“Don’t tempt me,” Miss McPherson said, turning to close the door and glancing over her shoulder at Longarm. “But actually, Marshal . . .”
“Since you’ve seen my birthday suit an’ all, you might as well call me Longarm.”
“Longarm, eh?”
“You find somethin’ funny about that?”
“Oh, not at all!”
She crossed her arms on her breasts and hiked a hip on the corner of the desk, to Longarm’s left. From there she had a pretty good view into the tub. Her eyes were like fingers, toying with him, subtly arousing him. He was glad there were still enough soap bubbles to hide the affected organ.
“I don’t find anything one bit funny about attractive men, Marshal Long.”
She glanced at the handful of three-for-a-nickel cheroots he’d laid out on the desk, and said, “Mind if I have one of your cigars here . . . Longarm?”
“Not if you’ll light me one. Help yourself to the brandy, there, too. It’s from your brother-in-law.”
“Yes, I heard you cold-cocked him.”
“You seem to approve, Miss McPherson.”
She was looking around for a glass and when she didn’t find one, Longarm held up his. “My lap’s as clean as your average cur’s.”
“Thank you.”
She filled the glass, took a sip, and set the glass on the desk. “My brother-in-law has been needing a beating for a long time, Longarm. No one has seemed to be up to the task . . . until now. For that I applaud you. But to the reason I’m here . . .”
She stuck one of the cheroots between her pretty teeth and struck a match on the top of the table. She lit the one cheroot, blowing smoke around her lovely head, and then lit a second one. When she had the second one going, she gave it to Longarm, letting smoke trickle out her fine, long nostrils.
“Thanks,” Longarm said. He felt the cool dampness of her saliva on the cigar end, and it vaguely aroused him further. “And now to the reason you’re here.”
She retook her position on a corner of the desk, one leg dangling. Despite the black skirt she wore to her ankles, he could tell that her legs were fine and long. He had a brief, imagined glimpse of them wrapped around his back, and winced at the pleasant burn in his lower belly.
She stared at him obliquely, and then the corners of her mouth rose slightly, as though she’d read his mind.
“Yes, to why I’m here.”
She puffed the cigar. She did not choke on the pungent smoke but turned her head and blew it out at the door. “I’d like you to ride out and fetch my sister back, Longarm. I’m sure she must have had a change of heart by now. She is a mercurial girl. But I want you to promise me that you won’t force her to come if she doesn’t want to. If she really wants to stay with Black Twisted Pine, she should be able to. Lucy should be able to do anything she wishes.”
Longarm leaned back in the tub.
“Here,” Leslie said, extending the glass of brandy to him.
He took the glass and threw back a third of it. He took one more sip. Then he gave the glass back to the young woman and took a drag off his cigar, blowing the smoke at the rain-splattered window.
“You have no doubt that your sister is in love with Black Twisted Pine?”
“Oh, I don’t really know what to think. Maybe Lucy doesn’t, either. She was always rather impetuous in matters of love. What I know, Longarm, is that her marriage is a bad one. The marriage was more or less arranged by our parents and Anson’s parents. My father has business interests back East, and he’s partners in several of those interests with Anson’s father. In fact, my grandfather and great-grandfather were in concert with the grandfathers of Anson.”
“Old, rich families.”
“Yes.”
“How would they feel about Lucy staying with Black Twisted Pine?”
“How do you think Lucy would feel about being hauled back here . . . to Anson . . . against her will? How do you think that she would feel if Anson does as he wishes and kills Black Twisted Pine? If Anson has his way, that’s exactly what he’ll do, you know.”
Longarm rolled the cigar around between his teeth and sighed. He stared at the door, pensive. Lightning continued to flash in the windows but the thunder had become less loud. The brunt of the storm was passing.
“The major seems to have restrained himself so far,” Longarm said.
“Only because none of the scouts here at McHenry can lead him into the Shadow Montañas. None of these Apaches—they’re Lipans—have been there before. Their work has mostly been done in New Mexico. I’m told that one of the few scouts who can lead a patrol into those mountains is your friend, War Cloud, one of the few Coyotero trackers still around.”
Longarm knew that was true. The Shadow Montañas were a sacred range, off-limits to all Apaches who hadn’t gone through a sacred rite. That rite itself had rarely been practiced in the last twenty years, as the Apaches have had other, more important things on their mind. Namely, scouring the White Eyes from their homeland.
War Cloud was one of the few scouts—maybe the only scout still available to the U.S. Army—who could lead Longarm into that craggy, wild, mysterious range eighty miles south of the border. War Cloud had once fought the Mescaleros in those mountains, back when the two tribes were at war with one another. Back when they’d considered each other more of an enemy than the white man.
“If you don’t think your sister should be forced to return,” Longarm asked Leslie, “what are you doing here?”
“I came because I’m very worried about her, and it seemed the logical place to come. I came here, also, to make sure that if she is returned, Anson doesn’t harm her.”
“You think he would?”
“I know he would. He’s a bastard. You’ve seen that for yourself. Lucy has told me that he’s struck her more than a few times.”
“Ah, Jesus,” Longarm said. No man in his right mind would hit a woman. Especially not the woman he was married to, supposed to be in love with.
“Anson’s been cuckolded,” Leslie continued. “He is a prideful man. And now, if you’ll pardon my farm talk, Longarm, he is a very piss-burned cuckold. I don’t doubt that he’s capable of killing my sister.”
She sipped from the brandy glass, staring at Longarm over the brim. She swallowed and then slid off the desk and dropped to her knees beside the tub.
She handed him the glass and then, staring at him with dark eroticism, slipped her hand over the side of the tub and into the water. She found his cock that, during their serious conversation, was finally minding its own business.
When the girl wrapped her hand around it, however, it began sparking instantly to life.
Longarm winced as she fondled him under the water, sliding her face up close to his until he could feel the little puffs of her warm breath on his lips. Her own lips were perfectly shaped and cherry-pink.
“Miss Leslie, I don’t mean nothin’ by this,” Longarm said tightly as she continued to manipulate him, “but are you and your sister as alike in . . . uh . . . temperament as you are in looks?”
“No,” Leslie said softly, gazing into his eyes. “Lucy’s a romantic. That’s why it’s such a tragedy she married such an uncouth goat as Anson Belcher. Me . . . I’m more practical. Earthy.”
Longarm’s cock was now poking its swollen head above the water. She pumped it slowly, squeezing, running her hand over the top and down the other side.
“And if you bring my sister back and see that she is not harmed, Longarm, I’ll show you just how practical I can be.”
Longarm was watching her hand. His blood was rising, heating up. Her hand was soft as silk.
“Practical, did you say?”
“Practical. In other words, I know how to reward a man for his efforts . . . in the most practical way known to him.”
She leaned closer, pressed her lips to his. She kissed him gently at first and then more hungrily, groaning softly and flicking her tongue into his mouth. At the same time, she pumped his cock faster.
Then, suddenly, she rose and smiled down at him.
“I’ll see you at supper later, Longarm. It’s been nice getting to know you.”
She swung around, grabbed her umbrella off the desk, and, just like that, she was gone.
“H-hey!” Longarm growled indignantly, staring down at his throbbing cock.
• • •
An hour later, flanked by War Cloud and Magpie, Longarm rapped the wooden knocker in the shape of a lion’s head against the door of the Belcher residence. Longarm was a little surprised to see the Apache girl, Blue Feather, open the door.
She was dressed in a light blue Mother Hubbard dress, and she wore a matching ribbon in her black hair. To dress like a civilized white girl was doubtlessly one of the rules of the house. Longarm wondered how Belcher reconciled the civilized attire to banging the girl in his office. Apparently, one of her duties at Fort McHenry was to serve as the Belchers’ maid.
“Come,” Blue Feather said, her features nearly as expressionless as Magpie’s. There was a slight flush in her cherry-tan cheeks—likely from the embarrassment of knowing what Longarm and the other three visitors had witnessed earlier.
The girl turned and walked down the entryway, at the rear of which a narrow stairs rose to the second story, and into a door on the left. There was another door on the right from which the sound of a ticking clock issued.
Longarm looked through this doorway to see Leslie McPherson sitting in a carved walnut armchair near the small, brick fireplace, chin resting in the palm of one hand, a bored, sullen expression on her beauti-
ful face. She was shaking a crossed leg nervously.
She turned toward Longarm and arched a brow. “Long time no see, Marshal.”
Looking ravishing in a silk and taffeta gown of the same color as her eyes, her long, light red hair freshly brushed and glistening and partly secured behind her head in a chignon, she strode across the room and into the foyer. She wore a black silk choker adorned with an ivory cameo pin. She met Longarm’s gaze and then glanced at War Cloud and Magpie.
Longarm cleared his throat. “War Cloud, Magpie, meet Miss Leslie McPherson. Miss McPherson is the sister of Mrs. Belcher.”
Leslie dipped her chin cordially and smiled warmly. “How do you both do?”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” War Cloud said, doffing his hat and then hanging it on a wall peg.
Leslie glanced at the doorway through which Blue Feather had disappeared. “My brother-in-law doesn’t stand much on ceremony, I’m afraid. I believe dinner is ready without preamble. Shall we?” She gestured toward the door.
“You first,” Longarm said, pegging his snuff-brown Stetson.
As he followed Leslie into a small but well-appointed dining room, Leslie said over her shoulder just loudly enough for Longarm to hear. “Almost didn’t recognize you dressed, Longarm. You clean up right well.”
Longarm’s cheeks warmed. “Why, thank you, ma’am.”
“I hope I didn’t injure anything earlier.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” he said, stopping beside the girl as War Cloud and Magpie walked up to stand to his left.
A ten-foot, cloth-covered table lay before them. It had been all set up with plates, silverware, and water glasses. From behind a curtained doorway rose the clatter of pans and the squawk of a stove door.
“I’m sure we can sit anywhere,” Leslie said. “Longarm, why don’t you take this end? I’ll sit here. War Cloud, why don’t you and Magpie sit there, to Longarm’s left? Blue Feather will want to be close to the kitchen, and she’ll want me to be as far away from it as possible.” Leslie chuckled. “Smart girl. I’d burn the water.”
Longarm looked around. “We’re the only guests?”
“Yes,” Leslie said as Longarm held her chair out for her and sagged into it. “Anson decided that in light of everything it might be best if our conversation be private. He didn’t even want me here, but . . .”
“Nonsense, my dear, Leslie,” the major said as he walked in from the foyer. “I simply didn’t want to bore your pretty head with these somewhat rough-hewn affairs and trivial details.”
Longarm had heard the man’s footsteps growing steadily as he’d marched down from the second story. Now, freshly scrubbed, his thick, longish hair combed wet, and wearing a crisp blue, gold-embroidered shell jacket over a white linen shirt with a string tie, Major Belcher stopped beside Leslie’s chair and leaned down to place a kiss on his sister-in-law’s left cheek.
She turned her face away and his lips grazed her jaw.
He rose, flushing slightly, scowling down before recovering and saying, “Welcome, Marshal Long. War Cloud. Miss Magpie.”
Longarm now saw the slight cut and swelling on Belcher’s right cheek where Longarm had laid him out. It looked tender as hell.
Magpie, staring stonily across the table at Leslie, of course said nothing. War Cloud dipped his chin to the major and said, “Thanks for having us, Major.”
“I take it you’ve already met my beautiful and charming sister-in-law.”
Leslie rolled her eyes slightly. The major chuckled.
“Yes,” Longarm said, shooting an ironic glance at Leslie, “I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Wonderful. She’s the spitting image of my wife. I’m sure that will be handy to know.”
“It will at that,” Longarm said.
War Cloud said, “We’ll be off tomorrow. First thing.”
“I was hoping you would be. I’d like my wife back as soon as possible. You have a long, rough ride ahead. You’d best eat heartily,” the major said, glancing at Blue Feather entering the kitchen and carrying a large, cast-iron stew pot.
As she set the pot on the table near a basket of bread and a bowl of buttered peas, the major slacked into the chair at Longarm’s opposite end of the table. Belcher rubbed his cheek as he said, “That’s a strong right hook you have there, Marshal.” He flexed his jaw.
“I’d like to apologize, Major,” Longarm said, unable to contain his frankness. “But you had it coming.”
Leslie glanced in surprise at Longarm and grinned delightedly.
“I did for a fact,” Belcher admitted. “And I myself would like to apologize. I was completely out of line. Drunk on duty, and out of line. I’m terribly ashamed.”
The man bowed his head. He said a quick table prayer and then nodded to Blue Feather sitting beside him. “Blue Feather will fill your bowls with her hearty and succulent rabbit stew. This young lady has been cooking for my wife and I since we came to Fort McHenry two years ago, and I don’t think I’ve eaten better food in the finest New York restaurants. Quite a remarkable feat, given what scant and often poor provisions the girl is supplied with.”
As the stew bowls were passed around the table for Blue Feather to fill, Longarm sat in amazement at Belcher’s gall. He’d been caught screwing his young housemaid only a few scant hours ago by Captain Kilroy, Longarm, War Cloud, and Magpie, and didn’t look one bit chagrined.
And still he wore his self-righteous indignation over his young wife’s indiscretions with Black Twisted Pine on his sleeve!
Longarm wondered—hoped—that the man would whistle a different tune this evening about wanting Longarm and War Cloud to haul not only his wife but her lover back to Fort McHenry for punishment. That he’d softened his stance on the undignified matter. If not, the two men weren’t going to get along much better than they had earlier.