty for holes, darlin'." He called after her. Abe couldn't ride like a deputy had to anymore, not since the leg wound, so he stood on the porch and kept an eye on the night, cussing every cuss he knew.
o0o
Even going full speed the wagon couldn't outrun fresh horses, and Hawk and his deputies gained quickly. The moon was almost down, but it was a clear night. The rider followed behind the wagon and snapped pistol shots at them. He and Bobby kept their heads down and spurred the horses faster. Heck shot back.
"Damn it Heck, stop wasting shots!" Hawk yelled over the pounding hooves.
"I can get him!" Heck yelled back, firing again. His horse was faster, and he drew away from Hawk and Bobby steadily. Heck whooped and hollered as he blazed away and Hawk shook his head. Heck was a hell of a fast draw, but he tended to get carried away. Still, with him and the rider trading shots and keeping each other busy that left just the guy on the wagon to shoot at them. A rifle cracked and Hawk didn't even hear the bullet – not even close.
Hawk caught movement in the corner of his right eye, turned and saw three other riders coming down the mill road, hurrying to intercept them. He swung away from Bobby to give them two targets instead of one. "It's an ambush!" he shouted over the gunfire and blowing horses.
Bobby reined in sharp and pulled to the right so the new riders burst through the sage and onto the road ahead of him. He laid the double barrels of his twelve gauge on the crook of his left arm and let fly. The boom of the street howitzer was huge even in the open air, and one of the riders went over and hit the road like a sandbag. Another one cursed and shook his arm. They didn't call him Buckshot Bobby for nothing.
Hawk swooped in for the kill, charged the lead rider and brought up his rifle one-handed. He saw the man raising a big pistol, the hammer snap-snapping back, and then Hawk pulled the trigger and shot him, galloped past before he saw him kiss dirt.
Heck hadn't even noticed the ambush. He was still trading fire with the wagon's rearguard and neither of them was hitting anything. The sides of the road started to slope up and Hawk knew they were getting close to the bridge. The road narrowed ahead and they'd never get around the wagon to cut it off until they were across the creek. This was getting them nowhere. He ducked as rifle shots from the wagon hummed past him. The rider behind the wagon might have had trouble hitting the broad side of a barn, but somebody on that wagon was a wicked shot.
Pistol shots popped and cracked behind him and he heard Bobby's shotgun boom again, pretty far back. Dropping back had slowed Bobby down and he'd be awhile catching up. Hawk snapped the lever on his rifle and took a shot at the wagon just to keep them honest. His horse was breathing hard. Hell, so was he. He was getting too old for this crap.
He heard a new horse scream and looked up, whooped when he saw a black rider on the ridge above, pacing the wagon below with a black cape billowing behind her. Maybe they'd have some help with this after all.
o0o
Dane heard the horse too, looked up and blanched. "Goddammit it's the fuckin' Black Lash!" He grabbed for a fresh pistol as Saxon swore and wrenched at his jammed rifle. The rider above them turned and charged down the slope at an angle, not losing a foot of ground. It was riding fit to make a horseman cry with envy. The dreaded whip cracked in the darkness and they both flinched.
Sax got the rifle cleared and started firing as fast as he could work the lever. The shots cracked in the darkness, leaving the air acrid with gunsmoke. When the hammer clicked down on an empty chamber he swore.
"Piece of shit!" Saxon yelled, throwing his useless rifle at the masked black figure. Her horse danced nimbly back and then charged in beside them, close. Saxon drew his nickel-plated pistol in a silver blur and snapped the hammer back, aiming for the center of his target, just below the creamy cleavage.
The black whip snapped out and slashed the gun out of his hand, scoring his wrist like a snakebite. The Lash hopped lithely out of her stirrups, set her feet on the plunging saddle and snapped her whip again. This time it caught around his arm like a noose and she pulled hard, using the leverage to leap from the saddle. Dane gaped as she pulled Saxon clear off his seat to tumble into the dust below just as she landed square on the top of the wagon.
She was smaller than he'd expected. He'd never seen her so close. She was covered head to toe in black, and a cascade of gleaming black hair whirled from under her black hat. Her eyes gleamed from the holes in her harlequin mask, but it was too dark to discern their color. There was no missing the amazing swell of cleavage that showed through the open V of her vest. The whip coiled in her right hand like a live snake.
Dane panicked, trying to bring his gun to bear. He snapped off a wild shot before her hissing whip cracked it out of his hand. She leaped forward and kicked him in the face, knocking the gun from his hands and nearly throwing him down between the horses. Swearing, he grabbed for purchase and his hand closed on his Bowie, still stuck in the boards. He grinned and wrenched it out.
The Lash stepped back easy as a cat on the pitching, rocking wagon-top, giving Dane some distance. Her eyes flashed in the moonlight and she snaked her whip back and forth like a tiger tail. Dane stood braced on the buckboard and brandished his knife at her. "Come on! I'll give it to you!" She flicked the whip at him and he flinched for only a moment, lunged for her as she did the same.
He swept the blade at her and she dodged, her cape swirling, disguising her motions. The whip cracked like a pistol shot and he felt it burn a cut across his chest. He stabbed again and she rolled past him, kicked him in the back of the knee and brought him crashing down. She sprang onto the buckboard and her whip slashed down, cutting through the reins like a sword. Two more cracks and she severed the traces as well and the horse team leaped away without the weight of the wagon to hold them back. Free of the horses, the wagon began to slow.
"No, goddammit!" Dane groped for purchase, almost rolled off the side. He struggled to his feet and lunged for her. The Lash drew back her arm, but he was too close, and he went over on top of her, his blood-smeared knife stabbing for her pretty eyes.
o0o
Hawk whooped when he saw the Lash leap aboard the wagon, and then he was struggling to stay in the saddle as his horse suddenly lost its gait. Thrown goddamn shoe. He swore fit to make Dolly turn red and reined in. The Lash was going to get whatever glory was for the getting tonight. He swore again, drew his horse up, and when he stopped he heard a groan. Lo and behold, one of the shapeless shadows in the road had a shape after all. He jumped down and snapped the lever on his rifle, took aim. "All right. Turn over, nice and slow. Let me see your hands."
The man rolled over with a pained groan, holding up scraped, dirty hands. His face was dusted with road dirt, but even in the crappy light, Hawk knew those sharp features.
"Well, Saxon Vandal. As I live and breathe! I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what the hell you're doin' out here?" Hawk turned as Bobby rode up, his horse blowing and dripping foam. "Look here, Bobby. We got us a Vandal."
Bobby slapped two more shells in his scattergun and snapped it shut. "I don't suppose you'd try and escape, would ya, Sax?" Bobby put on a leering imitation of an innocent face. "Pretty please?"
o0o
The wagon lurched and Dane's stab – aimed for the Lash's unprotected face – went low and hit home in the shoulder. He put all his weight into it, but it was like stabbing a rock. He grunted in shock and then she snapped her knee up into his midsection and all the breath went out of him at once. She slapped the knife from his hand and smashed her elbow into his jaw. Next thing he knew she had her whip around his throat and was throttling out what little air he had. He heard the sound of the wheels change, and then they were on the covered bridge over the creek.
The bridge wasn't finished yet. The old one had washed away in a flood that spring and the cover over the new one was still just a lattice of crossbeams. The bed wasn't done yet either. It was good enough to walk on, but the boards weren't all nailed down, and under the wheels of the heavy wagon they started to come up and scatter. The wagon lurched to one side and headed for the edge.
The Lash moved fast as a rattlesnake. She hooked her hand in Dane's belt, cracked out her whip and snagged an overhanging beam. The uncontrolled wagon smashed into the side of the bridge and went clean through, the momentum swinging them both out over the creek-bed twenty feet below. Dane was staring down as he swung out over empty space with only the Lash's hand locked on his belt to hold him. He watched, hypnotized, as the wagon plummeted majestically to crunch into the shallow, muddy water below.
When they swung back onto the bridge she dropped him, and his head cracked hard on the wood, then she landed on him and her knee went right into his gut. Everything went gray and fuzzy after that, and by the time he came around he was tied up, the Lash was gone, and Deputy Hector had a gun in his face. Dane rolled over and looked up as Sheriff Hawk ambled up to him and smiled. "Nice night for a ride, eh Dane?" Dane just groaned and closed his eyes. Damn the Black Lash all to hell.
o0o
It was almost two in the morning when Delilah stepped back into her room. She'd just had a quick bath to wash off the trail dust and was still ruffling her hair back into shape after having it crammed under the wig. The room was dark, quiet. She sighed happily. A good night's work, and now she could get some sleep. No more appointments until tomorrow.
She slipped into her still-rumpled bed and thought of Saxon. The sheets still smelled of him and she shook her head. Poor idiot. He was a fantastic screw, and gorgeous. Too damn bad he was probably going to hang for this, or at least go to Joliet for a good long while. At least that old bastard Whitlock would have to pay to have his gold hauled out of the creek now. That tickled her.
She could distantly hear the hum of the crowd below in the saloon and the common room, familiar and comforting. She could smell leather and perfume and horses and ether. Ether?
Delilah tried to leap to her feet and was almost fast enough to avoid the strong hands that thrust her down in the mattress and clapped an ether-soaked rag over her face. She fought, trying to hold her breath, but she had no leverage, and the man who held her was powerfully strong, and eventually she had to breathe. Her lungs filled with the pungent gas, and darkness came in around the edges of her vision. She thrashed one more time, and then everything went black.
* * * * *
Chapter 3: Hello, Dolly
On Wednesday, Dolly did her usual round of baking: two loaves of bread and three pies – one cherry, and two apple – one for the preacher. The luscious smell drifted out the windows and the screen door into the early-summer afternoon. She had to keep a watch on the pies as they cooled on the windowsill, but only for crows. Even the rowdiest neighborhood kids would try to steal the sheriff's apple pie.
At about two she heard a horse out front and glanced out to see Casanova Kane dismounting by the picket fence. Delilah's late husband had taken him in when he was little more than a child, and when Horatio had died the young man became Delilah's ward. He helped out at the Widow, running errands for Delilah, and was a familiar sight around town. Dolly hadn't talked to him much, but he seemed like a good boy. A trifle glib and irreverent, perhaps, but good. What he did at the Widow she couldn't even begin to guess.
She watched him jog up the front walk, well-dressed as usual. He was turning out to be quite handsome. She couldn't remember how old he was now. Nineteen? No more than four or five years younger than she was. He was boyish, lean, but with a level, open gaze and a strong set to his chin.
She opened the screen door before he knocked, smiled and waved him inside. "Hello, Cas. Won't you come inside?" She gave him a pointed look and he hastily removed his bowler, ran a hand through almost-blond hair. She smiled and went to check the extra apple pie to see how cool it was. She always made an extra for Delilah to share with the poor girls who toiled at the Widow. She reckoned they had little enough happiness in their lives. "Lovely day today."
"That it is, Ma'am." Cas looked out the window, distracted.
"I saw the sky so clear and blue this morning, and I thought 'Well now, this will be a fine day for baking, not too hot.' You know baking can be dreadful on a hot day. The whole house gets heated up and then you can't get it cool." She poked the crust. "This one is cool enough, I'll just put it in a basket for you." She opened the cupboard and pulled down her spare picnic basket. "Did Lilah send a message with you? I hoped she would come herself. I was looking forward to having tea with her."
She used the hot pads to set the pie carefully in the basket and draped a towel over it to keep it warm. A glance at Cas showed he was not even looking at her. "Cas? Are you all right?"
He started. "Umm? Yes! Yes, indeed. Like you say, Miss Dolly."
"It's Mrs. Pride, Cas. How many times do I have to tell you?" She closed the basket up. "Will you tell Lilah to stop on by later if she gets a chance? I have a few things to mention to her."
"Umm. If there's anything especial you want to say, I can just take her a message, Missus Pride."
Dolly was just a little rankled. Glib was one thing, slippery was another. "Thank you, but I don't want to pass on a message. I want to talk to her my sister. About sisterly things, you understand." Dolly wiped her hands on her apron.
Cas fidgeted. "Well, I suppose I could mention it to her."
"You suppose? She's my sister, I don't think she'll mind hearing from me."
"Well, it's just that she's – um – out of town for a few days." Cas reached for the basket but she moved it back, eyes narrowing.
"What? Where did she go?" Something wasn't right. Delilah never would have left without telling her, not ever.
Cas flushed, smacked his head. "Did I say that? I didn't mean that. She's just not feeling well is all, and we're telling customers she's out of town until she's feeling more herself."
"Oh! Is she ill?" Dolly was shocked, Delilah had barely ever been sick in her life. "Oh heavens, it's not serious is it?"
"No, no. She's just . . . a bit under the weather, that's all. Hay fever, most likely." Cas dodged past her and caught up the basket, grabbed his hat off the hook and tipped it.
"Well, tell her I'll . . . I'll come by later with some soup for her. Will you tell her that?"
"No! I mean yes! I will tell her but no, you shouldn't come." He looked pained. "You wouldn't want to come to the Widow, Miss Dolly. What would . . . what would your husband say?"
"I—" Dolly was stuck at that, and so she didn't think of anything to say until Cas was already out the door and halfway down the walk. Hawk would say she should take care of her sister, is what he would say. Delilah's profession had always seemed to bother him less than it bothered Dolly.
The whole visit stuck in Dolly's craw, bothering her the whole rest of the day. She thought about sending a letter, but that just seemed silly when Lilah lived less than a mile away. She puzzled over it while she and Abe and Hawk ate dinner. The deputies were off guarding the two captured Vandals for a while. Abe said it was just as well, since Hector wouldn't stop berating himself for letting Norman Vandal get away.
Dolly hardly slept all night, tossing and turning, worried about Delilah. She'd heard spiritualists say there was a connection between twins, and so she imagined she would know if her sister was really in trouble or really ill. But she felt nothing either way, and felt kind of foolish for trying. Eventually, with Hawk snoring beside her, she managed to drift off.
o0o
The next day was wash day, and Dolly found herself in need of more soap. She desperately wished she could take everything down to a Chinese laundry, just this once, but Hawk was proud of their self-sufficiency, and so was she, though they paid him shamefully little. So she washed what she could that didn't need soaping, or much of it, glad to at least have a crank wringer to get them dry before hanging them out.
She was on her way out with a basket of wet linens when she nearly collided with Leo Griffin, the banker from First Century. Startled, she barely managed to not drop her washing on the porch.
"Mr. Griffin!" she said, embarrassed that he would see her like this – her sleeves rolled up and her hair uncovered. "What a surprise finding you here!"
He looked as startled as she was, quickly regained his usual smooth manner. He was over forty, tall and well-built, and always cut a fine figure in his expensive clothes. His chiseled features and just-silvering black hair made him one of the more distinguished gentleman of Century. Dolly had heard more than one woman lament his happy marriage. Griffin was always impeccably dressed, and this time was no exception.
"Your pardon, Mrs. Pride. I didn't mean to startle you." He looked around. "I imagine you are wondering why I was coming through the back yard."
"I confess I was," she said. "But please, where have my manners gone? Won't you come inside?"
"Thank you." He walked in like a tomcat, like he owned the place. He'd always had that way about him, he always seemed to be the most important person in the room. Dolly set down her washing and led him to the parlor, seated him and retreated to the kitchen to fix some tea and try and make herself more presentable.
When she felt somewhat less bedraggled, she emerged, set down the tray and let the tea brew in the pot. "Can I get you anything else, Mr. Griffin?"
"No, no. Please sit down, Dolores." He cocked a sharp brow over sharper blue eyes. "May I call you Dolores?"
"I – I suppose." No one had called her that since her mother died. She much preferred Dolly, but it seemed too familiar just now. She sat down, folded her hands in her lap.
"I know you must be wondering why I'm paying you this unexpected visit," he said. "Let me cut to the point. I have a matter of some delicacy to discuss, which is why I came in the back way – I wanted to keep this discreet."
"Indeed? Well. I suppose you'd best tell me what this is about, then."
"Taxes, my dear. Taxes on this house."
Dolly was puzzled. "Taxes? We live here without rent because Hawkeye is Sheriff."
"Yes, yes. The property is part of the job, that's true. But there are taxes on the house which need to be paid, and those taxes were not paid last year."
"We've lived here three years," Dolly said. "We never paid taxes before."
"I have all the documents here," Griffin said. He opened his valise and took out papers. "We're a growing town. The county re-assessed all the property in Century last year, and this site had new taxes imposed. It's all there."
Dolly looked at the bewildering panoply of forms. "Have you spoken to my husband about this? He'd be the one to—"
"I have, I have. But he's being unreasonable, says he won't pay. I was hoping you could talk sense to him." Griffin looked apologetic. "That's why I came to see you."
"Well. . . ." Dolly shuffled the papers, unable to make heads or tails of them. "Perhaps I can. How much money is it?"
"Two hundred dollars," Griffin said.
Dolly jerked as though she'd been slapped. "Two hundred!? The house itself wouldn't cost that much!" She tried to regain her composure.
"Yes, well. Century is growing, and houses in this part of town will be at quite a premium. It's certain. Someday this will be the finest neighborhood in a new city." Griffin smiled at the prospect.
"But we can't possibly pay that much!" Dolly shook her head, pushing the papers away. "We don't have that kind of money, Mr. Griffin. We're not wealthy like you. Hawk is only paid fifty dollars a month."
"I know, I know, dear. But it has to be paid, otherwise. . . ."
"Otherwise what?"
He looked embarrassed. "Otherwise you will be evicted. Within a month, I would say."
"Evicted? Hawk is the sheriff!" Dolly struggled to keep from crying out of sheer frustration. She would not shed a single tear in front of him. She refused.
"And he'll still be the sheriff, dear. He'll just have to find somewhere else to live, that's all. I'm very sorry."
"Oh my Lord!" Dolly sat dazed for a long moment, then she turned to Mr. Griffin and clutched his hand. "Surely there's something you can do? You've always been a good friend to us, Mr. Griffin. There must be some way you can help us. You understand these things, surely you can tell us how to put it right without . . . without beggaring ourselves." She tried very hard to keep the note of pleading from her voice, but it crept in around the edges nevertheless.
Mr. Griffin sat for a moment, poking his tongue around in his cheek. He took her hand, and leaned in close. "I might be able to hold off the eviction, maybe even . . . pay the taxes myself."
"Oh! Could you?" Dolly squeezed his hand. She was breathing heavily, her face flushed. Two hundred dollars? What would they do?
"I would be willing to pay it in full from my own pocket . . . if you would agree to pay me back." He leaned in closer.
"Well, I . . . I don't have that kind of money to pay in the first place. I certainly couldn't pay it back." Dolly stammered.
"Oh, I don't mean money. You have something I would like far more than that." He smirked, sure he was going to get what he wanted. "In fact, let's go upstairs and you can make a, ah, down payment." He pulled her in close as if to kiss her, and despite that there were a few dozen housewives who would have been blissfully happy in this situation, Dolly was not one of them. He was very handsome, but this was more than she could stomach.