Free Slocum #395 : Slocum and the Trail to Yellowstone (9781101553640) by Jake Logan

with Houston. They made two bedrolls so they could, as she put it, act decent around their host. Then she mentioned it would be a shame if they didn’t go borrow Jennifer’s horse and packsaddle.
    Slocum agreed and set out with Red to go get the pony, if he could find her. There was no sign of anyone having been there lately when he found Jennifer’s place again. The grave that Wilma had made for her looked settled. Lucky for him the chunky mare she used for chores came in looking for some company with Red about then. In no time, Slocum had the packsaddle and panniers on the animal and was headed back for Wilma’s place.
    It was midafternoon when he got back and the day had proved warm. They packed the canvas panniers full of things they’d have had to leave behind otherwise. Everything was ready by sundown for the next day’s departure, and they drank Wilma’s fresh-made coffee and sat together on a log in the sundown’s red glow.
    She elbowed him in the ribs. “I don’t ever recall sitting and talking down the sun with a man in my life. All the men I’ve known were either swinging at me or cussing me out for something they considered important that I had no hand in.”
    He chuckled. “You’ve had a tough life, girl.”
    â€œI’ll damn sure miss you whenever you light a shuck on me.” She dropped her face and leaned forward, shaking her head ruefully. “I ain’t been around a man yet that treated me like an equal as well as you do.”
    â€œJust think about all the good times.” He reached over and rubbed her back between the shoulder blades.
    â€œDon’t quit whatever you’re doing. Man, does that feel good. Those muscles are tighter than a fiddle string.”
    He went to work using both hands on her backbone and tight muscles. She moaned in a low voice at his attention. Poor thing must have been mistreated a lot in her lifetime.
    â€œWhy are you up here by yourself anyway?” he asked, curious about why she was living like a hermit.
    She laughed. “A cowpoke named Shorty Harrel was the cause.”
    â€œSounds interesting. Tell me the rest of the story.” His hands busily continued attempting to chase the stiffness out of her back.
    â€œI was cooking for some freighters going from Cheyenne to Buffalo. Shorty was the scout and sort of the wagon boss. Well, we got friendly on the road. I guess on the road with no parlor house handy, he got horny too, huh?”
    He agreed to get her to continue.
    â€œWell, the third day out he came around where I was cooking and told me about a mining claim he had in the Bighorns. How when we got up there to Buffalo, we could go up here and work that claim. He thought he had a streak of gold and silver.” She shook her head and scowled about it. “Course I thought there might be a chance he wasn’t lying about all of it to get in my britches. So I went along and he snuck a few passes in my bedroll on the road.”
    She wrinkled her nose at the notion and continued. “He damn sure wasn’t a real lover. I’ve seen stray dogs stayed hard longer. But I wanted a vacation from being the head cook and dishwasher for those grubby freighters. You never know, this might have been the lucky mine.”
    Slocum agreed with a nod, then rose and put a few more pieces of dry wood to flare up the fire as the night gathered. He could only imagine how dusty and dirty human bodies got on the road with so few places to bathe in as there were between Cheyenne and Buffalo.
    â€œSo after we got up to Buffalo, he brought me up here. We borrowed a packhorse to bring our supplies up and he took it back. There was no vein of nothing in his digging and I knew I’d been snookered, but he didn’t come back and three days passed. Then a deputy brought his belongings and his horse up here for me—he called me Mrs. Harrel.
    â€œ ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but