Blaze! Hell's Half Acre Read online

  His hands moved to cup her taut breasts. Squeezing gently, he caught her nips and rolled them around between thumbs and forefingers. She closed her eyes and lay back on the bed. Her legs spread wantonly, willingly inviting him in. The aching in his own groin wasn't to be denied. J.D. positioned himself between her legs. Her knees rose on either side of him as she reached between them to find his erection.

  "Now? You want me now?" He resisted it when she tugged him toward her nether lips. She had toyed with him earlier. It was his turn to tease her, even if he wanted to slip forward, down, in, and let his animal urges run wild.

  "Now, lover, now. Don't make me beg!"

  "Would you? Would you beg?" He rotated his hips, then groaned as she squeezed down hard. This time her gentle tugs turned into insistent yanks. "What do you want?"

  "You. I want you inside me!"

  He found it impossible to hold back now. Their passionate tensions were at the breaking point. It had been too long for either of them since they'd been in such a fine bed for their lovemaking, but it was more than their surroundings. It was each other. J.D. wanted her, needed her, would do anything for her.

  He slipped forward, slid along the pink canyon before finding his target and then sank balls deep. For a moment, neither moved. The heat boiled into his groin. Tensions mounted. He looked down into her desire-wracked face and knew she shared his love. Then he began to slip back. When only the plum-tip of his fleshy stalk remained in her, he paused, gathered his strength and shoved forward. Slowly at first, then with mounting speed and desire and need gripped him. Her. Both of them.

  J.D. sank down beside Kate when both of them were tuckered out. Her arms circled around him. He pulled her even closer, her soft warm breath against his chest.

  "I don't care if we never find those robbers," she said. "This makes coming here worth the trip."

  "How are we going to pay for this room? I've got less than twenty dollars in my pocket, and the Pinkertons have never heard of us, much less be willing to pay for our stay."

  She snuggled closer, her hand working between them.

  "Oh, it's all limp." She gave a few squeezes. "But there is some stirring of life. We can worry about settling our bill when we've—"

  He kissed her hard. She was right. First things first, and the hotel bill was a distant second right now.

  Chapter Four

  He watched her dress slowly, a reverse striptease causing lovely, naked flesh to disappear from sight. The dressed Kate Blaze was still gorgeous. When she noticed, she turned to him and said, "What is it? Why are you staring at me?"

  "Can't a man watch his wife get all gussied up?"

  "You like it?" Kate pirouetted, sending the flouncy skirt lifting from the floor a few inches. If he hadn't been lying in bed, he might have caught a naughty view of an ankle. As it was, the view was just fine. She wore a wine red dress with a plunging neckline delicately trimmed in lace to keep from being too racy. Her slender waist accentuated her flaring hips and ample bosoms without the need to cinch up a corset. In spite of the way they had spent the night alternately napping and then making love, he found himself responding to her.

  "How did you pack it in your saddlebags?"

  "You'd be surprised at everything I have in there. You carry most of the supplies. What I have to carry is far less necessary."

  "I wouldn't say that."

  "Are you referring to this?" Kate reached into the folds of the skirt and came out with a derringer clutched in her right hand. "Or this?" A quick twist in the other direction brought a wicked, short-blade knife into her left hand. "I'm all decked for anything."

  "Ready for cotillion or killing," he said. J.D. swung his feet around and stood. The carpet felt sinfully soft under his bare feet. "Where do you expect to scout wearing that getup?" He began dressing in his spare clothing. The outfit was hardly different from the trail clothes he had worn into the El Paso Hotel, other than being cleaner. He finished by settling his gun belt around his waist. A quick motion caused the Colt to leap from its cross-draw holster into his hand.

  "I'm glad you're not that fast in all things," Kate said, winking broadly at him. "I suspect this very hotel holds all kinds of secrets. If you were riding around with thousands of dollars in gold coin, you'd be anxious to spend some of it. What better place than the fanciest hotel in town?"

  "You only want to hobnob with the rich ranchers."

  "I can't deny that. For whatever reason, men get very generous when they see a beautiful woman." She pirouetted again and thrust out her chest.

  "No need to gild the lily. You're lovely without all the posturing."

  "And you're going into Hell's Half Acre to find that whorehouse you've been going on about, I suppose?"

  "We each have our own ways to do things."

  Kate smiled wickedly. "I'm glad you like mine."

  J.D. gave her a quick kiss and left before they mussed up the bedclothes even more. He looked at the elevator shaft with a simple bar dropped across the opening to prevent people from falling down three stories—or two stories to the top of the elevator cage—and decided to take the stairs. Such conveniences were amusing, but he wasn't sure he quite trusted them, with all the clanking and grinding and hiss of steam from the engine in the basement.

  He touched the brim of his hat in the direction of the clerk, who winked in return. It bothered J.D. to gull the man into thinking they were on a secret mission and that they had enlisted his aid. It bothered him even more that they had led him astray about who was paying for the third story suite.

  Then he stepped out into the daylight. Warm Texas sun beamed down on him and the energy of the people in the street invigorated him. Turning south, he headed toward the district so rough even a boisterous cow town roped it off. The buildings were far apart and land was cheap. Unlike many towns so lacking in construction material that buildings shared walls, everything here was open, like the prairie it had been built on. The streets were in better shape than he expected, wide and absent of dead animals. That changed when he reached Ninth Street and the edge of Hell's Half Acre.

  It wasn't as if someone had drawn a line down the middle of the city and said everything north was respectable and to the south was wide-open and lawless, but the atmosphere shifted to one hinting at more peril for the unwary. The attitude of the people in the street altered subtly, so that he slipped the leather thong on the Colt's hammer, just in case a quick draw was required to stay alive. J.D. moved off the uneven boardwalks and slogged down the street to get a better view of his surroundings.

  Saloons and dance halls grew like evil mushrooms. A few cathouses stood between the other establishments, but it was too early in the morning for the Cyprians to be peddling their wares aggressively. That came when the sun went down and the cowboys showed up off the range. He turned east on Ninth until he got to Calhoun and sauntered southward once more. If he expected to find the place matching the partial address, he was out of luck. Any of the stores, whorehouses and saloons fit the bill. Farther south was the railroad depot and a gas works. What an outlaw would send to either of those was a poser, but as likely as a letter to a whorehouse. He wished Kate hadn't jumped to that conclusion. It muddied the waters and kept him from considering other possibilities.

  By the time he walked the length of Calhoun, it was close to noon, and he had no idea if the partial address meant anything at all. He had avoided asking questions so far to stay away from being the center of attention. Up until now, he was just another gunman on the street. Once he asked after Bell and Morrisey, word would get around and maybe alert the outlaws.

  If they had come to Fort Worth at all.

  He went into a saloon and almost backed out. The stench from inside gagged him. Then he swallowed and knew this was the sort of place gossip ran wild. The bank robbers might be living it up and spending their ill-gotten gold, meaning Kate would likely get on their trail before he did, but men's habits were hard to break. If the outlaws lived in such places, they
would return to lord it over their friends and brag to anyone who would listen about how clever and daring they were.

  "What's your poison, mister?" The barkeep stopped wiping off beer mugs with a dirty rag and leaned forward as J.D. found a decent spot at the end of the bar to watch everything in the long, narrow room.

  "A sandwich along with a beer."

  "You gotta be new in town. Nobody's brave enough to eat the slop here without a shot of whiskey first." The barkeep dropped a shot glass in front of his customer.

  J.D. considered the matter, then pushed the glass away.

  "First one's on the house."

  "I'm on the wagon." He wanted to avoid whatever poison was disguised by the whiskey. No proprietor gave away even the worst trade whiskey.

  "But you're up for a beer?" The bartender shook his head, poured the shot, then downed it himself before drawing the beer. "You think again on the sandwich?"

  "What's your recommendation?"

  "Eat somewhere decent. The boss buys garbage to serve. Hell, it's bad enough to make a buzzard puke." He looked around as if he might be overheard, then downed a second shot of whiskey before returning the bottle to its place on the back bar. "The pickled eggs ain't bad. Only a couple days old."

  He grunted as he heaved a large liquid-filled jar to the bar. J.D. couldn't figure out what the liquid was. It might have been water. He fished around and snared an egg, then bit off part of it.

  "Not bad." He chased it with a swallow of beer. "Can't say that for the beer, though. Bitter as a whore's tit."

  "You lookin' for a little female company? I kin fix you up real good. No diseases or nuthin'. Nuthin' but fun, that is."

  "Not this early. I enjoy an evening of drinking to get myself in the mood. Fact is, I'm looking to meet up with a friend."

  "A friend?"

  "He's a friend who owes me money." J.D. lowered his voice and added, "There might even be a few dollars in it for whoever puts me on his trail."

  "How few? Ole Caleb Kraft don't go shootin' off his mouth 'less the money's good enough."

  "More 'n a few, Caleb, quite a bit more than a few." J.D. saw the barkeep's interest. Caleb worked at a job he hated for a boss he would as soon stab in the back as spit on the floor. "His name's Three-fingers Frank Bell. You can guess how he got that moniker."

  "Trigger finger missing, huh?" The barkeep stroked his stubbled chin and tried to look thoughtful. He didn't make it and only looked cagey. "Might be I know him."

  "Or his partner. A kid named Morrisey."

  "A kid?" The barkeep shook his head. "Don't know no Zeke Morrisey."

  "Reckon not since he'd be new to the game. So tell me about Three-fingers Frank. You see him over the past week or so? He might be spreading around a pile of gold that's, by rights, mine." J.D. knew whatever came from the man's mouth was likely to be a lie. He had never mentioned Morrisey's given name. Anything said would get back to either Morrisey or Bell. Maybe both.

  "I'll have to ask around. If I find him, you want me to...lure him here? So you can set down with him to make a little chin music about what he owes you?" Caleb tried to look innocent and failed.

  J.D. knew that wouldn't be the way it happened. The barkeep would dicker some and Three-fingers Frank would outbid anything anyone else could offer. The outlaw would consider the price to be money well spent if he removed a lawman on his trail. For all Bell knew, Deputy Davis might be the one hounding him.

  "Let's palaver. Set up the meeting."

  He was agreeing to walking straight into an ambush. That suited him fine.

  * * *

  Kate Blaze stopped for a dramatic pause in the doorway leading to the pool room. The soft click of ivory balls striking one another before falling into a pocket ceased as the men took notice of her. All the men. She cast her eyes around and identified who were the followers and who were the big boys.

  It took only an instant to figure out who the man in the room was. He was iron-haired, wore a neat beard and clothing that would have let Kate and J.D. spend a month-long vacation in San Francisco, enjoying themselves at the Union Club and hobnobbing with railroad magnates and bankers of impossible wealth. This man was peer to those rich men.

  "Can anyone play that game? It's called billiards, isn't it?" She sashayed to the table. She wished there had been room in her saddlebags for a bustle. The way she moved made up for its lack. Not a man in range missed the twitch and twist of her perky behind.

  The two playing pool gripped their sticks a little harder. Then one summoned the courage to tell her, "Ma'am, what we're playing here isn't billiards. That calls for a table without pockets. This is pocket pool."

  "Oh, I see, the game is to hit the colored balls with the white one—cue ball, it's called?—and whoever runs the table wins?"

  She saw the man she had pegged as being the top dog smile slightly. The others didn't catch that she knew exactly what the game was and maybe how to play it. That moved her a step closer to achieving her mission of getting close to the gray-haired man. She had shown she was out of their league. He knew better and enjoyed watching her work the room.

  "That's about the size of it, ma'am."

  "Oh, do call me Kate. It's my name." The players introduced themselves. She failed to put those names to faces on wanted posters and were of interest to her only as long as she needed them as stepping stones to the man who could give her the real information about bank robbers—and banks.

  "I'd be pleased to teach you how to play, Kate." The shorter of the men, built stolidly and with powerful hands that showed he had worked for his wealth to earn a place at the El Paso Hotel pool table.

  "Oh, I know how to play. I'm looking for a partner." She laughed easily. "Would you care to make a small wager?"

  "How small?" He pulled out a wad of greenbacks large enough to choke a cow. He began peeling them off. Kate forced herself not to react. She had to belong to this strata of wealth and power.

  "That's small enough," she said when the man dropped several hundred dollars on the rim of the table.

  "What are you putting up for your wager, ma'am?"

  "Kate," she corrected. "Something of worth." She looked around the room, all eyes were on her. "I can't imagine what would interest a man of breeding and wealth such as yourself. Mere money seems so gauche." Her frown brightened to a smile. "I know. A kiss."

  "Only a kiss? Against five hundred dollars?"

  "It seems so little for so much value, I know. I should ask for a thousand dollars."

  This brought a round of laughter from the gathered men. She saw that the gray-haired man nodding. He pursed his lips as he evaluated her. So far, she was doing fine.

  "A thousand it is. But I get to pick the spot where you kiss me."

  Kate sucked in her breath, then silently held out her hand. The other man who had been playing laid his cue stick in her palm. She hefted it, found the balance point and knew nothing about the hotel or the men who frequented it was cheap. This was a specially made cue.

  "First to run the table?" She stepped up, took the chalk and made sure it was liberally applied to the leather pad on the tip. Her opponent indicated she should break the rack. Demanding a lag would have given her a better chance, but she had set out to find what she could before J.D. returned. The game was always to the daring.

  She broke and sank a ball. Then she proceeded to run the rest of the rack and not give the man a chance to shoot even once.

  When the final ball clicked down into a pocket, landing atop two others already there, the man picked up the wad of scrip and handed it to her.

  "Beaten by the better man," he said.

  "No, you were beaten by the better woman." She took the bills, then stood on tiptoe and gave him a light peck on the cheek. "For being such a good sport."

  The others applauded and laughed at their friend. With that small kiss she had kept from making an enemy and had won over the others. If she hadn't done it, he would have felt swindled. Now he could brag how he pa
id a thousand dollars for a single kiss from a beautiful lady. She fingered the money and then held up the roll.

  "It's burning a hole in my pocket." She looked down at her fine dress. "But then I don't have pockets. I see you gentlemen are engaged in a game of chance. May I join you?"

  "Please do, Kate." The gray-haired man stood and held a chair for her. When she was seated, he went around the table and settled in opposite her.

  She knew why. If she had been able to choose the seating, this was how she would have placed everyone. The others didn't matter. Studying the man across from her for the small clues was important. Giving back the full thousand dollars was a cheap price to pay for information.

  "I doubt I have to explain the game to you. Draw poker?"

  "That's a fine game, Mister..." She turned her big brown eyes on him and tried to be as innocent as possible.

  "Justin Bogardus."

  "Are you any relation to the noted marksman, Captain Bogardus?"

  "He's my cousin. I haven't seen Adam in quite a while, not since I was back in New York, in fact. How do you know him?" Justin Bogardus expertly shuffled the cards, let the man to his left cut, then dealt quickly. Kate left the cards facedown to urge her opponent to say more. She need not have worried.

  "We were both born in Berne. New York state, that is, not the place in Switzerland. But you have encountered him out West?"

  "I have only seen him shoot trap in competition once," she said. "In Abilene." She chanced a look at her cards. A fifty-dollar bill went into the pot. "What do you do, Justin?"

  He matched her opening bid.

  "I own a bank or two in town."

  "Oh, just banks?"

  He looked at her sharply. His blue eyes turned cold, then he softened a mite.

  "In Fort Worth it's not hard to own many things, including many of the businesses along the way to the railroad depot."

  They played slowly. Kate realized Justin Bogardus was an expert player. He might be richer than Croesus, but he was not going to give away a bent dime just for the thrill of being in a game of chance. She had to earn every pot, every dollar—and every tiny fact.