Chapter 4
When Longarm returned to his hotel room, the door was slightly ajar. Drawing his pistol, he stepped off to one side of the door and called, “Who’s in my room?”
“Sophie,” said the melodious voice. “Come on in and join the party, Marshal!”
With the toe of his boot, Longarm pushed the door open. Then he peered around the corner to see what Sophie looked like and if she was alone or perhaps accompanied by someone that might want Longarm dead.
Sophie was not only alone, she was in his bed! Longarm stepped into the doorway. Longarm had no idea who the woman was or what she wanted, but he did know that one of her hands was underneath the blanket and that it might be clutching a revolver waiting to blow a hole in him during a momentary distraction.
“Both hands out where I can see them, Sophie.”
She withdrew her hand from under the covers. She was either Mexican or part-Indian, dark, young, and voluptuous. She had long black hair and big brown eyes. She also had big dark breasts and a lovely smile.
“You are a very nervous man,” she said, reaching for a bottle and two glasses. “I come here to welcome you to our town, and you think I am going to try and kill you?”
“It’s happened before,” he said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “Who are you?”
“Sophie Flanigan,” she said brightly.
“You don’t look Irish to me.”
“Half Irish, half Indian.” Sophie poured herself a glass of what Longarm could now see was champagne and then held it up to him in salute. “The best of both breeds, as I expect you will soon agree.”
Longarm shook his head and looked around. Then he even dropped to one knee and peered under the bed. Sophie, he finally concluded, was definitely alone.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was waiting for you!” Sophie poured Longarm a drink. “I know what it is like to come to a new town and then have to sleep alone.”
He had to laugh as he took the drink. Staring down at her large and lovely breasts, Longarm said, “Sophie, if the bottom half of you is half as nice as the top half that I can see, you probably haven’t slept alone in years.”
Sophie giggled, appreciating his humor. Her dark eyes sparked with mischief as she refilled her glass and raised it to him saying, “What would you like to drink to? Us?”
“To us,” he said, touching his glass to hers and then taking a drink. “And to you telling why you are here.”
“I am here because I want to be here.”
“Uh-uh,” Longarm said, studying her carefully. “You’re here because you want something from me. That is really why you are here.”
“Wrong,” she argued. “I am here because I want to give you something. Look.”
Sophie whipped back the covers, and Longarm gulped because her bottom half was every bit as perfect as her top half. Sophie’s legs were long and shapely, her hips gently flared around her dark mass of pubic hair. She giggled and gave Longarm a little pump of her hips, and he had to look away in order to keep his senses.
“I can see that you like it,” Sophie said, looking at the growing bulge in Longarm’s pants. “Maybe very much, eh?”
“Sure,” he said. “A man would have to be half dead not to like something like that. But there’s always a price.”
“A price?” she asked innocently.
“That’s right, a price.” Longarm covered her bottom up and sat down on the bed. “What is your price, Sophie?”
Her smile slipped a little and she drained her glass. “Isn’t there an old saying about how we should not look a gift-horse in the mouth?”
“You’re no ‘gift-horse,’” he answered, “and I wasn’t looking at your mouth, that’s for certain.”
She giggled and reached for his arm, but he pulled away saying, “What is it that you really want, Sophie?”
“Oh,” she said, “I can see that you are going to be a little difficult, Marshal.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “I just want to know if I can afford what you have to offer. You look pretty expensive, Sophie. You have the look of a woman who has never come cheap.”
Sophie beamed. “Marshal, I take that as a compliment. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome. So what’s the toll, Sophie?”
“Ten dollars?”
“Too much.”
“All right, five.”
“I don’t think so.”
Her eyebrows shot up and she assumed the look of one who has been gravely offended. “You do not think Sophie is worth five dollars?”
“Oh, sure,” he said, “but I don’t think that you’re here for money. I think you’ve another reason for being here.”
Her face changed and she pouted, “And that would be?”
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “But you know that a federal marshal doesn’t make a hell of a lot of money. And I know that the bottle of French champagne you came with is worth at least three dollars.”
“So?”
“So this doesn’t add up,” Longarm said, taking the glass from Sophie’s hand and dragging her out of his bed.
Sophie didn’t make any attempt to resist. When she was standing before him, she drew a deep breath, her magnificent breasts rising dramatically before she expelled, and then said, “So, if I am not here for money, then for what?”
Longarm placed a hand on her bare shoulder. He could feel his heart pounding, and the last thing he wanted to do was to question this woman. What he really wanted to do was to tear off his clothes and mount her. But he knew that would not be wise—at least not until he found out her real purpose.
“I think you being here has something to do with Ford Oakley,” he blurted out. “In fact, that is the only reason I can think of for this surprise.”
Sophie reached up and touched his face. Her nipples were hard, and she rubbed them suggestively across his shirtfront. “Marshal, what if I told you that I saw you get off the stagecoach and I said to myself, ‘There is the handsomest man I have seen in a long, long time, and I want him.’”
His hand slid down from her shoulder to Sophie’s breast. He felt her shiver as he rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger. “If you told me that,” he whispered into her ear, “I would say that was the sorriest line of bullshit I’ve heard from a woman in quite some time.”
Sophie stiffened and made a grab for his six-gun. She was ferret-quick, but the big Colt was pressed too tightly between them and Longarm easily caught her arm and then pushed her away. “So, what is it you really want?” he demanded.
Sophie sat down on the bed. Her smile was gone now and she looked sullen and a little nervous. “I want money.”
“I don’t believe that.” Longarm pulled her back to her feet and slipped his arm around her waist. “You’ve got too much to offer to be selling yourself for a few dollars to a federal marshal. What you really want has everything to do with Ford Oakley, doesn’t it?”
When she did not answer, Longarm squeezed her tight against his chest and pinched her jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “Doesn’t it!”
“Yes!” she hissed, pushing at him. “It is about Ford Oakley! I have been sent here for one reason and one reason alone, and that is to get you to kill him!”
Longarm stepped back and reached for the champagne. “You mean that someone sent you to try and get me to murder him.”
“Yes!”
“Who?”
“I cannot say,” Sophie replied. “But I was paid very well. I will be paid even more if you agree to kill him.”
Longarm poured himself a drink and studied the young woman. He had a feeling that she was finally being honest with him. “And how,” he asked, “am I supposed to do it?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie said. “But I’m sure that you could find a way if you wanted to. My job is to make you want to.”
Longarm removed his hat and sat down on the bed. “Did Miss Bean pay you to come here?”