Terry Wilson was leaning on the bar at Milty’s, his head hanging over a mug of beer, complaining to anyone who’d listen that he shouldn’t have been fired.
“Goddamned kid,” he muttered. “Why should I be blamed for what some addled kid does? Know what I mean?”
In this instance he was talking but nobody was listening to him. The only one who was paying any attention to him was Randy, the bartender.
“Hey, Terry, don’t you think you had enough?”
Wilson raised his eyes to look at Randy.
“I picked up my pay, damn it,” he said. “It’s up to me how I wanna spend it, ain’t it?”
“I guess so,” Randy said.
“Then gimme another beer!”
Randy sighed, drew another beer for the man, and stuck it in front of him.
“You know what I should do?” Wilson asked.
This time Randy answered him, “What?”
“I oughtta put a bullet in Big Al Henry, see how he likes that! Ha!”
“That ain’t the kinda thing you wanna be sayin’ out loud, Terry,” Randy said. “There’s been enough trouble today with Ed Collins bein’ killed.”
“That wasn’t my fault!”
“Nobody said it was.”
“Oh yeah,” Wilson said, “yeah, Big Al, he says it was my fault. And he fired me for it.” He drank some beer. “I know who else I should put a bullet in.”
“Who?” Randy asked.
“The kid,” Wilson said, “Jason. That stupid kid.”
“He ain’t stupid,” Randy said, “he’s just a little slow. That’s what they say.”
“It don’t matter what they say,” Wilson said. “It’s all that kid’s fault, whether he pulled the trigger or not.”
“You don’t think he did?” the bartender asked.
“I dunno,” Wilson said. “What do I care? All I know is, it ain’t my fault.”
“No,” Randy said, “it probably ain’t.”
He left Wilson alone and moved down the bar. The saloon was starting to empty out and he looked around, trying to spot his niece, Letty. He hadn’t seen much of her that night. He wondered what odd job she’d gotten for herself this time.
* * *
Clint leaned down as Letty lifted one foot so he could remove her boot. The movement brought her fragrant pubic patch close to his face. As he removed the second boot, he inhaled the smell of her. It was so sharp he knew she must already be wet.
She leaned her hands on his shoulders and he remained there on his knees. He reached around behind her, took her ass in his hands, and pulled her to him. He pressed his face into her bush, breathing her in deeply.
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Oh my.”
He rubbed his face there, then pushed his tongue through the hair until he found her as wet as he had guessed.
“Oh!” she said, this time starting, as if she had been struck by lightning. He continued to lick her and she tightened her grip on his shoulders, digging in with her nails. “Oh God,” she said, “Billy Dunlop never did that!”
He squeezed her buttocks in his hands, then abruptly stood up, lifting her with him. She wrapped her legs around him as he kissed her and, while kissing her, turned and carried her to the bed. Her tongue was avid in his mouth, her arms and legs tight around him. He had to virtually peel her off himself to put her down on the bed.
“Get undressed,” she said breathily, “hurry, hurry . . .”
He hurried, pulling his clothes off and tossing them aside. When he removed his underwear, his erection sprang out at her and her eyes widened.
“Billy Dunlop sure didn’t have that!” she said.
“He didn’t have one?” he asked.
“Well, he did,” she said, “but his tallywacker was kind of . . . well, small.”
She reached out, took it in one hand, then also wrapped the other hand around it.
“Oh my!” she said as it filled her hands.
“Let me show you what to do with that,” he said, reaching for her . . .