| The gray and brown landscape, interrupted only by
an occasional cactus or mesquite, stretched absolutely flat for miles, low
mountains hovering in the distance. Jim reined his horse to a stop; the
Wanderer was visible through the shimmer of heat rising from the desert
floor. The nearest settlement of any size was Albuquerque, but there was
plenty of open country between here and there. He had been born and raised
in a place that was far greener and welcoming to human kind, but somehow
he felt alive and more peaceful here than any place he'd been in a long
time. Dusty moved restlessly, waiting for some sign from Jim.
"Let's go home, boy," Jim said, and the big, black horse broke into a trot that soon became a gallop. He chuckled as his horse ran away with him. Distances were difficult to judge here, but the horse was a strong runner, and they quickly put several miles behind them. Jim's heart rate rose, partly from exertion and partly from exhilaration, as they flew through the desert on his way to his iron oasis. The horse paused again a hundred yards or so from the Wanderer, and Jim patted the side of his broad neck, allowing himself a smile of anticipation before he urged the horse forward again. Instead of heading for the stable car, Jim dismounted at the back of the parlor car. He was due at Lyle Dixon's farm in three hours, and this was a brief visit to check on his injured partner and to share what information he'd gathered so far. Looping the reins over the iron grille of the Wanderer's back platform, Jim fetched cool water from a spigot at the side of the stable car, one of Artie's many innovations. The horse snacked on the sparse grasses within easy reach, happier with those than with his usual diet of hay. After rubbing his palm over the horse's neck, Jim swung up onto the platform and entered the back door of the parlor car, carefully disarming the series of clever boobytraps that protected them from unexpected and unauthorized guests. He paused in the doorway, hat in hand. Usually, he would have called a greeting to his partner, but he didn't want to wake Artie if he was sleeping. The parlor was deserted, but the scent of French perfume lingered in the air. Although Jim was as fond of women's perfume as the next man, he was of the opinion that nurses should smell of antiseptic rather than eau de cologne. When Jim had broached this opinion two days before, Artie had fixed him with a puzzled expression, but the "ministering angels" descended once again, and Jim dropped the subject to ride into town to continue their investigation. Jim spied Artie's crutches abandoned beside the doorway, and he pursed his lips, picturing his partner limping from the parlor between the two lovely girls. When Artie had been hurt, Jim had improvised a splint for his leg and borrowed a horsecart to carry him to the nearest doctor. The telegram he'd sent from Grey Ridge had requested both crutches and two nurses from Denver. He fleetingly wondered why he'd bothered with the former. Admittedly, he hadn't wanted to be saddled with the latter, but it was better to have Artie here, recuperating in his own bed, than to put him through the torture of an overland trip to that sorry excuse for a hospital in Albuquerque. The constant presence of the two women had tried Jim's patience. Two nights before, he'd stretched out on a couch in the parlor, pretending to read a book. He had caught himself listening for the low rumble of Artie's voice and the higher pitched voices of one or the other of the nurses. The indecipherable conversation lasted for several minutes, and he had risen from the couch, intending to knock on the door of the bedroom to remind the girl on duty that Mr. Gordon needed his rest. Hearing Artie's laugh and the girl's giggle, he had returned to the couch and spent a restless night. Now, standing in the parlor gazing at the crutches and twisting his hat in his hands, Jim could hear no sound from the next car. Maybe, he speculated, Artie was asleep, one of the girls dozing in the bedside chair or flipping through a book, available if her patient should need anything. Jim dropped his hat on the couch and strode determinedly across the parlor. Shoving the door open, Jim passed into the other car, but when he spied Artie hunched over his laboratory desk, he stopped with his hand on the doorknob. The desk was scattered with books, scrap metal, fuses, and beakers containing various chemicals and minerals that Jim couldn't have identified to save his life. The bunsen burner emitted a pungent odor, removing any trace of the feminine scents that had wafted through their quarters for the last week. Placing his hands on his hips, Jim said, "All right, Artie." He could hear the petulance in his own voice. Pasting a smile on his face, he forcibly swallowed his irritation, but Artie didn't look up; he hadn't even noticed that Jim had entered the room. "Where are they?" Jim demanded. Artie looked up and blinked at Jim. "Hmm?" He swung around with some difficulty, his still-casted leg resting on a chair. His usually animated face wore the distracted expression that signaled he was engaged in thought or working on a difficult problem, and Jim struggled unsuccessfully to hide a fond smile. "Who?" Artie asked, but then his attention shifted back to his desk, and he resumed scratching his pen across the sheaf of papers. "Who," Jim echoed. He strode across the room to stand behind Artie's chair. "You know who. Those nurses." He tapped Artie on the shoulder half-playfully, seeking his attention. "The last time I saw you, you looked as though you'd never walk again without the help of those nurses." When his partner continued to ignore him, Jim straightened and stepped back with a frown. "Oh, jest if you will, James, my boy," Artie said suddenly, his voice rising dramatically, "but only my grit, my pluck, and my determination enabled me to be up and about." He gestured flamboyantly at the stack of papers on the table. "And I haven't been wasting my time." "Really?" Jim leaned down to peer over Artie's shoulder, a grin returning to his face. Remembering how pale and quiet his partner had been when they had arrived at the doctor's a week ago, he was delighted to see Artie's face flushed with returning health and to hear excitement in his voice over his latest discovery, no matter how trivial that discovery might turn out to be. As Artie explained his latest innovation, Jim shifted his weight from one foot to another, feigning interest. What he really wanted to know, more than how this new explosive worked, he admitted to himself, was what had happened to the nurses. Artie looked one hundred per cent better, and Jim caught himself fervently hoping that they had been sent away. "I worked out the formula for this while lying on my bed of pain." Artie glanced back, presumably to confirm that he had Jim's full attention. "Observe carefully." He bounced the thing on the desk. "Will not explode on contact." Jim crossed his arms on his chest but made no comment. His eyes were transfixed by Artie's large, capable hands, and his mind supplied another picture: the blond nurse's delicate hand gripped in one of those hands, evident enjoyment written on Artie's face. Jim's stomach ached, but he hadn't eaten anything all day. Artie cut off a small piece of the claylike substance and rolled it into a ball, saying, "Watch the reaction to heat." Jim swallowed a sarcastic comment about his partner's own reactions to heat as Artie grasped the ball with a pair of tongs and held it toward the bunsen burner, as though he were roasting a piece of meat over a campfire. Artie spared another glance for Jim. "Stand back, James, my boy. I don't want anyone hurt in the process." Jim automatically obeyed. He'd seen enough of Artie's inventions to take him at his word, and he wasn't disappointed this time either. A flash of light, a pouf of smoke, and a loud boom shook the car. "Hey, Artie!" said Jim, thrilled by the explosion in spite of his distracting thoughts. "Pretty good, huh?" Artie's face was incandescent with pride and pleasure. "That's marvelous!" Jim exclaimed, delighted as much by Artie's excitement as by the possibilities of the thing. Artie rolled the remaining clay into a much larger ball than the one he'd already exploded. "This is yours." He smiled up at Jim. "From me." He tossed it in the air. Grinning, Jim caught it easily. He was a lucky man, he reflected. Artie always gave him such practical gifts. Artie settled back in his chair. "Now, fill me in." Jim's expression turned serious as he pushed his concerns regarding the nurses to the back of his mind. They had a job to do, a mission to which President Grant himself had assigned them. "Well, briefly, Artie, there's a land records office that doesn't want the records seen by anyone." Instead of looking surprised, Artie looked amused. "That's a little bit unusual, isn't it?" "Yeah," Jim agreed, caught up in Artie's light-hearted mood and determined to provide more amusement. "And there's a co-op store that doesn't want to sell to farmers." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other before he added, "Who, by the way, have invited me to a secret meeting tonight." Leaning forward eagerly, Artie exclaimed, "Splendid idea. Shall I meet you at the farmers? Later?" "Yeah." Jim's gaze met Artie's. "Later, Artie." Artie settled back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over Jim leisurely. Jim smiled faintly as the silence stretched out between them. He glanced around the lab again and listened to familiar sounds of the train, reassuring himself that they really were alone. Stepping around to interpose himself between the desk and the chair, Jim rested both hands on his partner's shoulders. When Artie placed his hands low on Jim's hips, despite the awkwardness of the angle, Jim forgot everything else in the pleasure of Artie's scent and touch. He bent to brush his lips against Artie's. They began with that faintest touch of lips, but Artie reached up to twine the fingers of one hand into Jim's hair, pulling him down for a deeper kiss. Artie's tongue tenderly probed Jim's mouth, and Jim groaned, his knees weakening, and his hands clutched Artie's shoulders. "Mmm, I've missed you, James," Artie murmured when the kiss ended. "You've missed me?" Jim smiled, perching on the edge of the desk. "I've only been gone for a day and a half." He massaged his hands over Artie's shoulders. "And you seemed perfectly happy with the companionship of those nurses." "Such lovely ladies," Artie confirmed with his own smile. He reached up to grasp Jim's wrists gently. "I meant to thank you for your thoughtfulness in bringing them all the way from Denver to take care of me." "You're welcome," Jim said, his smile fading away and his chest tightening, but when Artie tilted up his chin, Jim leaned over to kiss him again, and he tasted the brandy that Artie had taken with his lunch. Rubbing the nape of Artie's neck with his fingertips, his voice roughened when he said, "I don't want to talk about them. Do you think maybe...?" He left the question uncompleted as he unbuttoned Artie's vest and shirt and slid one hand inside to caress a hard nipple and then another. "Oh, yes. Definitely yes, James, my boy." Artie's eyes slid closed, his hands clutched Jim's biceps hard, and their lips met again. His tongue, wet and sweet, probed into Jim's mouth. Although Jim was enjoying the kiss, he suddenly wanted more. He straightened and gazed down at Artie. "I want to suck you." Perversely amused by his own crudeness, Jim didn't wait for an answer before he sank to his knees and fumbled open Artie's trousers. "Yes." Artie dug his hands into Jim's shoulder. "Oh, yes." His thick shaft leaked pre- ejaculate; his linen drawers were already damp with it, and Jim pushed the fabric aside to take the erection into his mouth. Artie smelled and tasted faintly of soap and fine cologne, but the scent and flavor of his musky arousal was even stronger, and that--and the texture and weight and bulk of him against Jim's tongue and filling up his mouth--fueled Jim's own desire. He lifted Artie's balls in the palm of one hand and hungrily licked the faint indentation between them. "Yes," Artie murmured again, thrusting strongly into Jim's other hand. He gripped Jim's shoulders, bunching the corduroy fabric of the jacket in his fists. "Jim, honey, take this off." His breath coming out in uneven gasps, he dropped his head to press his lips against Jim's temple. "Feels good what you're doing, but I want to see you, touch you." Somewhat reluctantly, Jim released Artie and sat back on his heels. He gazed up into Artie's brown eyes, and he nearly blushed at the sweetness of the emotion he saw there. He dropped his gaze self- consciously, shrugged out of the jacket, and unbuttoned his shirt. "Dearest boy." Artie cradled Jim's face in his hands. "Look at me, James." When Jim obeyed, Artie's eyes appeared even brighter than usual, and his hands were gentle on Jim's face. "I know I'm making a fool of myself, but do you have any idea what you do to me?" His voice broke a little, and he leaned forward to press his mouth to Jim's. "Artemus." Jim peeled away Artie's vest and shirt before he smoothed his hands over the broad shoulders. He kissed Artie again, a deep, rough, open-mouthed kiss that might have bruised a woman, but Artie met him strength for strength. "S'okay," Jim murmured as soon as his mouth released Artie's. He trailed kisses down Artie's chest and belly. "Whatever you want, Artemus, it's okay." He carefully lifted Artie in the chair, mindful of his injured leg, lifted him just enough to peel down his trousers and drawers. Kissing the point of Artie's right hip, he said, "It's just us." But he couldn't resist the lure of Artie's cock for long, and he kissed a path back to that sweet shaft. "Oh, Jim," Artie groaned as Jim's mouth closed around him. He clutched at Jim's shoulders and thrust strongly, forcing his erection against the roof of Jim's mouth, and Jim's hands moved urgently over his balls and massaged his buttocks. Caressing the generously sized cock with both hands and mouth, Jim enjoyed Artie's taste, his texture, and his soft sounds of pleasure. When he pulled Artie bodily to him, practically lifting him from the chair, he applied one slick finger to Artie's perineum, massaging firmly. When he gauged the level of Artie's arousal to be at its peak, he thrust that finger deep into his anus. "Oh." Artie convulsed in Jim's arms, and his seed spurted into Jim's waiting mouth. "Oh, James." Trembling, he wrapped his arms around Jim's shoulders and buried his face into Jim's hair, his breaths coming out in short gasps. "Oh, my dear." "Artemus." Jim closed his eyes and turned his face to rest his cheek against Artie's stomach. He rubbed one hand soothingly down Artie's back, and he licked his lips before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Embracing Artie tightly, he murmured, "I'm willing to wager that your ministering angels couldn't do anything like that for you." "Who?" Artie's voice sounded drowsy, and he rubbed his cheek against Jim's hair. He used the fingertips of his right hand to drum gently on Jim's back, absentmindedly tapping out Jim's full name in Morse code, and Jim smiled. "Who?" Jim drew away to sit back on his heels and gaze up at Artie. His smile faltered somewhat when he said, "The nurses, of course." Artie frowned and gripped Jim's shoulders. "What do Jennifer and Amber have to do with…?" His voice trailed away, his frown turned to a faint smile, and he shook Jim gently. "Is that what you've been tense about all week? Those lovely girls?" His right hand curved around to caress the nape of Jim's neck. "You're jealous that I asked you to hire someone else to empty my chamberpot. And that's why you slept on a couch in the parlor all week." Jim flushed. "When you put it that way, it sounds pretty ridiculous, but…" He stood up and crossed his arms on his chest. "Your nurses were sleeping in the stateroom," Jim reminded him. "And I couldn't exactly bunk with you when--" "Why not?" Artie demanded. "It's your bed, too." He grasped Jim's elbow. "Given the coziness of our accommodations, I doubt any guest would raise an eyebrow about our sleeping arrangements." He tilted his head to one side quizzically. "Besides, you've always said that you wouldn't be embarrassed if people knew." "I'm not embarrassed." Jim took a step forward, and he slid the fingers of his right hand into Artie's dark, soft hair. "However, you certainly seemed as though you were enjoying their companionship. If I had been sharing your bed, it might have…" Jim frowned, searching for the right word. "Interfered. It would have interfered with whatever you had going with--" "C'mon, Jim, you're being ridiculous!" Artie molded his hands over Jim's hips. "Am I?" Jim sank down to perch on the edge of the table. "I guess I only have myself to blame. I did hire them." "I gotta admit that I was surprised to see them again. It was the same leg that I'd injured last time, too, wasn't it?" Artie rubbed his hands over Jim's upper thighs before looping his fingers into the edge of the black leather chaps. "Did you know that--?" "Their duties involved a lot more than changing bedpans?" Jim tried to make it sound like a joke when he added, "Do you know every girl west of the Mississippi?" "Only the pretty ones." Artie's expression was innocent, and his hands continued to roam over Jim's thighs and between his legs, rubbing and teasing him. Jim reflected that he might have been tempted to deck his partner if it weren't for the fact that Artie's hands felt so good on him. He smoothed his hands over Artie's shoulders, and he kept his voice calm when he said, "Are they really nurses? You realize, of course, that we're violating agency policy. It's one thing to hire a pair of nurses to take care of you, but a pair of whores--" "They are nurses." Artie gripped Jim's thighs hard, annoyance flashing across his handsome face. "And I'll just bet that you checked their credentials." "Pike did," Jim admitted, flushing under Artie's scrutiny. He tried to recall the exact wording of the telegram that Pike had sent in response; he was absolutely certain that there had been no hint that Artie knew the girls. Why would there be? Jim asked himself sternly. Pike wouldn't have known either. "So, I have good old Jeremy to thank for this, do I?" Artie frowned and paused before he added, "This is about something else. I don't believe you're this upset about me toying with those girls." "Ah, Artie." Jim sighed and rubbed his right palm over his jaw. "When I'm injured or sick, you always take care of me. I don't know why I can't take care of you the same way." "I always take care of you," Artie said forcefully, "because no one else would be able to tie you to the bed long enough to recuperate properly." His expression softened, and he caressed the bare skin on Jim's side with his right hand. "You can't think that the colonel would approve of you delaying a mission because you had to nurse me." "Why not? It's what you do for me," Jim said, grasping both of Artie's hands between his own. "You're my partner. I'm sure that Richmond would understand that I can't do what I do without you." "Why, thank you, James. Good to know I'm appreciated," Artie said before his smile faded to a frown. He gazed down at their joined hands. "I don't know, Jim. I honestly don't know whether I want you to nurse me." Jim flushed and pulled his hands away. "Because you still enjoy an occasional blond or brunette, don't you? Or both at once, if you can arrange it." "I suppose I do," Artie confessed. He rubbed his own hands together self-consciously. "I suppose that I prefer struggling to walk into the parlor between two lovelies instead of being swept up in your arms and carried like a fainting woman." He threw up his hands in exasperation. "I don't know how to explain it, Jim. I really don't." "I make you feel like less of a man?" Jim clenched his fists at his sides. "What do you expect me to say to that?" He gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. "I thought that you were happy with me." "It's not that," Artie insisted, his face flushed. "When I'm injured, I meant." "I make you feel guilty about being injured?" Jim asked incredulously. "What am I doing that makes you--?" "It isn't you." Artie sighed and crossed his arms on his chest. "Well, maybe it is. I've just always preferred female nurses." He reached out to press one hand over Jim's. "Next time that I'm injured--" "I have a better idea, Artemus," Jim said with mock sternness. "Why don't you just try to be more careful, so that we don't run into this problem?" "Oh, that's a good idea, too." Artie, still seated, wrapped his arms around Jim's hips, and he rubbed his cheek against the swelling in Jim's trousers. "You could start your new duties right now, you know." He smiled wickedly up at Jim. "In spite of my walking cast, I'm going to need some help getting to the bedroom." "Mmm, Artemus." Jim's hands tightened on Artie's shoulders. His confinement in his tight trousers was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable, and he rubbed a hand over the nape of Artie's neck. "You know what I'd really like to do, don't you?" He paused, considering the logistics of sexual intercourse, and he frowned. "But I don't want to re-injure your leg, of course." "If Jennifer, Amber and I could," Artie said as he reached behind to unfasten the buckle of Jim's chaps, "I think that you and I can figure something out." He slid his hands over Jim's backside and under the leather chaps. "You know, if I were a jealous man, I wouldn't let you out of my sight wearing these things." He glanced up when he realized that Jim's hands had fallen away from his shoulders. "What is it, Jim? What's wrong?" "Where and when?" Jim asked in a strangled voice. "'Where and when' what?" Artie asked in a bewildered tone. "That's not funny any more, Artie," Jim snapped. He took a deep breath and glared down at Artie. "'Who' is the two nurses, 'what, where, and when,' apparently, was that you fucked them both in our bed while I was in the front parlor half-sick with worry for you. 'Why' is--" "There's no 'why,' Jim," Artie exclaimed. "I didn't do that." "You just said," Jim said, forcibly lowering his voice, feigning a calm that he didn't feel, "that you and Jennifer and Amber--" "I was referring to the last time they took care of me. In Denver." Artie pressed his right palm to Jim's hip. "And I never expected that something like that would upset you." "I'm not upset." Jim flushed, relieved but also embarrassed that he'd accused his partner unfairly. He smiled a faint, apologetic smile and placed his hand over Artie's hand on his right hip. "But I guess I am a little jealous. Ridiculous as it may sound." "I never thought you would care." Artie rested his cheek against Jim's thigh. "It has nothing to do with us. With how much I want you right now." "I didn't expect that I would care either." Jim bit his lower lip and looked down at Artie, considering. "Did Pike know about your affair with the nurses?" Artie leaned back in his chair to look up at Jim, a frown creasing his forehead. "Actually, James, he did. And when you mentioned that Pike had hired the nurses, it crossed my mind that the man wanted to cause trouble between us." He shook his head slowly. "I would hate to think such dire thoughts about a brother agent." "Pike and I didn't always agree when we worked together when I first joined the Secret Service, but I'm surprised that he would do anything so underhanded." Jim frowned and massaged his hands down Artie's shoulders, over his strong chest. "If that was his aim, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Like you said, what happens between you and those women has nothing to do with what's between us." "I'm relieved to hear you say that, Jim," Artie said seriously. "You know I would never do anything that I thought would jeopardize our life together." "Next time you're in Denver, you should take those ladies out. And make sure that Jeremy Pike knows about it." Jim smiled faintly, reminding himself that the ridiculous ache in his chest and stomach over an occasional dalliance was a small price to pay for the contentment he found in Artie's arms. His gaze roamed over Artie's body, temptingly bare except for the walking cast on one leg, and a delightfully wicked thought occurred to him. "Do you know the best cure for jealousy, Mr. Gordon?" "No, Mr. West, I'm not sure I do," Artie said, a faint smile tugging at the side of his mouth. "But I sure as hell hope that the cure has nothing to do with guns or knives." He rubbed one hand over Jim's ass. "I do have a couple of ideas, of course, James, my boy." "Reassertion of possession," Jim said. "That's the key." He bent and scooped Artie up in his arms with a grunt. "Why, Mr. Gordon, I believe that you've gained a few pounds." "Jim, what the--!?!?" "You did say you wanted help getting to the bedroom." Jim's mouth covered Artie's in a swift, hard kiss, and when he released Artie's mouth, he was grinning. "Reassertion of possession," Jim said again. "Reassertion of possession," Artie echoed before he looped his arms around Jim's neck, looking perfectly content to be carried. "And I suppose that you're the one planning to do the reasserting, and I'm the one who's about to be possessed." "That's what I like about you, Mr. Gordon," Jim said with a chuckle, "you're a quick study." "And I'm a good fuck, too," Artie said, and he laughed back at Jim. "That, too." Jim paused to glance at the clock on Artie's lab bench. "I'm due at the Dixon farm in two hours, you know." "That should give us just about enough time," Artie said. "As part of your duties, you may have to change the sheets after, but--" Jim silenced him with another kiss before he carried Artie to their bedroom. |