Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Purple Les

Andromeda Purdy woke up slowly from a kiss on her cheek. Slowly opening her eyes, the first thing she saw was her black dress draped over a chair. Puzzled, she lifted her head just enough to see that she was in her underclothes, sprawled out on the sofa. Feeling an odd dampness on her brow, Ann touched her head and found a cool, damp cloth resting there. With a low moan, she sank back into the sofa, whispering, “Oh, dear Jesus… I must surely be dying.”

The Kid’s soft voice broke into her unhappy reverie. “I brung you coffee, Ann. You all right?”

Ann looked at The Kid through narrowed eyes. “Oh, Kid… please don’t shout so.” She managed to hoist herself into a sitting position, then reached for the cup with trembling hands, brought it to her mouth and took a sip. She groaned, then laid back down, holding on to her cup as if it might try to escape, given the chance.

Hunkering down next to her wincing lover, The Kid murmured, “I’d’ve let you sleep on till tomorrow, Ann, but we gotta get to that seance tonight. I knew you’d need some time to make yourself right first.”

“Please, Kid… go without me.” Ann begged, closing her eyes.

“I need you there, Ann.”

With great effort, Andromeda managed another swallow of coffee. “All right, Kid.” She extended a hand. “Help me up, won’t you?”

A few cups of coffee later, The Kid had Ann moving around and washed up. Still in her underclothes, Ann was back on the sofa, nursing one last cup.

“You look almost alive now,” The Kid said, appraising Ann’s condition.

“That’s as may be, but I feel like death warmed over.” With a heavy sigh, Ann set her empty cup down on the table. “How long before we have to leave?” she asked, like a man wondering when he had to climb the gallows.

“No hurry. I reckon once you get dressed, we’ll have us a bite at the Cafe, harness Pegasus up to a buggy and ride on out there.”

“You can’t go dressed like that,” Ann stated flatly, looking at The Kid, who still wore the black dress..

“Why not? It was good enough for a funeral. Seems like the right thing to wear for raisin’ the dead up, too.”

“You’ll wear that dress I bought you for the Founder’s Day dance, the one you never got to wear. It’s hanging in my closet. I’ll get it when I pick out a dress for myself.”

While Ann sat quietly, summoning up energy, The Kid said, “Well, while you slept all afternoon, I got that gun rig fixed up right.”

“Gun rig? What on earth are you talking about?” Ann asked, confused.

The Kid went to the kitchen table, then returned to the parlor with the device she’d taken from the gambler.

“Y’see, Ann, it just needed me to tinker with it some. Let me show you how slick it works!”

Ann watched as The Kid rolled up the right sleeve of her dress, then attached the gadget to her forearm with the unloaded derringer fixed to it.

“Now watch this.” The Kid held her arm out straight, then flexed it.

In the blink of an eye the derringer flashed down The Kid’s forearm, slipped through her fingers and went flying across the room. It crashed through the glass of a bookcase and into a row of elegantly bound volumes, denting their spines. The gun dropped onto a shelf, then fell to the floor with a loud thud.

The Kid stood dumbfounded, looking back and forth from the device on her arm to the gun on the floor.

Ann glared at The Kid, her cheeks flushed a bright red. Taking a deep breath, she held it as long as she could, slowly exhaled, and said between clenched teeth, “I’ll get our dresses. You clean this mess up.”

The Kid had just finished sweeping up the glass fragments when Ann came down the stairs. The Kid paused to admire her lover’s beauty. Ann’s hair was arranged to perfection, a tortoiseshell comb holding it in place. She wore a dark blue dress with a white lace trim bodice. Another dress was draped over her arm.

“You sure do look pretty.” The Kid said.

“Thank you,” was Ann’s curt reply. “Now take that dress off and put this one on.” She held out the garment for The Kid to take.

Still feeling sheepish over her mishap with the derringer, The Tequila Kid unbuttoned her dress and stepped out of it.

Ann’s mouth dropped as she gawked at her nude lover. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed. “Do you mean to tell me you didn’t wear anything under that dress all day?”

The Kid stood, hands on her hips and one leg bent at an angle. “Well, what for? No one could tell anyhow, and it was a hell of a lot cooler.”

Ann did an about-face back upstairs, soon returning with undergarments. Handing them over, she said, “You wear these under that dress and don’t say another word.”

The Kid meekly put on the underclothes, then wriggled into the yellow dress. Andromeda fixed The Kid’s hair in a swirl on top of her head which hid the scar, then appraised her, finally nodding. “You’ll do.” If not for the tattoos on The Kid’s chin, she could have passed for a debutante.

“Well, I’m wearing my moccasins.” The Kid said. “They won’t hardly show under this dress anyways.”

“Fine,” Ann acquiesced. “But no weapons.”

The Kid pursed her lips. “Not even my knife? Or the derringer gadget?”

“Especially not the derringer gadget,” Ann said crossly. “We’re not going to a shootout, Kid. We don’t need to be armed!”

“I’d best bring the Winchester to keep in the buggy, at least.”

“No weapons!” Ann snapped, giving The Kid a look that could peel paint.

“Dang it, Ann, you may as well just have me go there bare naked!”

“That’s an interesting thought, Kid… but you will go as you are, and with no weapons.”

The Kid pouted as they strolled to the Highland Cafe, but she was in better spirits after dinner. Ann felt better as well, her hangover all but gone once she’d gotten something in her stomach. They walked arm in arm to the livery stable.

“Good evenin’, ladies.” Nate Lincoln said as they walked into the stable. “My, don’t you both look fine!”

“Thank you, Nate.” Ann replied. “Do you have a buggy we can use for the evening? We’re headed to Mrs Ruggles’ place.”

Nate grinned. “Aw, that’s why you’s dressed up so nice.” Moving over to a large shape draped in canvas, he began to uncover it. “I got just the thing for your travels.”

While The Kid visited with Button, Nate led Ann to a very fancy looking buggy with ornate lanterns attached to the front and back. Metal mudguards over the yellow spoke wheels gave it an elegant appearance, and the yellow matching cloth roof with a fringe on it was the icing on the cake.

The Kid joined them a moment later, giving a low whistle when she saw the shiny black buggy.

“You ladies’ll find these seats plush an’ comfy,” Nate said. “Got mighty good suspension on it, too… feels like you’s ridin’ on a cloud. An’ I’ll charge you but two dollars for the night.”

“Oh, my… it’s beautiful, Nate,” Ann breathed. “We’ll take it.”

He hitched up the buggy and they set off. Pegasus was used to pulling Ann’s heavy wagon, so the buggy must’ve felt like a puff of air to the big grey gelding.

“See you later, Nate!” Ann called out. The Kid gave the large black man a wave with her free hand. Taking the buggy into the street, she got Pegasus up to a slow trot as they headed for the edge of town.

Stopping by a creek to let Pegasus drink, they watched the sunset, The Kid lit the lanterns on the buggy while Andromeda gathered her thoughts. Finally, she spoke.

“So, Kid, you mean to tell me that you intend to take over Gracie’s part in this seance? I find it touching that she trusts you enough to admit it’s all a fake.”

“Well, she trusts me that far, but she’s too scared to let me in on the rest. Now don’t forget, you’re the only one who knows I speak French. Be sure you don’t give that away, if anyone asks. Oh, and Ann… I just got an idea, and it’s a good one, I think — but it means there’s somethin’ I need you to do for me, if you can.”

“What is it?” Ann asked, not sure if she wanted to involve herself in one of The Kid’s bold schemes.

“If you get the chance to, I need you to search this so-called Lady Jane’s belongin’s, see what you can find.”

“What would I be looking for?”

“See if you can find her gun. Or papers, or anything that might shine a light on her and the Count. If you have time, look in his room, too.”

Ann thought on it, then said, “I won’t say that the idea doesn’t scare me a little… but I know how much this means to you, so I’ll do it if I can. Are you sure I’ll get the opportunity, though?”

“No idea,” The Kid said with a shrug. “I should be able to keep ‘em both busy if you do.”

Climbing back into the buggy, The Kid geed up the horse and they rode on toward the Ruggles estate. On the way Ann, who had known the late Maurice Ruggles, filled The Kid in on his speech patterns and personality. As a child, Ann had stayed with the family for a few weeks while her parents were attending a scientific conference in San Francisco, and had learned a few household secrets during that time.

As The Kid reined in Pegasus by the main entrance, a poker-faced servant came to assist the ladies. Ann waited by the front door as The Kid took a blanket out of the buggy and draped it over the horse, then put the lanterns out. Setting a large weight attached to the buggy down on the ground so Pegasus wouldn’t wander, The Kid strolled over to join Ann as the servant opened the front door, leading them both inside.

Though The Kid and Ann had both been at the Ruggles estate before, the front entrance never failed to impress them.

As the heavy oak front doors were opened, they stepped through. The shiny white marble floor with the crystal glass chandelier hanging high above it cast a lovely glow from dozens of candles that loaded it down. The gold colored velvet wallpaper and sculpted plasterwork, the finely carved wood furniture and the large candelabra all made Ann feel as if she was in a French chateau. They both paused to look at the portrait of a young Mr and Mrs Ruggles that hung over a gigantic fireplace.

“I’ve rode through canyons smaller than this,” The Kid whispered to Ann as Mrs Ruggles approached them.

Mrs Ruggles wore a sparkling low-cut black dress. A string of white pearls glistened against her wrinkled skin. She extended a black gloved hand. “Thank you both so much for coming tonight.”

Putting her small clutch bag in her left hand and taking Mrs Ruggles’ gloved hand in her right, Ann said, “Thank you for having us. We’ve never been to a seance before.”

“It’s a first for me, too. Come, ladies.” Mrs Ruggles said, offering an arm to each. The Kid took one, Ann took the other, and they mounted the grand staircase, continuing along the upper hall and into a large wood-paneled room.

“This was my late husband’s game room.” Mrs Ruggles explained, “Lady Wyeth-Boton felt that his spirit would be most inclined to visit here.”

The Kid had no recollection of seeing this room before. Bet I would of remembered it, too. She looked around, taking in its details. There was a billiard table, several trophy heads of elk and bear mounted on the dark wood walls, and a poker table. There were leather armchairs before a large stone fireplace, and a round game table. Nearby was a cluster of dining chairs that seemed to belong to some other room. There was a marble-topped bar with brass fittings, lined by tall, backless stools. Here and there were deep fabric-covered chairs with matching ottomans. The parquet floor gleamed.

What fascinated The Kid the most was a large tank of water, with many small fish of bright colors swimming in it. Noting The Kid’s interest in the fish, Mrs Ruggles explained, “These were my husband’s great joy. He collected them from around the world. I keep them thriving in his memory.”

Seated in one of the leather chairs by the fireplace, Count Cousiourac rose and advanced as the three women entered the room.

“I don’t believe you two have been introduced,” Mrs Ruggles said to Ann. “Count, this is Andromeda Purdy. She is the town librarian, and our foremost authority on creatures who roamed the earth long before we existed. Ann, this is Count Cousiourac.”

“Pleased to meet you, Count,” Ann said with a smile and a nod.

“Enchanté,” the Count murmured, taking Ann’s right hand like it was the most delicate thing on earth. Gently pressing his lips against her fingers for a moment, he then released her hand as if he’d just freed a butterfly. In spite of herself, Anne couldn’t help but blush a bit.

“Is that little Gracie I see?” Mrs Ruggles said. “Come, child.” Sure enough, the little girl had just quietly entered the room, and timidly came forward to join the others. “Ann, this is Lady Wyeth-Boton’s assistant. Gracie, this is Miss Purdy.”

Gracie gave a curtsy and bow of her head. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Purdy.”

Ann took the girl’s hand between hers, catching Gracie by surprise. “So nice to meet you,” she said, a distinct warmth in her voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” the child replied, her cheeks flushed pink. The Kid caught the little girl’s eye, and Gracie gave her a shy smile.

Count Cousiourac cleared his throat, then said, “Lady Wyeth-Boton is preparing herself to enter the spirit world and will join us soon.”

“I would offer you libations,” Mrs Ruggles said, “but Lady Wyeth-Boton says it is detrimental to reaching the other world. So we will not open the bar until the seance has taken place.”

Gracie timidly spoke. “Perhaps I should… prepare the room now?”

“Yes, of course, child,” Mrs Ruggles absently said, then asked the others, “Shall we sit?” She began to make her way to the other side of the room, Ann and the Count following.

“Grace, I’ll give you a hand,” The Kid said.

The little girl led her over to the table by the fireplace. As the other three chatted farther away, The Kid softly said, “What’s she got you sayin’ tonight?”

While they positioned the round table and put dining chairs around it, Gracie whispered something back in French, something that The Kid knew the child had to have been taught phonetically.

“When my Lady closes her eyes I’m to count to thirty, then go into my act.” Gracie whispered cautiously, glancing at the others to make sure they weren’t being overheard.

Once they finished arranging the chairs, Gracie took a box of matches from her pocket and lit one black candle that had been placed in the center of the table. “There — it’s ready,” she said.

The Kid winked at the child. “See you later, sweet thing,” she said, then went to join the others.

Moments later, Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton swept into the room, clad from chin to feet in a jet-black cloak. Mrs Ruggles introduced Lady Jane to Ann.

Lady Jane gave Ann a long, penetrating gaze, then clapped her hands once. “Gracie! Please dim all the other lights in the room,” she ordered. “Everyone, please sit around the table.”

“Should the child be here for this?” Mrs Ruggles asked, a look of concern on her face.

“Yes,” answered Lady Jane. “Gracie often serves as a vessel for the spirits to enter. Those on the other side sometimes prefer a child or an innocent to speak through.”

Mrs Ruggles sat next to the empty chair for Lady Wyeth-Boton. Next to Mrs Ruggles was the Count. Next to the Count sat Ann. The Kid sat beside Ann, Gracie was placed on The Kid’s right, right across from the empty chair.

The room was now dark, save for the lone candle on the table.

“It is imperative that my directions be followed to the letter. Then and only then will the spirits consent to appear,” Lady Jane said, looking from person to person.

“First, what I do now is not intended to shock anyone, but to free my energies, so that I may communicate freely with the spirits,” she continued, then swept her cloak off with a single gesture.

Ann’s and Mrs Ruggles’ mouths hung open in amazement. As for the Count, he barely seemed to notice. Gracie must have seen this many times before, but even in the dim light The Kid could tell that the child’s cheeks were flushed red.

Draping the black cloak over one arm, Lady Jane stood motionless, allowing everyone to take a long look at her. She was completely nude, except for a blue crystal that hung from a thin silver chain.

The Kid liked what she saw. The large breasts drooped down slightly, but the dark pink nipples were large and visibly erect. Her belly was firm, with a soft roundness just under the navel.

Nestling between Lady Jane’s thighs was a neat triangle of blonde curls. The hair around the labia had been trimmed away so that the labia majora and minora could be plainly seen. The Kid absently moistened her lips, wondering what the woman tasted like.

As Lady Jane turned to hang her cloak from the oaken rack, her firm round buttocks could briefly be seen. Hell fire, The Kid thought, she’s even nicer lookin’ than I thought.

As Lady Jane slowly walked back to the table, she said, “Also, my being nude should make it clear to you that I have no mechanical tricks to hide, unlike many fraudulent spiritualists who try to fool believers with chicanery.”

Fingering the stone that dangled between her breasts, she continued. “This crystal I wear was given to me by the great fakir Ali Siri of India. It catches the energy of the other world, and feeds it to me.” Lady Jane seated herself between Mrs Ruggles and Gracie.

Making eye contact with each person at the table, she said, “I beseech you all, please keep an open mind, and avoid any negative thoughts. Be open and receptive to any spirits whose energy touches upon yours.” She paused, then added, “Now, place the palms of your hands flat upon the table. The thumbs of your own hands should touch, while your pinkie fingers should be touching those of the persons on either side to you.”

Everyone arranged their hands as Lady Jane instructed.

Her voice became stern. “Under no circumstances, for whatever reason, are you to break this circle. To do so is to roughly cast any visiting spirit away. If this is done, they may never return.”

Once more, Lady Jane looked at each person before saying, “Once more I implore you… do not break the circle.” She took a deep breath. “Now, let us begin.”

Lady Jane lifted her eyes upward and her face went blank. “By the powers of Isis and Osiris. By the love of Jesus Christ and our Father in Heaven. Spirits, come before us now. Cross back from whence you have gone, and return to comfort those who remain.” She closed her eyes.

Gracie was silently counting to thirty, as Lady Jane had told her to do. The Tequila Kid counted to fifteen.

A soft groan was heard, and all eyes went to The Kid just in time to see a small light flicker for an instant in her open mouth. Suddenly her mouth closed and her expression went blank.

Lady Jane looked at Gracie, then back at The Kid.

As they all stared, The Kid’s eyes flashed open wide. Her pupils could not be seen; there was only white where they should have been.

In a deep voice, speaking in perfect French, The Kid said, “Who has summoned me back to this mortal realm?”

Gracie and Ann, the only two in the room who didn’t speak the language, looked utterly bewildered.

Count Cousiourac gasped audibly, then said, “Mon Dieu! Mademoiselle Kid, she speaks French?”

Though still shocked, Ann managed to reply, “No, Count Cousiourac, she knows not a word of French. My goodness, she barely speaks English!”

Gracie could only gape. Lady Jane seemed puzzled, but was doing her best to conceal it from the others. Mrs Ruggles was awestruck.

Somehow, Lady Jane managed to speak, though uncertain of what to say. “I, Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton, have summoned you here, spirit. Do you recognize the person to my right?”

Still speaking French, The Kid responded in a loving tone. “My Ladybug? It is you! What a joy to see you again.”

Mrs Ruggles’ eyes were filled with tears. “My dear Maurice.” Glancing at Lady Jane, she said, “’Ladybug’ was his term of endearment to me. It was private between us. It’s… it’s really him!” Turning back to The Kid, she said, “Oh, Maurice, my French was never half as good as yours. Please speak to me in English.”

“All right then, my little Ladybug,” The Kid answered Mrs Ruggles. “Who are these others with you?”

Mrs Ruggles introduced each one at the table to her husband’s spirit. The Kid sat in silence, listening to each name. When Ann Purdy’s name was said, The Kid spoke again.

“This is little Andromeda Purdy?” Maurice’s spirit asked. Mrs Ruggles nodded. “My, my, what a vision of beauty that skinny little girl has become. I’d never have known it was her.”

“Oh, my dear Maurice, are you happy?” Mrs Ruggles asked.

“Yes, Ladybug. The other world is more beautiful than anything a mortal can imagine. With me are our dear children, Barty and Claire. We all miss you, Ladybug. Be in no hurry to join us, though. Stay here in the world of the living, doing your good works as long as you can. When you come to us, you will be young again, and we will all be together once more.”

Mrs Ruggles shook her head. “I have so much to say to you, Maurice. Your death came so — so suddenly. I never had a chance to tell you h-how very much I loved you…” Tears rolled down the woman’s face, her lips trembling.

The Kid spoke again. “Ladybug, the children and I can feel the love that you have for us. There is no need to weep. Here there is no sadness, no regrets. Just total bliss. Be happy for us. To live as you are is your greatest joy, until the time far from now when we will be together. Be joyful, dear wife, and know that we are joyful as well.”

The Kid’s eyes drifted shut, she groaned and then drooped forward until her head hit the table with a thud. After a moment, she slowly lifted her head. When her eyelids fluttered open again, her expression was one of confusion.

“What…? Doggone it, I must of fell asleep! I’m mighty sorry, Mrs Ruggles. Did anything happen?” The Kid looked around in a daze.

“Turn the lamps back up, Gracie.” Lady Jane ordered.

Ann laid a hand on The Kid’s arm. “You don’t remember anything?”

“Remember? Remember what?” The Kid asked, frowning.

While Mrs Ruggles and Ann told The Kid what had happened, Lady Jane gave Gracie a piercing stare. In return, the bewildered little girl shrugged her shoulders.

The Count stood and ambled over to the bar, “Please let me know what you wish to drink, ladies. I think that we all need one, yes?”

“Before you do,” Lady Jane said, “Please take a moment to observe my nether region.” She stood, then parted her legs slightly. “As you can see at my opening, it is dripping with ectoplasm. This is proof that spiritual energy passed through me, the medium, energy that I fed on to summon the spirit who passed the time with us. If any of you doubt, please feel free to touch… feel the substance for yourself.”

Mrs Ruggles hesitantly removed a glove, reaching out to touch Lady Jane’s dripping vagina. Ann and The Kid exchanged knowing glances, and the Count looked on with a wry smile as he casually filled a glass with whiskey.

Reaching for her cloak, Lady Jane carefully draped it over her shoulders. Glancing suspiciously at The Kid, she said, “I am exhausted, Mrs Ruggles… I will retire to my room now.” She turned to Gracie, who was standing off to the side, hands clasped before her. “Come along, child.”

As Lady Wyeth-Boton passed Count Cousiourac on her way to the door, she spoke to him briefly before making her exit, little Gracie in tow. He gave her a curt nod, then drained his drink.

Setting the glass down on the bar, the Count turned to the three women. “Mrs Ruggles, Lady Wyeth-Boton has reminded me that I must go into town tonight to reserve hotel suites for Friday. You see, we leave on the train Saturday morning, so it will be, ah, more easy to get to the station if we are already in town.”

Count Cousiourac looked at Ann and The Kid. “If you ladies would be so kind as to let me ride back to town with you, I would be most grateful.”

“Why, sure, Count.” The Kid answered. “That’s fine with us.”

He gave a small bow. “Merci beaucoup, ladies. If you will give me just a few moments to pack a bag for tonight, I will return here most soon.” Turning away briskly, he made his exit.

“Reckon I best go get Pegasus hitched up, then,” The Kid said. “Mrs Ruggles, thanks for the invite. Had me a nice time, even if I did miss the big show.”

“Thank you, Kid,” Mrs Ruggles murmured, taking the young woman’s hands. “You were the vessel my dear departed husband chose to make his presence known to us.” Her eyes were misting over again. “I will be forever grateful to you for the happiness you helped to bring me.”

The Kid felt her cheeks grow warm. She’d never found it easy to receive praise. “Shucks, ma’am,” she said, “I’m glad if I was able to be of any help.” She gave the old woman a bashful smile, then took her leave.

Ann stayed behind to chat with Mrs Ruggles, then made her goodbyes when Count Cousiourac returned with his valise. They were led to the front door by the stiff-backed servant, and emerged from the house just as The Kid was climbing into the buggy.

The ride back to town was uneventful, Ann and the Count making small talk along the way. They dropped him off in front of the Ridge Hotel. Next stop was the livery stable, where Ann paid for the buggy rental. Nate unhitched Pegasus and put him in his stall while The Kid paid a brief visit to Button.

Ann and The Kid walked back home arm in arm. Upon arriving, they undressed, performed their ablutions and climbed into bed.

As The Kid turned down the lamp on the side table, Ann spoke up. “All right, Kid, tell me — how on earth did you put on that show at the seance?”

“What did you think?” The Kid replied with a bad-girl grin.

“Actually, it was incredible. I think Sarah Bernhardt would envy your performance.”

“Well, I already knew how to speak French. First, I rolled my eyes way up to make ‘em look all white.” The Kid paused. “Wait — who’s Sarah Bernhardt?”

“Never mind, Kid. What about that little light in your mouth?”

“Oh, that? Just a little pinch of wintergreen, mixed up with peppermint candy. Bite it just right and it sparks a little. Learned that trick from a little boy in Abilene. Anyhow, I just made my voice go low and used the things you told me about Mr Ruggles… sayin’ the kind of stuff I figgered she wanted to hear.”

“And that remark about me being a skinny little girl?”

“I seen that old tintype picture of you as a kid. You sure was cute back then. And what was that crack you made about me barely speakin’ English?”

“Well? What about it? It’s mostly true… and besides, I had to make it convincing,” Ann said. “On the other hand, your French is so good that we could move there.” Reflecting for a moment, she added, “I must say that you were right, Kid. We should’ve brought a weapon. I felt very nervous with the Count. For all his elegant manners, something about him unsettles me.”

“Oh, we did bring a weapon. I put that derringer in your purse. Just in case.”

Rolling her eyes, Ann said, “I should have known. You know, the Count is an imposter, just like Lady Jane. When I spoke of France with him, I purposely lied about a location there, and he claimed to have visited it. Speaking of Lady Jane, what did you think of her telling everyone her pussy honey was ectoplasm from the spirit world?” She snorted with mirth.

“That was the most stupid thing I ever saw anyone do,” The Kid said. “Tell you this much — I reckon whoever she really is, she likes getting naked for folks. It sure did make her wet.”

“You know what else I think, Kid?”

“What?”

“I’ll wager it got Lady Jane so aroused, she took that Gracie girl upstairs to couple with her.”

The Kid laughed. “Well, now, I like the way you think. I bet you’re right, too. That little Gracie did some sparkin’ with me.” She filled Ann in on her little trysts with Gracie. “I reckon she learned all that from Lady Jane.”

“Kid?” Ann said softly, “I’m feeling very much in the mood for some fun of our own. How about it?”

“Sure,” The Kid answered.

They swiftly removed their night clothes. Side by side in the bed, they reached between each other’s legs.

“I wish I’d known you as a little girl, Ann,” The Kid said as she gently fondled her lover’s pussy.

“I wish there was one picture of you as a child that I could see,” Ann said as her finger trailed up and down The Kid’s wet slit. “I bet you were awfully pretty.”

They came together in a heated kiss. Their tongues flickered back and forth — exciting them, making their cunts even wetter.

“Talk about that Sappho gal some, Ann,” The Kid said when they broke their kiss.

“I’d rather discuss this so-called Lady Jane and Gracie,” Ann answered. “I really do think that they are lovers.”

“You just may be right about that, Ann. What do you think they done after they left us?”

Ann slid her finger into The Kid’s pussy, while The Kid’s finger was making little circles around her clit.

“I think,” Ann began, “That back in their room, Lady Jane flung off that cloak of hers and began to touch herself in front of Gracie.”

“Then what?” The Kid asked as she raised her hips, trying to get Ann’s finger to go even deeper.

“I think,” Ann gasped between breaths, as The Kid pressed a finger against her anus, “That while Lady Jane masturbated, she t-told Gracie to get naked for her.”

Ann and The Kid turned on their sides, so they were face to face, their breasts touching as they began to furiously finger fuck one another.

Her mouth touching The Kid’s ear, Ann whispered, “I bet that awful woman makes little Gracie lick her hot, wet gash. Remember how juicy she was?”

“You sure got a dirty mind, Ann. I love that about you.”

“Oh, Kid, just picture it! That naked little girl lying on her tummy. Mmmm, that sweet bottom of hers, jiggling around while she licks Lady Jane’s cunt.”

Suddenly The Kid withdrew her hand from Ann’s vulva, getting up on her knees. “I gotta taste you, Ann.”

“Let’s do it to each other!” Ann cried.

The two lovers quickly got themselves into position — Ann straddled her lover’s face, then bent down to put her mouth to The Kid’s sex. Each licked the other in a frenzy until they reached a mutual orgasm at the same time, moaning and screaming into each other’s pussies.

Spent, they lay entangled and perfectly content. The Kid was just about to doze off when Ann said, “I never did get the chance to search Lady Jane’s things, did I?” Placing a hand on her partner’s breast, she added,   “I know what needs to happen. You have to seduce Lady Jane.” She nuzzled The Kid’s neck, toying with a stiff nipple.

Opening one eye, The Kid said, “I have to what?”

“Don’t you understand? This is how you can get this woman’s guard down. Find out her true game.”

The Kid guffawed. “She don’t like me one little bit, Ann. ‘Specially if she suspects that I was messin’ with her seance. How the hell would I ever open her up?”

Ann sighed blissfully as she snuggled into the younger woman. “You can do it somehow, I’m sure.” She gave a long, drawn-out yawn before falling asleep.

The Kid was wide awake now, trying to think that out. Ann’s right. I need to find out more about this fake Lady Jane. I can’t wait on that telegram from Mort any longer. Gracie knows somethin’, but she’s too loyal to Lady Jane and too scared of the Count to tell me any more than she has.

I reckon tomorrow I’ll have to get myself on Lady Ice Queen’s good side, try to find out what I can.

As she drifted into a sound sleep, The Kid was wondering how she could make that happen.

On to Chapter Six!

by Shy Mom

Mother’s Day this year fell on May 10, 2020. It was my tenth celebration as a mom and my eighth with both daughters. It would be the first time I marked the holiday by making love to my girls.

Over the past weeks, my daughters and I had made many kinds of love. Since that first evening with Olivia, the three of us had at least masturbated each other almost every day. After Ashley had eaten my pussy in the kitchen, the girls had often feasted on my cunt. They had also come to enjoy sex with each other. Indeed, my little sexpots could hardly devour enough pussy to satiate their burgeoning libidos. More surprisingly, they had acquired a taste for anal play as well, taking considerable delight in probing tight bottoms with fingers and tongues. All in all, our sheltering at home had evolved into an incestuous lesbian sexcapade that fanned our love—and lust—as a family.

Nevertheless, there were lines I had yet to cross, though it took all of my will power and lots of diversionary orgasms to resist. I had not eaten my daughters’ cunts. I had not rimmed their rosebuds. I had not even sucked their nipples.

My restraint did not arise from any sense of guilt or taboo, mind you. Given how joyful and natural sex with my daughters felt, I never experienced the former, and the latter only made our lovemaking all the more delectable. Rather, my faithfulness to these boundaries sprung from Ashley’s heart-warming revelation that she had planned on “doing sex” with me as a Mother’s Day surprise. So, while I allowed the girls all the pleasures of my body, I abstained from sampling their treasures so they could offer them to me on my special day.

When Mother’s Day arrived, Ashley, Olivia and I spent quality time together in the morning and afternoon, enjoying a light brunch, playing board games, and watching my favorite food and travel shows. As evening approached, we separated. I went off to primp myself, while the girls prepared dinner.

I felt thrilled and giddy preparing my body for my darlings, my daughters.

I took an aromatherapy bath with lavender vanilla oil to cleanse my pores, soften my skin, and clear my senses. I had to resist the urge to masturbate while soaking in the silky, scented bubbles. Next, I washed my hair with coconut oil and cocoa butter shampoo, then shaved my legs and vulva, leaving the faintest of landing strips just above the clitoral hood. Afterward, I rubbed generous handfuls of honey lavender lotion over every inch of my body, especially those areas the girls would linger over. Again, I had to overcome the temptation to get myself off. Instead, I blow-dried my sunny blonde hair, styling it into layers that looked windswept, but not wild.

After these spa treatments, the bathroom and bedroom were filled with an alluring mix of scents. I detected flowers, vanilla, coconut, honey, butter, and dark chocolate. Tendrils of a more tempting fragrance also wafted through the master suite: the heady aroma of wet cunt. It was highly arousing.

At last, I got dressed.

First, I put on my finest pearl necklace. When the girls played dress-up, they favored this elegant piece of jewelry.

Then, I dressed in an expensive thong that I’d specially ordered for the occasion. Its belt of delicate French lace wrapped around the top of my hips. Below, coverage was provided solely by a string of pearls that hung from a tiny hook in front and a satin bow in the back, each of which could be easily undone like gift wrapping. As I moved, the lustrous orbs slid about my crevices. I’d never worn anything that looked as sexy or felt as stimulating.

Aside from those few things, I was naked.

As I squared away the packaging of my body for the girls, I discovered alternative instructions for how to wear the pearl string. Instead of fastening it to the bow, it could be stuffed into a cavity of one’s choice. After going back and forth between the possible options, I settled on my vagina.

Finally, I was ready. So were my daughters, who called to me from our formal dining room.

I strode in slowly, one leg in front of the other, to give the girls plenty of opportunity to ogle me. In turn, they took my breath away with their own vision of girlish beauty.

Ashley and Olivia stood next to the formal dining table, on which they had placed lit candles. My daughters wore matching sleeveless dresses. The lavender shade was more pink than purple, with ruffles in front that led the eyes upwards and downwards.

The girls had crimped their blonde hair in waves that fell over their shoulders, and anointed their mouths with the same hot pink lip gloss from our fashion show. As they ogled my evening wear, their teeth shone through open mouths, and their cheeks flushed a rosy hue.

I could see the candle flames flicker in my daughters’ eyes, which darted from my own flushed face to the fine pearl necklace, from my bare breasts to the half-sunken pearl string.

“Wow …” was all that Ashley could manage.

“Mommy, you’re beautiful!” Olivia gushed.

“You girls are … are angels,” I said at last. “So lovely. I can hardly believe you’re mine.”

They glowed with my compliment, and Olivia repaid it with, “We are yours, Mommy, and we got our looks from you.”

Ashley tried to find the words she needed. “Momma … your hair … the necklace … your boobs … and the panties … and everything! … I … I want …”

“To fuck me?” I filled in.

“Yes!” Ashley affirmed.

“Me too!” Olivia squealed.

“I’m glad my looks got the desired effect,” I said. “Seeing how stunning you look makes me want to fuck both of you too.”

At my declaration of desire, the girls exchanged thrilled glances.

“First things first, girls.” Knowing how hard they had worked to make dinner, I didn’t want to skip to dessert, though the temptation was powerful indeed.

They pulled out the chair at the head of the table for me. Sitting down, I shivered as the pearls dug deeper into my crevices.

“Momma, you smell really nice,” Ashley said.

“Like flowers and honey and … and sex,” added Olivia, after taking a moment to breathe in my fragrance.

When my daughters served dinner, I returned their compliments. “Your feast looks and smells every bit as delectable as you girls.”

I was exaggerating a little. Though the girls’ efforts were touching, the results tickled me. For the main dish, they had prepared steaming Swedish meatballs—courtesy of our last IKEA run and the microwave. For sides, they’d made mashed potatoes with plenty of lumps, and unevenly sliced pears that had browned considerably. For drinks, the girls poured ice water.

My daughters served no dessert. They were to be the dessert.

So, after our Mother’s Day dinner, we headed for the master bedroom. It would be our family bedroom from that night forward.

Holding their hands, I led my eight- and ten-year-olds to the foot of the king-sized bed. Their faces glowed and their eyes sparkled as they peered up at me. I bent down and gave each a lover’s kiss, then brought my daughters together. They kissed deeply, their caresses of sisterly affection soon turning into gropings of lust. I found myself profoundly moved by the sight. One of the nicest things about our new relationship as a family was the willingness of my children to love each other, just as they both loved me.

While the girls kissed, I slipped my hands under their dresses, one for each daughter. I traced the delightful rise and fall of their pert bottoms, Olivia’s slightly rounder, Ashley’s a bit firmer. It took a second to register—no panties! My heart fluttered.

I continued upward, caressing their smooth backs along their arched spines, between shoulder blades that were evocative of angel wings. As my hands ascended, so did their lavender dresses. In one motion, which the sisters broke their kiss to accommodate, I tugged the dresses up over their heads and flung them onto the floor. The girls stood naked, eyes sparkling.

“Ashley … Olivia … Mommy loves you.”

“We love you,” my daughters responded in unison. Nothing more needed to be said.

I indicated the foot of the bed, and the girls seated themselves side by side on its edge, facing me with dangling feet.

Recalling their wandering eyes of my children at dinner, I cupped my breasts and leaned forward, offering one to each. My daughters suckled, their mouths warm and wet, their tug insistent.

Oh, I was tempted to pleasure myself, as I’d sometimes done when they breastfed as babies. Instead, I broke away, eager to make love to them. My beautiful daughters’ flushed faces, halting breath, and erect nipples made clear that they were more than ready.

I started with Ashley, taking one of her breast buds in an open-mouthed kiss. It was soft and yielding except for the nipple, which felt pebbly against my tongue.

“God …” Ashley murmured.

Wrapping my arms around her, I rolled and flicked my tongue around the tip of my oldest girl’s breast. I could feel her thighs rubbing together below me as her need grew stronger. I shifted to the other nipple, giving it the same loving attention.

“Oh, Momma … Momma …” Ashley moaned, clasping the back of my head.

Beside us, I could hear Olivia’s ragged breath. I released Ashley for the time being and turned to my youngest.

I knew what she needed, and it matched my own hunger. Unlike Ashley, who would leap into adulthood overnight if she could, Olivia remained a little girl at heart. For her, being mothered and being pleasured were two sides of the same coin.

Just as I’d done with her big sister, I began with Olivia’s nipples, flicking each gently with my tongue. She lolled her head back, eyes drifting shut as she swam in purest bliss.

Ashley leaned over and took her little sister’s open mouth in a gentle kiss, surprising me with her tenderness.

I planted soft kisses on my eight-year-old’s nipples like they were bee stings needing balm. The kisses turned to sucks, and a moan escaped from her lips.

It was time to go down on my baby girl.

I trailed kisses down Olivia’s tummy, pausing at her belly button to give a preview of the pleasures to come. Olivia squirmed, then giggled.

As I spread Olivia’s legs, she fell back onto the bed. Ashley continued our double-teaming of her baby sister with kisses that grew increasingly passionate.

Dallying over Olivia’s bare mound, pillowed by baby fat, I licked a line where a landing strip of soft pubes might someday appear. I imagined honey-gold hair grazing my tongue, even as I delighted in the smoothness she already had.

At the last moment, I skipped over Olivia’s pussy to land on her dark pink rosebud. She sighed, a mix of protest and pleasure.

I circled the star of her anus, grazing the minute ridges that radiated from the point of singularity, pulling me in to the center. Lifting her bottom and prying apart her cheeks, I pushed.

“Mommy!” she gasped.

My surprise matched Olivia’s as my tongue penetrated just past the tip. Immediately I felt the vise of her sphincter as the flavor of mushrooms hit me, secret and succulent.

I thrust in and out, in a lulling rhythm. It felt as intimate as breastfeeding. Olivia cooed with delight.

But there remained more of my child to taste, and I was ravenous. With a kiss, I bade farewell to her sweet pucker, then trailed my tongue upward to her slit.

My God. I had never touched anything so gossamer as my eight-year-old’s tiny labia. I feared her delicate lips would dissolve on my tongue. But the folds unfurled as I burrowed inward and upward.

Her wetness was warm, like dew touched by sunlight. The taste, so clean and clear, was almost of nothing, but hinted at a flavor I knew well.

I wrapped my arms around Olivia’s thighs and spread her vulva open with two fingers. The interior of her vagina beckoned like a little mouth, and I frenched it as adoringly as I’ve ever kissed any lover—woman or child. Against the tip of my tongue, her hymen proved to be soft, slippery, and resilient.

Olivia whimpered, desperate to come. I enveloped her vulva in my mouth, clit and all, and gently sucked.

In moments, my daughter orgasmed. It was lovely, marked by small shudders and gasps. I drank her in.

My cunt now ached for attention. Those nestled pearls only aggravated this need, imparting teeny jolts of pleasure with every movement I made—nudging me toward the edge, but not over.

With Olivia glowing in perfect contentment, I turned to Ashley. She was absentmindedly drawing circles around her sister’s nipples, her eyes tracking me as I crawled toward her on all fours.

I pushed my ten-year-old onto her back and crawled up the length of her body. As I knelt astride her face, Ashley gazed up at my cunt, which was literally dripping with desire.

Her eyes then followed the trail of the gleaming pearls, from the hook in front to where they entered my cleft.

“Pull them out,” I ordered.

Ashley understood what them referred to, but not how I wanted her to carry out my command. She reached for the pearls.

“No,” I said, holding down the offending hand.

She looked up quizzically. Then how? her eyes asked.

“Try again,” I encouraged.

Ashley reached out with her other hand. I pushed it down too.

“No.”

“Then …” she looked from one trapped hand to the other, indicating her lack of options.

“You’re a smart girl, darling,” I reminded her. “If your mouth is free to speak …”

Ashley’s eyes widened. Then, after an intake of breath, she stretched out her tongue to latch onto the string.  Her efforts—tentative, then vigorous, finally desperate—only had the effect of pushing the strand further into my vaginal fissure.

“Do you want it, Ashley?”

“Yes, Momma.”

“It’s been in my cunt the whole time.”

“I know.”

I lowered myself another inch.

Ashley finally managed to worm her tongue underneath the string of pearls, between clit and vagina, and tug. I relaxed my muscles. The lubricated pearls slid out.

There was more buried treasure than Ashley had bargained for. The pearls fell onto her face. She extended her tongue, trying to draw them into her mouth to suck, but couldn’t do much more than lick a few.

Ashley seemed at a loss as to what to do, but I wasn’t. Unfastening the string from the hook in front, still pinioning her hands with mine, I slid down her body until our noses were touching.

“You want a real taste, don’t you?”

She gave a jerky nod. “Y-yes …”

With my teeth, I picked up the pearls and deposited them on Ashley’s lips. As she parted them, I pushed the string into her mouth with my tongue. My daughter eagerly sucked.

When Ashley had cleaned off the evidence of where those pearls had been, I presented my cunt to her, drawing closer until my clit was brushing her nose. I was so wet that my juices were dripping onto her face.

“Fuck me, Ashley. Please.”

Ashley burrowed her tongue into my cleft, then plowed up its length, all the while gazing into my eyes with such warmth that I could have melted. In her mouth, my cunt felt like it was dissolving into honey and heat.

Then Ashley nudged my thighs back so that I tipped forward and slid down, my clit landing squarely in her mouth. Taking it between her lips, she nursed at it like a baby might.

At first, the rhythm of Ashley’s sucking was gentle and steady. I pinched my nipples to heighten the pleasure that was steadily building in my core.

Then, while she sucked, Ashley began to lick my clit, teasing the tip with tiny little flicks of her tongue. My God, she was good—a skilled lesbian lover at the age of ten. I rode on the edge of orgasm, letting it carry me to the point of no return, then retreating to catch the next heaving wave.

When my daughter lightly nibbled the inflamed nub, I climaxed—my body seizing, then spasming, finally going limp. I collapsed on top of Ashley, but she didn’t stop, her mouth clamped to my pussy, probing me with that sweet, sweet tongue, aggravating my state of delirium until I came again.

Utterly spent at last, I lay limp as a dishrag between my daughters, panting for breath.

“Thank you, girls,” I murmured.

“Thank you, Momma …” Ashley whispered, still in awe.

From the sidelines, an enraptured Olivia had been watching the whole time. She had a hand between her legs, carefully drawing a finger up and down through her bare slit again and again.

As my body started coming back online, I mentally inventoried my Mother’s Day wishlist, realizing that it was not quite complete. There was one little lady whose cunt I had not tasted, who had yet to enjoy an orgasm of her own.

“Olivia, love … would you clean up your sister’s pretty face?” I asked, wanting to bring her back into the fold.

My youngest leapt right to it, kissing and licking her sister’s face with the unabashed enthusiasm of an eight-year-old.

With Olivia occupied, I crawled between Ashley’s thighs. Up close, her prepubescent cunt took my breath away. Graced with golden down, the outer lips looked ripe as a summer peach. From the parted center, slight folds peeped out. They were a girlish shade of pink, and moist with dew. At the apex of her slit, a tiny pearl protruded from the shelter of its thin hood.

With one luscious gulp, I enveloped all of Ashley’s mouth-watering sex with my mouth, then began to lovingly drink from my little girl, her precious secretions trickling down my throat. Its taste was divine, so full of her pure essence that I felt I was imbibing her unblemished beauty, love, and passion with every swallow.

But I was not so selfish as to only satisfy my own craving. I licked between my daughter’s lips, then entered her, probing her vagina as far as her hymen allowed.

Ashley’s moans of pleasure soon turned to pleas for release. Surrounding her glistening clit with my lips, I sucked with all the tenderness and affection I had for my oldest daughter.

Little tremors shook the hips that I grasped, her ecstasy building and building until Ashley spasmed and her cunt gushed hot and wet for me. Her female essence was sweeter than honey, headier than wine. I gulped down as much as I could.

Afterwards, the three of us lay together, Ashley spooning Olivia, me enfolding both girls in my arms.

“Mommy loves you, each more than the other,” I said.

“That’s silly!” Olivia giggled.

“But true.”

“And we love you!” they replied.

Nothing more needed to be said. Depleted from our lovemaking, we soon fell asleep on our incestuous family bed, basking in perfect mother-daughter bliss.

The End

Afterword:

I deeply appreciate the warm reception and encouraging comments that Sheltering has received from its kind readers. When I began writing it, I had no idea whether I could produce anything that would not embarrass, much less that would entertain and arouse some of the most dedicated members of the Juicy Secrets community. Thank you.

This story leveled up considerably in polish and eroticism thanks to the consummate editing of JetBoy, who helped me realize its potential in small and significant respects.

Like the readers of this series, I am grateful to have shared in Bev’s journey of love and lust for her darling girls.

By Sunnybunny

Heather saw very little of Angie in the weeks following Mama Maven’s passing. She understood — tried to, anyhow. The child was in pain, the kind that needed time and patience to heal… if it ever could.

Another scar on Angie’s heart. Heather wondered if the young girl had room for many more. A wild rose growing in the midst of a desert, that was how some of the townspeople described Angie, and Heather wondered how much longer a girl her age could endure under such arid conditions before she was swallowed up for good, lost beneath the shifting sands…

The whole county attended Mama Maven’s funeral, dressed in their Sunday best. In Oasis, that meant sterling silver bolo ties, button-down shirts with pressed jeans, and sun-bleached hats. Heather had neglected to pack anything dressy in the flight from her old life and was relieved to be able to wear her newest pair of jeans and fit in with the others. The blouse wasn’t ironed but looked okay tucked in and modestly buttoned. She didn’t bother with makeup or gel for her hair, knowing the heat of the afternoon would have her sweating through both.

It was a lovely service, Heather knew that Mama would have been touched by the turnout. Flower arrangements lined the mahogany casket, surrounding her in a sea of brightly-hued petals, with a special floral arrangement at the foot of the box forming a makeshift headstone of many colors.

Mama Maven wasn’t just well-liked in the community, she was loved. She and the diner she owned were fixtures in this small town, just like the sheriff or the fire department, and her passing would likely be a landmark event in the history of Oasis. Heather could practically hear how the woman’s family, friends and neighbors would refer to her passing in the years to come.

“That happened just around the same time Mama Maven passed away. God rest her soul.”

“It was a year or two after old Mama Maven died, bless her.”

“…just before Mama went on up to join the rest of her kin in heaven…”

Heather’s reverie was interrupted when she spied Angie in attendance, hovering with her father just off to the side of the open grave. She was dressed in a floral-patterned frock that looked brand new. Her golden hair was gathered behind her head, interlaced into a long, elegant braid that hung to the middle of her back. Heather had never seen the girl’s hair done in anything more complicated than a messy ponytail until now. The effect was striking, giving the townspeople a glimpse into the woman she would one day grow into.

Angie stood before her father, his callous hands juxtaposed over the gentle slope of her shoulders, massaging them. He bent down from time to time, murmuring into the child’s ear, something only she could hear. Whatever it was, her expression never changed, as if she hadn’t heard him at all. She stood with her back straight, shoulders squared like a brave little soldier. Her eyes shone, fixed on the casket as it was lowered into the earth, the only suggestion of the storm that was surely raging in her mind and heart.

One by one, each mourner collected a fistful of dirt and scattered it into the mouth of the grave. When it came to Angie’s turn, she shrugged out of her father’s embrace, his fingertips gliding across her neck as she went. Stooping, she collected a handful of earth, modestly tucking the back of her dress against the breeze as she made her way to Mama Maven’s final resting place. She looked into the deep hollow of earth, and Heather saw the faintest hint of Angie’s lips moving, perhaps murmuring a prayer, or one final goodbye. The dirt made a muffled sound as it rained down onto the lid of the coffin. Angie turned away, the child’s cheeks streaked with sand and tears, avoiding Heather’s attempt to catch her eye when she maneuvered back to her father’s side. Travis Lawrence tried to settle his hands back onto her shoulders, but she twisted away, showing signs of genuine revulsion to his touch.

Heather’s turn came.

Collecting a measure of soil from the mound, which she clutched in a tight fist, Heather took the first hesitant steps toward the graveside. There, the pit looked unnaturally deep, wretchedly dark. How could they possibly lay such a kind and compassionate woman to rest in such a terrible place? Tears stung at her eyes and she knelt hurriedly, letting the dirt trickle through her fingers. The bottom had fallen out of Heather’s stomach and the full gravity of her friend’s passing settled in. Mama Maven was gone, truly gone. There would be no more homemade ice cream parties or dancing to old tunes late into the evening. No early morning rush with Maven shouting orders from the kitchen, or long cigar breaks on the back step.

Heather hiccuped with sobs and dragged the back of her hand across her face, leaving dark streaks on one cheek. She willed herself to feel Maven’s presence, some intangible force lingering behind with her remains that might give Heather assurance that her dear friend was at rest.

Nothing came. The beautiful old woman was with her family now… somewhere up in the clouds, perhaps. Heather even looked up into the sky, half-expecting to see her smiling down from a celestial perch. Nothing there, either. Down below, there was only the open grave and an ugly green tarp thrown over the hill of soil, surrounded by weathered tombstones. It seemed as if the whole town was decaying from the inside out, and this cemetery was no exception. The names and dates were worn away from the markers, leaving behind featureless slabs of stone jutting from the earth at odd angles like rows of bad teeth.

Nothing lasts here, Heather mused, picking her way down the trail. The flower arrangements would soon succumb to the elements. Even now the heat was taking its toll, bowing some of the more delicate bouquets. Sandstorms would gradually chisel away the elegant writing on the headstone, leaving it just another forgotten relic in a dry sea. God, so much finality… and in the end, was it even a life worth living?

These thoughts haunted Heather all the way back to her room.

She spent the next few days with Walter Gates, crammed up in his motel office. Keeping him company, she would tell herself, but in truth, it was Heather who was in need of the companionship. They passed the time by playing a variety of card games. Mostly Hearts and Crazy Eights, from a deck that was missing an ace and both jokers. They took a stab at reminiscing, sharing stories about Mama Maven, but their hearts weren’t in it and despite their best efforts, they would inevitably lapse into periods of silence that grew longer and longer until the quietness conquered all. It was a language that was quickly adopted all over town.

Without the diner, the last lifeline in Oasis had been severed.

Heather’s departure was imminent. With or without the money, she would soon be forced to flee. In truth, she had lingered for too long already, but it wasn’t the missing cash that kept her there — it was the girl. There was simply no way she could leave Oasis without saying one final goodbye to Angie Lawrence. The girl had already lost so much, been wounded so terribly by this town. Heather refused to add to her heartbreak.

***

One week later. Heather had been readying herself for a quick, quiet departure, but still hadn’t seen a trace of Angie, who had made herself scarce since Mama Maven’s funeral.

She was stretched out on the bed, a small table fan pushing the hot air around when a knock at her door roused Heather from a restless, dreamless sleep. At once, she thought of Angie and raced to grasp the knob and yank the door open, only to blink in confusion at the sight of a balding, middle-aged man. He looked equally started behind his round spectacles, eye darting from her face to her bare legs and back again. “Um, Heather Freemantle, I presume?”

She followed his gaze down and realized she was standing in the doorway wearing nothing but an old t-shirt and panties. Her hands hastily tugged down the hem of the skimpy top, stretching the thin fabric over her thighs. “Y-yes.”

“Perhaps you’d like to put on some… pants?”

“I would like that very much, yes. Excuse me!” She snapped the door closed, covering her blushing face well with both hands. Oh, God, what now? Wiggling into a pair of shorts, she opened the door again, this time forcing a smile. “Why don’t we try that again, huh? I’m Heather, and you are…?”

The man shuffled his briefcase from one hand to the other. “I’m Calvin Wynn, attorney. I, er, represent Ms. Maven’s estate. I was wondering if you and I could have a word about the inheritance.” He offered his hand forward to shake, but Heather gawked past it, dumbstruck.

“Inheritance?” she echoed. “Oh!” She snatched his hand in both of hers in an attempt to compensate for her perceived rudeness. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wynn. I’m sorry, but what do you mean by ‘inheritance’?”

“Ah,” he started, worming his fingers into the collar of his shirt and giving it a tug. “Might we talk inside, in private?” Beads of sweat prickled along his brow and the nape of his neck, staining a half-moon shaped ring in the fabric of his top. With his dark suit and tie and the desert stretching out over his shoulder, Calvin Wynn seemed woefully misplaced. Not just a fish out of water, but a fish on the surface of Mercury — and baking just as quickly.

Heather stepped aside and he hurried in, taking up post before the AC vent in the wall, the tendrils of hair that still clung to his scalp fluttering gently in the artificial breeze. Taking up a seat on the mattress, Heather folded one leg beneath the other, then froze when she glanced toward the rumpled bed. Angie’s cotton panties were spread out on one of the pillows, and Heather’s heart nearly went into arrest at the sight of them.

Shit!

She snatched up the child’s incriminating gift, wadding them into a tight ball and tucking them behind her back just as Calvin Wynn turned around to face her, all smiles and oblivious to the damning pair of panties. “Forgive me, I’m not acclimated to the climate here,” he chuckled. Loosening his tie, he settled onto the opposite end of the bed, the briefcase balanced on his knees.

“Not acclimated” was too mild a term, she thought, gauging the angry red patches spreading over the bald patch of his head and cheeks. A sunburn would be the least of his worries. Heather made a mental note to offer the man some sunscreen before seeing him out.

The clamps of the briefcase popped open with a crisp snap. Within were a mountain of papers, held together by staples and paperclips. “What these documents boil down to is what Mrs. Maven has left you. Which, to put it bluntly, is everything.” Wynn shuffled a stack of these pages into a neat stack before handing them over for Heather to peruse. It all looked very official, clinical even, detailing the rights to the Maven land, holdings and businesses that would be hers with a stroke of a pen.

By the time she was done reading, Heather’s head was spinning. Something must have shown on her face, because Wynn chuckled with genuine sympathy. “I know it’s a lot of gobbledygook on the page… probably far more than is necessary to assume ownership of an old diner.”

He hadn’t meant any offense, but Heather bristled nonetheless. Mama Maven’s place was more than just an eatery in a forgotten desert town, much more. To have it dismissed so casually was akin to a slap in the face.

Wynn paled at the blistering look that Heather gave him. His hands worried over the front of his tie, smoothing down imaginary wrinkles and tucking it back into his waistcoat. “Forgive me. That wasn’t meant to be disrespectful. I am very sorry for your loss. Forgive an old fool for putting his foot squarely in his mouth.”

Heather didn’t bother to respond, just flipped through to the last few pages, which she was expected to sign, initial and date. At last, she asked, “When were these drawn up?”

Looking unduly relieved to be off the hook, Wynn reached forward and tapped the date at the head of the page. “Here. She revised her will, leaving everything to you a few weeks before her passing.”

Heather took in this revelation, wondering if she ought to be upset. Mama Maven had told her a time or two that she ought to consider taking over the cafe someday, but Heather had never taken the idea seriously. Now she knew that even then, her ownership of the place had been a done deal. All that was required now was a signature on the dotted line.

Heather glanced up at the perspiring man. “What happens if I refuse to sign?”

The question clearly took Wynn by surprise. “Why, the property would be liquidated, and the proceeds would go to the state.” He shrugged, lips pursed. “Is that… something you’re considering, then? I won’t lie to you, I’m surprised! I’ve never once had a client refuse an inheritance before.” He chuckled. “Thought that kind of thing only happened in movies.”

His amusement was cut short. “I’m not your client,” Heather snapped, instantly regretting her hostility. Wynn visibly flinched, now seated so close to the edge of the bed that he seemed on the verge of tipping over and crashing to the floor. “I’m sorry,” Heather continued. “This is all just…” She paused, at a loss for words. “It’s a lot.”

His face reflected genuine sympathy. “I understand. We all handle bereavement in our own way. Is there some underlying issue that would prevent you from signing? From what I understand, Ms. Maven was quite taken with you. She insisted on you being her heir.”

Heir. It made her feel like a tragic character in a Charlotte Bronte novel, only the vast estate in the English countryside had been replaced by a roadside eatery in a forlorn blink-and-you-missed-it town. Instead of a strapping young landowner with polished riding boots as a love interest, she had a preteen child with scraped knees. Okay, so maybe NOT Bronte, she thought.

Heather murmured, “No, I’ll sign” Ultimately, she had no choice in the matter. That diner had been in her family for generations; it was a piece of her heritage, the town’s focal point. The idea of allowing it to become a numbered lot in an auction, to be sold and fall into the hands of strangers… it was unthinkable.

Closing her eyes, Heather was shocked by how much strength it took to open them again. This decision wasn’t going away, and there was only one move for her to make anyhow. “Do you have a pen?”

Wynn produced one, and she signed her name. Her real name. Almost as an afterthought, Heather reached for her handbag, from which she produced the necessary identification to validate her claim.

The attorney wheeled the document around, thumbing through it a page at a time to ensure everything was in order, pausing on the last one. “Your name isn’t Freemantle?” he asked, brows knitted.

“It’s my middle name,” Heather confessed.

He hummed in response, nodding his head, then carefully tucked everything away without further inquiry. At last, he stood and offered his hand once more. “I’ll be getting out of your hair now. I’m sorry about Ms. Maven. I didn’t know her, I confess. She existed primarily in document form with my firm, but she must have been a remarkable woman. I’m saddened that I never got the pleasure.”

Standing in the doorway, Heather watched Wynn clamber into his rented car and drive away. The sun was setting and the town was adopting its warm evening colors. She watched his taillights as they cruised beneath the broken traffic light at the intersection, then drifted out of sight. She lingered on the threshold of her cheap motel room, her head lost in a fog of thoughts.

The diner was hers now. She fished the key from her pocket and held it out at arm’s length. The fading daylight winked against the metal. Closing the door to her room and setting off, the sand bit into her bare feet as she marched across the parking lot, bound for the diner.

It had only been shut up for a few weeks, but the interior was cavernous and lonely. Of course it is, she mused, switching on the overhead lights. Its soul got stripped away.

The fluorescents hummed to life with a flick of the switch, bringing the room into sharp focus. Everything was where it had been left on that fateful evening. The dishes from their ice cream party were still in the sink, collecting flies and mold blooms at the bottom.

Shrugging into an apron, Heather set to washing up first, drying each dish and carefully returning them to the cupboard where Mama Maven kept her tableware. That done, she wandered back out into the dining area, itching with a sense of having just walked into a room and forgotten what she’d come in for.

Now Heather wondered what had possessed her to go into the diner in the first place. She’d been compelled, that was it — pulled in that direction until her feet were moving on their own accord. Now that she was here, she felt doubly confused and more lost than before.

She laid her hands on the jukebox, studying the glowing buttons and track selection behind the glass, unchanged in more than fifty years. A quarter still earned you a couple of tunes, too. A time capsule, Heather thought, smiling at the notion, then patted her pockets down for loose change, only to come up wanting. She turned back toward the counter with the idea of opening the cash register — only to freeze in mid-motion, her heart suddenly pounding in a crazed, frantic tempo.

Angie Lawrence stood near the counter, guardedly studying Heather. She was dressed in familiar clothes — a faded skort, tank top adorned with Pokemon characters and flip-flops. Her hair was uncombed and windswept from the bike ride over. She was carrying a brown paper lunch bag in both hands, folded over at the top and rolled down tightly.

“Angie,” Heather breathed, teetering where she stood.

“Sorry, I should have knocked,” the girl mumbled, averting her gaze downward as she flexed her fingers more securely over the bag, making the paper crackle.

The silence that settled over the diner was excruciating, neither Heather nor Angie having the nerve to break it. Instead, they simply averted their gaze and glanced around the room, looking from corner to corner as if something terrible would happen if their eyes were to meet.

Finally, Heather went over one of the booths along the wall, far away from the window, and seated herself, then gestured for Angie to do the same. They settled in together, chastely apart on opposite seats, knees drawn up to keep them from touching.

Angie placed the bag between them, looked up at Heather and pushed it toward the young woman.

Her brow furrowed, Heather carefully drew the bag close, then unfolded the top and peered inside. She saw a small caliber handgun, the type with a revolving chamber and stubby-nosed barrel. It looked petite, almost feminine for a firearm. She reached in and took the gun out, testing its heft. It fit well in her small hands.

“You said you needed one, right?” Angie asked, her voice just above a whisper. “For protection, against bad people?”

Heather nodded, wanting to ask how the child had obtained it, but afraid to. “Yes, that’s right. Thank you, Angie.” She replaced it within the bag and rolled it up again, putting it aside.

“There’s one more thing,” Angie replied, scooting out of the booth.

“What’s that?”

“I have to show you where the money is hidden,” she said, very matter-of-factly.

“Yes, I suppose you do.” Heather tried and failed to hide the disappointment she felt. It was foolish, stupid and she was quick to chastise herself for it. Angie was offering her more than a bag of money. It was a one-way ticket to safety. Yet now, standing in her diner and gazing at the most precious person in her world, it seemed strangely trivial.

Rising from where she sat, Heather drew close to Angie, touching the child’s shoulder. “Oh, Angie… God, I’ve missed you.”

She bent down, searching for a kiss — only to have Angie turn her head away, murmuring, “Don’t.”

With that single word, the bottom fell out of the world and Heather’s soul was caught in a downward spiral. Angie looked away, stepping out of her reach, and it was like a knife being wrenched from the young woman’s chest.

“Angie…?” The name became a question.

The girl widened the distance between them, wandering away on uncertain feet until it became a chasm. She massaged her hands up and down the length of her bare arms, warding off chills that had nothing to do with the sweltering desert heat. Angie became a shadow against the setting sun streaming through the front bay windows, robbed of her rich color.

Heather followed at a distance, yearning to reach for the girl, but frightened to do so. Angie seemed so fragile now, as if the slightest touch would crack her porcelain shell.

“Please… talk to me,” Heather whispered.

“There isn’t anything to talk about.” The girl’s reply was a dry murmur. “After I show you where I stashed the money, you’ll be moving on. Sooner or later, my dad’s gonna notice that it’s gone. The gun, too. And there’s gonna be hell to pay when that time comes. He’ll think you did it, and maybe come after you and–” she gave her head a weary shake, a slow movement from left to right. “I can’t let him hurt you.”

Heather spied a mark on the girl’s neck, just where the shoulder met her throat. It looked recent, not something Heather would have dared to do. She’d always thought of hickeys as tacky and gross, and time had not endeared her to the sight. Especially when she knew where this one had come from.

Perhaps sensing Heather’s thoughts or the weight of her gaze, Angie quickly covered the blemish with her hand. “My dad,” she replied, just as casually as you please. “With the whole town in mourning, there isn’t much to do at the garage, so he’s been home a lot.” She let the implication speak for itself. To avoid the inevitable question, she cleared her throat, wandered over to the front door and pushed it open, then looked back over her shoulder. “Come with me,” she said.

Heather doubled back to snatch the paper bag up before following, pausing just long enough to turn off the lights and lock the door. “Wait, where are we going?”

Angie’s bike was propped up against the side of the diner, beneath the glass windows that overlooked the main road of Oasis. She grabbed the handlebars and walked it down the path, toward Heather. Pointing into the distance, at an unseen location further into town, she said, “We’re going to the library.”

On to Chapter Fifteen!

by Purple Les

Gus took the glass chimney off the lamp on his desk, then turned the wick up a notch before lighting it with a match. Putting the glass back on, he glanced out the window at the darkening magenta of the early evening sky.

The Kid was brewing up a pot of coffee. While she waited for the fire in the woodstove to catch, she looked over at Gus, who was shaking his head sadly as he refilled his pipe.

“What is a gold certificate, anyways?” The Kid asked. “Must be valuable, if they’re worth robbin’ the stage to lay hands on. Are they like paper dollars, but made out of gold?”

Gus gave a snort of weary laughter. “Well, no… it’s not actual gold. To put it simple, it’s a document that’s legal tender that you can cash in for gold coinage, if you’ve a mind to. Looks almost like regular paper money, ‘cept for what it says on it.”

Pretending to understand, The Kid nodded as she put the coffee pot on the stove, said, “See you, Gus,” and with a nod, walked out the door and into the night.

Once the coffee was ready, Gus Masters got up and poured himself a cup, then sat back down at the desk with it, thinking about the bundle he’d put in the safe. Then, taking out his stag-handled buck knife, he sliced through the string that was tied around the other bundle, now resting on his desk.

He took a sip of coffee and savored it. The Kid sure knows how to make good coffee, Gus thought to himself with a smile. He enjoyed a couple more sips, then his smile turned grim as he began to sort through the stack of wanted posters in front of him.

The Kid had offered to help, but then said, “But y’know, Gus, most of them flyers will have descriptions, ‘stead of pictures. Reckon I wouldn’t be much use to you.”

So he began to pore through the posters, examining each one in turn. All of them featured female criminals. He made it through the first dozen, sighed heavily, then went to refill his cup.

***

The Kid ambled back to the livery stable to say goodnight to Button and Pegasus. From there she strolled back to Andromeda’s house. Approaching the back screen door to the kitchen, she saw the gleam of a lit lamp through the chintz curtains. She entered to find Ann seated at the dining table, consulting a piece of paper and writing on another one. A letter, most probably. Never knowed no one to write so many blessed letters, The Kid thought.

She bent down to press a kiss into her lover’s sweet-smelling hair, smiling as Andromeda glanced up. “I’m back, Ann. I’m gonna go take down the laundry.”

“Okay, Kid. Thank you,” Ann softly replied, then turned back to her letter.

In the twilight, The Kid unpinned clothes from the line, folding each one before carefully placing it in a large wicker basket. Taking the last piece down and folding it, The Kid looked up into the evening sky, marveling at the expanse of glittering stars that adorned the heavens. Casting a melancholy sigh, she bent to pick up the basket, then carried it indoors.

She set the basket on the kitchen floor and said, “I’m just gonna have me a smoke out back.” Ann absently nodded, still engrossed in her letter as The Kid went back outdoors.

The Tequila Kid made her way over to the most private part of the yard, pausing to gaze up at the stars. She looked for the consolations Ann had taught her about. Andromeda, the one Ann was named after, and there was Pegasus, the flying horse. The Kid glanced back at the light in the kitchen window and smiled. Looking up into the sky again, she reached beneath her shirt and, with thumb and forefinger, toyed with the gold wedding band that hung from her neck.

She whispered, “Dang it, Arabella. I still think of you all the time. Close my eyes, and there’s that pretty little face, smilin’ at me. I got me a good woman, and I love her to bits… but I can’t help but miss you somethin’ fierce.” After a moment’s pause, The Kid added, “You oughta forget me. That’d be the best thing for you.” She felt a tear roll down her cheek. Wiping it away, she shook her head to clear it, muttering, “Shit.”

She turned back toward the house, marching into the kitchen with a determined stride. “I’m feelin’ hungry,” she told Ann. “How ‘bout you?”

Laying her pen to one side, Ann stood and stretched herself. “Yes, I am, now that you bring it up,” she said, carefully corking the inkwell. “Like me to fix something?”

“Naw,” The Kid replied with a shake of the head. “Let’s go over to the Highland House, and I’ll buy us both a big supper.”

Andromeda arched an eyebrow. “I suppose I oughtn’t to ask… but just how much of your Ranger pay have you got left?”

“Enough to get us fed tonight,” The Kid shrugged.

“Oh, my goodness.” Drawing close, Ann wrapped both arms around her lover. “I love you more than my life, Kid… but I swear, you couldn’t keep a dollar if it was sewn to the back of your britches.”

The Kid slipped her hands down to cradle Ann’s firm bottom. “That’s what money’s for, honeybunch. If you don’t spend it, it’s nothin’ but paper.”

“But you have to…” Andromeda’s voice trailed off, and she laughed. “Guess I should know better than to try and change your ways. Listen, I’ll pay for supper. You best save what you got left, in case you need to send any more telegrams. Now stop touching my ass, unless you mean to start something, and let’s go eat.”

The Kid stepped back, but not without giving Ann’s rump a playful squeeze. “How ’bout we take us a shot first?”

Ann smiled. “Sure.”

Reaching for the same tequila bottle that she’d drunk from the night before, The Kid handed it to Ann, who downed a swallow of the fiery liquor. The Kid took a generous slug, then they took their leave, strolling arm in arm to the Highland House, where they enjoyed a hearty meal.

Back home, Andromeda and The Kid had another shot of tequila apiece, then snuggled together on the sofa and chatted for a while. They retired early, intending to be rested and on time for Roy and Bob’s funeral the next morning.

***

More than two dozen townsfolk stood around the open graves in the late morning sun. The Kid, feeling a bit vulnerable without the gun and knife she usually packed, wore a black Victorian dress with her moccasins. She held tightly to Andromeda Purdy’s arm. Ann also wore black, as did most of the women there.

Carefully glancing about, The Kid noticed that Molly Hardy was there, standing alongside Dr. Jed Johnson and his wife Alice. Freddie stood near The Kid and Ann. Of course Jack was there, standing next to Nate Lincoln, with Ed from the hotel close behind. Gus Masters wore a black suit and held his hat in his hands, his short salt and pepper hair slicked down.

Parson Ricks was speaking. “In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our brothers Bob and Roy, and we commit their bodies to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” His oration complete, the parson closed his bible.

One by one, each person came forward with a handful of dirt, which they let fall into the open graves. The sound at first was that of dirt on wood. As more earth was thrown down, the sound grew steadily fainter.

Once everyone had paid their respects, Jack spoke up. “I thank you good people for comin’ to say farewell to Roy and Bob. Now, I hope you’ll all join me at the Broken Horn for the wake. I’ve got food and drinks waitin’ there, as I know the boys would’ve liked us to hoist a few in their honor.”

As the crowd moseyed off to the bar, Sheriff Masters came over to Ann and The Kid. “I’ve found nothin’ yet, Kid,” he softly said, “but I still got a lot more to sort through. As for the man with the broke tooth… “ He shook his head, “no one seems to know him.”

The dead man had been put on display in an open coffin outside Elisha Bessop’s furniture store and mortuary. Bessop built most of the coffins in Knuckle Ridge, though he’d only done a simple pine box for this stranger. Everyone in town had wandered past to take a look at the corpse, but none admitted to knowing him. Gus had interviewed Nate Lincoln and his employee Mac; both had assured him that, whoever he was, the man hadn’t shown his face at the livery stable.

Gus put his hat on and said, “Shall we, ladies?” extending an arm to each of them.

Ann took hold of the Sheriff’s elbow, but The Kid said, “You two go on. I’ll be along directly.”

The Kid watched as they walked away. Mac from the livery stable was leaning against a nearby tree, shovel in hand. His cheek bulged with a wad of chewing tobacco, and he occasionally bent to spit. He was waiting for all the onlookers to leave before he filled in the graves.

The Kid knelt between the deep-dug holes where the two caskets rested. She murmured, “I promise you both, I’ll have the killer for you. That much I swear.”

She stood up, her face wet with tears, then wiped them away with her sleeve. Turning away, she walked slowly toward the saloon, briefly accompanied by the sound of Mac’s shovel as he set to work.

Glancing to the left as she approached the swinging doors of the Broken Horn, The Kid thought she caught a quick glimpse of Lady Jane and Gracie.

The saloon suddenly forgotten, The Kid turned from her path and, staying out of view, began to tail the woman and her young servant.

She watched them stop at the library, where Lady Jane tried the door, frowning when it refused to budge. Of course it was closed, because Ann and young Freddie had both attended the funeral.

As The Kid continued to watch, Lady Jane spoke briefly with Gracie, paused to think for a moment, then set off in another direction, the younger girl hastening to keep up. The Kid gave them a head start, then followed.

Lady Jane soon reached the town hall, then she and Grace mounted the stairs and entered. About fifteen minutes later, they emerged and made tracks toward the cemetery. “What in hell are they up to?” The Kid whispered to herself, puzzled.

By then, Roy and Bob’s graves had been filled in, and the two mounds of dirt had been patted smooth with a shovel. Mac had made quick work of it, wanting to get to the Broken Horn and the wake before the free liquor ran out.

Lady Jane and Gracie bypassed the fresh graves, though, heading straight for a large black obelisk. The Kid knew it to be the resting place of Mrs Ruggles’ late husband Maurice — as well as her two children, both of whom had died young.

Bending to study the inscription on the memorial’s onyx surface, Lady Jane tapped a fingernail against her teeth, lost in thought. She then spoke to Gracie, who quickly took a small notepad and a pencil from a pocket in her dress. As her mistress continued to speak, Gracie scribbled in the pad, her brow furrowed in concentration.

After a couple of minutes, Lady Jane fell silent, then gave the young girl a nod. Gracie tucked the pad and pencil back into her pocket, and the two of them set off once more.

Keeping well behind, The Kid followed them back to the Ridge Hotel. When the front door opened, Count Cousiourac was waiting. He greeted Lady Wyeth-Boton with a slight bow, and they continued inside, leaving Gracie behind. The girl seated herself in a nearby chair and sat back, closing her eyes.

The Kid waited a minute or two, then wandered over to the hotel. She came up to the daydreaming youngster and said, “Howdy, Gracie.”

Startled, the eleven-year-old looked up, then jumped to her feet, giving a small curtsy and bowing her head as she said, “Good day to you, Miss Kid.”

It hadn’t escaped The Kid’s notice that Gracie’s eyes had drifted down to steal a glimpse at her breasts, which the dress she wore showcased to impressive effect.

“What brings you to town, Gracie? Thought you’d still be out to the Ruggles place.”

“Oh, we are, Miss Kid, but my lady has business here today.”

“Hmmm. Will she be long at it?”

Gracie nodded. “At least an hour or more, Miss Kid.” She paused, then shyly added, “You look very lovely in a dress, if I may say so.” Her cheeks flushed a bit as she spoke.

“Aw, thanks. Folks keep tellin’ me that, but I’d feel a lot more like me in my regular duds… or hell, in nothin’ at all.” She snickered, pleased to see Gracie’s blush deepen. “Say, can I buy you some lunch?”

“No thank you, Miss Kid. Madge fixed me a very large breakfast. I couldn’t touch another bite.”

“Could I get you some candy at the general store?”

“No, thank you, Miss Kid.”

The Kid fell silent for a moment, then said, “I feel bad for you, Gracie.”

“Why, Miss Kid?”

The Kid pulled up a chair and sat down. “Sit with me for a minute.” Gracie slowly took her seat. “Y’see, I can sense things. I know you got somethin’ big weighin’ on your heart, and it troubles you.”

Gracie tried to keep her expression neutral, but The Kid could tell that she’d struck a nerve.

Her cheeks gone pink again, the young girl said, “To be honest, Miss Kid, it’s you that troubles me.”

Surprised, The Kid said, “Me? How’s that?”

Looking down at her feet, Gracie softly said, “I keep thinking of… of tipping the velvet with you again.” She glanced up at The Kid, her eyes filled with longing.

The Kid considered the girl’s words for a moment, then said, “I liked that myself. You sayin’ that you’d do it with me some more?”

Nodding eagerly, Gracie said, “Oh, yes! I’d like that very much.” She looked around. “Is there somewhere we could go for a little while?”

The Kid stood and offered a hand to the little girl, which Gracie bashfully took. Together they went down the stairs and into the dusty street.

A few hundred feet from the hotel, The Kid took an abrupt detour, leading Gracie down an alley and to the door of an old adobe building. Standing on tiptoe, The Kid reached over the door frame and produced a tarnished brass key. She glanced both ways down the alley, then quickly inserted the key, unlocked the door and entered, gesturing for Gracie to follow. She did, and The Kid locked the door from the inside.

The room was dim inside but not dark, and very quiet. The sounds of the street seemed to come from a great distance.

The Kid pulled a dusty sheet off a black leather daybed — carefully, so as not to foul the air — then turned to the little girl. “Still wanna do what you said, Gracie? This here is a secret place; a friend of mine lets me use it when I want. Ain’t nobody can find us here.”

Gracie made no reply. With trembling fingers, she removed her bonnet, advanced to the daybed and laid down on her side. The Kid stretched out next to her, their eyes met, then they slowly drew together, the child’s soft full lips lightly brushing those of the young woman.

With a quivering sigh, Gracie drew back for an instant, staring into The Kid’s face — then, lunging forward, kissed her fiercely, reaching out to touch The Kid’s breasts through the black dress she wore. Gracie’s excitement mounted as she felt her new lover’s nipples stiffen through the velvety material. Their tongues sparred and danced as the kiss deepened, grew more passionate.

Sliding a hand under Gracie’s dress, The Kid let it glide up along the thin stocking-clad leg until she reached the hot, bare flesh of the child’s inner thigh, then touched the front of her drawers, feeling the warmth of the girl’s slit underneath.

The Kid broke the kiss to look down at Gracie’s lap, barely concealed by the raised hem of her dress. She moistened her lips as she studied the little girl’s legs, covered up to just above the knee by the coal-black stockings she wore.

With a single finger, The Kid traced the child’s slit through her underpants. “I swear, Gracie,” she said, “you are just about the sweetest little thing I ever did see.”

“I love you, Miss Kid,” said Gracie.

Sitting up, The Kid unbuttoned the front of her own dress. She wore no underclothes and, baring her breasts, offered one to the child.

Gracie reached out to cup a breast, then fastened her mouth to the other, whimpering with pleasure as she suckled and teased the woman’s taut nipple.

No longer able to control her desire, The Kid thrust a hand into Gracie’s drawers, her finger quickly finding and exploring the cleft of the eleven-year-old’s vagina.

She couldn’t feel a single hair. Just silky smooth flesh, wet and ready for love. The Kid easily found her way to the tiny hole and, pushing gently, gained entrance. With an ecstatic moan, Gracie spread her thighs wide apart, and the probing finger was welcomed inside.

The Kid pulled Gracie’s face away from her breasts and guided the child’s mouth to hers, where they came together in a frantic kiss. Gracie’s tight but delightfully slick tunnel seemed to gush wetness, gripping The Kid’s finger like a hot, sucking mouth as she rolled it around inside the body of her little lover.

Gracie began to thrust her hips, wanting to get that finger even deeper, and The Kid gave her what she wanted, penetrating the child right up to the third knuckle. With her other hand, she sought out Gracie’s tiny erect clit and pressed it with her thumb.

The girl cried out, then breathlessly whispered, “Oh, oh, Miss Kid, I love you ever so dearly. Please, please don’t stop what you’re doing, d-don’t!”

Continuing her gentle but persistent and quickening movements, The Kid could tell from the spasming of Gracie’s sex that she was close to coming. Grasping the tiny clitoris between forefinger and thumb, she gave it a light pinch.

That was enough to take the eleven-year-old over the top. Gracie squeezed her eyes tightly closed, her mouth fell open and she cried, “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, OH!” clutching The Kid to her. Those helpless cries quickly built into a small scream. Gracie went iron-rigid for a few heartbeats, then she went limp, completely spent and gulping for breath.

The Kid kissed the angelic face, now flushed and shining with a light glaze of sweat. She began to withdraw her finger, but Gracie seized her arm.

“No!” she panted. “Please, Miss Kid, k-keep your finger there.” Gracie gave her older lover a weak, but happy smile, then added, “Oh, my, that was heavenly. Thank you, thank you!”

“Shucks, the pleasure was all mine.” The Kid began to adorn the child’s face with tender kisses. She could feel Gracie’s heartbeat with her finger, which was still buried up to the hilt in that baby-smooth vagina.

“Want me to give you another?” The Kid offered.

Gracie pondered the notion, then shook her head. “It’s a very tempting offer, Miss Kid, If there were more time, I would take you up on that.” She took a deep breath, then said, “You can take your finger out now, b-but do it slowly.”

The Kid did just that, loving the mixture of surprise and pleasure that showed on Gracie’s face.

They lay together contentedly for a while as the child took her rest. But after a moment, Gracie began to sniffle, then tears were flowing from her eyes. Finally, she sat up, mumbling, “Miss Kid, you were right. My heart is troubled.”

The Kid sat up, taking the sobbing child into her arms, and whispered, “Whatever it is that hurts so bad, you can get it off your chest here and now. Tell me what it’s about, child. You’ll feel a whole lot better.”

Gracie fought to compose herself, then sighed heavily, unable to meet The Kid’s gaze as she began to speak. “It’s about this seance we’re doing tonight, Miss Kid. You see, my lady is not a true spiritualist. We just tell people things they want to hear, and take their money for doing it.”

“What do you mean ‘we’, Gracie?”

“My lady pretends to contact the dead… and I pretend that they speak through me. I feel perfectly awful about it. Oh, I try to tell myself that it makes them happy, and we only play this trick on people who have a lot of money. B-but I know it’s wrong. I…” Leaving the words unfinished, she slumped against The Kid, her tears flowing again.

The Kid cradled the weeping little girl, an interesting idea starting to take form. “Listen, Gracie. Don’t know if you heard, but Mrs Ruggles invited me and Miss Purdy to be there tonight for that seance.”

Horrified, Gracie stared at The Kid in disbelief. “Oh, that’s even worse. To have to pull this, this charade off in front of you, with you knowing the truth?” She shook her head, “It’s too much to bear.”

“Stop your cryin’ now, Gracie, and listen to me. You won’t have to pretend tonight.”

“No, Miss Kid! Please, you can’t expose us. We’ll go to prison if you do!” The child was pale with fear, her hands trembling.

Clutching Gracie’s shoulders, The Kid spoke firmly. “Hush now, child. Here’s what I want from you. Tonight, you let Lady Jane do whatever it is she does. When it’s time for the spirit to speak through you, don’t say a blessed word. I’ll take care of everything.”

Gracie shook her head. “Don’t d-do anything at the seance, Miss — please! You can’t! If the Count finds out I told you about this…” She shuddered.

“Listen, child. I’ve got a plan, a good one… but you got to trust me.”

“B-but you’ve never even been to a seance, have you? You don’t know what happens, how it works!”

“No,” The Kid calmly replied, “but I’ve dealt with many a bunco artist since I become a lawman. I know how they operate. I got a good idea how to work this… and don’t worry, I reckon I can pull this off without gettin’ you in trouble. Either way, I’ll keep you safe, won’t let that man do nothin’ to you. Trust me, Gracie. Trust me.”

The girl gazed at The Kid for a long while, then finally gave a small nod. “All right.” She didn’t seem very confident, though.

Lying back, The Kid placed both hands behind her head. “So, Gracie… is there anything else you need to tell me? Like, maybe, about the stagecoach robbery?”

Gracie went pale. Seeing the look of terror on the little girl’s face, The Kid quickly said, “Listen, forget I asked you that. But at least answer me this: how does the Count fit in with you and Lady Jane? Does he help out any with the seance?”

The child had both hands clasped before her. “Please, Miss Kid, don’t ask me to say. I am sworn to secrecy.”

Sighing, The Kid tilted Gracie’s face up toward hers, bent down and gently kissed her mouth. Gracie gave a bashful smile, and The Kid smiled back. “Now don’t you forget, or worry none. You won’t have to lie tonight.”

The Kid had Gracie blow her nose, then she took out her handkerchief, folded it, moistened a corner with her tongue, then used it to clean the little girl’s face. She took stock of Gracie’s appearance, then nodded. “That’ll do. Now I best walk you back to the hotel, and no one will be the wiser.”

A short while later, The Kid left Gracie sitting just as she’d been in front of the Ridge Hotel. As she made her way to the Broken Horn, The Kid glanced back over her shoulder and spied Lady Jane and Count Cousiourac emerging together. She quickly stepped into the shadows, looking on.

Before long, Mrs Ruggles’ buggy and driver pulled up, and Gracie, Lady Wyeth-Boton and Count Cousiourac climbed inside, The driver tugged at the reins, the horses began to move, and the buggy pulled away, clearly heading back from where it had come. The Kid watched it disappear, then turned and continued on to the saloon.

Before she entered, The Kid took a moment to peer over the swinging doors of the Broken Horn. The funeral crowd had thinned out, but many were still honoring the memory of Bob and Roy by downing drinks.

She came in slowly, unobserved by anyone. If anyone had wondered where she’d gone off to, it had been forgotten about. The Kid slipped into an empty chair next to Andromeda’s, smiling as she watched her tipsy lover raise her glass.

“We women will get the vote someday soon,” Ann proclaimed. “You mark my words, gentlemen!” She paused to hiccup, then added, “And that’s not all — someday a woman will be president of this great nation of ours!” She bellowed, “Cheers!” and downed her drink in one gulp.

The others at the table echoed, “Cheers!” and drank.

As he clumsily refilled the empty shot glasses, pausing to set one before The Kid, Jack declared, “I‘d vote to make you president any day, Miss Ann. Don’t see how you couldn’t do better than the scoundrel who’s occupyin’ the position now.”

Hoisting his glass high, Mac bellowed, “To — to President Purdy!”

“President Purdy!” everyone chimed in, and they all drained their glasses once more.

“Well, I mus’ dishagree with you there,” Ed from the Ridge Hotel put in, swaying in his seat. “I think a man here of Nate’s race will be in the White House afore a woman gets in.”

Everyone at the table raised their glass and shouted, “To President Nate Lincoln!” then polished their drinks off.

“Hellfire,” Nate said with a grin, “don’t give me th’ job. I much prefers the comp’ny of hosses over politicians.”

With a lopsided smile, Ann turned toward The Kid as if she’d been there the whole time. She had a lock of hair dangling over one eye, and her hat was askew. Molly Hardy was on the other side of The Kid, and Gus Masters was seated next to Molly.

As the others around the table gabbed, Molly looked at The Kid, then Gus. “Did Bob have any last words?” she asked.

Staring at his empty glass, Gus was about to speak, but The Kid put a hand on Molly’s shoulder and said, “Sorry to say, Bob never come to afore he passed.”

Molly gave a thoughtful nod. The Kid added, “Don’t reckon we’ll ever get them murderers, if we ain’t got ‘em by now… will we, Gus?”

Gus shook his head sadly, and Molly said, “That is very unfortunate.”

Plucking the cork from another bottle of whiskey, Jack stood up and refilled the glasses on the table.

He looked around the table at the remaining drinkers: Dr Johnson and his wife Alice, Nate Lincoln, Ann, The Kid, Molly Hardy, Gus Masters, Mac, Smitty Smith and Ed. His eyes rested on Molly.

“A toast to Miss Hardy, for her kindness to Bob,” Jack said. Like all the rest, he’d heard about how she’d comforted the mortally wounded Bob on the ride back to town in the stage.

Everyone looked toward Molly. “To Miss Hardy,” they said, then drank.

Molly’s eyes became moist. “Thank you,” she whispered.

By that time, the last bottle had been emptied and nearly everyone but The Kid, who’d only had two shots,  displayed varied degrees of intoxication. Pushing their chairs back, they began to slowly dissolve from the saloon.

Conversations started and stopped with no meaning to them. Handshakes, hugs and slaps on the back were exchanged. Tears and laughter mingled together as one. Mac had drunk himself into a stupor, and Nate draped the man over his broad shoulder before making an exit.

While Ann was struggling into her coat, Molly Hardy approached The Kid. “I wanted to thank you one more time for saving our lives the other day,” she said in her gentle voice. “What you did for us… it was as noble a deed as I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Thanks,” The Kid replied, gazing into Molly’s eyes. “I only wish I could of got there in time to help Roy and Bob. Maybe if I did, they’d still be alive. Good men, the both of ’em.”

“Then comfort yourself with this, dear friend,” Molly murmured, touching The Kid’s arm. “If Roy and Bob were good men, then they have gone to a better place, far from this vale of tears. I believe that even now, they are resting in the arms of Jesus.”

Gently withdrawing from the smiling woman, The Kid said, “I ‘preciate the thought, Miss Molly. Now you’ll have to pardon me… I got to get my friend home safe.”

With a nod and a quiet “Good day, then,” Molly turned and took her leave.

The Kid picked an abandoned bottle from another table, one that had an inch or so of whiskey remaining. Tilting her head back, she drained it in a single hard pull, then slammed the empty bottle back down on the hard oak surface.

Seconds later, a giggling Andromeda bumped into The Kid, then seized her arm, holding on tightly. “You’ve had enough now, young lady.” Ann slurred, then a loud belch escaped her lips. “Oops! ‘Scuse me. Well, goodbye, all,” she called out, waving her hand in a wide arc. “I mush get Kid home now. She’s had too much to drink.” Wagging a finger at her lover, she said, “You oughtn’t to take spirits, y’know… it’s not ladylike.” She giggled helplessly, unsteady on her feet but still clinging to The Kid, who put an arm around Andromeda and guided her out to the street.

They slowly made their way home, The Kid mostly silent while Ann spoke of everything under the sun. By the time they reached the front door of Ann’s house, she was explaining the difference between crickets and grasshoppers.

The Kid managed to get Ann over to the sofa, where she laid down, dozing off in the middle of a sentence. Draping a blanket over her, The Kid went and sat on the back porch, rolling a smoke as she made her plans.

On to Chapter Five!

Note from JetBoy: Since it’s been a while since we’ve had a new chapter of this story, we think a recap is needed for those who have already read the first three parts. If you have yet to sample this sexy little tale, leave this page and start “A Mother’s Plea” at the beginning, so as not to get hit by spoilers. For the rest of you…

Kim is a closeted fifth-grade teacher with a hopeless attraction to one of her students, an eleven-year-old named Chelsea. She assumes that nothing will ever come of her secret longing, so it’s a shock when the girl’s mother Karen comes to her with a very unorthodox request: she wants Kim to make love to her daughter. Kim resists at first, but is too tempted to say no. She meets with Karen to lay plans for Chelsea’s seduction, and they end up having sex themselves. Karen admits that she, too, feels desire for her little girl. Kim’s plans for her weekend getaway with Chelsea nearly founder when a family crisis occurs, but she manages to make things right. They arrive and get their holiday off to a perfect start, drifting right away into making love. And now… Chapter Four!

***

By 3 Fingers Neat

The best part of waking up isn’t always about coffee. Some mornings are made perfect by who you wake up next to.

On Saturday morning, I opened my eyes to see a beautiful eleven-year-old girl lying beside me — my new lover, Chelsea. Her long blonde hair spilled over the pillow, framing her angelic face. The soft light, filtered through the curtains, bathed her neck and shoulders in an amber glow.

The covers were pulled down just enough to expose the child’s budding breasts. I studied the pink nubs of her nipples, curious to see if any traces remained of the many kisses I had given them last night. I saw none, but the memory of feeling them between my lips gave me a delicious shiver. Chelsea shifted slightly, bringing her warm body closer to mine. For an instant I wondered if she was awake, but her deep, steady breathing made it clear that she was still lost in slumber.

I thought back on the circumstances that had brought us together like this. How Karen, Chelsea’s mother, saw and recognized the desire that I felt for her daughter — perhaps because she, too, held a secret longing for the child — then offered her to me as a potential lover. Now Chelsea and I lay nestled together in the cozy warmth of my bed, having spent the previous evening naked, exploring every nook of each other’s bare body. Today would be a continuation of our journey, spent immersing ourselves in this deep and magical love we’d come to share.

My eyes were drawn once more to Chelsea’s nipples. I noted they were erect, and wondered if that was due to the attention I’d given them last night, or because she was having an exciting dream. I leaned forward, taking care to not shake the bed, and lightly traced around her left nipple with the tip of my tongue. Parting my lips, I kissed the tender nub, then sucked Chelsea’s nipple into my mouth. I felt her arch towards me, and heard a soft whimper. I didn’t look up to see if my poppet had awakened, just continued to pleasure her.

When I felt Chelsea’s fingers  in my hair, I let my hand trail down her body, over the tummy and further. Her legs parted, giving me full access to her pussy. My middle finger slid between her tiny labia, then I heard the child sigh. Releasing her left nipple with a smack of my lips, I shifted to the right one, which Chelsea presented to me, turning her body slightly. As I took this new prize into my mouth, I slowly eased that stroking finger into my young lover’s cunt. Her entire body lifted up from the bed and she cried out loud.

My lips released Chelsea’s nipple, then sought out her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. As my tongue toyed with hers, I slowly but firmly fucked her with my finger. I knew when she was about to come, because she stopped kissing me and moaned into my mouth.

Her orgasm washed over her like waves, Chelsea’s body rising and falling with the rhythm of my finger plunging into her pussy. I kept going, too, until the sensations were too much for her and she begged me to stop.

“No more! Please, stop!” I raised my head, and she sank back into the pillow. “Oh, my. Wow…” was all my precious love could get out.

She rallied quickly, though. Throwing both arms around my neck, Chelsea attacked my lips with a long, deep kiss. As we made out, I wrapped my own arms around her and rolled onto my back, pulling this luscious sprite on top of me, cupping her cute little-girl bottom.

As we broke our kiss, Chelsea propped herself up on her elbows so she could peer into my eyes.

“I think I like waking up with you. That was fun!”

“I like waking up with you, too,” I said, giving her a quick kiss on her nose.

“It’s my turn now,” she said.

“What do you have in mind?” I asked.

“Something we did last night. I liked it when you played with my bottom.”

“Oh! Aren’t we the big girl? You want to play with my hot, sexy ass?”

“Yup! Roll over,” my bossy little girl instructed.

One of my favorite things about Chelsea is her confidence and determination. When she wants something, she goes after it, in her schoolwork and on the soccer pitch. Lucky for me, that same attitude had found its way into our loveplay.

I flipped over onto my tummy as Chelsea scooted behind me.

“Is this how you want me, Mistress?” I said as I raised my hips so my ass was inches from her face.

“Perfect,” I heard her murmur as I felt her hands gently spread my cheeks apart. I closed my eyes, heart racing in anticipation of my eleven-year-old lover’s next move.

Last night, I had shown Chelsea just how much fun it is to have your ass played with. She was a little squeamish when I first licked her rosebud, but the sensations she felt quickly overcame her misgivings. Later, after considerable preparation, I showed her how good a finger feels when it slowly enters your rectum. Anal play is one of my favorite kinds of sex, but I know it isn’t for everyone. Chelsea, however, seemed to take to it quickly. Her desire to return the favor this morning made that all too clear.

“Now, tell me if I do something you don’t like,” she said, much like I had instructed her the night before.

I felt a cool, focused breath of air caress my anus. The sensation was unexpected. I hadn’t shown her that.

“Ooh, I made it crinkle,” she giggled.

I spread my knees far apart as they could go, opening myself up to Chelsea’s tongue, then moaned soft and low when I felt her warm, soft tongue begin to slowly rim my asshole. It was lovely, but I longed for her to go deeper, to penetrate me. I wanted to feel her tongue inside my ass.

“Chelsea, please don’t stop,” I begged.  I reached down to finger my pussy as Chelsea continued to lick and kiss my anus. The more excited I got, the more I managed to relax, and soon I felt a very insistent tongue enter my rectum.  I was rubbing my clit as hard as I could as the pleasures of being ass-fucked by my lover’s tongue overwhelmed me.

My orgasm was fast and almost unbearably intense. I was surprised that Chelsea was able to keep her face buried between my cheeks, given the jerking of my hips as I lost control to the spasms of ecstasy that were coursing through my body. Throughout my climax I felt Chelsea’s hands clutching my hips, so she could keep rimming me.

Exhausted, but still hungry for more, I rolled onto my back and pulled Chelsea on top of me. Her mouth found mine and I sampled my essence on her lips and tongue. The passion of her kisses told me she enjoyed the taste as much as I did. Finally, we tapered off and relaxed, enjoying a few moments of light, playful kisses as I hugged Chelsea as closely as I possibly could. These last twenty-four hours had been the fulfillment of a dream, a dream I could barely believe had come true.

Chelsea raised herself up on an elbow and asked, “Did you like that… me licking your bottom?”

I laughed. “Can’t you tell? A woman doesn’t get to come like that every day. I loved it!”

“I can’t believe how much I got excited, doing that. I probably oughta think it’s dirty, but you liked it so much… and I really liked when you did it to me, so I just went with it. I mean, I can taste you back there, but it didn’t gross me out.  I even kinda liked it. Is that bad?”

“No, Chels. It’s not bad. I’m guessing that licking me back there — it’s called rimming, by the way — seems especially naughty to you, right?” Chelsea hesitantly nodded. “Well, when it comes to sex there’s something about being especially wicked about these kinds of things that makes it more fun.” I paused to glance at the clock on my nightstand. “Now I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely famished. We didn’t stop to eat last night. Let’s go make breakfast.”

“Omigod! I know! I am soooo hungry. And because no one else is here, we don’t even have to get dressed!”

So we didn’t. It must have been our hunger that kept us focused on fixing breakfast, instead of making love right there on the dining room table. I did enjoy watching Chelsea dance around the kitchen in her panties. In fact, I did succumb to her girlish charms a couple of times. First, I knelt between her legs, tugged those cute panties down to her knees,  and teased her clit with my tongue — taking her to the brink of orgasm, but not all the way. She frowned and called me a “big meanie,” but then giggled. The second time I gave in to desire was while Chelsea was cutting cantaloupe. Her fingers were covered in the sweet juices, which she smeared over her vulva, then leaned back against the counter, inviting me between her parted thighs to taste. I don’t think I’ll ever again be able to eat cantaloupe without remembering that moment.

When we sat down to eat our breakfast of pancakes, bacon, fried eggs, cantaloupe and strawberries, we were so hungry that we focused on our plates for a long while. When Chelsea finally glanced up, she caught me staring at her. She was so adorable, sitting there with just panties on, and I couldn’t stop looking at her tiny breasts and pink nipples.

“Kim, my eyes are up here,” she joked. “Do you like what you see, then?”

I gave a blissful sigh. “Darling, I love everything about you, but your little boobs drive me crazy. I’m wondering what they’d taste like with syrup on them.”

Chelsea immediately reached for the syrup pitcher, lifted above her chest, then poured a small stream of the amber fluid onto her breasts and nipples.

“Better hurry and lick it up before it drips onto the chair,” she said.

Kneeling by Chelsea’s side, I eagerly licked and sucked the syrup off her chest. We giggled at the absurdity of it, until I felt her hands in my hair and heard her moan. My kisses then became tender as, once again, I was teasing my little one to orgasm. Lightly biting each nipple in turn, my right hand slipped into Chelsea’s panties to finger her clit and pussy. She climaxed in a small shudder that ended when she hugged me to her.

“Kim, I love you so much,” she whispered, her lips brushing my neck. I can’t believe how good you make me feel.”

“Chelsea, I feel the same way. I’ve never been happier in my life.”

I knelt on the floor, gazing up at my lover. I realized at that moment that I would never know a passion like this ever again. Chelsea’s eyes shone with adoration. I rested my head against her chest as she cradled me to her and stroked my hair. We didn’t need words to tell each other how we felt.

Our moment of tenderness was interrupted by a buzz from Chelsea’s phone, which she’d left on the counter. I leaned back so she could jump up, run over to grab it and read the message.

“It’s from Mom! Oh, no…” She shook her head, making a face. “Dad got called to go to Chicago today, so she’s taking him to the airport so he can fly out. She said there’s a big problem at their office there that he needs to go fix. Wow, that sucks.”

“Oh, that is bad.. I know how much your mother was looking forward to a nice weekend away with your dad.”

“I know. She’s been talking about it for weeks.”

We looked at each other and both started to smile as we were hit by the same thought.

“Kim,” Chelsea said softly. “Can we… d’you think we could maybe invite Mom to come up and stay with us tonight? Do you think she’d want to do that?”

“Chelsea, I think she’d love that. Um, are you suggesting that we…?”

She was nodding vigorously. “Yeah! We should ask her to join us.”

“In bed, you mean? Well, yes, we could. Are you ready for that? It’s a big step to take.”

“It’s what I’ve wanted for the longest time. I love my mom, and I want to make her happy. The only thing is, I don’t know if I can… y’know, be the one to, um…”

“You feel too shy to make the first move. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Yeah, I guess. What if she says no?”

“Chelsea, she won’t say no. Your mom’s already told me several times how much she wants to make love to you.”

My little love hugged herself, staring into the distance with dreamy eyes. “Wow… my own mom wants to do sex things with me. How awesome is that?”

“Oh, we’re definitely doing this. You go shower, and I’ll call her up while you’re getting ready.”

“Cool!”

With that, Chelsea jumped up and raced off to the bathroom. When I heard the door close and water start running, I picked up the phone and dialed up Karen.

She answered right away. “Hello?”

“Hello, Karen. It’s me, Kim.”

“Hi, Kim. How are you? Are you guys having a fun weekend? Chelsea probably told you that we’re cutting ours short. Jim has to go to Chicago. Big problems there that they need him to straighten out, damn it all.”

“Yeah, she told me. Chelsea and I are having a great time. In fact, it is everything I hoped it would be. And, I suspect, everything you hoped it would be.”

“Oh, my. That’s wonderful. So… you two have already…”

“We have. Tell me this, Karen: what are you going to do now? Are you heading back home after dropping Jim off?”

“I guess so. Not much point in puttering around this fancy hotel on my own. But enough about me. What about you and my little girl? I’m dying to know, oh, everything. Have you–”

“Listen, Karen, that’s why I called. Why don’t you come up here and stay the night with Chelsea and me?”

There was a prolonged silence on the phone, and I waited for a response before saying anything. Finally, she murmured, “Kim, are you asking me what I think you are?” She was trying to remain calm, but I could hear the excitement in her voice.

“Yes, I am. Chelsea and I have talked about it and she wants to… how to say this? She wants to make love to her mother. She wants it more than anything.”

“Are you sure? Is she sure? I mean, this isn’t something we can undo.”

“Karen, your daughter and I both know what we want, and that’s for you to be here with us. . I can tell you that your little girl is amazingly passionate. We only stopped making love to sleep and eat breakfast. I lost count of all the times we’ve made each other come. Like I said, it’s been everything I hoped it would be. All that we’re missing to make the experience complete is you.”

“Oh. My. God. Yes! Of c-course!” she stammered. “I’ll drive up today. Let’s see. It’s eleven now. I’m dropping Jim off at two and will come up right after that. With traffic, I can be there at about four. Will that work?”

“That’ll be great. It doesn’t sound like you’ve allotted any time for lunch, so we’ll have dinner ready when you get here. Chelsea and I have discovered that we like cooking together.”

“Okay. I’m hanging up now. I’ve got to get Jim to the airport. I’ll see you at four. Oh, and, Kim…”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. This wouldn’t have happened without you. Thank you.”

“I’m the one who should be grateful, Karen. You and your daughter have changed my life.”

“I can’t wait to get there. Bye.”

We hung up just as I heard the water shut off in the bathroom. Hastening down the hall, I  knocked on the bathroom door.

“Don’t get out of the shower yet. I’m coming in.” I opened the door, entered, and stripped off my panties. Chelsea was standing in the big walk-in cubicle, drying herself off. Plucking the towel from her hands and tossing it on the bathroom floor, I stepped in and turned the water back on.

“Darling, I just remembered… I need someone to wash my back,” I said as I hugged and kissed her beneath the cascading water.

Chelsea returned my kiss with a hunger that made my head spin, then broke away, her eyes dancing with excitement. “So, did you talk to Mom? Is she — is she coming?”

“I did speak with her, and she’ll be here later today,” I replied.

“YES!” cried my little lover, thrusting her fists skyward. “Ooooh, I can’t wait, I can’t wait!” She threw both arms around my waist, her beaming face nearly touching mine. “Does she know about us?”

“I didn’t go into detail, but yes, your mother knows that we made love… and she’s absolutely fine with it. Let’s talk about her later, though. Right now, there’s a certain young girl I want to play with.”

With a happy sigh, Chelsea stood on tiptoe to kiss me, and I closed my eyes, letting myself melt into her sweet embrace. I felt her hands begin to move — stroking my back, slipping down to cup and fondle my ass, then the left hand embarked on a solo mission that ended up between my legs, two fingers gliding through the hot, dripping flesh she found there.

I returned the favor, reaching down to lightly caress my precious eleven-year-old’s slit, feeling her tremble against me. Within seconds she and I were masturbating one another, that lovely heat rising inside me all over again.

Just as I sensed my orgasm drawing near, something occurred to me, and I pulled away.

Chelsea’s dazed expression instantly became a pout. “What?” she demanded. “What’s the matter?”

“Let’s not make each other come, sweetheart,” I told her. “We should save that for when your mom gets here.”

She started to protest, paused to think, then said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s more fair that way, huh?”

“I’d say so,” I replied. “But hey, that doesn’t mean we can’t kiss.”

“Sounds good to me,” Chelsea said, her high spirits returned. Before I knew it, her tongue was in my mouth.

On to  Chapter Five!

by Shy Mom

After the heated climax to our fashion show, my girls and I needed showers. Fortunately, the cubicle in my master bathroom could easily accommodate the three of us.

We entered the shower together, all of us naked. There was just one small—or rather, not so small—bit of housekeeping I’d neglected that afternoon. My stick-on dildo still protruded from the tile wall at cunt level.

Years ago, my daughters had stumbled upon the sex toys in the nightstand drawer next to my bed. They were too young then to regard them as anything other than wands for waving, swords for poking, or (in Olivia’s case) pacifiers for sucking. I can’t deny that the sight of my youngest with the tip of one of Mommy’s dildoes in her mouth aroused me something fierce, especially when I imagined her tasting my essence on it. I wonder if that was what planted the seed of these complicated feelings for my little ones.

“Is … is that a cock, Mommy?” Olivia asked, her expression a mix of curiosity, fear, and distaste. Ashley simply murmured, “Wow …”

Before I could answer, my ten-year-old reached out to take hold of the cherry red phallus. Its suction cup kept it pinned to the wall.

“It’s huge!” Ashley exclaimed, wrapping all ten fingers around it. In her small hands, it looked even larger than it felt when jammed into my vagina.

Well, here was another teaching opportunity that I could not pass up.

“It’s a dildo,” I said, putting emphasis on the unforeseen Word of the Day.

“Dildo!” Olivia repeated, as her big sister smacked the erect phallus experimentally, causing it to wobble like a diving board.

“It’s a sex toy!” Ashley exclaimed.

“Indeed,” I confirmed, adding, “I used it today, just before dinner.”

“Wow …” Ashley repeated, her eyes wide with imagination.

Naturally, Olivia asked, “How did you use it, Mommy?”

In teaching, showing is often better than telling. “Shall I … demonstrate?”

“Yes!” replied Ashley, as her sister shouted “Yay!” and jumped up and down.

I was just as thrilled, eager to show the girls how I get myself off when I crave being fucked from behind.

“First, darlings, I turn on the shower to get things hot and steamy.”

I have one of those rainforest showerheads that releases water straight down. I selected the highest temperature and let the hot torrent flow run down my body.

“Next, I soap myself all over.” I squirted a thick gob of papaya-scented shower gel into my palm, then smeared it between my hands. I coated my pliant breasts with the creamy lather, taking time to tease my nipples erect, caress my flat tummy, and finally slather my vulva, which was already slick with natural lubrication. The girls watched, entranced.

“Mommy is getting her cunt ready.” I explained. “Getting it wet and hungry so it can swallow every inch of the dildo. You can see for yourself how long and thick it is.”

I paused for questions while continuing to soap myself.

“Is it like … like putting a cock in your cunt, Mommy?” asked Olivia, frowning slightly.

“Not really,” I replied, sensitive to her distaste for the male member. “You see, girls, I’ve come to think of my sex toys as, well, extensions of myself—like my fingers. I use them both to masturbate with, after all.”

That seemed to click for Olivia, who had stroked her pussy to climax mere minutes ago in the living room.

“Only,” I continued, “this toy does two things Mommy’s fingers can’t do quite as well …”

The girls waited, hanging on my words.

“One, it stuffs my vagina so completely—more than anything I’ve ever put in there …”

The girls’ eyes darted back and forth between the dildo and my cunt—trying to picture it, I suspected.

“Two,” I went on, “Mommy sometimes gets the urge to be fucked from behind …”

Ashley’s mouth dropped at this turn of phrase.

“The dildo goes in nice and deep, and it makes Mommy feel very wild … and very dirty.”

By now, the girls were flushed, and not just from the heat of the shower. That gave me an idea. “Why don’t I get you both nice and soapy too?”

They nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

Reaching for the shower gel, I soaped Olivia’s body first, then Ashley’s. The differences that I saw and felt between my girls, just two years apart, were fascinating.

At eight, Olivia still sported a childish figure—slender and flat, though softened by baby fat over her chest and pubis and around her pert bottom. The pouty outer lips of her slit, into which I rubbed a fresh gob of gel, felt more like that of a baby than a woman, but their parting at my touch hinted at her progress toward puberty. “The Princess Pea,” as I had christened her clitoris, seemed large in relation to the little-girl slit.

Of course, Ashley’s advancement toward puberty was more pronounced. Her budding breasts, little more than dumplings, were capped by pink areolas on which lay almost invisible nipples—at least, until they turned pebbly when I teased them with soapy fingers. Her vulva was no longer puffy, and bore faint similarities to mine in shape and feel. Most notably, there was a fine sprinkling of honey-blonde pubes that made Ashley’s cunt look even softer than it felt.

The diversions of soaping my darlings made me even more desperate for release. “Why don’t you stand there, girls, next to me,” I suggested. “That way, you can get a good look at how Mommy fucks herself.”

Ashley stood a foot away, and Olivia peeked out from behind. Recollecting that my ten-year-old was the only family member who had yet to climax, I added, “Olivia, reach around and play with your sister’s pussy while you watch. That’s it, love.”

Finally, I applied lube to the dildo, from a tube of Astroglide that I kept on the soap tray, and got into position. Under the drizzle of hot water, I arched my back, clutched my tits, and backed into the wall, trapping the bulbous tip of the toy between my cheeks, at the opening of my hungry vagina. Practice made perfect. I paused to make sure the girls were watching, then pushed back with a swift thrust of the hips.

My bottom hit the tiles as the dildo plunged into my cunt. My daughters gasped.

“See, girls? All gone. All in.” I wriggled my ass about to punctuate my point. And because it felt so fucking good.

“But does it—does it hurt, Mommy?” asked Olivia.

“No, baby,” I replied, as I withdrew to the very tip of the toy. “My cunt can take it. It loves every inch.”

I looked from one incredulous sister to the other, pondering the fit of their own vaginas. “One day,” I assured them, “Your cunts will be big enough too.”

They gaped as I pressed back against the dildo, letting it fill me again. “For now, your little-girl cunts probably can’t take much more than my finger. Or the tip of my tongue.”

At those words, Olivia rubbed her sister’s pussy more vigorously, while Ashley started toying with her own breast buds. Both kept their eyes fixed on my ass, watching their mother get penetrated.

It was time for a serious fuck. I began to rock back and forth, bouncing off the tiles, feeling the dildo enter my vagina to the hilt each time.

“Fuck … oh, fuck …” I murmured.

I flicked my nipples, sparking little jolts of pleasure that raced straight to my cunt, where a ball of static charge was building.

I moved faster, then faster still. The sound of my wet ass slapping against the tile wall reverberated sharply in the steamy room.

“Momma!” cried Ashley, lost in her own ecstasy as Olivia’s pace picked up as well, the girl’s fingers a blur between her big sister’s legs.

What a lovely sight that was. “That’s it, Ashley … come for Momma… come for—”

“Momma! I’m—ah, fuck!”

Ashley shuddered, her thighs clamping Olivia’s hand between them. Her orgasm triggered my own. My cunt clenched the thick dildo in spasms so intense that my jiggling ass nearly ripped the toy off the wall.

Then my oldest slumped against the wall, gasping for breath, while my youngest did a dance of joy, crying, “I did it, Mommy! I did it! I made Ashley come!”

“You did, darling.” I was flushed with heat and affection. “Mommy’s so proud of you both.”

I still had one more lesson to teach. Releasing the dildo with a sigh, I squatted down and proceeded to lick and suck my juices from its length.

“I know what that is,” Ashley declared. “That’s a blow job!”

I considered the aptness of the term, all the while wondering whether she’d learned it online.

“Very good, Ashley,” I began, keeping her less knowledgeable little sister in mind. “Though it’s not exactly right. A blow job is when you suck a cock.”

“Ugh!” Olivia spat out.

“Yeah, gross,” Ashley agreed.

“But this is different, darlings. I’m tasting myself—like licking my fingers after masturbating.”

This explanation seemed to satisfy them. “You know, girls,” I said, looking meaningfully at the slick dildo, “there’s still plenty left, if you’d like to share…?”

After a moment’s hesitation, my daughters dove in. The hot water continued to rain down on us as we licked my fuck toy clean as a family.

On to Chapter Eight!

by Purple Les

The Tequila Kid awoke to the smell of coffee. She’d fallen asleep on the sofa again, after one drink too many. With her eyes still closed, she felt a tender kiss on her lips.

Opening her eyes, The Kid saw the angelic face of Andromeda smiling down at her. Ann’s hair was down and she wore a robe. Bet she’s bare-ass naked under that, The Kid thought.

“Good morning,” Andromeda said, as she knelt next to the sofa running her fingers through The Kid’s hair. “You look so good with your hair loose like that. I could just gobble you up.”

“Mornin’, Ann,” The Kid croaked out. “Well, I sure don’t feel like eatin’ right now. What time a day is it, anyway?”

Andromeda took note of the tequila bottle on the coffee table, now a third empty. “It’s almost eight o’clock. I let you sleep long as I could. Coffee’s all ready. Can I bring you some?”

“Yes, please,” The Kid answered.

A moment later, the clock on the mantle struck eight. The chimes sounded like cannons going off to The Kid. “Oooouugghh,” she groaned, struggling into a sitting position.

A moment later Ann was back with two mugs of strong black coffee. She set a steaming mug down for The Kid and then sat down with hers.

They drank in silence, and when finished, Ann silently returned to the kitchen to get them each a refill. After The Kid had downed half of the second mug, her head seemed to ring somewhat less than before. “Thanks, Ann,” she sighed. “I feel ‘bout halfway human now.”

“You drank a lot last night,” Andromeda said, glancing again at the bottle on the coffee table.

“I reckon I needed to clear my head some.”

“Is it nice and clear now?” Ann asked without much sympathy.

The Kid let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, gettin’ there.”

“What’s that?” Ann asked, pointing to a contraption on the coffee table.

“This? Oh, I took it off a card cheat last night,” The Kid said, taking another swallow of coffee. Setting her mug down, she picked the device up and explained how it worked to Andromeda.

“See, what I done here, Ann, is fix this derringer to it, ‘stead of a playin’ card. Might be handy someday to have a gun up my sleeve.”

“Let me see how it works,” Ann said.

“All right,” The Kid said. Rolling up her sleeve, she carefully attached the device to her arm. “So if I’m in a tight spot, I flex my lower arm muscle and the gun springs right into my hand. Watch.”

Grinning, The Kid flexed her arm. The unloaded derringer slowly moved a half inch forward on The Kid’s upper wrist then fell to the hardwood floor with a dull thud.

The room filled with Andromeda’s laughter as The Kid scratched her head, wondering what could have gone wrong. After her fourth drink last night, it had worked just fine. Andromeda kissed the top of The Kid’s head and said, “More coffee?” The Kid nodded her head yes.

Returning from the kitchen with a refilled mug, Andromeda said, “So you drop the gun on the villain’s foot, and as he’s jumping about in pain, you push him over? Is that how it works, Kid? Perhaps a brick up your sleeve would do better.”

“You got a sassy mouth on ya, girl,” The Kid murmured, but with a sly smile. “Bet I could think of somethin’ else you could be doin’ with it.” She took a slug of coffee, then said, “Got anything on under that robe?”

“Nary a stitch,” Andromeda said innocently as she bent to kiss The Kid’s cheek.

“That a fact?” The Kid asked, her nostrils flaring slightly. There was a growing warmth between her legs that made the throbbing of her head seem like less of a big deal.

“See for yourself,” Andromeda said as she stood up and faced The Kid.

“No. You show me,” The Kid replied, a note of hunger in her voice.

Andromeda opened the robe, shrugged it from her shoulders and then let it slide to the floor. She loved displaying her bare body to The Kid. She watched her lover’s eyes travel up and down, taking it all in.

The Kid reached to place her hands on Ann’s hips. “Now that’s a fine sight. Reckon I’m in a mood for eatin’ breakfast after all.”

Ann pushed the eager teen back further on the sofa. “Oh, I’ll buy you breakfast, Kid,” she said. “You’ll need something more substantial in your stomach than my love honey.”

“Gimme a taste,” The Kid said as she spread her legs apart, revealing a wet spot in the crotch of her worn Levi Strauss jeans.

“Take your clothes off,” Ann said. She took a step back and fondled her own breasts as she watched The Kid stand up and shrug out of her shirt, exposing her toned torso and erect nipples, then unbutton her fly, pushing down her blue jeans and kicking them off. The only thing she still wore was her ring on its chain.

Ann’s mouth watered at the sight. “I see you’ve given up on underclothes these days,” she said, gazing with purest desire for the naked young woman standing before her.

The Kid drew close to Ann, and they looked each other up and down, then fell into a passionate embrace. Their lips met, The Kid forcing her tongue into Ann’s upturned mouth. Reaching down, she groped her lover’s tight, supple ass, giving the right cheek a firm squeeze.

Ann broke away, gasping, “Oh!” as she explored The Kid’s tight body — one hand caressing her ass, fingers delving between the buttocks to tease her anus, the other hand cupping a breast and stiffening nipple. Andromeda dipped down to suck the tip of the other breasts, giving it a gentle bite.

Her eyes closed, The Kid and let out a soft moan. She found Ann’s left ear with her lips and nibbled, sucked and licked it. The Kid then slipped a hand between her lover’s thighs to find the petals of Anne’s sex dripping with wetness.

The women fell slowly to their knees, bodies pressed tightly together — nipples kissing, tongues tangled in a dance of passion as Andromeda and The Kid found their way to the floor.

The room and the world seemed to melt away as the two lovers parted their legs, each slipping a finger into the other’s juicy cunt like they’d done so many times before. They fucked in a frenzy, hands and wrists moving faster and faster, building into something huge.

“Tell me that story, Kid!” Ann begged as the sweaty upper halves of their bodies pressed together.

The Kid was panting for breath, her face pressing against Ann’s shoulder. “Say what?” she gasped.

“You know what! The story, damn you.” Ann demanded as her finger plunged in and out of The Kid’s vagina. “Please, Kid, please,” Ann added as she felt The Kid’s finger moving inside her, hard and fast.

“’Bout that little Sally Ann girl?” The Kid asked, knowing that wasn’t the one.

“Oh!” Ann said, sucking her breath in sharply. “I love that. But no, you know the one I want to hear.” After a half-second’s wait, Andromeda firmly pinched one of The Kid’s erect nipples. “Tell me!”

“You mean — uhhh — the one ‘bout the time I sheltered at this cabin with that Beth gal, and, and her little girl?” The Kid asked as she added a second finger to the one churning about in Andromeda’s dripping cunt. Wiggling both fingers around for a moment, she continued the story. “How they just had but the one bed they shared? And how they had me g-get in with ‘em? And we was all buck naked?” Withdrawing almost completely from Ann’s wet quim, then thrusting back in rough and deep, The Kid asked, “Is that the one you mean?”

Andromeda moaned and fell against The Kid’s firm young body, sobbing in ecstasy, “Yes, that one… oh.”

“Well, now,” The Kid began. Her fingers kept up a steady rhythm deep in Ann’s pussy, while she began to massage Ann’s swollen clit with the palm of her hand.

With the other hand, The Kid reached around and grabbed Ann’s luscious ass, pressing a fingertip against her lover’s tight rosebud, making Ann gasp and quiver, lost in pleasure’s clutch.

“See, I’d got caught in a sudden snowstorm. Lucky for me, I found a little cabin just before I froze to death.”

Having heard the story many times and knowing where The Kid was going with it had Ann near orgasm already. The pleasure coursing through her sometimes made it hard to recall where she was in the story, but The Kid’s voice alone was enough to keep Andromeda’s arousal sharp.

She heard The Kid’s hot whisper in her ear. “Well, didn’t that little girl say, ‘Me and Ma sleep without no clothes on, Kid. We always go naked when we’re in bed’. And then Ma says, ‘That’s right, we do. I’m sure The Kid won’t mind doin’ the same with us. We’ll even undress first’. She said that to me.”

The Kid could tell that Ann was almost ready to spend, so she worked her hand harder, saying, “Wasn’t that a time we had. Seein’ that pretty mom and daughter naked, then them undressin’ me right down to the skin. They took me into bed with ‘em, and then we all started to kiss and touch one another.”

“Keep going!” Ann begged one last time before her climax.

“Lickin’ that little bare slit. Those soft, wet folds of pussy. Her ma saying, ‘Yes, yes, lick my little girl, the way I showed you’.’ That sweet taste of her, like nothin’ I ever knowed…”

The Kid tried to reach the end of the story, but her words were drowned out by Ann. “Ah yes yes yes yes oh dear yes uh huh oh oh ohhhhhh.” This and more came flowing from her mouth, like the stream of nectar that oozed from her love grotto. Ann’s body went tense, and she held on tightly to The Kid as her rapture reached its peak, finally going completely limp.

The Kid helped Ann onto the sofa, then sat on the coffee table with legs spread and said, “Watch me come for you.”

Ann watched with dazed eyes as The Kid masturbated, her fingers a blur as she rubbed her clit. But before she could come, Ann sprang back to life, blurting, “No! Let me do it.” Knocking The Kid’s hand away, Andromeda buried her face between her young lover’s legs.

Ann had immersed herself so deeply in The Kid’s story that she could almost make herself believe she was licking the slit of a little girl. Then The Kid’s hands on the back of Ann’s head brought her back to who she was really pleasuring.

The Kid arched her back, stretched her long legs out and cried, “Yeah, Andromeda. Lick it all up. Lick my pussy,” moaning in ecstasy as she climaxed.

As her rapture began to subside, Ann renewed her efforts, and The Kid soon came again.

Spent, they lay on the floor together holding each other. After awhile, The Kid stirred. “You really want to do the deed with a little girl, huh?”

“I do, Kid,” Andromeda answered with a sigh. “Seems as if I’ve always felt that way. Ever since I knew I liked women, anyhow.”

“And you never did get the chance?”

Andromeda paused before answering, “I almost did once, when I took my tour of Europe. Don’t think I ever told you about that, Kid.”

The Kid listened closely as Ann began her story. “It was in Italy. I speak Italian fluently, though I’d also love to be able to speak French like you, Kid. Anyway, it was in a Tuscan villa I was staying at. There were two sisters there, too. Sixteen and ten years old. The older sister was enamored of me. I was very fond of her, as well.

“It was the custom to take a riposo in the afternoon.” She glanced at The Kid, noting her puzzled expression. “That’s what they call a siesta in Italy, Kid. During that part of the day, the whole town would come to a standstill. Anyhow, one day the ten-year-old came into my room while I was resting and begged me to follow her back to the room she shared with her big sister.

“I wasn’t sure what she wanted, but she asked so sweetly that I agreed. She led me by the hand to their room. Inside, the older sister was lying nude on the bed. She held her arms out to me, saying, ‘Come, be with us… we love you’.

“I was dumbfounded, Kid. Stood there like a fool. Then while I stood there staring, the younger sister stripped naked, then led me by the hand over to the bed.

“I can’t adequately describe their beauty to you, I can only try. Both of them were raven-haired, olive-skinned beauties. Large brown eyes the color of chocolate, and faces like angels. The ancient Greeks and the Renaissance artists must have used them for models somehow, hundreds of years before they were born.

“I compared their bodies. One just beginning to ripen into womanhood. The other, still a child in all ways but one — she was sexually aware. I watched them make love to each other, and then they both made love to me. As I licked the older girl, I knew I wanted very much to make love to the ten-year-old as well. But before I could, our time ran out. We heard the others rising from their naps, and I was afraid of being caught, so I quickly got up and dressed. The girls didn’t seem concerned at all. Like it was some sort of lark to them.

“The next day we continued the tour, and I never saw the sisters again. My one chance to love a little girl, and I missed it. My only regret of the tour. Or of my life.”

The Kid asked, “Would you, if you got another chance?”

“Yes.” Ann whispered. “Oh, yes, I surely would.”

They laid together for a long while, holding each other, enjoying a moment of perfect bliss. Finally, the two lovers mustered up enough energy to get up, then filled the round metal tub in the kitchen with water from the hand pump. The day would be a hot one, and the cool water they’d drawn was quite refreshing.

It was a lovely way to start the day. Bathing together, washing and rinsing each other’s bare bodies, sometimes masturbating one another. On this day they finished their toilet instead, donned fresh clothes, and headed out of Ann’s house into the morning sunshine.

Ann wore a white blouse and black skirt that went just below her ankles, with black boots laced high. The Kid wore black men’s trousers, a black cotton shirt, her green corduroy vest, boots and new Stetson hat. The outfit made her pair of pearl handled colts stand out in their black leather gun belt.

They walked arm in arm on the boardwalk, where Ann said, “My, how fine that new hat looks on you. It makes me want to see you wearing just the hat and nothing else.”

“Maybe later,” The Kid replied with a smile.

Their first stop was the Highland Cafe. The Kid had coffee, two donuts, and scrambled eggs. Andromeda had a poached egg, toast and tea, and paid for breakfast as promised.

Next they went to the bank, where The Kid made her mark on the receipt to collect her Ranger pay — an outlined drawing of a raven.

That task accomplished, Ann and The Kid made their way to the livery stable. A large black man somewhere in his thirties had just finished shoveling out the stalls and was filling the last of them with fresh straw. The horses were out back in the corral.

“Howdy, Nate,” The Kid said with a nod. “I come to pay what I owe you, and then some.”

Nate Lincoln finished forking straw into the last stall and, pausing to hang the pitchfork by its handle from a ten-penny nail that jutted from the wall, said, “Mornin’, Kid, Miss Purdy. Well, then, c’mon into the office, and we’ll get you squared away.” He paused to mop sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.

They followed Nate to a little sleeping room that also served as his office. There was a grizzled old white man stretched out and dozing on an improvised pallet made of hay. As Nate passed the old-timer, he aimed a light kick against the bottom of his worn boot and said, “Git a move on now, Mac, and bring them hosses in outen the sun.”

Mac slowly rose up off the hay on the floor, then reached into the pocket of the coat that hung on his lanky frame. Pulling a pint bottle out, he studied on the last of the amber liquor inside, then slipped it back in his pocket and shambled out back to begin bringing the horses back to their stalls, one by one.

Seating himself at the desk, Nate opened a drawer, taking out his faded blue receipt book. “It’s a dirty shame, what happened to Bob and Roy. They’s both gettin’ buried tomorrow. You and Sheriff Gus any closer to catchin’ the killers?”

The Kid said, “Yep, real close, Nate. I can’t say no more about it for now, though.” The Kid laid a twenty dollar bill on the desk, saying, “I reckon this oughta take care of past, present and a little bit of the future.”

“‘Deed it does, Kid,” Nate replied with a nod. Slipping the bill into the strongbox, he opened the blue book and slowly made out a receipt for The Kid, his brow furrowing as he worked. Laying his pencil to one side, he reached for a rubber stamp and applied it to the paper with a satisfying thump. He handed the receipt to The Kid, now stamped PAID in red ink.

“There you go,” Nate said. “What you paid, that’ll cover what you owed an’ then the next three weeks after, I reckon.” The Kid in turn handed the receipt to Ann, who glanced at it, then slipped it into the pocket of her skirt while Nate noted the payment in his ledger.

Closing the leather-bound book, he rose and glanced through the window. “I see Mac’s got your horses back in. You ridin’ out today? I can get ‘em saddled or harnessed up.”

“No, thank you, Nate,” Ann said, “We just came to visit them. I’ve not seen The Kid’s new horse yet.”

“Oh, you’ll like her,” Nate said with a grin. “That sure is one fine animal you got there, Kid.”

“Thanks, Nate,” The Kid said, a hint of melancholy in her voice.

Leaving the office, The Kid and Ann made their way to Pegasus’ stall. Button’s was next to it.

Button raised her head up and down excitedly as The Kid approached. She hugged the horse’s neck and head, then gestured toward Andromeda.

“That there is Ann,” The Kid said to the mare. “I reckon you and Pegasus introduced yourselves already.”

Pausing to greet her own horse, Andromeda fed Pegasus an apple, then went to the next stall, gazing at the mare in frank admiration. “Nice to meet you, Button,” she cooed. “What a lovely creature you are.” She gently patted Button’s nose, stroked the horse’s muscular neck, then produced a second apple from her pocket, which Button eagerly took from Ann’s hand.

Button nodded, giving a soft whinny to let The Kid know that she approved of this other human.

The Kid said to her horse, “I said you’d like Ann… didn’t I, girl?”

After a short visit with the horses, the two women walked back out into the sunny street after giving a brief farewell to Nate Lincoln.

“Now what, Kid?” Ann asked.

“To the telegraph office, so I can see if I got any replies to a couple wires I sent out yesterday.”

The office was a small shack with a slightly bigger shack attached to the back of it. In the front was a large window with Knuckle Ridge Telegraph Office printed on it. Joshua Hartley, the telegraph operator, lived in the shack behind the office.

Ann and The Kid entered. Inside was a counter, with pencils and paper on it for composing messages. Behind the counter was a desk, next to a table that held several glass tanks with chemicals and metal in them that served as batteries. The telegraph key rested near the edge of the table with a chair, a pad of paper and pencils close by.

Seeing that no one was around, The Kid rang the bell on the counter. She liked the sound it made, and hit it several more times with the palm of her hand.

A husky, smooth-shaven man in his twenties came strolling in from out back. He wore a white shirt with garters on the sleeves, black vest and pants, a tie, starched collar, and a visor on his head. A pair of spectacles rested on his nose. “Hello, ladies,” he said, giving the two women a small bow.

“Howdy, Josh. I come to see if you got any wires for me yet,” The Kid said.

He nodded. “Sure ‘nough. In fact, I got two of ‘em for you… though we still need to collect for the ones you sent yesterday.”

“What do I owe ya?” The Kid asked.

“Two dollars and two bits.”

The Kid counted out three dollars, laid the crumpled bills on the counter and said, “Keep the change.”

“Much obliged.” Moving over to the left side of the office, Josh peered into a small cubicle, reached inside and withdrew two small envelopes. He glanced at these, then handed them to The Kid. “The top one’s your reply from the federal judge in Austin. The second one’s from Ranger Captain Deek Richards in Austin. Thanks, Kid. Nice seeing you, Miss Purdy.” Opening a drawer, Josh slipped the money inside.

Seating themselves in the outside chairs in front of the office, The Kid handed the telegrams to Ann. “Can you read these to me?”

Andromeda opened the envelope of the first one, withdrew the message and unfolded it, pursing her lips as she studied the words. “Request for warrant granted. Stop. Will have on next stage. Stop. Yours, Judge Grissom.” Ann gave The Kid a questioning look. “Guess I oughtn’t to ask who that warrant is for.”

“Nope,” The Kid replied with a shake of the head, but smiling. “Ranger business. Read me the other one?”

Ann made a face. “I swear, you Rangers… not one iota of respect for a woman’s natural curiosity.” Opening the other telegram, she read, “Will have flyers on next stage. Stop. I expect a report from you. Stop. Captain Deek Richards.” She glanced up at The Kid. “More of the same?”

“Maybe… maybe not,” The Kid said with a grin. She plucked the telegrams from Ann’s hands, folded them, then slipped them into her vest. “Let’s go.” Entering the street, they crossed over to the post office.

As they entered, a short gray-haired, bone-thin woman wearing spectacles, aged somewhere between fifty to ninety years looked up and said, “Mornin’, Ann, Kid. I’m sure I know why you’re here.”

The Kid touched the brim of her Stetson. “Howdy there, Edna May. That package from yesterday we talked about… you still got it here?”

“Yes, I still got it here. Should of been on the stage this morning, Kid. The mail is a sacred trust, y’know. But I held it for you, just like I said I would.” She fixed The Kid with a determined look. “You got the legal work to keep that package from going out? If you don’t, it’ll be on the afternoon stage, y’know. The mail is a sacred trust, not to be trifled with. Why, if I didn’t–”

“I got the legal work comin’ on that afternoon stage.” The Kid protested.

“Fair enough, fair enough. I’ll hold the package that long then, Kid. I only did that much as a personal favor to you, mind. If that there warrant isn’t on the afternoon stage, that package goes out and that’s all there is to it, young lady. Don’t think you can stall me any longer than that!” Edna May was getting worked up now.

The Kid handed Edna May the telegram from Judge Grissom. Edna May read it several times, then said, “All right, Kid. I’ll hold it till this afternoon. But only that long. You have the legal paper then, or it goes out. You know why, don’t you?”

The three women all said in unison, “The mail is a sacred trust.”

“That’s right, that’s right,” Edna May sternly added as the other two women grinned at her. “Anything else, ladies?” she asked, unable to conceal her own amusement.

“Got any mail for me?” Ann asked.

Edna May poked through the slots on the wall, then handed four envelopes to Ann. “Here y’are.”

“Thank you, Edna May.” Andromeda said, stuffing the envelopes in her skirt pocket.

As they exited, Edna May called out, “You be here this afternoon with that legal paper, Kid. The mail’s a sacred trust, and I don’t mean to violate it for anyone!”

They walked back to Ann’s house, then pitched in to wash clothes. That accomplished, they hung them up to dry on the line in the yard, then mounted the steps to the back porch, seating themselves side by side on the wooden bench.

While they watched the clothes gently stirring in the warm breeze, The Kid turned to Andromeda. “What’s a seance?”

Giving The Kid a surprised look, Ann said, “It’s when a group of people get together and try to summon the spirits of the deceased. What made you ask that?”

“Mrs. Ruggles invited us both out there Thursday night for one.”

“She’s having a seance? How odd. What would she even know about conducting one?”

“Well, this spiritualist gal is stayin’ with her. I reckon she’d be doin’ the seance work. Mrs. Ruggles says she invited the woman there just for that reason. Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton, that’s her name.”

Ann’s mouth hung open in astonishment.

“What?” The Kid asked.

“I met Lady Jane years ago, when I took my grand tour of Europe. She was near eighty then. I can’t believe that she’d be able to make the trip over here… and why on earth would she bother with a backwater town like Knuckle Ridge?”

Now it was The Kid’s turn to look surprised. “Shucks, Ann. This woman I met ain’t a day over forty. Maybe thirty or thirty-five, I reckon. Is there more than one with that name? Or maybe the one you met has a daughter?”

Ann shook her head, puzzled. “No, Kid. There’s only one Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton, and I never heard tell of her having children. She was a short, squat woman with snow-white hair.”

“Hmm. This one’s about your height, with blonde hair and a nice figure.” A cloud crossed The Kid’s face and she stood up, saying, “I got to send me another telegram, Ann. It’s almost time for the afternoon stage anyway, I reckon.”

The Kid kissed Ann goodbye, then hastened back to the telegraph office.

Josh was busy on the telegraph key, and The Kid was forced to wait until he was finished. Finally, he looked up. “How can I help you now, Kid?”

“I need you to send another wire for me, Josh.”

“Sure, Kid. Who and where to?”

“To Mort Farnum, care of the Pinkerton Detectives, in New York City, New York.”

Josh raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “And what do you want it to say?”

After The Kid relayed her message, Josh counted the words he’d written out and said, “That’ll be six dollars and fifty cents.”

“Six-fifty! Why that’s robbery, that is!” The Kid glared over the counter. “Hell’s bells, I could train me a bird to fly that message out there.”

Josh shrugged. “You got a lot of words here, Kid. It would cost less if you cut some of them out.”

“Damn it… I need every word I give you, Josh.” With a heavy sigh, The Kid laid seven dollars on the counter and said, “Keep the change. Will you let me know the minute you get an answer?”

“Sure will, but it may take a while. New York’s not like sending a wire to Austin, y’know.”

“Fair ‘nough. So long, Josh.”

Exiting the telegraph office, The Kid sat down outside and rolled a smoke, listening to the clickety-clack sound coming from inside as Josh worked the key, sending her message across the miles. She smoked the cigarette down to a stub, then rolled another. As she finished the second one, the stagecoach arrived, and she quickly got up and strolled over to the office where it pulled in.

“Howdy, boys,” The Kid said to the two stage men, one of them old and the other young. “Sure am sorry about what happened to Roy and Bob.”

“Thanks, Kid. And thanks for all you done for Bob,” the older man said.

The younger man nodded his head in agreement, then climbed up on top to unload the baggage while the older man helped the passengers out.

The one who unloaded the luggage climbed down, took the mail bag out of the stage boot and handed it to Jack, who’d just emerged from the office.

The Kid placed a hand on his shoulder. “Mind if I tote this bag over to the post office for you? I’m expectin’ a couple things, and I need to get to ‘em soon.”

“Of course, Kid. I trust you,” Jack answered, passing the heavy canvas sack to her.

“You sure can, Jack. The mail’s a sacred trust, y’know.”

Jack rolled his eyes heavenward. “I see you’ve been passin’ the time with Edna May. I swear, one day she’s gonna turn that post office into a damn church.” Taking out his pocket watch, he peered at it, frowning. “Got to get back to my desk. Still dealin’ with the paperwork from that robbery.” He sighed. “See you later, Kid.”

“Later, Jack.” Hoisting the mailbag onto her shoulder, The Kid set off.

A couple minutes later, The Kid brought the mail into the post office. “Howdy, Edna May. I got the mail here for you, fresh off the stage.”

“That legal paper on it, Kid?”

“Well, that’s why I brought it right over — so you could check it, Edna May.”

“Yes, yes,” Edna May muttered as she thumbed through the keys on her chain. Finding the one she wanted, she unlocked the mail bag, loosened its leather straps and emptied the contents out on a table.

“Hmm. Here’s a package for you, Kid,” Edna May said as she handed The Kid a large bundle wrapped in brown paper and string.

“How ‘bout that legal paper?”

“Patience is a virtue, child,” Edna May muttered as she glanced through the many envelopes, then began to sort them. “Help me look.”

“Well, now…” The Kid started to say — then fell silent, embarrassed.

Edna May looked up, feeling a little embarrassed herself. “Sorry, Kid. I forgot.”

“Ann keeps offerin’ to teach me,” The Kid said, staring at the floor. “Figure it’s prob’ly too late now.”

“You’re never too old to learn, Kid,” Edna May said, then suddenly snatched an envelope from the pile. “Ah! Here it is.” Opening the letter, she carefully read the contents. Nodding, she handed over the letter and the package, then reached underneath the counter to get another, larger package. “All right, Kid. You can take this over to the Sheriff now.” She produced another document. “Just make your mark on this, Kid. It shows that we did this by the book.”

The Kid drew a small raven on the bottom of the paper, then Edna May wrote something next to it. “There, all legal now. Got to do it this way. Know why?”

“The mail’s a sacred trust,” The Kid recited, along with Edna May.

Edna May lightly swatted The Kid’s arm. “All right, child. You got what you wanted, now get out of my hair.  There’s real work to be done here.”

Bending to give Edna May a kiss on the cheek, The Kid hastened away, saying, “Much obliged,” over her shoulder.

“Be off with you!” the older woman cried, but with a smile.

Moments later, The Kid walked into the Sheriff’s office to find Gus Masters at his desk, writing something. Pausing to take a draw from his pipe, he looked up. “Hello, Kid. What’s that you got there?”

“If you can spare me a minute, Gus, I believe I got the murderer for you. Dependin’ on what’s in this here package, anyhow.” Placing both bundles on the desk, she gave him the legal paper.

Gus read the document, then looked up at The Kid. “I got all the time you need. Sit down, and let’s talk.” Stuffing a generous pinch of tobacco into his pipe, he sat back and listened as The Kid began to explain what she believed had happened.

This way to Chapter Four!

by Purple Les

The Tequila Kid and Andromeda Purdy talked late into the night. Eventually, the soft light of dawn began to creep through the bedroom window.

The Kid lay naked on her back on the rumpled bedclothes. Lying on her side facing The Kid and also nude, Andromeda peered at the gold ring her lover wore around the neck on a thin gold chain, reading the inscription on the inside of the ring aloud. “‘My Love Always’.”

Andromeda fell silent. The Kid had told her the whole story of her time in Oak Creek, what had happened to Buttercup and all that went with it. The murders carried out by Ramses Kingsley. Her near-death at the hands of the same man. The dying little girl named Arabella, who she’d rescued from the desert wasteland. How The Kid and Arabella had first made love. How the child had been reunited with her Aunt Clementine and cousins Mimi and Susie, who welcomed Arabella into their home… and their bed. The lustful pleasures that The Kid had shared with the entire family.

The story had been frequently interrupted by questions from Andromeda… and by tears, hugs and several bouts of lovemaking.

“I hope you didn’t break this little Arabella’s heart too badly, Kid.” Andromeda said as she fondled the ring between her fingers, observing its gleam in the light of morning.

“I hope not,” The Kid said softly. “Reckon I broke my own heart when I said goodbye to her. Fact is, she left an achin’ inside me that don’t seem to heal.”

Nestling against her lover, Ann cuddled The Kid till they drifted off. The two of them dozed for a few hours in the crisp morning air, soon to be burned off by the relentless sun.

The Kid woke first. As Ann slumbered on, her mind turned to the stagecoach robbery, trying to work out how the job had been done — marshaling the facts of the case, seeking a pattern to it all that made sense.

Just like that, the missing piece fell into place, and The Kid had her answer.

Now anxious to get moving, she leaned over and kissed Ann awake. “Mornin’,” The Kid said softly as she watched Ann hesitantly open her eyes.

Ann rubbed sleep from her sparkling eyes as she yawned out, “Morning, Kid.”

“You rest up, Ann. I gotta get myself cleaned up some and meet Gus Masters for breakfast.” The Kid sat up, stretching her long wiry limbs out in all directions.

“No, don’t,” Ann protested sleepily. “I want you all to myself today.”

The Kid shook her head, “I want that, too. But fact is, I gotta get on this murder. Roy’s dead, and maybe Bob is too, by now. I can’t let that stand. No dirty dog is gonna kill good men that way and get away with it… ‘specially in the town where my sweetheart lives.”

“I’m your sweetheart?” Ann asked in a teasing voice, already knowing the answer.

The Kid rumpled Ann’s hair, then got out of bed.

“I love the sight of you naked,” Ann sighed as she gazed at her nineteen-year-old lover’s lithe body, now on full display. The lean muscular frame. The small pert breasts with taut pink nipples. The firm belly and the sparse patch of rust-red pubes. The narrow hips and the long, muscular legs.

“Oh, no, You’re the one who looks the best with nothin’ on,” The Kid said as she pulled the covers off, baring the body of her lover — almost ten years her senior and amazingly beautiful.

“Please, Kid… I’m positively burning for you. Can’t you make me come just once? A quick one to take the edge off, that’s all I need. Pretty please?” Andromeda cupped the underside of her breasts with both hands and presented them to The Kid, who licked her lips as she watched Ann’s nipples harden.

“Dang it, Ann. I promise I’ll be back in a little while… then we’ll have us all kinds of time to talk about that Sappho gal, the one on the Isle of Lesbo that you keep tellin’ me about.” The Kid was doing her best to be strong and get moving, but too late — she got caught up in the sight of Andromeda spreading her legs wide apart to reveal her juicy treasure.

The Kid sighed heavily, but there was amusement in her eyes. “I thought for sure that I made you come enough times last night.” With a wry smile, she threw up her hands. “Okay, a real fast one.”

As The Kid reached for her, Ann suddenly thought of Roy, the murdered man, and the magic of the moment vanished. She’d known Roy for years. He was rough as a cob, but a reliable fellow whose word was bond. And he’s got a wife and children, Ann remembered. My God, what must they be going through? 

Ann suddenly pulled the sheet back up over herself. “No… you’re right, Kid. I’m being selfish. You have a crime to solve and you best get to it.”

Grinning, The Kid shook her head. “You are the livin’ end, Andromeda Henrietta Purdy. Don’t you have me like a spider on a string, pullin’ me any which way you want, whenever you want.”

Ann gave her lover a stern look. “Go now, Kid, before I pull the string back the other way again.”

The Kid gathered up some of her things, then threw a pillow at Ann as she padded from the bedroom.

Ann called after her, “Hurry, my avenging angel. Come back to me soon!”

She lay back down in the bed, her mind a jumble of thoughts — about the stagecoach holdup, but also about all the women and young girls The Kid had been with in Oak Creek. She began to toy with her clit, remembering The Kid’s story about the first time she’d made love to ten-year-old Arabella.

But her thoughts returned to the shooting of Bob and Roy… and making a face, she withdrew that straying hand from between her thighs. Ann got up and put a robe on, coming down the stairs to find The Kid strapping on her gun belt. She wrapped both arms around the younger woman without a word, and they kissed.

As The Kid started out the door, Ann blurted, “Please stay safe.”

“Don’t you worry none about me,” The Kid answered with a smile as she left.

***

Freshly washed and wearing a clean shirt, The Kid went looking for Sheriff Gus Masters. She found him standing in front of the Highland House, a modest adobe building that boasted Honest Home Cookin on the sign out front.

“Mornin’,” Sheriff Masters nodded his head in greeting.

“Mornin’, Gus.” The Kid replied as they stepped inside.

The morning rush was over, and they sat at a table out of the way of those who were still eating.

“Bob still around?” The Kid asked.

“He made it through the night. Doc says Bob lost a lot of blood, but the way you patched his chest up was enough to keep him going. He ain’t out of the woods yet, though.”

Gus put something on the table, saying, “Look at this. It’s what Jed pulled outta Bob’s chest.”

The Kid picked up the battered .32 slug, looking at it closely before putting it in her vest pocket, as Gus added, “Jed found the same caliber bullet in Roy’s head.”

“What’ll ye have?” said Eiljah, the grizzled old white-haired waiter, dressed in dark pants, stained white shirt and a black vest. He set down two empty cups and saucers, then filled the cups with steaming black coffee.

Remembering that she hadn’t been to the bank yet and only had small change in her pocket, The Kid said, “Uh, I reckon coffee is fine.”

“My treat,” Gus said, grinning at The Kid. He knew she couldn’t have picked up her pay yet, and was probably broke as usual. “Whatever you like.” He turned to the waiter, “I’ll have ham and two eggs over easy, Eli. How ‘bout you, Kid?”

In fact, The Kid had eaten nothing since a small breakfast early the day before, and felt absolutely ravenous now. Looking up at Elijah, she said, “I’ll have me a steak, rare, with a few scrambled eggs on top.”

The waiter was about to turn and shuffle off when The Kid added, “Oh, and some of them fried-up potatoes on the side. You know, with the onions in ‘em. And baked beans with bacon.”

Gus and the waiter stared at The Kid. Finally Eli said, “Reckon that’ll hold ye, then?”

“You can just leave the coffee pot here on the table for us. Oh, and a pan of biscuits with gravy,” The Kid said, and the waiter walked off muttering to himself.

Later, Gus Masters sat cleaning his teeth with a toothpick as he watched The Kid gnaw on her steak bone. She’d gulped down the rest of her food already. Setting the bone down in one of her empty dishes and pouring herself more coffee, she put her feet up on a vacant chair at the table and took a sip.

“Well… I give it a lot of thought, Gus.”

Sheriff Masters knew it was well worth the price of feeding The Kid to hear what she had to say about the crime. She’d never learned to read or write, but her powers of observation were considerable.

“The big question here,” The Kid continued, “is just how many men it was that robbed the coach. ‘Cause we’re gettin’ some differences of opinion here.”

Gus nodded. “I’m mighty anxious to hear what the passengers have got to say on that point.”

“Well, the servant girl told me she saw two riders, but from the tracks I saw, there weren’t but one horse. Thing is, though, there had to be two outlaws, the way it was done,” The Kid said.

Gus Masters gave The Kid a quizzical look, “Well, it’s got to be one or the other, Kid. I reckon it’s maybe time for us to start talkin’ with them out-of-towners, wouldn’t you say?”

The Kid finished her coffee and said, “I reckon so,” setting her empty cup down.

Making their way over to the Ridge Hotel, they found Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton and Count Cousiourac in the hotel’s plush dining room, finishing their breakfast. The woman narrowed her eyes as Gus and The Kid approached, clearly annoyed at the prospect of encountering The Kid again.

Count Cousiourac rose from his seat, and Gus removed his hat. The Kid stood looking at them all, thumbs hooked in her belt. She decided to make the introductions.

“Folks, this here is Sheriff Gus Masters,” The Kid said. Turning to the sheriff, she added, “Gus, this here is Lady Jane Wide-Bottom and Count Cocksucker.”

Lady Jane gave The Kid a look that would freeze the sun. “That’s Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton, and Count Cousiourac,” she hissed.

“Ain’t that what I said?” The Kid put in innocently with the soft angelic smile of a child as she looked into Lady Jane’s angry green eyes. Sheriff Masters was irked by The Kid’s foolishness, but managed to keep his expression neutral.

The Count didn’t seem to notice that anything was out of sorts. He shook hands with the sheriff and murmured, “Please join us, sir. You take coffee, yes?”

Gus pulled up a chair and sat down. “No, but thank you,” he answered.

“Sheriff, I believe you want to ask us questions regarding the terrible events of yesterday.” Looking The Kid up and down, Lady Jane sniffed in disdain. “Does this,” she hesitated for a moment, then finished with, “this person need to be here for that?”

Gazing evenly at Lady Jane, Gus said, “The Tequila Kid’s a special agent for the Texas Rangers. I’ve asked for her assistance on this case.”

Picking up a chair from a neighboring table, The Kid set it near Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton, facing in the wrong direction. The Kid then straddled the seat, leaning forward against the backrest.

“It was most terrible, how the bandits killed that man,” Count Cousiourac said in his thick French accent.

“So were there two outlaws?” Gus asked.

The Count nodded. “Two men, yes.”

“I thought there was just one,” Lady Jane put in.

“Hm. Well, we’re still tryin’ to work that out,” said the sheriff.

The Kid looked back and forth thinking to herself, The Count looks like a dandy, but he seems man enough. Clean-shaven with that black curly hair, he looks like the type to fetch both men or women to him. I guess Lady Ice Queen wears her fancy duds everywhere she goes, even at breakfast. She sure looks nice in ‘em, though. I like the way that dress shows off her cleavage, and she’s got pretty blonde hair and a good figure. She looks young, but judging by her hands, I reckon she’s thirty-five or so. Hard to know what she’d be like in bed, though. I bet her snatch is either wide as a canyon, or tight as a miser with a penny. Hell, I’d take a tumble with her if she weren’t such a cold-ass bitch.

“What did you see, exactly?” Gus asked the Count.

“Ah, Sheriff Masters,” the Count began, “It all happened so quickly. The coach came to a stop. I heard a man order the stage men to throw the box down. There were gunshots, and then the stagecoach took off at great speed.”

Count Cousiourac took a silver cigarette case out of his coat and, flicking it open, offered it to the sheriff, who shook his head. The Count took one out, closed the case, tapped the cigarette against it and lit it with a match that was on the table.

After taking a long draw, he smiled and shook his head, “To be honest, Sheriff Masters, I saw not much of anything. I thought someone said there were two bandits. I do not know for certain.”

Gus nodded, then looked over and said, “And you, Lady Wyeth-Boton?”

Lady Wyeth-Boton looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I must say that I agree with the Count. I can’t say if there were one or two men, I really didn’t see anything either. It all happened so quickly.”

“Any idea how many shots you heard?” The Kid asked.

“Two, I think,” the Count said.

“Yes, two, I believe,” Lady Wyeth-Boton agreed.

Gus thought for a moment, then gave Lady Jane and the Count a slightly awkward smile. “So… pardon me for askin’, but what brings a couple of well-to-do folks such as yourselves to our little town?”

“Perhaps I can answer that, Sheriff Masters,” came a voice from the middle of the dining room, just a few feet from their table.

They saw a short, silver-haired woman in her sixties, who wore an ornate dress done in an older fashion. She looked down her aquiline nose at them as the sheriff, the Count and The Kid all stood.

“Howdy there, Mrs Ruggles,” The Kid said, tipping the brim of her hat.

“Good morning, all,” Mrs Ruggles said, then offered her hand to Count Cousiourac, who bent to lightly press his lips against the woman’s fingers for a moment. She seemed pleased.

“And you must be Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton,” Mrs Ruggles gushed. Lady Jane gave a brief nod in reply, but did not speak.

“Take you a seat, ma’am,” The Kid said, offering her chair to Mrs Ruggles. As the woman seated herself, Masters and the Count sat down as well.

“You see, Sheriff Masters,” Mrs Ruggles began, beaming like a child showing off a new Christmas present, “Lady Wyeth-Boton is a world renowned spiritualist and medium from Great Britain. I found she was visiting our country, and simply had to invite her here.”

“I see,” Gus said, though his expression indicated otherwise.

Mrs Ruggles continued, “Learning that Count Cousiourac was traveling with her was the icing on the cake. Naturally, I extended my invitation to include him. I will personally vouch for them both, Sheriff Masters.” She turned to the two visitors. “Lady Wyeth-Boton, I insist that you and the Count stay with me while you are here.”

“Why, thank you,” Lady Jane said, clearly pleased.

“It will be our honor to lodge with you, Mrs Ruggles,” the Count said with a slight bow.

Gus Masters said, “Well, I reckon I’ll ride out there if I have any more questions.”

“I got a couple more questions right now,” The Kid said.

Mrs Ruggles glared at The Kid. “Must you, Tequila? Can’t it wait?”

“It’ll just take a minute, Mrs Ruggles.”

“Very well, my child, go ahead,” the woman replied, but not without a heavy sigh.

“‘Preciate it, ma’am.” The Kid turned back to Lady Jane and the Count. “So, if I understand this right, you two never saw no robbers then? No one made you get out of the coach? They didn’t take your money or jewels or nothin’?”

Count Cousiourac looked at Lady Wyeth-Boton. Lady Jane spoke up, “Why, yes, I had forgotten. It must have been the shock of it all. They did take all our money, and yes, my jewels. How silly of me. I’ve no idea how we’ll pay our expenses till I can wire our bank in New York.”

“Yes, of course,” Count Cousiourac added, “Now I recall most clearly. One man opened the coach door and robbed us at gunpoint. I think that is why we believed there were two of them.”

“You see his face?”

The Count shook his head. “Just his eyes. He wore a, what is it called — a bandana, yes, over his nose and mouth. Anything else…” He shrugged. “I cannot recall more.”

“Did you hear them two shots before or after you got robbed?” The Kid asked.

“I can’t recall for certain,” Lady Jane replied. The Count just shook his head.

“You needn’t worry about your lack of funds,” Mrs Ruggles said. “I will take care of your bills until your wire arrives from New York.”

“You are too kind,” murmured Lady Jane.

“Mrs Ruggles,” The Kid said, “These folks have a heap of luggage and a servant girl. I’d be right happy to bring all that out to your place if you like.”

“Why, thank you, Tequila,” Mrs Ruggles replied, genuinely pleased. “That will make things much easier.” She turned to her guests. “Count, Lady Wyeth-Boton — after your things are packed, you will ride out with me to my home. The Tequila Kid will bring your baggage and servant with her later.”

With that, Mrs Ruggles stood and made her way to the lobby desk to pay the hotel bill. Lady Jane rose and swept away from the table, pointedly ignoring Sheriff Masters and The Kid. That left the Count, who, as he made to leave, paused to give a slight bow first.

The Kid turned to the Sheriff, “I smell bullshit here, Gus. The stories these folks are tellin’ don’t make no kinda sense.”

As Mrs Ruggles rejoined them, The Kid quickly said, “Ma’am, there’s been a little change of plans. The Count and her Ladyship want to take care of some business here in town. So I’ll bring ‘em both out to you later with the luggage and servant girl.”

“That’s splendid, Tequila. That will give me time to prepare a proper luncheon. Please try to have them at my house by one o’clock. Thank you again, dear girl,” Mrs Ruggles said, patting The Kid’s hand as she left. Moments later, her buggy was heard to depart.

Before long, the Count and Lady Jane came down the stairs. She asked Gus, “Where is Mrs Ruggles?”

Sheriff Masters said, “Mrs Ruggles offers her apologies to you both. Somethin’ urgent came up, and she had to leave. No need to worry, though — The Tequila Kid here will take you and your baggage out to the Ruggles residence.”

“That’s right, folks,” The Kid added. “Soon as I get me a wagon from the livery stable, I’ll have your things loaded up and ready to go. ‘Scuse me now.” She made to leave, then paused to ask The Count, “You carry a gun, mister?”

“Yes,” the Count answered. “I was told I would need one for protection.”

“Could I see it?” the sheriff put in, “If you got it on you, that is.”

Reaching under his coat, the Count withdrew the gun from a shoulder holster and handed it to Sheriff Masters. Gus studied the weapon, a .32 caliber Smith and Wesson single-action short barrel five-shot revolver. He sniffed at the barrel, then handed it back to the Count. The Kid and the sheriff exchanged a brief look.

“Strange,” the Count mused. “I never even thought of it while we were robbed.”

“Just as well,” Gus said, “They wouldn’t of given you a chance to reach for it.”

“I bought one the same for Lady Wyeth-Boton,” the Count replied. “I have shown her to use it, but she keeps it packed away. So what good does it do, this gun?” He shook his head.

Leaving the hotel, The Kid waited nearby for the sheriff to appear. When Gus joined her, he said, “Let’s go see Molly Hardy. I’ll talk to the servant girl later.”

As The Kid and Masters headed for the boarding house, they spied Molly, emerging from the post office, carrying her valise. “Good morning, Sheriff Masters, Miss Kid,” she said.

Sheriff Masters and The Kid both tipped the brims of their hats and said, “Mornin’, Miss Hardy.”

“How is the stagecoach driver?” Molly asked.

“He’s hangin’ on,” Gus Masters told her, then said, “Actually, ma’am, we were lookin’ to have a word with you. Won’t keep you long, we just need to ask a few questions.”

“I’d be happy to help in any way I can,” Molly replied.

The sheriff nodded. “Why don’t we go to my office? It’s just over there.”

Masters’ office was a small one, with just two cells in the back. There was a desk that was really more of a table with a drawer, stacked with paperwork, a wooden swivel chair placed behind it. A small wood-burning stove squatted in one corner, a coffee pot sitting on top. Off to the side stood a few chairs, and another, smaller table with a checkerboard on it. There was a cot against a corner, and a rack of rifles and shotguns over the desk. The room was lit by a few oil lamps fixed to the brick walls and another one on the desk. A map of Texas hung to the left of the cot, and a few wanted posters were tacked to a corkboard on the opposite wall. Along the wall also stood a heavy safe. On top, a doily was spread out with coffee mugs resting upside down on it.

Gus offered a chair at the table to Molly Hardy, who sat down and folded her hands. The Kid and the sheriff seated themselves as well.

“Would you care for some coffee, Miss Hardy?” Gus asked. “It is Miss, right?”

“Yes, Sheriff Masters, it is Miss… and no, thank you to the coffee.”

“Can I ask what brings you to Knuckle Ridge?”

“I’ve come to meet my brother. As it turns out, I fear that I have missed him. So I will be taking the Saturday morning train to Austin. From there, I will head to Denver to meet him.”

“You look like you’re fixin’ to leave now. You always tote your luggage along?” The Kid asked amiably.

“No, of course not. I have very few items of clothing with me, so I was heading for the laundry,” Molly replied with a pleasant smile.

“What can you tell us about yesterday’s robbery, Miss Hardy?” Masters queried, intrigued by the way the two women looked at each other.

“Not very much, I’m afraid. I was trying to play a word game with the little girl to pass some time, but Lady Wyeth-Boton soon put a stop to that. It wasn’t long after that the coach came to a sudden stop. We heard voices.”

Molly pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes, which had suddenly gone moist. “I heard them tell the stagemen, ‘Hand down the box’. I saw one of the stage men on the ground after that for a moment, when he moved past a window. Then I — I heard two shots. Suddenly a masked man opened the stage door, He held a gun, and demanded our money and jewels.

“Thankfully, most of the money I possessed was hidden away on my person. They only got a few dollars from me. The way the man was talking, I fear if they hadn’t been in such a hurry, they would have…” Molly shuddered, then went on, “…they would have searched us most thoroughly, if you get my meaning.”

“I’m afraid I do, Miss Hardy,” Gus said. “You’re sure there was two men, then?”

“Yes, very sure,” Molly answered. “Then another shot was fired, and the stage sped off. It was clear that we were riding out of control, and were sure to be badly hurt or killed.” Raising her pale face, Molly said, “The rest you know, Sheriff Masters. Miss Kid here saved our lives and brought us into town.”

The sheriff gave a thoughtful nod. “Well, I guess that’s about it then, Miss Hardy. You got any questions, Kid?”

“No, I reckon not. What’s your brother’s name, Miss Hardy?”

Pausing a moment, Molly replied, “Jess. Jess Hardy. He’s about your height, Miss Kid, and resembles me.”

“Well, then, I reckon I’d recall a handsome man like that,” The Kid said watching a light pink come to Molly’s cheeks at the compliment. “You seen anyone like that around, Gus?”

“No, I don’t believe so, Kid.” Gus stood up. “Thanks for your help, Miss Hardy. If I can be of any assistance to you while you’re in town, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Molly Hardy rose. “If you’d be so kind as to keep me informed about how the stageman is doing, it would be of some comfort.”

“Yes, of course,” Gus said.

“You don’t carry a gun… do you, Miss Hardy?” The Kid asked.

Molly looked startled, then said, “No. I — I wouldn’t even know how to use one.”

The Kid stood. “It was good of you to look after Bob on the ride to town yesterday, Miss Hardy.”

“Not at all. Any Christian would do the same.”

As Gus opened and held the door, Molly smiled briefly at The Kid and said, “Good morning.”

They watched her walk away, then The Kid sighed. “Reckon I better get a wagon and head those folks out to Mrs Ruggles’ place. I’ll have a talk with the girl, ‘less you want to speak with her yourself, Gus.”

Masters shook his head. “You might get more out of a child than me, Kid. We’ll talk when you get back.”

Exchanging handshakes, Gus and The Kid parted ways. The sheriff returned to his office, and The Kid made a stop at the post office and then the telegraph office before making her way to the livery stable.

***

The ride out to Mrs Ruggles’ place was uneventful. Gracie rode in back with the luggage, while the adults sat on the wagon bench with The Kid. A few times, the Count and Lady Jane spoke in French to each other. The Kid, who spoke the language fluently, having learned it from Big Bertha during her time at the trading post, was amused by the comments they made about her. Naturally, The Kid didn’t let on that she understood. She also noticed that while Lady Wyeth-Boton spoke proper French, the Count’s French was off somehow. It was somewhat like how Cajuns spoke it, but not quite. For that matter, the way he spoke English was unlike any Frenchman that The Kid had ever known. More to this fella than meets the eye, she thought.

Being only two miles from town, The Kid had the wagon, her passengers and cargo at Mrs Ruggles’ large estate by a quarter of one.

Mrs Ruggles greeted her guests with genuine enthusiasm. She escorted the Count and Lady indoors, after giving her servants instructions to unload and take in the baggage. Before she left, the widow paused to tell The Kid, “Tequila, If Madge finds out that you were here and I didn’t send you straight to the kitchen to tell her hello, she’ll leave lumps in the mashed potatoes just to spite me. So you take this child inside and go pay her a visit. She’ll fix you both something special.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” The Kid replied. “But I reckon I still got too much trail dust on me to go walkin’ on your fine rugs. I’ll just mosey round to the back door, if it’s all the same.”

“Suit yourself,” Mrs Ruggles replied. “I’m much obliged to you for fetching my guests here, Tequila.” With a nod, she turned and mounted the steps to her front door, following two of her servants who were struggling with Count Cousiourac’s trunk. “Careful with that!” she snapped.

“Follow me, Gracie,” The Kid said, then led them around to the rear of the mansion to a large oaken door, Rapping on it a couple of times, she entered, leading the little girl into an enormous kitchen.

As they entered, a large black woman with a long steel carving knife in her grasp looked up from a cutting board, a frown of concentration on her face that turned into a wide grin when she spied The Kid.

“Kid!” she cried. Putting her knife down, she hurried over. “My, but it’s good to clap eyes on you again!” Seizing The Kid’s hand between both of hers, she gave it a mighty squeeze. “How long you been in town?”

“I just blew in yesterday,” The Kid replied. “Madge, this is my friend Gracie. She’s here with Mrs Ruggles’ guest, Lady Wyeth-Boton.” She turned to the child. “Gracie, this is Madge Johnson, the best cook I know anywheres.”

“Oh, pshaw,” Madge snorted, waving a dismissive hand, but clearly pleased. “Take you a seat, an’ I’ll fix you both lunch. Sit, sit!”

“No lunch for me, thanks kindly,” The Kid said, as she and Gracie seated themselves at a large walnut table. “I had me a big ol’ breakfast at the Highland House. Didn’t know then that I’d be comin’ here.”

Madge scowled. “Reckon I’ll forgive you this time for eatin’ that slop they serve, but you best come by again real soon, Kid, an’ let me feed you right.”

“I’ll for sure take you up on that, Madge,” The Kid replied. “I wouldn’t say no to somethin’ cold to drink, if you got it.”

Gracie watched as the stout colored woman fixed lunch for her, chatting with The Kid all the while. Mindful of her status as a mere servant, the child was too timid to speak at first. But Madge’s jolly nature soon won her over, and before long, she felt at ease enough to join in the conversation.

Soon, Madge set a plate in front of the child, and The Kid stared as Gracie proceeded to wolf down the contents.

“Sure you won’t eat somethin’, Kid?” Madge asked. “I got some mighty fine ham here — just came outen the smokehouse yesterday.”

“Thanks but no, Madge. I will have more of that there lemonade, though.”

Madge put another fat drumstick on Gracie’s plate, saying, “You eat this up, child, put some meat on your bones. You looks half starved!”

“Thank you so much, ma’am. This is truly delicious,” Gracie said, then shoveled a forkful of fried okra into her mouth.

“My, my — don’t this little thing talk pretty!” Madge said, grinning hugely. “I could listen to her all day long.”

“She’s all the way over from England,” The Kid informed the cook. “The other side of the world.”

“Well, I do declare!” a very impressed Madge replied.

After a thick wedge of apple pie, Gracie accepted The Kid’s invitation to join her on a walk outdoors. They came to a pond, set within a grove of live oak trees.

“What a huge place,” Gracie said admiringly as they sat down on the grass under a weeping willow by the pond. The mansion was barely visible.

“Care to go for a swim, Gracie?” The Kid asked.

“Oh… no, thank you, Miss Kid. My lady would have a fit if she were to find out. Besides, I have no bathing costume with me.”

“Shucks, that won’t stop us none,” The Kid said with a grin. “We’d just swim in the altogether.”

Gracie blushed, saying, “How shocking!” and meaning it.

The Kid guffawed. “Why, Gracie, lots of the young folks in town come out here to swim naked. Mrs Ruggles don’t mind none. I hear tell she watches through a telescope in her room.”

“My lady said that you were a scandalous woman,” Gracie murmured, her cheeks slightly flushed. “I’m starting to think that she was right.” The thought of swimming in the nude with her new friend gave Gracie some very pleasant thoughts, and she wondered if The Kid was serious or joking.

“Yeah? What’s she sayin‘ about me?” The Kid asked. “I won’t be mad or tell on you, cross my heart.”

“Ooooh… I shouldn’t, honestly.”

“Aw, go on.”

Gracie pondered for a moment, then said, “She thinks it’s absolutely obscene, the way you dress like a man. She says those denim trousers you wear leave nothing to the imagination.”

“Well, no one’s makin’ her look,” The Kid said. Taking her hat off, she lay with both hands under her head, chuckling to herself.

Gracie went on, “My lady thinks that…” She paused, suddenly biting her lower lip.

The Kid looked over, “Come on, tell me.” she urged Gracie.

Nervously moistening her lips, the girl finally spoke. “She thinks that you are the type that would enjoy tipping the velvet with another woman.” After a pause, Gracie shyly added, “You are very pretty. I… I would tip the velvet with you anytime, Kid.”

Before The Kid could ask what she meant by that, Gracie hastily changed the subject, “Those marks on your chin… are you some sort of aboriginal?”

The Kid said, “I lived with the Indians for a spell, if that’s what you mean. These tattoos were what they call a rite of passage. I got some on my arms too.”

“May I see them?” Gracie asked.

The Kid sat up and took her green corduroy vest off, then she unbuttoned her shirt. The Kid wore nothing underneath except the ring on its chain. She pushed the shirt off her shoulders and down her arms to her elbows.

“See, Gracie? I got a tattoo ring round each of my upper arms.”

Gracie barely saw the tattoos, enthralled as she was by The Kid’s breasts. The girl was certain that she could see the young woman’s nipples harden in the cool afternoon air.

The Kid pulled her shirt back in place but didn’t button it up. Her eyes never leaving Gracie’s, she laid back down, saying, “Now what’s this here ‘tippin’ the velvet’, you’re speakin’ of? Never heard tell of it myself.”

Out of breath, her face flushed a bright pink, the girl blurted, “I’ll show you!” Quickly kneeling next to where the surprised young woman lay, Gracie bent to claim The Kid’s mouth in a kiss.

The Kid was quick to recover, though. When Gracie’s tongue darted between her parted lips, The Kid sucked it into her mouth — then brought her own tongue into play, matching the young servant girl’s passion. Gracie climbed on top of The Kid as their kiss deepened.

Placing both hands on Gracie’s upper back, The Kid allowed one of them to slide down the girl’s body until it was cupping her bottom through the dress she wore. Gracie sighed blissfully into their kiss, then began to rub herself against The Kid’s body, grinding progressively faster as their tongues flickered in and out of each other’s mouths.

Suddenly Gracie gasped and sat upright, straddling The Kid, her breath coming in quick, hard gasps as she came. She nearly swooned, but managed not to. Once the girl had recovered, she reached down with a sly grin and unfastened The Kid’s shirt, reaching inside to fondle her small firm breasts, lightly pinching the stiff nipples.

The Kid was sorely tempted to put her duty aside just long enough to strip naked and take this young girl right there by the side of the pond, but managed to restrain herself. She’s sure a pretty thing, yes indeed… but this just ain’t the time or place. 

Finally, she spoke. “What else can you tell me about that holdup yesterday, Gracie?”

The girl’s face went deathly pale. Slowly rising to her feet, she turned and looked away. With a sigh, The Kid stood up, buttoned her shirt and tucked it in, then put her vest and hat back on.

They walked slowly back towards the house, The Kid resting a hand on Gracie’s shoulder as they walked. Gracie wrapped a thin arm around The Kid’s waist.

“I’m sorry,” Gracie finally said in a small voice. “I can’t talk about it. Please don’t make me.”

“I won’t,” was all The Kid said in reply. They were silent for the rest of the way back. As they came to the house they instinctively moved apart from each other.

The Kid brought Gracie back to the kitchen, then found the Count, Lady Jane and Mrs Ruggles in the drawing room having brandy. Giving a quick curtsy, Gracie hastened out of the room and up the stairs.

Watching as she disappeared, The Kid told herself. There’s more to this than her just gettin’ shook up by the holdup yesterday. Somethin’ else has that girl terrified.

The Kid was about to take her leave when Mrs Ruggles said, “Oh, Tequila… we will be having a seance here Thursday night. I insist that you and Miss Purdy attend.”

“All right, ma’am. Thank you. Good evenin’, folks,” The Kid said, then departed.

***

Back in town, Sheriff Masters caught up with The Kid as she brought the wagon and horses back to the livery stable.

“Kid, come with me quick over to Doc Johnson’s. He says Bob is come to, and he’ll give us a couple minutes to talk with him.”

Alice Johnson greeted them at the door, then took them back to Jed Johnson’s examining room, where he sat with Bob.

Taking his hat off, Gus said, “Hello, Bob, it’s Gus Masters. The Kid’s here with me. Can you tell us anything about what happened out there?”

The Kid took Bob’s large right hand between hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Even knowing how badly hurt the man had been, The Kid was shocked by how frail Bob was now. He’s barely hangin’ on, she realized.

Drawing closer, Doc Johnson placed the disc of his stethoscope on Bob’s chest, frowning as he listened to Bob’s heart. Turning to Gus and The Kid, he shook his head, mouth set in a grim line.

Bob’s lips began to move. Quickly kneeling next to the bed, Gus bent in to listen, his ear about an inch from the dying man’s mouth. Then Bob exhaled… but didn’t draw another breath.

Doc Johnson listened to Bob’s chest once more, then pulled the sheet up to cover the man’s head. “Damn it all,” he muttered.

Carefully laying Bob’s arm down by his side, The Kid looked up at Gus. “What was it he said?”

Gus wore a befuddled expression. “He said, ‘That woman’. Nothin’ else. ‘That woman.’ Who in hell could he have been talkin’ about?” Sighing heavily, he patted the doctor’s shoulder. “You done the best you could, Jed. Shot up like he was, I’m surprised he made it this long.” Reaching his hat, he said. “My regards to the missus. We’ll see ourselves out.”

Doc Johnson shook the sheriff’s hand, then The Kid’s. “G’night, Gus… Kid. Hope you catch the no-account sons of bitches that did this.” With a nod, he turned back to his work.

As The Kid walked with Gus over to the stage office, she remarked, “Somethin’ I noticed… Bob had a big scrape on his knuckles. I reckon he got a good punch in during the robbery, scraped it on a tooth. Looks like we oughta be lookin’ for a feller with a fat lip, or a couple teeth knocked out.”

At the stage office, after breaking the bad news to Jack and inquiring into the next of kin and funeral arrangements, Gus asked, “What was in that strongbox, Jack?”

Jack grimaced, his already red face turning redder still. “Gold certificates. A half-million dollars worth.”

“God damn,” Sheriff Masters said. “That’s a pretty serious loss.”

“That’s right. We’re responsible for every wretched penny, too. Gus, any help this office can give, you just let me know.”

“Much obliged,” Masters replied.

As they stepped outside Gus said, “I reckon we’d better start looking in the saloons again.” He shook his head. “Seems like a fool’s errand, lookin’ for a man with a messed up mouth… but be damned if I can think of anything else to try.”

The Kid shrugged. “I’ll take the north side of town, Gus. You take the south, and I’ll meet you later at the Broken Horn.”

With that, the Sheriff and the Texas Ranger set off in opposite directions, searching for a man who’d taken a hard punch in the face.

***

It was well into the night when The Kid sauntered into the Broken Horn Saloon. Gus Masters was nursing a beer at the bar, both elbows resting against the hard wooden top and a foot on the brass railing.

The Kid came and stood next to him with her back to the bar, one foot on the railing with her knee sticking out. “I gotta admit, you run a right peaceable town here, Gus. I couldn’t find nary a black eye, broke nose or for sure no busted mouths. I asked around, too. No one at the saloons, or the livery stable saw anyone like that.”

“No one at the stage office saw anyone, neither,” Gus said. “Y’think maybe Bob could have scraped his knuckles some other way?”

“Sure, he could have. As I recollect the scene of the crime, though, I feel pretty sure he got that punch in.”

Gus was gazing into the mirror behind the bar, observing the reflection of a table where five men sat playing poker.

“Y’watchin’ that card game there, Gus?” The Kid asked.

“Sure am, Kid,” Gus answered. “That man in the fancy suit? He’s a cheat.”

“He’s ‘bout to break them hayseeds. too. Sure angers me to see it happen,” The Kid said, her voice soft.

Frowning, Gus said with a sigh, “Reckon I’d best put a stop to it.”

The Kid placed a hand on the sheriff’s shoulder. “How ‘bout you let me do it, Gus? I need to let off a little steam, if you don’t mind none.”

Gus broke into a wide grin. “All right, Kid, go ahead. I’ll enjoy watchin’ you handle that slicker.”

The four farmers at the table, all young men, had been steadily losing money for over an hour to the man in the black suit. He wore a string tie, had a full beard and looked to be somewhere in his thirties. His black hat was pushed back, exposing dark, greasy hair.

The Kid watched for a moment, finally taking a step toward the table. As she drew closer, the farmers threw their cards down in disgust as the bearded man laughed. “Too bad, boys.”

As the gambler extended his left arm to rake in the pot, a flash of metal from the blade of a Bowie knife came down like lightning into the sleeve of his suit — missing the arm, but pinning the man’s coat to the table.

The man looked up, his dark eyes flashing in anger, then widening in surprise to see the face of a young woman with tattoos on her chin who was glaring at him.

“Can’t say that I care none for card cheats,” The Kid said to him, thumbs hooked in her belt. Looking up at the four young farmers, she said, “You boys get your money back from this man… he got it usin’ dishonest means. Next time, don’t gamble with strangers.”

“You calling me a cheat? Why, you dirty half breed she-whelp, I’ll kill you!” the gambler spat out.

The farm boys snatched up their money from the gambler’s winnings, then hastily stepped away — as did everyone else in the vicinity of the card table, leaving a wide berth between the gambler and The Kid. Gus now had his back to the bar, watching and ready. The saloon was dead silent.

“I am callin’ you a cheat. You was crimpin’ the corners of them cards.” The Kid said in a soft voice that everyone heard clearly.

His left arm still pinned to the table, the bearded man quickly drew his gun with the other hand. But by the time the pistol was two-thirds out of its holster, he suddenly froze. The Kid’s gun had come into her right hand faster than the blink of an eye, and now the barrel of her Colt .45 peacemaker was cocked and pointed at the gambler’s face.

“Shucks, now,” The Kid said, “Let’s keep this fair, why don’t we. You keep your gun right there where it is, almost outta the holster.” She put the hammer back down on her gun, spun it backwards on her trigger finger and holstered it in one fluid motion. “Now you got a choice, cheater. Push that gun back in its holster and leave town… or try to get it out the rest of the way and die.”

The bearded man’s forehead was now peppered with beads of sweat. Staring at the young woman, it suddenly struck him that he was face to face with The Tequila Kid.

Moving slowly, he eased his pistol back into the holster, then just as slowly laid his right hand on the table. The Kid pulled her knife free of the table and his sleeve. With the razor sharp edge of the blade, she sliced open his coat sleeve to reveal a gadget that could shoot a card into his hand. It held an ace of spades.

Casually making his way over to the table, Gus said, “You come here by stage or horseback?”

“Stage,” the gambler sullenly said.

“Next one leaves at six in the morning… you best be on it. Now get the hell out, and don’t let me find you playing cards nowhere ‘tween now and then,” Gus Masters said. As he spoke, The Kid detached the device from the gambler’s arm and put it inside her vest.

The gambler got up slowly. “What’s your name, anyhow?” Gus asked.

“Kelsey. Speed Kelsey,” the gambler growled as he started for the door, his ears red with fury. After a few steps, he paused, then abruptly spun around, reaching for his gun.

But by then, The Kid was no longer in the same spot she’d been an instant ago.

When Kelsey stopped on his way to the door, The Kid had tensed, certain that the man was about to make a move. As he began to turn, she took three fast steps toward him and, before Kelsey could draw, seized the man’s right hand and shoved the gun back down into his holster, drawing her own piece with the other hand. Raising it high, she brought the barrel of the gun down hard on the gambler’s skull, just behind his left ear.

Speed Kelsey dropped to the floor, out cold, still gripping the butt of his pistol.

The only sound heard in the bar was the sheriff’s boots as Gus advanced toward the door to examine The Kid’s handiwork. Bending down, he gave an approving nod, then glanced about for Jigs, his deputy, spying him at a nearby table. In a loud voice, Masters said, “Jigs, go fetch Rick, and the two of you take this damn fool over to the jail and lock him up for the night.”

The deputy, a rangy older man, quickly downed his drink and left the bar, looking none too pleased about it. Everyone in the bar began to talk excitedly as they moved back to their chairs.

Gus wore an annoyed expression. “Hell’s bells… guess I’ll have to put him on the stage myself.” Turning to The Kid, he said, “Let me buy you a drink. That was a fine show you put on.”

Before The Kid could reply, Freddie came running into the saloon and up to the sheriff. The lad was pale and out of breath. “Sheriff Masters — there’s a dead man lyin’ out there in the alley. Looks like he’s been shot!” he gasped. In the din of the crowd, no one but Gus and The Kid heard the boy.

Putting a finger to his lips, Gus murmured, “Shhhh, not too loud. Why don’t you take us to him, Freddie?” Thankfully, they made it out of the Broken Horn without much notice.

The Kid and Sheriff Masters followed Freddie down the street and into an alley behind the haberdashery. The Kid flicked a match to life, and there lay a man with a chest wound who was indeed very dead. His mouth was open, the eyes empty.

Gus and The Kid looked at each other as the match went out. The dead man had a split lip and a missing upper front tooth. Striking another match, The Kid saw that the man’s gun was in his holster. She plucked it out, quickly identifying the weapon as a Colt 44.

“Wanna bet he’s carryin’ a .32 slug in his chest?” The Kid asked Gus.

Gus shook his head saying, “Nope, I ain’t taking that bet. Here, help me carry him over to the Doc’s so we know for sure. Looks like it happened a few hours ago.”

“Reckon you’re right, Gus. I didn’t hear no shot, how ‘bout you?”

“No, can’t say as I did… but with that unholy row comin’ from the saloons, it could’ve gone unnoticed.”

The Kid took the dead man’s legs and Gus the top half, then they carried him over to Doc Johnson’s house, Freddie tagging along.

They set the body down on the porch, then Gus knocked on the door, asking Freddie, “Did you see somethin’, son? Or anybody?”

The boy shook his head. “No, Sheriff, I was comin’ from the newspaper office, on my way home to the library. I took a shortcut through the alley and just about tripped over him.”

“Best get you home now, Freddie… long as you’re okay, that is,” The Kid said.

“Oh, there’s nothin’ wrong with me. Got a story for the paper about this fella?” Freddie asked hopefully.

“Not tonight,” Sheriff Masters said, giving the lad’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You head on, now.”

‘G’night, Sheriff. G’night, Kid,” Freddie said, then set off into the night.

“If that don’t beat all,” Gus said, watching the boy vanish into the darkness. “Most younguns, they’d be scared out of their wits, findin’ a dead man the way he did. That one, he’s pumpin’ me for details for the town paper!”

“Yep, I’d say that boy’s got a real future ahead of him,” The Kid said.

A light came on inside, and Alice Johnson opened the door. She was wearing a heavy plaid robe and her hair was in braids. “Dear me!” she exclaimed in dismay at the sight of the corpse. “Another one? Well, you’d best bring him in.”

“Where’s Jed?” asked Gus as they put the man on the medical room table.

“He’s out to the Fenwick place. Liz Fenwick went into labor tonight. Two weeks early, too.” Her expression was somber as she gazed at the dead man. “Bringing a new life into the world, just as this one departed. Well, God rest his soul, whoever he is.”

“Dang,” The Kid said, “What in tarnation happened here nine months ago that’s got everyone givin’ birth now?”

“Founder’s Day celebration,” Gus answered with a wry smile. “Mrs. Johnson, can you tell Doc to take the bullet out when he gets back and save it for me? I need it for evidence.”

“No need to wait for Jed,” Alice said, “This man isn’t alive to feel it, so I’ll remove it for you right now.”

Assembling a few instruments, then washing her hands, Alice picked up a scalpel and made a neat slice in the man’s chest wound. She poked around in the incision with another instrument, then took a forceps and reached inside, soon emerging with the bullet. “There you are.” She dropped the battered slug into an enamel tray with a clink, then poured a measure of alcohol in with it.

Gazing down into the tray, The Kid plucked the slug out of the alcohol, now tinted with swirls of pink. “Yep, sure ‘nough… it’s a .32, Gus.” The Kid fished around her vest pocket and pulled out the other slug. She held them up together, looking closely, then put them both in her vest.

Sheriff Masters was going through the man’s pockets. He frowned. “Already picked clean. So we don’t even know who this man is.” He reached for his hat. “I reckon Jed is gonna take a look at this body himself before he cuts it loose, but I’ll let the undertaker know it’s here. Much obliged for your help, Mrs. Johnson.”

“You’re welcome.” Alice said, seeing them to the door. “Good night, Gus… Kid.”

As they stepped into the street, Sheriff Masters said, “Looks like there was two holdup men after all… and we just laid hands on one of ‘em.”

“Yep… and his partner gave him a bullet in the chest, ‘stead of his cut of that half million.”

Gus frowned. “I still can’t figure out why the folks on the coach can’t agree on how many men there was, though.” He gave The Kid a penetrating stare. “All right, Kid… I can see that you’ve got some ideas buzzin’ round in your head. Care to share ‘em with me?”

“Not just yet, Gus,” The Kid replied. “There’s a piece of the puzzle that don’t fit yet. Let me sleep on it. See you tomorrow.”

“G’night, then,” said the sheriff, and the two parted, The Kid making her way to Andromeda Purdy’s place.

Letting herself in, The Kid found Ann sound asleep with her head on the kitchen table. She’d clearly been working; there were papers spread about, some under her face. Touching her lover’s shoulder, The Kid whispered, “C’mon, sweetheart… let’s get you to bed.”

She guided the dazed woman into the bedroom, helped Anne undress and tucked her in with a kiss. “I love you, Kid,” Andromeda mumbled, then fell sound asleep.

The Kid walked back downstairs and into the kitchen, then seated herself on the sofa with a bottle of tequila and a glass. She rolled a cigarette and put it in her mouth unlit, then poured a drink, setting it on the coffee table, eyeing it while she pulled off her boots and socks and slipped out of her vest. Lighting her smoke, she sat back, thinking. She had a few definite ideas about what had really happened, and most of them troubled her.

The Kid downed her drink, then a few more as she weighed the bits of evidence she possessed about the stagecoach robbery, trying to make them add up. No matter which way she figured it, she didn’t like the results.

The Kid refilled her glass, then compared the two slugs once more. Finally putting these aside, she took up the device she’d taken off Speed Kelsey, studying how it worked. The Kid took the braids out of her hair and scratched at her scalp for a moment. Her thoughts had scattered like songbirds stalked by a hawk. She rolled and lit up another smoke, poured and drained one more drink, then tried to get up — but found herself too worn out to move.

“Aw, shit,” she muttered. Reaching for a woolen throw that Ann had knitted, The Kid dragged it over her body and stretched out, holding tightly to the sofa trying to stop it from spinning around. She laughed out loud at nothing at all, then drifted off to sleep.

On to Chapter Three!

by Shy Mom

I miss swimming and spinning, in that order. Our nearby YMCA, where I’ve exercised for years, has been closed, due to the pandemic. While my dear little girls have been keeping my tummy, ass, and cunt tight with a doubling (at least) of daily orgasms, I find myself missing the diverse community one finds at the Y.

If you were to observe my regular visits, you might find it surprising that I feel any connection with people there. An introvert by nature, I keep mostly to myself in public, including in spin classes and at the pool.

To be sure, I come out of that shell for my third-grade girls, who expect and deserve affection and vivacity from their teacher and look on me as a surrogate mother. For their sake, I can also put on a show for their parents—though I certainly never anticipated the kind that Genette enticed me into perform during our extremely lewd Zoom session.

Within the bounds of our Catholic school dress code, I enjoy modeling provocative styles and fashions for my little ladies. There is no rule, for example, against form-fitting blouses and pencil skirts. Nor is there one against thongs, g-strings, or going completely bare below to keep my backside smooth, especially when I lean over a desk to assist a student with her lesson.

At the Y, I could indulge in this seemingly contradictory urge to keep to myself and expose my body. Perhaps my predilection for exhibitionism is rooted in vanity, and I admit to taking pride in my figure after three decades and two daughters. But I believe my motives are simpler and purer.

I abhor selfishness, and keeping something beautiful to oneself, like caging a butterfly, seems a crime against nature. Bringing a smidgen of joy to those who find beauty in my body makes our corner of the world happier for all concerned, if only for a brief while. I don’t think I’m alone in my views, as I’ve shared smiles with other lovely women—and sometimes little girls—with whom I’ve exchanged looks of mutual admiration.

There are three things I enjoyed about spin class, none of which was spinning itself, which is grueling. First, I liked the results. A firm ass and taut legs are features a woman my age can no longer take for granted. Second, I liked the instructor, Carly. True, she inflicted escalating degrees of pain as our sessions progressed, and did so with an inhuman level of good cheer. I couldn’t hold a grudge against her, however, as she put in as much effort as she demanded from us. Moreover, she was stunning. As Carly rode her cycle, her ass flexed in a mesmerizing tempo, and her shapely boobs bounced in time.

She was among the women with whom I exchanged appreciative glances at the Y, which leads to my third reason for enjoying spin class: the opportunity to put myself on display. I always arrived early to take a bicycle in the front row. My favorite bikes were just to the right or left of Carly, where I got a prime view down her sports bra and, from the wall mirror behind her, a fine reflection of her ass. Spinning from the front row also allowed me to show off my own curves and crevices—revealed more than hidden by the skintight workout wear I favored—to those ladies who always seemed to pick spots behind me when they worked out.

Swimming has always been a favored form of exercise for me. The sense of weightlessness and freedom as the cool watercourses past while caressing every inch of my body… it’s a pleasure unmatched by anything else that burns calories and tones muscles—except fucking, of course. What especially enhances the joy of swimming is the opportunity to expose myself.

The Y, of course, was a family establishment, and the dress code for the pool area expressly forbade “thong bikinis.” I happily complied with the letter of the rule, which made no mention of one-piece swimsuits. Accordingly, I bought an attractive one-piece with a thong-cut in every available hue—white, aqua, violet, and my favorite, watermelon. Though a small would have suited, I got mine in extra-small for the curve-hugging, crevice-invading fit.

What makes these swimsuits especially racy is their fabric, which turns sheer when it gets wet. From experience, as I shall relate, I can attest that the thin material does not distinguish between chlorinated water and a juicy cunt.

In all my years at the Y, I never heard a single complaint against my swimwear. Instead, I frequently felt eyes on me as I climbed in and out of the lap pool. I was happy to linger for anyone who wanted a glimpse, especially female patrons. They ranged from seniors getting daily exercise, to mothers keeping in shape, to high schoolers improving lap times. Their interest in me seemed to vary, from intrigue or admiration to envy or lust.

Perhaps my greatest fans were the teenage lifeguards, all of whom were girls. One of them, a lithesome sixteen-year-old named Gwen, had actually been a third-grader in my class. Back then, the blonde still had quite a bit of baby fat, but puberty and swimming had transformed her into someone whom I might have recognized in my own mirror during my high school days. When I did the backstroke past the lifeguard perch, I occasionally caught Gwen hastily crossing her legs. Sometimes I wondered if she might be willing to moonlight as a babysitter.

***

Reminiscing on my displays at the Y inspired me one evening to suggest a fashion show as our family activity. Like most little girls, mine loved dressing up, so they jumped at the proposal. I had plenty of swimwear and lingerie to go around, most of it so skimpy that the size wouldn’t matter.

I’d done this kind of thing before, back in college. Every year, my sorority put on a hugely popular fashion show as a fundraiser for a local women’s shelter, but the ones we held for ourselves, in the sworn privacy of our sorority house, were the most memorable. They were also the wildest.

At those events, we modeled sexy party dresses, daring swimsuits, and racy lingerie. Because we all pitched in to help each other look our best, the shows were a feast for the eyes. Often, girls would pair up to walk down the runway, teasing each other and their audience with kissing, groping, and sometimes more as the alcohol flowed and the catcalling swelled.

As a new pledge, it surprised me at first that my sorority sisters seemed to have dirtier minds and mouths than most men, but I soon became as naughty as they were. I supposed my libido was fanned from living among so many sweet and desirable girls, whom I grew to love as family.

One evening, Alyssa and I were on the runway when we gave our sorority even more to see. Of course, there were no secrets within our tight-knit community, so it was common knowledge that the two of us were an item. The hooting and hollering predictably rose when we strutted down our improvised catwalk, two blondes in scanty bras and g-strings. At the end of the runway, we locked lips in a sizzling kiss and rubbed tits, then flossed each other’s asses with the g-strings. For the coup de grace, we fingered one another and, as cheers erupted, fed one another our honey. On the way out, our bare bottoms got plenty of affectionate slaps, then we practically raced back to our room and fucked like cats in heat.

Now, as I collected an armful of titillating swimwear and lingerie, I was anticipating how far my little girls and I would take our mother-daughter fashion show.

***

Ashley and Olivia sat side by side on the plush velvet sofa in our living room. They wore matching white terry robes—gifts from Genette, the same style Bella had worn during our parent-teacher Zoom. In return, I’d given the Flambeau family three lacy green thongs, imagining how the color would complement their auburn hair. That was when we shed our clothes and came together in a two-family lesbian sex party that lasted for hours. Maybe I’ll share that story with the world one day.

In our adjacent kitchen, which served as the staging area, I got ready for my part of the show. Our plan called for me to model three outfits before turning over the floor to the girls, and to keep our choices a secret, to heighten the anticipation. For my first round, I chose my one-piece swimsuit in white.

Slipping into character, I strutted into the living room like a model, placing one leg in front of the other, hips swaying. My daughters’ eyes lit up as I paraded back and forth. Pausing in front of the girls, I stopped to present my thong-cut backside, then cupped and shook it for them.

OIivia and Ashley squealed in delight. I blew kisses over my shoulder, which they blew back, their puckered lips both girlish and sexy in the hot pink lip gloss I’d selected for them.

Because my daughters didn’t go with me to the Y, they had no idea that my swimsuit turned sheer when damp, and the prospect of exposing myself that way aroused me no end. Extending a finger to each of their luscious mouths, I instructed, “Get them nice and wet for me.”

A tingle ran through me as the girls coated my fingers with their warm saliva. They sighed when I withdrew, stared when I coated my nipples through the swimsuit, and gasped when they saw the effect that had.

“I didn’t know they made those!” exclaimed Ashley.

“I want one!” Olivia announced.

I laughed. “Well, if you’re good—or maybe bad—I’ll let you borrow mine when you’re big enough.” I could imagine a teenage Olivia turning heads in it, especially mine.

Then, like a late-night commercial, I added, “But wait! There’s more…”

The girls watched as I pulled up the high-waisted front panel. It stretched snugly against my vulva, bringing the folds of my moist sex into vivid relief.

I ran a finger up my slit, then wafted it under my daughters’ noses. Olivia opened her mouth expectantly, like a little bird, and Ashley lunged for that finger like she was trying to bite it. I drew my hand back just in time, and licked it myself. The girls made faces and protested, but it was all good fun.

Taking one last sexy stroll through the living , I bowed and exited.

Next, I put on a black “slingkini.” If you’ve never encountered one, it consists of a small patch just big enough to conceal my shaved cunt. From that tiny bit of material, one string runs up my ass crack and over my spine, then divides into two and wraps around my body, leading to a pair of even tinier patches that cover my nipples (but nothing else) before plunging down to hold up the pubic patch from the front. I should add that nearly every move I make causes the immodest patch down below to wriggle a bit into my cleft.

On a dare, I once modeled this swimsuit for my sorority sisters, but had never mustered the courage to flaunt it in public, even with my exhibitionist streak. I was pleased that my body still showed to good advantage in the slingkini, which made me feel sexier than going completely nude.

Taking a breath, I entered the living room. My daughters were spellbound at the sight. I prowled in front of them, feeling as wicked as I looked. Stopping in front of the sofa, I paused to stroke my nipples through the gauze-thin fabric, making them even stiffer than they already were. The girls squealed and applauded in approval.

I turned around and spread my legs. Then, I bent over slowly, sliding my hands down my limbs as I thrust my ass up. I couldn’t see the girls’ faces, but heard their inhaled breaths as the rear string bisected my bottom.

The suddenly familiar position triggered a flashback to my college days: Alyssa behind me, on the floor of my sorority bedroom, her face buried in my upturned ass, devouring my cunt with such hunger that I was sure she’d eat right through me.

Burning with that memory, I bowed and made my second exit.

In the kitchen, I furiously pawed myself to a quick orgasm, then downed a swig of ice water. After recovering my breath, I stripped off the slingkini and reentered the living room for my big finish.

The girls gawked at me quizzically, for I wore nothing but a smile. As they took in my nakedness, however, their looks of confusion turned into stares of longing.

I was pleased that my body produced the desired effect, but I was far from done. I had one more surprise, a lewd little secret to reveal. Standing before my daughters, I raised an eyebrow to get their attention. I had it, of course, one hundred percent.

Lowering myself into a squat, I reached down with one hand to spread my lips wide, exposing the maw of my cunt. My daughters gaped. With the other hand, I reached into my vagina and delicately pulled out a pink string that gradually grew into a thong. The fabric was dripping wet.

I’d never witnessed such wonder on my girls’ faces. It was like Christmas morning, and after all their unwrapping, I conjured one more present out of thin air. Except this present came from my cunt.

“See girls? I did have something to show after all.”

Ashley found her voice first. “How …”

“It was there the whole time. Soaking in my juices.”

“Wow …” Olivia breathed. Her lips were still parted, so I offered her the thong, bringing it closer to my little girl’s face.

My impulse surprised me as much as it did Olivia. Her eyes bulged almost out of their sockets. But she got over that right away, opening her mouth even wider so that I could feed her my soaked undies. When the taste of my pussy hit her, she started sucking greedily at the wet material.

Ashley looked on with longing.

“Olivia, dear,” I said gently. “Share that with your sister?”

My sweet girl nodded, and began to take the thong out of her mouth. I had a different idea, though. Enfolding Ashley and Olivia in my arms, I brought them together for a kiss.

Their lips touched tenderly at first, but soon their kissing became open-mouthed and urgent as they shared my flavor between them. I could not envision a better way of ending my part of the show, unless I joined my children in a three-way kiss. So I did.

After the g-string had been sucked clean, we drifted apart, exchanging lustful glances. I was ravenous for sex, and sensed the same hunger in my girls. But before we gave in to our mutual desire, I reminded them that we still had their half of our fashion show to enjoy. With their thoughts turned, they bounded out of the room excitedly.

I sat naked, waiting for the girls to reappear, the blanket I’d thoughtfully draped over the sofa earlier damp with my anticipation.

After much shuffling and giggling in the kitchen, my daughters bounced back in … still in the same terry cloth robes they had been wearing when they left the room.

It was my turn to look quizzical. But, like my final outfit, theirs proved to be more than meets the eye.

The girls danced in front of me, attempting to sway their hips in a seductive way. However, their inability to move in unison and outbursts of tittering tickled my funny bone more than my cunt. Still, I took delight in their joy, knowing they would appease my lust before very long.

So they did. At a signal from Ashley, the girls slowly lifted their robes, which fell about mid-thigh. As the juncture of their thighs were revealed, I caught glimpses of white little-girl panties—the same kind Olivia wore on the night that lit our incestuous relationship.

No surprise, their panties were visibly wet. My desire to slip those adorable underpants down and taste my little girls now seemed as natural as basking in their sweet scent when we hugged. Once again, I was amazed by how radically our lives had changed in these months of quarantine.

“Mommy loves our panties,” Olivia remarked, more to her sister than me. “It made her wet when she saw mine.”

“Indeed it did,” I admitted.

“Are you wet now, Momma?” asked Ashley.

In answer, I spread my cunt for them to see.

“She is!” Olivia exclaimed.

“You too,” I laughed, glancing from one crotch to the other.

Their act wasn’t over. Turning around, their robes still lifted, the sisters shook their booties, again more in silliness than seduction. Ashley grasped the waistband of Olivia’s panties and tugged them up until they were nestled in her crack like a thong, then presented her rump to a giggling Olivia, who returned the favor. Their exposed cheeks taunted me, cried out to be spanked. Not hard, mind you—just enough to tease.

Going down on her knees, Ashley smooched her little sister’s left buttock, the lipstick she wore leaving a glossy pink kiss mark. When she got to her feet, Olivia once again imitated her big sister, enthusiastically branding Ashley on the right cheek. Then they turned away from me and pushed their hips together—putting their lip prints on their bottoms side by side, as if they were kissing.

The girls spun around and bowed. I clapped and cheered as they skipped out of the room.

A couple of minutes later, the winsome pair paraded back into the room, still in their robes. They got into position in front of me, Ashley directly behind Olivia. At a signal from Ashley, the girls swayed in opposite directions and waved their arms, an imitation of dances we’d seen in Bollywood films. I had to applaud.

Next, Ashley wrapped arms around Olivia from behind, groping her flat chest. I’ve enjoyed being on the giving and receiving end of this particular move, but hadn’t imagined how arousing it would be when performed by little girls.

“Like how that feels, Olivia?” I asked, my voice thick with arousal.

“Yes, Mommy,” she replied, wriggling against her sister.

Then, like parting curtains, Ashley unfurled the front of Olivia’s robe. Above, she was topless, and below, wearing only a micro-bottom in highlighter yellow that barely cupped her pouty lips. My breath caught at the tantalizing sight.

The girls switched places and again went into their dance. At the end, without as much ceremony, Olivia pulled open Ashley’s robe. My ten-year-old wore the matching top of the micro-bikini, the tiny triangles barely covering her preadolescent bumps. But it was what I saw below that riveted me.

Ashley wore nothing but honey-blonde wisps of hair. Barely more than peach fuzz, they garnished her pussy as perfectly as chocolate shavings on a Michelin-starred dessert. I wanted to gobble her up.

Instead, gazing at my daughter’s cunt, I masturbated even harder.

Taking Olivia’s little hands in hers, Ashley covered her sex. She smiled mischievously as I pouted in disappointment.

The girls took their bows, tittering as they ran out.

From the kitchen, Ashley called, “Get out your phone, Mommy!” It was already beside me on the sofa, but I put it between my legs for easier access before resuming my self-stimulation.

Minutes later, the girls flitted in like fairies, holding hands, their willowy bodies draped in translucent negligees. On me, the lingerie barely covered my ass, but on the girls, the fabric floated ethereally above their knees.

I was reminded of one of my favorite paintings, Botticelli’s Primavera, which I once had the pleasure of viewing in Florence. The vision before me improved on Botticelli’s masterpiece in two key respects: my graces were much younger and more beautiful.

Another departure from Botticelli’s painting was Ashley’s iPhone, which she held as my daughters danced into position before me, giving me a view in profile. Olivia stood in front, legs spread, and Ashley sat on her heels close behind, her face nearly touching Olivia’s bottom. She placed the phone on the floor between her little sister’s legs.

Ashley then made a FaceTime call, which I accepted, my heart aflutter. I was greeted with a perfect upskirt view of my eight-year-old’s pussy.

“God,” I murmured, gazing at the smooth slit on the screen, just inches from my own mature cunt.

“Spread your butt, Olivia,” Ashley instructed. Olivia obeyed, prying her cheeks apart. Without further warning, Ashley began to lick her little sister’s rosebud. Olivia gasped in awe at this loving invasion, then began to tremble.

Fuck. The sight of my younger daughter being rimmed by her older sister was more than I could take. I pumped my cunt furiously with two fingers as I thrust a pinky into my asshole and thumbed my clit. Moments later, I came hard—and surprised myself as well as Olivia by gushing all over the front of her negligee.

My view of that pretty pink slit on the screen was now partly obscured by splatters of cunt juice and pee. I picked up the phone and began to lick it clean.

As I did so, it occurred to me that I was also licking my little girl on the screen. Turning the phone for Olivia to see, I tongued the image of her cunt.

“Oh, Mommy!” Olivia cried. Thrusting both hands between her thighs, she started petting her pussy through the negligee, staring at me with lust-glazed eyes. Ashley held her little sister’s buttocks apart, still licking between them.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” Olivia gasped, as an orgasm shook her small frame.

In my wildest, wickedest dreams, I’d never conjured anything close to the lurid scene taking place before me. It was utterly lewd—yet somehow lovely, too. With a finger in each of my holes, I came again, less wet this time but every bit as satisfying.

Spent, Olivia fell into my arms, and Ashley followed. I hugged both girls warmly, our mingled juices and sweat making the embrace a damp one.

What a fashion show! Even as I luxuriated in our closeness, I eagerly anticipated the after-show party to come.

On to Chapter Seven!

Note from JetBoy: This nine-chapter novel is a sequel of sorts to “Tears of the Sun,” by Purple Les, which introduced her character The Tequila Kid, a young lesbian who works for the Texas Rangers. It’s not absolutely necessary to have read that one first, but doing so will enhance your appreciation of this story. Be warned, however, that there are some spoilers in the new story that give away plot developments of the older one.

***

Thanks to JetBoy.

More than just my editor (to me and so many others), but my sounding board as well. Even, I dare say, a friend. I love that he can suggest that naming a lawman in my story Marshall Tucker might not be a good choice, as it’s already the name of a rock band. Who knew? Well, JetBoy did. We’ve made each other look at, discuss, and learn the oddest things from the history of the West, and I love doing that. The give and take we’ve exchanged over many different points in each chapter makes for a better story, I hope. I know it’s making me a better writer.

 

by Purple Les

For PoppaBear

The Tequila Kid sat in the saddle, idly rolling a cigarette. Button, her Appaloosa mare, waited patiently, enjoying the shade cast by the row of cottonwood trees where they’d stopped to rest. In the shadows, the horse’s coloring — white, with dark spots — made her difficult to perceive through the dappled sunlight.

The Kid’s eyes were fixed farther down the hill, on the well-traveled road that led to Knuckle Ridge. At the very foot of the hill, another row of cottonwoods stood proudly on the other side of the road. It left a line of shade for a small stretch before the road was fully exposed to the heat of the mid-morning sun.

“Well, girl,” The Kid murmured as she patted the horse’s neck, “I reckon this is as close to a home as I got for now. My Ranger pay should be waitin’ at the bank for me, and we’ll live easy for a spell. You’ll be restin’ up to the livery stable while we’re in Knuckle Ridge. And I’ll be stayin’ with Ann.” The Kid finished with a smile as she flicked a match head alive with her thumbnail, lighting her smoke.

***

Ann was the name that most folks knew her by, but her full moniker was Andromeda Henrietta Purdy. Ann’s parents had been rather advanced in years when they married, and even older when their daughter was born.

Andromeda’s mother had been a nurse, her father an astronomer. They’d come from Philadelphia to the West, seeking clear skies. Knuckle Ridge was where they settled on their way to Wyoming.

Knuckle Ridge got its name from the four fair-sized hills, clumped together so tightly that they resembled the knuckles on a fist. The town was located some seventy or so miles southwest of Austin. The railroad line had a spur that ran from the main track into town. The train came into town once a week, every Friday afternoon at three o’clock, and left every Saturday morning at seven or eight, depending on the amount of livestock or crops that were taken on. The only other transportation in or out was by horseback, or a stagecoach line that came through twice daily.

It was a peaceful town by any standard, clean and prosperous, ideal for Easterners like Franklin and Abigail Purdy, with a hill for Franklin to set up a telescope, so he could study the stars.

The main reason they chose to stay, however, was that Abigail found herself three months pregnant during their journey, and Knuckle Ridge seemed like a fine spot to raise a child.

When the baby arrived, the child was so beautiful that Franklin could think of no better name for her than Andromeda, after the spiral galaxy that was, to him, the loveliest sight in the heavens. Henrietta was for the midwife who had delivered the baby.

Andromeda grew up happy, healthy and bright, a girl who devoured books nearly as fast as she could lay hands on them. Despite her considerable intelligence, she was down to earth in most ways and kind and helpful to her neighbors.

Now twenty-eight, her parents had been dead for seven years. She had known the Tequila Kid for two.

At twenty, Ann had established a library in Knuckle Ridge that she ran. At twenty-four, she took in a ten-year-old orphan boy named Freddie, who was now fourteen. A handsome and pleasant lad, he slept in a spare room at the library, and helped Ann to run it. Freddie also worked for Smitty S. Jones, who owned the town’s newspaper, The Knuckle Ridge Clarion, that came out every two weeks. Between these two enterprises, Freddie had become very literate, a voracious reader like Ann.

Andromeda lived alone in her parents’ house. Her main pastime was hunting out dinosaur bones and fossils. She sold these to museums and universities around the world. The study of dinosaurs was a rapidly growing discipline, and scientists everywhere were clamoring for their remains. Andromeda’s biggest buyer was Edward Drinker Cope, who was consistently pleased by the large variety of fossils, footprints, and bones that Andromeda unearthed and shipped to him.

Andromeda loved roaming the hills and flatlands around Knuckle Ridge, seeking out these ancient relics. That was how she’d met The Tequila Kid.

Ann had been unearthing a large dinosaur skull, whisking the dust from around the piece with a soft-bristled brush when The Kid happened to ride up. Engrossed in her work, she failed to notice the approach of The Kid, who paused to watch, fascinated by the sight of the huge skull.

When The Kid’s horse gently nickered, Andromeda glanced upward. “Oh, hello there! I didn’t hear you ride up,” she said to the stranger, shading her bright hazel eyes from the sun glaring down from behind the rider.

The Kid dismounted from her big bay horse Buttercup, then squatted by the hole, looking down at this auburn-haired woman of medium build and height. The woman’s shape was a pleasure for The Kid to behold, and she felt a familiar stirring between her legs.

“You see,” Andromeda explained, “I’m excavating this dinosaur bone and didn’t hear you approach.”

The Kid responded with, “What’s a dinosaur?”

“Well, it’s a sort of a giant lizard, I suppose you could say. They used to roam the earth in vast quantities.” Frowning slightly, Andromeda studied the skull before her. “This is from the early Permian period, I’m guessing. It’s a very long time ago,” she added, noticing the totally mystified look on the pretty young face looking down at her. Still gazing with interest into those sky blue eyes staring at her, Andromeda continued.  “You see, Texas used to be an ocean. It’s rich in fossilized sea life.”

“Shucks, now,” The Kid answered. “Miss, you might of been out in the sun too long.”

“If you don’t mind coming down here to help me, I could explain it to you better,” Andromeda was surprised to hear herself say.

The Kid slowly nodded. “All right. Just let me fix my horse over by yours, and I’ll be right down.”

While she tied up Buttercup near the other horse attached to a buckboard wagon, The Kid thought, She’s a real nice kind of pretty. Don’t understand what she’s talking about, but I sure do love listening to her. Can’t think of no better way to spend the rest of the day than in a hole with this gal.

Andromeda peered from the top of the hole, her interest growing as she watched this girl, who was dressed like a man and wearing guns.

The Kid walked back over and carefully climbed down into the hole with this equally fascinating woman. While Ann shared her knowledge, she had The Kid help her hoist up the gigantic skull and put it in her wagon.

After that, it seemed completely natural to bring The Kid home with her to clean up and join her for supper.  The Kid was only too happy to accept, and rode Buttercup behind Andromeda’s wagon back into town.

Andromeda had barely paused to draw breath since The Kid rode up on her horse. And though she understood next to nothing that Ann was talking about, The Kid was spellbound by the flood of information that spilled from her lovely looking mouth. Actually, everything about Ann was lovely. She had lengthy auburn hair and large almond-shaped hazel eyes, framed by long dark eyelashes. Her nose was straight and narrow.

The Kid loved Andromeda’s smile, with a slight overbite and a small gap between her two front teeth, a tiny flaw that accented the rest of the young woman‘s features. It made The Kid think of a cute bunny rabbit.

At five feet four, Ann was shorter than The Kid. Her figure was strong, yet soft, ample and feminine, with generous breasts and a shapely ass.

That night, as they finished eating, Ann looked across the candlelit table at the younger woman. “I must say, you are wonderful company… the time has simply flown by. I don’t even believe I got your name, we’ve been talking so much.”

The Kid couldn’t help but smile. So far, just about the only words she’d spoken had been hours ago. The last thing she remembered saying to Andromeda was, ‘Thanks for offerin’ me your hospitality, ma’am. I’ll follow you back to your place on Buttercup, here.’

The Kid extended her hand and said, “I’m the Tequila Kid. My friends just call me Kid.”

Ann took the firm hand in her smaller one and said, “I’m Andromeda Purdy. My friends just call me Ann.” They both smiled and their eyes locked.

The Kid said, “I’m right pleased to meet you, Ann.” Neither woman released the other’s hand.

Still holding Ann’s hand, The Kid said, “I reckon I best find me a place to spend the night. Thanks for learnin’ me so much ‘bout those dinosaurs of yours.”

Ann gripped The Kid’s hand harder at the thought of her new friend leaving. “Why, I can’t let you wander into the night like that! You will spend the night here, most certainly.”

The Kid leaned toward Ann. “I don’t want to put you out none.” Their gaze remained unbroken.

“I have a very large bed,” Ann stated. “We could continue our conversation there.”

“Well, I reckon I’d like that just fine,” The Kid answered, smiling.

Moments later, The Kid followed Ann up the stairs to her bedroom.

“I have a nightgown you could borrow,” Ann suggested as she lit the oil lamp on her dresser.

“To be honest, if you don’t mind, I prefer to sleep with nothin’ on,” The Kid said.

Ann smiled. “I like to sleep nude on nights like this myself.”

“You mean warm nights?” The Kid asked, “Or nights when you got a girl to share your bed with?”

“I am almost ten years older than you, Kid,” Ann said, suddenly feeling shy. “I feel that I might be taking advantage of you here.”

The Kid began to undress. “I been with gals from age fifty-seven to seven. You can take as much advantage of me as you want, Ann.”

They both removed the last of their clothing and looked each other up and down. They moved closer, then gently kissed, pressing their naked bodies together as their hands began to explore.

Ann timidly asked, “You’ve really made love to a seven-year-old girl?”

Gently placing a hand on Ann’s sex, The Kid felt how wet her new partner was. “You like younger women? Around my age… or less, even?”

Ann let out a soft moan, nodding her head.

“Let’s lay down and talk about it,” The Kid suggested.

Talk they did, and much else besides. The Kid had more stories to share about her experiences with other females than Ann did. But Ann’s knowledge of lesbian lovemaking kept The Kid spellbound.

The two women, seemingly so different on the surface, became fast friends. They also became lovers. The Kid soon came to think of Knuckle Ridge as her home base. Though she’d cover the length and breadth of the territory for the Texas Rangers, Knuckle Ridge is where she always returned, at least until she was off again on another assignment. Ann was the reason she always came back.

Ann was happy with where she was and what she did. It didn’t bother her that The Kid was so often away on some mission for the law, as she always did return. Andromeda often felt as though The Kid had just left before she was back again, though the time in between was sometimes weeks or months.

Andromeda was like her late father, so caught up in her work that nearly everything else was just a distraction from her archeology and library. Still, she adored The Kid, and showered the young woman with love and passion whenever she was around.

***

“It’s only about ten miles to town, Button,” The Kid told her horse as she broke apart the butt of her smoked down cigarette. “We’ll have us a nice slow ride in. I’ll get you settled at the livery. Then I’ll get me a bath. I’ll put on some fresh duds and head over to Ann’s.

“You’ll like Ann. She’s sweet on horses. She’s got one that pulls her wagon, called Pegasus. Named after a flying horse, if that don’t beat all.”

The Kid’s thoughts were broken by a fast moving cloud of dust.

“Huh. The stage is sure comin’ in faster than normal,” The Kid mumbled, more to herself than to Button.

As the stagecoach came closer on the road below them, The Kid was alarmed to see that there was no driver. The team of horses pulling the stage was running wild!

Springing into action, she kicked her heels into Button’s haunches and yelled, “Hyah!”

The Kid had Button at full gallop down the hill at an angle, headed for the road. The horse had her neck stretched out in front, her black mane and tail flying out straight behind as she galloped fiercely.

Button hit the road twenty yards behind the speeding stagecoach, the mare’s hooves more off the ground than on as she thundered through the clouds of dust cast up by the horses and stagecoach ahead of her.

The Kid’s heart sank as she realized that in moments, the horses would be running off the road and into a strip of grass that lay mere feet before a steep drop off on the hill. Even if the horses managed to turn aside in time, the stage could go flying over the edge, pulling the horses down with it.

The Kid leaned forward, put a hand to her Appaloosa’s neck and urged, “Go, girl, go!”

Button’s response was to turn her ears back, thrust her nose out even further, and pick up speed. Soon, they began to gain on the stagecoach. When Button pulled even with the stage, The Kid looked over and saw passengers through the windows, holding each other tightly and screaming in terror.

Whipping the reins from side to side on Button’s shoulders, The Kid pulled up even to the team of horses, holding Button steady with the lead horse on the right.

They were all off the road now, hurtling forward through the grass. The stage bounced on the rough turf, threatening to flip over with each jolt. First the wheels on one side were off the ground, then the other. Them folks inside must be gettin’ shook up like dice in a cup, The Kid thought.

She urged Button on, and the Appaloosa gave her heart to the task, stretching her long legs almost straight out ahead. She managed to get just a little ahead of the lead horses, and The Kid kept her there.

With hooves thundering, The Kid could just see the edge of the cliff as she held onto the reins and saddle horn with one hand, easing her feet out of the stirrups. Slowly she got into a crouch, resting her free hand on the back of the saddle, then leapt off into space.

With legs spread and arms extended, her heart in her throat, The Kid just managed to land on the rump of the front lead horse. Frantically pulling herself forward, she fought to secure her position on the horse, snatching at the reins, then gripping them tightly.

She reached over to grab the reins of the other lead horse, nearly losing her balance and falling in the process — but somehow, she managed to hang on.

The Kid jerked hard at the reins as she urged the horse she sat on to slow down. “Whoa now, girl, whoa now.”

The team came to a slow stop and shook their heads with nostrils flaring, pawing the ground near the edge of the drop off. The Kid dismounted, calming the horses by talking softly and patting them. She slowly led the team back up to the road. As the wheels of the stagecoach turned, they sent chunks of turf and small rocks over the edge of the cliff before getting back onto solid ground.

When they reached the road, The Kid clambered up on the stage box and put the brake on. As she did, a groan came from the floor.

The Kid looked down and saw a large man in his twenties, a man she knew. Her face went white as she saw the gaping wound in his chest.

“Hey there, Bob,” The Kid murmured, kneeling by the man’s side. Though her heart was pounding wildly, she kept her voice low and soothing, hoping to keep him calm. “Get into a little scrape, did you?” Glancing around, she saw that Bob was alone. “Where’s Roy at?”

Bob coughed up some blood before saying, “Roy… Roy g-got his head shot off a ways back.”

The Kid winced. Shit. “You rest easy for a minute there, Bob. I won’t go far.”

Jumping down from the box, The Kid took hold of the stage door. The rough ride had caused it to stick, but she braced a boot against the side of the coach and yanked it open, the door pulling from the buckled frame with a splintering sound. The shaken passengers slowly began to emerge, and The Kid helped them down one by one. There was an elegantly-dressed lady, followed by a modestly dressed woman, a man in a fancy suit, and lastly a girl, about eleven or so.

“If you folks is all right, I got to take care of the driver up there. Mister, could you help me get him down?”

The man nodded brusquely. He was around thirty years old and looked like some kind of dandy, though the wild ride he’d just been on had taken a good bit of the starch out of his collar. He was taller than The Kid’s five feet nine inches and seemed to be very fit.

Climbing up to the stage box, the two of them managed to get Bob down to the ground without jostling him too much.

The Kid gave a sharp whistle, and Button came to her. Handing her canteen to the man, she said, “Give him some water. Just a few swallows, mind.” She rummaged in one of her saddle bags, taking out a few clean rags and her herb pouch.

“We need to be on our way,” the well-dressed woman demanded.

Slowly turning, The Kid looked her in the eye and murmured low, so the wounded man wouldn’t hear, “Fact is, we do. But these horses is lathered up and need to catch their breath. Meantime, I need to try to stop this leak in Bob’s chest. He’s apt to die otherwise.”

Everyone looked at the man on the ground, who was bleeding heavily, gasping for air.

“While I do that, why don’t you all take some water from that bag hanging there, and thank whoever you worship that you’re alive to do that much.” Turning back to Bob, The Kid brushed past the lady, giving her a slight nudge out of her way.

“Well now, I seen worse, Bob,” The Kid calmly lied as she hunkered down by the man. Taking hold of the  blood-drenched shirt, she carefully ripped it away.

The well-dressed man turned away with a sickened look on his face as he saw the gaping hole in Bob’s chest.

The Kid sprinkled some herbs on the wound, put a rag over the hole, then wrapped the other rags around Bob’s chest. The bullet hadn’t gone through him, even though it had been fired at close range. The Kid put a different herb in Bob’s mouth and gave him some more water to wash it down.

The Kid and the dandy, the girl and the modestly dressed woman got Bob on to the floor of the stagecoach. The woman knelt on the floor and cradled Bob’s head in her lap, trying to comfort him. Taking a handkerchief from the pocket of her plain gingham dress, she mopped the sweat from the wounded man’s face.

Stepping out of the stage, The Kid said, “We’ll head into Knuckle Ridge now.”

Still standing on the ground the little girl looked sick to her stomach. She looked up at The Kid. “Please, Miss. May I ride up t-top with you? I…” She fell silent, unable to say more.

“Why, sure you can, little missy.” The Kid knew full well that this child shouldn’t be riding with a dying man.

The elegantly-dressed lady swept into the coach without a word. The man in the fancy suit followed, pausing to give The Kid a shaky bow.

The Kid closed the stage door, then lifted the girl up to the box. Reaching for Button’s reins, The Kid tied her horse to the back of the stage, then climbed up to join the girl. She took the brake off, then urged the horses forward, guiding them down the road at a safe but moderate pace.

The Kid glanced at the girl next to her. The child’s face was pale, no doubt in shock from what had happened, but she would have been fair anyway. She had soft blue eyes and dark hair and eyebrows. The girl’s long eyelashes were wet from the tears she’d shed.

She was dressed in what looked like black servant’s clothes with a matching bonnet on her head. Her face was narrow but pretty with high cheekbones and full red lips. A sprinkle of freckles across her small upturned nose offset the girl’s sorrowful expression.

“I’m the Tequila Kid. What’s your handle, pardner?”

The girl looked confused for a moment, then answered, “M-my name’s Gracie.”

Trying not to be rude, she kept stealing glances at The Kid, who was like no one she’d ever met before — a tall woman dressed like a man, packing a pair of six-shooters. Gracie decided that The Kid was pretty, with rusty red hair braided on both sides, bright blue eyes and a pleasant face. She wasn’t sure about the dark blue lines on and around the woman’s chin, though.

The Kid studied this pretty young girl with interest. “Pardon me for sayin’ so, Gracie, but you don’t sound like you’re from these parts.”

“No, Miss, I’m not.”

The Kid remained silent for a moment, then said, “Can you tell me anything ‘bout what happened?”

“Um… two men with their faces all c-covered rode up to the carriage and made it stop. They…” The child struggled with the words. “They shot both men on top… then d-dropped a metal box down from up there. I suppose they took that with them. Then something happened — I don’t know what it was, just that the, the horses, they started to run wild.” The young girl shivered. “I was t-terrified.”

“Mm.” The Kid clenched her jaw, trying to conceal her anger.

“But you saved our lives,” Gracie said. With a strained smile, she added, “I can’t thank you enough, Miss Kid.”

The Kid noticed that the girl’s hands were shaking. Holding the reins with one hand, she gave Gracie’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, then took the reins in both hands again.

They rode in silence for a while, until Gracie said, “We’re from Great Britain.”

“England, that is? Why, that’s a pretty far piece you traveled. You all from there, or just you and your ma?”

“I am the maid for Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton.” She stared down at her quivering hands, her voice low. “I have no parents or family. I serve my lady.”

“She the one dressed to the nines, told me to get a move on?”

“Yes, Miss Kid.”

“You know any of them others?”

“The gentleman is Count Cousiourac. He is French, and traveling with my lady. The other woman’s name is Molly, um… Molly Hardy, that’s it. She comes from Oklahoma.”

“What’s it mean, you’re the lady’s maid?”

“I take care of my lady’s needs, Miss. I look after her clothes and belongings. Serve her tea, take care of her baggage, do whatever she needs to have done.”

“Don’t seem like that leaves you much time for bein’ a little girl.”

Gracie frowned. “I am thirteen, not a little girl.”

The Kid took her eyes from the road to study her passenger. “You look more like ten to me.”

Gracie looked at The Kid, then back at the road. With a sigh, she said, “I will be twelve years old in four months.”

They rode on in silence. Soon The Kid saw Knuckle Ridge up ahead, and slowed the stage down as they reached the edge of the town. Bringing the horses to a stop in front of the doctor’s house, The Kid got the attention of some men standing nearby. “Give us a hand?” she called. “Got a man here who’s been shot.”

One of the men ran for the sheriff, while the others carefully unloaded Bob and carried him inside. Doctor Jed Johnson was out delivering a baby, but his wife and nurse Alice was there. She had them put Bob on the operating table and began to study his wound, then carefully cleaned it.

After making the patient as comfortable as she was able, Alice Johnson began to arrange the instruments so that her husband could extract the bullet as soon as he returned. One of the bystanders had gone to fetch him back.

Having done what she could for Bob, The Kid took the passengers and stage to the middle of town, where the coach station was. Sheriff Gus Masters was waiting for it. He helped the passengers out.

Uncertain what to do next, the passengers stood before the five-foot, six-inch Sheriff Masters. Clean-shaven and wearing a black suit and hat, his badge was visible on his shirt, a six-gun riding on his right hip. Aged thirty-eight, he’d been the law in Knuckle Ridge for twenty years. Though not much more than a boy when he first took the badge, Masters had proven himself time and again as a man to be reckoned with.

“Folks,” Sheriff Masters began, his almost black eyes looking each passenger up and down carefully as he spoke, “I’ll need to ask all of you some questions. First, though, I need to see the wounded man. Please settle yourselves in, and I’ll be back to talk to each of you directly.”

Sheriff Masters gave a nod to The Kid, then set out for the doctor’s house.

“The hotel is where?” Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton demanded, looking at no one.

“It’s over yonder,” The Kid said, pointing.

“Let’s go check in, Count Cousiourac,” Lady Jane said, before turning to the girl. “Gracie! Gather our baggage and bring it to the hotel. And don’t dawdle — I’ll need a change of clothes right away.”

“Yes, my lady,” Gracie said with a bow of her head and a small curtsy. The man and woman walked toward the hotel, and a large heavy set gray-haired man came barrelling out of the coach office.

“Kid! What the hell happened?”

“Easy there, Jack. There’s a woman and a girl here.”

“I beg your pardon, ladies,” Jack said, embarrassed, and bowed briefly to them. He then seized The Kid by the arm and walked her a few steps away.

Jack looked back for a moment and then, lowering his voice said, “Now tell me, damn it. What the hell happened?”

The Kid put her hand on Jack’s shoulder. “A holdup, I reckon. The stage was runnin’ wild, but I managed to stop it. Bob’s got a bad chest shot. He’s at the doc’s now with Masters. Bob told me Roy’s dead — got headshot and left behind. Looks like the bandits got away with the strongbox. The child says two men did the deed. I don’t know nothin’ else yet.”

Jack’s always red face went pale for a few moments. “Damnation! This is bad, Kid. Very bad.” Then his face turned even redder than normal.

Jack and The Kid turned as the young girl came up to them. “Begging your pardon, please, Miss Kid,” Gracie said as she bowed, then gave a brief curtsy. “My lady is wanting her luggage.”

“Sure, Gracie. I’ll get it down for you.” The Kid smiled at the girl, then looked at Jack. “Best have Freddie take care of the horses. I reckon you’ll want to see Bob while you can.”

“Thanks Kid. I’ll see you later.”

The Kid led Gracie back to the stagecoach, a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Climbing up on top of the wagon, she untied the baggage, then looked down. “Which bags is yours?”

The woman in the plain gingham dress spoke up. “Thank you kindly for your help, stranger. That carpetbag with the flowers is mine. That trunk belongs to the man. Everything else is the woman’s, I believe.”

Handing down the faded carpetbag, The Kid tipped the brim of her Stetson hat when the woman thanked her again.

The Kid lowered the heavy trunk far as she could, then let it fall to the ground with a thud. Then she dropped down the other half dozen pieces of luggage. As she climbed back down, Freddie came running up.

“Trouble, huh, Kid?” the red-headed orphan asked excitedly.

“Bad trouble, Freddie,” The Kid answered. “Can you take care of the horses? Curry ‘em and give ‘em some grain and water.”

“Sure thing, Kid,” Freddie answered as he began to unhitch the team.

“I’m Molly Hardy,” the woman said, “Thank you once more for everything. I was afraid we’d…” the woman’s voice suddenly choked off, then she regained her composure. “Might you know a good place to stay here?”

The Kid rubbed her tattooed chin for a moment as she looked at Molly. She saw a clean, modestly dressed woman about twenty-five years of age. Under her bonnet was chestnut brown hair. Her figure was average, a little on the lean side and she was maybe five foot five inches with brown eyes. Her face was unremarkable except for a small beauty mark by her lip. Not plain, not pretty, but easy to look at.

“Well, now,” The Kid began, “The Ridge Hotel is very good, but kinda pricey. There’s the Smith House, it’s cheap, but gets pretty loud and rough at times. I reckon if you’re watchin’ your budget and want to be around nice folks, your best bet is Donna Wilson’s boardin’ house, down that away.” She pointed down the street.

“Thank you, Miss… I don’t believe I got your name,” Molly said as she extended her hand.

The Kid took the hand in hers and said, “I’m the Tequila Kid. I reckon I can tell the sheriff that he can find you at the boardin’ house?”

“Yes, you can.”

“Need someone to help you with that bag?”

“No, thank you.” And with those words, Molly Hardy walked away.

The Kid turned to see Gracie trying to gather up all of Lady Wyeth-Boton’s baggage. The Kid picked up most of the suitcases while the girl struggled with the rest, and they walked together to the Ridge Hotel.

Pushing the lobby door open, The Kid held it for Gracie, who just managed to get the bags indoors before she dropped them where she stood, falling down on the largest one, where she lay catching her breath.

Setting down the rest of the suitcases, The Kid walked up to the front desk where a small dark-haired mustached man sat. “Howdy, Ed. There’s a trunk over to the stage office that needs to be fetched over for that Count fella who just signed in.”

“Hello, Kid. I’ve already got a boy haulin’ it over now.”

“All this stuff is for that Lady Jane gal. What room’s she in?”

“She’s in the adjoining suite to the Count’s. I’ll have it all brought up to her.”

The Kid nodded, then turned to Gracie saying, “I’ll be seein’ you,” as she helped the little girl to her feet.

Stepping into the street, The Kid saw the sheriff approaching. They met on the boardwalk and The Kid asked, “Get anything from Bob?”

Masters shook his head glumly. “Nothin’ at all, he’s out cold. The doc is back and workin’ on him. There’s a couple hours of daylight left, how’d you feel about ridin’ out there with me to find Roy?”

“Sure, if you got a fresh horse I could ride.”

As they walked to the livery stable together, The Kid told Sheriff Masters what she could. Button followed along behind, The Kid holding her reins.

The Kid gave the old stable hand Mac instructions to brush and curry her horse, and give her oats and water. Taking her gear off Button, she put it on one of the Sheriff’s horses. With that, the two of them rode out of town together,  Masters holding the reins of a third horse to carry Roy’s body back.

They came to where The Kid had stopped the stage, then rode on another mile and a half until they found Roy’s corpse. The Kid studied the scene carefully, then they wrapped Roy’s remains in canvas and draped him over the horse.

“What d’ye think, Kid?” Masters asked as he studied the tracks left behind.

“Well, lookin’ as hard as I can, I only see there was one outlaw on horseback. But the girl and that Hardy woman said there was two of ‘em.” The Kid walked around, carefully observing the scene, trying to work out what had taken place there. “Listen, Gus, I’m gonna study on this in my head overnight,” she finally told Sheriff Masters, suspecting that she already knew the answer.

It was twilight when Masters and The Kid came riding back into town with Roy’s body. Along the way, they’d found the empty strongbox, but nothing else. The most puzzling thing was how the horse tracks of the outlaw led straight back to town.

They left Roy’s body at the doctor’s to see if he could add anything to what they knew. Doc Johnson told them that Bob was still hanging on, but there was a good chance he wouldn’t make it through the night.

After putting up their horses at the stable, Masters took The Kid to the Broken Horn saloon. They sat at a quiet corner table and ordered shots of whiskey.

“I reckon it’s kind of smart in a way, him ridin’ into town. His tracks got lost here with all the others. But then we know he’s here somewheres. Think we can find him, Gus?”

“Damn if I know, Kid.” Gus Masters answered, then downed his shot, staring at the empty glass. “Lots of strangers in town this week lookin’ for work, what with the cattle drive comin’ up. Reckon I’ll start prowlin’ the bars tonight, then talk to the passengers in the morning. It’s a little late to bother ‘em now. Care to join me?”

“Well, now, I’ll pass on the bars, but I’d like to speak with the passengers too. See you for breakfast?”

“Sure,” Masters answered. They walked out onto the street, then exchanged brief goodbyes.

Feeling too tired for a bath or a meal, The Kid walked to the livery stable to check on Button and pick up her saddlebags, bedroll and rifle. She took a moment to beat as much of the caked-on trail dust off herself with her hat as she could, then set off toward the outskirts of town. Ten minutes later, she came to a small two-story house. Trying as the day had been, her mood lifted at the familiar sight. There was still a light on, and The Kid knocked on the back door.

“Come in, it’s open,” The Kid heard Andromeda Purdy’s silver voice call out.

The Kid walked in and smiled at Ann, who was facing away from her, writing in a ledger at the kitchen table. As usual, the table was cluttered with small bones and rocks, most of them tagged. Without raising her head, Ann held up an index finger and said, “Just a moment, please.”

With a flourish of her pencil, Ann turned around. Seeing The Kid, she jumped from her chair and rushed into her lover’s arms, where they hugged for a long, lovely while.

“Come sit down, Kid. My oh my, I’m so happy you’re back.” They sat on the sofa in the parlor and Ann said, “I heard you were in town. I understand you’ve been very busy today. You know I went to the stable to bring dear Buttercup an apple, as I always do… and they told me you came in on another horse.” She looked questioningly at The Kid.

“I reckon I got a lot to tell you,” The Kid replied, dreading telling Ann the news she had about Buttercup, and all that went with it. Her horse had broken a leg while she’d been pursuing outlaws, and The Kid had been forced to put the animal out of her misery.

The Kid’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she began to sob against Ann’s shoulder. Her Stetson hat slipped off and fell to the floor.

Ann saw that The Kid’s hair was now parted on the side instead of the middle. In the new part Ann saw a nasty looking scar.

As The Kid sobbed Ann looked at the scar, and realized what must have happened to Buttercup. She softly said, “Oh, dear.”

Holding The Kid tightly in her arms, Andromeda began to weep, too.

On to Chapter Two!Knuckle Ridge, Chapter 2