Longarm and the Stagecoach Robbers (10 page)

In Bailey he swapped their pouch for a slim packet of letters going down to Denver. Those he would carry back to Fairplay, where they would be put on a train. There was also one letter going to a Colorado Springs address. That one would be left at Lake George to be picked up there and carried down Ute Pass to the flatlands below.

“Thanks, Tom,” Longarm told the Bailey postmaster.

“Mind if I ask a question?” Rickets said, standing at the side of the tall coach and looking up at Longarm.

“No, go ahead.” The coach was on schedule and the horses could use the breather before they started the run through the forest to Lake George.

“Will you be driving permanent now? I don't mean to pry, but I'm seeing you kind of regular nowadays. It has me to wondering,” Rickets said.

Longarm smiled and shook his head. “No, I won't. Young Will got hurt. I'm just filling in temporary until he's up to driving again. He should be back up here in another few days, I think.”

“Thanks. I was just, you know, curious about that. Hope you don't mind the question.”

“I don't mind at all, Tom. It's no secret,” Longarm said.

“Something else then if you don't mind another question.”

“Go ahead.”

“The prizefight a little while back. Was it really you that whipped Ox Lennox?”

Longarm laughed. “Guilty,” he said.

Rickets turned away, chuckling, and Longarm made contact with the bits of his team and popped the whip over his leaders' ears.

The coach took off with a lurch and set out along the now familiar road.

“Dammit, Charlie. Just dammit t' hell anyhow.” Longarm looked like he was close to breaking into tears of frustration. He took his hat off and slammed it down on the table. “Dammit,” he howled.

“I was this close,” he said. “Saw them plain as day. The two of them there was. Standing off to the two sides o' the road, one o' them on either side. Wearing dusters head to toe. And big hats that kept me from seein' anything of their faces. Bastards likely was wearing flour sacks or bandannas or the like. I couldn't tell what.

“But, oh, I seen them plain, the both of them.

“They just never stepped forward. Never tried to stop the coach nor so much as wave their damned shotguns in my direction.

“They just stood there, surrounded by the brush, an' watched me drive past.

“I could've shot them easy. I'm sure they knew that. They were close enough that I could've shot either one of them, maybe both. But they just stood there. An' there ain't no law against standing out in the tullies wearin' linen dusters an' carrying sawed-off scatterguns in their hands. Which is all they done, I tell you.

“They was there. They was all tuned up to rob the stage, but they just stood where they was an' watched me roll past.

“Now why, Charlie? I ask you, why? Why be all ready an' then not say nor do a damn thing but watch me drive past? I don't understand it.”

Charlise put an arm around him and said, “It sounds like you could use a drink. You can even light one of those stinking cigars if you like.”

Longarm shook his head and scuffed at the floor with a boot then said, “Hold that drink until after dinner. Assuming I'm invited, that is. I need t' go out an' help Will finish with the horses.”

Charlie came onto tiptoes and gave him a light kiss on the side of his mouth. “You know you're welcome at my table anytime.”

He kissed her back, then put his Stetson on again and headed out the door to join Will, who had taken the coach around behind the building after the passengers left and the mail pouch had been tossed down. Willoughby would pick that up later.

Longarm skipped supper and went back to the Pickens House and slept alone that night. His mood was simply too foul for him to want company.

The bastards had been there.
Right there!
He saw them. Plain as day. Standing there, shotguns in hand, wearing the linen dusters that were always mentioned in the robbery reports.

The bastards stood there and watched him drive past.

Why?

Why would they do such a thing when they so obviously intended to stop the coach and rob it for the fourth time?

It was a puzzle, and he hated puzzles, at least that kind of puzzle.

In the morning his humor was still bleak. He had a heavy breakfast—there would be no time to indulge himself with lunch while he was driving—and walked over to the Carver Express Company office in darkness to start building the hitch.

“Good morning, Longarm.” Will had to repeat the greeting several times before Longarm responded.

“I think I can drive today if you need me,” the youngster said.

“Not yet,” Longarm told him. “You need t' heal more.” He managed a smile. “When we're done with the horses, you can go inside an' help your mother.”

“I'm almost healed,” Will insisted.

“All right,” Longarm said. “Soon as we get 'em hooked up, you can drive the rig around front. See how it feels t' be in the driving box now.”

Will nodded eagerly and practically doubled his speed working with the harness and the traces. He climbed onto the tall driver's seat slowly, obviously not quite as agile and ready as he made out to be.

Longarm went inside to greet Charlie and get a cup of coffee while she filled him in on what to expect from the day.

“There's a chance of rain today,” she said. “Do you have a slicker?”

“Sure,” he told her. “Down in Denver.”

“I have one you can use. You really ought to take it.”

“I will,” he said.

The two of them looked up as Will came in the front. “The passengers and that package are all loaded,” he said. “And Longarm . . . you're right. I'm not ready to drive yet.”

Will flashed a grin. “Those boys pull hard, don't they. I had forgot.”

“Forgotten,” Charlie said.

Will's brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“Forgotten. The word is
forgotten
. You said you had forgot. That wasn't right.”

“Sorry, Mama. I'll try and remember.”

Longarm swallowed down the last of his coffee and pulled his soft leather gloves from his waistband. He grabbed a slicker from a peg beside the door on his way out.

He hoped—almost hoped anyway—that those robbers showed themselves again today.

He knew he was not supposed to, but he would stop the damned coach and go after them on foot if he saw them again. Any passengers could just wait until he got back . . . either with prisoners or with bodies.

Longarm took up the driving lines and made contact with the leaders' bits then popped the whip over their heads.

“Hyah, boys. Hyup.”

“Did you see them again?” Charlie asked when he pulled in that evening.

Longarm shook his head. “Damn them anyway.” He handed several packages down to Charlie. She would set them aside for Willoughby to pick up later.

Will came out and took the off leader by the bit to lead him around back for his hay and oats and rubdown. Longarm crawled down off the coach, stiff and aching from the day of handling the four-up.

“Coffee?” Charlie offered, smiling. “I saw you coming. It's hot and waiting for you.”

“Thanks.” He pulled his gloves off and stuffed them into his waistband then followed her inside.

Charlie stopped in the public part of the office to do some business with two men who wanted tickets for the next day's run. Longarm went on back to the living quarters.

He smiled. She not only had the coffee hot, but had already poured it. And even bought some canned milk and honey to sweeten it.

He sat down at the table and dumped some fixings into his cup.

Whatever Charlie was cooking smelled awfully good. He began looking forward to supper time.

Right now, though, there was work to be done.

He drank his coffee as hot as he could handle it then headed out back to help Will with the horses.

Longarm awoke to feel Charlise nuzzling the back of his neck.

“Something you want, lady?”

“Yes, there is something I want, mister. And I am no lady.”

Longarm rolled over and kissed her, lady or not.

Charlie responded by taking hold of his dick and stroking it awake.

“Now that is more than a mouthful,” she mumbled as she kissed her way down his neck, across from nipple to nipple, and down his belly.

“Lovely,” she said as she reached the nest of pubic hair at his crotch and the pecker that was sticking tall from it.

Charlie licked her way up one side and down the other before she circled the head with her tongue and finally, exasperatingly, took his cock into her mouth.

Longarm closed his eyes and pressed his head back onto the pillow. He ran his hand over Charlie's hip and between the cheeks of her ass.

“C'mere, woman,” he ordered, pulling her on top of him so that they lay head to crotch with each other.

Charlie's pussy tasted faintly salty, although whether that was from her sweat or his residual cum from the previous night, he could not tell. And really did not care.

He found her clit, the little button of her pleasure. It was as firm and erect as his cock was now. He licked it gently. And then not so gently. Until Charlie writhed in pleasure as she came.

She raised herself over him and pressed down until his cock pierced her throat. She gagged a little, then bobbed her head up and down on him.

Longarm felt the gathering of his fluids deep in his balls. Felt the sweet, growing pressure. And the infinitely pleasurable flood of release as he spewed cum into her.

They rolled apart and Charlie fumbled for the cloth she had placed on the nightstand. She handed it to him so he could wipe himself, then took the now wet cloth and used it to cleanse herself.

“Nice,” he said.

“Very,” Charlie agreed.

They got up and dressed. Longarm started a fire in the stove while Charlie prepared the coffeepot and set it on the stovetop, then began slicing bacon into the pan.

She lifted the towel that covered the biscuit dough she had set out the night before and began spooning dollops of the dough onto a cookie sheet for baking.

It was pleasant in her kitchen, Longarm thought.

And not for the first time, alarm bells rang in his head. Surely he was not tempted by domesticity.

Even so . . .

He went to stand behind Charlie and kissed her while she worked on their breakfast.

“Is there a Marshal Long here? They said at the Pickens House that he might be here.”

“That's me, son. What do you need?”

“I have a telegram for you, Marshal. It came in last night.”

Longarm accepted the yellow envelope and gave the boy a nickel. The envelope was not sealed. He sat in the light in Charlie's kitchen to read it, then looked up at her.

“Bad news?” she asked.

“Maybe. It's hard t' say. My boss says these robbers may have moved on someplace else an' I'm wasting my time up here.” He smiled. “Billy don't like for his deputies t' waste time. He treats our pay like it was coming out of his own pocket.”

“What does that mean then?”

“I have t' go back down home, I reckon,” he said.

“I'll miss you,” Charlie told him.

“Yeah. Me, too.” The thing that surprised him was that he meant it. He had come to enjoy waking up with Charlise Carver warm in the bed beside him. It was one thing to simply fuck a woman; thank you, ma'am, see you later. It was something else entirely to care for her. Longarm had to admit that he was having feelings for Charlie. Fondness, yes, but more than that.

Probably it would be a good thing for him to get back down to Denver for a while. Then he could work out how much he had come to care about her.

“Will can drive today,” Charlie said.

“D'you think he's strong enough now? He got beat pretty bad.”

“He can do it. We will manage. Don't you worry about us. Go on now. I'll tell Will that he's on the box again.” Charlie carefully folded her dish towel and laid it on the table then started out the back door.

“Do you have time to give me a kiss first?” Longarm asked.

She turned and he could see the glitter of tears shining in her eyelashes, but she came into his arms and kissed him long and deep, then jerked away from him and ran out the back door.

Longarm walked into the bedroom to retrieve his coat—he thought that was all he'd left in there—then headed out the front and down the street toward the Pickens House.

He had packing to do and the next possible train to catch.

Late that afternoon a weary and soot-speckled Custis Long hung his hat on the rack outside Billy Vail's office.

“What d'you need, boss?” he asked the bald United States marshal.

“We have work to do down here, you know. We can't afford to send our deputies on extended vacations in the mountains,” Vail reminded.

“It wasn't exactly a vacation,” Longarm said, “but I wasn't exactly producing results neither. I get your point. Sorry 'bout that.”

“You don't look very sorry,” Vail said, “but that is beside the point. I need you down here. We are simply swamped with papers that need to be served, and you are the lad who is being the least productive at your latest assignment. Now see Henry for the paperwork.”

Longarm spent the next two days crisscrossing Denver and its suburbs chasing down the recipients of the court documents, most of them summons requests for witnesses, occasionally an arrest warrant.

He put Charlise and Will Carver out of mind and settled back into the routines of his work as a deputy United States marshal. He spent his evenings playing low-stakes poker with friends at one night spot or another, took in a play. And spent several pleasant hours afterward with an attractive redhead who appeared in that melodrama.

In short, he was at home, his fling in Fairplay nearly forgotten.

On Thursday he took time out to get a haircut and have his boots shined by a smiling kid whose age he guessed at ten or eleven. He chatted with the barber for a few minutes and read the morning newspaper while he was in the chair.

Afterward, smelling of Pinaud Clubman and feeling plenty chipper, he strolled the long way around to get back to the office.

All that waited for him there, he was sure, were more warrants, more summonses, more paperwork. Paperwork was not Longarm's favorite. He much preferred being out in the field where the criminals were.

He stopped in at a tobacconist's shop and treated himself to a Hernandez y Hernandez panatela along with a box of fresh cheroots. Stopped at a haberdashery and admired—but did not buy—the dress shirts on sale there. Paused at a bootmaker's and priced—but did not buy—a new pair of custom boots.

Finally, unable to avoid the inevitable, he returned to the office.

“Where have you been?” Henry, Billy Vail's clerk, demanded when he walked in. “The boss has been howling for you for the past half hour.”

“What's up?” Longarm asked, hanging his Stetson on the hat tree.

“Up in Park County. There's been another of those mail robberies, and the district postmaster is yelling even louder than the marshal.”

“Just give me time t' grab my bag, an' I'll be on the next train up,” Longarm said, retrieving the hat he had just relinquished.