Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Shy Mom

Note from JetBoy: In the midst of writing her much-loved story “Sheltering,” Shy Mom turned out this delightful short-short and passed it along to me. Needless to say, I immediately claimed it for Juicy Secrets. Read on and see why.

***

Evelyn and the Mermaid

Ligeia

A lot has been written about mermaids, mostly by men, mostly wrong.

For one, we do not sing to lure them. That is a fantasy, set down by male writers from Homer to Hans Christian Anderson.

We are alluring, though. Our waves of sea-green hair arouse a wildness in the soul. Our pale breasts appear impossibly soft. Our shapely tails stir imaginings of unnatural acts.

It’s no wonder sailors smash their ships onto rocks in their rush to reach us. They’d do that even if we didn’t sing.

But we do not sing for them. Fuck them.

We sing for our girl-lovers, our virgins. Our songs reach them in dreams. They are the only ones we will allow to come to us.

Evelyn

I hear her in my sleep. She sings. No one has sung so sweetly to me.

Of course, I know who she is, what she is. I’ve read about her kind.

I should be scared. I’m not. In fact, she excites me.

Ligeia. I go to her in my dream.

Ligeia

Weeks ago, I sensed her arrival in this place called England, an island not far from our wine-dark sea.

She came from the New World, an unfamiliar land, but her head is filled with the lore of our realm. She reads, absorbs, knows far more than most at the age of ten. Her imagination seems limitless.

She excites me. Evelyn. I call her.

Evelyn

She is breathtaking, this mermaid.

Seated on heaped rocks, surrounded by seafoam, her otherworldly beauty resembles nothing of the temptresses of men’s imaginations, those sirens of seduction and deceit. Her womanliness seems as wild and deep as the sea.

She beckons, and the waves roil, crashing about me, under me. But in my dream, I walk on water.

I cross the gulf between us.

Ligeia

She closes the distance. Her naked frame is slight, so much that the stormy sea should swallow her, but her steps are fearless.

I reach out, and she grasps my hands. She steps onto my rocks, unscathed.

Still a virgin, thank the gods.

She’s lovely. Not like my mersisters, whose preternatural beauty grows tiresome after a millennium. She is exquisitely mortal.

Ribbons of black hair fly about. Almond eyes flash with excitement. Fragile lips rush to meet mine.

Evelyn

I kiss her.

Awake, I would not have dared. I would have thought and rethought without leaping to act. But in my dreams, there is no why. There just is.

And the only thing that is… is my desire for this irresistible creature.

Ligeia

I drink her desire, and fill her with mine. She writhes like the sea around us as my tongue plunges into the depths of her being.

Evelyn

I have never had sex, but know what this is.

She is boring into me, impossibly deep, invading, loving.

The pleasure churns like waves.

I love her back.

Ligeia

I suck her tongue into the whirlpool of my lust. Rather than flinch, she dives in heedlessly. She surrenders all of herself, her loneliness and longing.

So entirely exposed, I could make her mine, a mersister forever.

Evelyn

She enfolds me in one arm, pulls me into her bosom, buries me in softness and warmth. With her free hand, she clasps my sex.

Ligeia

I tease her tiny pleasure bud. She quivers and mewls. I press the hot entrance to her fissure. It is leaking. I lubricate the flesh with her own wetness.

My intentions are unmistakable, but the choice is hers.

Evelyn

I shift my weight onto her finger, and she impales me.

A jolt of pain, a shock of pleasure, and then another, and another, as she fills and fucks me.

Ligeia

I make love the human way with my hand, as our mouths make love the mermaid way.

The child fucks me back, unabashedly. She has never known love, but instinctively senses how and where to touch. I have never known such passion.

I drop my other hand to her bottom, fingers probing for her starfish.

Evelyn

Oh, God, will it hurt?

No matter. I spread my cheeks apart, offer my last orifice to this Ligeia, this dream.

Ligeia

I invade her, all of her, fuck this divine child as only mermaids can, churn up a tsunami of pleasure.

Her wild abandon overtakes me.

We crest together.

Evelyn

I drown in a sea of bliss. I lose myself.

I am hers. I am her, and she is me.

Ligeia

I know her, like I know myself. She is unutterably beautiful.

I love her, but know that she cannot stay. I let her go.

Evelyn

I wake.

I can’t go back, she warned. I am not hers. I will find other lovers soon enough.

I weep into my pillow, wracked with sorrow. The strains of a fading song haunt me.

I will never hear it again.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

The End

by Purple Les

Andromeda Purdy was basking in that blissful state halfway between sleep, and wakefulness, nestled in the bedsheets, snug as could be. Finally, though, the aroma of the hot coffee The Kid had left for her on the nightstand proved too tempting to resist.

Sitting up, Ann propped a couple of pillows against the headboard and sank back against them with a contented sigh. She reached over for the coffee, took the warm mug in both hands, held it under her nose for a moment to breathe in the dark, steamy smell, then took a sip. “Oh dear, so good.” she murmured. Just then, she heard The Kid shutting the door as she departed for town and, smiling to herself, took another sip.

Ann began to mull over the events of the day before, shuffling them around in her mind as she finished her coffee. Once the cup was empty, she rose from bed and headed to the kitchen for a refill.

Ann sliced some bread, spread it with blackberry preserves, and ate it with her coffee. Brushing the crumbs away, she slipped out of her nightgown, standing nude in the kitchen. She gave herself a sponge bath, then padded back to the bedroom and put on a white blouse and a long black skirt. After lacing up her boots, she headed out in search of The Kid.

Down the street, Ann saw a crowd milling around the front of the Ridge Hotel and wondered about it as she made her way to the sheriff’s office. On the way, Josh spied her going by the telegraph office and hastened to the door.

“Mornin’, Miss Purdy,” Josh called out, and Ann turned to face him. “Will you be seein’ The Kid anytime soon?”

“Yes, indeed, Josh. In fact, I’m looking for her right now.”

“Wonderful. Would you please give her this telegram?” Stepping out into the street, he handed her a piece of paper. She’s been by just about every day this week, askin’ about it. Reckon it’s important.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Josh.”

“Thanks, Miss Purdy.” With a nod, he went back inside.

Ann glanced at the envelope, then shoved the telegram into her skirt pocket as she approached the sheriff’s office.

She poked her head in, then stepped inside. Seeing no one there, she looked around for a moment,  wondering where everyone was. As she pondered where to go next, Ann idly picked up a wanted flyer from Sheriff Masters’ desk and glanced at it.

One look, and Ann’s face turned pale. She quickly read what it had to say, then slammed the sheet down on the desk and rushed out the door, running to the livery.

As Ann dashed into the dark stable, she saw that Button’s stall was empty. Seeing Mac mucking out a stall, she ran to the man and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. “Mac! Do you know where The Kid is?”

“Sure do,” Mac said — then, seeing the frantic look on Ann’s face, quickly added, “She said she’d be goin’ out to old Miz Ruggles’ place.”

Ann stood on tiptoe and gave the very surprised man a kiss on his grizzled cheek. “Which is the fastest horse you have here, Mac?”

Mac took off his hat and scratched his head as he looked around. “I reckon it’s Mr Garret’s horse, Razor. He’d be fastest even if all the stalls was full.”

“Saddle him up for me please, Mac. Right now,” Ann ordered.

As Mac hastened to saddle the tall black gelding, he asked, “You fixin’ to ride him, Miss Purdy? I know Mr Garret ain’t one to ride out this time of day, but if you take Razor here without his say-so, ain’t that horse thievin’?”

Ann frowned. “Of course not, Mac. I am merely borrowing Mr Garret’s horse. I have every intention of returning him as soon as I can. And if Mr Garret does need a horse to ride, let him know that he is free to use Pegasus.”

As soon as Mac had the bridle on, Ann snatched the reins from his hands and mounted up.

Mac stood just outside the doors, looking puzzled as he watched Ann ride off at a fast gallop. With a shrug, he slowly bent to pick up his shovel, then shuffled back to the dirty stall.

It didn’t take long for Ann to reach the Ruggles estate on Mr Garrett’s swift horse. She dismounted before the horse had come to a complete stop, hurriedly tied the reins to a hitching post near a water trough and ran to the front door.

Banging the door knocker loudly, Ann listened to hear if anyone was coming. Impatient, she knocked again, then opened the door.

Stepping inside, she called out, “Hello! Anyone here?” Her voice echoed in the huge entryway. Going from room to room she shouted, “Mrs Ruggles! Kid? Anyone?”

As she approached the grand stairway she heard a voice say, “Up here, Miss Purdy.”

***

Jessica Sinclair carefully placed the barrel of her gun against the back of Gracie’s skull, looking up to smile sweetly at the three women, all still on their knees.

She drank in the sight of her victims, reveling in that lovely warmth she felt all over when she was about to kill. It’s not as good when you have to do it quick, she told herself. Murder is like a fine wine. You want to take your time, enjoy the taste of it. 

Of course, it was even better when there were others to watch her kill, to witness the power she had to take their lives away, one at a time. And the fear they showed, she loved that, too.

Jessie had to laugh at the sight of Lady Jane’s brat, whispering a prayer as she waited to die. And the ashen-faced old woman bleeding from her scalp — wasn’t so damn high and mighty now, was she? Then there was Lady Jane, the bunco artist, crying and begging for the little girl’s life to be spared.

Jessie stopped laughing as she stared into the cool blue eyes of The Kid. I’m gonna do something extra special to her, she thought, the fires of hatred roaring through her once more. The head shot, that’s too kind. Maybe put a bullet in her gut. Lock her in a closet in some back room of this place, where she won’t get found for days, Weeks, maybe.

Her attention shifted back to Gracie, still on her knees, still praying. Jessie was bored with the brat, sick of her sniffling. She wanted to be done with this one. Time to die, child. May God show you more mercy than I will.

“It’ll all be over for you in a moment, child,” she said.

As she was about to pull the trigger, they all heard a racket at the front door. Someone knocking.

“That’s Sheriff Masters right now, Jessie.” The Kid said softly. “Best give it up.”

Jessie grabbed Gracie’s hair and pulled it hard, all but dragging the girl to her feet. Then they heard a voice calling from downstairs, a woman’s voice.

The Kid felt a cold lump in her stomach. No. NO. Anyone but her.

“Mrs Ruggles! Kid? Anyone?” Ann Purdy called out.

Half-choking Gracie with the crook of her arm, Jessie said softly, “You three. Upon your feet and stand over there.” Jessie gestured with the gun toward the wall.

Jessie opened the door halfway saying loudly, “Up here, Miss Purdy.” Then she moved behind the door, holding Gracie tightly.

If I could just get to her in time to snatch that gun away, The Kid thought, in agony. But she’s too sharp for that. She knows I’m bustin’ to make a move. 

Ann sprinted up the stairway. Pausing a moment at the top of the hall, she saw the partly opened door and ran straight into the room. Seeing The Kid standing there, Ann went right up to her.

“Kid! Molly Hardy is the killer and thief! I saw a wanted flyer in the sheriff’s office!” Ann went on excitedly. “Her real name is Jessica Sinclair. Also known as Jessie St.Clair, Molly Novack, and Molly Hardy. She’s wanted for murder and robbery. The description on the flyer matches her, right down to that beauty mark by her lip.”

Ann’s voice began to wind down as she noticed the odd, sick expression on The Kid’s face. “There’s a five thousand dollar reward on her head…” Her eyes shifted to her right, where she saw Mrs Ruggles, whose head was bleeding, standing next to a white-faced Lady Jane. “She’s wanted…”

The Kid moved her eyes slightly and Ann slowly finished her sentence. “…dead or alive.” She jumped as the door slammed shut. Turning slowly, Ann saw Jessie Sinclair with a gun at Gracie’s head.

“Oh, dear,” Ann said softly as she raised her hands.

Jessie roughly shoved Gracie across the room in the direction of the other women. “Well, what a nice little party we have now.” Her eyes were bright with excitement. “Down on your knees!” she demanded. “Hands up nice and high, where I can see them.”

The four women and the trembling little girl all slowly knelt, raising their hands.

“Kid?” Ann whispered, as Jessie Sinclair quickly bent to withdraw one of The Kid’s guns from its holster where it lay on the floor. Moving carefully, keeping an especially close eye on The Kid, she moved to stand behind the group of kneeling women.

“If you’re wondering what’s going on, Miss Purdy, and why you’re here,” Jessie said, her upper lip curled in a sneer, “Your friend The Kid has cheated me out of the gold certificates I stole.”

Everyone heard the hammer on the other gun click as Jessie pulled it back.

“And then this old bat” — she jerked a thumb at Mrs Ruggles — “doesn’t seem to know where her husband hid a million dollars worth of diamonds in this house, and I’m fed up with her wasting my time. So I’m killing all of you now, just for fun.” Jessie was speaking calmly as if they were discussing the weather.

Then Ann laughed, and everyone looked at her as if she were crazy. “A million dollars in diamonds? I know that isn’t true.” She paused. “More like forty thousand, from what I remember.”

The room fell silent, except for the sound of racing heartbeats.

“What do you know about it?” Jessie asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I stayed here for a week, back when I was eight,” Ann replied.

“Go on,” Sinclair growled.

“Well, it’s a wonderful house for a child to play in. So many places to hide. Anyway, that’s how I saw where Mr Ruggles put his diamonds. He didn’t know I was watching, at first… and when he did see me, Mr Ruggles told me I was a good girl, and if I kept his secret, he’d give me one of those pretty little stones.” She smiled. “I still have it at home, in my memory box.”

Jessie licked her lips. “Good… good.” She pointed her gun at Ann. “Tell me where they are.”

Ann laughed again. “Why on earth would I do that? You’re already going to kill us all. At least I’ll die with the satisfaction of knowing those diamonds will never be yours.”

Dang, The Kid thought, we might still have us a chance to get out of this mess.

“Now, perhaps,” Ann continued, “If I had a reason to tell you where they are, we just might be able to strike a bargain.”

“What sort of bargain?”

“Let the child, Lady Jane, and Mrs Ruggles go free,” Ann said, “Then I’ll take you straight to the diamonds.”

“Hmmm… now, how do I know you aren’t trying to buffalo me?” Jessie asked.

“Well, The Kid and I will still be here for you to kill. And who knows, you might still be able to catch the others, once you’ve dealt with us. All I’m asking is that you give them a fair chance.”

Jessie began to pace back and forth, her gun still trained on Ann. Finally, she came to an abrupt halt. “What’s your offer, Purdy? I’m listening.”

Ann swallowed. “You let those three go,” she said, indicating Lady Jane, Gracie, and Mrs Ruggles. “When we hear the front door slam behind them, I’ll show you where the diamonds are. I assume you’ll keep your gun on The Kid the whole time.”

Jessie thought about it for a moment. “All right, then,” she said slowly, glaring at Ann, then The Kid. “But I warn you, missy. If you try to play me for a fool… oh, you two will die sure enough, but it won’t be quick, or easy.” She gave them a thin, icy smile. ”I like to kill, but sometimes I especially like making folks suffer first. Remember that.”

“I will,” Andromeda quietly replied.

With a quick nod, Jessie strode over to the game room door and flung it open. “All right, you three,” she said, looking at Gracie, Lady Jane and Mrs Ruggles, “Get out, and make sure you slam that door hard as you leave so we can hear it up here.”

The two women and the girl stood up shakily. Mrs Ruggles seemed to be on the edge of fainting. She had to be supported by Gracie and Lady Jane as they made their way to the door.

“Oh, and ladies?” Jess added, “You’d best make tracks, because I will be coming for you, soon as I’m done with these two.” She laughed, hard and ugly, then gave a mocking salute. “Until we meet again…”

Moving faster now, the girl and the women exited the game room, then began to descend the stairs.

Jessie Sinclair slipped The Kid’s Colt in the sash on her dress, holding her own gun on Ann and The Kid as she impatiently waited to hear the front door shut.

***

Halfway down the stairs, Mrs Ruggles shook off the arms of Gracie and Jane, then hastened the rest of the way until she’d reached the first floor. The old woman didn’t stop until she was standing beneath a portrait of herself with the late Maurice Ruggles that hung over the fireplace.

Mrs Ruggles turned to the others, who were hurrying to catch up. “Help me get this painting down,” she hissed to Lady Jane, who quickly moved to assist.

Behind the painting was a small wall safe. Mrs Ruggles spun the dial to and fro, pulled the iron door open, then reached inside and withdrew an old Navy Colt.

Spinning the chambers to ensure that the gun was fully loaded, Mrs Ruggles led Lady Jane and Gracie to the front door. “Run for the barn and set the horses loose,” she whispered. “Now, in the last stall, there’s a trap door down under the straw. Maurice had it put in as a hidey-hole for us, if we ever needed one. That woman won’t find you there.”

As Gracie and Lady Jane went out the door and ran for the barn, Mrs Ruggles shut the door hard from the inside.

***

Upstairs, Jessie smiled as she heard the door slam.

“All right, Purdy,” she said, gesturing threateningly with her gun. “Where are the diamonds?”

“Can’t you at least give ‘em a minute’s head start?” The Kid protested.

“What, give them time to ride into town and get a posse rounded up?” Jessie scoffed. Then she giggled. “They won’t get far, anyhow. Those Englishers can’t even mount a horse, much less ride one… and the old woman… did you see her? Shit, she could barely stand. I’ll hunt them down like dogs.” Her mirth suddenly vanished, and she glared at Ann. “Where are those diamonds, damn you?”

“Right here in this room.” Ann answered. “May I get up?”

“All right, but nothing funny, or the first bullet goes through your friend’s foot,” Jessie answered, her gun aimed rock-steady at The Kid.

Struggling to her feet, Ann walked across the room. She stopped by the table with the fish tank, then looked back at Jessie, who moved toward her, glancing every few seconds back at The Kid.

“Where?” Jessie asked.

Ann looked at the tank. Jessie stepped closer.

“Right there,” Ann murmured, pointing. “See them sparkling in the gravel, down there at the bottom?”

Jessie now stood in front of the fish tank and looked down into the water, her gun still aimed toward The Kid.

“See, right there.” Ann said. “Look close. You can make them out, plain as day.”

Craning her neck, Jessie peered deep into the water, trying to see past the small bright fishes that darted about, her face within inches of the rippling surface.

The Kid tensed, ready to make her move.

That was when Ann seized the back of Jessie’s head, forcing her face into the water. Bubbles roared up as Jessie screamed, her head submerged in the tank.

With her right hand, Jessie fired the gun in the direction of where The Kid had been kneeling seconds earlier. Before she could get off another shot, The Kid had grabbed Jessie’s arm and banged her wrist once, twice, three times on the table’s edge. The gun fell to the floor, and The Kid kicked it across the room.

The bubbles in the tank stopped coming, and a breathless Ann eased her grip on the woman before The Kid could warn her. Sure enough, Jessie wrenched her head out of the tank, splashing water every which way and gasping for air. Before Ann could react, Jessie butted her in the forehead.

A stunned Ann staggered back — losing her hold on Jessie, who nearly lost her balance, but spied the Bowie knife on the floor where The Kid had placed it. With a quick snatch, it was in her grasp. She drew back to lunge forward with it, but The Kid’s fist smashed into her mouth first.

Jessie hit the floor rolling and quickly came up, the Bowie knife still in her grip. She slashed out with a wide sweep of her arm, and the tip of the steel blade sliced through the bridge of The Kid’s nose. “Shit!” The Kid gasped, jumping back.

Now livid with rage, Ann hurled herself at Jessie, knocking her down hard. The knife clattered to the floor.

Back on her feet in a heartbeat, Jessie gave Ann three fast, hard jabs to the jaw with her fist. Ann collapsed, the skirt she wore flying up to expose her thighs.

Reaching for the Colt, still tucked in her dress sash, Jessie froze suddenly as a derringer appeared from nowhere into The Kid’s hand. She stared at the small gun, now aimed at her head. Jessie’s own hand twitched, inches from the gun at her waist.

“Go on!” The Kid spit out, wearing her best poker face as she held the empty gun. In a quiet, ice-cold voice, she said, “Go on, Jessie. Go for that gun. Just give me a reason to shoot you dead, here an’ now.”

It was clear that Jessie was struggling to decide, weighing the odds as she gazed into The Kid’s eyes. Finally, she put her hands up.

Ann rose to her feet, somewhat dazed. The Kid reached down, plucked her gun from Jessie’s dress sash and set it on a nearby table. Then she quickly removed the gadget from her arm and put it down, too, along with the empty derringer.

The Kid turned to pull the drape sash down from the window, intending to tie up her prisoner. The second she took her eyes from Jessie, the woman lashed out at Ann like a hissing cat, ripping into her face. Ann fell with a surprised cry, her cheeks scored by Jessie’s sharp fingernails.

Gritting her teeth, The Kid sprang to punch the outlaw woman again, sending her sprawling on the floor. At the same instant, they both saw the other gun on the floor, within easy reach of Jessica’s hand.

With a growl of victory, Jess lunged for the weapon. But before she laid a hand on it, a large splinter of wood came flying up from the parquet floor, accompanied by the roar of a gun.

The Kid and Jessica turned in the direction of the shot. Leaning against the frame of the door to hold herself steady, there stood Mrs Ruggles. She held the Navy Colt in both hands, her arms extended.

Looking down the gun sight, Mrs Ruggles said, “The next bullet will be in your head.”

Jessie’s hand dropped to her side. The Kid picked up her gun and moved to assist Mrs Ruggles, helping her into a chair. As The Kid turned once more to pull down the drape sash, Jessie sprang to her feet, snatching the derringer from the table. She cocked the hammer back and pulled the trigger, only to hear a dull click.

Blood flowing down from the cut in her nose, The Kid smiled, aiming her gun at the dismayed outlaw’s face.

“Lay face down and put your hands behind your back,” she ordered. Letting the derringer drop to the floor, Jessie did as she was told, her eyes glowing with hate.

Tugging the sash down from the window with a single yank, The Kid handed it to Ann, who was wiping the blood from her scratched face with a handkerchief. “Tie her up for me?”

“I’d be delighted to,” Ann hissed, glaring at her assailant. She began to bind Jessie’s hands behind her back, being none too gentle about it.

“You goddamned bitches,” Jessie muttered. “You filthy, lice-riddled pieces of prairie shit. Cocksucking whores.” Her voice was rising to a shriek. “You no-account pig-fucking–”

“I think we’ve heard enough from you,” Ann said, stuffing a piece of the sash into Jessie’s mouth, then tying a strip of the same material around the woman’s head to keep it in place. Jessie continued to make furious sounds, but finally fell into a sullen silence.

They heard heavy boots come thumping up the stairs and turned toward the open door. Gus Masters burst into the room, gun drawn. Halting in his steps, he took in the scene.

“Well, now,” he said, glancing at The Kid. “Reckon I shouldn’t of rode my horse half to death to get here.”

Ann gave Gus a hug. “Believe me, we are very glad to see you.”

***

Alice Johnson, the doctor’s wife, knelt on the floor by Ann’s sofa where Ann lay stretched out, her head propped against the armrest. Alice had already put a single stitch in The Kid’s nose where the tip of the Bowie knife had sliced it.

Now she was applying hydrogen peroxide to the scratches Jessica Sinclair had left on Ann’s face with her fingernails. Ann was already holding a cold wet cloth to her swollen jaw where she’d been punched.

A knock at the door made them all lookup. The Kid yelled, “C’mon in.”

Doc Johnson entered. “Well, now,” he asked, closing the door behind him, “How are your patients, Alice?”

Alice finished with Ann’s face saying, “Oh, I think they’ll survive. How about yours?”

Examining his wife’s work on The Kid’s nose, Doc Johnson gave a satisfied nod, then replied, “That poor  Gracie girl is still pretty shook up. I gave her a sedative, so she’ll sleep through the night.” He glanced at  Ann’s face and nodded again, adding, “Mrs Ruggles got a small concussion. I think she’ll be fine, but I’ll check back on her a time or two. For all her airs, she’s a tough old bird. She’ll be staying at the Ridge Hotel for now.  So will Gracie, and that Lady Jane woman.”

Reaching into his bag, the doctor took out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Ann. “Miss Purdy, I’d like you to take this sleeping powder. You need rest, and that pain will for sure keep you awake.” He poured some water in a glass from a pitcher on the coffee table and gave it to Ann, then turned to The Kid. “Reckon I shouldn’t bother to ask, Kid, but how ‘bout you? Need anything for the pain?”

“Why, I got a near-full bottle of tequila here. I’ll be fine if I get to hurtin’, Doc,” The Kid answered.

Johnson gave a snort of laughter. “That’s what I figured. You best save some of that bottle for another day, Kid, else you’ll be in more pain from the cure than the cut!”

Before The Kid could answer back, another knock at the door brought Lady Jane into the room.

“Hello,” she said, looking somewhat awkward. “There is a message for you, Doctor. Mrs Saur is ready.”

Alice nodded. “That’s the woman expecting twins. I’ll go with you, Jed.”

“Thanks, Alice.” Doc said, “I’ll need your help with that one.”  He turned to Lady Jane. “My goodness, you didn’t have to come out here to tell me that, ma’am! Usually, when folks need me, they send one of the boys hanging out by the general store.”

Lady Jane blushed. “They were going to, but I offered to do it. Um… I needed to speak to…” She glanced at The Kid, her cheeks getting redder.

“Well, I thank you, ma’am. How’s little Gracie doing?”

“She’s resting comfortably. I’ll be back at her bedside soon. We’ll be leaving on the morning train for Austin.”

“I strongly advise against that,” Doc Johnson said, furrowing his brow. “That child needs to rest for a few days. There’s stages to Austin every morning.”

“I’m not very keen on taking another stage,” Lady Jane said.

Doc Johnson gave a brief smile. “Guess I understand that. But your Gracie isn’t ready for a long journey, not yet. I hope you’ll consider leaving next week instead.”

Lady Jane gave a thoughtful nod. “Thank you, Doctor. I… I will give serious thought to postponing our trip.”

“You do that, ma’am.” By then, Alice had finished packing her bag, Doc Johnson picked up his, and the couple made their way to the door. “Well, ladies, our duty calls. Try to stay out of trouble, least until the end of the day.” He tipped his hat.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Lady Jane murmured.

“G’night, Doc,” The Kid called, raising her tequila bottle. “G’night, Alice.”

From the sofa came a soft snoring noise. Everyone looked over to see that Ann had turned on her side, her face near the back of the sofa, and was sound asleep.

“Fastest working sedative I ever did see,” Doc Johnson declared. “Well, good evening.”

“Good night,” Alice murmured, and they made their exit.

The Kid looked up at Lady Jane. “The doc was right — anyone could of brought that message. Why’d you really come here?”

Lady Jane looked at the floor for a moment, then at The Kid. “I believe that whether I leave with Gracie tomorrow or not depends on you, Miss Kid.”

“Just call me ‘Kid’. So why’s it up to me if you go tomorrow or not?”

The woman hesitated, then spoke. “By now, I think you know that I am not really Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton.”

The Kid nodded.

“Have you learned who I really am, then?” Lady Jane asked.

The Kid hesitated a moment before saying, “I know you ain’t the real Lady Jane… and that you and Gracie are pullin’ a flim-flam on folks with that spiritualist act. But I will know who you are, soon enough. I’m waitin’ on a telegram that’ll tell me everything.”

“Oh, dear,” Lady Jane said, the color draining from her face. “I always knew this day would come.”

“No one knows about you yet, ‘cept for me and Sleepin’ Beauty there on the sofa.” The Kid paused to pour herself a drink, then held up the bottle. “Care for a shot of tequila?”

“No, thank you.”

The Kid drained her glass, then set it on the end table with a contented sigh. “Look, I like Gracie. She’s a good girl. Reason I say that is cause she don’t like runnin’ that con game with you.”

“Are you going to turn us in?” Lady Jane asked, her cheeks still pale.

“Not unless you killed someone.” The Kid raised an eyebrow. “You ain’t killed anyone, have you?”

“No. I — I’m just an honest criminal. I’d never hurt another person,” Lady Jane answered with a shaky laugh.

“Then I reckon Gracie and you best rest up here for a week or so, like the doctor said.”

“I’d better get back to her now.” Lady Jane turned to leave, stopped, then came over to where The Kid sat. She gazed at The Kid a moment, bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you again, Kid. That’s twice you’ve saved our lives.”

The Kid blushed. “Shucks, now. I reckon the second time was Ann’s doin’, mostly.”

“Give her my thanks, too.” Lady Jane made her way to the door, then glanced back. “Those diamonds that Maurice Ruggles was said to have had… did they ever really exist?”

The Kid slowly shook her head. “Nope. Nary a one. Mrs Ruggles told me it’s just a story someone made up. No truth to it a’tall.”

“Thank you again,” Lady Jane said, then made a quiet exit.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, The Kid took one last slug of tequila from the bottle, then put a blanket over Andromeda, who was still snoozing peacefully on the sofa. She spread her bedroll out on the floor next to the sofa, put out the lights and laid down. The Kid fell asleep listening to the steady rhythm of Ann’s breath.

***

Gus felt more tired than he’d been in ages. He’d dispatched the two horse thieves to Austin with the posse. They’d rode so far in pursuit that it was easier to hand them over than bringing them back to Knuckle Ridge. Gus had found out their game, how that Jessie Sinclair woman had hired them.

Furious at having been taken in, Gus raced back to Knuckle Ridge. He was relieved to find Jessie Sinclair caught and no one else dead except for the Count. You got lucky this time, old man, he told himself, gazing into the tarnished mirror.

Finally he sat at his desk and began to do paperwork. Jigs returned a few moments later with a plate of stew. Gus had sent him to the Highland Cafe to get supper for their prisoner. “It’s still warm,” Jigs said.

He took the plate and a spoon back to the cell that held Jessie. Moments later, Gus heard her screech, “I won’t eat that shit!” then the sound of the tin plate hitting the wall. He frowned, listening to Jigs grumble as he cleaned up the mess.

Jigs finally emerged from the cells, bearing the empty plate, a mop and a bucket. Livid with anger, he slammed the heavy wooden door that separated the office from the cells.

“Damn that bitch, Gus,” Jigs growled. “She ain’t right, I can tell you that for sure!” He stalked out into the night to take the empty tin plate back to the Cafe and get something to eat for himself.

Rising from his desk, Gus looked through the slat in the wood door to see Jessie lying peacefully on the cot. Shaking his head, he wandered over to the cot in the corner of the office, where he took off his gun belt, then sat down and pulled his boots off. Stretching out, he was asleep within minutes.

Hearing nothing outside the heavy door and seeing no light through the slat, Jessie Sinclair rose from her straw-stuffed pallet. Jigs had failed to notice that she’d kept the spoon he brought.

She stayed up all night kneeling on the floor, scraping the handle of the spoon against the rough concrete.

Just before dawn, Jessie had worked the spoon handle into a long, sharp point. Concealing it under the pallet, she finally laid down, smiling to herself.

On to Chapter Eight!

By No One

Riley drew some water into the eyedropper, then carefully let it flow onto the unknown substance in the small dish. It immediately began to bubble furiously.

“Aha! It’s reacting to water. That means… um, let’s see.” She consulted the list of possible elements provided by the teacher. “Must be lithium, right?”

There was no response from her lab partner.

“Mike?” Glancing to her left, Riley found her best friend staring into space. Or more accurately, staring at the girl a couple of tables over. Rolling her eyes, she elbowed him hard.

“Huh? What?”

“Sabrina Taylor? In your dreams, man.”

“What? No, I wasn’t…” He trailed off when he realized that Riley wouldn’t buy his fake excuses. “Okay, but it’s just, I think she was looking at me.”

“Uh-huh. The Ice Queen was looking at you.”

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t call her that.”

“Well, what? It’s true. She hasn’t given the time of day to any guy since she moved here. I heard last week she blew off a senior on the basketball team who was asking her out. And you think she’s into little old you? Sorry to break it to you, but I don’t think she knows you exist.”

Mike gave her a dirty look. “I know what I saw. You’re just trying to bring me down ‘cause you’re jealous that she has guys after her.”

Riley sputtered for a moment as she tried and failed to think of a clever comeback. “I’m not jealous,” was all she could find to say, and even to her ears, it sounded weak. Okay, maybe she was a little jealous. It would be nice to have a boy show some interest in her once in a while. One in particular, though that wasn’t going to happen…

Her gaze drifted back to Sabrina. She could see why the girl had all the boys at her feet. Lustrous blonde hair falling down her back, the flawless face of a model, not an ounce of fat on her, yet not too skinny, with curves in all the right places. That last point particularly stung. At 14, Riley still looked like a kid with barely any boobs to speak of, while Sabrina had these big, perky tits that made her look like something out of a men’s magazine. The girl was pretty much perfect from head to toe, and it annoyed Riley to no end. Life really was unfair.

It was at that moment that Sabrina turned around to gaze in their direction, then quickly looked away again—possibly because she saw two weirdos staring at her.

“See? She looked at me again!”

“Huh. Well, she did look this way…” Riley admitted. Could Sabrina really have a thing for Mike? Surely not. A girl who could have any boy she wanted wouldn’t settle for him. “More like a glance, really. I don’t think it means anything.”

“No way. You’ll see. I’m gonna ask her out.”

Riley snorted. “Your funeral.”

Mike had the nerve to wave dismissively at her, the poor overconfident boy. “This jealousy is really unbecoming, you know. Just because you’re not a goddess like Sabrina, you don’t have to rain on my parade,” he said, smirking.

“Pfff. Hey man, you do what you want. I’m just trying to save you from having your puny mortal hopes and dreams crushed by your goddess over there.”

“Carver, Simmons… since you’re sitting here gossiping, I assume you’ve already identified your element?” Mr. Bailey cut in, sneaking up behind them.

Mike started. “Uh… iron?” he blurted out like an idiot.

“What? No!” Riley gave him a slap on the arm. “That’s, like, the first thing we ruled out. It’s lithium, isn’t it?”

The science teacher nodded. “Correct. You’ve got a good head for this, Simmons. You should stop dragging this dead weight along with you,” he said, inclining his head towards Mike.

“Hey, come on now!” Mike protested.

Mr. Bailey spread out his hands. “Prove me wrong,” he said before walking away.

Riley almost doubled over laughing. “Oh, damn, teacher burn!”

“Hmph. Asshole,” Mike mumbled—not loudly enough to be heard, of course.

Riley shrugged. “I like him.”

“Of course you do. You actually understand what he’s talking about, for some reason.”

“Hey, stop staring at Sabrina Taylor and pay attention, and maybe you would, too.”

Mike made a face at her, but it looked like he didn’t have a retort.

Soon enough, the bell rang, and everyone rushed out of the class for lunch break.

Spotting Sabrina ahead of them, Mike said, “Well, this is it. Wish me luck.”

Riley shrugged. “Good luck. I guess.” She leaned against a wall, arms crossed, and watched him catch up to the girl of his dreams—of every boy’s dreams, it seemed. She was rooting for him, even though she didn’t think he had a shot. They’d been friends since… pretty much the day they were born, their moms having been best friends. It felt like they were more siblings than friends at times. So, though she wouldn’t admit it to Mike, she had her fingers crossed for him as he struck up a conversation with Sabrina.

Predictably though, after only a few seconds of talking, he came shuffling back, looking defeated.

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ but—”

“Liar.”

“Well, okay, maybe a little. I’m sorry, though, for real.”

“She didn’t even let me finish what I was saying. Just raised her hand to stop me and said, like, ‘Sorry, no.’ And she kinda cringed, like the thought of going out with me was painful or something. Ouch. Then she just walked away.”

“Wow, what a bitch. Thinks she’s better than everyone.” Riley glared in the direction where Sabrina had been, but the girl was already gone. “Well, you’re better off without her, man, seriously. She would’ve just treated you like shit.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Mike took a deep breath and sighed, then gave himself a shake, shrugged. “Oh well. Lunch?”

Riley nodded, glad that her friend didn’t seem to take the rejection too hard. “Yeah. Just need to stop by the bathroom, I’ll meet you at the spot.”

They parted ways, and Riley dropped by her locker to dump her books and pick up her lunch bag, then she went into the bathroom close by, picked an empty stall, and relieved herself. As she was about to wash her hands, the door to another stall opened… and who should come out but her majesty, Sabrina the Ice Queen.

“Oh, Riley.” Sabrina seemed startled to see her standing there, for some reason. “H-hey.”

“Um, hey.” Riley raised an eyebrow. She was a little surprised that Sabrina even knew her name, even though they had some classes in common. They didn’t exactly hang out in the same circles.

They both washed their hands in silence, and as the moment stretched on, Riley felt her irritation grow. Where did this girl get off, acting so superior? She had no right to treat Mike that way. Though Riley herself gave him a lot of crap, that was all in fun because they were friends. He was a good guy, though. Even if Sabrina didn’t want to go out with him, he didn’t deserve to be brushed off as if he was less than nothing by some stuck-up bitch. Riley glared at Sabrina’s reflection in the mirror. And besides, the girl had no business being so damn pretty.

Nodding to herself, Riley was about to give this so-called “goddess” a piece of her mind. “Hey, let me tell you something.”

At the very same moment, though, Sabrina turned to her and said, “Can I talk to you a sec?”

They both froze for an instant, then laughed, Riley’s anger briefly chased away by the silly social awkwardness of it all.

“Um, what is it?” Sabrina said.

“Nah, you go ahead.” Riley figured she should give the girl a chance to speak before yelling at her.

“Um, okay. It’s, well… um… Did you know that the theater downtown has special screenings of the Lord of the Rings films this weekend?”

Riley blinked. She’d had no idea what Sabrina might want to talk about, but that wouldn’t have been among her top thousand guesses. It certainly piqued her interest, though. “Wha, really? How did I not know this? I love The Lord of the Rings!”

Sabrina smiled. It was perfect, just like every damn thing about her. “Yeah, I noticed you were reading one of the books the other day.”

“Oh, right, it’s like the fifth time I read ‘em. It’s my favorite series ever.”

“Oh yeah? That’s cool. I like ‘em a lot, too. So… Right. Anyhow, they’re playing Fellowship on Friday and um…” Sabrina let out a little nervous laugh. “I guess I was wondering if… um… maybe you’d wanna come see it with me?”

Riley blinked, again. This conversation was really baffling. Why would Sabrina want to go see the movie with her? They weren’t friends. She couldn’t even recall ever saying a word to the girl, except maybe a “hi” here and there. Was Miss High-and-Mighty afraid of looking like a nerd if she asked someone in the popular crowd?

As Riley pondered the mystery, she noticed some color creeping onto Sabrina’s cheeks. Was the Ice Queen… blushing? What could possibly be so embarrassing that…?

And then it hit her. “W-wait,” Riley stammered. “Are you… asking me out?”

“Ah, um, well…” Sabrina pushed her hair behind an ear, laughed shakily again. “I guess I am, yeah.”

“Oh! Wow. I… um… that’s… Wow. I… did not expect that,” Riley said, probably sounding like an idiot. This was a lot to take in, though.

Sabrina Taylor was a lesbian. That actually explained a lot. But to think that the most popular girl in school, the one that all the boys from freshmen to seniors—and probably many girls, too—wanted to date, was asking her out. Her, Riley the nobody, who no one looked at twice. This sounded so far-fetched, so ludicrous, that Riley wondered for a moment if she was dreaming.

For her part, Sabrina was blushing brighter—and it only made her look cuter, because of course it did. “I just… I kinda thought that maybe you were looking at me earlier? In class? And… well, I guess I thought I’d give this a shot.” The girl was looking so anxious and jittery that Riley was beginning to feel bad for her. “Um… do you… like, are you even into girls? At all?”

Staring into Sabrina’s mesmerizing blue eyes, Riley was rethinking that very question. “I… well, I wasn’t a minute ago…”

Sabrina made a face. “That’s not really something that changes over a minute.”

“I dunno, a lot happened in that minute. It’s not every day that the hottest girl in school asks you out.”

Sabrina perked up instantly at that. “You think I’m hot?”

“Oh, well, I meant…” Riley hesitated. Did she think Sabrina was hot? In a way, of course she did, that was obvious to anyone with eyes. But did she find Sabrina attractive? That was the question making her confused and uncomfortable. “Oh come on, that’s not fair, everyone thinks you’re hot. I’m just surprised you’d be interested in me at all…”

“What, why? I think you’re really hot, too. I… kinda have a thing for redheads.” Sabrina flashed a sheepish grin, but it quickly disappeared. “Oh, but it’s not, like, all about your hair. That would be dumb. I just like… that you’re really smart, I’ve seen that in class, and that you don’t seem to care what others think of you, and you got good taste in books obviously, and your glasses are really cute, too, and… Oh God, I’m rambling. I’m sorry.” She put a hand over her mouth to stop herself.

Riley’s head was spinning with all the compliments. No one had ever talked to her that way, not even the one boyfriend she’d had. The Ice Queen knew how to turn up the charm when she wanted. Still, this all seemed like such a huge step away from everything Riley thought she knew about herself. “I… Look, I really don’t know what to say, honestly…”

“You could say… ‘Yeah, I’ll go out with you,’ maybe? Just a thought.” Sabrina flashed a smile that had surely broken many hearts before.

Riley chuckled. That was a good line, she had to admit. “I just… This is a lot to process, you know? I’ll… think about it, okay? Sorry, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but…”

“Better than a ‘no.’ Okay, think about it, at least… but honestly, I’d show you a good time.” She winked. “Let me know. Oh, um, what did you want to tell me earlier? Before I sprung all this on you?”

“Oh, err, that’s not really… relevant, anymore. Okay, I was kinda gonna yell at you for how you treated my friend Mike when he asked you out earlier, but… now I see how it would be awkward when boys do that…”

“Oh, that.” Sabrina sighed, then shrugged. “Look, I don’t know how to deal with it. Boys try to ask me out all the time and it’s really annoying… Uh, yeah, I know how that sounds, but it’s not like I do anything to attract them on purpose. I’m just not interested, and it’s not their damn business why.”

“Yeah, I can see where you’re coming from.” Riley couldn’t imagine having that particular problem herself, but it was true enough that Sabrina didn’t owe anyone an explanation about her orientation. “Um, do you mind if I tell Mike about it, though? I think he’d take the rejection easier.” She chuckled. Also, she really needed someone to talk to about her new dilemma. “Like, he’s not an asshole, I promise he won’t tell anyone else if that’s what you want.”

Sabrina looked torn for a moment. “Uh, I dunno… I caught a lot of shit at my old school because people knew…“ She sighed. “Well, if you promise, I’ll trust you. But that better be a point in my favor.” Her smile returned at that, and she winked at Riley.

“Hah. Yeah, okay.”

“Well, I guess I’ll wait for your answer, then. Take your time, but not too long.”

Riley nodded, unsure of what to say. Sabrina’s beguiling smile was making her feel… weird.

The girl walked over to the bathroom door, then turned for one last look at Riley, her eyes offering seductive promises. After a moment, she blew a kiss and made her exit.

“Holy crap,” Riley said out loud. She let out a long breath and felt her muscles ease up. She hadn’t realized she’d been so tense during their conversation. Turning to the mirror, she studied her reflection and confirmed that she hadn’t transformed into a model overnight. Same plain old face. Loose clothes that didn’t do anything to emphasize her figure—not that there was much to show off. Kind of dorky glasses. She did rather like her hair but… Still, it wasn’t much. What could Sabrina possibly see in her? She looked so ordinary next to that blonde beauty.

The smoldering look that Sabrina had just given her told another story, though, and did wonders for Riley’s self-esteem. That look, just for her. And the kiss… She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to receive a real one from those perfect lips. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Am I into her?” she asked her reflection, but it only stared back, looking confused.

Lost in thought, she made her way out of the school, barely aware of her surroundings. There was a secluded spot on the side of the building, nice and quiet, where she usually ate lunch with Mike and sometimes a couple of other friends—though she was relieved to see Mike was the only one there today.

“You okay?” he asked as she slid down the wall to sit next to him. “You look… out of it.”

“Um… I dunno.” Where to begin? “So, uh… I know why Sabrina turned you down. Like, other than you being you.”

“Huh? What d’you mean?”

“First, though, promise you’re not gonna tell anyone about this.”

“Uh, sure, fine. What’s this about?”

“Well, turns out, she’s not into guys. Like, any guy.”

Mike frowned, then his eyebrows slowly rose up. “She likes girls? Oh. Oh, wow. What a waste.”

“Waste? Hey, women don’t exist for your own pleasure, you know!”

He raised his hands appeasingly. “Kidding, kidding! How do you know this, anyway?”

“Um, ran into her in the bathroom…”

“And, what, she just told you she’s a lesbian out of the blue? Wait, what did you say to her?”

“Nothing! She just… uh… kinda asked me out.”

Mike stared for a moment, then snorted. “Oh, you’re screwing with me… Funny.”

“I’m dead serious!”

He studied her for a moment, looking skeptical. She couldn’t really blame him. “So Sabrina Taylor, your ‘Ice Queen’, who could date basically anyone she wanted… asked you out. I mean, no offense, but that sounds a bit…”

“Hey, I’m as surprised as you are, man.”

“Huh. You’re really serious. Wow… So wait, it’s you she was looking at in class?”

Riley blinked. She hadn’t considered that. “Oh. I… I guess?” It seemed surreal.

Mike sighed. “Man, my life sucks. So what d’you tell her?”

“Um… that I’d think about it…”

“Uh, really? Will you? Like, what, you’re into girls now?”

“No… I dunno… I mean, this is Sabrina Taylor…”

“Hah! And you were giving me shit about liking her! Now, just a few words and she’s turned you gay?”

Riley felt her cheeks getting warm. “I’m not… turned gay! I just… never really thought about it much.” Riley took a deep breath. She knew Mike was going to needle her for what she was about to say, but came out with it anyhow. “I was thinking on my way here… You know how I’ve been maybe a little hung up on… a certain someone—”

“Pff, a little! More like obsessed. For, like, four years!”

“Yeah, yeah, let it out. Paying me back for earlier, I get it.”

“Jake this, Jake that, all the time. Some college boy you have no chance with. Even dated his little brother as a consolation prize…”

“That is not why I was with Lucas!” Riley protested loudly, though deep down she wasn’t entirely certain he was wrong about that.

“Suuure. Just a coincidence, huh?”

“Fine, whatever. Doesn’t matter. What I was getting at is that, like, since I’ve been sorta focused on Jake as my, y’know, image of an ideal lover, let’s say, maybe I’ve ignored… other possibilities. Like… girls? Maybe. I dunno. I guess it doesn’t sound that bad.”

“Hmm, dunno, I guess that makes some sense?” Mike shrugged, then his lips twisted into a smirk. “Sounds like a big change, though. What, you’re ready to eat pussy now?”

Riley punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t be a perv. I… I haven’t thought that far ahead…”

“Hey, I’m just saying, it might come up. Mmm, I wonder if Sabrina’s done that already…”

“That’s not your business!” She didn’t like his tone when he said that. “God, you better not be thinking about me and her in bed now.”

Mike made a face. “Gross. That’s like thinking about my sister. No, you can be sure that if I’m thinking about Sabrina in bed, you’re not part of the picture.”

Riley narrowed her eyes at him. “How about you don’t think about my girl at all?”

“Oho! So it’s decided, huh?”

She buried her head in her hands. “God, I don’t know. Should I?”

“I mean, you’re asking me? I think you’d be fucking crazy to pass this up.”

Riley chuckled. “Yeah, should have expected that. But maybe you’re right. It’s just one date, anyway. It doesn’t have to be, like, life-changing. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“That she’s just screwing with you, and then when you accept, she goes all mean girl and tells the whole school,” Mike replied, deadpan.

Riley stared at her friend. “That was just a rhetorical question, Mike! You… you don’t think she’d really do that, right?” Sabrina had seemed so genuine in the bathroom, but now Riley was beginning to have doubts.

He shrugged. “Not really. But you did ask what would be the worst. Oh, no, wait, it would be if she turned out to be a psychotic serial killer who drugs you, then cuts you up into little pieces. Yeah, that’s way worse.”

Riley frowned. “Why am I even talking to you?”

“Good question! My dorky charm, perhaps?”

Riley shook her head. “Well, dorky, anyhow.” Suddenly realizing she hadn’t even started on lunch yet, she opened her brown paper bag, smiling at the little note that said “Have a nice day!” tucked inside.

“God, your dad still puts notes in your lunch?” Mike rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, it’s cute.” She picked up her sandwich, but then her stomach felt all knotted up, and the thought of eating it made her queasy. Instead, she offered it to Mike. “You want this?”

“Hell yeah!” Grabbing the sandwich, he soon made it vanish in just a few bites. For such a scrawny dude, he sure could eat ridiculous amounts of food. Riley often wondered how he did it.

For her part, she only sipped on her bottle of water, lost in thought. Eventually the bell rang, and they made their way back to class. Concentrating on what the teacher was saying proved difficult, though. Riley was usually pretty good at math, but that afternoon the equations on the blackboard might as well have been written in some alien language. Her brain kept getting sidetracked by thoughts of Sabrina. At least the girl wasn’t in that class to make things worse.

Riley didn’t fare much better in P.E., but that was pretty much in line with her usual performance. She missed a few easy shots in volleyball while her head was elsewhere, but nobody really expected any better from her, anyway. She’d long ago learned to ignore the annoyed looks from her teammates.

In the locker room after class, part of her wanted to peek at the other girls to see if she noticed any kind of attraction, while another part felt like a creep for even considering it. A third was a little scared of what she might discover, one way or the other. All in all, Riley felt distinctly uncomfortable, and hurried to change clothes and leave.

It was the last class of the day, so she dropped by her locker to get the textbooks she needed for her homework, then made her way to the exit. Outside, she nearly bumped into the very girl who had been occupying her mind all afternoon.

“Oh, hey.” Riley fumbled for something more to say, then frowned. This seemed like too much of a coincidence. “Um… were you waiting for me?”

“What? No,” Sabrina said, a little too quickly. “Well, not really. I sat down a minute to check my schedule for the rest of the week, then I saw you come out. Anyway, so, um… right, I guess you haven’t really had  time to think about… the thing. Yeah, sorry. I’ll let you—”

“Well, actually…” Riley began, then paused, her heart racing as she struggled to find the words she needed.  The sudden rapt attention from Sabrina didn’t help matters, not one bit. God, she was pretty. “I was just thinking that… we could, like, give it a shot.”

“Yeah?” Sabrina grinned, looking positively delighted.

Despite the girl’s enthusiasm, Riley still found it difficult to believe that this teenage Venus could be so into her. Nonetheless, she soldiered on.

“Yeah, I mean, I’m still not sure about… anything, really. So I’m not making any promises about how things turn out, but…”

“A chance is all I’m asking for! So, great. Awesome. You won’t regret it.” The girl took a step forward and, for a second, it looked like she wanted to go for a hug, then seemed to reconsider. “Cool, so… maybe we could meet up at, like, 5 in front of the theater, then go eat somewhere before it starts? Classic dinner-and-a-movie, right?”

“That’s… yeah, sounds good.” Somehow, Riley was growing even more on edge, now that their plans were solidifying.

“Great. So… yeah. I guess I’ll see you.” To be fair, Sabrina seemed to be a bundle of nerves herself, so that made Riley feel a little better about her own awkwardness.

“Yeah. See ya on Friday… Well, I guess we’ll see each other in class before then, but… oh, you know what I mean.”

Sabrina smiled and nodded. “Bye, then.” She began to walk away, then glanced over her shoulder one last time before continuing towards her bus.

Watching her stride away, Riley had to admit that the girl’s butt looked great in snug jeans.

On to Part Two

by Purple Les

A soft ray of dawn crept over The Kid’s eyelids. As they gradually drifted open, the first thing she saw was Ann’s face.

Tequila lay still, studying the soft features of her lover. Ann had a long day yesterday. Best let her sleep on while I get myself together. 

Rising slowly, The Kid took some clean clothes from the chest of drawers and headed down the stairs to the kitchen, where she got a fire going in the stove. Filling the metal tub, she paused to put a pot of coffee on, keeping an eye on it while she took a quick bath.

The coffee was done by the time she’d finished rinsing herself. The Kid got out of the tub and moved the pot to the edge of the burner, then dried off and got dressed, happy to finally be wearing pants again. Dragging the tub out to the garden, she emptied it in the vegetable patch.

Wearing her worn but very snug Levi-Strauss blue jeans and a gray and white checkered shirt, buttoned just low enough to make it clear that she wore nothing underneath, The Kid studied herself. I reckon this will give Lady Ice Queen a reason to get her ectoplasm going.

Sitting at the kitchen table and nursing a cup of coffee, she pondered her next move. Figure I’ll stay put here till late morning, then catch up to Lady Ice Queen at the hotel. Maybe Ann will be up by then.

After a second cup of coffee and a light breakfast of bread, cheese and an apple, The Kid began to fiddle again with the contraption she’d taken from the cardsharp a few days earlier, the one she intended to retool for her own use. The idea was to use the device to conceal her derringer beneath the clothes she wore, then flick the gun right into her hand when she flexed it.

After several adjustments, The Kid almost had it working right. Rolling her sleeve up to above the elbow, she attached the gizmo to her arm, wanting to get used to its weight. The gun was unloaded, just in case the device thrust it into her hand by accident. She tried it out a few more times, then heard the mantel clock chime.

Time to get a move on. She rolled her sleeve back down, concealing the empty derringer. Before I leave, though…

The Kid filled a mug with hot coffee, then brought it up to Ann, pausing to tap on the open door before she entered.

Opening her eyes, then quickly covering them, Ann mumbled, “What time is it?”

“Little after eleven. I gotta get goin’, Ann. Brung you some coffee.”

“Please, just leave it on the nightstand,” Ann said into her pillow.

Bending to kiss the top of Ann’s head, The Kid said, “All right then. See you later.”

Going back downstairs, the Tequila Kid sat on the sofa and pulled on her socks and boots. Standing up, she put on her vest, strapped on her guns and Bowie knife, then put her Stetson on and walked out the door, bound for the Ridge Hotel.

Poking her head into the Sheriff’s office on the way, The Kid was surprised to find Gus Masters swearing in a posse.

“All right, boys,” Gus said, glancing at The Kid. “Get your horses and gear and meet me out on the street as soon as you can.”

As the men hurried out, The Kid came in, asking, “What’s goin’ on, Gus?”

“Got a gang of horse thieves to round up.” Gus’s expression was grave. “Sorry ‘bout this, Kid, but you’ll have to bring in the murderer yourself. Listen here, now.” Reaching for a wanted flyer on his desk, he read it out loud to The Kid.

“Just like we figured, Gus,” The Kid said. “Can you read it again?”

“Sure.” He did so, then laid a hand on her shoulder. “Be careful, Kid. I can’t wait on them horse thieves, and that arrest has got to be made right now. Don’t know for sure when I’ll be back. Jigs’ll be keeping an eye on things here. I told him what’s goin’ on, and he’s ready to lend a hand if you need it.” Putting his hat on, he left without another word.

Moments later, The Kid heard Sheriff Masters and his posse ride off. Staring at the poster that she couldn’t read, she finally laid it face down on Gus’ desk with a sigh.

Stepping into the street, The Kid made her way straight to the Ridge Hotel, where she walked up to the front desk and asked, “Howdy, Ed. Has Lady Wyeth-Boton been by?”

“Mornin’, Kid. No, haven’t seen her yet. That Count Cousiourac feller checked in last night, though. He took the suites for himself and the lady.”

“He havin’ lunch?”

“Now that you ask, it’s funny. Don’t think I’ve seen him yet today,” Ed replied, a puzzled look on his face.

The Kid raised an eyebrow. “Any idea when Lady Wyeth-Boton is comin’ in, Ed?”

He glanced back at the clock. “From what the Count said last night, I thought sure she’d be here by now.”

“Can I go up and see him, Ed?”

“Sure, Kid. Top floor, room three-oh-two.”

“Much obliged, Ed.” The Kid said over her shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time.

Reaching the top floor, she found the room and knocked on the door. Silence. She knocked again, harder this time. Still no response. Her pulse was beginning to race as she knocked once more, this time calling out, “Count Cousiourac? It’s me, The Tequila Kid. You in there?”

Not a sound.

The Kid tried the knob. It turned — the door was unlocked. With one hand on the grip of her six-shooter, The Kid slowly, carefully nudged the door open.

Despite it being late morning, the room was very dark, the heavy drapes pulled tightly over the closed windows. It was quiet, the kind of quiet The Kid didn’t care for.

A confusion of smells filled The Kid’s nostrils — gunpowder, perfume, and something else mingled together in a sickening combination. Finding a candle on the dresser, The Kid lit it, then took a closer look around.

Count Cousiourac’s valise was left open on the bed. The Kid glanced inside, but didn’t see anything but clothes. The bed covers were on the floor opposite where The Kid stood. On the bed was a pillow with a hole in it and powder burns around it.

The Tequila Kid squatted down by the bedclothes and lifted them up, certain of what she would find.

She felt her blood go cold as she uncovered the dead body of Count Cousiourac. He still wore his coat, and The Kid could feel that his gun was in its shoulder holster. There was a bullet hole in the back of his head.

The Kid turned the body over just enough to see how the exit wound had made a horror of the Count’s once handsome face. The corpse was somewhat still — rigor mortis had set in already.

Must of been shot early this morning or last night, I reckon, The Kid thought, noting how the stale air was in the room.

The Kid closely studied the body and how it lay. Moving to stand behind the late Count, she pointed a finger at about where the man’s head would have been while he was on his knees. Holding the candle, she moved beyond the corpse and, getting down on hands and knees, carefully searched the floor. After a minute or so she found the spent bullet, encrusted in dried blood. Holding it up to eye level, she muttered, “Yep, a .32 all right.”

The Kid looked around some more but found nothing else of interest, save for two glasses on the nightstand, a residue of liquor in each. Oddly enough, there was no bottle to be seen. Checking the Count’s body again, she found a silver hip flask tucked into his coat pocket.

The Kid took one last glance around the room and at the body. “Yep, had to be,” she said to herself, then blew out the candle. Carefully opening the door, she stepped into the hallway, pushed the door shut and made her way to the stairs. She slowly descended them, lost in thought.

When she reached the lobby, The Kid watched as Ed chatted with a couple who were checking out. When they turned to leave, The Kid quickly approached the counter. “Hey, Ed — you see anyone visit the Count this mornin’ or last night?”

“I didn’t, no.” Spying another man passing through the lobby, Ed called out to him. “Hey, Johnny! When you were on the desk last night, y’see anybody? Anyone visit the Count?”

“That joker in the fancy duds? Naw, it was deader’n a plugged nickel the whole damn night. See ya later, Ed.” The two men nodded to each other, and a whistling Johnny took his leave.

“Is the Count gonna come down soon, Kid?” Ed asked, looking back at the clock.

The Kid sighed and looked around, then said, “I reckon he’ll be down sooner or later. But he’ll be comin’ feet first.” Leaning on the front counter, she added, “You best have Jigs and the Doc come on over here.”

Ed’s eyes widened, his mustache twitching. “Aw, hellfire, Kid, you don’t mean–”

The Kid nodded. whispering, “He’s been murdered. Last night or this mornin’. The Doc can tell better than me. You give him a call. Me, I gotta run.”

The Kid took a brisk walk to Donna Wilson’s boarding house, going straight back to the kitchen. Donna was in the process of getting lunch ready, depositing ladlefuls of mashed potato into a line of plates. Some of the boarders were already seated at the large oaken table. The Kid didn’t see Molly Hardy anywhere.

“Howdy, Donna,” The Kid said as the heavyset forty-year old widow opened an enormous oven and took out a metal pan full of dinner rolls, gripping it with a towel in her hand. “You seen Miss Hardy?”

“Hello, Kid,” Donna said as she set the pan on the counter and began to pry the rolls out with quick thrusts of a long bread knife, deftly putting one on each of the plates. “She left early this mornin.’ Had her valise with her and told me goodbye. I offered her some money back, as she’d paid for the whole week ahead of time, but she told me to keep it. She’s a real nice girl.”

“Much obliged,” The Kid said as she rushed out the door and half-ran to the livery stable.

“Howdy, Mac,” The Kid greeted the old stable hand, who was laboriously cleaning out an empty stall, its horse standing idly by. “Is Nate here?”

“He’s over to the Highland Cafe, Kid, havin’ him some lunch. Can I help ye?” Mac offered.

The Kid looked around at the stalls. Button and Pegasus whinnied at her. The Kid stood, thumbs hooked in her belt, then she asked, “Mac, you been here all morning? Awake?”

“Sure have.”

“Y’see anyone ride off? Like a woman, I mean.”

“Sure did.”

“You know who it was?”

“Sure do.” Mac smiled, proud to have the answers The Kid needed.

“Could you please tell me who?”

“Sure.”

The Kid narrowed her sky-blue eyes on Mac’s bloodshot ones, making it clear that she’d had enough of this game.

“Oh, sure, Kid, sorry,” Mac said, suddenly catching on. “I saw Nate rent a horse to that Miss Hardy woman early this mornin’. Said she felt like takin’ a ride.”

The Kid pulled a silver dollar from her jeans pocket and held it between her fingers at eye level.

Mac licked his lips and added, “That was ‘bout seven. Didn’t say where she was bound, nor when she’d be back. Took that red hammerhead roan.”

The Kid slipped the dollar into Mac’s coat pocket and said, “Much obliged, Mac.”

“Thank ye, Kid,” Mac said with a toothless smile as The Kid walked over to the stalls. She patted Pegasus, then quickly saddled up Button.

The Kid led Button outside and said to Mac, “I’ll be headed out to the Ruggles place. If you see Jigs or the sheriff, tell ‘em that for me.”

Swinging into the saddle, The Tequila Kid rode Button out of town at a fast walk. Approaching Ann’s house, she thought about stopping long enough to fetch her rifle and saddlebag, then decided against it, not wanting to waste a minute — or bother Ann, for that matter.

The Kid kept moving. Once clear of the town, she got Button up to a gallop, heading up the road for the Ruggles estate.

Halfway there, The Kid spied a buggy, coming in her direction. As it drew closer, she realized that it was carrying the members of Mrs Ruggles’ staff, all dressed in their regular clothes — Madge, the cook; Homer, the stable boy, who was driving the buggy; the poker-faced butler and a couple of young women The Kid didn’t know. Maids, most likely.

She quickly brought Button to a standstill, and Homer did the same with the strawberry roan who pulled the buggy. “Howdy,” The Kid said. “Where you folks headed?”

Madge’s dark brown face broke into a huge grin. “Hey there, Kid. Can you believe it? We’re all headed to town for the day. Miz Ruggles gived us fifty dollars to spend betwixt us, said we could take the whole day an’ the night off!”

“That happen much?” The Kid asked, tilting her hat back.

Everyone on the buggy laughed. Madge said, “That ain’t never happened before, Kid. We reckon Christmas done come early this year!”

“Mrs Ruggles got any company?”

“Just the lady who talks to dead people, an’ that little girl Gracie,” Madge said.

Then the butler spoke up. “Actually, we had a visitor turn up not long before Madame dismissed us. A Miss Hardy, to see Lady Wyeth-Boton. She wanted her fortune read.”

“She tells fortunes, too?” Madge exclaimed, glancing at the butler. “My, my. Wish now that I’d got her to do that for me!” She turned back to The Kid. “You head right on up to the house, Kid. I’m sure Miz Ruggles, she’ll be glad to see you again. So long, now!” She and a couple of the others waved goodbye as Homer gave the reins a tug, and the buggy continued on its way toward Knuckle Ridge.

The Kid rode on toward the Ruggles place, now at a slower pace. As she rounded a bend in the road, she spied the estate at the top of the hill and reined in Button. Pondering a moment, she turned the horse off the main road, taking a roundabout way up toward the rear entrance to the house.

Stopping near the edge of the property The Kid dismounted and tied Button’s reins to a low tree branch. Patting the horse’s neck, she murmured, “Be back soon, girl.” Button munched at the grass, unconcerned.

Slow and in silence, The Kid stayed close to the trees, then the barn and stable, carefully working her way to the back of the house. Glancing into the barn, she saw the hammerhead roan, still saddled. The Kid continued on, moving to the kitchen door. She peered through the window, but saw nothing out of sorts.

Taking a deep breath, The Kid took hold of the knob of the door, slowly opened it and crept inside. She paused to listen and, hearing nothing untoward, ventured into the dining room. The long table was set for three, draped in a snow white linen tablecloth that hung almost to the floor.

The Kid listened again. This time, she heard muffled voices. With a vague idea of what part of the house they came from, The Kid tiptoed into the drawing room. Now she knew for certain that the voices were issuing from the next story up.

The Kid took a deep breath and began to mount the stairs, silently praying that they didn’t squeak. One step, then another, then another, pausing to listen every five steps or so. One of the voices was loud and angry, she could tell that much.

Reaching the top of the staircase, The Kid knew right away where the sounds were coming from — the late Maurice Ruggles’ game room. The door was halfway open. She crept down the corridor, staying close to the wall. Now those voices were clear enough to make out… and The Kid didn’t like what she heard.

The hallway, thankfully, was dimly lit. Staying away from the light that spilled from the game room, The Kid risked a look inside.

Molly Hardy paced back and forth, her eyes wild. Standing before her were Mrs Ruggles, Gracie and Lady Jane, all clearly terrified. The child sobbed in the arms of Lady Jane, who was trying to comfort her.

“Once more, damn you!” Molly Hardy yelled. “Where are they?” She slapped Mrs Ruggles hard across the face.

“I — I don’t know, honestly I don’t!” Mrs Ruggles replied, tears pouring from her eyes. “I don’t think there even are any. I meant to ask at the seance. Maurice died s-so suddenly… Once he was gone, I never was able to make m-much sense of his financial affairs.”

“Liar!” Molly shrieked. “You can’t make me believe your husband didn’t tell you where a million dollars worth of diamonds are at.” She slapped Mrs Ruggles’ face hard three times, back and forth. The poor old woman was swaying, on the verge of blacking out.

“That was one of the things Mrs Ruggles wanted me to ask him at the seance, but — but she didn’t get a chance,” Lady Jane put in, a quaver in her voice. “Please… you’ve got to believe us!”

The Kid was ready to draw her gun, but then held off as Molly turned and faced the door for a moment, her eyes blazing with rage. Then she whirled back to face the others. “I’ve had enough of this.” She carried a .32 caliber pistol in her dress sash.

Carefully drawing her own Colt .45, The Kid gave the door a push and advanced into the room.

As a surprised Molly whirled around, she yanked the pistol from her sash, crooked an arm around Gracie’s  throat and drew the child in front of her. Pulling the hammer back with a loud click, she pressed the gun against Gracie’s temple.

The Kid froze where she stood. Shit, she’s faster than I figured.

“Well, Miss Kid,” Molly Hardy hissed, “Why don’t you lay that gun down on the floor… and do it nice and slow.” Pressing the gun barrel against the terrified little girl’s head, she added, “Or maybe you’d like to see me blow her brains out. You might get a shot off, but the girl will die for sure.”

Falling to her knees, Mrs Ruggles begged, “No! Please don’t hurt the child!”

Without even looking her way, Molly delivered a swift kick to the old woman’s head. Mrs Ruggles fell to the floor, and Lady Jane hastened to her aid. Seating herself on the parquet floor, she gently laid the woman’s head in her lap, then took hold of the hem of her skirt, using it to stanch a trickle of blood that was flowing from a cut left about two inches from Mrs Ruggles’ eye.

Standing with both hands shoulder high, The Kid softly said, “Nobody wants that.” Slowly bending, she placed her gun on the floor, nudging it toward Molly with the toe of her boot, then raised her hands again.

“Now take off that gun belt. Nice and easy.”

Keeping her right hand up, The Kid carefully brought the left hand down and, one by one, undid the leather strings at the bottom of her holsters, tied a couple of inches above her knees. Then with two fingers, she undid her gun belt and lowered it to the floor with the other Colt it held, also pushing it toward Molly with her foot.

“The knife, too,” Molly ordered, tightening her grip on Gracie’s throat.

With thumb and forefinger, The Kid slowly pulled the Bowie knife from its sheath and put it on the floor.

“Now back up some.” The Kid slowly took three small steps backward, still holding up her hands.

Molly gave a cackle of laughter as she shook Gracie, then her expression turned cold and hard. Her arm still curled around the child’s neck, Molly aimed her gun at The Kid. “Now get over by those other two.”

The Kid moved toward Mrs Ruggles and Lady Jane.

“Get that old bitch up on her knees… and you get on your knees too, Kid, just the same as Lady Jane there.”

The Kid knelt on the other side of Mrs Ruggles, then she and Lady Jane helped the old woman to her knees.

“Yep, that’s how you like to do it, don’t you, Molly? Or I reckon I should call you by your right name — Jessie Sinclair.” The Kid spoke slowly and softly, as if she was talking with an old friend. “You like takin’ that head shot from the back, don’t you. Just like the way you done it to Roy.”

Jessie smiled at The Kid, but her eyes were glowing with pure hatred. “You think you’re a smart one, don’t you?” she said. She glared at Lady Jane, then down at the whimpering child in her grip. “Who was it that gave me up?”

“None of ‘em, Jessie,” The Kid answered calmly. “They kept their word to you. Maybe I ain’t so smart… but you’re not as smart as you think, neither.”

“Tell me what you think you know, Kid, and I’ll tell you what you got wrong,” Jessie said, then she shook Gracie again. “Stop whimpering, you goddamn brat!”

The Kid pondered her situation. I’m on my knees with an old woman and a con artist, while this cold-blooded killer has got little Gracie round the neck. I ain’t got no weapon but an empty derringer up my sleeve. Gus is off chasin’ horse thieves. Only reason we’re still alive is Jessica Sinclair thinks Mrs Ruggles knows where some diamonds is, and maybe cause she wonders how much I know and who else knows it. I reckon for now if I can keep her talkin’, maybe I can get the jump on her.

The Kid spoke, taking care to keep her voice cool and soft. “Well, when I looked at where the robbin’ had been done, and heard what everyone had to say, I figured it thisaway.”

The Kid kept her eyes riveted on Jessie. Gracie’s face was so pale that the freckles across her nose looked like they were floating in the air. Mrs Ruggles groaned, clutching her chest as Lady Jane held her up.

“Reckon I should start from the beginnin’, oughtn’t I?” The Kid said, hoping to buy time with her story.

“Fine, fine. Go on,” Jessie said.

“Well, I reckon it started with Bob. You seem the type of gal that gets men to do as you want. Bob was the sort that liked sweet girls, and you pretended you was one. Seein’ as he worked for the stage line, you got to know him some. Maybe after a few drinks or kisses or whatnot, you got him to tell you that there was somethin’ valuable they’d be carryin’ on the stage.”

“Go on.”

“You bought a coach ticket. Bob, I reckon, was right pleased you’d be ridin’ along. What he didn’t know was that you hired another man to stop the stage and rob it. Your plan was to kill everyone. Your pardner would ride to Knuckle Ridge with the gold certificates, and you’d be the lone survivor bringin’ the stage into town yourself. Everyone would think you was a hero.” She paused a moment to lick her lips again with a tongue that had no wetness.

“Close enough,” Jessie muttered, then waved her gun, gesturing for The Kid to continue.

“You got Roy on his knees, just like we are now, and you shot him in the head from behind. Your pardner had a gun on Bob while you done that.” The Kid stopped for a moment to swallow, her mouth feeling dry as dust. “How’m I doin’ so far?”

“Not bad for a dirty half-breed girl who thinks she’s a man,” Jessie sneered. “Go on.”

“It was all workin’ just right, but then Bob messed things up. While your pardner watched you kill Roy, Bob got a hard punch into your pardner’s face, then tried to get to the shotgun on the stage box. He made it up there, but you shot him soon as he turned round with the gun.”

“Thought he could get the drop on me,” Jessie said, her voice thick with scorn. “Guess I showed him.”

“Your pardner rode off with the strong box, broke it open and headed to town to meet up with you later, like you planned to. You went inside the coach to kill the rest.”

Frowning, Jessica Sinclair knitted her eyebrows as she listened.

“But that’s when Bob fouled you up again. He weren’t done dyin’ yet. He took the brake off and started the horses, then he lost control and they ran wild. And there you was, stuck in the coach with the others.

“I reckon that sometime while I was tryin’ to stop’ the coach, you made a little deal with the Count and Lady Jane. If they kept their mouths shut, you’d give ‘em a cut of the loot. I figure you made it clear that it was either take your deal, or die.”

“I have to admit, you more or less worked it all out,” Jessie said, sounding somewhat calmer. Her grip on Gracie hadn’t slackened, though. “How’d you tag me?”

“Oh, you gave yourself away bit by bit.” The Kid said, like a schoolmarm gently correcting a student. “You were the only one who told that story about there bein’ two bandits. But from where the crime happened, I  could see clear as day that there weren’t but one rider. You should of got that story straight with Lady Jane and the Count, but I’m bettin’ there wasn’t enough time for that.”

“There wasn’t,” Jessie said. “I did tell ‘em both — and this brat,” she added, giving Gracie another shake, “what I’d do if they dared to give me away.” She gave a scornful laugh. “That Count’s face was something to see. He acts all high and mighty, but when I had the barrel of my gun under his chin, he looked about ready to shit his britches.” She laughed again. “Go on. What else did you see, then?”

“I saw that one person did get off the coach. A woman. One wearin’ plain shoes, not fancy ones. That had me wonderin’ about you right from the start. Then there was the way you acted so concerned for Bob.

“You weren’t givin’ Bob comfort on the ride to town, not really. You was makin’ sure he wasn’t gonna speak up. Hopin’ the whole way he’d die. The way you kept askin’ about his condition… and if he said anything afore he passed. Well, just so you know, Bob did have some last words.”

Jessie’s jaw tightened. “Oh. So you lied to me. I see. I don’t like it when people do that.” She glared at The Kid impatiently. “Well? What did he say, damn you?”

“He said, ‘That woman.’ He meant you, of course. The woman that made a fool of him, then shot him dead. But as far as you knew, Bob died without sayin’ a word. The witness who could of sent you to the gallows was gone, and you could breathe easy for a while.”

Jessie was paying close attention to the story, but her alertness had yet to waver in the slightest. She was watching the others closely, as if daring one of them to make a move. The Kid felt sick at heart. Dang, this ain’t gonna work. But she had to keep talking, had to stall this crazy woman for as long as she could.

She continued with the story. “Problem was, folks started askin’ you for their cut of the loot. Your pardner was the first, so you shot him dead… right after he gave you them gold certificates, I’ll wager.”

Jessie sniggered. “Soon as I had the package under my arm. Oh my, that Henry… a good crook to work with, but a first-rate jackass. You know, he actually thought I was in love with him?” She continued to laugh. “You should’ve seen his face, right before I put that bullet in his chest.”

She’s tryin’ to get me rattled, The Kid thought. “Then last night, the Count came to town to ask about his cut.” She glanced at Lady Jane and then, looking back at Jessie, said, “So you killed him, too.”

Lady Jane’s hand flew to her open mouth and Gracie squirmed and whimpered. Jessie tightened her grip on Gracie’s throat and shook the little girl hard. “Stop it, I said!”

“You got him on his knees and used a pillow to muffle the shot to the back of his head.” The Kid said, still speaking softly. She took a breath and added, “So you hightailed it out here to finish off Lady Jane and Gracie… the only living souls who knew the truth about that robbery, you figured.”

Jessie regarded The Kid with a sour smile. “That was my plan, but then while I was at that two-bit boarding house, I’d heard talk that the old woman’s husband got his hands on a big batch of diamonds before he kicked the bucket. I figured, why not kill these two Englishers and get the diamonds too?” She seemed quite pleased with herself.

“So you just come right up to the door and asked for Lady Jane.”

Again, Jessie responded with a harsh laugh. “I did, I did… and you know what, the dumb bitch took me straight to her room!” Her eyes danced with crazed glee. “Can you believe it? She really thought I’d give her a share of my money!” She giggled. “When that starched-shirt butler opened the door, I told him how I wanted the famous La-dy Wy-eth Bo-ton to read the tea leaves for me.” Her gaze drifted over to Lady Jane, who was shivering with fear. “Guess I needn’t bother with that now. If she was any damn good at telling the future, she’d’ve known that she doesn’t have much of one.”

“My God,” Lady Jane whispered, her face deathly pale.

“So you put a gun to her head and had her fetch Mrs Ruggles, then you made her send all the servants away. And now,” The Kid shrugged, “here we are.”

“Here we are,” Jessie replied smugly.

“Listen, Jessie,” The Kid began, the gun at Gracie’s head looking bigger every second. “You got a half million dollars in gold certificates. Why fool around here, just cause you heard a rumor about diamonds that might not even be real?”

Jessie ran the gun barrel lightly back and forth over Gracie’s head as she answered. “I like having money. Those gold certificates will make me rich, once I find another fool to cash them for me. I’ll have enough gold coins to bathe in, and no way to trace them. Maybe I won’t have diamonds, but I’ve got all the witnesses right here, and you’ll be dead soon enough.” Her gaze shifted to The Kid. “Does the sheriff know about me? Who I am?”

“He does,” The Kid replied. “Yesterday, he got hold of a copy of your wanted poster.”

That grim smile returned. “Well, I’m not worried about the sheriff. I paid a couple of low-lifes fifty dollars and a bottle of cheap whiskey apiece to steal some horses, make it look like they were part of a gang of thieves. Figured that would get him out of my hair, and it did.” She gave a contented sigh. “In the morning I’ll be on the train. First to Austin, then off to Denver. In Denver there’ll be a package waiting for me, full of gold certificates.”

Glancing at Mrs Ruggles, Jessie shook her head. “I’m starting to think that this old cow really doesn’t know where those diamonds are. So I’ll kill you all, and by the time your bodies are found, I’ll be in Denver. From there…” She smiled. “Who knows? Who cares? I’m set for life.”

The Kid smiled. “That’s what you think, Jessie.”

Jessica Sinclair narrowed her eyes. “What’s that mean?”

Forcing herself to make it sound casual, The Kid said, “Well, y’see, that package ain’t in Denver.”

“Oh, really,” Jessie snorted with disdain. “And just where else would it be?”

The Kid kept her face blank as she answered. “It’s locked up in Sheriff Gus Masters‘ office safe.”

Jessie’s eyes widened in alarm, then narrowed back to a hard stare. “You liar. That old hen at the post office told me she’d have it on the stage that morning.” Flashing a nasty grin, she did a mocking imitation of Edna May’s wizened voice, “‘The mail’s a sacred trust,’ that’s what she said to me.”

“I got her to hold it long enough for me to get a federal warrant, so I could open it.”

Jessica Sinclair shook her head. “No. No, you didn’t get that package. You’re lying, you are. That money’s mine. I took it fair and square, you can’t have it.” Her voice rose to a screech. “I don’t believe you!”

The Kid smiled, quiet and easy. “Before you wrapped them gold certificates up to mail, you put ‘em in a muslin bag with a drawstring.”

Jessie’s face fell apart like a shattered mirror, her cheeks pale as chalk. She began to tremble, her arm tightening around Gracie’s throat as blind rage grew inside her like a mounting fire.

“You…“ she whispered, glaring at The Kid. “You half-breed whore. You flea-ridden piece of redskin shit. You rat cunt!” Her grip tightened on the pistol she held. “I should put a bullet in your fucking face. But that’s too good for the likes of you. That was my money, MINE!” Her teeth were bared, each breath hissing through them. “I’d like to roast you alive over a slow fire, listen to you scream.”

The Kid’s heart sank as Jessie ranted and raved. Hell’s bells, she thought. I shouldn’t of told her that. But the way she was all puffed up, braggin’ about what she done… damn it, I just had to wipe that smile off her face.

She took a deep breath, bracing herself. If I’m gonna make a move on her, it’s gotta be soon. But first, I need to try to talk her into lettin’ the others go.

Winded with helpless rage, the howling woman had fallen silent, and The Kid seized her chance to speak up. “Listen, Jessie. I know you’re mighty mad at me for what I done to you, and I reckon I gotta pay the price for it. But why harm these other folks? They did you no wrong.”

Jessie’s eyes narrowed, but when she spoke, her voice was even and steady. “Go on,” she said.

Feeling a flicker of hope, The Kid soldiered on. “You got a horse in the barn. Do whatever you plan to do with me, then tie the others up, take whatever jewels and cash layin’ around here you can find, then head for Mexico. Cut your losses now. You ain’t got no gold certificates, you ain’t gonna have no diamonds, and when Gus Masters gets back from his wild goose chase, he’s comin’ after you. Hell, the whole state will be after you.”

Giving a thoughtful nod, Jessie said. “Hmmm… maybe you’re right, Kid. No need to kill any more than I have to.” She glanced at Lady Jane, then Mrs Ruggles, then down at Gracie. “Tie them up… I could do that…”

The Kid watched, almost afraid to move as the woman mulled the idea over, almost calmly.

Then, in the flicker of an eye, all the ugliness and hate returned to Jessie’s face as she shrieked, “HA!” She gave The Kid a twisted smile. “You must think I’m dumb as some turnip-grubbing farmer. I don’t ever leave witnesses behind. And why should I do you any goddamn favors, after you took my money? Hell, I’ll kill them just to make you cry, you filthy bitch.” She spat on the floor.

The Kid licked her parched lips. “Listen, Jessie, do whatever you like to me, but let these gals go. Listen, you could take me with you as a hostage. I’m a Texas Ranger. The law will make a deal with you to save me. There just ain’t no point to killing them.”

Jessie laughed. A long, brittle laugh that sent a chill up The Kid’s spine. “I like killing. I’m already in for four murders in this town anyhow, so what’s a few extra?” She paused. “Tell you what, though. Just so you know I’m not all bad, I’ll kill the girl first, so she won’t have to watch the rest of you die.”

She threw Gracie to the floor, then aimed the gun at the sobbing child. “You’re right, you know. I do like the back of the head shot,” Jessie said. “Know why? It blows out the face all funny. Makes me laugh to see it.”

“Dear God, no!” Lady Jane screamed hysterically. “Spare her! For God’s sake, by all that’s holy, don’t kill her!” She began to sob, “No, no, please dear God, don’t let her die.” Her eyes flooded with tears as she stared at the little girl and whimpered, “I love you, Gracie…” She wept even harder, barely managing to choke out, “I love you so m-much, sweetheart. I love you.”

Jessica Sinclair carefully placed the barrel of her gun against the back of Gracie’s skull, looking up to smile sweetly at the three women, all still on their knees.

“It’ll all be over for you in a moment, child,” she said.

On to Chapter Seven!

by Purple Les

Andromeda Purdy woke up slowly from a kiss on her cheek. Slowly opening her eyes, the first thing she saw was her black dress draped over a chair. Puzzled, she lifted her head just enough to see that she was in her underclothes, sprawled out on the sofa. Feeling an odd dampness on her brow, Ann touched her head and found a cool, damp cloth resting there. With a low moan, she sank back into the sofa, whispering, “Oh, dear Jesus… I must surely be dying.”

The Kid’s soft voice broke into her unhappy reverie. “I brung you coffee, Ann. You all right?”

Ann looked at The Kid through narrowed eyes. “Oh, Kid… please don’t shout so.” She managed to hoist herself into a sitting position, then reached for the cup with trembling hands, brought it to her mouth and took a sip. She groaned, then laid back down, holding on to her cup as if it might try to escape, given the chance.

Hunkering down next to her wincing lover, The Kid murmured, “I’d’ve let you sleep on till tomorrow, Ann, but we gotta get to that seance tonight. I knew you’d need some time to make yourself right first.”

“Please, Kid… go without me.” Ann begged, closing her eyes.

“I need you there, Ann.”

With great effort, Andromeda managed another swallow of coffee. “All right, Kid.” She extended a hand. “Help me up, won’t you?”

A few cups of coffee later, The Kid had Ann moving around and washed up. Still in her underclothes, Ann was back on the sofa, nursing one last cup.

“You look almost alive now,” The Kid said, appraising Ann’s condition.

“That’s as may be, but I feel like death warmed over.” With a heavy sigh, Ann set her empty cup down on the table. “How long before we have to leave?” she asked, like a man wondering when he had to climb the gallows.

“No hurry. I reckon once you get dressed, we’ll have us a bite at the Cafe, harness Pegasus up to a buggy and ride on out there.”

“You can’t go dressed like that,” Ann stated flatly, looking at The Kid, who still wore the black dress..

“Why not? It was good enough for a funeral. Seems like the right thing to wear for raisin’ the dead up, too.”

“You’ll wear that dress I bought you for the Founder’s Day dance, the one you never got to wear. It’s hanging in my closet. I’ll get it when I pick out a dress for myself.”

While Ann sat quietly, summoning up energy, The Kid said, “Well, while you slept all afternoon, I got that gun rig fixed up right.”

“Gun rig? What on earth are you talking about?” Ann asked, confused.

The Kid went to the kitchen table, then returned to the parlor with the device she’d taken from the gambler.

“Y’see, Ann, it just needed me to tinker with it some. Let me show you how slick it works!”

Ann watched as The Kid rolled up the right sleeve of her dress, then attached the gadget to her forearm with the unloaded derringer fixed to it.

“Now watch this.” The Kid held her arm out straight, then flexed it.

In the blink of an eye the derringer flashed down The Kid’s forearm, slipped through her fingers and went flying across the room. It crashed through the glass of a bookcase and into a row of elegantly bound volumes, denting their spines. The gun dropped onto a shelf, then fell to the floor with a loud thud.

The Kid stood dumbfounded, looking back and forth from the device on her arm to the gun on the floor.

Ann glared at The Kid, her cheeks flushed a bright red. Taking a deep breath, she held it as long as she could, slowly exhaled, and said between clenched teeth, “I’ll get our dresses. You clean this mess up.”

The Kid had just finished sweeping up the glass fragments when Ann came down the stairs. The Kid paused to admire her lover’s beauty. Ann’s hair was arranged to perfection, a tortoiseshell comb holding it in place. She wore a dark blue dress with a white lace trim bodice. Another dress was draped over her arm.

“You sure do look pretty.” The Kid said.

“Thank you,” was Ann’s curt reply. “Now take that dress off and put this one on.” She held out the garment for The Kid to take.

Still feeling sheepish over her mishap with the derringer, The Tequila Kid unbuttoned her dress and stepped out of it.

Ann’s mouth dropped as she gawked at her nude lover. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed. “Do you mean to tell me you didn’t wear anything under that dress all day?”

The Kid stood, hands on her hips and one leg bent at an angle. “Well, what for? No one could tell anyhow, and it was a hell of a lot cooler.”

Ann did an about-face back upstairs, soon returning with undergarments. Handing them over, she said, “You wear these under that dress and don’t say another word.”

The Kid meekly put on the underclothes, then wriggled into the yellow dress. Andromeda fixed The Kid’s hair in a swirl on top of her head which hid the scar, then appraised her, finally nodding. “You’ll do.” If not for the tattoos on The Kid’s chin, she could have passed for a debutante.

“Well, I’m wearing my moccasins.” The Kid said. “They won’t hardly show under this dress anyways.”

“Fine,” Ann acquiesced. “But no weapons.”

The Kid pursed her lips. “Not even my knife? Or the derringer gadget?”

“Especially not the derringer gadget,” Ann said crossly. “We’re not going to a shootout, Kid. We don’t need to be armed!”

“I’d best bring the Winchester to keep in the buggy, at least.”

“No weapons!” Ann snapped, giving The Kid a look that could peel paint.

“Dang it, Ann, you may as well just have me go there bare naked!”

“That’s an interesting thought, Kid… but you will go as you are, and with no weapons.”

The Kid pouted as they strolled to the Highland Cafe, but she was in better spirits after dinner. Ann felt better as well, her hangover all but gone once she’d gotten something in her stomach. They walked arm in arm to the livery stable.

“Good evenin’, ladies.” Nate Lincoln said as they walked into the stable. “My, don’t you both look fine!”

“Thank you, Nate.” Ann replied. “Do you have a buggy we can use for the evening? We’re headed to Mrs Ruggles’ place.”

Nate grinned. “Aw, that’s why you’s dressed up so nice.” Moving over to a large shape draped in canvas, he began to uncover it. “I got just the thing for your travels.”

While The Kid visited with Button, Nate led Ann to a very fancy looking buggy with ornate lanterns attached to the front and back. Metal mudguards over the yellow spoke wheels gave it an elegant appearance, and the yellow matching cloth roof with a fringe on it was the icing on the cake.

The Kid joined them a moment later, giving a low whistle when she saw the shiny black buggy.

“You ladies’ll find these seats plush an’ comfy,” Nate said. “Got mighty good suspension on it, too… feels like you’s ridin’ on a cloud. An’ I’ll charge you but two dollars for the night.”

“Oh, my… it’s beautiful, Nate,” Ann breathed. “We’ll take it.”

He hitched up the buggy and they set off. Pegasus was used to pulling Ann’s heavy wagon, so the buggy must’ve felt like a puff of air to the big grey gelding.

“See you later, Nate!” Ann called out. The Kid gave the large black man a wave with her free hand. Taking the buggy into the street, she got Pegasus up to a slow trot as they headed for the edge of town.

Stopping by a creek to let Pegasus drink, they watched the sunset, The Kid lit the lanterns on the buggy while Andromeda gathered her thoughts. Finally, she spoke.

“So, Kid, you mean to tell me that you intend to take over Gracie’s part in this seance? I find it touching that she trusts you enough to admit it’s all a fake.”

“Well, she trusts me that far, but she’s too scared to let me in on the rest. Now don’t forget, you’re the only one who knows I speak French. Be sure you don’t give that away, if anyone asks. Oh, and Ann… I just got an idea, and it’s a good one, I think — but it means there’s somethin’ I need you to do for me, if you can.”

“What is it?” Ann asked, not sure if she wanted to involve herself in one of The Kid’s bold schemes.

“If you get the chance to, I need you to search this so-called Lady Jane’s belongin’s, see what you can find.”

“What would I be looking for?”

“See if you can find her gun. Or papers, or anything that might shine a light on her and the Count. If you have time, look in his room, too.”

Ann thought on it, then said, “I won’t say that the idea doesn’t scare me a little… but I know how much this means to you, so I’ll do it if I can. Are you sure I’ll get the opportunity, though?”

“No idea,” The Kid said with a shrug. “I should be able to keep ‘em both busy if you do.”

Climbing back into the buggy, The Kid geed up the horse and they rode on toward the Ruggles estate. On the way Ann, who had known the late Maurice Ruggles, filled The Kid in on his speech patterns and personality. As a child, Ann had stayed with the family for a few weeks while her parents were attending a scientific conference in San Francisco, and had learned a few household secrets during that time.

As The Kid reined in Pegasus by the main entrance, a poker-faced servant came to assist the ladies. Ann waited by the front door as The Kid took a blanket out of the buggy and draped it over the horse, then put the lanterns out. Setting a large weight attached to the buggy down on the ground so Pegasus wouldn’t wander, The Kid strolled over to join Ann as the servant opened the front door, leading them both inside.

Though The Kid and Ann had both been at the Ruggles estate before, the front entrance never failed to impress them.

As the heavy oak front doors were opened, they stepped through. The shiny white marble floor with the crystal glass chandelier hanging high above it cast a lovely glow from dozens of candles that loaded it down. The gold colored velvet wallpaper and sculpted plasterwork, the finely carved wood furniture and the large candelabra all made Ann feel as if she was in a French chateau. They both paused to look at the portrait of a young Mr and Mrs Ruggles that hung over a gigantic fireplace.

“I’ve rode through canyons smaller than this,” The Kid whispered to Ann as Mrs Ruggles approached them.

Mrs Ruggles wore a sparkling low-cut black dress. A string of white pearls glistened against her wrinkled skin. She extended a black gloved hand. “Thank you both so much for coming tonight.”

Putting her small clutch bag in her left hand and taking Mrs Ruggles’ gloved hand in her right, Ann said, “Thank you for having us. We’ve never been to a seance before.”

“It’s a first for me, too. Come, ladies.” Mrs Ruggles said, offering an arm to each. The Kid took one, Ann took the other, and they mounted the grand staircase, continuing along the upper hall and into a large wood-paneled room.

“This was my late husband’s game room.” Mrs Ruggles explained, “Lady Wyeth-Boton felt that his spirit would be most inclined to visit here.”

The Kid had no recollection of seeing this room before. Bet I would of remembered it, too. She looked around, taking in its details. There was a billiard table, several trophy heads of elk and bear mounted on the dark wood walls, and a poker table. There were leather armchairs before a large stone fireplace, and a round game table. Nearby was a cluster of dining chairs that seemed to belong to some other room. There was a marble-topped bar with brass fittings, lined by tall, backless stools. Here and there were deep fabric-covered chairs with matching ottomans. The parquet floor gleamed.

What fascinated The Kid the most was a large tank of water, with many small fish of bright colors swimming in it. Noting The Kid’s interest in the fish, Mrs Ruggles explained, “These were my husband’s great joy. He collected them from around the world. I keep them thriving in his memory.”

Seated in one of the leather chairs by the fireplace, Count Cousiourac rose and advanced as the three women entered the room.

“I don’t believe you two have been introduced,” Mrs Ruggles said to Ann. “Count, this is Andromeda Purdy. She is the town librarian, and our foremost authority on creatures who roamed the earth long before we existed. Ann, this is Count Cousiourac.”

“Pleased to meet you, Count,” Ann said with a smile and a nod.

“Enchanté,” the Count murmured, taking Ann’s right hand like it was the most delicate thing on earth. Gently pressing his lips against her fingers for a moment, he then released her hand as if he’d just freed a butterfly. In spite of herself, Anne couldn’t help but blush a bit.

“Is that little Gracie I see?” Mrs Ruggles said. “Come, child.” Sure enough, the little girl had just quietly entered the room, and timidly came forward to join the others. “Ann, this is Lady Wyeth-Boton’s assistant. Gracie, this is Miss Purdy.”

Gracie gave a curtsy and bow of her head. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Purdy.”

Ann took the girl’s hand between hers, catching Gracie by surprise. “So nice to meet you,” she said, a distinct warmth in her voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” the child replied, her cheeks flushed pink. The Kid caught the little girl’s eye, and Gracie gave her a shy smile.

Count Cousiourac cleared his throat, then said, “Lady Wyeth-Boton is preparing herself to enter the spirit world and will join us soon.”

“I would offer you libations,” Mrs Ruggles said, “but Lady Wyeth-Boton says it is detrimental to reaching the other world. So we will not open the bar until the seance has taken place.”

Gracie timidly spoke. “Perhaps I should… prepare the room now?”

“Yes, of course, child,” Mrs Ruggles absently said, then asked the others, “Shall we sit?” She began to make her way to the other side of the room, Ann and the Count following.

“Grace, I’ll give you a hand,” The Kid said.

The little girl led her over to the table by the fireplace. As the other three chatted farther away, The Kid softly said, “What’s she got you sayin’ tonight?”

While they positioned the round table and put dining chairs around it, Gracie whispered something back in French, something that The Kid knew the child had to have been taught phonetically.

“When my Lady closes her eyes I’m to count to thirty, then go into my act.” Gracie whispered cautiously, glancing at the others to make sure they weren’t being overheard.

Once they finished arranging the chairs, Gracie took a box of matches from her pocket and lit one black candle that had been placed in the center of the table. “There — it’s ready,” she said.

The Kid winked at the child. “See you later, sweet thing,” she said, then went to join the others.

Moments later, Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton swept into the room, clad from chin to feet in a jet-black cloak. Mrs Ruggles introduced Lady Jane to Ann.

Lady Jane gave Ann a long, penetrating gaze, then clapped her hands once. “Gracie! Please dim all the other lights in the room,” she ordered. “Everyone, please sit around the table.”

“Should the child be here for this?” Mrs Ruggles asked, a look of concern on her face.

“Yes,” answered Lady Jane. “Gracie often serves as a vessel for the spirits to enter. Those on the other side sometimes prefer a child or an innocent to speak through.”

Mrs Ruggles sat next to the empty chair for Lady Wyeth-Boton. Next to Mrs Ruggles was the Count. Next to the Count sat Ann. The Kid sat beside Ann, Gracie was placed on The Kid’s right, right across from the empty chair.

The room was now dark, save for the lone candle on the table.

“It is imperative that my directions be followed to the letter. Then and only then will the spirits consent to appear,” Lady Jane said, looking from person to person.

“First, what I do now is not intended to shock anyone, but to free my energies, so that I may communicate freely with the spirits,” she continued, then swept her cloak off with a single gesture.

Ann’s and Mrs Ruggles’ mouths hung open in amazement. As for the Count, he barely seemed to notice. Gracie must have seen this many times before, but even in the dim light The Kid could tell that the child’s cheeks were flushed red.

Draping the black cloak over one arm, Lady Jane stood motionless, allowing everyone to take a long look at her. She was completely nude, except for a blue crystal that hung from a thin silver chain.

The Kid liked what she saw. The large breasts drooped down slightly, but the dark pink nipples were large and visibly erect. Her belly was firm, with a soft roundness just under the navel.

Nestling between Lady Jane’s thighs was a neat triangle of blonde curls. The hair around the labia had been trimmed away so that the labia majora and minora could be plainly seen. The Kid absently moistened her lips, wondering what the woman tasted like.

As Lady Jane turned to hang her cloak from the oaken rack, her firm round buttocks could briefly be seen. Hell fire, The Kid thought, she’s even nicer lookin’ than I thought.

As Lady Jane slowly walked back to the table, she said, “Also, my being nude should make it clear to you that I have no mechanical tricks to hide, unlike many fraudulent spiritualists who try to fool believers with chicanery.”

Fingering the stone that dangled between her breasts, she continued. “This crystal I wear was given to me by the great fakir Ali Siri of India. It catches the energy of the other world, and feeds it to me.” Lady Jane seated herself between Mrs Ruggles and Gracie.

Making eye contact with each person at the table, she said, “I beseech you all, please keep an open mind, and avoid any negative thoughts. Be open and receptive to any spirits whose energy touches upon yours.” She paused, then added, “Now, place the palms of your hands flat upon the table. The thumbs of your own hands should touch, while your pinkie fingers should be touching those of the persons on either side to you.”

Everyone arranged their hands as Lady Jane instructed.

Her voice became stern. “Under no circumstances, for whatever reason, are you to break this circle. To do so is to roughly cast any visiting spirit away. If this is done, they may never return.”

Once more, Lady Jane looked at each person before saying, “Once more I implore you… do not break the circle.” She took a deep breath. “Now, let us begin.”

Lady Jane lifted her eyes upward and her face went blank. “By the powers of Isis and Osiris. By the love of Jesus Christ and our Father in Heaven. Spirits, come before us now. Cross back from whence you have gone, and return to comfort those who remain.” She closed her eyes.

Gracie was silently counting to thirty, as Lady Jane had told her to do. The Tequila Kid counted to fifteen.

A soft groan was heard, and all eyes went to The Kid just in time to see a small light flicker for an instant in her open mouth. Suddenly her mouth closed and her expression went blank.

Lady Jane looked at Gracie, then back at The Kid.

As they all stared, The Kid’s eyes flashed open wide. Her pupils could not be seen; there was only white where they should have been.

In a deep voice, speaking in perfect French, The Kid said, “Who has summoned me back to this mortal realm?”

Gracie and Ann, the only two in the room who didn’t speak the language, looked utterly bewildered.

Count Cousiourac gasped audibly, then said, “Mon Dieu! Mademoiselle Kid, she speaks French?”

Though still shocked, Ann managed to reply, “No, Count Cousiourac, she knows not a word of French. My goodness, she barely speaks English!”

Gracie could only gape. Lady Jane seemed puzzled, but was doing her best to conceal it from the others. Mrs Ruggles was awestruck.

Somehow, Lady Jane managed to speak, though uncertain of what to say. “I, Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton, have summoned you here, spirit. Do you recognize the person to my right?”

Still speaking French, The Kid responded in a loving tone. “My Ladybug? It is you! What a joy to see you again.”

Mrs Ruggles’ eyes were filled with tears. “My dear Maurice.” Glancing at Lady Jane, she said, “’Ladybug’ was his term of endearment to me. It was private between us. It’s… it’s really him!” Turning back to The Kid, she said, “Oh, Maurice, my French was never half as good as yours. Please speak to me in English.”

“All right then, my little Ladybug,” The Kid answered Mrs Ruggles. “Who are these others with you?”

Mrs Ruggles introduced each one at the table to her husband’s spirit. The Kid sat in silence, listening to each name. When Ann Purdy’s name was said, The Kid spoke again.

“This is little Andromeda Purdy?” Maurice’s spirit asked. Mrs Ruggles nodded. “My, my, what a vision of beauty that skinny little girl has become. I’d never have known it was her.”

“Oh, my dear Maurice, are you happy?” Mrs Ruggles asked.

“Yes, Ladybug. The other world is more beautiful than anything a mortal can imagine. With me are our dear children, Barty and Claire. We all miss you, Ladybug. Be in no hurry to join us, though. Stay here in the world of the living, doing your good works as long as you can. When you come to us, you will be young again, and we will all be together once more.”

Mrs Ruggles shook her head. “I have so much to say to you, Maurice. Your death came so — so suddenly. I never had a chance to tell you h-how very much I loved you…” Tears rolled down the woman’s face, her lips trembling.

The Kid spoke again. “Ladybug, the children and I can feel the love that you have for us. There is no need to weep. Here there is no sadness, no regrets. Just total bliss. Be happy for us. To live as you are is your greatest joy, until the time far from now when we will be together. Be joyful, dear wife, and know that we are joyful as well.”

The Kid’s eyes drifted shut, she groaned and then drooped forward until her head hit the table with a thud. After a moment, she slowly lifted her head. When her eyelids fluttered open again, her expression was one of confusion.

“What…? Doggone it, I must of fell asleep! I’m mighty sorry, Mrs Ruggles. Did anything happen?” The Kid looked around in a daze.

“Turn the lamps back up, Gracie.” Lady Jane ordered.

Ann laid a hand on The Kid’s arm. “You don’t remember anything?”

“Remember? Remember what?” The Kid asked, frowning.

While Mrs Ruggles and Ann told The Kid what had happened, Lady Jane gave Gracie a piercing stare. In return, the bewildered little girl shrugged her shoulders.

The Count stood and ambled over to the bar, “Please let me know what you wish to drink, ladies. I think that we all need one, yes?”

“Before you do,” Lady Jane said, “Please take a moment to observe my nether region.” She stood, then parted her legs slightly. “As you can see at my opening, it is dripping with ectoplasm. This is proof that spiritual energy passed through me, the medium, energy that I fed on to summon the spirit who passed the time with us. If any of you doubt, please feel free to touch… feel the substance for yourself.”

Mrs Ruggles hesitantly removed a glove, reaching out to touch Lady Jane’s dripping vagina. Ann and The Kid exchanged knowing glances, and the Count looked on with a wry smile as he casually filled a glass with whiskey.

Reaching for her cloak, Lady Jane carefully draped it over her shoulders. Glancing suspiciously at The Kid, she said, “I am exhausted, Mrs Ruggles… I will retire to my room now.” She turned to Gracie, who was standing off to the side, hands clasped before her. “Come along, child.”

As Lady Wyeth-Boton passed Count Cousiourac on her way to the door, she spoke to him briefly before making her exit, little Gracie in tow. He gave her a curt nod, then drained his drink.

Setting the glass down on the bar, the Count turned to the three women. “Mrs Ruggles, Lady Wyeth-Boton has reminded me that I must go into town tonight to reserve hotel suites for Friday. You see, we leave on the train Saturday morning, so it will be, ah, more easy to get to the station if we are already in town.”

Count Cousiourac looked at Ann and The Kid. “If you ladies would be so kind as to let me ride back to town with you, I would be most grateful.”

“Why, sure, Count.” The Kid answered. “That’s fine with us.”

He gave a small bow. “Merci beaucoup, ladies. If you will give me just a few moments to pack a bag for tonight, I will return here most soon.” Turning away briskly, he made his exit.

“Reckon I best go get Pegasus hitched up, then,” The Kid said. “Mrs Ruggles, thanks for the invite. Had me a nice time, even if I did miss the big show.”

“Thank you, Kid,” Mrs Ruggles murmured, taking the young woman’s hands. “You were the vessel my dear departed husband chose to make his presence known to us.” Her eyes were misting over again. “I will be forever grateful to you for the happiness you helped to bring me.”

The Kid felt her cheeks grow warm. She’d never found it easy to receive praise. “Shucks, ma’am,” she said, “I’m glad if I was able to be of any help.” She gave the old woman a bashful smile, then took her leave.

Ann stayed behind to chat with Mrs Ruggles, then made her goodbyes when Count Cousiourac returned with his valise. They were led to the front door by the stiff-backed servant, and emerged from the house just as The Kid was climbing into the buggy.

The ride back to town was uneventful, Ann and the Count making small talk along the way. They dropped him off in front of the Ridge Hotel. Next stop was the livery stable, where Ann paid for the buggy rental. Nate unhitched Pegasus and put him in his stall while The Kid paid a brief visit to Button.

Ann and The Kid walked back home arm in arm. Upon arriving, they undressed, performed their ablutions and climbed into bed.

As The Kid turned down the lamp on the side table, Ann spoke up. “All right, Kid, tell me — how on earth did you put on that show at the seance?”

“What did you think?” The Kid replied with a bad-girl grin.

“Actually, it was incredible. I think Sarah Bernhardt would envy your performance.”

“Well, I already knew how to speak French. First, I rolled my eyes way up to make ‘em look all white.” The Kid paused. “Wait — who’s Sarah Bernhardt?”

“Never mind, Kid. What about that little light in your mouth?”

“Oh, that? Just a little pinch of wintergreen, mixed up with peppermint candy. Bite it just right and it sparks a little. Learned that trick from a little boy in Abilene. Anyhow, I just made my voice go low and used the things you told me about Mr Ruggles… sayin’ the kind of stuff I figgered she wanted to hear.”

“And that remark about me being a skinny little girl?”

“I seen that old tintype picture of you as a kid. You sure was cute back then. And what was that crack you made about me barely speakin’ English?”

“Well? What about it? It’s mostly true… and besides, I had to make it convincing,” Ann said. “On the other hand, your French is so good that we could move there.” Reflecting for a moment, she added, “I must say that you were right, Kid. We should’ve brought a weapon. I felt very nervous with the Count. For all his elegant manners, something about him unsettles me.”

“Oh, we did bring a weapon. I put that derringer in your purse. Just in case.”

Rolling her eyes, Ann said, “I should have known. You know, the Count is an imposter, just like Lady Jane. When I spoke of France with him, I purposely lied about a location there, and he claimed to have visited it. Speaking of Lady Jane, what did you think of her telling everyone her pussy honey was ectoplasm from the spirit world?” She snorted with mirth.

“That was the most stupid thing I ever saw anyone do,” The Kid said. “Tell you this much — I reckon whoever she really is, she likes getting naked for folks. It sure did make her wet.”

“You know what else I think, Kid?”

“What?”

“I’ll wager it got Lady Jane so aroused, she took that Gracie girl upstairs to couple with her.”

The Kid laughed. “Well, now, I like the way you think. I bet you’re right, too. That little Gracie did some sparkin’ with me.” She filled Ann in on her little trysts with Gracie. “I reckon she learned all that from Lady Jane.”

“Kid?” Ann said softly, “I’m feeling very much in the mood for some fun of our own. How about it?”

“Sure,” The Kid answered.

They swiftly removed their night clothes. Side by side in the bed, they reached between each other’s legs.

“I wish I’d known you as a little girl, Ann,” The Kid said as she gently fondled her lover’s pussy.

“I wish there was one picture of you as a child that I could see,” Ann said as her finger trailed up and down The Kid’s wet slit. “I bet you were awfully pretty.”

They came together in a heated kiss. Their tongues flickered back and forth — exciting them, making their cunts even wetter.

“Talk about that Sappho gal some, Ann,” The Kid said when they broke their kiss.

“I’d rather discuss this so-called Lady Jane and Gracie,” Ann answered. “I really do think that they are lovers.”

“You just may be right about that, Ann. What do you think they done after they left us?”

Ann slid her finger into The Kid’s pussy, while The Kid’s finger was making little circles around her clit.

“I think,” Ann began, “That back in their room, Lady Jane flung off that cloak of hers and began to touch herself in front of Gracie.”

“Then what?” The Kid asked as she raised her hips, trying to get Ann’s finger to go even deeper.

“I think,” Ann gasped between breaths, as The Kid pressed a finger against her anus, “That while Lady Jane masturbated, she t-told Gracie to get naked for her.”

Ann and The Kid turned on their sides, so they were face to face, their breasts touching as they began to furiously finger fuck one another.

Her mouth touching The Kid’s ear, Ann whispered, “I bet that awful woman makes little Gracie lick her hot, wet gash. Remember how juicy she was?”

“You sure got a dirty mind, Ann. I love that about you.”

“Oh, Kid, just picture it! That naked little girl lying on her tummy. Mmmm, that sweet bottom of hers, jiggling around while she licks Lady Jane’s cunt.”

Suddenly The Kid withdrew her hand from Ann’s vulva, getting up on her knees. “I gotta taste you, Ann.”

“Let’s do it to each other!” Ann cried.

The two lovers quickly got themselves into position — Ann straddled her lover’s face, then bent down to put her mouth to The Kid’s sex. Each licked the other in a frenzy until they reached a mutual orgasm at the same time, moaning and screaming into each other’s pussies.

Spent, they lay entangled and perfectly content. The Kid was just about to doze off when Ann said, “I never did get the chance to search Lady Jane’s things, did I?” Placing a hand on her partner’s breast, she added,   “I know what needs to happen. You have to seduce Lady Jane.” She nuzzled The Kid’s neck, toying with a stiff nipple.

Opening one eye, The Kid said, “I have to what?”

“Don’t you understand? This is how you can get this woman’s guard down. Find out her true game.”

The Kid guffawed. “She don’t like me one little bit, Ann. ‘Specially if she suspects that I was messin’ with her seance. How the hell would I ever open her up?”

Ann sighed blissfully as she snuggled into the younger woman. “You can do it somehow, I’m sure.” She gave a long, drawn-out yawn before falling asleep.

The Kid was wide awake now, trying to think that out. Ann’s right. I need to find out more about this fake Lady Jane. I can’t wait on that telegram from Mort any longer. Gracie knows somethin’, but she’s too loyal to Lady Jane and too scared of the Count to tell me any more than she has.

I reckon tomorrow I’ll have to get myself on Lady Ice Queen’s good side, try to find out what I can.

As she drifted into a sound sleep, The Kid was wondering how she could make that happen.

On to Chapter Six!

by Shy Mom

Mother’s Day this year fell on May 10, 2020. It was my tenth celebration as a mom and my eighth with both daughters. It would be the first time I marked the holiday by making love to my girls.

Over the past weeks, my daughters and I had made many kinds of love. Since that first evening with Olivia, the three of us had at least masturbated each other almost every day. After Ashley had eaten my pussy in the kitchen, the girls had often feasted on my cunt. They had also come to enjoy sex with each other. Indeed, my little sexpots could hardly devour enough pussy to satiate their burgeoning libidos. More surprisingly, they had acquired a taste for anal play as well, taking considerable delight in probing tight bottoms with fingers and tongues. All in all, our sheltering at home had evolved into an incestuous lesbian sexcapade that fanned our love—and lust—as a family.

Nevertheless, there were lines I had yet to cross, though it took all of my will power and lots of diversionary orgasms to resist. I had not eaten my daughters’ cunts. I had not rimmed their rosebuds. I had not even sucked their nipples.

My restraint did not arise from any sense of guilt or taboo, mind you. Given how joyful and natural sex with my daughters felt, I never experienced the former, and the latter only made our lovemaking all the more delectable. Rather, my faithfulness to these boundaries sprung from Ashley’s heart-warming revelation that she had planned on “doing sex” with me as a Mother’s Day surprise. So, while I allowed the girls all the pleasures of my body, I abstained from sampling their treasures so they could offer them to me on my special day.

When Mother’s Day arrived, Ashley, Olivia and I spent quality time together in the morning and afternoon, enjoying a light brunch, playing board games, and watching my favorite food and travel shows. As evening approached, we separated. I went off to primp myself, while the girls prepared dinner.

I felt thrilled and giddy preparing my body for my darlings, my daughters.

I took an aromatherapy bath with lavender vanilla oil to cleanse my pores, soften my skin, and clear my senses. I had to resist the urge to masturbate while soaking in the silky, scented bubbles. Next, I washed my hair with coconut oil and cocoa butter shampoo, then shaved my legs and vulva, leaving the faintest of landing strips just above the clitoral hood. Afterward, I rubbed generous handfuls of honey lavender lotion over every inch of my body, especially those areas the girls would linger over. Again, I had to overcome the temptation to get myself off. Instead, I blow-dried my sunny blonde hair, styling it into layers that looked windswept, but not wild.

After these spa treatments, the bathroom and bedroom were filled with an alluring mix of scents. I detected flowers, vanilla, coconut, honey, butter, and dark chocolate. Tendrils of a more tempting fragrance also wafted through the master suite: the heady aroma of wet cunt. It was highly arousing.

At last, I got dressed.

First, I put on my finest pearl necklace. When the girls played dress-up, they favored this elegant piece of jewelry.

Then, I dressed in an expensive thong that I’d specially ordered for the occasion. Its belt of delicate French lace wrapped around the top of my hips. Below, coverage was provided solely by a string of pearls that hung from a tiny hook in front and a satin bow in the back, each of which could be easily undone like gift wrapping. As I moved, the lustrous orbs slid about my crevices. I’d never worn anything that looked as sexy or felt as stimulating.

Aside from those few things, I was naked.

As I squared away the packaging of my body for the girls, I discovered alternative instructions for how to wear the pearl string. Instead of fastening it to the bow, it could be stuffed into a cavity of one’s choice. After going back and forth between the possible options, I settled on my vagina.

Finally, I was ready. So were my daughters, who called to me from our formal dining room.

I strode in slowly, one leg in front of the other, to give the girls plenty of opportunity to ogle me. In turn, they took my breath away with their own vision of girlish beauty.

Ashley and Olivia stood next to the formal dining table, on which they had placed lit candles. My daughters wore matching sleeveless dresses. The lavender shade was more pink than purple, with ruffles in front that led the eyes upwards and downwards.

The girls had crimped their blonde hair in waves that fell over their shoulders, and anointed their mouths with the same hot pink lip gloss from our fashion show. As they ogled my evening wear, their teeth shone through open mouths, and their cheeks flushed a rosy hue.

I could see the candle flames flicker in my daughters’ eyes, which darted from my own flushed face to the fine pearl necklace, from my bare breasts to the half-sunken pearl string.

“Wow …” was all that Ashley could manage.

“Mommy, you’re beautiful!” Olivia gushed.

“You girls are … are angels,” I said at last. “So lovely. I can hardly believe you’re mine.”

They glowed with my compliment, and Olivia repaid it with, “We are yours, Mommy, and we got our looks from you.”

Ashley tried to find the words she needed. “Momma … your hair … the necklace … your boobs … and the panties … and everything! … I … I want …”

“To fuck me?” I filled in.

“Yes!” Ashley affirmed.

“Me too!” Olivia squealed.

“I’m glad my looks got the desired effect,” I said. “Seeing how stunning you look makes me want to fuck both of you too.”

At my declaration of desire, the girls exchanged thrilled glances.

“First things first, girls.” Knowing how hard they had worked to make dinner, I didn’t want to skip to dessert, though the temptation was powerful indeed.

They pulled out the chair at the head of the table for me. Sitting down, I shivered as the pearls dug deeper into my crevices.

“Momma, you smell really nice,” Ashley said.

“Like flowers and honey and … and sex,” added Olivia, after taking a moment to breathe in my fragrance.

When my daughters served dinner, I returned their compliments. “Your feast looks and smells every bit as delectable as you girls.”

I was exaggerating a little. Though the girls’ efforts were touching, the results tickled me. For the main dish, they had prepared steaming Swedish meatballs—courtesy of our last IKEA run and the microwave. For sides, they’d made mashed potatoes with plenty of lumps, and unevenly sliced pears that had browned considerably. For drinks, the girls poured ice water.

My daughters served no dessert. They were to be the dessert.

So, after our Mother’s Day dinner, we headed for the master bedroom. It would be our family bedroom from that night forward.

Holding their hands, I led my eight- and ten-year-olds to the foot of the king-sized bed. Their faces glowed and their eyes sparkled as they peered up at me. I bent down and gave each a lover’s kiss, then brought my daughters together. They kissed deeply, their caresses of sisterly affection soon turning into gropings of lust. I found myself profoundly moved by the sight. One of the nicest things about our new relationship as a family was the willingness of my children to love each other, just as they both loved me.

While the girls kissed, I slipped my hands under their dresses, one for each daughter. I traced the delightful rise and fall of their pert bottoms, Olivia’s slightly rounder, Ashley’s a bit firmer. It took a second to register—no panties! My heart fluttered.

I continued upward, caressing their smooth backs along their arched spines, between shoulder blades that were evocative of angel wings. As my hands ascended, so did their lavender dresses. In one motion, which the sisters broke their kiss to accommodate, I tugged the dresses up over their heads and flung them onto the floor. The girls stood naked, eyes sparkling.

“Ashley … Olivia … Mommy loves you.”

“We love you,” my daughters responded in unison. Nothing more needed to be said.

I indicated the foot of the bed, and the girls seated themselves side by side on its edge, facing me with dangling feet.

Recalling their wandering eyes of my children at dinner, I cupped my breasts and leaned forward, offering one to each. My daughters suckled, their mouths warm and wet, their tug insistent.

Oh, I was tempted to pleasure myself, as I’d sometimes done when they breastfed as babies. Instead, I broke away, eager to make love to them. My beautiful daughters’ flushed faces, halting breath, and erect nipples made clear that they were more than ready.

I started with Ashley, taking one of her breast buds in an open-mouthed kiss. It was soft and yielding except for the nipple, which felt pebbly against my tongue.

“God …” Ashley murmured.

Wrapping my arms around her, I rolled and flicked my tongue around the tip of my oldest girl’s breast. I could feel her thighs rubbing together below me as her need grew stronger. I shifted to the other nipple, giving it the same loving attention.

“Oh, Momma … Momma …” Ashley moaned, clasping the back of my head.

Beside us, I could hear Olivia’s ragged breath. I released Ashley for the time being and turned to my youngest.

I knew what she needed, and it matched my own hunger. Unlike Ashley, who would leap into adulthood overnight if she could, Olivia remained a little girl at heart. For her, being mothered and being pleasured were two sides of the same coin.

Just as I’d done with her big sister, I began with Olivia’s nipples, flicking each gently with my tongue. She lolled her head back, eyes drifting shut as she swam in purest bliss.

Ashley leaned over and took her little sister’s open mouth in a gentle kiss, surprising me with her tenderness.

I planted soft kisses on my eight-year-old’s nipples like they were bee stings needing balm. The kisses turned to sucks, and a moan escaped from her lips.

It was time to go down on my baby girl.

I trailed kisses down Olivia’s tummy, pausing at her belly button to give a preview of the pleasures to come. Olivia squirmed, then giggled.

As I spread Olivia’s legs, she fell back onto the bed. Ashley continued our double-teaming of her baby sister with kisses that grew increasingly passionate.

Dallying over Olivia’s bare mound, pillowed by baby fat, I licked a line where a landing strip of soft pubes might someday appear. I imagined honey-gold hair grazing my tongue, even as I delighted in the smoothness she already had.

At the last moment, I skipped over Olivia’s pussy to land on her dark pink rosebud. She sighed, a mix of protest and pleasure.

I circled the star of her anus, grazing the minute ridges that radiated from the point of singularity, pulling me in to the center. Lifting her bottom and prying apart her cheeks, I pushed.

“Mommy!” she gasped.

My surprise matched Olivia’s as my tongue penetrated just past the tip. Immediately I felt the vise of her sphincter as the flavor of mushrooms hit me, secret and succulent.

I thrust in and out, in a lulling rhythm. It felt as intimate as breastfeeding. Olivia cooed with delight.

But there remained more of my child to taste, and I was ravenous. With a kiss, I bade farewell to her sweet pucker, then trailed my tongue upward to her slit.

My God. I had never touched anything so gossamer as my eight-year-old’s tiny labia. I feared her delicate lips would dissolve on my tongue. But the folds unfurled as I burrowed inward and upward.

Her wetness was warm, like dew touched by sunlight. The taste, so clean and clear, was almost of nothing, but hinted at a flavor I knew well.

I wrapped my arms around Olivia’s thighs and spread her vulva open with two fingers. The interior of her vagina beckoned like a little mouth, and I frenched it as adoringly as I’ve ever kissed any lover—woman or child. Against the tip of my tongue, her hymen proved to be soft, slippery, and resilient.

Olivia whimpered, desperate to come. I enveloped her vulva in my mouth, clit and all, and gently sucked.

In moments, my daughter orgasmed. It was lovely, marked by small shudders and gasps. I drank her in.

My cunt now ached for attention. Those nestled pearls only aggravated this need, imparting teeny jolts of pleasure with every movement I made—nudging me toward the edge, but not over.

With Olivia glowing in perfect contentment, I turned to Ashley. She was absentmindedly drawing circles around her sister’s nipples, her eyes tracking me as I crawled toward her on all fours.

I pushed my ten-year-old onto her back and crawled up the length of her body. As I knelt astride her face, Ashley gazed up at my cunt, which was literally dripping with desire.

Her eyes then followed the trail of the gleaming pearls, from the hook in front to where they entered my cleft.

“Pull them out,” I ordered.

Ashley understood what them referred to, but not how I wanted her to carry out my command. She reached for the pearls.

“No,” I said, holding down the offending hand.

She looked up quizzically. Then how? her eyes asked.

“Try again,” I encouraged.

Ashley reached out with her other hand. I pushed it down too.

“No.”

“Then …” she looked from one trapped hand to the other, indicating her lack of options.

“You’re a smart girl, darling,” I reminded her. “If your mouth is free to speak …”

Ashley’s eyes widened. Then, after an intake of breath, she stretched out her tongue to latch onto the string.  Her efforts—tentative, then vigorous, finally desperate—only had the effect of pushing the strand further into my vaginal fissure.

“Do you want it, Ashley?”

“Yes, Momma.”

“It’s been in my cunt the whole time.”

“I know.”

I lowered myself another inch.

Ashley finally managed to worm her tongue underneath the string of pearls, between clit and vagina, and tug. I relaxed my muscles. The lubricated pearls slid out.

There was more buried treasure than Ashley had bargained for. The pearls fell onto her face. She extended her tongue, trying to draw them into her mouth to suck, but couldn’t do much more than lick a few.

Ashley seemed at a loss as to what to do, but I wasn’t. Unfastening the string from the hook in front, still pinioning her hands with mine, I slid down her body until our noses were touching.

“You want a real taste, don’t you?”

She gave a jerky nod. “Y-yes …”

With my teeth, I picked up the pearls and deposited them on Ashley’s lips. As she parted them, I pushed the string into her mouth with my tongue. My daughter eagerly sucked.

When Ashley had cleaned off the evidence of where those pearls had been, I presented my cunt to her, drawing closer until my clit was brushing her nose. I was so wet that my juices were dripping onto her face.

“Fuck me, Ashley. Please.”

Ashley burrowed her tongue into my cleft, then plowed up its length, all the while gazing into my eyes with such warmth that I could have melted. In her mouth, my cunt felt like it was dissolving into honey and heat.

Then Ashley nudged my thighs back so that I tipped forward and slid down, my clit landing squarely in her mouth. Taking it between her lips, she nursed at it like a baby might.

At first, the rhythm of Ashley’s sucking was gentle and steady. I pinched my nipples to heighten the pleasure that was steadily building in my core.

Then, while she sucked, Ashley began to lick my clit, teasing the tip with tiny little flicks of her tongue. My God, she was good—a skilled lesbian lover at the age of ten. I rode on the edge of orgasm, letting it carry me to the point of no return, then retreating to catch the next heaving wave.

When my daughter lightly nibbled the inflamed nub, I climaxed—my body seizing, then spasming, finally going limp. I collapsed on top of Ashley, but she didn’t stop, her mouth clamped to my pussy, probing me with that sweet, sweet tongue, aggravating my state of delirium until I came again.

Utterly spent at last, I lay limp as a dishrag between my daughters, panting for breath.

“Thank you, girls,” I murmured.

“Thank you, Momma …” Ashley whispered, still in awe.

From the sidelines, an enraptured Olivia had been watching the whole time. She had a hand between her legs, carefully drawing a finger up and down through her bare slit again and again.

As my body started coming back online, I mentally inventoried my Mother’s Day wishlist, realizing that it was not quite complete. There was one little lady whose cunt I had not tasted, who had yet to enjoy an orgasm of her own.

“Olivia, love … would you clean up your sister’s pretty face?” I asked, wanting to bring her back into the fold.

My youngest leapt right to it, kissing and licking her sister’s face with the unabashed enthusiasm of an eight-year-old.

With Olivia occupied, I crawled between Ashley’s thighs. Up close, her prepubescent cunt took my breath away. Graced with golden down, the outer lips looked ripe as a summer peach. From the parted center, slight folds peeped out. They were a girlish shade of pink, and moist with dew. At the apex of her slit, a tiny pearl protruded from the shelter of its thin hood.

With one luscious gulp, I enveloped all of Ashley’s mouth-watering sex with my mouth, then began to lovingly drink from my little girl, her precious secretions trickling down my throat. Its taste was divine, so full of her pure essence that I felt I was imbibing her unblemished beauty, love, and passion with every swallow.

But I was not so selfish as to only satisfy my own craving. I licked between my daughter’s lips, then entered her, probing her vagina as far as her hymen allowed.

Ashley’s moans of pleasure soon turned to pleas for release. Surrounding her glistening clit with my lips, I sucked with all the tenderness and affection I had for my oldest daughter.

Little tremors shook the hips that I grasped, her ecstasy building and building until Ashley spasmed and her cunt gushed hot and wet for me. Her female essence was sweeter than honey, headier than wine. I gulped down as much as I could.

Afterwards, the three of us lay together, Ashley spooning Olivia, me enfolding both girls in my arms.

“Mommy loves you, each more than the other,” I said.

“That’s silly!” Olivia giggled.

“But true.”

“And we love you!” they replied.

Nothing more needed to be said. Depleted from our lovemaking, we soon fell asleep on our incestuous family bed, basking in perfect mother-daughter bliss.

The End

Afterword:

I deeply appreciate the warm reception and encouraging comments that Sheltering has received from its kind readers. When I began writing it, I had no idea whether I could produce anything that would not embarrass, much less that would entertain and arouse some of the most dedicated members of the Juicy Secrets community. Thank you.

This story leveled up considerably in polish and eroticism thanks to the consummate editing of JetBoy, who helped me realize its potential in small and significant respects.

Like the readers of this series, I am grateful to have shared in Bev’s journey of love and lust for her darling girls.

By Sunnybunny

Heather saw very little of Angie in the weeks following Mama Maven’s passing. She understood — tried to, anyhow. The child was in pain, the kind that needed time and patience to heal… if it ever could.

Another scar on Angie’s heart. Heather wondered if the young girl had room for many more. A wild rose growing in the midst of a desert, that was how some of the townspeople described Angie, and Heather wondered how much longer a girl her age could endure under such arid conditions before she was swallowed up for good, lost beneath the shifting sands…

The whole county attended Mama Maven’s funeral, dressed in their Sunday best. In Oasis, that meant sterling silver bolo ties, button-down shirts with pressed jeans, and sun-bleached hats. Heather had neglected to pack anything dressy in the flight from her old life and was relieved to be able to wear her newest pair of jeans and fit in with the others. The blouse wasn’t ironed but looked okay tucked in and modestly buttoned. She didn’t bother with makeup or gel for her hair, knowing the heat of the afternoon would have her sweating through both.

It was a lovely service, Heather knew that Mama would have been touched by the turnout. Flower arrangements lined the mahogany casket, surrounding her in a sea of brightly-hued petals, with a special floral arrangement at the foot of the box forming a makeshift headstone of many colors.

Mama Maven wasn’t just well-liked in the community, she was loved. She and the diner she owned were fixtures in this small town, just like the sheriff or the fire department, and her passing would likely be a landmark event in the history of Oasis. Heather could practically hear how the woman’s family, friends and neighbors would refer to her passing in the years to come.

“That happened just around the same time Mama Maven passed away. God rest her soul.”

“It was a year or two after old Mama Maven died, bless her.”

“…just before Mama went on up to join the rest of her kin in heaven…”

Heather’s reverie was interrupted when she spied Angie in attendance, hovering with her father just off to the side of the open grave. She was dressed in a floral-patterned frock that looked brand new. Her golden hair was gathered behind her head, interlaced into a long, elegant braid that hung to the middle of her back. Heather had never seen the girl’s hair done in anything more complicated than a messy ponytail until now. The effect was striking, giving the townspeople a glimpse into the woman she would one day grow into.

Angie stood before her father, his callous hands juxtaposed over the gentle slope of her shoulders, massaging them. He bent down from time to time, murmuring into the child’s ear, something only she could hear. Whatever it was, her expression never changed, as if she hadn’t heard him at all. She stood with her back straight, shoulders squared like a brave little soldier. Her eyes shone, fixed on the casket as it was lowered into the earth, the only suggestion of the storm that was surely raging in her mind and heart.

One by one, each mourner collected a fistful of dirt and scattered it into the mouth of the grave. When it came to Angie’s turn, she shrugged out of her father’s embrace, his fingertips gliding across her neck as she went. Stooping, she collected a handful of earth, modestly tucking the back of her dress against the breeze as she made her way to Mama Maven’s final resting place. She looked into the deep hollow of earth, and Heather saw the faintest hint of Angie’s lips moving, perhaps murmuring a prayer, or one final goodbye. The dirt made a muffled sound as it rained down onto the lid of the coffin. Angie turned away, the child’s cheeks streaked with sand and tears, avoiding Heather’s attempt to catch her eye when she maneuvered back to her father’s side. Travis Lawrence tried to settle his hands back onto her shoulders, but she twisted away, showing signs of genuine revulsion to his touch.

Heather’s turn came.

Collecting a measure of soil from the mound, which she clutched in a tight fist, Heather took the first hesitant steps toward the graveside. There, the pit looked unnaturally deep, wretchedly dark. How could they possibly lay such a kind and compassionate woman to rest in such a terrible place? Tears stung at her eyes and she knelt hurriedly, letting the dirt trickle through her fingers. The bottom had fallen out of Heather’s stomach and the full gravity of her friend’s passing settled in. Mama Maven was gone, truly gone. There would be no more homemade ice cream parties or dancing to old tunes late into the evening. No early morning rush with Maven shouting orders from the kitchen, or long cigar breaks on the back step.

Heather hiccuped with sobs and dragged the back of her hand across her face, leaving dark streaks on one cheek. She willed herself to feel Maven’s presence, some intangible force lingering behind with her remains that might give Heather assurance that her dear friend was at rest.

Nothing came. The beautiful old woman was with her family now… somewhere up in the clouds, perhaps. Heather even looked up into the sky, half-expecting to see her smiling down from a celestial perch. Nothing there, either. Down below, there was only the open grave and an ugly green tarp thrown over the hill of soil, surrounded by weathered tombstones. It seemed as if the whole town was decaying from the inside out, and this cemetery was no exception. The names and dates were worn away from the markers, leaving behind featureless slabs of stone jutting from the earth at odd angles like rows of bad teeth.

Nothing lasts here, Heather mused, picking her way down the trail. The flower arrangements would soon succumb to the elements. Even now the heat was taking its toll, bowing some of the more delicate bouquets. Sandstorms would gradually chisel away the elegant writing on the headstone, leaving it just another forgotten relic in a dry sea. God, so much finality… and in the end, was it even a life worth living?

These thoughts haunted Heather all the way back to her room.

She spent the next few days with Walter Gates, crammed up in his motel office. Keeping him company, she would tell herself, but in truth, it was Heather who was in need of the companionship. They passed the time by playing a variety of card games. Mostly Hearts and Crazy Eights, from a deck that was missing an ace and both jokers. They took a stab at reminiscing, sharing stories about Mama Maven, but their hearts weren’t in it and despite their best efforts, they would inevitably lapse into periods of silence that grew longer and longer until the quietness conquered all. It was a language that was quickly adopted all over town.

Without the diner, the last lifeline in Oasis had been severed.

Heather’s departure was imminent. With or without the money, she would soon be forced to flee. In truth, she had lingered for too long already, but it wasn’t the missing cash that kept her there — it was the girl. There was simply no way she could leave Oasis without saying one final goodbye to Angie Lawrence. The girl had already lost so much, been wounded so terribly by this town. Heather refused to add to her heartbreak.

***

One week later. Heather had been readying herself for a quick, quiet departure, but still hadn’t seen a trace of Angie, who had made herself scarce since Mama Maven’s funeral.

She was stretched out on the bed, a small table fan pushing the hot air around when a knock at her door roused Heather from a restless, dreamless sleep. At once, she thought of Angie and raced to grasp the knob and yank the door open, only to blink in confusion at the sight of a balding, middle-aged man. He looked equally started behind his round spectacles, eye darting from her face to her bare legs and back again. “Um, Heather Freemantle, I presume?”

She followed his gaze down and realized she was standing in the doorway wearing nothing but an old t-shirt and panties. Her hands hastily tugged down the hem of the skimpy top, stretching the thin fabric over her thighs. “Y-yes.”

“Perhaps you’d like to put on some… pants?”

“I would like that very much, yes. Excuse me!” She snapped the door closed, covering her blushing face well with both hands. Oh, God, what now? Wiggling into a pair of shorts, she opened the door again, this time forcing a smile. “Why don’t we try that again, huh? I’m Heather, and you are…?”

The man shuffled his briefcase from one hand to the other. “I’m Calvin Wynn, attorney. I, er, represent Ms. Maven’s estate. I was wondering if you and I could have a word about the inheritance.” He offered his hand forward to shake, but Heather gawked past it, dumbstruck.

“Inheritance?” she echoed. “Oh!” She snatched his hand in both of hers in an attempt to compensate for her perceived rudeness. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wynn. I’m sorry, but what do you mean by ‘inheritance’?”

“Ah,” he started, worming his fingers into the collar of his shirt and giving it a tug. “Might we talk inside, in private?” Beads of sweat prickled along his brow and the nape of his neck, staining a half-moon shaped ring in the fabric of his top. With his dark suit and tie and the desert stretching out over his shoulder, Calvin Wynn seemed woefully misplaced. Not just a fish out of water, but a fish on the surface of Mercury — and baking just as quickly.

Heather stepped aside and he hurried in, taking up post before the AC vent in the wall, the tendrils of hair that still clung to his scalp fluttering gently in the artificial breeze. Taking up a seat on the mattress, Heather folded one leg beneath the other, then froze when she glanced toward the rumpled bed. Angie’s cotton panties were spread out on one of the pillows, and Heather’s heart nearly went into arrest at the sight of them.

Shit!

She snatched up the child’s incriminating gift, wadding them into a tight ball and tucking them behind her back just as Calvin Wynn turned around to face her, all smiles and oblivious to the damning pair of panties. “Forgive me, I’m not acclimated to the climate here,” he chuckled. Loosening his tie, he settled onto the opposite end of the bed, the briefcase balanced on his knees.

“Not acclimated” was too mild a term, she thought, gauging the angry red patches spreading over the bald patch of his head and cheeks. A sunburn would be the least of his worries. Heather made a mental note to offer the man some sunscreen before seeing him out.

The clamps of the briefcase popped open with a crisp snap. Within were a mountain of papers, held together by staples and paperclips. “What these documents boil down to is what Mrs. Maven has left you. Which, to put it bluntly, is everything.” Wynn shuffled a stack of these pages into a neat stack before handing them over for Heather to peruse. It all looked very official, clinical even, detailing the rights to the Maven land, holdings and businesses that would be hers with a stroke of a pen.

By the time she was done reading, Heather’s head was spinning. Something must have shown on her face, because Wynn chuckled with genuine sympathy. “I know it’s a lot of gobbledygook on the page… probably far more than is necessary to assume ownership of an old diner.”

He hadn’t meant any offense, but Heather bristled nonetheless. Mama Maven’s place was more than just an eatery in a forgotten desert town, much more. To have it dismissed so casually was akin to a slap in the face.

Wynn paled at the blistering look that Heather gave him. His hands worried over the front of his tie, smoothing down imaginary wrinkles and tucking it back into his waistcoat. “Forgive me. That wasn’t meant to be disrespectful. I am very sorry for your loss. Forgive an old fool for putting his foot squarely in his mouth.”

Heather didn’t bother to respond, just flipped through to the last few pages, which she was expected to sign, initial and date. At last, she asked, “When were these drawn up?”

Looking unduly relieved to be off the hook, Wynn reached forward and tapped the date at the head of the page. “Here. She revised her will, leaving everything to you a few weeks before her passing.”

Heather took in this revelation, wondering if she ought to be upset. Mama Maven had told her a time or two that she ought to consider taking over the cafe someday, but Heather had never taken the idea seriously. Now she knew that even then, her ownership of the place had been a done deal. All that was required now was a signature on the dotted line.

Heather glanced up at the perspiring man. “What happens if I refuse to sign?”

The question clearly took Wynn by surprise. “Why, the property would be liquidated, and the proceeds would go to the state.” He shrugged, lips pursed. “Is that… something you’re considering, then? I won’t lie to you, I’m surprised! I’ve never once had a client refuse an inheritance before.” He chuckled. “Thought that kind of thing only happened in movies.”

His amusement was cut short. “I’m not your client,” Heather snapped, instantly regretting her hostility. Wynn visibly flinched, now seated so close to the edge of the bed that he seemed on the verge of tipping over and crashing to the floor. “I’m sorry,” Heather continued. “This is all just…” She paused, at a loss for words. “It’s a lot.”

His face reflected genuine sympathy. “I understand. We all handle bereavement in our own way. Is there some underlying issue that would prevent you from signing? From what I understand, Ms. Maven was quite taken with you. She insisted on you being her heir.”

Heir. It made her feel like a tragic character in a Charlotte Bronte novel, only the vast estate in the English countryside had been replaced by a roadside eatery in a forlorn blink-and-you-missed-it town. Instead of a strapping young landowner with polished riding boots as a love interest, she had a preteen child with scraped knees. Okay, so maybe NOT Bronte, she thought.

Heather murmured, “No, I’ll sign” Ultimately, she had no choice in the matter. That diner had been in her family for generations; it was a piece of her heritage, the town’s focal point. The idea of allowing it to become a numbered lot in an auction, to be sold and fall into the hands of strangers… it was unthinkable.

Closing her eyes, Heather was shocked by how much strength it took to open them again. This decision wasn’t going away, and there was only one move for her to make anyhow. “Do you have a pen?”

Wynn produced one, and she signed her name. Her real name. Almost as an afterthought, Heather reached for her handbag, from which she produced the necessary identification to validate her claim.

The attorney wheeled the document around, thumbing through it a page at a time to ensure everything was in order, pausing on the last one. “Your name isn’t Freemantle?” he asked, brows knitted.

“It’s my middle name,” Heather confessed.

He hummed in response, nodding his head, then carefully tucked everything away without further inquiry. At last, he stood and offered his hand once more. “I’ll be getting out of your hair now. I’m sorry about Ms. Maven. I didn’t know her, I confess. She existed primarily in document form with my firm, but she must have been a remarkable woman. I’m saddened that I never got the pleasure.”

Standing in the doorway, Heather watched Wynn clamber into his rented car and drive away. The sun was setting and the town was adopting its warm evening colors. She watched his taillights as they cruised beneath the broken traffic light at the intersection, then drifted out of sight. She lingered on the threshold of her cheap motel room, her head lost in a fog of thoughts.

The diner was hers now. She fished the key from her pocket and held it out at arm’s length. The fading daylight winked against the metal. Closing the door to her room and setting off, the sand bit into her bare feet as she marched across the parking lot, bound for the diner.

It had only been shut up for a few weeks, but the interior was cavernous and lonely. Of course it is, she mused, switching on the overhead lights. Its soul got stripped away.

The fluorescents hummed to life with a flick of the switch, bringing the room into sharp focus. Everything was where it had been left on that fateful evening. The dishes from their ice cream party were still in the sink, collecting flies and mold blooms at the bottom.

Shrugging into an apron, Heather set to washing up first, drying each dish and carefully returning them to the cupboard where Mama Maven kept her tableware. That done, she wandered back out into the dining area, itching with a sense of having just walked into a room and forgotten what she’d come in for.

Now Heather wondered what had possessed her to go into the diner in the first place. She’d been compelled, that was it — pulled in that direction until her feet were moving on their own accord. Now that she was here, she felt doubly confused and more lost than before.

She laid her hands on the jukebox, studying the glowing buttons and track selection behind the glass, unchanged in more than fifty years. A quarter still earned you a couple of tunes, too. A time capsule, Heather thought, smiling at the notion, then patted her pockets down for loose change, only to come up wanting. She turned back toward the counter with the idea of opening the cash register — only to freeze in mid-motion, her heart suddenly pounding in a crazed, frantic tempo.

Angie Lawrence stood near the counter, guardedly studying Heather. She was dressed in familiar clothes — a faded skort, tank top adorned with Pokemon characters and flip-flops. Her hair was uncombed and windswept from the bike ride over. She was carrying a brown paper lunch bag in both hands, folded over at the top and rolled down tightly.

“Angie,” Heather breathed, teetering where she stood.

“Sorry, I should have knocked,” the girl mumbled, averting her gaze downward as she flexed her fingers more securely over the bag, making the paper crackle.

The silence that settled over the diner was excruciating, neither Heather nor Angie having the nerve to break it. Instead, they simply averted their gaze and glanced around the room, looking from corner to corner as if something terrible would happen if their eyes were to meet.

Finally, Heather went over one of the booths along the wall, far away from the window, and seated herself, then gestured for Angie to do the same. They settled in together, chastely apart on opposite seats, knees drawn up to keep them from touching.

Angie placed the bag between them, looked up at Heather and pushed it toward the young woman.

Her brow furrowed, Heather carefully drew the bag close, then unfolded the top and peered inside. She saw a small caliber handgun, the type with a revolving chamber and stubby-nosed barrel. It looked petite, almost feminine for a firearm. She reached in and took the gun out, testing its heft. It fit well in her small hands.

“You said you needed one, right?” Angie asked, her voice just above a whisper. “For protection, against bad people?”

Heather nodded, wanting to ask how the child had obtained it, but afraid to. “Yes, that’s right. Thank you, Angie.” She replaced it within the bag and rolled it up again, putting it aside.

“There’s one more thing,” Angie replied, scooting out of the booth.

“What’s that?”

“I have to show you where the money is hidden,” she said, very matter-of-factly.

“Yes, I suppose you do.” Heather tried and failed to hide the disappointment she felt. It was foolish, stupid and she was quick to chastise herself for it. Angie was offering her more than a bag of money. It was a one-way ticket to safety. Yet now, standing in her diner and gazing at the most precious person in her world, it seemed strangely trivial.

Rising from where she sat, Heather drew close to Angie, touching the child’s shoulder. “Oh, Angie… God, I’ve missed you.”

She bent down, searching for a kiss — only to have Angie turn her head away, murmuring, “Don’t.”

With that single word, the bottom fell out of the world and Heather’s soul was caught in a downward spiral. Angie looked away, stepping out of her reach, and it was like a knife being wrenched from the young woman’s chest.

“Angie…?” The name became a question.

The girl widened the distance between them, wandering away on uncertain feet until it became a chasm. She massaged her hands up and down the length of her bare arms, warding off chills that had nothing to do with the sweltering desert heat. Angie became a shadow against the setting sun streaming through the front bay windows, robbed of her rich color.

Heather followed at a distance, yearning to reach for the girl, but frightened to do so. Angie seemed so fragile now, as if the slightest touch would crack her porcelain shell.

“Please… talk to me,” Heather whispered.

“There isn’t anything to talk about.” The girl’s reply was a dry murmur. “After I show you where I stashed the money, you’ll be moving on. Sooner or later, my dad’s gonna notice that it’s gone. The gun, too. And there’s gonna be hell to pay when that time comes. He’ll think you did it, and maybe come after you and–” she gave her head a weary shake, a slow movement from left to right. “I can’t let him hurt you.”

Heather spied a mark on the girl’s neck, just where the shoulder met her throat. It looked recent, not something Heather would have dared to do. She’d always thought of hickeys as tacky and gross, and time had not endeared her to the sight. Especially when she knew where this one had come from.

Perhaps sensing Heather’s thoughts or the weight of her gaze, Angie quickly covered the blemish with her hand. “My dad,” she replied, just as casually as you please. “With the whole town in mourning, there isn’t much to do at the garage, so he’s been home a lot.” She let the implication speak for itself. To avoid the inevitable question, she cleared her throat, wandered over to the front door and pushed it open, then looked back over her shoulder. “Come with me,” she said.

Heather doubled back to snatch the paper bag up before following, pausing just long enough to turn off the lights and lock the door. “Wait, where are we going?”

Angie’s bike was propped up against the side of the diner, beneath the glass windows that overlooked the main road of Oasis. She grabbed the handlebars and walked it down the path, toward Heather. Pointing into the distance, at an unseen location further into town, she said, “We’re going to the library.”

On to Chapter Fifteen!