So now, as she glared at him, he got his first good look at her eyes, and they were brown just as he had suspected. Not quite as dark a shade as her dress and hat, however. Her eyes had a certain softness to them, too, like her hair.

  “Must you smoke that foul thing in here?” she demanded.

  Longarm held up the cheroot. “This?”

  “What else would you be smoking, sir?”

  “Sorry if it offends you, ma’am,” said Longarm with a shrug. He glanced around the car. “Other folks are smoking in here, so I didn’t figure you’d mind.” In truth, he hadn’t actually given the matter a thought before he lit up.

  “Those other folks, as you call them, are not sitting directly across from me so that the noxious smoke from their pipes and cigars wafts directly into my face.”

  Wafts? thought Longarm. He spent a couple of seconds trying to remember when he had last heard someone actually use that word, then gave it up as a bad job. He said, “I reckon if it would make you feel better, ma’am, I could step out on the platform to finish this.”

  “I wish you would,” the young woman said. She sniffed and folded her arms across her chest, then looked away from him again.

  Longarm stuck the cheroot back in his mouth, clamped his teeth on it, shook his head, and stood up. He knew his three-for-a-nickel cheroots weren’t the best-smelling things in the world, but he wasn’t accustomed to being booted out of a railroad car because of them, either.

  But, he told himself, anything to please a lady. He stepped out into the aisle and turned toward the door at the rear of the car.

  To his surprise, the young woman stood up as well and followed him. When he glanced back at her with a frown, she said, “I intend to see to it that you actually take that thing outside. You might attempt to deceive me by staying there in the rear of the car, where I’m certain the foul odor would still be detectable.”

  Of all the prissy little bitches ... ! Longarm controlled his temper with an effort and said, “I told you I’d step out onto the platform, ma’am. I assure you I’m a man of my word.”

  “I’ll determine that for myself, thank you.”

  Longarm rolled his eyes and walked to the rear of the car, not bothering to look back and see if the woman was still following him. When he reached the door, he jerked it open and stepped out onto the platform. Sure enough, the woman was right behind him.

  But instead of closing the door between them, she moved out onto the platform, too, and then shut the door. When Longarm turned and saw her standing there with him, his frown deepened and he took the cheroot out of his mouth to say, “What the hell?”

  “Throw that cigar away,” the young woman snapped.

  Longarm finally gave in to his temper. “I’ll be damned if I will!” he said. “I came out here the way you wanted, lady, and if that’s not good enough for you—”

  “Oh, hush,” the woman said, and she stepped forward and came up on her toes to put her arms around his neck and press her mouth to his.

  Longarm dropped the cheroot on the platform and put it out blindly with his boot heel as he slid his arms around the woman and returned the kiss. Her lips parted and her tongue darted out brazenly to spear into his mouth. Her breasts flattened under the somber dress as she pressed them against his broad, hard-muscled chest.

  When she finally pulled away slightly with a self-satisfied smile on her lovely face, Longarm said, “I was under the impression that you didn’t much like me, ma’am. Or maybe it was just my cheroot. If I’d known how grateful you’d be, I’d have put it out a lot sooner.”

  “Oh, I don’t care about that silly thing one way or the other,” she said. “I just wanted to get you out here where we could have some privacy so I could do that. I’ve been wanting to kiss you ever since I got on the train.”

  “You did a pretty good job of making sure nobody knew you felt like that,” commented Longarm, remembering her chilly demeanor during the trip.

  She laughed lightly. “I was just waiting for the right moment.” She looked around and added, “Isn’t this romantic?”

  Longarm supposed it was. The scenery rolling by was pretty, with lots of snow-capped mountains and green pine-covered slopes and brooks laughing and gurgling through deep valleys. But the air blowing around them was cold, and it carried occasional cinders from the locomotive’s smoke-stack that had to be watched out for.

  “It’s pretty nice,” Longarm told the woman. “I reckon you’d make just about any picture prettier, though.”

  “What a sweet thing to say! My name is Amelia Loftus, by the way.”

  “Custis Long.” He didn’t mention the fact that he was a deputy United States marshal. Amelia Loftus didn’t have any reason to need to know that.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Long.” And she kissed him again to prove it.

  The second time was just as pleasant as the first, but a worry was beginning to nag at the back of Longarm’s mind. He was the one who broke the kiss this time, and when he did, he said, “I’m wondering about something, Miss Loftus. Or is it missus?”

  “Oh, it’s miss, I assure you. I’m not a married woman, though my father would have had it otherwise. He wanted to make a match for me with one of the elders.”

  “You’re one of the Saints, then.” Longarm had figured her for a Mormon, given her clothes and her attitude and the fact that she had boarded the train in Salt Lake City.

  “That’s right. I have some distinct doctrinal differences with the church, however.”

  She sure liked to talk fancy, thought Longarm. That made her a poor candidate for being a Mormon right there. They were plain-spoken folks. “What sort of differences?” he asked.

  “Well, for one thing, this business of having more than one wife.”

  “A lot of Mormons are giving that up, or so I’ve heard tell.”

  “And well they should. A man has no business having more than one wife.” Her lips curved wickedly in a smile. “It would be so much more fun for a woman to have more than one husband, to my way of thinking. Just think about it, Mr. Long. A lady could be pleasured for hours on end! When one husband had exhausted himself, another could simply take his place.”

  Longarm’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I reckon that’s one way of looking at it,” he said.

  Amelia Loftus reached down and caressed his groin through his trousers. Her fingers closed around the rapidly growing length of his shaft and she smiled. “Of course, I daresay a man such as yourself might be able to give a lady all the pleasure she could handle all by yourself, Mr. Long.”

  She was just about the most unusual Mormon woman he had ever met, he thought. But he liked what she was doing to him, and as he leaned toward her, he murmured, “A gentleman always tries to oblige a lady.”

  Her mouth was wet and hot and sweet. She whispered, “I’ll be staying in the Oriental Hotel in Carson City.”

  “I’ve got a hunch I will be, too,” said Longarm.

  Chapter 3

  Amelia rested her hands on Longarm’s chest, threw her head back, closed her eyes, and panted, “Oh, yes, Custis! Yes!”

  Longarm held on to her slender hips and drove himself deeper into her. Just when he thought his manhood was embedded in her as far as it would go, she pumped her hips to match his thrust and he plumbed new depths. He could feel his climax building, getting ready to boil up through his shaft.

  She caught hold of his wrists and brought his hands to her firm, pear-shaped breasts. Her hard nipples stabbed into his palms like little daggers of flesh. Shudders of culmination rippled through her body as Longarm began to empty himself into her in a long series of white-hot spurts. She was still pumping her hips and spasming when he had finished coming. Then, abruptly, she froze in place for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, face taut with the ecstasy that gripped her. Her breath came out of her body in a long sigh, and she was suddenly limp, sprawling forward over his chest. She nestled her head against his shoulder and lay there, breathing hard.

  Longarm rested one hand on the enticing swell of her bottom and used the other to stroke her hair. He chuckled. “I reckon that’s why some folks call it the little death,” he said. “It’s damn near as good as dying and going to heaven, ain’t it?”

  “Don’t ... swear,” said Amelia.

  “I won’t smoke no cheroots, neither, if you don’t want me to. But one would taste mighty good right about now.”

  “In a minute,” she said. She patted his chest and snuggled against the thick mat of brown hair. “Just lie there and let me enjoy the feel of you.”

  Longarm trailed a finger through the cleft between the cheeks of her rump, and his intimate touch made her wiggle her hips. He was still buried inside her, and her movement made his shaft start to stiffen again in response. She lifted her head and her eyes widened in surprise as she exclaimed, “Already?”

  Longarm moved his hips. Amelia sighed again, a soft, breathy sound. “Oh, my, yes.”

  They had managed to keep their hands off each other during dinner, which they had shared in the dining room of Carson City’s elegant Oriental Hotel. The bill for Longarm’s lodgings here was going to be more expensive than Henry liked, but Longarm figured he could get the clerk to approve it. Henry could be a reasonable man—when he wanted to be.

  After dinner, they had come here to Longarm’s room for brandy, and the genteel atmosphere that went with the whole situation had lasted for a while.

  Almost a whole minute, in fact.

  And then they had been pulling each other’s clothes off as fast as they could, laughing and stroking and squeezing, until Amelia had pushed Longarm down on the bed, straddled his hips, and lowered herself onto him so that she was riding the long, thick pole of male flesh.

  It had been one hell of a ride, and Amelia, bless her heart, was ready to go again.

  “I think I’ll go to Virginia City,” Amelia said. She pinned her hair in place and settled the prim little hat on her head. She was fully dressed and looked every bit the lady again.

  Longarm, on the other hand, was still sprawled naked on the bed, his head propped up on the pillows and his hands locked together behind his neck. The air in the room was a little chilly, but he didn’t mind. Amelia looked at him in the mirror over the dressing table and said, “You look positively decadent, Custis.”

  “Thanks,” he said with a grin. Then he became more serious as he asked, “You know anybody in Virginia City?”

  Amelia turned away from the mirror and shook her head. “No, not a soul,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

  Longarm frowned. “To be honest, I’m a mite worried about you. Virginia City’s a rough place. It’s full of miners and cowboys and gamblers and gunmen.”

  “It sounds exciting,” Amelia said with a smile.

  “It ain’t the kind of place for a sweet little Mormon gal who don’t know what she’s getting into,” said Longarm bluntly.

  Amelia clapped her hands together in delight. “Why, Custis, you’re worried about me!”

  “Well, of course I’m worried about you. You and me are friends, ain’t we?”

  “More than friends, I’d say.” Amelia’s eyebrows lifted and her smile became suggestive.

  Longarm sat up and reached for his long underwear. He didn’t want Amelia getting any ideas about taking her clothes off again and distracting him from what he wanted to say.

  “Listen,” he told her, “I know you didn’t like living in Utah. I reckon you probably come from a big family—”

  “Eight sisters and seven brothers,” she said.

  “How many wives does your father have?”

  “Three. My mother is the oldest.”

  “And I know you don’t have your heart set on living the same way—”

  “Elder Torrance has been looking at me ever since I turned fourteen,” Amelia broke in, her expression serious now. “That was five years ago, Custis. I’m surprised he’s waited this long to start pressuring my father to arrange the marriage.”

  “How old is this Elder Torrance?”

  “Fifty-two. I would be his fifth wife.”

  “I don’t reckon I blame you for not being too fond of the idea. You sound like an educated woman ...”

  “I’ve read a great deal. My father never wanted my mother to teach me how to read, but she got her own way occasionally. That was one of the occasions. And Father has regretted it ever since.”

  Longarm pulled his pants on over the long underwear and reached for his shirt. “And you figure you’ve got a pretty good idea what the rest of the world is like,” he went on. “But you don’t, Amelia, not really. There are plenty of folks in places like Virginia City who’d take advantage of you.”

  She glanced at the bed. “Like you did here, Custis?”

  His face flushed in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “This wasn’t the first time you’d been with a man,” he said.

  She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t.”

  “But that doesn’t make you the kind of woman that half the men in Virginia City will assume you are. You’d be better off staying here. Living in Carson City ain’t like being in church, but it’s not as wild and woolly as Virginia City.”

  “No, and I’d wager it’s not as exciting, either.” Amelia shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve made up my mind, Custis.

  I want some excitement in my life, and Virginia City is the place where I’ll find it.”

  He sighed heavily. “Then I reckon I’ll just have to go up there with you so I can be sure you make it all right.”

  Her expression was transformed by the smile that spread across it. She threw her arms around his neck and said, “Thank you, Custis, thank you so much.”

  Longarm patted her on the back and wondered if this was what she had had in mind all along.

  He was up early the next morning. Amelia had given him the key to her room, so he unlocked the door quietly and peeked inside. She was still asleep, her breathing soft and regular. Longarm left her there, mounded under the blankets, to sleep in peace.

  After breakfast in the hotel dining room, he walked down the street to a building he had spotted the day before on the way from the depot to the hotel. It was a big, barnlike structure, and a sign hanging over the large double doors read California & Nevada Stagecoach Company. A smaller sign below read Burton Augustus Thompson, Esq., Prop. To one side of the double doors was a smaller door, no doubt leading to the offices of the stage line. Longarm went to it and opened it.

  A man was sitting at a desk inside the room, which was evidently the office that Longarm had assumed it to be. He wore a gray tweed suit that went well with his longish hair, which was brushed straight back. His cheeks bristled with a short but bushy beard that was mostly gray but had some strands of silver mixed in with the rest. He looked up at Longarm with dark, intelligent eyes.

  “Mornin’,” the man said with a nod. “What can I do for you, mister?”

  “Looking for the ticket agent,” said Longarm. “I need to buy a couple of seats on the next stage to Virginia City.” He could start his investigation there as well as anywhere. The gang that had been holding up stagecoaches and stealing silver from the mail pouches operated throughout the area.

  “I can sell you those tickets,” the man said. He stood and extended a hand over the desk. “I’m Thompson, the fella who runs this line. Call me Bat, after my initials.”

  Longarm grinned. “Like that fella who’s the marshal over at Dodge City, eh? I’ve run into him a time or two.”

  Bat Thompson winced. “Just once, I hope somebody comes up to Masterson and says his name is like mine. But I reckon if it ever happens, I’ll never know about it.” He opened a drawer in the desk. “Goin’ to Virginny City, are you?”

  “That’s the plan,” said Longarm. Since he had been lucky enough to encounter the owner of the stage line that had been having so much trouble with outlaws, he decided to do a little probing. He wouldn’t reveal to Thompson that he was a deputy marshal, though, not just yet anyway. Longarm had found over the years that he sometimes got better results if he kept his true profession a secret, at least in the early stages of an investigation. He continued, “I hear you’ve had a little trouble in these parts lately. Holdups and such.”

  Thompson had taken two tickets from the desk. He surprised Longarm by throwing them onto the floor and jumping up and down on them. Longarm watched in amazement as Thompson continued to jump on the tickets and generally turned the air around his head blue with profanity.

  “... with a red-hot poker, the no-good, lowdown sons o’ bitches!” concluded Thompson. “That’d teach ’em!”

  “You’re talking about the gang that’s been stopping your stages?” asked Longarm.

  “Who else?” Thompson practically howled. “They’re about to run me outta business! The bastards got the federal gov’ment down on me by stealin’ silver shipments outta the mailbags!”

  Thompson wasn’t telling Longarm anything he didn’t already know, but Longarm pretended sympathy as he shook his head. “That’s too bad. Reckon it’s safe to ride your stage?”

  That provoked another outburst of profanity from Thompson. He bent over, snatched up the tickets from the floor, and tore them into tiny pieces which he threw into the air. They settled back down around him like snow. “There!” he ranted at Longarm. “If you think you won’t be safe, you don’t have to ride the damned stage!”

  Longarm held up both hands, palms out. “Take it easy, old-timer,” he said. “I didn’t mean no offense. I just like to know what I’m getting into.”