Summary:  All Adam wanted to find was a bed for the night for his father.  And gets a whole lot more in the bargain.

Rating:  R (for mature readers only)  (13,350 words)

 

 

A Bed for the Night

 

By

 

Jenny Guttridge

 

 

Painter’s Point was not really worthy of the epithet ‘town’ that Adam had so freely bestowed upon it. It consisted of a single dirt street, drying fast now after the earlier rain, but still showing deep puddles in the wheel ruts: elongated mirror-bright pools that shone silver in the gradually re-emerging starlight. The street itself, typically, was wide enough for two wagons to pass one another with plenty of room to spare. It was lined on either side by eight or ten false fronted shanties, each with the customary covered boardwalk and hitching rail out front and narrow, lightless alleyways in between. It could have been any street in any small town in the west. Exactly what each of the buildings might be was hard to tell in the dark. Their painted signs were dingy and for the most part, swathed in the deepest shadow. Few lights showed at any of the windows although it was not yet late. Straining to see the ivory dial of his pocket watch, Ben Cartwright made it out to be not quite nine o’clock.

 

It was true that the saloon, mid-way along the street on the right hand side, was doing a roaring trade. Light spilled from its half-painted windows, and men came and went at a steady pace through the bat-wing doors. All the signs of raucous merry-making were clearly evident from half a block away. Ben walked his horse slowly along the street towards it in the wake of his son’s.

 

Ben was in a sour mood. He had ridden a long way to attend a sale of bankrupt stock, only to find when he arrived that both the teams of fine mules that he had intended to bid for had been withdrawn and sold privately. On reflection, he had decided it had been a mistake to travel all that way without something more than a sale flyer as an invitation. Disgruntled, and finding nothing else among the sale goods to interest him, he had started out early for home. He had thought that, with luck, they could reach Kingdom Jones’s freight depot outside of Sparks before nightfall, spend the evening jawing with Jones and push on for home first thing in the morning.

 

They would have made it too, if Adam’s horse hadn’t thrown a shoe and necessitated a stopover at a homesteader’s farm so that the boy could use the forge. And, of course, hospitality had dictated that they be offered a meal and a bed in the barn for the night. That, Ben figured, was where he had made two more mistakes. He should have either declined the meal, which, although good and wholesome, was obviously a strain on the family’s resources, had taken a while to prepare and more time still to consume with grace, or he should have accepted the bed. The afternoon had already been slipping away when they left the farm.

 

Then a sudden storm had boiled down out of the hills. The brief, but torrential downpour had not only gone a goodly way to soaking both men through; it had swelled the river to flash-flood proportions in half an hour flat and made a long detour unavoidable. So it was that they came to be in Painter’s Point, miles from anywhere marked on a map, tired, hungry despite the farmer’s generosity, cold and, in Ben’s case at least, still very damp.

 

Adam Cartwright, Ben’s eldest son and at present no more than a dark figure aboard the horse in front, rode straight on past the saloon. Ben was glad of it. He had been afraid that the boy was heading for the bar and a drink. Himself, he was in no mood for the push and shove of the barroom, the noise, or the animal heat generated by men’s massed bodies. Right now he was looking forward to supper in congenial surroundings, a good wash down with hot water if not an actual bath, and a soft, feather bed for the night.

 

A few yards further along Adam pulled his horse to a halt in the middle of the street and waited for his father to come up alongside. Ben allowed his buckskin to drift to a halt and cast an irritated glance at his son’s face.

 

Then he looked again, harder, to read the expression. Adam was sitting bolt upright and well forward in his saddle. His hands, holding the reins of his horse, were high, and his mouth was open. The look on his regular, darkly handsome face, shadowed now with a day’s growth of beard and a goodly layer of trail dirt, was one of considerable bemusement. Ben’s dark eyes turned to follow his son’s gaze: to look where he was looking and to see what he saw. The source of Adam’s fascination was a building on the left of the street, across the way from the saloon.

 

It was a large, dark structure with a high and ornately carved façade. There was no light showing at any of the windows – not even a glimmer. Ben frowned and looked closer. Come to think of it, the windows didn’t even reflect the lights of the saloon. There was no glass in them at all, not a shard.  The woodwork all around the window frames was scorched and blackened. Looking further back, behind the false frontage, Ben could see that the building itself was no more than a shell, a skeleton of charred timber without a trace of a roof left on it.

 

Ben sat back in the saddle. “I suppose,” he said with heavy irony,  “that used to be the hotel?”

 

Adam knew from the tone that his father was neither pleased nor amused. Setting his teeth together, edge to edge, he pushed his hat to the back on his head and clasped his hands together on the horn of his saddle. “Yep.” He stretched out his arms and then his back. He had spent a very long day in the saddle, and he was as stiff and as sore, if not quite so wet, as his father.

 

“I don’t imagine for a moment,” Ben remarked, “that there is another hotel in town?”

 

Adam chewed the inside of his lip. “Nope.”

 

Ben favoured him with a glare that Adam carefully avoided by studying the burned out hotel some more. “We could have made camp back by the river,” Ben said pointedly. “It would have been out of the wind, and there was wood for a fire.” He didn’t add that if they had left their river crossing until morning, his gelding might not have stumbled in the current and doused him in the icy water. He figured that by now Adam just might have got that much through his head. The boy could be quite bright at times. “It was your idea to come here.” His rich voice was loaded with sarcasm. “So where do you suggest we sleep tonight?”

 

Adam sucked a long breath through his teeth. He refrained carefully from pointing out that it had been at his father’s insistence that they had pushed on towards Sparks. By now, they could already be bedded down in the warm straw of the farmer’s barn. Better yet, Ben could have been chewing fat with the farmer, and he could have been sparking with the farmer’s undeniably pretty daughter. She had winked and smiled at him and swung her hips as she walked away. Adam would kind of liked to have stayed a while…

 

He let the breath go in a long sigh. “Heck, Pa, the hotel was here four weeks ago when I rode through. It even had a fancy chandelier in the dining room and a coach house around the back.”

 

The two men sat in their saddles and regarded the blackened husk of a building a few moments longer, as if looking at it might change something for the better. It was painfully apparent that there was no longer a chandelier, a dining room for it to hang in, nor a coach house.

 

Adam turned in his saddle and looked at the saloon. Ben saw the gleam of speculation appear in his son’s eyes. “Oh, no! I’m not sleeping in any saloon!” Ben was well aware of the practice of letting homeless men sleep in the barroom over night for the price of a quarter. Usually they were bums who had drunk themselves into a near stupor and were used to spending the night with their faces in a puddle of drink. They were thrown out in the morning so that the place could be cleaned up. Ben wasn’t the least bit interested in sharing even a makeshift bedroom with them.

 

“They might have a room in the back,” Adam suggested mildly.

 

Ben harrumphed in a tone that brooked no argument. “I’m not sleeping in a saloon!”

 

“Okay, Pa.” Adam quashed the sigh of exasperation that came unbidden to his lips, but he couldn’t quite keep the tone of it out of his voice. “Let’s tie up over there. You can have a beer, an’ I’ll go see if I can find us a room.”

 

There didn’t seem to be a whole lot of choice. Ben reined his horse round and rode over to the hitching rail outside the saloon. Adam sat a few seconds more glaring at the hotel as if it were to blame for all his immediate problems – which, in a way, it was – lifted his eyes to the sky in a moment’s silent salutation and followed along behind.

 

Ben stepped down and stretched the kinks out of his back. More than ever he felt the need of that bath and that bed. Horses were already standing hip to hip along the rail, an indication of the crush inside. Ben scowled. He wasn’t going to enjoy this one little bit. He stomped across the boardwalk and paused with his hand on the batwing door.

 

The heat and the humidity, the light, the colours, the stench of beer and spirits, of men’s sweat and woman’s cheap perfume, and the vibrant noise, piano music, shouting, swearing and singing hit him full in the face. Adam got a look that told him that he was being held personally responsible for the predicament that they were in. Ben pushed his way inside.

 

Painter’s Point was the centre of a widespread, loose-knit community of small, hard pressed businesses: dirt farms like the place they had stopped at to shoe Adam’s horse, small scrub-brush ranches, shallow-vein mines and stone-crofts quarrying the outcroppings of soft yellow stone. Folk generally were hard-pressed to make ends meet, and what little money a man had in his pocket at the end of the day tended to be spent in the saloon. All local life was there. There were cowhands and farmers, maintaining a traditional uneasy truce, miners, pig farmers, shepherds and goat herders, the latter maintaining their stock on the scrub at the very edge of the desert. None of them liked each other much. Mostly they rubbed along together in the usual, good-natured way of the west.  Fights were only occasional and real conflict, rare.

 

Men stood two deep at the bar. Ben pushed his way through and put some small coins down on the counter, signalling for a couple of beers. He was still scowling. Yelling to make himself heard in a crowded saloon was not the way he had planned to spend his evening.

 

Adam drank down most of his beer in quick gulps. He was well aware that his father’s patience was wearing thin, and if he didn’t get outside of the beverage at once then he was unlikely to get a second chance at it. Sure enough, Ben’s dark eyes soon turned in his direction.

 

“You know this town,” Ben used the word for want of a better one although he had serious misgivings about its appropriateness.  “There must be a boarding house somewhere. We can rent a room…”

 

Resigned, Adam put his slightly less than half full glass back on the bar. He held up his hands in a placating gesture. The last thing he wanted was a stand-up, toe to toe shouting match with his father in the middle of the saloon, though the Lord knew the old man was spoiling for one. “You stay right here Pa. Have another beer and a bite to eat. I’ll go and find some place for us to sleep.”

 

Outside on the boardwalk Adam took a long steadying breath and forced himself to calm down. After the hot and foetid atmosphere of the saloon, the night air was cool and still somewhat damp. In a way it was good to get away from his father for a bit. This trip, the two of them just seemed to be rubbing on each other’s nerves.

 

The last tatters of the storm clouds had drifted away towards the southeast. They left behind a sky that was moonless, deep velvet-black and spangled with shimmering stars. The heat of the earth was leeching away into the clear sky, and Adam’s breath was misting in front of his face. Before morning, the puddles in the wheel ruts would be thickly crusted with ice.

 

Shrugging further into his coat, Adam mounted his horse and rode back to the beginning of town. Memory served him correctly, and he soon found the one house with a hand-printed card in the front window. It was too dark to read, but Adam knew it proclaimed the words ‘Boarding House’ in bold black lettering. It was a neatly kept house, deceptively small, built of shaved timber boards on a wooden frame. Once, in the not too distant past, it had been painted white. Lamplight showed through red window curtains, and a storm lantern hung beneath the porch awning, not far from the door. The lantern’s flame was turned very low; it gave just enough light for Adam to see the steps that could trip him.

 

He tapped on the door and waited. He tapped again. Eventually the door opened. The woman who peered out was small of stature, stern-faced and grey haired; the hair was wound into a neat bun behind her head, and she wore steel rimmed spectacles on the bridge of her nose. Adam touched his hat to her. “’Evenin’ Ma’am. I see from your sign, you let rooms.”

 

From behind the spectacles sharp grey eyes swept over him, top to toe and back up again. Elise Haddon didn’t much like what she saw. The man was a stranger, tall and powerful, with wide shoulders underneath his coat and a broad, deep chest. Early thirties, she guessed. He looked like he’d been on the trail for a while. His clothes, shirt and pants both black beneath the mustard coloured coat, were liberally coated in caked dust and mud. His face, hard to see in the light of the lantern, looked pleasant enough but unshaven, swarthy in a day’s growth of beard. The unsteady illumination cast sharp shadows across cheek and jawline. Certainly he was not her usual sort of boarder; she catered for decent folks, mostly retired. Not at all sure she wanted this dark and dishevelled cowboy under her roof, she gave her head a shake.

 

“I don’t have any rooms available right at present.” It was almost true. There was only the box room in the back with its one narrow bed and its outlook over the woodshed.

 

Adam exhaled a long held breath. “Are you sure you can’t help me, Ma’am? It’s just for one night. There are two of us, my father and myself.  We’d be prepared to share.”

 

There was a slight tone of pleading in his voice that made Mrs. Haddon hesitate, but that little box-room was much too small for two, even if the younger one slept on the floor. Looking beyond him she could see no sign of the second man, only the bulk of a dark-coloured horse. “I’m sorry,” she said firmly, “All my rooms are taken.”

 

Adam sighed again and looked over his shoulder at the rest of the town. He suppressed a shiver – it was growing colder. “Thank you kindly for your time, Ma’am. Could you tell me, is there somewhere else…” but the door had been firmly closed in his face.

 

Three or four other houses looked likely at that end of town. Adam duly tried them all, but in each case the result was the same. All except that at one door the man of the house, a giant with a black bushy beard, saw him off with a shotgun.  Then Adam found that he’d run out of street. He rode slowly back into town.

 

As has been said, Painter’s Point was a very small town – but it had its civic pride. It boasted a sheriff all of its own, with an office and a painted sign. No one quite knew exactly how old ‘Ol’ George’ was. He had been around the town since before there was any town at all. When the job of sheriff came up, he just naturally upped and took it. Now he was a permanent installation in that office. In truth, ‘Ol’ George’ was a whole lot older than anyone would have guessed – way past the age when most other folk would have retired to a rocker on the porch, if not a bath-chair beside the fire. He held the job down because the office was a warm place to hang out, and because it gave him a good excuse not to go home to his wife ‘til late at night. Mrs. George was just as old as her husband was; she had a tongue as sharp as a razor and a temper hotter than hell.

 

‘Ol’ George’ sat comfortably behind the big sheriff’s desk with its battered, boot-scarred top and its impressive collection of old posters and paperwork, a scatter of empty coffee cups and the remains of his lunch. He looked thoughtfully at Adam from beneath bushy brows, once black, now grey, almost white. His eyes, though faded, were still bright and keenly alert. There weren’t many that could put something over on ‘Ol’ George’.

 

“I appreciate what you’re sayin’, Mister Cartwright, I surely do. But I don’t rightly see that I c’n do anythin’ ta help you.”

 

“I just need a place for my father to sleep.” By now, Adam had given up thinking about himself; he would be quite content to bed down alongside his horse in the damp and draughty stable.

 

The elderly sheriff puffed out his cheeks. “Since the hotel burned down, there ain’t that many beds in town ta hire.” To emphasise his point he gave a slow shake of his head. Then, “You tried down at Mrs. Haddon’s boardin’ house, ya say?”

 

Adam sighed. He had a feeling that, once again, he was getting absolutely nowhere. He set his teeth. “I tried the boarding house. And I tried several other places as well.”

 

“An’ I guess ol’ Eli Gant chased you off with that sawn-off scatter gun o’ his?” ‘Ol’ George’ chuckled at the thought. Eli Gant and his unfriendliness towards strangers – towards most people really, was legendary around Painter’s Point.

 

Adam leaned his hip on the desk and thought about his problem. There was no immediately apparent solution. He eyes shifted round the room: battered old furniture, cream painted walls, a pot-bellied stove belching heat, the whole lit by a couple of lanterns at least as old as the sheriff himself. His gaze slid sideways and settled on the single cell. His expression became speculative. At present the cell had no occupant, and the door stood open. It contained a single, crudely fashioned, wooden bedstead with a sacking mattress stuffed with either straw or horsehair – from where he stood Adam couldn’t tell which – and a bucket in the corner. Not exactly luxurious accommodation to be sure, but…

 

‘Ol’ George’ followed the direction of his look and shook his head again, this time, more forcefully. “Oh no, boy. I ain’t takin’ in no paying guests!” It was a fact that  ‘Ol’ George’ was not used to having inmates in his only cell. Even the Saturday night rowdies usually ran for home when he fired off his antique, salt loaded shotgun. Painters Point was a peaceable little settlement, and that was about the entire scope of George’s peacekeeping duties. He hadn’t had anyone sleep in that cell for a good six months.

 

“It’d only be for the one night,” said Adam, tentatively.

 

George was firm, “The only way you or your Pa are gonna spend the night in that-thar cell is if you do somethin’ ill-legal – like bustin’ up the saloon.” He pointed a blunt forefinger into Adam’s face. “An’ if ya do that I’m gonna lock ya both up fer a week.” His moustaches bristled. It might be an empty threat, but he figured this young fella wasn’t about to know that.

 

Holding up his hands in a gesture of self-defence Adam backed away. “All right! All right, there’s no way we’re gonna do anything like that!” On reflection he could see that it was a silly idea anyway. He could imagine what his Pa would have to say about sleeping in a gaol cell; he doubted that he’d live to hear the end of it! And as for the two of them being locked up together for a week with just one mattress and a bucket between them – it just didn’t bear thinking about!

 

“Glad ta hear it!” The sheriff subsided back into his seat.

 

Back on the boardwalk outside, Adam hook his thumbs onto the edge of his belt and leaned on the post for a bit while he considered. While he had not exactly told his father an untruth he had, sort of, misled him by omission. It was true that he had passed through Painter’s Point a number of times in recent months, both on his father’s business with Kingdom Jones, and on his own account. He had always contrived to stay overnight, but never at the hotel. Sure enough, he had breakfasted there in the pretentious dining room with its overly grand chandelier, but he hadn’t slept in any of the rooms above. His nights had been spent elsewhere. Adam Cartwright was a fully mature, adult male, and as a single man he took his pleasure where he could find it. Nevertheless, he doubted that his father would approve of exactly where he had found a bed for the night. It occurred to him that there was just the one place where he might be able to ask a favour. A thoughtful look on his face, Adam untied his horse and stepped back into the saddle.

 

The house was the only three-storey structure in town and stood last in line on the left-hand side of the street, just a little apart from the others. While not on anything like the scale of Miss Lucy’s elegant establishment in Virginia City, where ten dollars would buy you a drink and nothing more, it was comfortable and clean, a place where a man might relax in pleasant company and, eventually, take his ease with the ladies of the house. Lamplight showed at the windows, not overly bright but warm and welcoming. Adam looped the reins of his horse around the porch post and pulled on the bell-pull beside the door. While he waited, he looked over the two other horses that stood hitched to the rail: a light-boned chestnut gelding and a big bay mare. Apparently, this evening, Beth Bedford’s business was not prospering.

 

Adam was not kept standing on the doorstep for long. The door opened almost at once, and Adam stepped into a dim, tastefully decorated hallway.  It was a good deal warmer inside, he noted, than out.

 

Beth Bedford, mistress of the house, took her hand from his arm, stood way back and looked at him. A smile played about perfectly formed, lightly painted lips. While Beth was not beautiful – though she might have been once – she was still a remarkably striking woman. She had high, sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin, a mass of carefully coiffured dark hair and a flawless, golden skin. She would own, if pushed, to forty years, though truth would add ten years more to that total.  Her teeth were all her own and her slender figure kept in check by a tightly laced corset and a careful diet. She put her head on one side and her sapphire-blue eyes sparkled. “Adam Cartwright!” She was genuinely pleased to see him. She was too much a lady – and too much a businesswoman – to notice his dirty and dishevelled appearance. Two thirds of her clients were men straight out of the saddle.

 

Adam Cartwright was a good customer, not frequent but regular. He always had money, and the girls seemed to like him. They enjoyed his company more than that of most men they encountered, even vying with each other in a light-hearted way for the privilege of his attentions. Certainly he was tall, dark and handsome in the traditional way, and he had exquisite manners and grace. This evening, however, it appeared that his composure had entirely deserted him. Standing here in her hallway his shoulders were hunched, and he was fingering the brim of his hat. Beth had seen them all, the rough and the tough, the new and the old, and right now Adam looked, for all the world, as bashful and uncertain as a fifteen year old on his first visit, a dollar in his hand and his pants full of expectations.

 

Adam was doing his best to cover his confusion. He had a feeling that he might be making a terrible mistake. A woman sensitive to a man’s every emotion, Beth put her hand back on his arm. She tried to steer him into the parlour; she thought that a drink might reassure him, help him relax. Adam was unwilling to go. He had to get it said, what he’d come to say – ask what he’d come here to ask.

 

As he talked, keeping it brief, Beth’s expression changed from the politely concerned, to the bemused, to the totally incredulous. “I don’t believe it,” she said when he’d done.

 

Adam twisted his hat around some more and managed to avoid shuffling his feet. “All I need, Beth, is a room for my father to sleep in,” he concluded lamely. Behind him someone giggled. He was acutely aware that he had an audience. Ranged up the staircase from bottom to top were the working ladies of the house. They were listening and laughing and leaning on the ornate and highly polished balustrade, trying to catch his eye. It wasn’t hard. They were as pretty a bunch of fillies as a man had ever seen.

 

At the top of the flight were Faith and Hope, a perfect pair of buxom blondes; sisters they claimed, and they were very alike. So much alike that they were able to take a cruel delight in confusing a man. The confusion could be pure pleasure. Adam had learned that they were easily told apart once dressed only in their chemise. They smiled and pouted and wiggled their fingers and brought a glaze to his eyes. Next on the stair was Maggie-May – not her real name, but the one that she chose. Much smaller and darker, she was the one with the sharp, sweet mouth and the cunningly clever fingers. She gave him a wink that made him smile despite himself.

 

On the lowest step, with an elegant arm draped across the newel-post, was the raven haired Jasmine, with her dusky, satin-smooth skin and her full, dark lips. A glance from her eyes was enough was enough to set any man smouldering with desire – and Adam was not immune. Two of the girls were missing. Adam recalled the two horses outside and guessed that they were already at work. He remembered his manners in the nick of time and made a little bow. “Ladies.”

 

Beth took the moment of his distraction to wipe the grin off her face. “All you want is a room with a bed?” She was still trying to get the idea straight in her mind.

 

Pulling a long breath, Adam dragged his mind back to his immediate problem. “That’s all. My Pa’s had a long ride and a douse in the river. He needs a place to get a night’s sleep, and since the hotel burned down…” He didn’t add that Ben would have his hide if he had to bed down with the horses.

 

The woman’s bright eyes were still wide with amazement. “And no other – services?”

 

On the staircase one of the girls, Hope, Adam believed, giggled again. He set his jaw and concentrated his attention on Beth’s face. This was proving to be harder than he had ever imagined – if Pa hadn’t taken that dip in the stream, he swore he wouldn’t be doing it. He felt a flush starting around his coat collar and prayed it would not reach his ears. He had to get this resolved before he lost his composure entirely. “Just the room and the bed.”

 

Business was business, Beth supposed, and tonight, trade was slow. She agreed with a vague, fluttering shrug. “Very well. There’s a room at the top of the stairs you can use.”

 

Still amazed, she watched him step to the door. He lingered, still fiddling with his hat. Then he turned to her again, uncertainty plain on his face. “Beth, I wouldn’t want my father to know…” His brown-eyed gaze flew to the staircase and back to her face.

 

Beth’s jaw dropped. Lord, the man would have her serving breakfast on trays next. She shook her head at him. In all her years she thought she’d heard it all, but this was surely the most absurd thing ever. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said helplessly.

 

By the time Adam got back to the saloon it was getting kind of late. At least the crowd had thinned out some, and he was able to belly up to the bar. He considered ordering a shot of rye to drive out the chill but decided against it when he caught the steely look in his father’s eye. Ben had consumed two beers and a thick beef sandwich, not his usual supper fare, and it was lying heavily in his belly. His temper wasn’t any sweeter, and he’d seen enough of this saloon.

 

“And where have you been?” he demanded without ceremony.

 

Adam breathed in very carefully through set teeth. There were times, he reflected, when just the pitch of his father’s voice could make him feel about six. He stated the obvious, “I’ve been finding us a room.” Patience, he told himself, patience.

 

Ben caught the tone and glared all the harder. “You found a boarding-house in this two-horse town?”

 

Adam looked into the silvered mirror behind the bar and said, “You could call it that.”

 

Ben gave him a sharp look and let it go. Adam, it seemed was brewing for a fight, and Ben was not about to oblige him – not there and not then anyway. He was tired and cold and still damp underneath, and, right then, he’d have settled for the dirt farmer’s barn – but he wasn’t about to tell Adam that. “Come on then. Let’s go.”

 

Adam sighed and gave up hope of his drink. He followed his father into the street. He had given a boy two bits to lead their horses ‘round to the stable, and so they walked along the boardwalks to the end of town. Overhead the stars shone in silvered glory; theirs was the only light. It was cold, and the men’s breath steamed in front of their faces; underfoot the frost was already starting to form. The night was crystal clear and very dark. Adam was glad of the darkness; it made it impossible to see the house clearly. And he was glad that Ben was anxious to get inside. Himself, he was having serious doubts.

 

What had been a dubious idea to start with was preying on his mind, a mythical beast certain at any moment to jump out of the shadows and consume him alive. He didn’t believe for a moment that he was going to get away with this; he couldn’t imagine how he had ever believed he might. Chewing on his lip he tugged at the bell-pull, hearing the bell inside. He was well aware that his father was watching his face. Beth opened the door, and the two men went in.

 

Adam heaved a sigh of relief. Beth had put on a shawl that covered her shoulders and toned down the flamboyant and revealing cut of her gown. She had fastened it high at the collar with a cameo brooch, and the whole effect was quite refined – even modest. He made the necessary introductions, “Mrs. Bedford, this is my father.”

 

Beth offered her hand gracefully. “Why Adam, you didn’t tell me your father was such a charming man!”

 

Ben wondered at the first name terms. “You know my son well, Mrs. Bedford?” Behind him Adam ground his teeth.

 

Ever gracious, Beth bestowed a fond look. “We’ve done business together, on occasion.” She could see Adam rolling his eyes heavenward in some sort of mental anguish.

 

“Indeed?” Ben’s eyebrows shot up. He knew that Adam had a whole raft of business interests, some of which he didn’t talk much about. He couldn’t for a moment imagine what commercial involvement his son might have with this undeniably handsome woman. Or could he? It might be interesting, one day when he was less weary, to find out. He took a moment to look ‘round at his surroundings.  The lamps had been turned even lower since Adam’s previous visit, rendering the hallway more gloomy than dim. Ben could see that the wall coverings were green – rich, striped satin, he thought, with a golden line. An elegant coat stand stood by the door, and a fine staircase climbed to the rooms above. What puzzled him most were the gilded mirrors, two on either long wall. He had once seen their exact duplicates in a house he had visited once in New Orleans.  Also, he noticed, there was a curious fragrance in the hallway, drifting down from the upper rooms: a heady mix of cloves and sandalwood, attar of roses and, faintly, of camphor. The woman’s perfume was musk. It was a scent that evoked provocative memories – of times before his marriages and, occasionally, in between. He made a second, firmer resolution to discuss this business association more fully with Adam, just as soon as time allowed.

 

“May I offer you some supper, Mister Cartwright?” Beth gestured towards the elegant parlour just visible beyond an open door. “A drink?” Adam was pulling frantic faces behind his father’s back. The last thing he wanted was for his father to see the erotic prints that graced the parlour walls.

 

“Thank you, no. If you don’t mind I would like to retire.” Ben had already eaten. He looked at Adam who raised an eyebrow.

 

“Our room’s at the head of the stair.”

 

Ben wished Beth a cordial goodnight and followed Adam up. Adam didn’t see the speculative looks the two exchanged, or the wink she gave him, or the nod that he returned.

 

Adam stuck a match and lit the lamp. As he adjusted the flame an amber glow spread to touch every corner of the room and cast dark shadows. He was little short of delighted to discover that the room was Spartan and devoid of any feminine fripperies it might have once contained. He was also pleased that there were two beds, two cribs slung close to the floor. At least the two big men wouldn’t have to share sleeping space.

 

Ben sat down and pulled off his boots. Now that he was fed and had a bed to sleep in, he was feeling more relaxed and amiabe towards his eldest and towards the world in general. First one and then the other, he worked the ache out of his feet with his hands. “You did well, son. This will suit us just fine.”

 

Adam looked about with a studied nonchalance. He didn’t know how Beth had managed it in the time, but he was very glad that she had. Perhaps she always kept a room in reserve for clients who arrived unexpectedly with a parent in tow. He suppressed a grin at the thought.

 

Tired as he was, it didn’t take Ben long to settle in for the night. He was still damp and shivery inside from his dunk in the river, but he didn’t think that he had taken a chill. A good night’s sleep was all that he needed. He stripped to his long drawers and climbed into bed, pulling the blanket up to his ears. The mattress was soft, rather softer than he liked, and it smelled, very faintly, of lavender.

 

Adam was prowling about the room doing this and that; he was unable, it seemed, to settle. Ben watched him for a bit, but soon he began to grow warm and drowsy. “Goodnight, Adam,” he said as his eyelids closed.

 

“Goodnight, Pa.” Adam smiled a small smile. Beyond belief, he was getting away with this absurd deception. He turned out the light and undressed by the starlight that spilled in through the window. He washed himself down with water from the jug – so icy cold that it made him shiver – and got into the other bed.

 

He very soon found that he couldn’t sleep. He’d had no supper and was hungry and cold. No matter which way he turned he just couldn’t get comfortable. The sheets brushed a fresh chill on his skin every time he moved in the bed as if he burned with a fever; soon, they became clammy. He tossed and twisted, making the bed-ropes creak. He had no fear of waking his Pa. From his breathing, Ben was so fast asleep that it would take the Crack of Doom to awaken him.

 

An hour and a half later, Adam was still wide-awake, and he was still cold. He had come to the conclusion that it was neither the chill, nor the gnawing of hunger in his belly that was keeping sleep at bay – rather it was the ambience of the house itself. This was far from the first time he’s slept beneath Beth’s roof. It was the first time he’s slept – or tried to sleep – alone.

 

Down in his belly he felt a familiar tightening that he knew for certain was not caused by hunger. He considered dousing himself again in cold water. It might have eased the problem temporarily but not, he thought, for long. There was a way and a means that a man might relieve himself, were he alone on the range; that just didn’t seem the right thing to do in a room where his father slept. He lay in the bed for a little while longer, grinding his teeth against the ache. Then he threw back the blanket. There was little point in a man starving to death in a house of plenty. And besides, Beth was sure to charge him twice over for the conveniences of the house, whether he used them or not.

 

Teeth clenched against making any noise, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Adam shivered. The room had grown cold and the air chilled his feverish skin. It did little to ease his immediate predicament. He pulled on his socks and stood up. His pants proved more of a problem; it was a struggle to button them up. He didn’t bother with his shirt but reached for his boots; a man didn’t go anywhere without his boots. He listened. He was sure his father slept. Ben’s breathing was slow and even, just on the edge of a snore.

 

Opening the door just the slightest crack, he peered out. The last of Beth’s clientele had departed some time before, clumping his way noisily down the stair in iron studded boots. Now, the house was quiet. A single lamp burned low at the head of the stairs. It lighted the upper hallway, but dimly. It cast long shadows. The second staircase, which led to Beth’s rooms on the top floor of the house, was in utter darkness. Widening the gap just enough, Adam slipped out and eased the door quietly shut behind him. The click of the latch was resoundingly loud. Adam winced, but no sound came from inside the room. Apparently, Ben still slept.

 

Adam was not the only one that night who found sleep an illusive beast. Faith and Hope shared a big double bed with a duck-down mattress and drapes at either side. In the absence of other entertainment, they were sitting up in bed with a pack of cards and a cribbage board wedged into the space between them. Their room was at the end of the hallway, and, like a beacon, their light still shone ‘neath the door. Boots in hand, Adam tiptoed the length of the house. He rapped with a knuckle, but quietly. He didn’t want to raise the household and, least of all, his Pa.

 

Adam shifted his weight from foot to foot. A big man, tall and broad, he felt very foolish standing there in pants and socks, and rather vulnerable. The pride of his manhood was about to betray him, and the extent of his arousal was clear, He was very glad of the concealing gloom. He fidgeted some more.

 

After what seemed an interminable time, the latch lifted, and the door opened an inch. One blue eye peeked out. Adam smiled a winsome, hopeful smile. The blue-eyed gaze slid downward over his fine body: the powerful musculature of back and shoulders, the depth of chest, deeply bronzed and clothed in crisp, dark curls, a neat navel barely showing above the buckle of his belt and, below, the evidence of his ongoing problem. The door opened wider to reveal a second eye that exactly matched the first and a mass of fair hair that curled, a little untidily, about a very pretty face. The woman smiled a welcoming smile, and the door opened just enough for him to step inside.

 

Adam put his boots down on the floor and, without ado, took the woman into his arms. Through the thin cotton of her shift he could feel the swell of her body, the soft and rounded curves. They did little for his self-control. He pulled her hard against him, and she got some first hand experience of just how pressing the matter had become.

 

She was shorter than he was by quite a stretch. He lowered her his face to hers and kissed her as if he meant it. The blue eyes widened with amazement at the penetrating power of his tongue, and she came up struggling for breath.

 

He didn’t allow her more than a long gasp before he was back for more, but by then she had her second wind and was prepared to give as good as she got. It was rare that as fine a man as Adam Cartwright came her way, and she was going to make the most of him. Hauling back, she looked him over. His body was truly magnificent, big, strong and superbly muscled, his skin tanned and satin smooth, marked here and there by a range of interesting scars. His face was outstandingly handsome, tawny eyed and narrow nosed. Dimples played about his mouth when he smiled; his lips were soft and sensuous when he kissed, hardening with desire as his passion mounted. Right now, they were about as hard as they could be.

 

One spangled and be-ringed hand planted firmly behind his head, she twisted her fingers in his black hair and drew his mouth down for another kiss. In the same moment, her other hand slipped around his waist to the buckle of his belt. She could feel him pressing hard against her and knew the urgency of his predicament. Anxious as he was, she was afraid of losing the moment and having him make a mess of himself right there, inside his pants. She undid the buckle and, one by one, struggled with the buttons that constrained him. Adam, pawing at her through the shift, wasn’t doing a whole lot to help.

 

The last button popped free and she released the rampant root of his desire.  In this department also, his proportions were impressive. Adam sighed and groaned, his weight bearing down. “C’m here,” he muttered huskily and drove his erect virility hard against her belly. Yielding her mouth to the demands of his kiss, she closed her fingers around the core of his delight and applied enough pressure to stop the man dead in his tracks. Feeling him quiver, she smiled a secret smile. She was only just in time. Adam’s breath hissed through his teeth; he groaned again and turned his face away. She reached up and kissed him gently on the lips.

 

The crib board put aside and forgotten, the woman in the bed raised herself on an elbow and held out her hand. “Adam, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” Her gaze, equally bright and equally blue, tracked over his body. He was only slightly diminished by his close encounter and looked like he was already regaining ground. She smiled an invitation. “Why not join us?”

 

Adam licked lips still swollen with fervour. He knew these two for a keen and lively pair with winning lips and willing hips. Faith, Adam thought it was Faith who had opened the door, reluctantly relinquished her hold. He gave her a sheepish grin. “Ladies, I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion.”

 

The two of them eyed him with appreciation. “But of course.” Hope, possibly Hope, moved over in the bed and patted the place beside her.

 

Adam stripped off his socks – it had once been explained to him, quite carefully, that a man looked ridiculous in nothing but an erection and his socks – and joined the woman in the bed. She kissed him warmly in welcome, almost too warmly. As her fingers slid smoothly over his body, he responded at once, and his manhood re-surged. He all but lost his composure again.  Faith stripped off her shift and slid beneath the sheet on his other side. Adam found himself, abruptly, flat on his back with a warm cuddly woman in either arm and a great deal of physical disturbance, centrally placed. It was a position he didn’t object to at all.

 

He turned his head from side to side and kissed them each in turn. His body was straining with urgent need, burning with refreshed desire.

 

Experienced and skilful, the women moved their hands over his arms and chest and belly, playing his nerves like the strings of some fine instrument. He shivered with pure delight.

 

Faith, he knew now which one she was, covered his mouth over with hers and wouldn’t let him go. He responded with aching passion and reached for her naked breasts. Her sister, Hope, traced his body with her tongue, following the central line. Adam felt the firm, moist tip circle each flat nipple, raising them to tiny peaks. He writhed helplessly against the sheets, pinned by the soft weight of two women upon him, quite unable to move or resist, and if truth were told, resistance was the furthest thing from his mind.

 

Hope moved on. Fuelled by her own growing need, and by her wish to please this strong and handsome man, she progressed ever downwards. Her fingers traced lightly the lines of his lower ribs; her tongue burned a trail of cold fire through the fur of his chest. He snatched at his breath but his mouth was full of Faith’s mellow sweetness. His moan of anguished delight was smothered by her kiss. His head was starting to buzz. Hope scorched a trail of hot sensation across his belly. Aroused beyond endurance, he thrust his hips towards the sky. She paused, briefly, at his navel, circling that neat depression with icy fire, filling it with sweet, moist promise that seared his soul.

 

She shifted again, moving at leisurely pace over the hard, flat muscles, down towards his groin. Behind her she left a fine line of torment, heated flesh that cringed and quivered at the touch of cooler air. Small circles drawn lightly on his inner thigh, fine lines traced ever upwards from his knee, warm hands gently cupping, holding, brought him to the near edge of insanity; he couldn’t bear the pain.

 

The tip of her tongue touched him so lightly that, at first, he barely felt it. It moved back and forth along the length of manly pride. Each slow pass raised him to new, soaring heights of the most intense pleasure. She filled the deep groove with gentle kisses, all around to that vital place where nerve and sinew met in a union of ecstatic bliss. She took the tiny jewel of his exudation from between the straining lips of his engorgement and found it bitter-sweet.

 

Freeing himself, finally, from the depths of Faith’s kiss, Adam drew a great, long breath that shuddered in his lungs. His body shook with expectation. Hope closed her lips about the peak of his manhood, drawing in and sucking strongly, touching only with feather-light passes of her tongue. All caution thrown to the gods of chance, Adam cried aloud. He trembled, thrusting upwards, his body beyond control. He felt the fury building, deep within, and sought again for Faith’s sweet mouth. Sisters in spirit, the two women held him suspended for one timeless moment ‘tween heaven and hell.

 

And again he was denied. Hope’s hand closed on nerve and muscle, pinching the vital channel closed.  Adam moaned and rolled his head. Then Hope moved herself to loom up above him, straddling his hips. Guiding him firmly into that tender place she lowered herself, engulfing him with warm, moist flesh, riding him as she might the back of the finest horse. Helpless, a willing victim of his own excitement, Adam thrust, and thrust once more, feeling the trembling starting again. Now it was deeper, more fundamental, tearing the roots of his soul. Hope moved upon him, riding the wave of his pain, wrenching from him all that he had to give. He sought Faith’s kiss to silence his cry as ecstasy exploded in his body and white-hot fury jetted forth.

 

Two soft bodies snuggled warmly beside him, holding him tightly until the shaking ceased and the ragged gasp of his breathing settled. They were not yet prepared to let him go. They knew Adam Cartwright, and they knew that often, he had more than one golden coin to pay across the counter. It was their intention, tonight, to extract the fullest measure from the man. They weren’t about to let him sleep. Women of skill and experience, their hands played lightly over the taut skin of chest and belly, lingering only briefly in intimate places, waiting patiently for him to catch his breath. Whispering soft obscenities into his ears, they chewed lightly on his lobes and trailed fine lines of saliva from jaw-line to throat. They each played with a nipple and traced the lines of his lower ribs until his hips moved, and his loins stirred again with desire. Hope kissed him long and lingeringly on the mouth while Faith took time to explore the extent of his revival.

 

This time it was she who took prime position, raising herself above him and absorbing his renewed tumescence into the depths of his body. Adam’s loins flared with revitalized fire and lifted himself into her. This time it was slower, took longer. It was passion without frenzy. Faith rocked herself back and forth on his hips, moving him inside her. The feelings within him built gradually towards a new and shattering crescendo that peaked without pain. The women, Faith and Hope, watched his face as he rode the breaking wave of pleasure, and his body yielded up its vital essence yet again.

 

Nice though it might have been to have slept the night away wrapped in the double, warm embrace, waking, perhaps, from time to time for a kiss, a caress – perhaps something more – Adam knew that he had to get up. Come the light of dawn, Ben would be waking in that room down the hall. He could just imagine what his father would have to say about the satisfying of carnal desires. He could already hear the words ringing resoundingly in his ears, and the dissertation would go on for a long, long time. Sometimes he wondered if his father had ever been young. Then he thought of his own strong body and knew he wouldn’t be there at all if Ben hadn’t given way to passion, one time at least. It made him wonder.

 

He disentangled his arms and legs and, reluctantly, got out of bed. If he were to avoid the lash of his father’s tongue, he’d better be in that other bed when the sun came over the hill. He pulled on his socks and buttoned his pants – they were a whole lot easier, now, to do up. Leaning over the bed, he kissed each woman in turn. Hope wrapped her arms around his neck and tried to pull him down. For a moment he was sorely tempted by the fierceness of her lips. He promised them both – and himself – that the next time he came by he would come alone and with plenty of time on his hands. Faith’s hands tracked down over his chest, just for a moment seeking again the source of ultimate completion now concealed within the black, buttoned cloth. Adam felt another twinge and, with regret, pulled himself away.

 

At the door he paused, looking back. The sisters were cuddled together in the big feather bed. Their heads lay close on the pillows, their fair hair entwined. With their bright, blue eyes they were watching him leave. He wanted, more than anything, to remain and enjoy their good company throughout the night. Laughing softly at himself, he wished them both, “Goodnight”. Boots again in hand, he opened the door and turned out the lamp.

 

The hallway was still empty and seemed darker than before. Listening, he could hear only the sigh of his own breathing and the tick of an unseen clock, slow and sombre, filling the silence of the house. A long, woven carpet of intricate design ran the length of the passage. As he trod it, his stockinged feet made no more sound than the whisper of wool on wool.

 

The door on his right opened abruptly. Adam started. A slight form slid out of the deeper darkness within. Maggie-May draped herself provocatively against the doorframe; one arm raised high above her head, her small white fingers playing with the strands of her hair. A tiny, white skinned seductress, she smiled up at him. Her dark eyes were already aglow with the growing intensity of her feelings.

 

“I heard your step in the hall, Big Man.” May’s words were delivered in a throaty whisper that carried just as far as Adam’s ears. She smiled a slow smile.

 

Adam thought about that. He knew that he had made no noise at all. He took a step closer, smiling himself. “You didn’t hear me. You were lying in wait.”

 

“And how could you possibly know that?” May reached out and entwined the tiny fingers of one white hand in among the dark curls of his chest hair. Narrow and slanted like those of a cat, her eyes were half closed. He saw a glitter in her eye, in between the lids, and wondered how much she might have heard of his encounter in the room across the hall. Standing there in chest hair and socks, Adam felt at some slight disadvantage.

 

He covered her small hand with his, an action that belied his words. “I have to go.”

 

“What’s your hurry?” she asked, reasonably enough. Without giving him time to muster an answer she reached up and slid her other arm around his neck. She lifted the white oval of her face, but still he had to reach a long way down to brush her lips with his. “You could stay with me a while.” She murmured huskily.

 

Adam disengaged the arm from around his neck. He kissed the small white fingers, one by one. “I have to go,” he said again, but his voice still lacked the solid ring of conviction.

 

May’s smile widened to show small, sharp teeth. “Later, you can go.” Her small body seemed to writhe within the confines of her silken robe. Her fingers tightened in the dense mat of his curls, drawing him towards her and the door of the darkened room. Adam winced at the pain but allowed himself to be led; all of a sudden, he was in no hurry at all.

 

Maggie-May was a diminutive lady who wore her dark hair piled loosely to give herself a little extra height. Standing before him, she allowed the silken robe to fall from her shoulders. It shimmered as it dropped to form a pool of softly folded fabric at her feet. Beneath it, she was clad only in the skin that God had given her, purest white. In the silver starlight that fell through the window her body gleamed in the darkness, faintly luminescent. Adam was reminded of a picture he had once seen, long ago and far away, reproduced in the pages of a book: a statue of Roman design. Her form was minute, but utterly perfect: pert, upturned breasts, a slender waist that he could span easily with his two hands, flaring hips and a soft rounded belly. Below was tufted darkness, mystery concealed. At the sight of her, he felt his body stir.

 

May heard the catch of his breath, and her look became sly. She stepped forward out of the folds of her robe and reached up to put both her arms around his neck. Her lips were soft on his, and her mouth was honey-sweet. Unnoticed, she took the boots from his hand and dropped them somewhere in the dark. Adam put both hands on her naked back, feeling the play of muscle beneath fine, white skin.  May moved herself against him. Her breasts, hardened with desire, pressed against his chest. The fingers of one hand were still entangled in his spiralled curls; the others manipulated the buckle of his belt, and then, the buttons below.

 

Adam’s hands explored the small and secret places of her body. Knowing that he played with fire, he probed the depths of her mouth with his tongue, seeking the source of the sweetness. Always, he had found it an enigma. For a moment, she was content to let him probe, enjoying the masculine power of his fine body, the strength of his frame and the sheer size of him pressing against her.  Digging deep, the sharp nails of her fingers seared molten tracks along his spine and over the hard mound of his rump. Moaning softly, his hands tightened on her buttocks, and he drew her onto the swell of his newly awakened manhood.

 

May nipped him smartly on the lip and made him yelp. Twisting her fingers again into the crisp, dark curls; she inflicted small agonies that only added to his increasing arousal. Stretching up, she whispered into the curve of his ear. “Not so fast, Big Man.” She wasn’t about to let him spend himself so quickly.

 

Still holding her, he touched his tongue to the sore spot on his lip. He laughed softly. He said, “But I want you now.” And he meant it, every word.

 

She backed away, pulling him with her toward the bed with its rumpled counterpane, and he went willingly enough. They lay down together wrapped in each other’s arms. Brief pain forgotten, he drew her close and covered her lips with his mouth. He lifted his knee to her hip, raising himself. She wriggled in his grasp, fighting with him for dominance. Adam remembered this game well. He laughed and fought her back. She bit his ears, his neck, his chin, inflicting each small cruelty with tiny, razor edged teeth – little pains that added up to pleasure.

 

Adam responded in kind. Pinching her nipples, he rolled her over, holding her down. She struggled beneath him, her frenzy increasing. She bit him, scratched him and gouged; he felt the fire as her nails clawed his back.  She tried to knee him between the legs. In self-defence, he put his weight on her, holding her wrists with his hands. He kissed her long and hard, forcing her jaws apart and holding them open with his. He probed the depths of her mouth with his tongue. He knew she would bite him if she could; that danger added fuel to the fire that burned in his belly.

 

May’s fingers dug deep. They slipped in his sweat. He thought that her nails drew blood. Both of them were breathing hard. He released her mouth and grabbed her hands again, raising them above her head and holding them there, pressed into the pillow. She lunged at him and tried to bite the tip of his nose. Adam lowered himself down, as ready for her as she was for him. He found her heated within, and moist, yearning towards him even as she battled with his strength. Swollen flesh pierced her innermost defence, and a wave of the most intense pleasure threatened to engulf his senses. He felt her muscles clenching about him, drawing him, holding him fast. She reared against him, her hips bucking wildly. With one hand on her breast, the other bearing his weight, he held himself deeply embedded, riding out the frantic storm as it gathered about and inside him. Only in the final moments did he allow himself to move, driving hard into the close confines of her body, matching his rhythm exactly to hers. His climax came in a shuddering burst that burned through his body into his brain.

 

As his breath hissed in, and his body quaked, May wrapped her legs tightly around him. She held him fast, and now, her mouth sought eagerly for his. He felt her writhe against him, holding him fast inside her. Coming, in moments, to quivering completion, she squealed with the power of her release and bit his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark on his skin. Breathless and sweat-soaked, they subsided together into the tangle of sheets.

 

May curled against him, her knees pulled up into the hard plane of his belly. She nibbled his nipples and pulled at his curls until he yelped, doing her best to arouse him again. Carefully avoiding the nip of her teeth, Adam kissed her on the face and slipped from the bed. For tonight, one round with May was enough! She came after him on hands and knees, hissing with desire. Laughing, he backed away, fighting off her advances even as he fumbled into his pants and hunted in the dark for his lost socks.

 

She locked her arms around his knees. “Big man, please stay a while.” In her small face, her eyes were large, dark and pleading. “Stay with me.”

 

“Another time.” He swung her tiny body up into his arms, kissed her on the mouth and bounced her on to the bed.

 

Outside in the hallway, he paused for breath. His body was sated, but he was not satisfied. Still, he was not tired. Instead he was exhilarated and charged with a boundless zest. The prospect of a cold and lonely bed held not the slightest attraction, and there were long hours yet before morning. Right across the hall was the door to Jasmine’s room. Adam hesitated, consulting with his inner self, and then knocked lightly on the frame. A muffled response came from within.

 

Jasmine sat up in bed and welcomed him with a sleepy smile. A small night-light burned on her night table. It filled the room with a faint, steady radiance and ink-black shadows. The air was heady, redolent with her perfume. The room itself was warmer than the hallway outside. Against the purity of the white sheets, the woman’s skin was dusky-dark, a contrast that always startled and enticed him. A slow grin spread across his handsome face, and he leaned his shoulders against the door, analyzing and enjoying the flow of his feelings. Jasmine was an altogether different type of woman. She made no demands and set no parameters. She was soft and compliant and willing to please. Her bed was always warm and her arms welcoming.

 

Adam walked across to the bed and sat himself down on the edge. She lifted herself up into the arc of his arms and kissed him gently on the mouth. “Adam,” she sighed, “I had hoped that you would come. It was getting so late.”

 

Adam murmured into her neck. “Never too late for you, my dove.”

 

Jasmine wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her lips gently over his. Her body was yielding and inviting, yearning towards him. Adam sighed. His eyes closed, dark lashes rested on his cheek. He tasted the nectar of her mouth and felt the cool softness of her breasts against his chest. His arms tightened about her, just a little, and he drew her against him – not with urgency but with promise. He felt her breasts harden. The pads of her fingers moved over his shoulders and down his back, soothing away the very last vestige of lingering pain. She traced the line of his waist about the leather of his belt, then tracked back over the lightly padded ridges of his ribs. She moaned and moved against him, conveying her desire with invitation, not demand.

 

Adam released her from his arms just long enough to step out of his pants and pull off his socks. Jasmine lifted the sheet, and, naked, he slid alongside her. She wrapped him again in her arms and covered his face with gentle kisses. Comfortable and comforted, he lay beside her, his body slowly warming. His fingers traced lightly over her breasts. Satin-smooth, they filled his hands; the nipples, erect, were hard against his palm. He felt her stir, her hip rising to him, and quieted her to patience with a soft word in her ear.

 

Warm and feather light, her fingers drifted over him. They lingered on old, remembered scars, easing the memory of pain in his mind. They followed the smooth lines of his muscles as they flowed over his shoulders and down his back. They rested a while on the hard swell of his rump before moving on down the line of his thigh.

 

Adam groaned and nuzzled her neck; his strong teeth pulled gently at the silken skin of her throat and raised her to the soaring heights of desire. Jasmine writhed against him. She mewed with burgeoning passion. He came slowly to arousal, enticed by her need and stimulated by her touch. At last he lifted himself above her and insinuated the potent totem of his power. Her soft folds closed around him. She sighed, long and deep, as he filled her with his flesh and with his essence.

 

Gently, they moved against each other, each sipping wine from a cup brim-full. There was no throb of flesh or frenzied fire. Liquid, languid warmth spread from that vital place within his loins and engulfed his senses. He submerged in an ocean of sensuous pleasure and felt her body quiver against him as she discovered her own relief.

 

Jasmine’s bed was warm and her arms enfolding. Adam knew that, once again, he had to move. The unseen clock, somewhere within the house, had already chimed two, and on the morrow there was a lot of hard riding that had to be done. His father would expect him to be bright eyed and bushy tailed, full of the joys of the coming spring and lively conversation. Tired as he was right now, he would have a job to stay awake in the saddle. He really ought the get some sleep. A smile of satisfaction touched his lip. Replete and disinclined to stir himself, Adam dozed. In just a moment, he would go and seek those chilly sheets.

 

Only once he roused, when Jasmine moved herself against him. Sleepily, he snuggled her head against his chest and drifted off again on a sea of pleasant dreams.

 

When next he woke, they were cupped together like a pair of spoons. Her dark hair was in his face; the rounded mound of her butt was pressed against his groin, and her breasts were cupped in the palms of his hands. Adam was still considering, drowsily, possibilities of the situation when it occurred to him, somewhat abruptly, that he was in altogether the wrong bed!

 

On the dresser, the candle had guttered out. The first glimmer of light was in the sky above the eastern hill. He sat up with a start. Jasmine sighed and turned over, gathering the sheets about her, reaching for him. Adam didn’t have time to be tempted. He sat up on the edge of the bed and started fumbling his way into his pants.

 

Jasmine wriggled over and wrapped her arms around his waist. She snuggled her cheek into the small of his back. Adam squirmed in a vain attempt to free himself. Jasmine merely tightened her arms and held him more snuggly. He covered her hands with his and tried to pry them loose.  She cuddled him closer, her hands clasped together in his lap. He wasn’t having any luck at all with his pants.

 

Adam finally realized what he was doing wrong. In his hurry he was trying to get both feet down one pant leg. It just wasn’t going to work, so he started over.

 

Jasmine sat up, still sleepy and just a little grumpy. “Adam, honey? Come back into bed.”

 

Adam leaned over to kiss her behind the ear. “Sweetheart, I can’t.” He had finally got his pants up over his butt and was struggling to button them up. “I have to get going.” He groped under the bed for a missing sock.

 

Jasmine pouted. It made her beautiful face even more kissable. Adam’s breath caught in his throat. He leaned down and did that small thing one more time, right on the mouth. Her lips parted and the kiss lingered far longer than he had intended. In the end, he had to disengage her arms from around his neck. “I’ll be back,” he promised, “One day soon, I’ll be back.”

 

The house was still quiet, but, from the rooms below, the smell of fresh coffee was rising up the stairs. It was enough to make a strong man’s mouth water. With his teeth clenched together, Adam stepped lightly across the hall. He eased himself silently back into the room at the head of the stairs.

 

This room faced west and was still in darkness.  The squared shape of the window was a faintly lighter shade of grey in the gloom. As his eyes adjusted, Adam could see that everything was just as he’d left it. The chairs piled with their clothes, the jug and basin, their saddlebags piled on the dresser. His father lay flat on his back in his bed, snoring very softly. On his own cot, the sheets were heaped in an untidy pile, mute witness to his earlier discomfort. Adam smiled a small smile. He crept over and sat down on the edge of his cot. He took off his socks and started to unbutton his pants – there might be time for just one more hour in bed.

 

Ben snorted and woke up. He rolled onto his elbow and squinted at his son. “Where are you going this early?”

 

“I was just going to fetch up the horses. Pa.” Hastily, Adam reversed his actions and once more buttoned himself up. Quite obviously, there was going to be no more sleep for him.

 

Ben grumbled and grunted, still in the process of waking up. He knew Adam for an early riser, but he couldn’t make out why the boy was about quite this soon. He could see shadows under Adam’s eyes and a dark growth of beard on his cheek. He didn’t look very well rested – didn’t look like he’d slept much at all. A frown settled on Ben’s face. It was kind of hard to tell in the half light of early morning, but it sure looked like Adam had picked up a nasty bruise, right on the point of his shoulder. It would be interesting, later, perhaps on the way home, to hear him explain exactly how he had got that.

 

Adam had discovered, to his dismay that somewhere along the line he had left his boots in one of the lady’s rooms. He wasn’t at all sure which. To cover his confusion he went to the dresser and made an elaborate show of shaving himself in cold water from the basin. The chill of the water and the keenness of the razor served, somewhat, to sharpen his awareness.  He felt he needed something to hone his reactions. He figured that when Ben saw him leaving the room in his stockinged feet, he could expect some very pointed questions. He was not at all sure where he was going to find the answers.

 

As Adam stood at the mirror and shaved, Ben studied his back. He couldn’t help thinking that his son must have tangled with a wildcat sometime in the small hours of the night. That was something else that he saved up for a later conversation. Ben sat up and rubbed his unshaven jaw. “Can you get any coffee in this place, son?”

 

Adam heaved a sigh. At least his father’s mood was more amicable than it had been for a day or two past. The often-barked ‘boy’ had reverted to ‘son’. “I think I smell some cooking downstairs.”

 

“That’s good.” Ben got out of bed and padded over to the dresser. In the mirror, he examined his face. Coffee in the morning made the world worth getting up for. Over his shoulder, reflected in the glass, he watched Adam tuck in his shirttails and strap on his gun. He took a long step toward the door; he was certainly intending to go somewhere. “Make sure those horses have had a good feed.” Ben said sharply and had the small satisfaction of seeing Adam jump.

 

The perennial look of sorely tried patience came to Adam’s face. “I’ll check on it Pa,” he said through clenched teeth.  Ben turned and looked him over, slowly, from head to toe. His gaze came to rest on Adam’s feet. Ben lifted an inquiring eyebrow. Adam looked down. His white-stockinged feet showed plainly beneath the cuffs of his black pants. He decided not to look his father in the face. He planted his hat firmly on his head and tipped it a long way forward so that his eyes were out of sight beneath the brim. Lips pursed, as if he whistled a soundless tune, he stepped out in to the hallway and closed the door behind him.

 

Beth didn’t ‘do’ breakfast. She did serve coffee to her occasional overnight clients in the small dining room that graced the back of the house. By the time Adam had recovered his boots from along the hall and returned from the stable with the horses, Ben was installed there and drinking his second cup.

 

Demurely elegant in a high-collared, dark-coloured dress, Beth poured a cupful for Adam. They exchanged smiles and polite “Good mornings.”

 

Ben, washed and clean-shaven, was feeling benevolent and expansive. Unbeknown to Adam, Beth had taken the time and the trouble to dry his damp clothes beside the kitchen stove. They’d still been warm when he put them on. He smiled at his son and made an expansive gesture. “I was just telling Mrs. Bedford what a delightful house she has here, right on the edge of town.”

 

Adam choked on his coffee. He wondered just how much of Beth’s house his father had managed to see.

Beth’s eyes sparkled and she smiled at them both.

 

“Your father has just been telling me how I might set up a little business here, baking or sewing or perhaps taking boarders. There might be a call for that, now that the hotel had burned down.”

 

Adam stared at her. He had the distinct feeling that one of them was making him the butt of a joke, but he wasn’t quite sure which. Looking from one to the other, he realised his mouth was open and closed it, carefully. He detected not the slightest guile. “That’d be real nice,” was all he could think of to say. Beth refilled his cup from the black iron pot, and he swallowed the scalding brew down.

 

To his relief, Ben was anxious to be on his way. He was already up on his feet, hat in hand, and shaking hands with Beth. “Mrs. Bedford, it’s been a real pleasure to stay under your roof – a real pleasure.”

 

Again Adam had that crawly feeling run up his spine. Eyes narrowed, he looked at them both.

 

Beth was every inch the lady. She even allowed Ben to kiss her hand. “You be sure to call next time you’re passing.”

 

“That I surely will.” Ben went out into the hall and left Adam to settle the account with Beth. As he had suspected, she charged him full measure for the use of all the facilities. He supposed he couldn’t complain. He paid up and hurried after his father.

 

Ben had got just as far as the hallway. Adam found him confronted by a line of young ladies, all in their robes. Ben looked – Adam could only think of the expression as ‘bemused’. He found an explanation on the tip of his golden tongue. “These are Beth’s daughters, Pa,” he said with a glibness that surprised himself. Behind him, Beth rolled her eyes.

 

“Indeed?” Ben’s gaze worked its way along the line: a pair of shapely, blue-eyed blondes similar enough to be sisters, if not twins, a diminutive, dark haired woman with huge dark eyes and a tiny mouth and on the end, an octoroon, unless he missed his guess. He didn’t believe a word that Adam said. “Ladies,” he said with a polite nod of the head. Down at the end of the line, Hope giggled. Ben favoured his son with a withering glance.

 

Helplessly, Adam shrugged. He had done what he could. He had found his Pa a bed for the night, and now, he guessed he was going to have some explaining to do. He figured that it was going to be a long, long ride back to the Ponderosa. Sighing, he collected his coat from the coat-stand and followed his father out.

 

The sun had lifted itself over the hill, and the ground was starting to steam. Adam climbed into the saddle. He was hungry, and he was tired, and he had a number of sore spots he couldn’t explain. His thoughts were turning, understandably, to breakfast. He pulled his horse away from the rail and kicked him in the ribs. He was wondering if that saloon did good ham and eggs.

 

Beth had come on to the porch to watch them ride away. Ben raised his hat. She smiled. He winked. There was an exchange of expressions that Adam didn’t see. Ben turned the buckskin’s head and followed his son into town.

 

Potters Bar 2001

 

Tags: Adam Cartwright, Ben Cartwright