Read Online The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes by Linda Alvarez - Free Book Online

but the big man still had his pistol. He shoved Austin backwards and aimed.
    “Down!” DeVille yelled, and leaped. Both landed on the ground. Austin struggled free and sat up. The attacker fled, along with two others Austin hadn’t seen, in a confusing melee overflowing with drunken curses.
    “Cowards!” the widow yelled.
    Harcourt stepped into view, rifle to shoulder. A hat flew into the air as if jerked on a string; its owner kept running.
    “Great shot!” Austin said, feeling strangely euphoric.
    “I was aiming for his—Virgil, you all right?”
    In the sudden silence, DeVille’s voice trembled. He still lay on the ground. “I can’t believe, after all I’ve been through, some brainless lickfinger son of a bitch—”
    Harcourt shoved Austin to the side and yanked open DeVille’s coat. “No blood,” he said.
    “Jesus Christ, something sure hurts. Right here.”
    The Widow Larimer loomed over the men with a lantern. “Do not take the Lord’s name in vain, for if you died right now, you would surely go to the fiery pits of hell.”
    DeVille squinted up at her. “I don’t think I like you any more.”
    Events came together in Austin’s mind. “Miz Larimer, I think he saved my life.”
    Harcourt produced a dented silver case from DeVille’s coat. “And this saved his. Virgil, you don’t smoke!”
    Austin took the case and examined the bullet mashed into its tooled surface. The case would barely prise open. It held, not rolling papers at all, but pornographic playing cards. “Captain Harcourt, do you think they’ll be back?”
    The widow said, “If they do, I’ve got a whole case of shells right next to my coffee and my thunder mug. You men can leave my property to me, now. Go on, get.”
    There was no arguing with her. Austin carried Harcourt’s rifle and the silver case, then lit and hung a lantern while Harcourt assisted DeVille back into the barn.
    Once inside, DeVille snapped, “Get your damned hands off me!” and shoved Harcourt away. He spun his hat on to the pile of saddlebags, followed it with his gloves, ripped his necktie loose, then sat down, hard, on the same bale as before, wrapping his arms around his chest. He’d seemed perfectly collected while bullets whizzed by, but after his outburst, Austin could see him shaking.
    Austin said, “I think we could all do with a drink.”
    “In my saddlebag,” Harcourt said.
    Austin had not imagined spending the night sitting around the barn on hay bales, passing a flask from hand to hand with two men who had been, at suppertime, complete strangers. DeVille didn’t speak for a long time, only took two gulps of the smooth whiskey for Harcourt’s every one. The two men sat shoulder to shoulder and wore still, tight expressions that made them seem oddly alike. Austin took the flask from Harcourt’s hand and sipped, just enough for flavour and a touch of heat, and to try to ease an unexpected trembling.
    At last, DeVille said, “That damned harpy is paying me double. You can tell her.”
    Sympathy evaporating in a flash of steam, Austin snapped, “Don’t talk about her like that!”
    DeVille snatched the flask, gulped, then upended it, looking disgusted when nothing dripped out. “She was awfully mean to me. You only like her because you think females have to stick together.”
    Austin’s breathing stuttered. “What?”
    “I’ve landed on more than a few women in my time,” DeVille said, still vainly shaking the flask. “Also, you smell better than a cowboy. Doesn’t the widow know?”
    Austin glanced at Harcourt. He looked mildly curious. Austin took a deep breath and said, “The widow don’t hold with women wearing men’s clothes.”
    DeVille shrugged. “Lot of people don’t hold with me being friends with Harcourt.”
    “The reverse is also true,” Harcourt drawled. “What point are you making, Virgil?”
    DeVille smiled, though Austin noted the smile wasn’t as brilliant as before the fight. He said, “If nobody knows