I'm nearly finished with my western-horror novel featuring Clay Carmody, the cowboy-ghoul-hunter I introduced several years ago in my novel, Canyon of a Thousand Eyes. I hope to have the book hammered into publishable shape and up and running on Amazon by January 1. Here is about half of Chapter 12. (WARNING: It's a little naughty...)
“For the love of
Pete--what does it take to get a girl warm in this frigid country!” exclaimed
the Duke’s wife...er, widow...Duchess Katherine, as she shivered on the leather
divan before the ticking potbelly stove in the main drinking hall of the
Stockmen’s Saloon in El Sanctuario.
The saloon’s full name was the Northern New Mexico
Stockmen’s pool.
“The Territorial,” for short.
Daphne Bradbury sat beside the raven-haired young woman of
British royalty, her own cornflower blue gaze fixed on the two broad-shouldered
Englishmen standing at the large, glistening bar, facing each other, each man’s
right fist clenched around the other’s. Their ruddy faces were puffed up and
nearly beet-red. The two burly Brits with the unlikely names Stumpy and Bodger,
whom the Duke had appointed as chaperones of sorts for Duchess Katherine and
Daphne, were arm wrestling.
“I do, say, my dear
Daphne, what has you so riveted over there?”
Duchess Katherine’s voice nudged Daphne from her reverie. If
you could call it a reverie. More like a fantasy. Daphne felt the tug of frisky
desire pull at her female parts, causing her nipples to tingle and a flush of
embarrassment to rise in her peaches-and-cream cheeks as she turned to Lady
Kat. That was what the Duchess preferred to be called by those closest to her.
Daphne had found herself in that pleasing sphere, as she and Lady Kat were roughly
the same age and of similar spirited temperament.
Daphne hemmed and hawed, unable at the moment to float
enough air past the constriction in her throat to form words. Lady Kat sat a
foot away from her on the large, overstuffed leather divan, facing the potbelly
stove, hunched and shivering. Kat glanced over her shoulder at the bar. Just
then the shorter of the two British brutes—Stumpy—slammed the taller
Englishman’s hand down hard against the bar.
“Blast and damnation!” intoned Bodger as, beaming, Stumpy
lifted his ale schooner and poked his beringed pinky out.
Because of the storm, there were very few other customers in
the restaurant/hotel/saloon. Those four men, all hovering around Bodger and
Stumpy, having bet on the match’s outcome, either broke into applause or
groans, cursing as greenbacks switched hands. Stumpy turned toward the two
girls watching from the divan. His gaze locked on Daphne’s. He winked over the
rim of his frothy glass, and tipped the mug back, drinking heartily.
Daphne gasped and turned away, pressing a hand to her chest.
“Oh, god!” She tittered an embarrassed laugh.
“Now I see what’s got your attention!” said Lady Kat.
“Oh, my goodness—I’ve never seen men with such huge
muscles!”
“Really?”
“Well, the blacksmith out at the ranch is built like a
bear—arms like yokes! Unfortunately, he has a belly like a rain barrel to go
with it, and he smells like coal smoke and horse sweat. And he’s old...”
Hazel eyes aglow with devilish delight, Lady Kat looked
askance at Daphne. “How do you know what the blacksmith smells like, dear heart?”
Daphne felt the heat rise from her cheeks into her ears. She
took her face in her hands and leaned forward laughing, spreading her fingers
to exclaim between them, “Oh, good God—you don’t think...? Oh, Lady Kat—I would
never!”
Lady Kat laughed, leaning close to Daphne. “For the love of
Pete, my dear Daphne—are you saying you’ve never?”
Daphne beetled her brows. “Never...?” Her eyes snapped wide.
“You mean...?”
“Whatever else would I mean?” Lady Kat said, arching a
skeptical brow.
Daphne shook her hair back, manufacturing a cool demeanor. “Why,
of course I have. I am twenty-one years old, for goodness sakes!”
“But you’re not married, dear heart.”
“We westerners are not nearly as prudish as you would think.
Why, the English are supposed to be the prudes!”
“Who?”
“Who what?”
“You know—who?”
Daphne laughed into her hands again, blushing as red as a
New Mexico sunset. Recovering, she glanced around, making sure no one else was
near. All of the other customers were still gathered at the bar, hovering
around Stumpy and Bodger, who were engaged in yet another wrestling match.
Daphne leaned close to Lady Kat, whispered into the
brunette’s left ear. “My father’s foreman, Mister Lowry.”
Lady Kat looked astonished. “Your father’s fore--?”
“Shhh!”
Lady Kat sat back, snickering. “How many times?”
Again, Daphne glanced over her shoulder before holding up
two fingers while sheepishly tucking her bottom lip under her upper front teeth
and glancing demurely downward.
“How was it?”
Daphne hiked a noncommittal shoulder. “Rather too fast,
actually.” She snickered. “He was so afraid that Father would find us out that
it took him forever to get it hard, and once he did, it was all over in a
heartbeat!”
She tittered into her palm.
“Oh, dear—that won’t do.”
“No, it won’t!”
“You need a good ash-hauling, dear heart.”
Daphne lowered her hand, frowning. “What are you talking
about?”
Lady Kat tossed her head to indicate the bar, where Stumpy
and Bodger were locked in a standstill, fists clenched straight up from the
mahogany. They grimaced and grunted through clenched teeth. “Stumpy and I have
an arrangement.”
“An arrangement?”
Lady Kat nodded, cheeks dimpling, eyes aglow. “An arrangement.” She pinched her nose as
she sank back against the divan again, snorting. “He’s equipped with a
foot-long dobber, dear heart. It’s nearly as big as his arm!”
“Oh my god!” Daphne glanced toward the bar then turned her
astonished gaze back to her friend. “What about the Duke?”
Lady Kat pursed her lips, looked down at her hand, and
raised her pale, slender index finger to half-mast. It resembled a worm trying
to shake off a nap. Both women fairly roared as they rolled back against the
divan. “But he’s so astonishingly handsome,” Daphne said. “With so much pluck!”
“Yes, well,” Lady Kat said, “looks and pluck are all he has,
I’m afraid. A woman needs far more than that if she’s going to get one off,
don’t you know.” Lady Kat sat up straight on the divan, raised her arms high
above her head, stretching, and gave a loud yawn. “I do believe it’s time for a
nap, dear Daphne.”
She’d raised her voice loud enough to be heard at the bar.
Several of the men glanced her way. Stumpy remained facing his opponent though
Daphne thought she saw his eyes flick toward the divan.
“Would you excuse me for a bit, dear friend?” Lady Kat asked
Daphne.
Before Daphne could respond, Lady Kat placed her hand on
Daphne’s thigh and leaned toward her, whispering, “Give us fifteen minutes.
Then do join us. The door will not be locked, I assure you.”
Lady Kat rose with unspeakable grace, giving Daphne an
oblique smile. Daphne stared at her, puzzled but with a warm feeling deep down
in her belly. Swinging around, swishing her skirts, the ravishing Brit strode
toward the broad staircase at the back of the room. She moved gracefully on her
long, coltish legs, chin held high, swinging her hips with subtle enticing.
Halfway to the base of the stairs, she gave another loud yawn, swept her hair
up high above her head with both hands, and let it tumble back down to her
narrow shoulders and slender back.
While she did not once glance at the bar, Daphne knew that
Lady Kat was well aware of most of the men staring at her like horny schoolboys.
Daphne heard one issue a barely audible groan of desire. Stumpy pointedly did
not turn his head in her direction but kept his gaze on his opponent.
Lady Kat gracefully climbed the stairs, brushing the tips of
her fingers lightly along the rail, her glistening hair dancing across her back,
and disappeared into the cavernous building’s second story. Daphne glanced at
the men at the bar. Bodger gave a grunt and slammed Stumpy’s hand down onto the
bartop.
Stumpy cursed without heat.
The four onlookers clapped or shook their heads, exchanging
more greenbacks.
“Bloody hell, old man,” Bodger said, flexing his right hand.
“I thought for sure you had me a third time in a row. What happened?”
Stumpy shrugged and hunkered down over his beer. Daphne kept
her furtive gaze on the Brit’s broad back. He remained at the bar for a couple
of minutes then finished his beer, slammed it down on the mahogany, and said,
“This cold weather’s got me fagged to the marrow. I’m gonna head upstairs for a
kip.”
“More ale for me!” said Bodger, then motioned to the bearded
bar tender for another beer.
After Stumpy had disappeared into the second story, Daphne
sat hunched before the potbelly stove, shivering not from a chill but from her
wild imaginings about what was happening upstairs in Lady Kat’s room.
Anxiety weighed heavy on her.
While she wanted very much to be part of Lady Kat’s and
Stumpy’s tryst, she was afraid. She’d never been a part of such dealings. Mr.
Lowry had been her first and only lover though on a dare she’d once kissed the
cock of a stable boy. While neither of hers and Mr. Lowry’s hurried couplings
had been one bit satisfactory and she’d longed for a longer, more adventurous
and enjoyable tumble, she’d never expected a proposition like the one Lady Kat
had just tossed in her lap.
Share a bed with both a man and another woman?
My, god—she’d never heard of such a thing!
Daphne gave a snort as her body was wracked by another round
of anticipatory shivers. Stumpy was quite the good-looking man. He was shorter
than Bodger, but he was by no means “stumpy” at all. (She had no idea where
these Englishmen came up with their nicknames!) He was ginger-bearded and
ruddy-faced, with blazing, dark-blue eyes—nearly the same blue as the Duke’s.
His hair was a shade darker than his beard, and it was curly and wild. His face
was deftly chiseled into the visage of a handsome barbarian.
While Stumpy was not as tall as the Duke, his shoulders were
nearly as wide as a barn door, his legs firm and stout—a much more evolved
specimen even than the brawny young man who cut hay for Daphne’s father, a
simple, bashful but nice-to-look-at farmboy named Hayden Carlson whom Daphne
often thought about when she touched herself.
When the fifteen minutes were up, Daphne found herself
climbing the stairs. Her heart beat in her chest like the heart of a frightened
little bird. Her breasts were warm. She could feel chicken flesh rising across
them. Her nipples were raking almost painfully against the inside of her
corset, but they tingled, as well.
Oh, dear Lord, what kind of a naughty thing was she about to
do? she wondered, muffling a snort with her hand before turning at the top of
the stairs.
