Chapter 4

Brett would be hard pressed to deny the fact that leaving the juicy Clementine behind rankled him no end. She had proven delightfully accepting of anal pursuits and was eager to swallow when required. That combination of love-making skills was rare in these parts where the vestiges of civilization were paper thin.

He was uncertain if it was the lure of a lucrative payday with multiple bounties waiting to be scooped up or that twisted gut feeling he always got just before the lead started to fly. It was time to move on and see what was waiting for him down the next valley and over the next horizon. His employer implored him to make haste to the blossoming range war on the southern edge of Indian Territory before it impacted the railroad's decision on the laying of the line. He knew these little flies in the ointment often spelled the difference between success and failure for investors and speculators buying up land on the promise of future development.

When he crossed the old wagon trail, Brett knew he was right in the middle of the range war boundaries and hoped that his arrival would be barely noticeable to the participants until he was ready to make his play. The town was so new that the wood was not painted and the streets were still muddy from the relentless traffic in every direction. The first thing he noticed was that the barber shop doubled as a funeral parlor with several new wooden coffins displayed for sale outside. He had to smile because it stifled any urge he had to get a much needed shave.

He put his tired mount up at the livery stable and tried to ignore the accusing eyes of the owner who silently chided him for his demands on good horseflesh. He felt momentarily guilty but shook it off because he knew time was of the essence and he was needed to cool off the heat between the ranchers and the settlers engaged in full-scale war for land and power.

His next stop was to check in with the sheriff because that was the correct protocol when a bounty hunter enters any governed area under the rule of law. The sheriff was none too happy to see him and let him know he would rather Brett just "ride on through". Brett pretended he didn't hear the hostility and showed the lawman the dozen or so posters that were of interest to him. The sheriff barely looked at them because he smelled trouble and wanted no part of it.

Satisfied that he had done his duty with the law, Brett searched out a place to stay and found that the local church was putting up travelers at the old residence for the preacher and his extended family. The new preacher was in a wheelchair and tended to by his wife in the small building attached to the church. There were a half-dozen rooms in the old residence and he got the only vacant one which was all the way in the rear. That suited him just fine because he could exit and enter through the back door without disturbing any of the other guests or let them in on his business.

The preacher's wife was called Rachel and she tended to wear black and a large silver cross nestled snug between her breasts. The preacher was called Reverend Jones and he never did learn his first name because everybody called him by his official title. The price was reasonable and the preacher's wife included breakfast provided he made it to the table before eight AM.

Brett was curious if the attractive female was able to get any loving from the chair-bound preacher because if she wasn't, it would be a terrible waste of nubile femininity. He did his best to avoid the husband because the dedicated man tended to talk in terms of scripture and what God wanted people to do. It could get hard on the ears after just a few minutes. He wasn't one much for religious discussions in any shape or form. He came into the kitchen two mornings later just under the deadline for getting breakfast and found her sitting at the large table with her head in her hands and it looked like she was concluding a tearful explosion of female emotions. He was ready to turn on his heels and walk out but she sprang to her feet and told him,

"Please sit down, Mister Hollister; I will have your eggs right away."

He followed her directions and held the hot cup of coffee between his two hands like cradling a bag of gold. She bustled at the pot-belly stove and soon he was putting away some fine eggs and a slice of buttered bread that she had baked the night before.

"Sorry to see you are feeling poorly, Rachel. I guess it is not easy being here in the midst of all these rough men all day with the only other females working down at the Long Branch saloon."

The preacher's wife sat down right in front of him and he could feel the closeness of her knees right between his own.

"It is just that I get real lonely, Brett. My husband is a good man but he has not been the same ever since getting run over by the wagon train just outside of St. Louis."

She looked nervously at the hallway as if she expected her husband to come through the door. They both knew that all the other guests had already left and her husband was lecturing a group of young students about the joys of abstinence. Then, she slid a bit closer and Brett could feel her legs spreading his knees out to the side. She lowered her head and reduced her tone of voice to a whisper like they were co-conspirators plotting some devious scheme.

"I shouldn't be burdening you with my problems, but my husband has not been able to treat me like a wife ever since the accident and I am fair to bursting with my female needs."

Rachel's hand was suddenly resting on the inside of his leg like a branding iron looking for a place to find a home. He could see her breast rising and falling so rapidly that the silver cross was bouncing like a ship in a storm. This certainly was the answer to Brett's unspoken questions about her marital relations.

"Come with me, Rachel, my room can be entered from the back door and there is nobody left in the residence. There won't be a single soul there until after five PM this afternoon. We will have plenty of time to remedy your problem providing you are ready to accept the solution."