Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

The story thus far: Seeking a missing Texas Ranger, our old acquaintance The Tequila Kid comes across a poor family named Miller. Like many others in the area, this widow Sarah and her two little girls, Amy and Cindy, have been brutalized by a wealthy scoundrel named McCuller, who intends to drive away all the owners of small farms and ranches in the area and take their land. Later, drying off from heavy rain at the local stable, Sheriff Lucas Clay comes in search of The Kid, demanding she surrender her guns. Knowing Clay to be corrupt (and in league with McCuller, The Kid asks to speak with him in private.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

by Purple Les

The Tequila Kid followed Sheriff Lucas Clay down the covered boardwalk. The street itself was a sea of mud, and they occasionally had to step down and trudge through it when reaching an intersection. The Kid was glad she’d thought to cover the hole in her boot beforehand.

Along the way, they passed by a saloon. The Kid glanced inside, hoping she’d get the chance to drop in for a moment before the night ended. Just then, a young man loped out, leaned back against the wall and took out a tobacco pouch. Glancing up, his eyes widened a bit at the sight of Sheriff Clay.

“Well, now,” Clay began, coming to a halt in front of the man, “If it ain’t Jud Nelson.”

“Howdy, Sheriff Clay,” Jud said as he began to roll himself a cigarette. “Fine night, ain’t it?”

The Kid studied the man. Jud Nelson was about her height of five-nine. His dark water-stained slouch hat was tilted back on his head, showing a head of thick blonde hair. His eyes were gray, his face tanned a deep brown, and he was dressed in worn ranch work clothes.

As the young man stepped closer to the light, putting the rolled cigarette to his lips, The Kid noticed more details. Jud’s nose was crooked, and his left eyebrow had a scar in the middle. He’s had that nose broke, she thought. Maybe twice. Where’s that scar from… a knife fight? Wonder how the other fella looked afterward. Or maybe he just drank too much one night and fell into something.

The Kid thought Jud’s face looked open and honest, and there was intelligence in his eyes.

Glancing to the left, The Kid noticed a horse that had been tied to the hitching rail – the only one left on the street in this miserable weather.

Sheriff Clay glared at the young man. “No, Nelson, it ain’t a fine night. Or are you too goddamn dumb to see it pissin’ down rain?”

“Sorry, Sheriff. My mistake,” Jud said as he lit his smoke.

Still bristling with ire, the lawman paused to spit on the boardwalk, about an inch from Jud’s boot. “Listen here, Nelson. You been on the loaf for a month now. Most of the others McCuller fired had the good sense to move on. Why the hell are you still here?”

Jud’s eyes were hard, but he still wore a soft smile. “Oh, I’m workin’. Got me a job at the blacksmith’s, lendin’ a hand. Learnt the trade from my pappy, back when I was growin’ up in Arkansaw. Comes in handy when there‘s no ranch work to be had.” With a slight shrug, he added, “Where else would I go? It’s a peaceable town, and I ain’t in a mood to roam.”

The sheriff’s scowl held steady. “Where you layin’ your bedroll, then? Any bum I catch sleepin’ rough in my town, it’ll go mighty hard on him.”

“Stayin’ in a shack behind the blacksmith.”

Sheriff gave Jud a smile sour enough to curdle milk. “Best not be lyin’ to me, son. I’ll be checkin’ that story. Now, where’s your gun hid?”

“Well… since I can’t wear one here in town, I sold it,” Jud said. “Ain’t got no gun to hide, Sheriff Clay.”

“Now you look here, boy,” Clay growled. “Far as I’m concerned, you should’ve got your ass out of town with the rest of McCuller’s crew. He told me what a sorry bunch you were.” Drawing closer, he tapped Jud’s chest. “I got my eye on you, Nelson. Step one goddamn inch out of line, and I’ll squash you like a bug. Understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Jud quietly replied. Turning to The Kid, he tipped the brim of his hat. “Evenin’, ma’am.”

“Evenin’,” The Kid replied, tipping hers in return.

Sheriff Clay stared balefully at Jud Nelson as the young man wandered back into the saloon. Finally he glanced back at The Kid. “Come on, then!” he snapped, then stomped off down the boardwalk.

Following the sheriff, The Kid paused long enough to look back at the lone horse in the street while Clay unlocked his office door. He took up a lamp and lit it as The Kid entered, closing the door behind.

The sheriff took his slicker off and put it on a coat rack, followed by his hat. He wore a white shirt, thin black string tie and a black vest. His hair was a little thin on top, but there was enough to cover his head.

Picking up a piece of wood, Clay opened the squeaking door of the pot bellied stove and threw it inside, watching long enough to make sure it caught. It was already warm inside the office, so The Kid hung her slicker and coat on the rack, but kept her hat on.

Sheriff Clay frowned at her. “You expect me to believe you’re a Texas Ranger?”

The Tequila Kid pulled out her badge and a worn, folded piece of paper she’d never been able to read herself. Clay glared at the badge, then after reading the letter, pushed it back brusquely.

“Looks official enough,” he said. “Shit fire, they must be hard up for help if they’re lettin’ women take the badge. Still, I don’t give a good goddamn if you’re a Ranger or not. No one wears a gun in my town ‘cept me.”

The Kid glared back at him. She stood slouched, thumbs hooked in the belt of her pants.

Lucas Clay gave a low, cold laugh. “You got some sand, girl. But you best take them guns off and hand ‘em to me, or I swear I’ll take them myself, then beat that attitude out of you.”

Still perfectly calm, The Kid said, “Texas Ranger Clark Hansen was here two months ago. He ain’t been heard from since. What happened to him, Sheriff?”

Sheriff Clay gave a derisive snort of laughter. “He didn’t do me the courtesy of introducin’ himself. I heard he rode out to Ben McCuller’s place. Reckon he got what he wanted and moved on.” Leaning back against his desk, the man crossed his heavy arms. “If that’s all you wanted to know, you can saddle up and get movin’ outa town right now.” Straightening, he added, “But if you plan to stay…” Clay took a menacing step toward The Kid. “Then you best hand me those guns.”

Firmly placing her right foot on top of Clay’s left, The Kid shoved the palm of her hand into the man’s face, squashing his nose. He lost his balance and fell back, hitting his head on the front of the desk. As he fell, The Kid deftly removed the sheriff’s pistol from its holster.

Clay sat up, rubbing his head, then gaped in disbelief as The Kid cocked the hammer, aiming the gun at his face. Reddening with rage, he began to struggle to his feet, but The Kid kicked him hard in the chest with the flat of her boot. Knocked off balance, he crashed against the desk.

Now Clay’s eyes were flashing raw hatred. “Now you listen to me, girl,” he said, his words crackling with anger. “Pull a gun on a man, you better be ready to use it.”

When he began to rise again, The Kid kicked him square between the legs. Clay went into a fetal position, his face contorted in agony. This time, he stayed where he was, clutching his groin with both hands, nearly biting through his lower lip. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

“I am ready to use this gun,” The Kid said softly and clearly. “The only reason I ain’t yet is ‘cause of the badges we both have. Now it’s your turn to listen, Clay. I got a federal warrant to examine the bank, and all that’s in it. I expect to find fake land deeds there… and then I mean to arrest the banker, a Mr. Tyson Avidite. Then I’ll be takin’ in your friend Ben McCuller.”

The sheriff’s face grew increasingly pale as The Kid continued. “I’d prefer you keep pretendin’ to be the law and help me serve that warrant in the mornin’.” Narrowing her eyes, she added, “But I’d just as soon shoot you in the head right now and leave the gun in your hand. The whole town knows you’re up to your neck in this. They’d figure you lost your nerve; took the coward’s way out.”

Swallowing hard, Clay managed to choke out, “I… I’ll be with you at the bank when it opens.”

The Kid didn’t reply, just removed the bullets from the sheriff’s gun, then threw the pistol across the room. She put on her coat and slicker and, fixing Clay with an icy stare, walked out, closing the door with an emphatic bang.

Clay lay on his side, his mind working furiously. Shit, shit, shit. What the hell do I do now?

* * *

Making her way back toward the saloon, The Kid stopped in front of the lone horse, still shivering in the icy rain.

“Hi, girl,” The Kid said, slowly extending a hand. The horse shied away as far back as the reins would allow.

The Kid slipped a hand into her pocket and produced the green apple Amy had given her. “Well, now,” she said softly, “I was savin’ this for my horse, but you look like you could use it more. Here, girl, I won’t hurt you none. Go on, take it.”

She stood completely still, her hand out. The mare looked suspiciously at the woman, but slowly drew near. Putting her wet matted head under the overhang, she plucked the apple out of The Kid’s hand and devoured it in a few bites.

Finished, the mare looked hopefully at The Kid. This time she was able to gently pet the horse’s nose. “Sorry, girl. That’s all I got.”

God damn it anyhow, The Kid mused, her jaw tightening. What sorry son of a bitch would mistreat a good horse this way?  Heaving a sigh, she entered the saloon.

Carefully closing the door, she glanced around. She saw an empty table in the back and strolled over to it, where she took off her slicker and coat, then draped them over a nearby chair.

The Kid sat down, taking in the surroundings. There was one table where a poker game was taking place. Most of the other tables were occupied by one, two, sometimes three men drinking, waiting their turn with one of the saloon girls.

The piano player wasn’t good, but he was loud, enough to drown out any sounds that might escape the upstairs rooms. The Kid saw one of those doors open and a man emerged, looking sheepish but content.

A moment later a woman came out wearing a fancy emerald-green dress, cut low in the front. She yelled, “Dixie! Cleanup in room four!”

A sleepy-eyed girl in a ragged, threadbare dress trudged up the staircase. She carried a bucket of water, and towels were draped over her free arm.

The woman descended the stairs, passing the girl along the way, and approached one of the tables. Hands on her shapely hips, she said, “Well, boys, who’s next?”

The men at the table looked at each other, then a young ranch hand with a face like a mule slowly got to his feet. “Reckon I am, Star.”

“C’mon then, handsome,” Star drawled, taking his arm and leading him up the stairs. The girl exited the room just before Star and the young man went inside, closing the door.

Once the girl returned to the saloon floor, she set the bucket in a corner and hesitantly came over to The Kid’s table. Studying the girl, The Kid decided she was close to twelve, maybe thirteen, just beginning to blossom. Her straggly blonde hair was dirty. She may have had a little shape to her thin figure but it was hard to tell what was under the dress she wore, which was at least a size too large. Her face was pretty with fine features and big blue eyes, but marred by several bruises – some were older, some more recent. The girl’s ears stuck out from under her stringy hair and she wore small earrings that pretended to be gold.

The girl looked curiously at The Kid, then managed to say in a well-rehearsed voice, “Hi, I’m Dixie. Can I get you a drink?” She stopped, confused, then added, “Um, the rest of what I say… well, I ain’t never had a woman come in as a customer, but I guess I better say it anyway cause I’m s’posed to.” With that, Dixie resumed her practiced spiel. “If you want to be with a girl all the way, you buy her a four-dollar bottle of whiskey. If you just want her to tug you off, it’s a two-dollar bottle. She’ll give you a list of prices if there’s anything special you want. If you’re lookin’ to play cards, there’s a cashier over there.” The girl pointed without looking to a cage of sorts, with a man sitting inside. “Buy your chips from him.”

At one of the card tables, Jud Nelson was playing poker. The Kid watched as he made a face, threw his cards down, then picked up his few remaining chips. Getting to his feet, he said, “I’m done for tonight, boys.”

Returning her attention to Dixie, The Kid said, “Bring me tequila and a beer, then ask the feller who just quit the game if he’ll have a drink with me.” Before Dixie could turn away, The Kid asked her, “Who’s the most popular girl here?”

“Star, for sure. Belle’s younger, and Kitty’s prettiest, but the fellers love Star.” Dixie replied.

The Kid put a ten dollar bill in Dixie’s pocket and said, “I’ll have a four dollar bottle of whiskey for Star.” As the girl’s eyes widened in surprise, The Kid winked, adding, “You keep the change, sweetness.”

Dixie was so taken aback that she bumped into a chair on her way over to Jud Nelson. She spoke briefly with the young man, pointing to The Kid before returning to the bar.

Jud came over to The Kid, removing his hat. With a shy smile, he murmured, “Ma’am.”

The Kid smiled back. “Sit down for a minute.”

Dixie came back with a glass of beer and said, “No tequila, but we have mescal.”

“Mescal will be fine. And whatever the gentleman wants.” She handed Dixie a silver dollar.

“Whiskey,” Jud said.

“Star will be with you next, ma’am,” Dixie said, then headed back to the bar.

If Jud was startled to see The Kid requesting Star’s services, he did his best not to let it show. “Much obliged for the drink,” he said. “That card game damn near cleaned me out.”

“Pleasure’s mine,” The Kid replied. “How’d you like to make five dollars?”

This time, Jud didn’t bother to conceal his surprise. The Kid continued. “I’m the Tequila Kid, a special agent for the Texas Rangers. I need some help, if you’re willin’ to give it.”

Jud broke into a grin. “There you go. When I saw you with the sheriff, somethin’ told me you was The Kid. You’re the one who brung down that crazy murderin’ woman Jess Sinclair. Well, I’m right pleased to share a drink with you. Speakin’ of which…” Dixie was approaching, bearing a tray with their drinks, which she set before The Kid and Jud before quietly retreating. They both drank, then Jud said, “How can I be of help, ma‘am?”

The Kid leaned in, speaking quietly. “At some point tonight, Sheriff Clay is gonna go see this here banker Tyson Avidite, or ride on out of town, maybe both. You know where the banker lives?”

Jud nodded. “In a big house on the nice side of town.”

The Kid said, “Keep an eye on that house. When Clay shows up, come back here and let me know. I reckon you’ll also be able to see if he leaves town. Either way, let me know and I’ll give you the five dollars.”

Jud thought for a moment, then said, “Fair ‘nough. What if it’s late and you ain’t here?”

“Then come to the livery. I’m sleepin’ in the hayloft. You best leave now. He’ll probably be on the move before long.”

Pushing his chair back, Jud rose to put on his coat, then his hat, pausing to touch the brim. “Reckon I’ll be seein’ you later, then.” He made his way to the door, then departed into the night.

Dixie returned to The Kid’s table. “Anything else, ma’am?”

“Just a question,” The Kid said. “Who gave you them bruises?”

The blood seemed to drain from the girl’s face. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to speak, then the bartender, a strapping man at least six feet tall with a pockmarked face, yelled out, “DIXIE! Get a move on, you goddamned brat!”

The Kid saw the terrified look on Dixie’s face as the girl hastened back to the bar. She had the answer to her question when the bartender grabbed Dixie’s shoulders and shook her hard, followed by a hard smack to the back of the head.

The Kid maintained a perfectly calm exterior as she sipped her mescal, but inside she was livid with rage. Looks like this town treats its women bad as it does its horses.  Glancing at the bartender, she promised herself, Soon as I’m able, that girl’s leavin’ here with me. I almost hope that barkeep tries to stop me from takin’ her, too.

From behind, The Kid heard a woman’s voice. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Star. You paid ten dollars for me. I ain’t sure what you expect, but I’m game if you are. Come along.”

The Kid gulped down the rest of her mescal, chased it with the beer, then got to her feet. Draping the coat and slicker over her arm, she followed Star upstairs.

Soon to come: Chapter Three!