Her eyebrows shot up and she assumed the look of one who has been gravely offended. “You do not think Sophie is worth five dollars?”
“Oh, sure,” he said, “but I don’t think that you’re here for money. I think you’ve another reason for being here.”
Her face changed and she pouted, “And that would be?”
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “But you know that a federal marshal doesn’t make a hell of a lot of money. And I know that the bottle of French champagne you came with is worth at least three dollars.”
“So?”
“So this doesn’t add up,” Longarm said, taking the glass from Sophie’s hand and dragging her out of his bed.
Sophie didn’t make any attempt to resist. When she was standing before him, she drew a deep breath, her magnificent breasts rising dramatically before she expelled, and then said, “So, if I am not here for money, then for what?”
Longarm placed a hand on her bare shoulder. He could feel his heart pounding, and the last thing he wanted to do was to question this woman. What he really wanted to do was to tear off his clothes and mount her. But he knew that would not be wise—at least not until he found out her real purpose.
“I think you being here has something to do with Ford Oakley,” he blurted out. “In fact, that is the only reason I can think of for this surprise.”
Sophie reached up and touched his face. Her nipples were hard, and she rubbed them suggestively across his shirtfront. “Marshal, what if I told you that I saw you get off the stagecoach and I said to myself, ‘There is the handsomest man I have seen in a long, long time, and I want him.’”
His hand slid down from her shoulder to Sophie’s breast. He felt her shiver as he rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger. “If you told me that,” he whispered into her ear, “I would say that was the sorriest line of bullshit I’ve heard from a woman in quite some time.”
Sophie stiffened and made a grab for his six-gun. She was ferret-quick, but the big Colt was pressed too tightly between them and Longarm easily caught her arm and then pushed her away. “So, what is it you really want?” he demanded.
Sophie sat down on the bed. Her smile was gone now and she looked sullen and a little nervous. “I want money.”
“I don’t believe that.” Longarm pulled her back to her feet and slipped his arm around her waist. “You’ve got too much to offer to be selling yourself for a few dollars to a federal marshal. What you really want has everything to do with Ford Oakley, doesn’t it?”
When she did not answer, Longarm squeezed her tight against his chest and pinched her jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “Doesn’t it!”
“Yes!” she hissed, pushing at him. “It is about Ford Oakley! I have been sent here for one reason and one reason alone, and that is to get you to kill him!”
Longarm stepped back and reached for the champagne. “You mean that someone sent you to try and get me to murder him.”
“Yes!”
“Who?”
“I cannot say,” Sophie replied. “But I was paid very well. I will be paid even more if you agree to kill him.”
Longarm poured himself a drink and studied the young woman. He had a feeling that she was finally being honest with him. “And how,” he asked, “am I supposed to do it?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie said. “But I’m sure that you could find a way if you wanted to. My job is to make you want to.”
Longarm removed his hat and sat down on the bed. “Did Miss Bean pay you to come here?”
“No!”
The moment he heard the denial, Longarm suspected otherwise. Sophie’s denial was just too strenuous. Too emphatic. “Miss Bean did pay you, didn’t she?”
“No!”
“You’re a lovely woman … but a very bad liar,” Longarm told her. “Is Ford Oakley anything to you personally?”
Sophie turned away and began to gather up her clothes. Longarm went over to her and said, “I asked you a question. Turn around and give me an answer.”
Sophie spun around and all the pretense was gone now. Her eyes were no longer soft, but instead very hard and angry. “Paul Smith is my brother!” she cried. “Is that good enough for you?”
“Yes,” he told her. “And I am sorry. Sorry for what happened to your brother, and sorry for thinking that you had other, less noble motives for coming here.”
Sophie inhaled slowly and then expelled with a shudder. “You think I wanted to kill you?”
“Yes,” he said, “that’s exactly what I thought.”
“If killing you … never mind.”
“Let me finish for you,” he said. “If killing me could insure that Ford Oakley was going to die, it would be worth it. Isn’t that what you wanted to say?”
“Yes,” Sophie finally answered, tears springing into her eyes.
