Slocum and the Golden Girls Page 5

  “Thank you, Don,” Abby said to Fenway. “Please tell Steven to bring up our supper in fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll do that, Miss Abby. Good evening.”

  With that, Fenway was gone and Abby pulled Slocum into the room. The lamps were turned down low and there were dark shadows lazing on the carpets like silhouetted animals. The furnishings were not overly plush, but they showed good taste. Abby took his hat and hung it on a tree in the short hallway.

  “You look very handsome tonight, Johnnie,” she said as she took his hand and led him to an embroidered couch with two end tables and a coffee table. He saw a small bar against the wall.

  “Must be the low light in here,” he said.

  Abby laughed.

  “Our supper will be up soon. I know you want to go to the Hoot Owl tonight and meet with Caleb. I’ve got Kentucky bourbon. I know it’s your favorite. As for me, I’m going to sip a little green crème de menthe. You can smoke if you like.”

  “Nice room,” he said as he sat down and sank into the rose-patterned cushion.

  “It’s just for show,” she said as she walked over to the bar and stood behind it, looking at him. “Wally stays here when he’s in town and I entertain people who come up from Grizzly Lake to try and sell me hotel supplies or insurance policies.”

  Slocum saw ashtrays on both end tables. There were none on the low coffee table. He watched as Abby poured whiskey into a tumbler and then poured crème de menthe into a small snifter.

  She carried the drinks over to the couch and set them on the coffee table. As she sat down beside him, he could smell her perfume. The lamplight made her soft hair shine, and the twin ringlets dangling in front of her ears sparkled. She wore a summery dress of gingham with a lace collar that was cut low enough so that he could see her bosom as it swelled against the green and white stripes of her bodice. Her pleated skirt was cream-colored with tiny bluebirds on pale blue patches of sky sewn into the fabric.

  She patted Slocum’s knee and smiled at him as she picked up her snifter.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to see Wally,” she said. “He’s anxious to show you his mine and tell you about all the trouble he’s had from Cordwainer.”

  Slocum picked up his whiskey glass and clinked it against Abby’s snifter.

  “I’m real anxious to see Wally, too,” he said. He drank, holding the whiskey in his mouth for a few seconds before he swallowed it. He savored the warmth of the whiskey, the tangy smell that filled his nostrils. “I gather Cordwainer is trying to steal his claim, but can’t find it.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “Wally took great care in filing. and no matter how many men Cordwainer sends to find out its location, Wally has managed to keep anyone from discovering where it is. It’s a rich claim, I think.”

  “Is this what Cordwainer does?” Slocum asked. “Jump claims?”

  “Yes, only he wouldn’t call it that. He befriends prospectors and miners, stakes them sometimes, and if they find color, he moves in and takes over. There are a lot of prospectors who have disappeared after bringing gold dust and nuggets into town and meeting up with Cordwainer.”

  Slocum sipped from his glass again and looked around. There was a door at the far end of the modestly furnished room, and besides the bar, couch, and small tables, the walls were decorated only with some Currier & Ives prints and a tintype of Halcyon Valley just after the first gold rush there some dozen or so years before.

  “I have three rooms here,” she said. “This is what I call my parlor. The sitting room is in the center, where I have a table set for supper, and the last room is the bedroom, or if you want to be fancy, the boudoir.”

  They both laughed and their eyes met in an exchange of intimate meanings beyond her words.

  Abby seemed worldly enough, Slocum thought, but he still thought of her as a little girl in pigtails with freckles dotting her cheeks and nose. Now, of course, she was grown and the freckles were gone.

  “Johnnie, before we have supper, there’s something I want to ask you.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  She sipped from her snifter as if drawing courage from the alcohol.

  “Maybe I’m being too forward,” she said, her voice dropping into a lower register, “but I was wondering if, when you get back from the Hoot Owl, you might want to come up here for a little nightcap.”

  “Abby, you don’t have to ask such a question. I’d be mighty happy to have a brandy with you when I come back to the hotel.”

  She grabbed one of his hands and squeezed it.

  “I want to give you more than brandy,” she said. “If you’ll come up here after you talk to Caleb.”

  He sensed that, at heart, Abby was a lonely woman. She was conducting business with her brother, but from what he’d seen so far, there were not many eligible suitors in Halcyon Valley. And if Cordwainer had his eye on her, that put her off the market as far as attracting local men to her doorstep.

  “I’m at your disposal, dear Abby,” he said with a gentleness in his voice that made Abby shudder as she looked deep into his eyes.

  “Ever since I was a little girl,” she said, “I’ve thought about you. Oh, at first it was like an uncle, then a father after ours died, but then…over the years, as I grew, I thought of you differently.”

  They both jumped when they heard the knock on the door.

  “Oh, dear,” she said. “Steve’s here with our supper already.”

  “We can finish this talk over supper,” he said, and rose with her as she left the couch to open the door.

  He watched her walk across the room, and the flash of her pretty young legs caused his heart to quicken, and he admired the bounce of her buttocks, the trim thighs outlined beneath her skirt.

  She opened the door and there was the man named Steve with a small cart covered with a white tablecloth. Tendrils of steam crept through the fabric and the smell of meat and cooked veal filled the room.

  Abby walked to the far door and opened it. Steve wheeled the cart inside. Abby turned and beckoned to Slocum.

  She had a smile on her face that melted something inside him.

  The way her fingers moved and that look in her eyes meant that she was inviting him to something a lot more important than supper.

  The waiting was going to be hard, he thought as he strode across the room, his stovepipe boots barely making a sound on the deep pile carpet.

  Yes, he thought, it was going to be hard as hell to wait for that nightcap.

  9

  Slocum saw the small dining table with its white tablecloth. The waiter, Steve Cooley, removed the cloth over the cart and began setting warm plates, covered dishes, wineglasses, and wine on the table. There was a single tall candle burning in a brass holder in the center of the table and neatly folded napkins beneath the silverware.

  “Will that be all, Miss Abby?” Steve asked as he finished setting the food on the table.

  “Yes, Steve,” she said. “Thanks. If I need anything, I’ll ring the bell downstairs.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He nodded to Slocum as he passed with the empty cart and went out the front door.

  “I’ll lock the door so we won’t be disturbed,” she said, and walked to the front door. She returned in a few seconds and closed the door to the dining salon behind her.

  “Please sit down, Johnnie,” she said, and waved him to a comfortable chair with embroidered padding.

  Slocum sat down. He could smell the food, and his stomach issued a low growl. Abby sat down and began removing the metal covers over the main dishes.

  “I hope you like veal cutlets,” she said. “And there is asparagus and new potatoes, hot biscuits and butter. Will you pour the wine?”

  Slocum picked up one of the bottles. It bore a label that proclaimed it to be Cabernet Sauvignon and it was from Bordeaux, France. All he had to do was pull the cork. The wax had been broken and the cork pulled up slightly on both bottles. The wine had an aroma of Gallic vineyards and musty ce
llars. He poured both glasses half full as Abby dished up each plate with a fancy silver spatula.

  “It’s all beautiful,” Slocum said.

  She handed him his plate and picked up her glass.

  “Here’s to you, Johnnie,” she said, toasting him, “with thanks from Wally and me for coming, and the wish that your visit will be pleasant and memorable.”

  “So far,” he said, “it’s both a pleasure and something I’ll never forget. You look lovely tonight, Abby, and you set a fine table.”

  She laughed.

  “Steve deserves all the credit for that,” she said.

  They clinked their glasses together and sipped the wine. Slocum felt the warmth of her across the table and noticed how dainty she was as they both cut up the veal and ate slowly. They talked of old times and there was no mention of Wally’s situation or Cordwainer.

  Abby slipped off her shoes and tickled Slocum’s knees under the table. She gave him a coy smile. He reached down and touched her foot, began to massage each toe as if she were a child. He smiled at her and she drank a sip of wine.

  Somehow, they managed to eat their supper, but it was plain to both of them that there would be a lingering dessert after the table was cleared away.

  After supper, Abby pulled a dangling cord by a window, and after Steve had cleared away their supper dishes, she ushered Slocum back into the front room. To his surprise, she went behind the bar and returned with a bottle of aguardiente and a box of cheroots.

  “Wally bought these for your visit,” she said. “The brandy is from Bodegas de Santo Tomas in Ensenada, Mexico, and the cheroots he had sent to him from New Orleans a month ago.”

  Slocum opened the box, which turned out to be a humidor with a red cedar lining. The aroma was powerful. She lit his cigar for him and poured brandy for them both.

  She sat next to him on the divan and sniffed the smoke as she sipped from her small snifter.

  “My, that’s good,” she said.

  “It’s all good, Abby,” Slocum said as he clinked her glass with his. “And I’ve made a decision.”

  Her eyes danced with surprise as the lamplight struck her raised head.

  “Pray tell,” she teased, “whatever are you talking about?”

  “I’m not going to the Hoot Owl tonight. The brandy and the company are too fine to waste. I’ll see Caleb another day.”

  Abby exploded in glee.

  She set her glass down on the coffee table and clapped her hands.

  “Oh, Johnnie,” she exclaimed, “I couldn’t be happier. I want to take your boots off and just look at you enjoying your cigar. And the brandy, of course.”

  “And you,” he said, a slight husk in his voice.

  “Yes, yes,” she said, and slid closer to him until their hips were touching.

  When Slocum had finished his cigar and the snifters were empty, Abby grabbed Slocum’s arm and drew him close to her.

  “Would you like to see my bedroom?” she said.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now,” she whispered into his ear and squeezed his arm. She kissed him on the cheek and then stood up. She took his hand in hers and pulled him to his feet.

  It was all he could do to resist taking her into his arms and kissing those enticing lips. He felt a tug at his trousers as his cock unfolded and began to harden.

  The bedroom was small and neat. It was neither a man’s nor a woman’s in its spare furnishings, its plain brown drapery, the night tables, the hurricane lamp on the dresser. But it smelled of the fresh lilacs arranged in a vase on one of the end tables.

  Abby lit a small lamp on one of the tables. The light bathed the lower edges of the bed with an amber mist while the comforter and pillows were shrouded in near darkness. There was a wardrobe standing against one wall, and a chair and footstool that were out of the way, but convenient.

  “Does this suit you, Johnnie?” she murmured as she sat demurely on the bed, spreading her arms wide.

  “Abby, you make any room you’re in more than suitable. Don’t you know that?”

  “I’m not used to such compliments,” she said.

  He walked over to her and took her face in his hands. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, then bent down to kiss her appealing lips.

  She opened her mouth slowly and he could taste the brandy. But he also could smell her womanly musk, the heady aroma of her sex. She was not only willing, he decided, but eager.

  “I want you, Johnnie,” she breathed when he broke the kiss and took his hands away.

  “I want you, too, Abby,” he said.

  “I’ve wanted you for a long time,” she said. “Secretly, of course.”

  “Maybe I was just waiting for you to grow up and become a woman,” he said, his voice gravelly with desire.

  “Well, here I am. A woman grown.”

  “It’s time, then,” he said, and she reached out with one hand and touched the bulge in his pants. He winced with the thrill of her touch.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice low and alluring, “it’s time. I want that. I want you to cover me and hold me.”

  He stepped away and she pulled down the covers and exposed the white linen sheets. She began to unbutton her blouse. Slocum walked over to the chair and began to strip as he watched her slip out of her skirt and pull her panties down. Then, she stood naked next to the bed as he unbuckled his gun belt and wrapped his pistol and holster into a bundle and set them on the footstool. He took off his stovepipe boots and pulled his trousers off, laid them over the back of the chair. Then he removed his shirt and shorts and plopped them onto the chair. He walked to her naked, and took her in his arms.

  They kissed and she felt his manhood rise and touch the folds of her cunt as if it were seeking that nest between her legs. She shivered and he held her tight against him. Her breasts mashed against his wide chest and they were soft and yielding, the nipples turning hard as she rubbed her breast against his.

  He pushed her gently down on the bed and they lay side by side, gazing into each other’s eyes. He touched the nipples on her breasts and kissed the nubbins until she squirmed with a growing lust. Then he kissed both breasts and pulled on the taut nipples with his mouth, his teeth gently grazing the rough edges that had hardened to acorn-like kernels.

  His left hand touched her tummy and slid down into her thatch, caressing the wiry hairs that hid the cleft. Her body undulated and he slid a finger into her cunt and probed until he found the clitoris. She jumped with a sudden spasm as he stroked the tiny organ that brought such great pleasure to a woman when aroused.

  “Oh, yes, Johnnie,” she sighed. “This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

  “There is more,” he gruffed as he slipped atop her and covered her small body with his.

  They kissed and he ran his tongue inside her mouth. When he withdrew, she slipped her tongue into his mouth and panted like a hungry kitten as he poked his cock against the portals of her cunt, sliding the mushroomed head up and down until she spread her legs even wider and grabbed his back with both hands. He felt the tips of her fingernails digging into his flesh.

  She reached down and grabbed his shaft and guided it into her steaming pussy, her body rising to take him inside her, her hips arcing over the bed as he pushed and thrust his manhood into the steaming cauldron of her sex.

  “Oh, yes,” she exclaimed. “That’s it. That’s heaven.”

  She was not a virgin, but she was not very experienced either, Slocum thought. There was no hymen to break, but she was small and tight and her pussy began to squeeze his cock as if it had fingers. He drove in deeper and her body arched. He felt her body jolt with pleasure as she bucked with her first orgasm.

  Her scream was soft in his ears, like the cry of an animal.

  He stroked her, in and out, long and deep, and their bodies began to rise and fall in the ancient rhythm of lovemaking as if they were erotic dancers on a dark stage.

  There was pleasure in her loins and the little girl in her
disappeared and was transformed into the body and mystery of a full grown woman in season.

  She gushed with warm fluids and drenched his cock with the oils of her passion.

  Abby bucked beneath him with orgasm after orgasm. And each one seemed more tumultuous than the one before. Slocum had to use all of his mental agility to stave off his own spurts of pleasure. He wanted to take her to the heights and let her float there in that cloud of pure wonder for as long as he could.

  Both of them were slick with sweat, and their twin musks melded into a heady scent that was more erotic than the most expensive perfume.

  She gripped him tightly against her, and he slid to the very core of her womb and filled her until the veins on his organ were engorged with blood and his size had expanded to enormous proportions.

  The night hovered outside the window, filled with moon and starlight that gave the drapes a luminosity shimmering to the tempo of the shaking bed, where the two lovers thrashed and entwined their bodies into a single embrace that blotted out all but the highest sensations of the heart and spirit.

  10

  Caleb Butterbean felt the thin hairs on the back of his neck prickle as he sat at one end of the long bar at the Hoot Owl Saloon. He was facing the door so that he could spot Slocum when he came in. He had a can of roasted pinyon nuts on the bartop and a mug of warm beer next to it.

  He turned his head to look out over the tables where men were drinking and playing cards.

  Someone was staring at him.

  When Caleb spotted the man, he turned quickly away and bowed his head slightly to say something to the man standing next to him.

  Hutch had been the man who had stared at Caleb and the man Hutch was talking to now was Joe Creek.

  They were two of the men who had murdered Lonnie Taylor, burned him to death.

  Caleb felt a queasy feeling in his stomach.

  Did they know he had seen them down on Cactus Flat that morning? He had been quiet and kept himself hidden, but there was no telling. They might have seen him or his mule when they rode off. And they probably saw him and Slocum ride into town and had put two and two together.