Chapter 1

The train was late.

That was not out of the ordinary. There were not that many passengers at the small station. Blackie saw the widow lady from the Tombstone Sentinel editor's funeral. She was a fair piece not at all suited to wearing black. Her little bratty boy was a squalling at her feet. The curvaceous bereaved woman ignored her stepson. It was probably for the best. Her recently demised husband had doted on the child, pampering and spoiling him beyond belief.

He looked at her bending over to the child to hush him up. The nicely curved ass cheeks could not be completely hidden under the folds of the black mourning clothing. Blackie leered with a nasty grin imagining her ankle length dress pushed up above her waist. He wondered if she had any frilly stuff on her bloomers. His dormant pecker started to rise. He willed it to stop because he was still a little sore from last night's wild ride on Suzie Belle's broad flanks over in the Last Chance Saloon.

"May I inquire if you are fixing to head out of Tombstone, little lady?"

Agatha Primgrass looked at the long, lean frame of the notorious "Blackie" Coltrane. He liked to dress all in black whenever possible and today was no exception. The most eye-catching part of his dress was the tied-down Colts slung almost at fingertip length for his reputed fast draw technique. She saw the raw sexual hunger in his shaded eyes. She saw the nicotine stain on his drooping mustache from the "chew" he had just spit into the middle of the dusty street. She was not afraid of him. She was not afraid at all in broad daylight in the middle of town with a station master standing right behind her.

Despite her disgust with his appearance and everything he represented, Agatha was cognizant of the bulge in his Levi's and the dirty thought made her cheeks redden up.

"Are you addressing me, sir?"

Blackie laughed. It was not a funny laugh; it was more of a "don't mess with me" laugh.

"Allow me to offer my condolences on your loss, ma'am. I was not acquainted with the departed Mr. Primgrass, but I heard he was a very good newspaperman."

"Thank you, sir. My husband was an honorable man. He believed in justice and the right of folks to live in peace."

"So you are leaving Tombstone?"

"No, sir, I am only taking my stepson Chester to his Aunt in Tucson to get some real book learning at their school. The paucity of young'uns in Tombstone does not support the hiring of a school teacher or the building of a schoolhouse."

Blackie had sidled a little bit closer to the attractive woman in her mid-thirties and was close enough to reach out and touch her. The young Chester was fascinated with his six-guns and looked at them with the longing eyes of innocent youth. He took a nickel out of his Levi's and gave it to the little boy.

"Go get yourself a lemonade in the train station, little boy. The train won't be here for a while. You don't mind ma'am?"

"No, that is a good idea. Run along, Chester. I will wait at the steps for you."

The little boy ran into the railway station for his treat.

Agatha felt herself breathing a little faster. She was really angry with herself right now. How could she feel attracted to such a vile and nasty creature? He might even be one of the crooks, who had engineered the dastardly murder of her husband. In all honesty, Agatha had to admit she was a little relieved at her husband's demise. He had become very strict in his discipline of his wife and often left her poor bottom bruised and battered after his "corrections". In his fits of jealousy, the departed Mr. Primgrass took even the slightest glance by his wife toward a male visitor as the worse sort of lewd sexual behavior. Poor Agatha had not ever been with a man other than her husband and she was a loyal and faithful wife.

Now that he was gone, the young widow had felt stirrings of sexuality that she had never felt before.

Even now, the proximity and male scent from the dangerous gunman made her lower lips flutter and brim over with fluids she seldom experienced even with her husband fully inserted and pumping away.

The train could be heard in the distance and there was a lot of scurrying around by the train platform workers. There might not be many passengers, but there was always a lot of merchandise arriving into the small town isolated in a remote part of the Arizona desert. A couple of small black boys stood ready to fetch and carry luggage for prospective travelers. The mood was relaxed and festive with the approaching black cloud and the rumble on the rails announcing the arrival of the westbound train.

Blackie picked up the carpetbag at Agatha's feet and took her elbow in a firm grasp. She gasped with repressed sexual needs as he allowed his bulging groin to brush over her ample rump. Agatha felt she would fall to the ground on all fours if this dangerous man instructed her to do so. The sly gunman sensed her attitude and pressed up tightly behind her as the train pulled into the station. He memorized the exact curves of her behind and the firm muscles of her sturdy legs. Agatha could feel her juices running down the insides of her legs. Thank God her dress hid all of her sinful lust. She looked backwards over her shoulder on the train steps.

"I will be back on Saturday afternoon on the 4 o'clock train. You are welcome to call on me at my house on Main Street. I might be tempted to shave that terrible mustache off, sir."

Blackie grinned up at her and gave her a lingering boost up into the railway carriage with the palm of his hand. He allowed his fingers to push into the gap between her ass cheeks just to serve notice that his visit would not be purely social in nature. He saw the widow look down at him from inside the railway car. She was wetting her lips with her tongue. He felt it was an expression of the widows desire to be wetted up all over in all those places a tongue makes a difference.

The small boy ran back with a satisfied look on his face. He was not cranky any longer. Blackie made sure he got on the train and back to his Stepmother.

Stepping down off of the train was a stranger. The gentleman was someone completely unknown to Blackie. His mind came back to earth in a big hurry. This is why he was here at the station. The boss wanted to know if anyone came into Tombstone. He wanted to know who they were. He wanted to know where they were coming from. He wanted to know why they were there. Anyone could be a potential threat to the boss and he wanted to be ready for a threat at any time.

This stranger was dressed in city clothes. He didn't look like he was from the city. He only had one bag and was sporting only one gun in a belt holster. It was up high and didn't look like it was well-placed for a quick draw. Blackie knew that speed was one thing, but accuracy was another thing all-together.