Longarm #431 (8 page)

“You startled me,” Melody Thompson said. The lady was lying in Longarm's bed. She was, he noticed, rather completely—and prettily—naked.

Longarm grinned. “Now that's somethin' to come home to,” he said.

He walked into the room, shoved his .45 back into the leather, and closed the door. He reached up and shot the bolt closed to lock it behind him.

He deposited his purchases on the bedside table, leaned down, and gave Melody a long, lingering kiss.

“You smell nice,” he said.

“You don't,” Melody accused him. “You smell like a goat. Get naked so I can give you a bath.”

“Now that's the nicest thing anybody's said to me all day,” Longarm told her. But he started pulling his clothes off, as instructed.

When he removed his shirt, Melody let out a subdued shriek. “Custis, what are those wounds?”

“Uh, shotgun pellets,” he said. “I had a little problem a little while ago.”

“That is terrible. Let me take care of those. Lie down here. Do you have any bandages?”

He pointed to the paper wrapped package on the table. “Bandages an' antiseptic, too. That's what I got 'em for.”

Melody changed places with him and opened the package of bandage cloth. She tore off a small piece and soaked it with whiskey, then carefully cleaned the blood away from the punctures on his stomach.

She felt each wound to make sure there was no lead still inside and found two where the pellets were embedded. “Do you have a knife? I need to dig these out.” She laughed. “No, don't look at me like that. They're really just superficial, but I don't want to leave them in. Now tell me, where is your knife?”

Longarm pointed to his trousers, lying on the seat of his chair. Melody retrieved Longarm's pocketknife, opened it, and wiped the alcohol-laden cloth over the blade before she bent close and very gently probed each of the two wounds until she was able to extract the lead pellets.

“You act like you done this before,” Longarm observed.

“That is because I have. Never mind where or for who,” she said, still concentrating on the five small punctures in his stomach. Finally she stood. “Good. That seems to be everything.”

She wet the cloth with more rye and carefully swabbed each puncture, then got the roll of cotton bandage. “Sit up,” she said. “I need to be able to wind this around you. There, that's better.”

She wound the bandage tightly, taking four wraps around his midsection to cover all the punctures, then tied the bandage off.

“You do nice work, Nurse Thompson,” he said.

“There is one more thing you need,” Melody told him.

“An' what would that be?”

“Lie down again. I need to drain your balls.”

“Ah. Sounds like an excellent plan. Very restorative.” Longarm laughed. He lay down, his pecker standing tall.

Melody bent over him again. But this time her nursing had nothing to do with wounds. She peeled back his foreskin, leaned down lower, and opened her pretty mouth.

Longarm woke before dawn, as was his habit. Melody lay snuggled close and warm at his side. He dimly remembered her getting up in the night and using the thunder mug after fumbling around for it and moving his trousers out of her way.

He rolled onto his side and pulled Melody to him so that their bodies fit together like spoons.

Longarm's morning hard-on poking her in the ass roused Melody, and she smiled and shoved her butt back against him. She lifted her leg to allow him entry to her pussy, and he lay there, socketed deep inside the warmth of her body.

He placed one arm across her body and cupped her right tit in his hand. It was warm and soft, her nipple hard against his palm.

“Nice,” she whispered.

Melody smelled of flowers and yeast and dried sweat. It was not an unpleasant combination.

Neither of them moved for a time. Then very slowly and softly he began to stroke in and out. She responded by pushing back against him.

After a few minutes Melody's breathing quickened, and he could feel her pussy clenching and fluttering against his cock. She gave a tiny, subdued cry as she reached a climax.

Longarm began to move faster then, driving harder and deeper until he was pummeling her ass with his belly. And ramming her cunt with his hard cock.

He reached his own climax, spewing jism inside Melody's body.

“Ow, that hurts,” Melody said.

“Too deep?”

“Your hand on my tit. You're hurting me.”

“Sorry.” He had not realized that when he came he clutched her breast so very hard. “Should I kiss it and make it well?”

Melody laughed. “No, but stay inside me for a while, will you, please? It feels nice there.” She pressed her butt back against him. Her thighs trapped his cock where it was, but he certainly did not mind that.

In a few minutes her breathing steadied and slowed down, and she dropped off to sleep again.

Longarm lay where he was, enjoying the feel of her slender body warm against his.

After a little while he dozed, too, still locked inside Melody's pussy.

“Breakfast?” he asked when the two of them were dressing after finally getting out of bed.

Melody smiled. “Spending time with a gentleman outside the bedroom. Imagine that.”

“Is that a yes or a no?” he asked.

“Oh, it is a yes.” She curtsied. Or tried to. The effect was imperfect considering that Melody was still naked at the time. “I would be pleased to accompany you to breakfast, sir.”

Longarm kissed her. “Good.”

“Careful now. You'll get something started again.” Melody laughed. They had made the beast with two backs again when they awakened this time. Longarm was not sure, but he suspected most of the morning was past. Not that he regretted the time spent in bed with Melody Thompson. Far from it. It was time delightfully spent. The girl was a marvel of energy in bed.

They washed and finished dressing and he extended his arm to escort her out.

“La,” she said. “Such a gentleman.” Then Melody became serious. “Are you sure you won't mind being seen with me in public, Custis? I'm not welcome in polite society, you know.”

Longarm smiled. “You're always welcome with me, dar.”

Melody rose onto tiptoes and kissed the side of his neck.

“Careful,” he said, “or you'll get somethin' started.”

Melody laughed. “Lead on then.”

Longarm squired her downstairs and out onto the street. As he had suspected, it was late morning and the town was busy.

They went down the street to Buck Walters's café where half a dozen men were having midmorning coffee. Longarm led Melody to an empty table and held the chair for her to sit. He chose a spot so he could face the doorway—an old habit that had saved his life more than once—then walked over to the counter.

“We'll have two o' your good breakfasts, Buck, if you're still serving,” he said.

“Coming right up, Custis.”

Buck's wife, who had never uttered a word to Longarm in the time he had been coming here, glanced across the room, then left her stove for a moment to come around the end of the counter and lean in close to Longarm.

She whispered, “Could be you don't know this, but that pretty girl you are with . . . she is no lady.”

Longarm pretended not to understand Mrs. Walters's meaning. “I'm sorry, uh, how d' you mean that?”

Mrs. Walters came even closer and motioned him to lean down. She put her mouth practically in his ear and said, “She is a hoor, that's what she is.”

“A hoor? Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes. I mean . . . all the ladies . . . I mean I've never actually . . . never mind then.”

“Thank you for telling me that,” he said, his tone and expression serious. But he was laughing silently to himself when he headed back to the table.

At least Buck, that good and generous man, was willing to serve them. Longarm knew there would be places in town where they could not have gotten service. In the saloons, yes. But in more respectable establishments, service could have been in doubt.

When he got back to the table he said, “I asked for breakfasts though I suppose it's closer to lunchtime than breakfast. Is that all right?”

“Fine,” Melody said.

Longarm sat, relaxed and comfortable. And quite thoroughly drained to the point that there was a dull ache down in the region of his empty balls.

“Can I ask you something, Custis?” Melody asked, leaning forward and placing her hand on top of his.

“O' course,” he said.

“Tell me all about yourself,” she said. “I want to know everything. Who you are. Where you come from. What you do for a living.”

Longarm smiled. “Well, little darlin', I'm nothing special. Just the fella you see here. I come from West by God Virginia. But that was a long time ago. Since then I drifted some. Did a little o' this and a lot o' that. As for how I make my money”—he grinned—“folks just kinda give it to me.”

And that was the truth. The taxpayers of the United States did indeed just give it to him. In exchange for certain services that he did not want Melody Thompson or anyone else in Crowell City to know about.

“There is more to you than that,” Melody said. “I can sense that about you. Usually I am very good at reading people . . . for a while I even worked in a traveling show. I was a fortune-teller.” She laughed. “I wore a turban and silk robe and everything. It was fun while it lasted. Then the show fell apart, and I was left on my own with no money, no family . . . they had disowned me long since. So I became what I am today.” She laughed. “The money is better now anyway.”

“Money,” Longarm said. “You haven't mentioned a word to me about money.”

“That is because you are special. And because I can't read you like I can most men,” Melody said. “So I am curious about you. I want to know everything.”

Longarm shrugged. “You already know everythin' worth knowin'.”

Melody opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by the arrival of their plates.

Later, after they had eaten a most pleasant breakfast, Longarm stood and reached into his pocket to pay.

There was something not quite right. It took him a moment to realize what that something was.

The bills in his pants pocket were not arranged the way he normally carried them. His habit was to fold any paper currency and shove it into his pocket with the “closed” end of the fold pointing down. Now his bills were placed so that the “open” end was down and the closed end pointing up.

Melody had moved his trousers in the night. Or so he thought at the time. It seemed she had also been going through his pockets.

Helping herself perhaps? He would have to count his money to be sure, but it certainly felt like everything was there.

“Excuse me, darlin'. I'll go pay Buck for our meals.”

He went to the counter and pulled out his wad. Flipped quickly through it.

Every cent was where it had been. Melody had taken nothing.

But he knew now that she had been going through his pockets. He probably interrupted her when he woke up. He could not remember if he spoke to her then, but he distinctly recalled having wakened when she got up to take a piss.

Longarm returned to the table they had shared, pulled out her chair, and again offered his arm to escort her out onto the streets of Crowell City.

He wondered as they walked though: Just what the hell was Melody's game?

“Oh, I'm not going back to the hotel, if you don't mind,” Melody said. “I have some things to do. Could you walk me over to Harriman's Livery, please?”

“If you'll tell me the way,” Longarm told her.

Melody held on to his arm as they walked to the edge of town and into the ramshackle barn. The corrals were mostly empty except for a few burros standing in the shade. “Hello, Harry,” she said, smiling at the hostler.

Harry obviously had suffered severe burns at some point in the past. The entire left side of his face was shiny, red flesh. His left eye was a white, opaque ball resting beneath a brow that had no eyebrow hair at all.

“The buggy, Miss Thompson?” Harry asked.

“Please.”

“Yes'm.” Harry turned and hurried away.

Melody smiled up at Longarm. “Harry is a dear man,” she said. “I let him fuck me in exchange for the use of his horse and rig.” She laughed. “Don't look so shocked, dear. I am a whore, after all. Fucking is what I do for a living.”

“Y'know, I almost forgot that,” Longarm said.

“Harry mostly keeps burros. He rents them out to the mines. Apparently it is a very profitable business. Well, not very profitable perhaps, but there is profit enough. Harry has very simple needs.”

When the man returned he was leading a handsome gray pulling a small opera coach. The cab was completely enclosed with the driving lines extending from the horse's bit through a cutout in the dashboard.

“Here you go, Miss Thompson.”

Longarm helped Melody into the coach while Harry made sure all the straps and buckles were correct. Then both men stepped back while Melody drove away.

“Nice lady,” Harry observed.

“Ayuh,” Longarm said. “Does she do this often?”

“Take that rig? Oh, yes. Every few days she goes for a drive. I don't know exactly where she goes. Probably out along the creek. You know, just getting away from folks for a little while. She doesn't seem to have any lady friends. The upper crust won't have anything to do with her, and the lower sort of working girl think she is snooty.”

Harry turned his head and spat. “I know better. Those girls in the saloons won't have me. It's because of what I look like. I'm an ugly man. I know that. But Miss Thompson doesn't seem to see that. She acts toward me like I'm normal. And her such a beautiful woman.” He sighed. “I love her for that.”

“It was good t' meet you, Harry.” Longarm extended his hand to the man, then headed back into town.