He figured he’d better. The widow woman who’d introduced him to this enthusiastic listener had warned him she’d feed his heart to the hawks if he ever went near her and, right now, he was so near her it was starting to make him tingle where he knew he’d promised not to. He said, “I told you young Joe Slade had just about every penny dreadful ever printed about real and made-up desperate characters. I found stories about Buffalo Bill, Wild Bill, Billy the Kid, and a female bandit named Billie Bangs. I don’t think she could be real. I didn’t find one fuller account of the notorious Black Jack Slade, and I know more than one such story has been published. I’ve seen ‘em on many a newsstand.”
She shrugged or nestled closer, it was hard to tell, and said, “You found the sheet music he’d bought. Maybe that was all he had to know about the dreadful man.”
Longarm shook his head. “I don’t think so. Once he’d memorized that simple-minded song he didn’t need to look at it no more. But I think he took a longer printed account of the one and original Black Jack Slade with him. Are you aware of where your hand is resting at the moment, ma’am?”
She giggled. “I am. Aren’t you? Go on. Why would he want to carry around a pulp penny dreadful about the real Jack Slade?”
“As a Bible. Anyone who’s so tired of being his puny original self that he’s convinced his fool self he’s somebody else might want written directions as to his new, proper conduct. If I knew which of the many versions of the story he was using for his research I’d have a chance of outguessing the mean little brute. But so many have been written since the real Black Jack was lynched, years ago, that his would-be second coming could be out to do wonders that never happened, and… Madam, are you aware that what you’re doing with your head in my lap is a violation of the criminal statutes of the state of Colorado?”
She didn’t answer. She must have thought it impolite to talk with her mouth full. Longarm stared down at her bobbing red head with ever growing fondness and reflected that he was, after all, a federal lawman, and that Colorado could worry about its own dumb laws. The widow woman down the avenue who’d introduced him to this literal man-eater was going to cry fire and salt if she ever found out about this, and the odds were fifty-fifty she would, since women could brag as bad as men about such matters. On the other hand, this one was sure to say far meaner things about him if he tried to stop her at this late date, and what man born of mortal clay was about to stop at a time like this, in any case?
So they both went deliciously crazy for a spell, and Longarm was only mildly surprised, when they stopped for breath at last, to find himself bare-ass under the piano with her smiling up at him adoringly, with her bare feet pressed against the bottom of the sounding board. He’d been wondering what those funny harpish drummings he’d been hearing were. They sure had a fine grip on one another with her wide-spread heels braced that way.
He kissed her some more and said, “Well, howdy, pard. I was wondering where you might be whilst I was up in heaven. But don’t you have a bed on the premises?”
She sounded serious as she demurely replied, “Oh, never. That would be downright indecent, Custis! Whatever would you think of me if I went to bed with you in broad daylight?”
“I’d think you were being practical about splinters in your sweet bare behind. This is a sort of silly place to screw, no offense.”
“None taken. I’m lying on my kimono, if you must know. I like a firm surface under me when you thrust so hard. It makes it feel so hard.”
He noticed that as he moved experimentally in her, but she said, “Wait. I do think my tailbone’s getting bruised. Let’s try it a more comfortable way, dear.”
He said he was willing to try anything that didn’t hurt. So they crawled out from under the piano to try it on the rug with her on top. He found that was inspirational indeed. As she moved up and down atop him he judged her waistline to measure no more than twenty-odd inches, without a lick of whalebone or India rubber to help, and her heroic breasts bounced proud and firm in defiance of the laws of gravity.
It felt so good he would have been content to do it some more, but she said, “We have to think of my reputation,” and popped off him to add, “Come on. The neighbors have big ears.”
He had no idea what she was talking about as she led him back over to the piano. She lowered the big lid and climbed atop the bed-sized instrument, patting the black varnish beside her naked flesh as she asked him what he was waiting for.
He said, “I ain’t waiting for anything. I’m trying to figure out what you want me to do.”
“You’ve been in here almost an hour. They’ve only heard the piano play a few bars, quite a while ago. Would that sound like a music lesson to you, if you were an old biddy hen?”
He said he doubted it and, grasping her intent at last, got aboard the piano with her. The hard, slippery surface felt odd against his bare flesh. It felt even odder, albeit good, when he mounted her big, soft body again and she raised her hands over her head to reach down to the keyboard and moan, “Faster!” as she proceeded to play “Kitten on the Keys.”
He laughed like hell and did his best to keep in time with her as she tinkled and bounced her bare bottom at the same time. He hoped her nosy neighbors thought she had a big bass drum in here as well, for it sure sounded like it.
After climaxing again together in such an artistic fashion, they both lay quietly in each other’s arms for a spell. Then she sighed and said, “That was lovely. But it’s getting late, darling. They have to see you leaving before suppertime.”
He’d been hoping against hope she was going to let him escape without the tears and recriminations a man who enjoyed life just had to accept with the nicer words of womankind. So he kissed her fondly and said, “Yeah, we wouldn’t want ‘em to think we’ve been nibbling on each other.”
She laughed low and dirty, but shoved him off, and damned near broke his neck as he rolled off the piano as well.
It only took her a moment to climb back into her kimono. As she sat on the sofa beside him, watching him dress, she sighed and told him, “Lord have mercy, but we can’t go on like this, Custis.”
He hadn’t been planning to, but he thought it only decent to look wistful and say, “I know. I ought to be whipped with snakes for taking advantage of a sweet little helpless thing like you.”
She nodded. “I don’t think any of the bruises will show, but you’re right. I just can’t resist you. That’s why you’re going to have to be brave for both of us, darling.”
He tried to sound heartbroken as he asked, “Does that mean you don’t want me coming back no more, Miss Mavis?”
She said, “I want you so bad I can taste it, even after coming all those times just now. But I have to consider my good name, and you know how everyone gossips about a divorced woman.”
He nodded. “Yeah, it seems mean as hell. For it only stands to reason most married gals get screwed more regular than even the wildest divorcee.”
“You don’t know how true that is, darling. You may have noticed I was feeling sort of frustrated when you surprised me this afternoon. You can’t do that again. People are sure to talk as it is. But I’ve an idea. Where will you be going when you leave here?”
“I ain’t sure. You sort of surprised me, too. I had a doctor I wanted to consult about demented hookworms and the public library might have more than a song about Black Jack Slade on hand. But they’d both be closed by the time I could get to either, now. So I reckon I’ll have me some supper and just prowl about some more.”
“Oh, I was thinking, if you knew a very, very discreet little love nest we could sort of get to separately and discreet…”