Slocum and the Teamster Lady Page 5

  “I’ll have his first colts on the ground in October.”

  “He looks very sharp.”

  “At seven furlongs, nothing has ever been close to his tail either.”

  “I guess they give horses like that away on race day down at Vera Cruz.”

  Valencia laughed. “Ten thousand dollars—gold.”

  “Put him in the barn, the eagles may want him.”

  They both laughed.

  Slocum saw several of his other studs, but the red roan was his choice and they moved off to the main house. Reba, his wife, came rushing to hug him and brag on his companion.

  “She is so nice.”

  “I guess she doesn’t think I have abandoned her?”

  “No, she is getting bathed and fitted for supper.”

  “Thanks, she needs some spoiling. She lost her husband and her segundo in the past two years or so.”

  They went on to the living room for wine, crackers and cheese. Willa soon joined them in a borrowed green silk dress and with a fresh look on her suntanned face. The material made a crisp sound as she crossed the tile floor with a wide grin. “Ah, such hospitality. How will I ever repay you?”

  “By being our guest again,” Lou said and laughed. “There is no need to concern yourselves. Reba and I spend most of our time here on the place. We have so much going on year-round. Once or twice a year, we get away to Mexico City or Vera Cruz. Otherwise, we are nailed to the job and can’t go visit all our friends.”

  “I hardly keep a place in Tucson,” said Willa. “I am on the road with my wagons all the time. So I am grateful Slocum invited me to go along with him. This ranch is so lovely.”

  “Tomorrow I will give you a tour,” Lou promised. “Unless this man has to hurry on.”

  “We can take another day,” Slocum said. The horses could use the fine care, feed and rest before they pushed on hard for the mountains. Maybe Estevan would also show up.

  “Wonderful,” Willa said with a pleased smile. “I will get to see your hacienda.”

  They drank the ranch’s own smooth wine and a young man came with a guitar and played ballads. His tenor voice carried in the high-ceiling room and they applauded each song. Willa came over and stood close to Slocum.

  “I could never have imagined our evening here would turn out like this. Isn’t he good?”

  He nodded and studied the tiny freckles on her neck and the tops of her exposed cleavage. “It is very unusual in the midst of the desert.”

  “They have no children?” she asked behind her hand.

  “One son who is in Spain studying at a university.”

  “My, they must miss him.”

  Slocum agreed.

  Then the music turned up a beat. “I could polka to that,” he said.

  She bowed and held up her left hand for him to take it. They went whirling around the tile floor like they’d danced together all their life. Spinning and laughing, they were alone in the great room and flying free as if no one existed until the song ended and the Valencias applauded.

  “Thanks,” Willa said to him. “I haven’t done that since I was seventeen in west Texas.”

  “It has been a while for me too.”

  “Supper is ready,” Reba said, and invited them in the dining hall. “Someday I want you to polka me around like that.” She laughed and hugged Slocum’s arm, steering him into the other great room.

  Lou sat at the high-back chair and oversaw the serving dishes being brought around by the servants.

  The roasted lamb, beef, and fowl came with potatoes, white and sweet, gravy, fresh-cooked green beans, traditional frijoles, fresh-sliced fruit, and hot rolls with butter. Willa looked shocked at all the spread of food and the fussing over them by the servants.

  “I finally know how royalty really lives,” she said under her breath to Slocum.

  He smiled and agreed.

  “This is wonderful,” Willa said to their host and hostess. “I must say that you two can certainly entertain visitors.”

  “As I said,” Lou began. “It is the thing we do best and enjoy doing so much.”

  After supper, they retired to their room. She stood before Slocum in the flickering candlelight and had him undo the corset laces. With the back of the gown open, he slid his hands around in front and cupped her firm breasts encased in the corset. Nibbling on her neck, he felt her shiver. “It’s been a fun night so far.”

  She sighed and turned her face up for more of his attention. Already her nipples were growing hard, and she slipped the stiff undergarment down and tossed it in a chair.

  Using him for support, she stepped out of the dress and fluffed it some before putting it over the same seat. “Best dress I ever wore in my entire damn life.”

  “I imagine so.”

  “Why, I bet it cost a fortune and there’s a whole closet full in different sizes for their company to wear.”

  He pulled her to him and smothered her mouth with his. She had the heat turned on, and soon they both were busy undressing him. His boots were off. The gun belt put up, the vest off, then the shirt, and at last she tore open his pants to get at his rising shaft.

  Her small fingers closed around his rigidity and she sucked in her breath. “I still could not believe it fit the first time. But it did—”

  In one great sweep, he lifted her up and then dropped her in the deep feather bed. On his knees, he climbed across the springy surface to find her. Her tight breasts pointed at the ceiling when he came between her soft thighs. His erection throbbed in time with each long wet stroke in and out of her. Underneath him, she squirmed to get herself in a better place and they went on.

  He plunged deeper and deeper inside her contracting walls. Their breath became short and the urgency grew greater and wilder. Her bare heels beat on his back as they went on and on. At last he exploded deep inside her with her clinging to him.

  They fell asleep in each other’s arms. Before dawn he rose, thinking he should wake her, and then he decided to let her sleep a while longer.

  He found the kitchen crew busy gossiping in the room that was filled with the smell of food cooking and being prepared.

  They brought him coffee. He had fond memories of this bunch from previous stops at the hacienda. One time the red-haired, sassy one they called Rojo had taken him in the pantry and given him a real wild blow job to show that she wasn’t afraid of him or his big dick. There was the tall girl from Sonora who challenged him to screw her on the table one morning. So far he had not seen her this time, but he never forgot doing it to her standing on the floor and getting cheered on by the rest of them.

  “Ah, you have your own pretty woman this time with you,” Rosita, the head of the kitchen, said aloud.

  “Yes, is there anything I can do for you?” Slocum asked her, taking a cup of coffee from one of the younger ones.

  “No.” She shook her head, laughed, and with a head toss indicated the other women in the room. “Some of them are the ones that need you, not me.”

  They all laughed. A few younger ones blushed and turned back to their work. They served him scrambled eggs, goat cheese, and spicy sausage rolled in a large flour tortilla with green chili sauce. Fresh, hot, and delicious, washed down with more coffee. He let them do their work and went outside to look around. Birds were singing in the citrus trees in the yard, and he could hear the stallions complaining down at the stables. Somewhere beyond the compound walls, milk cows were being gathered to drive in for the morning milking.

  Things were coming awake on the Valencia hacienda as the purple dawn crested the horizon in the east. The coolest time of day swept his face with soft breaths of the wind. Would be nice to have such a complete empire as Lou had there. But he was too sugar-footed to ever stay that long in one place.

  And besides, the rancher had people to feed and clothe—his work force was numerous—still, this ranch was like heaven. A total escape from the steep poverty found in so many rural villages, the young daughters who were sold into sex
slavery, the graft and corruption of the law that lived off bribery and under-the-table income. Mexico had some good sides, but underneath it was a much different way of life than the States.

  Willa took Lou’s tour of his ranchero, and by siesta time she was back at the great casa. Sweeping the wide-brimmed sombrero off her head, she fluffed up her hair while coming in the bedroom door.

  “My, what a great operation,” she said.

  “It is nice,” Slocum said with his back to the headboard of the bed.

  “He has wonderful things growing all over. I ate a melon that one of the field hands brought me that tasted like honey, it was so sweet.”

  She crawled across the bed and framed his face in her hands to kiss him. Their mouths meshed and he pulled her higher up. In seconds his hand was feeling her left breast and she trembled at his touch—

  “Oh, my God. I’m going to miss you someday . . .”

  7

  Before the sun even cracked the eastern sky, Slocum and Willa left. He wanted to be close to the Madres in another day. Pack mules in tow, they pushed hard all day to reach a small village called San Carlos. They watered their weary mounts at the village well and he fed them corn in their feed bags.

  She found a vendor to fix them some frijoles burritos. While they were eating the spicy food, the village priest, Father Mullens, came by and offered them the use of his empty stables and corral for the night.

  Slocum thanked him and they moved their stock into the shelter. There was enough hay in one crib for them to sleep on. So they unloaded their animals and let them roll in the dust.

  “No one’s going to have to rock me to sleep tonight,” she said, undoing the bedroll in the starlight and rolling it out.

  “We must have fallen from favor to have to sleep in here tonight,” Slocum teased.

  “Ha, I would sleep anywhere with you.” Then she poked him in the muscle-hard gut with her flat hand.

  “That’s fine.”

  “You expecting anyone to disturb us?” Busy undressing, she paused for his answer.

  “No, why?”

  “Then I’ll get plumb naked and see how tired you really are.”

  They both laughed.

  Riders out of the night charged into the village. The commotion they caused awoke him. The invaders sounded half-drunk and were shouting demands in the dark. Six-gun in his fist, Slocum rose on his knees and tried to see who these hell-raisers were at the well.

  Shots shattered the night. “Send your women out here, hombres. No! We will fuck them so hard, they won’t need any more breeding for a month.”

  More shots cut through the night, followed with brave talk about the studs that they were. Then a woman screamed and Slocum could hear the intruders’ laughter. Obviously, she was being dragged to the well in the center of the small square.

  Slocum set his revolver down on the bedroll and began dressing. These bastards needed to be shot. He shook his head when she grasped his forearm and tried to stop him.

  “There must be three or four men out there. What can you do?”

  “Stop them,” he said through his teeth and went on pulling up his pants.

  Another woman’s shrill protest cut the night as she too was dragged kicking and screaming into the center of all their activity and the raiders’ raucous laughter rang out. More shots.

  “I found more pussy, amigos. Here is another.”

  Willa was not to be left behind. She made him wait on her while she dressed, and then with her gun in hand she came after him. He took a route around behind the buildings facing the square. Ahead of them in the dark shadows, he could hear a man grunting away—obviously, from the sound, he was screwing on the ground some uncomfortable groaning woman.

  Slocum turned to Willa and put his finger to his lips. Then, taking soft steps, he was soon behind the man and struck him over the head with his gun butt. The outlaw went facedown on top of the woman and she screamed.

  “Hush,” he said, not wishing to draw any of the others into the alley. With the man separated from her, Slocum ripped off the man’s bandanna and tied his hands securely behind his back. The young woman scrambled to get her skirt down and cover her nakedness.

  “I need a gag for him,” he said to Willa.

  Without hesitation, she quickly reached down, tore a strip of cloth off the victim’s skirt hem, and handed it to him.

  The donor soon stood against the wall, biting her nails and nodding her approval.

  The man lay on his side in the dirt with his pants down to his knees and his erection dissolved. Bound and gagged, he wasn’t going anywhere—for certain not to rape any more women that night.

  Slocum heard another intruder coming and forcing a protesting female ahead. The three plastered themselves to the wall to let him go by and then Slocum saw his chance. He stepped out in the narrow walkway and clubbed the man twice over the head with his Colt. Willa yanked aside the hysterical girl he’d nabbed and made her be quiet.

  Girl number one jerked the pistol out of the man’s holster while Slocum tied him with the lead rope for his horse that the raider carried around his waist. With him bound and gagged, Slocum left him facedown in the dirt.

  Willa came back from the end of the alley, where she’d been spying on the ones in the square. “Let us women handle them out there. We can conceal these guns against our skirts until we are close enough not to miss.”

  “How many are left?” Slocum was concerned about their welfare.

  “Four. Right now, they are all busy raping women. We better hurry.”

  “Shoot carefully,” he said, and they hurried to the square. He went left and stopped to club a man deeply involved in screwing a woman on a porch.

  Shots sounded and two rapists bit the dirt. A fourth one ran off, trying to pull up his pants and screaming, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

  “I’ll get him,” Slocum said and tore after him. The man cornered a building and knowing he was unarmed, Slocum never paused. He spotted him climbing a rail fence and heading for a patch of corn. In seconds, he’d be gone into the shadowy stalks.

  Three women joined him and each carried a six-gun in their hand.

  “Is he in there?” one woman asked, motioning toward the moonlit stalks.

  Slocum nodded.

  The older woman directed one of the sisters to go right, the other to go left. She said to Slocum. “You get on the far side, we’ll send him right to you.”

  Forced to keep down his amusement, he frowned at more shots he heard fired back in the square.

  She shook her head. “They’re only executing those bastards.”

  Executing? He shrugged and set out to go around the patch for the delivery of the last one.

  “Throw your hands up, you horny bastard, or we’ll blow your balls off when we find you,” she shouted. “Get him, girls!”

  Slocum was soon around to the far side of the corn patch waiting, wondering if his own life might be cut off in their wild cross fire. The women’s anger rode on a thin edge and they were determined to clean up the entire gang.

  The hatless outlaw burst out of the stalks headed for the fence, but his silhouette was barely against the sky when the red flames of their pistols blasted him off the top rail. They must have shot him a half dozen times. The bullets sounded like they were striking a watermelon. His body fell hard astraddle the rail fence, but that never pained him. He was already dead.

  A woman under each of his arms, they dragged their trophy back to the village square. The others were laid out in a row of bodies and someone held a candle lamp as the padre prayed one at a time with each of them.

  Willa came on the run to join him. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine. I guess we’ve got them all?”

  “Yes, they say these bandits have been doing this often for over a year. Get drunk, come over here, and rape all the women and even little girls.”

  Slocum nodded. “I knew there weren’t any angels in the lot of them. Well, they
have them stopped. And now they know how to stop any more from running over you.”

  “Señor, Señor,” the woman in charge called out to him. She carried the hem of her skirt in one hand and ran over. “We want to have a celebration. This time we cleared San Carlos of the bad ones. You must join us. You showed us the way to do it and it is over. No more crazy fuckers coming here and raping our women.”

  “You did well today. But will they fight like tigers next time?” he asked her.

  “I am uncertain, but tonight we must celebrate. Please join us.”

  He agreed and hugged Willa’s shoulder. “I guess we can sleep anytime.”

  “Sure, anytime.”

  The red wine flowed. Women cooked. Slocum appreciated the way that Mexican women were able to serve a meal at a moment’s notice. They butchered goats, pigs, and chickens and had them ready to eat faster than anyone could ever imagine.

  Seated cross-legged on a braided rug with Willa, with the guitar music ringing in the night, Slocum licked his greasy fingers for the mesquite-smoked flavor from the cabrito.

  Ah, viva Mexico.

  With Slocum, hungover, seated on his saddle and hauling the pack mules, and with Willa not looking much better than he felt bringing up the rear, they left San Carlos. The first time that he felt the needles in his ears, he knew it was the mountains causing the pain. Later, climbing into the foothills and gaining altitude by noontime, he had a worse headache.

  “We’re going to take a siesta early today,” he said to her. “I’m taking Mountain Fever.”

  “What’s that like?”

  “Bad headache, dizzy. It can get worse, but we can rest and I’ll get over it.”

  “I won’t argue. It’s been all I can do to keep my eyelids open all day.”

  “Whew. There is a spring with some willows a little further. The willow bark will stop my headache. It’s like someone drove a spike in my head.”

  “That beer was bad last night.” She shook her head and the wide sombrero swung from side to side.