Free Longarm and the Banker's Daughter (9781101613375) by Tabor Evans

of a missing tooth on one side.
    â€œI’ll do it! You think I won’t, but I will! Now, drop that iron, Long, or I’ll drill her a new ear!”
    â€œNo!” Lacy screamed at Longarm, straining against the ropes holding her spread-eagled on the mussed bed. “Longarm, please—he’ll kill me.”
    â€œNah, he won’t,” Longarm said, grinning. “Will you, Orrin?”
    â€œI will! I swear I will!”
    The gunman held his pistol taut against Lacy’s head. Now he looked down at her, gritting his teeth. His eyes strayed down the length of her voluptuous form, taking in the jostling tits, furred snatch, and bending knees. He ground his teeth harder, till Longarm could hear them cracking. Brennan shifted his dire, frustrated gaze between Lacy to Longarm several times, Lacy sobbing and begging for her life, the bed squawking beneath her straining, naked form.
    Finally, Brennan gave a raucous bellow of expressed vexation and swung his pistol toward Longarm. Before he could get the weapon steadied, Longarm’s Colt barked three times quickly. Brennan slammed back against the wall, triggering his Remington wild, groaning and dropping his chin to look at the three holes lined up across his chest. Each one pumped blood out to dribble down his pin-striped shirt and brown leather vest.
    â€œAh, shit!” Brennan said as his knees buckled.
    He hit the floor with a thud and fell forward on his face. He wagged his head as though he couldn’t believe what had just happened, and then he lay still.
    Lacy screamed. Longarm wheeled, following the girl’s anxious gaze, to see Studemyer bringing a pistol up from the floor where a good half of his blood must have leaked out. His pistol roared a half second before Longarm’s pistol followed suit, hammering a quarter-sized hole through the middle of the man’s forehead. As Studemyer slammed back against the floor, into his own molasses-thick blood pool, Longarm winced at the icy-hot slice across his left side. He touched his hand to it, felt the greasy slickness of blood.
    Just a burn. He’d tend it later.
    He turned to the girl, who lay back against a pillow, sobbing. “Cut me loose. Oh, please cut me loose, Longarm. Those brigands! Did you see what they did to Dickie?”
    â€œI saw.”
    He took out his folding knife and cut the ropes, freeing her wrists and ankles. She rolled toward Longarm, dropping her bare legs over the side of the bed and wrapping her arms around his waist, burying her face in his belly.
    â€œThank you for coming after me! I didn’t think you would. I really didn’t think you would!”
    â€œOh, I got a feelin’ you did.”
    He stared straight down at her, trying to ignore the push of her breasts against his groin. He couldn’t help asking, “Did they . . . ?”
    She shook her head slightly, making his cock tingle. “They were playing poker for me. Winner was to have the first
turn
!” She sobbed, quivering against him and increasing his discomfort. “Oh, what
savages
!”
    â€œHey,” said H. G. Ryan, still crouched against the outside of the door frame, looking in. His voice was slurred, pinched with pain. “I’m in agony over here.”
    Ignoring the wounded gunman, Longarm leaned down and drew a wool blanket over Lacy’s shoulders. “You’d best get some clothes . . .”
    He let his voice trail off, cocking his head to listen. He’d heard something. He heard it again—a horse nickering in the corral. As he walked to the door, he flicked open the Colt’s loading gate, shook the empty shell casings onto the floor, and began refilling the chambers from his cartridge belt.
    He opened the door slowly, listened through the crack.
    â€œWhat is it?” Lacy whispered, stumbling around dressing.
    â€œStay here. Don’t poke your fool head outside ’less you want it shot