A slow smile spread across Dooley's thin, homely face. "Figured you might, Gabe. What's your problem?"
Trish sagged against the picnic table and thought, Gabe doesn't know it, but he's about to get the shit stomped out of him. Well, let it happen. I can always pick up the pieces later.
"You know my problem," Gabe said flatly. "I don't like wise guys who screw up my pickup."
Dooley was amused. "That makes us even. I don't like people who disable my Jeep."
Gabe stopped in the middle of the ragged circle of light, and now slyness edged his voice as he locked glances with the unemployed hunting guide and asked, "What else don't you like, hillbilly?"
Dooley exhaled loudly. "To grind an old saw, if the shoe fits, stick it up your ass."
Trish winced. This was it. The shit was about to hit the funky old fan.
Gabe exploded suddenly, but Dooley was ready for him. He brushed the punch aside and pistoned one of his own to the sadist's jaw. Gabe dropped to his knees like a religious fanatic anxious to face Mecca. Dooley didn't give him the opportunity to clear the cobwebs from his brain. He fisted Gabe's hair, jerked him erect and belted him across the chops with the back of his hand. He backhanded Gabe four times in rapid succession. Then he shoved him away and kneed him in the groin, the same way Trish had done earlier. Gabe sagged to the dirt and lay there, doubled up like a fetus, holding his injured balls.
There, you bastard, Trish thought smugly as she grabbed the empty Canada Dry bottle from the picnic table and waited for the chance to cop a sneak on Joe Dooley. Now you know how it feels to be on the hurting end for a change.
Dooley waited until Gabe stopped grinding his molars before he kicked him in the rump and said, "Some bone-picker you turned out to be! You might be good when it comes to muscling women and cripples, but you aren't worth a fiddler's fuck when you come up against someone who fights back." He grabbed Gabe by the back collar of his jacket, tugged him erect, pushed him away. "Hit the road, prick. I'm sick of looking at you."
Gabe continued to hold his aching balls as he snarled, "This isn't the end of it, Dooley. We'll tangle assholes again."
"For your sake, I hope not. The next time I might go for broke and hang up your fucking saddle for good. Consider yourself lucky and shove off." He shook his head as Gabe turned toward the little car. "On foot. And not toward Cord's ranch. You're through working for him. There's a hotshot freight going east in another four hours; be under it. Go back to New York and try your luck at hustling drinks."
Gabe stopped clutching his balls and snarled, "Fuck you and the dog you rode in on, Dooley. I'm not about to let you or anyone else run my ass off until that money's found and I get my share of it."
"You can't stop me from running you."
"No," Trish said as she crept up behind Dooley and broke the empty Canada Dry bottle over the back of his skull, "but I can."
Dooley crumpled to the ground without a sound, stretched his length and lay still. Gabe stepped forward and drew back a foot to kick Dooley in the ribs. A pulse beat later he changed his mind and snorted, "Fuck it. I'll wait for the prick to come around. I want him to make noises when I put the boots to him."
Trish's breasts rocked with the excitement that had her nerves walking a tightrope. She asked breathlessly, "What are we going to do with this clod?"
"Put him on ice, what else."
"Where?"
"Not down the tubes, if that's what you're thinking. There's an old root cellar on the ranch that hasn't been used in years. We'll lock him in there."
"Until when?"
Gabe thought it over, "Until we find the treasure."
"What about Elke Lockridge?"
Gabe shrugged. "If she shows up at Lonesome Valley tomorrow night, I'll put the arm on her and toss her in the cellar with this creep."
Trish laughed. Then she rubbed her hands together and said, "With Dooley not around to bug us, we should be able to cover more ground than we've been doing. Christ, every time I looked up, there he was, like a sagebrush voyeur." She stopped rubbing her hands and smirked. "Well, thanks to you and one bottle over the back of his head, we can stop looking up to see if he's there."
Gabe stared at her. "What did you just say?"
She loooked and sounded bewildered. "About what?"
Gabe snapped his fingers in a gesture of impatience. "That part about not having to look up to see if Dooley was there."
"You got it right."
Gabe barked a laugh. "I got more than that, puss." He slapped his forehead. "Talk about two people being stupid! No goddamn wonder we haven't been able to find that bag of bread. We were looking for it in the wrong place."
Trish blinked. "Come again?"
Gabe licked his lips. "The magic word is up, puss. We were looking down for the money when we should have been looking up."
Trish shook her head. "I still don't understand, Gabe."
"The trees, puss. That goddamn sack of money has to be hung up in one of those stinking trees!"
Chapter 12
The raucous ringing of the bedside telephone awakened Trish. She stirred beneath the soft, pink blanket that covered her, then removed her arms and preened herself like a cat. Her brain remained fuzzy with sleep for a few seconds. Then she remembered Gabe telling her that the money bag was probably hung up in a tree, and sat up with a start, now fully awake.
The phone rang a second time; then the bed creaked as Bruce came up on his elbow and fisted it. He talked, listened, frowned at the instrument in his hands. He looked worried about something. Trish said, "What's wrong, Bruce?"
He silenced her with a glance. Her eyes never left his face. Worry faded; annoyance replaced it. He finished talking, returned the receiver to its cradle. Then he treated her to a tight smile and said, "That was Felix Wellman."
"Oh?"
"It's about a bank loan I've been trying to get. It's been approved, but I have to drive in to sign some papers."
"What's wrong with that?"
"I didn't want to go to Lone Pine today. I wanted to stay home and make mad love to you."
"Again? Damn, after last night, I didn't think you'd be. able to come up with a hard-on for at least a month."
"I've got one now."
"Bring it over and I'll see what I can do to soften it."
"Coax me."
Trish started to lose her temper, checked it. She reached across the bed and pulled him down beside her. Her mind raced wildly. There would be no silly games played. She would soften his dick as quickly as possible, then chase him out of the house. The sooner the better. She tightened her fingers around his swollen shaft and said, "Call it: a suck or a fuck?"
"Neither," Bruce said as he freed his cock from the prison of her warm hand and sat up beside her. "Not until I've had breakfast."
Her eyes grew large. "You're going to eat me first?"
"I am," Bruce said solemnly. "I'm going to eat your cunt."
Shadows of amusement glinted in her eyes. "That will be a switch. I'm usually the one who does the eating around here." She frowned at him. "Why this sudden yen to munch my cunt?"
"I feel like celebrating. With the bank kicking through with my loan, I'm in the mood for a bit of the exotic. Having the old palm greased with the oil of lucre always makes me feel reckless, so don't try to talk me out of it."
"I won't," Trish laughed. "I like having my pussy licked. Go ahead, do me."
"Spread your legs."
Trish did.
Bruce swapped ends and lowered his face to her copper-colored pubic mattress. She gasped as his lips found and tweaked her clitoral spire. She shivered, then moaned loudly as he moved his mouth away from her clit and attacked the lips of her moistening pussy with his tongue.
"Ah," she said, "that feels delicious!"