And while she was busy doing that at one end, at the other she was shuddering and fluttering, her slim body wracked with convulsive spasms as she reached repeated climaxes under the influence of Longarm’s tongue on the tiny button that was the center of her pleasure.
All in all this was not, he thought, the very worst night he’d ever experienced.
Later, an hour or more later, when he lay panting in the cool night air, his balls aching from overwork and his limbs weak with fatigue, after the woman had left him and gone back to the Miller cabin, it occurred to Longarm that he did not yet know her name.
Not that he really gave a damn. What he did care about, what he did hope for, was whether she would be going all the way to Deadwood on this run. Because if she was, there would be several more nights they would have to get through.
He could think of worse things a man might have to face.
Chapter 7
The breakfast Mrs. Miller put together was both leisurely and large. A good thing too because Longarm had a lot of refueling to do after the exertions of the night before. By the time he was done with his tenth hotcake—or thereabouts, not that anyone was counting—Quentin Cooper and Eddie Miller were back from examining the state of the flooded creek.
“All right, everybody. We pull out quick as we’re hitched and ready,” the driver announced. “If you haven’t already et, then you’re too damn late. Let’s go.”
The creek, running far over its banks the night before, was narrow and placid in the morning light. Except for some mud left behind on the trunks of nearby trees, one would never think this little bit of a thing could be a bother to anybody. Which only went to prove one more time, Longarm thought, that looks can deceive.
They rolled north just half a day’s run ahead of the trailing northbound that would have left Julesburg twenty- four hours behind them, changed teams at Darien’s Gap, and left the fat man and three other passengers at Chadron that evening.
Longarm felt relieved. He’d been worried about the fellow lest his food hamper come empty and the poor soul not know how to handle the deprivation.
The woman—who Longarm hadn’t had reason to so much as speak to the whole day long—remained with the coach.
To Longarm’s surprise she not only stayed aboard, but when they filed onto the Studebaker after the supper stop, she clambered awkwardly onto the roof to sit up there in the cool evening air.
“Gonna be breezy up here, ma’am,” the jehu warned. The woman nodded rather than bother her regal self by speaking to a peasant.
“The gentleman there smokes a cigar time to time, ma’am,” Cooper added. “I can’t hardly ask him to not smoke in the open air like this even if it bothers you, ma’am.”
Again she nodded. She’d heard what the man had to say anyway.
“Bumpier up here too, ma’am. The rig kinda sways an’ rocks so you feel it more than when you’re down inside.”
“Thank you. Drive on now.” She flicked a finger in the direction of the road that led north.
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say, ma’am.” Quint gave Longarm a slightly nervous look. Obviously he didn’t want either the deputy or the fancy lady registering complaints with the stage line once they reached Deadwood, and this match-up appeared about as compatible as fire and gunpowder. Then, with a barely visible shrug, he consigned the problem to the fates and cracked his whip over the ears of his leaders.
The woman was no chatterbox, and didn’t seem much interested in the scenery either. She sat—swayed, bumped, and bounced was more the truth of it—in unmoving silence until it became dark and for several hours after.
Until, that is, the next change of team. A quick stop to pour coffee in one end and pee out the other, and they were under way again.
And the woman again chose to ride on top of the big coach, although this time she took a seat facing the rear.
Liked to look at billowing dust, Longarm figured. At least that is what she would have been able to see had there been light enough to see anything. As it was, it had to be the horses that were keeping track of the roadbed, because it was entirely too dark for human eyes to make out anything.
Apart from the simple fact of it being black night, there were clouds to the north and west, and the moon was not yet showing to the east.
Longarm settled into his usual front-facing bench immediately behind Quentin Cooper so the two of them could chat if they took the notion—less likely than usual with a lady’s tender ears so close—and pulled out a cheroot.
He hadn’t any more than finished his smoke when he felt a sharp tap on his elbow. It was the woman, of course. She held a cautionary finger in front of her veil about where he expected her lips would be, then patted the seat beside her to indicate he should move back there with her.
Longarm took a look forward, but Quint was paying no attention to his passengers. And he shouldn’t be, either, on a night so dark. One misstep by him or his leaders and the stage could bust a wheel, which would be a damned nuisance if not exactly a disaster. There were at least two spares slung underneath the body of the coach, but it was a bitch to jack a heavy coach off the ground and wrestle a new wheel in place. The chore would be especially annoying if it started to rain, and Longarm guessed by the clouds ahead and the smell of the air that they were likely to be rained on before morning.
Anyway, the driver was concentrating on what was in front of him and not what might be going on behind his back. Longarm nodded and shifted to the bench at the lady’s side.
Again she motioned him to silence. Then she took his hand and slid it inside her duster, guiding it between two buttons. And onto bare flesh.
