Longarm and the Sweetheart Vendetta, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Teaser chapter
THE SHERIFF JUST STEPPED OUT. . .
Longarm tried the door.
“It’s locked,” a voice called from inside. “The sheriff’s gone.”
“Are you the deputy?” Longarm thought he already knew the answer to that.
“I’m the prisoner.”
“What’s your name?”
“John H. Handley. What’s yours?”
“Custis Long. How are you doing in there?”
“Thirsty. Hungry. Scared. Horny. Apart from that, I’m doing just fine, thank you.”
Longarm chucked. John Handley might be a real son of a bitch, but the man had a sense of humor about it all. Longarm liked that.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
LONGARM AND THE SWEETHEART VENDETTA
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition / August 2006
Copyright © 2006 by The Berkley Publishing Group.
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eISBN : 978-1-101-16540-9
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Chapter 1
Longarm froze in place, afraid to move a muscle, afraid if he did . . .
“Custis? What’s wrong, dear?”
He sighed, took a deep breath, forced himself to relax. Only then did he feel confident enough in his control to be able to turn his head and kiss the girl.
“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m . . . or I was . . . right on the edge. Ready to bust. And you ain’t made it yet.”
“Well, darlin’, you just go right on ahead and plunge. Don’t be thinking about me. I’m fine.” She sighed and nibbled the side of his neck. “We got lots and lots of time, darlin’. We can just keep right at this until I do make it.”
“You won’t mind?”
“Darlin’ Custis, I’m just happy to be here with such a fine an’ handsome man loving on me. Don’t you know that?”
“You, my dear, are one sweet filly,” he told her. He raised up a little to take his weight off her tiny body—Emily was such a little bit of a thing that he constantly worried about that even though she assured him that it was a pleasure for her to feel him on top of her—and stroked her breast and then her side.
Emily Balcolm’s skin was pale and soft and utterly flawless. In any spot and from any angle. He knew. He had enjoyed looking at every single part of her and had yet to find anything he could fault her for.
Lordy, but she was a pretty girl. She stood somewhere short of five feet tall and weighed probably seventy or eighty pounds, about half of that being her tits. Emily had abnormally large tits for a girl her size. So big they almost kept her from making a living.
Emily was an actress. A pretty good one actually. She specialized in playing the little sister, and could make herself believable for a part as young as ten or twelve. Of course she had to strap her tits down under her costumes. There was no way she could pass as a child on stage with those magnificent orbs sticking out for the audience to see, but with her binding in place and her hair a cloud of little-girl ringlets, she was a natural ingenue even though she was, to Longarm’s certain knowledge, somewhere north of twenty-one.
“Custis.”
“Mmm?” He commenced nibbling on her right ear.
“Do it, darlin’. Now, please.”
Longarm drew slowly back, then rocked gently forward. He heard Emily catch her breath and her arms closed tighter around him. “Yesss,” she hissed.
He felt his shaft sliding deep inside her small body. Her flesh was hot and her pussy tight. Tight as a virgin. But eager. Ready. Delightful.
“Oh, my,” he murmured, sliding more quickly in and out.
And then fast. Faster. Driving. Thrusting. Demanding.
Longarm felt the sweet-hot rise of sap within his loins, gathering deep in his balls and flowing outward like an Independence Day rocket to explode wildly in a starburst of sensation.
He drove his hips forward hard, as deep as he could go, and he stiffened as hot jism shot out of his body and into hers. Spasms of pleasure rocked and shook him, flowing in waves that he could feel all the way down to his toes.
Longarm grunted and gasped and tried to force himself even deeper inside Emily. Tried to drive himself completely through her. And for her part, Emily clung to him, pulling him tighter and tighter with her arms and her legs alike.
He felt the muscles in her vagina clench and hold; then she too began to spasm. Her hips bucked and her legs were trembling. “I think . . . I think . . . ohhhhh!”
Longarm smiled. And continued to slowly stroke inside her until Emily stopped him with a kiss and a pinch on one cheek of his butt.
“I didn’t expect that,” she said.
“Neither did I. Disappointed?”
Emily laughed and gave him a hug. “Now get off me, you big lummox. I want a drink.”
“You’re too young to drink,” he teased.
“I’ll give you ‘too young,’ you big sonuvabitch. Now
“Huh!” he complained. “You girls are all alike. You have your way with a boy and then just cast him aside.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Emily said with a cheerful grin, her blue eyes sparkling. Then she laughed. And shoved at his chest until Longarm rolled off her body to lie exhausted on the bed in Emily’s hotel room.
Both of them sat up, Emily reaching for a bottle of the Madeira that she favored and Longarm for a cheroot and match. He prepared his cigar while Emily poured herself a glass of the wine; then both sat on the edge of the badly rumpled and quite sweaty bed to enjoy their break from a long evening of lovemaking.
After a moment Emily said, “God, you’re beautiful.”
“Women are beautiful. Men are handsome. Or not. But men most definitely are not thought of as being beautiful.”
“Says who?” she countered. “To me, darlin’, you’re beautiful. And I’m allowed to think that if I damn well please.”
“Watch your language.”
Emily laughed, then swatted him on the upper arm, spilling a little of the Madeira on herself when she did so.
“Give me another minute with this smoke, sweetheart, and I’ll lick that off you.”
“You aren’t serious, are you?”
“Hell, yes,” he told her.
The sparkle flared in Emily’s eyes again. Then she leaned back a little, tilted the wineglass, and poured a tiny amount into the nest of dark curls at her crotch.
“Prove it,” she challenged.
Longarm response was a leering grin . . . and setting his cigar aside.
He grabbed Emily’s knees and spread them wide, then dropped down and buried his nose in her muff.
The girl smelled marvelous.
And tasted even better.
“Oh, Custis, can’t you stay?”
“You know I can’t. I have to change clothes and get to the office. But I’ll come back.”
“Tonight?”
“If I can,” he said.
“Make it tonight then, dear. I won’t be here tomorrow.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Just for a while. The company is dark right now.”
Longarm raised an eyebrow.
“That means we aren’t performing anywhere at the moment, darlin’. We’re between shows, so I have almost two whole weeks off. I’ve decided to go home an’ visit with my folks for a few days.”
He nodded and leaned down for his boots, stuck his feet in them, then stood and quickly buttoned his britches before he strapped on the big double-action Colt .44-.40 that he habitually wore in a cross-draw rig.
Deputy United States Marshal Custis Long was a tall man, standing well over six feet in height. He had craggy, weatherworn features, clear brown eyes, and a huge sweep of handlebar mustache. He stamped his feet to settle them into the boots, then buttoned his vest and reached for his flat-crowned brown Stetson.
Emily wrinkled her nose and laughed as she leaned back on the side of the bed and spread her legs wide apart, giving him a look at the wet, pink flesh there.
“You are a cruel woman, ma’am,” Longarm drawled.
“Just trying to make sure you’ll come back to me, darlin’.”
“Never doubt it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Tonight?”
“If I can. And yes, I promise. But mind you, I did say I’ll be back tonight if I can. That depends on what the marshal has in mind for me t’ be doing.”
“I can settle for that.”
Longarm bent down to give the naked girl a long, passionate kiss. Her breath quickened and when he stood upright again, Emily said, “Keep that up, sir, and I shall not be willing to let you go. I shall lock you away in this room and keep you as my own personal toy and plaything.”
“Hmm. That sounds like pretty nice work. What say we discuss that when I get back.”
“Tonight,” she said, batting her eyes and affecting to look prim and proper. Which was not an easy feat when she was bare-ass naked and sitting with her legs spread.
“If I can,” he repeated. “Now I gotta go. Really.” He leaned down and gave her another kiss, a very brief one this time, and strode across the room for the door.
Chapter 2
The Federal Building on Colfax Avenue was only a brisk twenty-minute walk from the Fairleigh Hotel, where Emily’s manager always housed the troupe when they were playing in Denver.
Longarm rather liked the Fairleigh. Oh, sure, it was seedy and ugly and cheap. But the desk clerks kept their thoughts to themselves. Longarm doubted an eyebrow would be raised if someone paraded two naked midgets and a donkey into their room. It was that kind of place, bless them. No wonder he liked it so much.
Longarm set off from the hotel in plenty of time to make it to work on the very stroke of what passed for an official starting time. He was even a few minutes early. Or would have been if he hadn’t stopped for coffee and sweet rolls. Then to buy some matches. And a newspaper. And to have a friendly word with the cripple who’d lost both legs at Gettysburg and now sold pencils on a street corner to eke out a livelihood.
As a result of his meanderings, he did not quite make it on time. When he did amble into the office a half hour or so late, U.S. Marshal Billy Vail’s clerk, Henry, looked up with a sigh and said, “He asked for you, Long. You’re late, you know.”
“Damn. What’d you tell him?”
“I said you’d gone out to buy a newspaper.”
Longarm grinned. “Good thing I’ve got one then, isn’t it.”
Henry reached beneath his desk and produced an identical copy of the Rocky Mountain News that he showed to Longarm, then shoved out of sight again.
“Thanks, pal.”
“Go on in. He’s waiting for you.”
Longarm left his hat on the rack in the corner, then tapped lightly on the door to the marshal’s private office.
“Come.”
Longarm strode in as if nothing could possibly be wrong on a morning so pleasant. He found his boss seated behind his huge but always tidy desk. Billy looked like a proper businessman or politician, sitting there wearing coat and tie, freshly shaved and smelling of bay rum. The man had round, cherubic cheeks and a bald dome. He was aging now and gave the impression of being every child’s grandfather, always gentle and patient and understanding. Probably did not even know any cuss words. And butter would not melt in his mouth. Yeah, sure.
That was what he looked like now. Longarm happened to know that U.S. Marshal Billy Vail used to be a very rough and effective Texas Ranger. He was no stranger to the smell of gun smoke, and could hold his own with a knife or a tomahawk too, and there were a good many men languishing in this prison or that who’d thought they could take that chubby little fellow with the badge on his chest. They had been wrong then and would still be wrong now.
Billy Vail was tied to his desk most of the time, but he was not above dragging iron and walking into the middle of a gunfight if or when the occasion arose. Longarm liked him. More, Longarm respected the man, and that was an accolade he did not give to just anyone. It had to be earned. Billy Vail had long since earned it.
“Henry said you wanted to see me?”
“I do. I have an assignment for you.”
Longarm helped himself to a seat in front of Billy’s desk. He was hankering for a cheroot, but the smoke bothered Billy. It could just be that this would not be the best time to light up. Still, he surely did want a smoke. His hand strayed toward the lapel of his coat.
“Leave it,” Billy said. “I won’t be keeping you in here very long, Deputy. You can wait a few minutes before you start breathing the fumes from some burning piece of rope.”
“Billy, now you know—”
“Be quiet, Custis. I know. Your cigars are made from the finest hand-picked tobacco. They are practically national treasures.” Billy leaned back in his chair, wisps of white hair around the crown of his balding head catching the light from his office window and giving him a halo. “They still smell like burnt rope. Hemp that has been cured in donkey manure at that.”
