A Different Trade (4 page)

When Clint led Eclipse back to the first stable in town he'd seen, Danielle walked outside to greet him. Her sleeves were rolled up and she peeled off a pair of gloves that were covered in loose hay. She gave him a wide smile and placed one hand on her hip while waiting for him to come to a stop.

“That's a handsome boy,” she said.

“Why, thank you,” Clint replied. “You're not so bad yourself.”

“I meant the horse. What's his name?”

“Eclipse.”

Danielle reached out to pat the Darley Arabian's nose, which was received very well. “I think he likes me.”

“That's why we came all the way back here for a stall.”

“Is it?” she asked while glancing over to Clint.

“Actually,” he said while hooking a thumb toward Eclipse, “that's why he wanted to come back. I had other ideas.”

“Did you, now? How about we start with the stall? Follow me.”

Clint was more than happy to follow her since that meant getting a nice, lingering look at Danielle's backside wrapped in muddy denim. Her brown hair was unruly after the hard work she'd been doing, which did nothing to take away from her appeal. In fact, the sweaty shirt and dirty jeans clung to her rounded curves in a stunning way.

The stable was a fairly good size. One wide path led from the front to the back of the barn-sized structure, which had three horse stalls on either side. The stall in the back corner was occupied by the horse that had broken loose earlier that day. Now it was calmly chewing on half an apple.

“Let's put Eclipse right here,” Danielle said as she pushed open the gate to the first stall. The Darley Arabian followed her in and immediately found a trough of water against the back wall. “As for you,” she said to Clint, “I think you should go right here.”

Clint found himself being pushed against the nearest post. As soon as his shoulders bumped against the wooden support, Danielle was pressed against him. “What's this now?”

Reaching up to slide both hands around the back of his head, she whispered, “Can't you tell?”

Clint may have been taken slightly off guard, but he wasn't about to push her away. He placed his hands upon her hips and savored the feel of her nicely rounded curves. “I was expecting to have to go through a little sweet talk before I got this close to you.”

She shook her head. Since she was less than an inch away from him, her lips brushed against Clint's mouth as she told him, “I don't like that sort of nonsense. I saw something I wanted and now I'm taking it.” As she spoke, Danielle eased one hand between Clint's legs.

Moving both hands down, Clint cupped her buttocks in both hands and pulled her in close. The warmth of her body and the motion of her hand made his erection grow until it strained at his jeans. “Does the owner of this place know you force yourself on men this way?”

“I am the owner.”

“Oh. Well, in that case . . .” With that, Clint pulled her shirt open so he could massage her plump breasts. Danielle's nipples were erect, and she let out a shuddering groan when he teased them between his fingers. “Is this what you were after?”

“Almost,” she replied while rubbing his groin with added vigor.

Their mouths came together for a long kiss. Somewhere along the line, Danielle ran her tongue along his lips, which sent a shiver down Clint's spine. His hands wandered freely over her body from there, going wherever his instincts took them while roughly pulling the clothes off her body. Danielle responded in kind by unhitching Clint's belt and pulling down his jeans before dropping to her knees in front of him.

Clint looked down at her as she took his cock into her mouth and started bobbing her head back and forth. She devoured him hungrily while moaning with pleasure as he became even harder. Every so often, she would slide her tongue all the way down his length and stay there for an extra couple of seconds.

When Clint caught his breath, he saw she was staring up at him with wide, expectant eyes. He brought her to her feet and turned her around. “What are you doing now?” she asked.

“You want me to stop,” he said while bending her over and guiding himself between her thighs, “just say so.”

Danielle grabbed the closest thing within her reach, which just happened to be a half-full barrel of oats. “Don't you dare stop,” she said while leaning forward and taking a wider stance. When she felt Clint enter her from behind, she closed her eyes and tossed her hair back while letting out a deep moan.

Her pussy was slick and warm. Clint eased into her slowly while holding her hips in his hands. As he started to move in and out of her, he savored the feel of her tight, muscular curves and the way she adjusted to the rhythm of his thrusts. When he sped up, she rocked back and forth along with him. And when he plunged all the way into her, she groaned loudly.

Clint kept one hand on her hip and put the other on the small of her back. That way, he could feel every little shift of her backside as he pumped into her. She bent over a little more and gripped the barrel tightly so he could drive into her like a piston. Clint closed his eyes and fell into a steady motion. Her body was just the right size for him to reach forward to cup her breasts as he continued to thrust between her legs.

“Keep it up,” she pleaded. “That's the—” Suddenly, Danielle's entire body tensed and she drew in a sharp breath. When she climaxed, Clint could feel her tightening around him and could hear the wood of the barrel creaking as she pressed herself against it even harder. He plunged into her once more as deep as he could, which was more than enough to send her over the edge.

Seeing her positioned in front of him with her plump backside once again in his hands was almost enough to push Clint to the edge as well. She was still moaning as he started pounding into her. He gripped her hips tightly and let his instincts tell him what to do from there and how to do it. Those instincts had never led him astray before, and they sure didn't now. Within a few more moments, he could feel his own pleasure building up inside.

Clint leaned back and drove into her one last time. He climaxed hard enough to take his breath from his lungs. When he was able to draw another one, he realized he was gripping Danielle's hips a lot harder than he'd intended. Relaxing his hands, he rubbed her bare skin and took a step back. “Sorry about that,” he said.

She straightened up and turned around to face him, naked from the waist down while lazily buttoning her shirt. “You shouldn't be. I had you pegged as a man that could curl my toes, but damn!”

“Good,” Clint said. “Because I sure as hell am not sorry.”

As she hiked up her jeans, Danielle wriggled her hips and smirked at him. “By the way, thanks for fetching my horse.”

“And thank you for putting mine up free of charge.”

“Free of charge?” As she walked past him, Danielle tapped Clint's chest. “You're gonna have to work for it, mister.”

Suddenly, Clint wasn't so opposed to spending some more time in Larga Noche.

The sun was barely making its presence known in the western horizon when Clint returned to the Dig Dog Saloon. Although Third Avenue and Sharp Bend were considerably busier than the last time he'd been there, Leo's place had only a few more occupied tables than before. The most welcome change that Clint noticed was the stage show. A fiddler now sat beside the guitar player, and Madeline was strutting back and forth while singing a lively tune. When she saw Clint enter, she gave him a pretty smile and a nod. He acknowledged both with a tip of his hat.

Leo was still behind the bar, and even though there were less than half a dozen men standing there drinking, he acted as if he was attempting to serve the entire town. Clint chose a spot at the end of the bar farthest from the door and waited for a drink. Eventually, Leo graced him with his presence.

“I didn't think you were coming back,” Leo said.

“I did my job,” Clint replied.

“Exactly. So why are you here?”

“Because I only received partial payment. Gregor said you'd pay the rest upon delivery.”

“Oh,” Leo said with a wince. “That's right. I nearly forgot. Just a moment.”

When Leo turned to head for the till, Clint said, “I'll take another beer while you're at it.”

Leo removed some cash from his night's receipts and filled a mug from the tap. Handing the money over, he nervously eyed the rest of the place as though he were handling a king's ransom. Nobody else seemed to take notice, which didn't make him feel any better.

Since Clint hadn't taken the job to get rich, there wasn't much cash to count. There was enough to cover the rest of the fee he'd been promised, so he pocketed the bills and reached for the mug of beer.

“That'll be twenty-five cents,” Leo said.

“What?”

“For the beer. It's twenty-five cents.”

“But the first one was free,” Clint pointed out.

“Right. As a thank-you for stepping in with Westin. I'm sure you'd like it if every drink was free here from now on, but that just wouldn't be good business.”

“I suppose not.”

“Still want that beer?”

“Sure.”

As the barkeep went about a few small chores, there was a certain hunch to his back and look in his eyes that made him seem like a man bearing an excessive weight on his shoulders. Clint knew that feeling all too well. “So,” he said after his next sip of beer, “what's in the bottles?”

One of Leo's eyebrows perked up, and he glanced back at him with renewed interest. “You don't really care about that.”

“Sure I do.”

“You stormed out of here the last time I tried to show you. Is this just your way of throwing a dog a bone?”

“My curiosity is sparked,” Clint said. “I'm still here and I'd like to see what all of this effort was for, but I'm not about to beg for the privilege.”

“All right. Fair enough.” Leo hurried over to the shelf behind the bar, which was prominently displayed at the center of the wooden counter and just high enough to avoid being blocked by Leo's mess of red hair. He carefully took one of the bottles down and carried it over to where Clint was sitting. Lowering it behind the bar, he said, “I'm curious about something also.”

“What's that?”

“When Westin was here, did you know what to expect?”

“Nope. I just got into town and it took me a hell of a lot longer to find this place than I thought it would. I saw him pushing you around and thought I could step in.”

“Actually, I meant when you jumped back here where I'm standing,” Leo said. “How'd you know I kept a shotgun back here?”

Clint shrugged. “I've been to more saloons than I can count. If there wasn't a shotgun somewhere back there to deal with rowdy customers, there was bound to be a club or some other such thing I could have put to use.”

“Predictable, eh?”

“Fortunately, for your sake,” Clint replied while lifting his glass, “yes.”

“Why didn't you just draw your pistol?”

“Are all these questions necessary just for me to see that bottle? If so, I think I'll finish my beer in peace and allow my curiosity to fade on its own.”

“No, I'm just curious as well,” Leo said as he placed the bottle on the bar. “A man in my line of work sometimes runs afoul of characters like Westin. I just thought it might help if I could learn whatever might—”

Since Leo seemed serious about wanting to know and didn't seem ready to stop talking anytime soon, Clint said, “Intimidation.”

“You don't think a pistol would have been enough?”

“Obviously your man Westin wasn't the sort to be swayed by threats or just another gun being waved at him. Damn near any man tends to think twice when he's on the wrong end of a scattergun. At the very least, it makes him stop what he's doing for a spell.”

“And what if there had just been a club or something like that under here?”

Clint answered that by patting the gun on his hip.

“I see,” Leo said.

“So,” Clint said, “does all of that grant me the answer to my original question or do I have to wait some more?”

Leo flinched as if he'd forgotten completely about the bottle in front of him. “Oh, yes! This bottle contains one of my finest ideas in regard to my business to date.”

“You own this place outright?”

“The Dog? Naturally.”

“And you expect a new brand of liquor to bring people in by the cartload?”

“Not just a new brand,” Leo declared proudly. “It's a rare delicacy imported from across the ocean!” Uncorking the bottle, he poured half a splash into a small glass and handed it to Clint. “When it becomes known that I'm serving this, I might as well print my own supply of money.”

Clint took the glass, sniffed it, and wondered if Leo was crazy or if it would be even more insane to drink something that nearly singed the hairs in his nose after just one sniff.

Clint wasn't the sort of man who drank himself into a stupor at every opportunity, but he was no stranger to the contents of most of the bottles he could see behind Leo's bar. Since he'd already come this far, he decided to confirm his suspicion by accepting the drink he'd been given. Clint tossed it back, set the glass down, and waited for the fire to work itself all the way down to his belly.

All the while, Leo watched as if he were witnessing a miracle. “Well?” he asked before he busted at the seams. “What do you think?”

“I think it's vodka.”

“That may be one word for it, but I assure you this is something altogether—”

“No,” Clint cut in through a hacking cough. “It's potent, I'll grant you that much. But it's vodka.”

“And how would you know?”

“Because I've had it before.”

Leo picked up the bottle and scrutinized the label, which was written in another language beneath a black drawing of a wolf's head. “This is just wonderful. Then again, the way things have been going, why should I have expected anything different?”

“Did Gregor tell you he made this stuff?” Clint asked.

“No.”

“Did he say it could only be found in some far corner of the globe?”

“No,” Leo sighed. “Just that it's supposed to be rare.”

“He wasn't altogether wrong about that,” Clint said.

“But you just said you've had it before.”

“I have. That doesn't mean I've been able to find it in every saloon I've ever visited.” He actually hadn't looked for it at any other saloons, but Clint decided to keep that bit of information to himself.

Judging by the glimmer in Leo's eye, that was the right decision. “So it
is
rare?”

“I suppose so.”

“Gregor also told me that it's from one of the finest distilleries in Europe.”

“Could be.” Clint lifted the glass to his nose and took a cautious sniff. “Mind if I have another sample?”

Leo practically beamed with a smile as he poured the drink. Not only did he seem happy about doing so, but he gave Clint almost twice the amount he'd had before. He then watched as Clint brought the glass to his lips and took a slower taste. While Clint sampled the liquor, Leo drummed his fingers like an expectant father waiting to find out if he was going to have a new son or daughter. When he couldn't stand any more, he asked, “Well? What do you think?”

“I think it's very good,” Clint replied in a voice that he strained to push out. Even before he'd finished that sentence, he could feel the effect the liquor was having on him. “What . . .” He had to stop to cough a few times into his hand. “What makes you think this will be such a moneymaker?”

“Because it's different!” Leaning with his elbow on the bar, Leo said, “Running a saloon is a difficult trade. The ones that survive are the ones that have something good to offer. Something folks can't get anywhere else.”

“Like vodka?”

“For a start.”

“Then won't you need more than three bottles?”

“Eventually. What's important at the start is for me to have something that no other saloon in this town has. Fact is, no other saloon in any town throughout this county serves this fine vintage.”

“I thought vintages were just for wine,” Clint said.

Leo dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Doesn't matter,” he said. “I've been working on an advertisement that will let everyone know how rare and exotic this fine drink is and they'll have to come here to get it. Even if someplace like the Tiger's Paw or Mackie's gets their hands on a few bottles, they won't be able to get anything of this quality!”

“Before you put something in print, are you certain this is as rare as you think?”

“Of course. I visited dozens of saloons throughout New Mexico and only found one place that served anything like this. Well . . . maybe two. Anyway, what they served was absolute swill compared to this.”

Clint looked at the glass and then the bottle without figuring out how either that liquor or the man serving it could accomplish such feats. Since that wasn't his concern, he shrugged his shoulders and turned to get a look at the stage. “Tell me about Madeline,” he said.

“Ah, yes. She's another one of my exclusive attractions.”

“I can imagine.”

When Leo laughed, it was a grating combination of a grunt and a cough. To make it even worse, he added a nudge from his elbow. “Not that sort of attraction, although I imagine she is quite extraordinary in that regard.” He could only maintain his leering grin for a few seconds before adding, “She's just here to sing. She truly is a delightful girl.”

One thing that did separate Leo's place from so many others was the bit of genuine affection its owner showed to a pretty girl who worked there. That kind of change did Clint some good to see.

“She used to sing in some of the largest halls in New York City, you know,” Leo said.

“Is that so?”

“Yep. That's what she told me.”

“And how'd you get her out here?” Clint asked.

“I paid her way and matched the pay she was getting back East.” Leo dropped his voice to a whisper and nudged Clint some more. “I actually did some dealing to lower her price.”

“Was she worth it?”

“I don't know. You tell me.”

Once again, when Clint was expecting something slimy from the barkeep, he was pleasantly surprised. Instead of being offered to spend any private time with her, he was directed to the stage, where Madeline was about to sing. After pointing in that direction, Leo settled in by leaning against the bar like he was just another customer getting ready to enjoy the show.

“You seem like a nice enough fellow, Leo,” Clint said.

“I appreciate that.”

“A little misguided, but your heart's in the right place.”

Leo smiled in preparation to graciously receive that before Clint's words truly sank in. “Wait a second. Misguided?”

“Seems that way, yeah. And I'm doing you the favor of telling you straight out.”

“Umm . . . thanks.”

“You're looking to improve your saloon? It'll take more than a few bottles of expensive liquor.”

“I know,” Leo replied. “I've got other plans, too, you know.”

“Do any of those plans include a new name for the place?”

“No. Why? You don't like the Dog?”

“The Dog would be an improvement,” Clint said. “What the hell is the Dig Dog supposed to be?”

“It used to be the Digging Dog, but the fellow who painted the sign on the front window got sick and never came back.”

Clint looked at him without blinking for a few seconds. Onstage, Madeline launched into a bouncy tune that got about four of the customers to look up from what they were doing. Suddenly, he wondered why he'd even started the conversation in the first place.

“The name's fine,” Clint said. “Whatever trips your trigger.”

“What should I change it to?”

“Come to think of it, you've got bigger problems than that.”

When he heard that, Leo seemed even more upset than when he'd been pulled off his feet and dragged over the bar by the front of his shirt. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“What was that Westin fella after?”

Although he was still upset, Leo closed up tighter than a frozen clam. “Never you mind about that.”

“Come on now,” Clint prodded. “After I put my neck on the line, I don't even get to know what it was all about?”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“What do you care?” Leo snapped.

Clint leaned back against the bar with his beer and listened to Madeline sing. He couldn't decide whether staying in Larga Noche would be a colossal waste of time or one hell of a business opportunity. After thinking back to the talk he'd just had with Leo, his decision was that much easier to make. Come morning, he would toss a saddle onto Eclipse's back and get the hell out of there. For now, he had a beer to finish.