If a
A Gunsmoke Story
By Amanda
(MAHC)
POV: Sam
Noonan
Spoilers:
“Hostage!;” “Quiet Day in Dodge;”
Rating: PG
Disclaimer:
I didn’t create these characters.
Sam Noonan
smiled as he watched the beer drip from the sodden heads of Dobie Crimps and
Buck Doolin.
Kitty’s dousing had abruptly subdued the two old timers, who,
nevertheless, seemed to be taking it in stride.
Funny as it was, though, her reaction triggered alarms in the bartender’s
mind, and his smile faded. She usually
tolerated that kind of behavior – and worse – from her customers. But as soon as she had stomped down the
stairs to quiet things down, the bartender noticed a distinct edge to her body
language. His smile disappeared
completely when she stepped to the doors of the saloon and he realized she
intended to go out into the evening alone.
“Miss
Kitty?” he asked carefully, uneasy about her leaving, but just as unsure about
stopping her.
She
stopped, hands on the doors. “What?”
“Where you goin’?”
“Why?” she
retorted, her usual soft deference turning hard.
He
flinched. Surely she knew what could
happen. Despite the order Matt Dillon
had brought to it,
Hesitant to
bring up the obvious, and certainly painful, reminder of that all-too-recent
trauma, he hedged, “Well, it’s getting late.
You could be – molested.”
But instead
of the expected shadow passing across her smooth features, Kitty’s brow rose,
and she laughed, sarcasm sharp in her voice.
“Really?” she cracked, then, with a slap, pushed through the
He stared
after her a moment, confused. It almost
sounded as if she wanted to be
molested. But surely that didn’t make
sense –
He stopped,
the suspicion of comprehension derailing his train of thought, and he let his
eyes track to the upstairs hallway. It
had not been more than an hour before that she and Marshal Dillon had stolen
away for a private dinner. Sam had been
in her employ long enough not to expect either of them again until
morning. Her exit – alone – had taken
him by surprise. Perhaps the marshal had
already left, slipping unobtrusively down the back stairs, called away to tend
to the ubiquitous duties of his office.
It had happened before, and would certainly account for her frustration.
It was, of
course, no secret in Dodge that Matt Dillon and Kitty Russell were a couple. In
fact, even the “respectable” citizens of the town seemed to accept them almost
as easily as they accepted men and women who had officially stood before a
preacher. Maybe they realized that the
marshal and his woman had a bond as strong as – or stronger than – most married
people.
Nevertheless,
the two generally maintained an emotional distance in public, only rarely
emerging from behind the mask of friendship.
But Sam, in his capacity as right hand man to the most successful woman
in town, had – voluntarily and sometimes involuntarily – been granted glimpses
into what hinted at much deeper and more passionate intimacies.
He had seen
the subtle touches, the casual caresses, had heard the teasing flirtations, the
quiet entreaties. Not that those moments
were exclusively his. He bet Doc and
Festus, and perhaps even Newly and Burke, had
witnessed similar interactions. But Sam
knew other things, as well.
He knew the
marshal had a key to the
His eyes
moved back to the saloon doors, still swinging rhythmically from their rough
push. Crimps and Doolin
were busy shaking like shaggy dogs to rid themselves of the excess ale that the
frustrated saloon owner had emptied over them.
When they looked at him, askance, he could only offer
a shrug and toss them a bar towel to share.
“Why don’t
you fellas call it a night?” he suggested, his eyes
sending the message to the saloon girl who was with them that her evening was
over, too.
The two
plunked down a few dollars to cover the battered chairs and shuffled out
together.
“Is Miss
Kitty all right?” Sadie asked, genuine concern in her
voice. Kitty treated her girls well, and
they liked her.
Sam
shrugged, having no intention of discussing Miss Kitty’s emotional state with
the young lady. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
Her eyes glanced
upward toward the private rooms. “Did
something happen? I thought that she and the marshal – “
“That’s not
our affair,” he told her, not even stumbling at his turn of phrase. With a tilt of his chin, he gently dismissed
her.
“Good
night, Sam,” she returned, taking the hint with enough grace to keep the moment
from becoming too awkward. Throwing a
cloak over her bare shoulders, she stepped out onto the boardwalk.
The
bartender stood quietly for a moment, listening, not sure what he thought he
would hear. The
marshal’s distinctive footsteps on the planks, perhaps. His stride was easy to recognize: firm and
sure, but just a bit uneven. The limp
that had been imperceptible when he was younger had claimed a more pronounced
hold on his gait in recent years, and he had given up trying to hide it. Sam wondered if even Doc knew just how many
times Dillon had been wounded in the course of his service to the law. He bet Kitty knew. He had watched her eyes follow her man as he
left the
Of course,
if anyone could take care of herself it was Kitty Russell. She had proven that on many, many
occasions. Still, Sam knew the marshal
considered her protection a priority, and the bartender willingly accepted his
own role as surrogate guardian in Dillon’s absence.
Perhaps
that was what had hurt the most when Jude Bonner took her. He had been unable to fulfill his promise to
the marshal, unable to protect her. In
fact, just the opposite had happened – she had protected him and the others by
sacrificing herself.
It had been
one of those rare occasions when Kitty had publicly acknowledged her
relationship with Matt Dillon. Upon Bonner’s
threat to kill Sam and the others if they didn’t produce the marshal’s woman,
she had not hesitated to step forward and boldly proclaim, “I’m the lady.” Just thinking about that time gnawed at Sam’s
gut, pushed the nausea into his throat.
The vision
of them parading her into town, battered and abused, then brutally shooting her
down right there in front of everyone still haunted him. But maybe just as hard to witness was the
look on Matt Dillon’s face when he flung open the door of Doc’s office and saw
her lying on the table. It stunned them
all to see the usually unflappable marshal visibly shaken as he stopped near
the examining table, speaking to Doc in a voice broken and strained. Sam and the others had courteously stepped
out the door, but not before they watched the strong, tall man sink to his
knees beside to her.
She had
survived, thank God. Somehow, she had
found the strength to keep going, to gain the victory over those who had sought
to destroy her. And somehow, the marshal
had managed not to kill Jude Bonner, although it was a near thing. When the posse had come upon him, Sam was
almost certain Dillon was going to smash in the dog soldier’s worthless
skull. And he had no doubt that, to the
man, not one member of their group would have uttered a word about it.
But the
ultimate good in the marshal overrode his fury.
Somehow, he was stronger than the moment. Sam had always admired Matt Dillon, but after
that, he felt something akin to awe, a feeling that gave him perhaps some minor
insight into the complex private man only Kitty Russell was allowed to
see. It was that awe that had inspired a
loyalty to the marshal almost as strong as the loyalty to Miss Kitty.
And it was
that loyalty that drew the bartender up the stairs after Crimps and Dooley had
finally stumbled out of the saloon. Of
course, the marshal could very well have gone down the back stairs, but if he
hadn’t, Sam wondered why Miss Kitty had left so suddenly. As he reached the landing, he thought back
over the scene. Whatever had happened,
she had been mad – furious, even. If the
marshal was still upstairs, Sam figured he could probably use a beer, or maybe
a shot of strong whiskey.
Not sure if
he really wanted anyone to answer, he let his knuckles rap lightly on the wood,
almost relieved that there was no sound beyond it. After a couple of beats, he tried again, a
bit more forcefully. No response. Halfway berating himself for continuing, he
twisted the knob and eased open the door.
The lamps still glowed softly.
The fragrant odor of their shared meal still lingered in the air. The smoke of fine brandy wafted across the
threshold. A special evening, then, he
thought, as if he hadn’t already figured that by the almost girlish
anticipation Kitty had shown that afternoon.
He wondered what on earth Dillon had done to ruin her mood.
As he
allowed one foot to step inside, his eyes scanned from the fireplace to the
elegant table. No marshal. Okay.
That was that. One more quick
check and he would leave. It really
wasn’t his business anyway. Braving
three more steps, he had almost convinced himself to head back out when he
heard the rhythm of soft, even snores coming from the bed.
Another
four steps brought him around to see the long, solid body of Marshal Matt
Dillon sprawled diagonally on Kitty’s fancy quilt, arms and legs flung out in
total occupation of the mattress, looking rather like a chopped redwood that
lay in the very configuration in which it had crashed to the forest floor. Considering that this tree still wore boots
and vest, Sam figured that the “crash” had not been part of the plan – not at
all.
The
evening’s scenario became painfully clear.
With an amused grimace, the bartender understood what had infuriated
Miss Kitty, but he sympathized, nevertheless, with the exhausted marshal, and
didn’t envy him the discussion they would most certainly have in the morning.
Dillon
looked so peaceful lying there, almost like a little boy – well, big boy – who
had played too hard all day and succumbed to the sweet respite of sleep, so
unlike the superhuman figure he had to maintain everyday: the strong, giant
lawman that no sane person dared cross, the keeper of
order, the guardian of their safety.
These were heavy burdens, ones that most certainly had to wear on a
man. Sam decided he didn’t begrudge the
marshal his rest, and figured even Miss Kitty would understand –
eventually.
With a fond
smile, he contributed his bit to making the man comfortable, grabbing the heel
of one large boot and tugging until it pulled free. Dillon did not budge. The next boot protested a bit more, but
eventually relinquished its grip and dropped to the floor, as well. The vest would just have to stay on. There was no way Sam was going to haul the
big man up in his arms and divest him of that garment. Besides, it certainly didn’t look as if it
was keeping him from his rest.
Duty done,
he turned to ease out of the room and leave the marshal to his sleep.
“Kitty – ”
The low
voice stopped him just a few feet away from the bed, and his eyes widened at
the softness of the tone. No, not softness – seductiveness. He had never heard that timbre in Matt
Dillon’s voice; probably no one else in Dodge had – except Kitty. Braving a wary glance back, he saw, to his
relief, that the marshal’s eyes remained closed, a slight smile curving his
lips.
Sam took a
few more quiet steps toward the door and had almost made it when the voice
groaned again, the color warm and suggestive.
“Mmm –
Kitty, that feels good – “
Swallowing,
Sam flushed and stared at the marshal, who still slumbered peacefully across
the bed. He didn’t have to work too hard
to imagine what thoughts floated through Dillon’s brain. The possibility of where the dream could lead
was enough to propel him hastily toward the door before he heard or saw
anything that was absolutely none of his business. A deep, pleasured moan followed him into the
hallway, ending only when he quickly, but quietly, clicked the door closed
behind him.
It was not
as if he didn’t know what went on in Kitty’s room between the marshal and
her. He would have to have been blind –
and deaf – not to comprehend a long time ago.
But hearing such intimacy in that deep voice brought
images to his mind, images that he definitely shouldn’t be having.
Nevertheless,
he hung onto them a breath or two before guiltily casting them out.
“Sam?”
Jerking up
his head, he froze at the sight of Kitty Russell ascending the stairs, her face
settled now into softer angles, her shoulders relaxed. She had obviously not been molested on her
walk.
“M – Miss
Kitty,” he stammered.
Her
expression wavered between a smirk and a frown, her eyes flashed past him to
the closed door. “Everything
okay?”
“Fine, Miss
Kitty,” he assured her, trying hard not to flush. “I was just – ah – checking doors before I
locked up – “
“Checking
doors?” she asked, voice skeptical.
“Yes
ma’am.”
“Upstairs doors?”
He
swallowed. “Yes,
ma’am.”
She studied
him for a moment, then nodded, the thought of a smile touching her lips. “And everything’s secure?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After
another beat, she pursed her lips and sighed.
“Okay.”
“Good
night, Miss Kitty,” he offered, relieved.
She paused,
her hand on the doorknob. “Good night,
Sam.”
He was
almost at the landing, home free, off the hook. But something stopped him, and he turned. “Miss Kitty?”
She looked
back expectantly, and he faltered, suddenly regretting his impulse. But it was too late. Screwing up his courage, he said softly,
“He’s been awake for three days straight.”
The brow came
down, the body stiffened, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Her snapping eyes told him enough.
Uh oh. Bad impulse. Still, he had committed himself, so he
plunged ahead before he lost the courage.
“It’s awful hard to fight three days worth of lost sleep.” Then, holding her gaze steadily, he added,
“Even if you have a very good reason to try.”
Kitty
narrowed her eyes at him for a long moment.
Finally, her stance relaxed, and she almost smiled. “He could barely keep his eyes open during
dinner.”
And didn’t keep his eyes open after
dinner, Sam surmised silently. Seeing the real disappointment on her face,
he felt led to make an observation. “You
know, I’ve noticed the marshal doesn’t usually need much sleep. When I’ve gone out on posse with him, I’ve
seen him catch a couple of hours on the trail and then be up and ready to
go.” It was as pointed as he would get,
and even that much drew the red to his cheeks.
Kitty
stared at him, mouth open, eyebrow rising.
“Really?” she asked, but her tone told him she didn’t need an answer.
“Really,”
he confirmed anyway, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. With a duck of his head, he decided it was
time to go. “Well, good night, Miss
Kitty. Sleep well.”
She laughed
a bit ruefully and murmured, “I’m sure I will,” before she slipped into her
room.
But Sam
wasn’t so sure. What he’d told her about
Dillon was true. Thinking again about
the smile on the big lawman’s face as he dreamed, he looked back fondly toward
the closed door.
There might
just be a little molesting going on tonight, after all. If the marshal knew what was good for him.
Epilogue: Can You Still Make It Into a Chiffonier?
POV: Sam
Spoilers:
“A Quiet Day in Dodge”
Rating:
PG-13
Disclaimer:
These characters are not my creation.
As he
surveyed the empty saloon, it occurred to Sam that the
The clink
of a glass made him grimace, and he shot a look toward the stairs, hoping he
hadn’t been too loud. More than once
that morning, he had found his gaze wandering up the stairs. He’d heard no sounds from Kitty’s quarters
since he arrived and smiled at the thought of the two getting their deserved
rest – or not.
A noise
drew his attention back past the outside doors.
The town was waking. The clopping
of horses, the jingling of wagons, the muffled voices of merchants and
customers vied for dominance in the streets.
Boots thumped down the boardwalk outside the doors, heavy and light,
even and uneven. The
sounds of another day in
Through
those familiar noises, though, one in particular caught the bartender’s notice
and pulled a quick frown to his face. It
had encroached on his thoughts, faint at first, then growing louder as it drew
nearer to him. With a keen stab of
disappointment, he realized he heard the unmistakable footsteps of Matt Dillon
on the wooden planks. It was his usual
stride, long but unhurried, the sound of a dutiful marshal making his morning
rounds.
Sam’s gaze
flashed back up the stairs, then swung back to the outside doors. He was not a man usually prone to profanity,
but the implication of the marshal being out and about already brought a curse
to his lips. “Damn,” he muttered.
He must
have left early, which meant no deserved rest and probably nothing else that
would resolve the tension between the two people he cared most about in
Dodge. With a touch of guilt, he found
himself irritated at Matt Dillon, despite his own defense of the exhausted
lawman the night before. If he had been
in the marshal’s place –
He stopped
himself, embarrassed at the vision that popped into his mind. Besides, it wasn’t any of his business. And maybe he was wrong. Maybe the footsteps didn’t belong to –
But at that
moment, the familiar tall, broad frame passed by the
XXXX
It was nearly
an hour later when she emerged. He
watched her descend the stairs, wincing in anticipation of her attitude. Not that she would take it out on him. She was always kind and tactful. Sometimes, though, if her temper was riled,
she didn’t bother too much with diplomacy.
“Good
morning, Sam,” she greeted casually, carefully, her face composed and
unreadable.
“Good
morning, Miss Kitty,” he returned, unable to keep his eyes from cutting up
toward the balcony. Bravely – or maybe
foolishly – he asked, “Did you sleep well?”
But if he
had expected any revelation from her response, he was disappointed. “Fine,” she answered vaguely, and after a
polite, unrevealing smile, stepped toward the office. “I’m going to work on the books for a while,
Sam. I’d rather not be disturbed.”
“Yes,
ma’am,” he agreed, heart heavy for her.
“Uh, Bill Caldwell came by this morning and brought you that last order
from
She stopped
and looked back, expression mild, business-like. “Could you check it against the
inventory? Last time he forgot the
brandy.”
“Yes,
ma’am,” he assured her before she nodded and closed the door behind her.
So that’s
how it was. He reminded himself again
that it wasn’t his business, but he couldn’t help but wonder a bit at the
marshal’s sanity.
Of course,
he couldn’t do anything about that.
Still, even if he couldn’t magically make her dreams turn out the way
she wanted them to, he could do his job and keep her from worrying about
work. So he headed down into the cellar
to count cases from the drummer’s latest delivery. Bill Caldwell had been a good supplier for
the past three years, but recently he had acquired several new – and rather
large – accounts, and they had noticed a slight reduction in the quality of
service. Kitty was right to second guess
the count.
Picking up
the ledger and a pencil, he began with the first case, marking off the order as
he accounted for them. He couldn’t help
but hear Kitty’s soft footsteps echo on the flooring above him and just to the
left. She moved across the office,
stopped for a moment, then moved again. It gave him comfort to be able to know where
she was without crowding her over-protectively.
Since Bonner, he’d had to fight the impulse not to hover over her.
He had just
reached for a case of whiskey when he heard a second set of footsteps join
Kitty’s. He froze for a moment, poised
to pound up the stairs to help in case she needed it, but only the low sound of
muffled voices followed. The visitor was
male, his deeper register easy to distinguish from hers, but they weren’t
talking loudly enough for him to make out an identity. Still, he didn’t really worry. Kitty was a busy businesswoman.
When he
didn’t hear anything else from above, he returned to his inventory. Finally, satisfied that
The
unexpected crash from above jerked his head up in alarm. “No!” he vowed through gritted teeth. It was not going to happen again. Not again.
He would not allow it.
Taking the
steps two at a time, he reached the top in time to hear an agonized cry from
behind the door: Kitty’s cry. Kitty’s door. It took only another five seconds to wrench
the shotgun from its perch behind the bar.
He heard a rough scrape on the floor, wood on wood, as if someone had
moved a chair or a desk. Sam hadn’t
attempted to break down a door in years, but the motion came
automatically. Bracing his left leg, he
lifted his right one, prepared to kick down the barrier, prepared to protect
her whatever the cost, prepared to –
Another cry
cracked through the door, but this time he could hear the thick emotion behind
it; emotion thick not with distress – he realized suddenly – but with
desire.
“Oh, Matt – ”
In
mid-kick, he froze, eyes wide; then, off balance, fell back against the hallway
wall.
Matt? Matt.
He heaved a
breath, impossibly grateful that she had chosen that moment to – well, that she
had chosen that moment. If he had
managed to break open the door, if he had burst in on them –
His heart
pounded, his mouth went dry. Forget the
embarrassment he would have caused; much more sobering was the realization
that, had he followed through, he would most certainly have ended up sprawled
on the floor, plugged dead-center with Matt Dillon’s bullet before the door had
shuddered completely open. The awareness
drove the strength right out of his legs, and he slid down the wall, closing
his eyes in an attempt to regain control over the shocked muscles.
In the
moment of quiet, he became aware of the result of his not breaking in on them:
uninterrupted, the occupants continued their activities, blissfully unaware of
the near disaster. Deep groans mingled
with soft cries. Sam closed his eyes and
tried to remove himself from the moment, but only succeeded in creating a very
vivid picture of what was most certainly happening in that office. When his legs recovered enough to support his
weight again, Sam stumbled back to the bar, replacing the gun and moving as
close to the outside entrance as he could.
Humming to
distract himself from the occasional moan that made it through the wood, he had
just finished checking the beer supply when another sound brought his attention
back to the doors. Matt Dillon’s walk
wasn’t the only distinctive one in Dodge.
The familiar clanging of spurs was enough to alert anyone to the
imminent arrival of Festus Haggen. Sam looked up as the trail-weary deputy
pushed into the saloon.
“Morning,
Festus,” he greeted rather loudly, forcing himself not to look toward the
office door. “You just get back?”
“Yep,”
Festus answered, as he jingled up to the bar.
“I’m a tellin’ ya it’s
a fur piece longer ta Hayes than ya
think. Newly n’ me jest now rode in and
I’m a lookin’ fer
Matthew. Hev
you eyeballed him ennytime today?”
Matthew? Matthew who?
He
concentrated on wiping an area of the bar that was already spotless. “He walked by here a little while ago,
Festus. Morning rounds, looked
like.” He told himself that was the
truth, and that he shouldn’t feel guilty for only providing part of it.
“Wael, I hope he got hisself some
sleep,” the deputy said, cocking his head.
“I knowed he wuz
pure tuckered out yesterdee when Newly
an’ me took at’ thar prisoner to Hayes fer him. I figgered I’d find him flat out on his bunk in th’ jailhouse.”
“You
didn’t,” Sam guessed easily.
“Don’t look
like his bunk wuz mussed a bit.” The other man shook his head and pushed his
tattered hat back, exposing a ragged thatch of dark hair. “Miz
Kitty around?”
Kitty? Kitty who?
“Uh, well,
she’s, uh, she’s in the office,” Sam supplied, then
hastily added, “working.”
“I orda say good mornin’ to her – “ he decided, stepping down the bar.
“No!”
Festus
turned, frowning. “What’s wrong with ya, Sam? I jest wanna say hello.”
He
scratched for a coherent answer. “She’s
– she made me promise not to disturb her.
She’s, uh, she’s behind on the books.”
The deputy should have recognized that as a flat-out lie. Kitty Russell was never behind on the books.
Fortunately,
Festus seemed oblivious to his panic and just scratched absently at his
beard. “Oh, well, mebbe
I’ll jest go on down ta the jailhouse an’ catch a hour or two of sleep.”
“Why don’t
you do that?” Sam agreed, trying to not
sound too eager for him to be on his way.
“Hate ta do it, though, ‘till I find Matthew – “
He was
headed toward the doors, but another scuff from Kitty’s office stopped him. Sam flinched, eyes widening at the sound, all
too similar to the scrape he had heard as he prepared to break down the
door. Only this time, it continued in a
consistent, rather rhythmic pattern.
With a soft gasp, he realized it was the office desk.
Festus squinted toward the door. “What in tarnation
is that?”
“What is what?” Sam asked, then
winced at the feeble attempt.
“That thar scrapin’ noise.”
The desk jerked again, a hard, quick sound, followed by a
grunt. Sam scrambled for an explanation.
“Uh – I think Miss Kitty’s moving some
furniture around.”
The deputy nodded. “Mebbe we orta hep
her,” he pondered. “Sounds
like she’s havin’ a hard time.”
The bartender pursed his lips. That was most likely exactly what was
happening. “You look right thirsty,
Festus,” he said quickly. “Been riding all night.
You could use a drink, I’ll bet.”
The deputy hesitated.
“Well – “
“Miss Kitty won’t do anything foolish.” Then again, maybe she already had. “We’ll both help her in a minute.”
“I am a bit
parched – “ the deputy agreed.
For once grateful that Festus wanted to mooch a drink, Sam
heartily concurred. “Sure you are. Let me get you a beer.”
“Well, now I’m much obliged, Sam.”
“It is much too early in the day to imbibe!”
They both turned, faces shocked at the sight of Edsel Pry peering sourly at them from just over the top of
the swinging doors. The pious old woman,
who had given the marshal such misery the day before, had never darkened the
door of the
“Ma’am,” he greeted politely, exchanging bemused glances
with Festus. “How are you this morning?” he asked
pleasantly, ignoring her warning of temperance.
“Considering
I was accosted and almost suffocated just twenty-four hours ago – “ she began as she stepped gingerly inside.
The desk
grated another a few inches across the floor in the office. Sam plunked down a whiskey glass to cover the
noise. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I am attempting to ascertain the whereabouts of Marshal
Dillon,” she announced primly.
Festus’ brow rose.
“He walked by here a while ago,” Sam told her quickly. “I haven’t seen him since.” Heard him maybe, but not seen.
“I wanted to inform him that I am about to send that
telegram to my good friend the Attorney General and would like to afford him an
opportunity to make amends before that occurred.”
“He’ll be plum tickled ta hear
that.” Sarcasm sharpened Festus’ tone.
“Mister Haggen, I do not believe
that I was addressing you – “
With a muted crash, something fell in the office.
“What was that?” Ms. Pry asked, eyes narrowing.
Sam opened his mouth to give her the same line he gave
Festus, but the deputy beat him to it.
“Oh, Miz Kitty’s movin’
some furniture,” he explained easily, drawing a long sip on his beer.
“By herself?”
“Well, yeah.” Then he
seemed to become aware of her glare and added, “But I’m a
gonna hep her terrekly. Jest as soon as I git
my muscles liquefied back up.”
There were several scrapes in a row, followed by another cry
from Kitty. Festus thunked
down his drink and headed toward the office.
“Festus!” Sam called.
“Didn’t ya hear that, Sam? Miz Kitty’s havin’ trouble. She might need our hep.”
“I don’t think she needs our help, Festus,” Sam assured
him.
“How d’ya
know? That thar
furniture coulda fell on her an’ busted – “
“I think everything’s fine.
Maybe we could just knock – “
Aghast, Festus scolded, “Sam, where’s yer
chiverry? Ifn a lady’s in need ah hep, it’s
a feller’s duty ta be seein’
to her, dontcha know.”
“Well, yeah,” Sam agreed, “but I don’t think Miss Kitty
really wants – “
Thankfully, before he was forced into blocking the door, it
opened, and Kitty Russell stepped out into the main room. She stopped short, her eyes widening at the
sight of the three people staring back at her, but she recovered almost
immediately and smiled. Despite her
calm, it was not difficult to notice that her face was flushed, her hair a bit scattered. Sam thought he saw the reddish tint of
whisker burn on her neck.
“Miz Kitty, you arright?” Festus asked, frowning.
“Why, sure,
Festus,” she answered easily, tucking back a strand of hair. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
His spurs
jingled loudly as he crossed the floor.
“Well, Sam here said – “
But before
he could finish, the door opened wider and the familiar broad shoulders of Matt
Dillon emerged. Sam studied him a
moment. He held his hat in his hand,
which allowed his thick hair, way past due for a trim, to spill over his
forehead in a tangle of waves. He had
managed to tuck most of his shirt back into his trousers, but Kitty seemed to
have missed a couple of buttons, and the bartender tried not to stare at the
smear of lip rouge visible on his exposed chest. He wondered if the other two noticed.
“Matthew!”
Festus exclaimed, then turned to Sam. “Why didn’t ya tell
me Matthew wuz a hepin’ Miz Kitty move that furniture?”
Dillon’s
eyes narrowed, darting between Sam and his deputy. “Furniture?” he asked, voice shaded with
suspicion.
“I wuz headed in ta hep,” Festus explained, waving his hand vaguely, “but Sam
here saw how parched I wuz after my ride and all but
set on me ta have a drink first. If I’d a knowd you wuz hepin’ her, I wouldna worried sa
much.”
“Furniture?”
the marshal repeated.
Clearing
his throat pointedly, Sam interjected, “Uh – yes, sir. That – uh – that desk you were helping Miss
Kitty move. It was – uh – kinda loud.”
His eyes
caught Kitty’s, and he marveled at her poker face. She returned his gaze blandly. The marshal, however –
There was
no arguing that Matt Dillon was a cool character – everyone in the state of
But now Sam
watched that coolness melt with the flame of realization. The heat that swept across the strong
features turned the marshal’s cheeks crimson before rushing down his
chest. Sam couldn’t resist a wink, and
fought not to laugh when Dillon dropped his Stetson.
“Marshal?”
Mrs. Pry observed, her face screwing up as she peered at him more closely, “you
look flushed. I told you yesterday you
needed to take better care of yourself.”
“Ya do look a mite feverish,” Festus noted, eying the
marshal as he picked up the hat. “If’n yer sick, ya orda not be movin’ furniture around.
That kin take a heap outta a man. Sounded like you n’ Miz Kitty wuz havin’
a hard time. Ya
shoulda called me.”
Dillon
merely stared at him.
Gliding
closer to the nonplussed man, Kitty assured Festus, “Oh, Matt moved things
around just fine all by himself.”
Somehow she kept her face perfectly straight.
“We wuz worried,” Festus told her in complete seriousness. “Sounded mighty like you
needed hep.”
It took all
the control Sam possessed not to choke right here.
Dillon
cleared his throat, regaining at least a semblance of his usual control. “Kitty helped,” he said, face innocent. “She helped – a lot.”
Kitty
grinned. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Marshal,”
Mrs. Pry interrupted, oblivious to the underlying exchange, “if you spent as
much time catching criminals as you did moving furniture, maybe the decent
citizens of Dodge wouldn’t have to put up with such shinnanigans
as I did yesterday.”
Apparently
overcoming his embarrassment, Dillon drew a breath to respond. “Mrs. Pry,” he began, but Kitty flowed in
between them and interrupted.
“The
marshal was just helping me this morning, Mrs. Pry,” she said sweetly. “Like Sam said, I needed a desk moved.”
“And the
marshal is good at moving furniture?” Mrs. Pry wanted to know.
Her smile
widening, Kitty said, “Oh, he’s very
good.”
Dillon’s
gaze caught Kitty’s, and Sam was surprised they didn’t all just burst into
flames from the heat that threatened to combust between the two.
Mrs. Pry
seemed to be reconsidering her priorities.
“I have a chiffonier that needs moving,” she announced.
The
marshal’s head jerked up, and Sam had to turn away at the look of sheer horror
that flashed across his face.
“You do?”
Kitty asked, her lips pressed together hard.
“I suppose
I could reconsider my complaint to the Attorney General,” Mrs. Pry
decided. “That is if you can spare an
afternoon to rearrange some furniture for me.”
Dillon
paled, looking as if he might be sick.
“Not if you were the last woman on earth,” he muttered.
“What was
that, Marshal?” Mrs. Pry asked.
Kitty
jumped in. “Uh – he’s promised to move
some more of my furniture later today.
But I’ll talk to him about it.”
The older
lady frowned. “Well, just so you know that I still have that telegram to – ”
“Your
friend the attorney general,” the marshal finished for her.
Seeing the
need for a little diversion, Sam said, “How about a little brandy to settle
your nerves, Mrs. Pry?”
She opened
her mouth in indignation. “I wouldn’t
dream of – “ Then
Sam set the bottle of amber liquid on the counter, and she cleared her
throat. “Well, maybe just one, for
medicinal purposes you understand. Since I survived such an ordeal yesterday.”
“For
medicinal purposes,” Kitty agreed amicably.
The all
watched as she downed the drink in one gulp, nodded curtly, and stalked out of
the bar.
Clicking
his tongue, Festus declared, “Ah guarantee that woman is as ornery – “
“Uh,
Festus,” Kitty cut in.
“Yes’m?”
“You must
be exhausted, riding all that way to Hayes and back.”
The deputy
tilted his head. “I am right tuckered.”
The saloon
owner patted his arm. “Why don’t you go
on and get some sleep. I’m sure Matt
will take care of things here.”
“I wuz thinkin’ on
it.” He turned to the marshal. “At arright
with you, Matthew?”
“Oh fine,
fine,” Dillon agreed quickly.
“Well, I’ll
be to the jailhouse if’n ya
need me.”
After the
jingling of spurs had died down, and only the three of them remained, Kitty
placed a hand on the marshal’s shoulder and offered in a warm, husky voice,
“How ‘bout a drink, Cowboy?” Sam thought
how magnificent it would be for a man to hear that tone directed at him.
With a
sigh, Dillon settled his hat on his head and tugged it over his eyes, avoiding
the barkeeper’s gaze. “I’d – uh – I’d
better check on things since Festus is taking a siesta.”
She didn’t
seem too disappointed, but let her hand close on his shirt for a moment. “Remember that promise,” she reminded. “I have a few things upstairs that need –
rearranging.”
The marshal
reddened and grinned at the same time.
“’Course,
if you’d rather help Mrs. Pry – “
The grin
collapsed into a grimace. “Kitty, I
swear that’s not even halfway funny.”
With a grunt, he headed to the swinging doors, but paused just before he
pushed through them. “You’ll have that
furniture ready to move?” he asked, blue eyes teasing.
“Oh, yeah,”
she assured him, a twinkle in her own eyes.
Sam watched
him leave and listened to the solid footsteps until they faded. Seeing that Kitty still gazed at the spot the
marshal had just left, he gathered up whiskey glasses to wipe out.
Finally,
she sighed and turned, regarding him warmly.
“Thank you, Sam.”
“I don’t
know what you’re talking about,” he shrugged.
“Sam – “
“
She paused,
smiling. “Okay. But thank you, anyway.” With much more energy than she had the
previous night, she sprang up the stairs, but stopped three from the top and
turned back to the barkeeper. “You were
right, by the way.”
He looked
up. “Right?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“The
marshal doesn’t need much sleep.”
Sam stared
at her a moment, then swallowed, his face heating.
Her smile
softened and grew private, intimate.
“Not much at all,” she whispered, almost to herself, as she continued up
the stairs and into her room.
The
bartender let his own smile tug at his lips, and listened as the marshal’s
footsteps sounded again on the boardwalk, denoting his path back toward the
jail. In a few hours, the world would be
alive with dancing and singing and gambling and fighting, the sounds of another
night in
As he
looked around the empty room again, he remembered his earlier comparison of the
And he
wouldn’t change a thing. He didn’t
figure Matt Dillon would either.
Whistling, he picked up another glass to polish.
Up and Ready
A Gunsmoke Story
Companion Piece
to “If a Tree Falls Before Bedtime”
By Amanda
(MAHC)
POV: Kitty
Spoilers: “Hostage!;”
“Quiet Day in Dodge”
Rating: Mature (definitely)
Summary: The part of “If a Tree Falls” that
you didn’t see.
Author’s Notes:
I promised this to Piglet a long time ago. It’s the “missing scene” from “If A Tree Falls Before Bedtime,” and it’s for all of you who
like it hot. Here’s your warning! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I didn’t create these characters.
Kitty
Russell had been halfway up the stairs to Doc’s office before she realized the
deeper significance of Sam’s warning: “You could be – molested.”
Maybe it
was a good sign that it took her that long to understand he was thinking of
Jude Bonner. An involuntary shudder ran
through her – as it always did – when that name brushed her thoughts. It pleased her, though – the fact that she
had found humor, sarcastic humor anyway, in the comment before she heard
fear. The smile crept to her lips, a
warm swell of fondness for the man who was more friend than employee.
A soft rap
of Doc’s door went unanswered. A
stronger rap produced the same results.
No Doc. He could be anywhere, of
course. Maybe even
gone all night delivering a baby or sitting up with a feverish patient. Sighing, she plopped down on the top step, chin in hands, and contented herself with observing the
comings and goings on
It was not
that she was mad at Matt – not exactly.
She knew he was tired, knew he had a rough day – or several days. But she couldn’t help it. After standing her up over
the picnic, and promising to make it up properly over dinner – and especially after dinner – how could he just fall
asleep?
Of course,
she admitted to herself that her disappointment might be sharpened by the
rather unflattering idea that her charms had held no power over him. He chose sleep over her. No, that wasn’t fair. She doubted he actually chose sleep. Rather, sleep chose him.
The
Shaking her
head, she began a weary climb up the stairs, no anticipation of
what-might-have-been lightening her step.
A noise from the upper hallway stopped her momentarily. For a second, her heart raced, thinking it
might be Matt, but then Sam emerged from behind the curtain that separated her
quarters from the rest of the rooms.
She
narrowed her eyes curiously, suspicion tickling her thoughts. “Sam?”
He flinched
uncharacteristically. “M – Miss
Kitty.” Was he stuttering?
“Everything okay?”
“Fine, Miss
Kitty.” His words offered reassurance;
his demeanor contradicted them. “I was
just – ah – checking doors before I locked up – “
“Checking
doors?” The suspicion bloomed into an outright
theory.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Upstairs doors?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She debated
whether to be angry with him or to be grateful that he cared enough to check on
her – and Matt. After a pause, she
nodded. “And everything’s secure?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Toying with
the amusing prospect of playing the game a little longer, she finally decided
to let it drop. “Okay.”
It took
every ounce of control not to burst into laughter at the relief that flushed
across the bartender’s worn features.
“Good
night, Miss Kitty,” he wished, passing her.
She looked
up at the door, knowing an evening of sleep was the only thing that awaited
her. “Good night, Sam.”
His
footsteps reached the stairs; then, she heard him stop and turn. “Miss Kitty?’
Curiously,
she looked at him, watching him fight himself.
Finally, he took a breath and said, “He’s been awake for three days
straight.”
Involuntarily,
a red haze swept across her vision, renewing the anger and frustration that had
propelled her from the saloon earlier.
She knew very well Matt had been awake.
“It’s awful
hard to fight three days worth of sleep,” Sam continued quickly as his eyes met
hers. “Even if you
have a very good reason to try.”
In a moment
of self-revelation, Kitty had to admit that some of her angriest moments came
when she knew someone else was right – and she was wrong. A smile pulled at her mouth. “He could barely keep his eyes open during
dinner,” she revealed, her wrath at Matt fading. And in that instant, she dropped all anger, a
sudden, shameful feeling washing through her.
Poor Matt, exhausted from the trail, harassed by Mrs. Pry and who knew
how many others before he could get any sleep, and finally snubbed by his own
woman for something he had no control over.
“You know,”
Sam offered unexpectedly. “I’ve noticed
the marshal doesn’t usually need much sleep.
When I’ve gone out on posse with him, I’ve seen him catch a couple of
hours on the trail and then be up and ready to go.”
Kitty felt
her jaw drop. Had Sam said “up and
ready?” Sam? “Really?” she managed to ask.
His gaze
dropped. “Really.” Ducking his head, he murmured, “Well, good
night, Miss Kitty. Sleep well.”
Touched,
but accepting reality, she laughed and muttered, “I’m sure I will,” then eased
through the door.
Sam really
was quite dear, she decided, still not completely sure she had heard him right.
XXXX
Matt still
lay where he had fallen an hour or so before, a mighty tree whose limbs spread
out all over her bed. She sighed,
contemplating how she could wriggle even half her body in there next to
him. But she was damned if she would
sleep on the settee.
She noted
his boots lay on the floor, neatly placed by the nightstand. Sam, she realized. Nothing else had been removed, though. She chuckled at the thought of the bartender
trying to divest the marshal’s long frame of clothes. Without Matt’s help, she wasn’t even sure she
could do it.
But she was
going to try. The pants would go first,
she figured. All she had to do was unbuckle and unbutton, then tug. The unbuckling part was easy – she’d had
years of practice at it. And the
unbuttoning was downright fun. He
stirred slightly at her touch, his lips turning up in a smile. She smiled back, wondering what he was
dreaming, hoping it was about her and not one of those past outlaw girlfriend
that seemed to crop up from time to time.
Under her breath, she muttered a friendly warning to him.
Pulling the
pants down proved a bit more strenuous, mainly because she couldn’t push his
240-pound frame up enough to free them.
Finally, after some intricate maneuverings, she had them and his
underwear at his knees, after which they cooperated nicely right along.
She turned,
then, to his shirt, her fingers deftly slipping the buttons through their
holes, baring his broad chest for her viewing.
When she had reached about halfway down, she heard him moan softly.
“Lee – “
Kitty
stopped her motions and frowned.
Lee?
“Sweetheart
– “ Matt moaned again.
A hot rush
of anger swept over her along with a sickening jolt to her stomach. She had been only half joking with herself
before, but it seemed now as if her fearful thoughts had been right.
“Oh, Lee – “ he groaned.
Furious,
Kitty snatched her fingers away from his chest and stood to storm out of the
room, her heart and pride sharply wounded.
But before she could take a step away from the bed, a strong hand closed
on her wrist and tugged her back. She
gasped as she turned to encounter a pair of very blue and very mischievous
eyes.
“Matt!” It was an involuntary cry.
He grinned
boldly, considering how much trouble he was in.
“Where ya’ goin’,
Red?” he asked, voice low and husky.
Realization
struck her with a clash of anger and relief.
“Matthew Dillon!” she scolded.
“That was absolutely the meanest – “
But she
didn’t get any further before his hand pulled her down, and her body fell on
top of his, and his lips silenced her with a deep, slow-burning kiss. She felt his heat sizzle through her skin,
igniting a fire within her that could only be doused one way.
When his
lips left hers to trail down her neck, she tried to muster the ire she had felt
moments before, but the effort was weak.
“You are – incorrigible,” she told him, her tone contradicting her
words.
His teeth
tugged on her earlobe, sending shivers through her. “If that means I want you desperately,” he
whispered, “you’re right.”
“No, it
means – “ she began, but suddenly lost her train of
thought as his hands slid over her hips and pressed her against his
hardness. “It means – oh, who the hell
cares what it means – “
Giving up, she found his lips again and ran her own hands down
his shirtfront, ripping the remaining buttons off.
“Hey!” he
protested, pulling away just a bit.
Sitting up
and lifting the skirt of her dress, she straddled him, fitting their hips together
so that his eager erection pushed against the moist lace of her lingerie. “What were you saying?”
He
groaned. “Uh – nothing – nothing at all
– “
“Oh, Matt,”
she murmured, softly and voluntarily this time.
“You gonna
stop there?” he wondered.
“You want
me to stop there?”
“Uh uh.”
“You get
the vest; I’ll get the shirt,” she proposed.
It didn’t
take him five seconds to shrug out of the outer garment. Kitty reached for the remaining piece of
clothing, pushing it slowly off his wide shoulders, touching much more of his
skin than the material of his shirt. She
let her hand rest at the center of his broad chest, enjoying the beat of his
heart. Her fingers didn’t stop there,
though. Instead, they teased over the
muscles of his stomach and lower until they danced across his groin, the bare
flesh swollen and hard and surging beneath her touch.
Kitty ran
her fingers down his generous length, just barely skimming along the hot satin
skin. Looking up, she felt her heart
race as his eyes burned into her gaze.
His breath caught, and he arched toward her when she let her hand grip
him just a bit more firmly. It took
considerable control for her not to fall onto him at that moment and take him
inside her, take him deeper than any other man had even been.
Matt knew
he had been her only man for years now, just as she knew she had been his only
woman, but sometimes she wondered if any of his former girlfriends had ever
found another lover so fulfilling. She
pushed back the pang of jealousy that always came with the thought of him being
with anyone else. He was hers now, and
she never doubted that.
He caught
her hands and, breath labored, touched her cheek. “Kitty, I need to tell you something before –
“
She shook
her head. “Matt – “
“No. Let me finish.”
Nodding,
she reluctantly sat back.
Chagrin
colored his strong features, giving him that little-boy expression that she
never had been able to resist. “Kitty, I
didn’t mean to, well, I really didn’t mean to – I’m – I’m sorry I fell asleep.”
She opened
her mouth to grant forgiveness, but he silenced her with a tender kiss.
When he
drew back, he continued. “And I’m sorry
about the picnic.” She smiled as a
petulant frown crossed his face. “I hear
Doc enjoyed it, though,” he noted, with an endearing expression amazingly close
to a pout.
“Oh, he
did,” she assured him wickedly. He was
not forgiven enough to avoid a little needling.
“Especially the pie.”
He
frowned. “Yeah.” But then his frown softened and his voice
grew serious. “Kitty – “
“I know,
Cowboy. I know.” She wouldn’t make him apologize for doing his
job – not this time. “Maybe I was a
little hard on you yesterday,” she conceded.
“You’d had a rough time.”
His eyes
brightened at the prospect of mercy.
“Going
three days without sleep, bringing in a prisoner, getting stabbed, chasing
after a delinquent child, locking Mrs. Pry in a safe – “
“I didn’t lock her in there,” he
protested. “I got her out.”
“She blames
you anyway. Did you see her face – “
He
grimaced. “Don’t remind me.”
“Still,”
she said, pitch rising a little in only partially-feigned hurt, “I had been counting on that picnic. And you promised that tonight – “
“Tonight’s
not over,” he pointed out.
“That’s
very true.” She let her eyelashes bat
playfully. “So Marshal, in that case,
how about you make everything up to me, huh?”
Intensity
darkened his eyes. “I think I can do
that,” he agreed, his hands sliding to her waist and turning her so that she
lay beneath him. “Just don’t mention Edsel Pry again.”
She
laughed. That she could guarantee.
“You seem
to be entirely overdressed, though,” he observed. Then, without further
warning, he took his large hands and ripped the fine material of her dress
right down the middle.
“Matt!”
“Turnabout’s fair play.”
“That was
just a shirt. This dress cost – “
As his lips
flickered over the swell of one breast, her words melted into a moan.
“You were
saying?” he mumbled against her glowing skin.
“Um, I was
– nevermind – “
With his
help, she wriggled out of the remains of her once-expensive gown and lay beneath him, clad only in the scant lingerie she had
selected earlier in anticipation of the evening. The fire in his blue eyes confirmed her
choice.
“Kitty,” he
breathed, his hands gliding over her exposed skin. “You are beautiful.”
She
blushed. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t told
her that before, but Matt Dillon was not often effusive. That made it all the more special when he was
inspired to gush over her – or at least it was gushing for him.
His
eagerness had already provided sufficient lubricant. Knowing he couldn’t handle too much teasing,
she slid her panties off and pulled him back toward her, unable to suppress her
own moan as he teased her aching body.
“Oh, Matt,”
she murmured when he clutched at her thighs and rubbed against her, close, but
not entering. Her body ached for him,
begged for more, but he held strong just at the point of pleasure.
Finally,
unable to voice her need, she grabbed his firm hips and pulled him hard against
her. He smiled down at her, but the
tightness of his mouth revealed his own struggle for control.
“Kathleen,”
he whispered, and allowed himself to push in slowly, just the tip, before he
pulled back out.
“Matt!” Frustration found her voice as she scolded
and begged at once.
But he slid
in only part of the way again and withdrew, repeating the motion several times
before she couldn’t take it any more, wrapped her legs around him and arched up
hard. They both gasped as he thrust in
fast and deep, the pleasure and pain igniting an inferno inside her.
After that,
neither of them could slow down the inevitable.
He let himself go, and she reveled in the completeness of his thrusts,
intense and purposeful.
They were
both too far gone now for the usual finesse, the tender foreplay, the teasing caresses.
Through her haze of desire, she watched his handsome face as he gritted
his teeth and pulled out almost all the way, then plunged back in, all pretense
of tenderness gone. They both felt the
drive, the need. She writhed beneath him,
her legs curled around his waist, his hips pounding against hers, hitting deep
and hard with every thrust. Kitty arched
her back and lifted her hips to meet his, her body throbbing now with her own
need, need he had created, need only he could satisfy.
She
wondered vaguely if Sam were still downstairs, if he could hear their
passionate cries. Then she decided she
didn’t really care. Let all of Dodge
hear them tonight. Her hands grabbed at
Matt’s wide shoulders, tugging him down so that she could feel the light spread
of hair on his chest brush across her breasts.
The surge inside her indicated he had appreciated the move, as well.
His voice,
hoarse and strained, betrayed his failing control. “Kitty, are you – “
“I’m
ready,” she assured him, knowing that was an understatement.
Somehow, he
held back a few more moments, running his long fingers over her nipples and
bending to tease them with his teeth and tongue. The shock waves zapped their way straight to
the deepest point of his penetration, and she felt the uncontrollable spasms
grip her body with relentless and overwhelming persistence. Calling his name, she threw back her head and
bucked against him, every wild contraction squeezing around him in exquisite
agony.
He groaned,
and she felt him swell even thicker, heard the quickness of his breath, and
knew that he was about to go over.
Tightening her legs around him, she concentrated on tightening inside
her body as well. It was the final
straw.
With a
harsh grunt, he thrust in and froze, his arms, usually steady and strong,
trembling as he held his body in position to explode inside her. She felt the contractions grip him, the
involuntary pulses sweep through him until the liquid heat burst out and burned
deep within her. Over and over, his
release continued, filling her with waves of pleasure until he gave a final
push and dropped onto her, lingering spasms pumping randomly while he remained
inside her.
XXXX
Kitty woke
to find herself alone in the bed, but the evidence of
the night’s activities remained.
Blushing, she thought of Sam’s comment and decided he was absolutely
right. Once Matt had a couple of hours
sleep in him he was good to go. In fact,
he had been good to go three times before they finally collapsed into each
other’s arms for what remained of the night.
He had
certainly made things up to her. Even
now, her muscles protested from their hours of rigor, and deep inside she ached
pleasantly.
“Matt?” she
murmured, missing him already.
The bed
dipped, and she felt lips brush hers. “Morning.”
“What on
earth are you doing up already?” she managed, sleep slurring her words.
His voice
was light. “That’s not how you felt last
night. You seemed to want me up – a
lot.”
One peek
showed her he was already dressed. Damn.
“Rounds,”
he explained, sighing. “Besides, I
figured you might need the rest.”
“And you
don’t?”
He just
grinned. “Maybe
later.”
“Well, Sam said you didn’t need –
” she started before she caught herself.
His eyes
narrowed. “Sam said I didn’t need what?”
“Uh, nothing.”
“Kitty?”
She
scrambled for a save. “Sam said you
didn’t need to worry. He’d open up
today.”
“Sam always
opens up,” he knew. A suspicious frown
pulled his brow down. “And by the way,
how’d you get my boots off last night?
You usually need my help – “
She caught
his eye and held his gaze for a long moment.
Finally, she asked, “Do you really want to know who took off your boots
last night?”
Face
flushing with comprehension, he stared at her.
“And do you
really want to know what Sam said?” she pushed.
“No. I don’t think I do,” he finally decided, then
leaned in to give her a soft, brief kiss.
“I’ll see you later, Kitty.”
But as he
braced an arm to push up from the bed, she cupped one hand around the back of
his neck and pulled him down for another kiss, deeper and harder and
hotter. At the same time, her other hand
rested in his lap. Before the kiss had
ended, she felt the expected pulse against her palm.
“Kitty.” The word fell somewhere between a scolding
and a plea, but he didn’t try to move her away.
Encouraged, she began to stroke below while her mouth moved on his
above.
“Kitty – ” This time it was
a groan. Somehow, he managed to pull
back from the bed. Her eyes twinkled
mischievously as she saw the uncomfortable-looking bulge beneath his pants.
Taking a
shaky breath, he said, “I’ve – I’ve gotta do
rounds. Festus – uh – Festus and Newly’ll be back, then they’ll – “
She reached
out and stroked him again, bolder this time, and he closed his eyes.
“Ungh, Kitty, if you don’t stop – “
“You don’t
know what you’re missing,” she told him, pushing hard against him.
“Oh, I do,”
he groaned. “Believe me, I do.” Prying open his eyes, he looked at her. “What if – what if I stop by in about an hour
after my rounds?”
“Come back
upstairs? There may be folks in the
bar.” She squeezed slightly.
His breath
sucked up quickly. “I’m tellin’ ya, if ya keep doin’ that, I’m gonna
have to change clothes again.”
She grinned, delighted with the control she had over him. “Come back in an hour. I’ll have you another set.”
“It would
be too obvious.”
“What about
my office?”
“Your
office?” he frowned. “Kitty, that’s too
close to business. Anybody could – “
But her
hand ran over him again, pressing hard; her lips nibbled at his neck. She watched his will crumble.
“Office – “ he gasped. “Okay.”
Abruptly,
she withdrew her touch, almost laughing at the pain that tightened his
eyes. “You are an evil woman, Kathleen
Russell,” he accused, standing awkwardly.
She didn’t
contradict him, but simply advised, “You might want to wait a minute or two
before you go out in public.”
He could
only nod.
She smiled
as she watched him lean against the doorframe for a good five minutes, trying
to calm his uncooperative body. Finally,
he was successful enough to meet the world without displaying his significant
attributes.
“Your
office,” he verified hoarsely, looking back at her and tugging on his hat. “One hour.”
“My office. One hour,” she confirmed, already regretting
the wait as the door closed behind him.
She hoped
they hadn’t been too impetuous. Her
office was anything but ideal. Still,
somehow that didn’t much matter. In
fact, it provided the element of danger, the chance that they might be
discovered – not that she really wanted that to happen, but the thought
provided guilty excitement.
Then, her
practical side nudged into her thoughts.
What was she thinking? There
wasn’t a bed down there, or even a cot. An office chair and table – which was probably not strong enough to
hold them. She shook her
head. That left nothing –
But in that
moment, another idea pushed in and she grinned, her body tingling in
anticipation. That left nothing – except
a very sturdy, very functional desk.
Her office. One hour.
She lay back on her pillow and sighed.
It would be
a long hour.