He felt her hand wrap around his cock once more. This time, however, she guided him into her and let out a slow, relieved breath once he slid all the way inside. Clint stayed there for a moment to enjoy the feeling of being inside of her. That feeling only got better as he began to slowly pump his hips back and forth.

  Shelly lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. Reaching up and behind her, she grabbed hold of the blanket while arching her back and letting out a quiet moan. Using her left leg, she pulled Clint in closer while thrusting her hips out a bit.

  Picking up on the signals her body was sending, Clint slipped his hands beneath her and pulled her closer to the edge of the mattress. He kept his hands on her backside as he pulled her toward him while thrusting his hips forward. Their bodies met with a solid impact and Shelly raised her voice until it filled the room.

  “That’s it,” she told him. “Harder.”

  Clint obliged her for a while, until he felt her start to tremble with an oncoming orgasm. He thrust in and out of her a bit more and then suddenly stopped.

  When Shelly looked at him, her expression was the same as if she was being robbed at gunpoint. “What are you doing? Why’d you stop?”

  “I want you to turn around,” Clint said.

  The first time he’d spoken to her like that was when Clint had arrived in town just over a week ago. It had been a mistake, but she’d grinned so widely at him that he immediately knew when she’d like to hear that stern voice even more.

  Now was one of those times, and Shelly responded by hopping onto the bed, turning her back to Clint and settling down onto all fours. Looking over her shoulder at him, she whispered, “Is this what you wanted?”

  For a few seconds, Clint let his eyes roam along the gentle curve of Shelly’s back. He then let his hands roam along the rounded perfection of her backside. “That’s exactly what I wanted,” Clint said as he settled behind her and eased his rigid cock between her thighs.

  Clint held onto her hips and buried himself inside of her. Even after he was all the way in, Clint took hold of Shelly’s hair and gave it a little tug as he pushed forward just a bit more. That caused her to throw her head back and let out a gasping moan as her body tightened around him.

  Keeping hold of her hair, Clint placed his other hand on her backside as he started pumping faster and faster.

  Shelly rocked in time to his rhythm and even bucked against him at the right time so he was pounding into her even harder. When Clint let go of her hair, she stretched forward and clawed the blanket with her fingers as her entire body was rocked by a powerful orgasm.

  Clint eased out of her and positioned her on her back. Rather than settle down beside her, he climbed on top. Her weary eyes widened when she felt his rigid erection between her legs.

  “Still going?” she asked. “Now, this is why I went to all this trouble.”

  Clint smiled, guided himself into her and said, “I’m glad you did.”

  Now Clint took both of her hands in his and pressed them against the bed. Shelly’s legs opened wide to accommodate him as he started rocking back and forth on top of her. Her eyes were wide open and never strayed from him.

  She watched as Clint sped up and drove into her harder as he thundered toward his climax.

  By the time his orgasm pulsed through him, Clint felt almost too tired to move. Shelly wriggled her hips in just the right way and pumped them at just the right time to send a wave of pleasure through him that was almost blinding.

  “And you’ve still got plenty of time before ten o’clock,” Shelly pointed out.

  Clint crawled under the blanket and said, “Really? I guess we’ll have to find a way to kill another hour or so.”

  TWELVE

  It was nine-thirty when Clint stepped out of the Whitecap Saloon and crossed the street. He’d known Shelly ever since the last time he’d ridden through this part of Montana, and she didn’t have any reason to lie to him. On the contrary, the worry on her face where Henry was concerned was genuine enough, and Clint was certain she wouldn’t want any harm to come to any of the Hasselmans.

  Still, Clint couldn’t help but feel guilty that he hadn’t been scouring the town as he’d first intended. At the very least, he could have picked a spot within eyeshot of Henry’s house so he could watch for anyone lurking about in the shadows.

  With all the bad men he saw, Clint didn’t want to let an opportunity slip by to prevent another boy turning into one. Henry was a good kid, but he had that wildness about him that was all too familiar. Clint had seen it plenty of times before in the eyes of boys who grew up to rob banks or turn their stolen guns against the law.

  Clint was just about to curse himself some more for wasting time with Shelly when he saw her own prediction come to pass.

  Shelly was actually leaning against a post outside the Whitecap when the stranger rounded the corner at the other end of the street. Clint was watching for anyone out there, so he picked out the other man almost instantly.

  The man looked to be close to Clint’s height and had a wiry build. He moved with his head down and a wide-brimmed hat pulled down to cover most of his face. But Clint didn’t need to see the man’s face in order to get a handle on him. Watching him move was more than enough.

  Walking with strong, confident steps, the man looked like a bobcat that was ready to break into a run at any second. He kept his hands at his sides and didn’t swing them with his strides, so they were always within inches of the gun holstered at his side.

  As he approached the saloon, he looked over and immediately met Shelly’s eyes.

  For a moment, Clint thought that she’d ruined his plan before it even got started. His intention had been to keep from being seen or drawing any attention. Before he could get too worked up, however, Clint saw the man tip his hat to her and walk down the street without casting a glance in his direction.

  Clint had to admire the way Shelly stood in her spot, knowing exactly where he was standing, and didn’t even cast a sideways glance in his direction. After seeing the way the stranger looked at her, Clint figured the other man would have been more suspicious if she hadn’t been there.

  Clint waited until the stranger had gone farther down the street, then began slipping from shadow to shadow behind him. Since there weren’t a lot of alleys to work with, Clint had to rely more on his own eyesight and let the stranger get a larger lead before closing in on him again. Sure enough, the other man headed toward the cluster of houses on the edge of town where Henry and his mother lived.

  But the stranger didn’t head directly for the Hasselman place. Instead, he began circling every other house from a big enough distance that he could see who was nearby and if anyone was in the open. When he spotted the occasional fellow out for a nighttime smoke, the stranger circled in anotherdirection. When he caught sight of a dog sniffing toward him, the stranger turned again.

  Finally, like a leaf that had settled after being tossed about by a restless breeze, the stranger picked his spot. It was a thick cluster of shadows beneath a large tree. So many branches hung down from the tree that the stranger nearly disappeared as he situated himself within them.

  Clint figured he should thank Shelly for holding him back until now. Apart from the obvious benefit of spending time with her, Clint had managed to stay behind the stranger’s path rather than find himself in the middle of it. If he’d done what he’d originally set out to do, Clint would most likely have been discovered when the stranger went through his painstaking efforts to scout the area. Not only would Clint have been spotted, but he probably wouldn’t have seen who spotted him and the stranger would have gotten away without a trace.

  As it was, Clint marked the spot where the stranger was hiding and found a spot of his own to keep an eye on the other man. There was no mistaking the fact that the stranger was watching the Hasselman house. When he saw the other man start to move in closer to one of the windows, Clint worked his way to a spot where he could pay him an unexpected visit.

  Clint got close enough to hear the stranger’s coat flapping in the wind. He didn’t think he’d made a sound, but the stranger turned suddenly to look directly at him.

  In the blink of an eye, the stranger’s gun was drawn.

  THIRTEEN

  “What brings you out here?” Clint asked without acknowledging the fact that he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

  The stranger spoke in a voice that sounded like it had been shredded by broken glass. “What the hell business is it of yours?”

  Clint dropped his eyes for a second to glance at the gun in the other man’s hand. That was enough for him to see it was a Schofield model that didn’t see much use anymore. He could also tell by the stranger’s steady hand that he was more than a little familiar with that weapon.

  “Seems to me like you’re spying on the woman and boy who live in that house over there,” Clint said.

  “And I still don’t see how it’s any of your concern.”

  “Maybe the woman doesn’t appreciate being spied on. Maybe she doesn’t like you knocking on her door and frightening her boy.” Clint narrowed his eyes a bit and tensed the muscles in his arm. “Or maybe she doesn’t like seeing the face of an outlaw trying to hunt down a dead man.”

  The stranger was probably a fairly decent poker player, because he didn’t react too much to those words. He reacted enough, however, for Clint to know that the words had struck a chord somewhere within the stranger’s head.

  “I ain’t hunting down nobody,” he rasped. “But I don’t mind starting now if there ain’t no other choice.”

  Clint held his ground without batting an eye. “There’s no cause for blood to be spilled, but you’re done with this family. You can walk away, run away or be carried away. One thing I can guarantee is that you’re going away. Right now.”

  For a second, a hint of concern passed across the stranger’s face. After it was gone, the steely coldness that had been there before was back and even colder than ever. Clint spotted the subtle change just in time to know what was coming. The instant he saw the stranger’s gun hand move, Clint responded in kind.

  Rather than drop his own hand to pull the modified Colt from its holster, Clint snapped that hand out and up to catch the stranger’s wrist. Clint’s movement was just quick enough to force the stranger’s hand up as he took his shot. The gun roared once and sent its round into the sky over Clint’s head. After that, Clint lost his grip on the stranger’s wrist and felt an impact in his gut that took the wind out of him.

  Clint felt the blow land and cursed himself for allowing it to happen, with the very breath that was forced from his lungs. Even though he didn’t allow himself to buckle or be hampered by the blow for more than a second, Clint still wasn’t able to keep the stranger from getting away.

  If he was there to simply chase the stranger off for one night, Clint would have been content to let the man go. But Clint wasn’t going to be in town forever, and he intended on making it so the Hasslemans could sleep soundly for a good, long time. Because of that, Clint sucked in a breath and took off after the stranger.

  The other man was quick on his feet. In the short lead he’d gotten, the stranger was far enough ahead so Clint could only see the flutter of the back of his coat. Faces poked out of windows from the nearby houses in response to the gunshot, and Clint used them to keep track of the stranger’s progress. All Clint needed to do was watch where the other folks were looking before they turned toward him, and he got a rough idea of where the stranger had gone.

  As he raced away from the houses as well as the rest of the town, Clint felt the ground become rougher and less even beneath his boots. Every so often, his ankle would start to turn the wrong way, but he was moving so quickly that his momentum kept him from falling on his face.

  Clint bolted through a row of trees and found himself looking out at an open stretch of land. There wasn’t a lot of moonlight, but there was enough for him to realize the stranger wasn’t anywhere in front of him. When he turned back around, Clint saw a shadow from the trees behind him rush forward like a hawk descending upon its prey.

  Before Clint could make another move, the stranger had a firm hold on the front of his shirt and was pivoting toward the trees. The stranger’s arms were strong enough to pull Clint along for the ride and eventually slam him against the closest tree.

  Clint felt some of his breath leave him on impact, but he’d already steeled himself based on the most recent time the wind had been knocked out of him. This time, the impact only served to light an angry fire in the bottom of his stomach.

  Bringing both arms straight up and inside of the stranger’s elbows, Clint snapped his arms out and knocked the man’s hands to either side. From there, Clint took hold of the stranger’s shoulder with his left hand and then balled up his right to deliver a solid punch to the man’s gut.

  Clint heard the man wheeze and hack up a few haggard breaths. Still, the stranger had enough left in him to step back and pull himself free of Clint’s grasp. The stranger’s hand flashed toward his belt, and Clint wasn’t about to stand still long enough to find out what was in store for him next.

  Although Clint had been expecting another gunshot, he heard something heavy slice through the air while he dove away from the tree. Clint spun around and saw the stranger with a knife in his hand and a vicious snarl on his face. Fortunately for Clint, the knife was embedded in the trunk of the tree.

  Clint didn’t waste a fraction of a second before reaching out to try and grab the knife. The stranger wasn’t about to let go. In fact, he was already pulling the blade free before Clint could get to the knife’s handle. Rather than try to make a grab for it, Clint took hold of the stranger’s wrist so neither one of them could take an effective swing with the weapon.

  Since his options were quickly falling away, Clint wrapped his free arm around the stranger’s neck and moved in behind him. Just as he felt his forearm sink in deeply against the man’s windpipe, Clint felt the jarring impact of the back of the man’s head as it was slammed into his face.

  The stranger followed up the backward head butt by letting go of his knife and twisting around to face Clint. Bringing his knee up, the stranger threw his body forward so he could pack the biggest possible hit with what little amount of space he had. The man’s knee caught Clint in the midsection, just below his ribs. Any higher and one of those ribs might have snapped. Any lower and Clint might have spent the next couple minutes puking up everything he’d eaten in the last day or two.

  Seeing the victorious grin on the stranger’s face was more than enough to get Clint moving again. Using every bit of strength he had left, he cocked his arm back and then straightened his back. As his upper body came up, so did his fist. When his knuckles made contact with the stranger’s jaw, there was enough force behind them to snap the man’s head back and send him staggering backward a few steps.

  Clint didn’t have much of anything left. The effects of all that running, combined with the hits he’d taken, left him barely able to stand up straight.

  The stranger appeared to be in the same boat, since he hunkered down with his hands on his knees and his breaths making him sound like a steam engine on its last legs.

  Neither one of them was in any shape to take off running, and they didn’t seem too eager to fight.

  All that remained now was for Clint to figure out what the hell to do next.

  FOURTEEN

  Clint’s hand hovered over his holster. Even though he didn’t recall the moment in which he’d dropped his Colt back into place, he knew it would be there when he needed it. He’d lived by that gun for so long that it was as vital a piece of him as his own arm. Judging by the stranger’s stance and the caution in his eyes, Clint was sure the man was pretty much the same in that respect.

  “Who the hell are you?” Clint asked.

  The stranger didn’t reply. Instead, he glared at Clint intently while waiting for one wrong move to be made.

  “I know you’ve been watching the Hasselmans,” Clint said. “I know you’ve been watching them every night. I also know about the money you gave to them.”

  Finally, something struck a nerve hard enough to elicit a response.

  “None of that is your business,” the stranger said. “You can just forget about that money, because it ain’t yours and it never will be.”

  “I’m more concerned with you watching that family like a hawk.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they deserve to live in peace.”

  “Do you know them?” the stranger asked.

  “I know them well enough to know they should be able to rest easy in their own homes. Anyone deserves that much.”

  “And why would you take such an interest in them?”

  “Because I’m in a position where I can help, and I couldn’t just ride away knowing some vulture is lurking around here waiting to sink his claws into a widow and a kid.”

  The stranger eased up slightly, but the difference was almost invisible. Clint might have missed the subtle shift in the stranger’s face and posture if he hadn’t been watching him so closely.

  “You ain’t the law,” the stranger said.

  Clint shook his head. “Nope.”

  “And you ain’t a friend of Jed Hasselman.”

  “Is he that boy’s father?” Clint asked.

  The stranger shifted a bit more. This time, a questioning look drifted across his face. “Yeah. He sure was.”

  “Then I didn’t know him. Something tells me you did, though.”

  Bringing his eyes up to look at Clint, the stranger seemed as if he’d been caught napping. He no longer focused on Clint, but looked around at every bit of movement and every bit of noise that passed through the night. Finally, he muttered, “I knew him.”

  Now that his blood wasn’t racing through his veins and some of the pain from those blows had subsided, Clint was seeing things in a different light. The stranger himself had eased back and was now even starting to turn away from Clint. Even so, the stranger’s hand was still near his gun.