case her mouth was still swollen—and it felt so—she called a soft good night to Enid from the doorway and went quickly down the hall to her room. She throbbed from head to toe with frustrated passion and temper, and she knew she would never sleep. But to have to look at King Culhane again tonight would cripple her heart! Why, why, could he not leave her alone?
Â
Quinn helped the Mexican boy into Juarez, to the barrio where he said he wanted to be taken. His people would come for him, he promised. So Quinn left him with two women who apparently knew him and then began the long journey down to Del Rio, from whence the boy had apparently come when he was hurt. As soon as he rode into town, he went along to the commandant's headquarters, where he discussed the bandit Rodriguez.
The Mexican officer was sorry, but they could give him no help in locating the man. It was said that some of Rodriguez's cohorts had been in Del Rio just recently. However, he promised, every effort would be made to cooperate if Quinn cared to stay in Del Rio for a day or so.
Quinn agreed gratefully. That would give him some time to catch his breath and heal his saddle sores, he added, tongue-in-cheek. He left the military commander's office and went to find a telegraph office. He sent word to the Ranger post in El Paso that he was going to conduct a search in Del Rio before returning.
He was tired to death. There was a small cantina where he'd found lodging the last time he was in town. It offered a little something extra: the best girls on the border. It had been a long, dry spell between women, and Quinn needed something soft in his arms for a night. It was an urge he disliked giving rein to, but a man had his needs.
He bought himself a small whiskey and beckoned the wife of the owner to his table, discreetly inquiring if she had a girl for him.
She grinned from ear to ear. Oh, yes, she said with faint malice. She did, indeed have a girl, one who was sure to please the
Americano
. The girl was very pretty. It would cost him a lot for this one. At least five American dollars.
Quinn was intrigued. He'd never seen a pretty woman in a place like this. She must be Mexican, all the others were, but it would be worth the price if what the woman said was true.
He gave the money to the buxom woman, and she showed him to a small room far down the dirt floor of the hall.
"
Allá
," she told him, pointing to the door. "
Buenas noches, señor
," she added with a cruel smile.
Quinn frowned. It sounded as if the woman disliked the girl. He began to wonder if something was amiss here.
He opened the door and went inside, closing and locking it behind him. It was a sparse confinement, with only a chair and a bed and a tiny window. The sounds of music from the cantina drifted in the open window along with voices murmuring in Spanish.
Quinn took off his hat and tossed it onto the chair. He ran a hand through his thick blond hair and moved to the side of the bed.
A girl was lying on the serape that covered the rudely made bed. She had long, black hair that laid around her oval face like a fan. Thick black lashes laid on cheeks that were faintly flushed. Her skin was almost translucent, her lips red, a natural red, not colored. She was wearing a peasant blouse that revealed breasts like pert little apples, firm and beautifully shaped. Her waist was small, and her hips gently rounded above long, elegant legs that showed where her colorful skirt had ridden up to her thighs. Her feet were bare. Pretty feet, he thought absently.
He sat down beside her and gently ran his big hand up her waist and over her breasts. They felt as firm as they looked. She was wearing nothing under the thin blouse, and as he touched her, her nipples hardened. He could see them stand erect. She made a sound and moved on the serape, but her face was drawn as if in pain.
"Wake up, pretty girl," he said softly, and shook her gently. "She was right, you know. You are
Â
Quinn helped the Mexican boy into Juarez, to the barrio where he said he wanted to be taken. His people would come for him, he promised. So Quinn left him with two women who apparently knew him and then began the long journey down to Del Rio, from whence the boy had apparently come when he was hurt. As soon as he rode into town, he went along to the commandant's headquarters, where he discussed the bandit Rodriguez.
The Mexican officer was sorry, but they could give him no help in locating the man. It was said that some of Rodriguez's cohorts had been in Del Rio just recently. However, he promised, every effort would be made to cooperate if Quinn cared to stay in Del Rio for a day or so.
Quinn agreed gratefully. That would give him some time to catch his breath and heal his saddle sores, he added, tongue-in-cheek. He left the military commander's office and went to find a telegraph office. He sent word to the Ranger post in El Paso that he was going to conduct a search in Del Rio before returning.
He was tired to death. There was a small cantina where he'd found lodging the last time he was in town. It offered a little something extra: the best girls on the border. It had been a long, dry spell between women, and Quinn needed something soft in his arms for a night. It was an urge he disliked giving rein to, but a man had his needs.
He bought himself a small whiskey and beckoned the wife of the owner to his table, discreetly inquiring if she had a girl for him.
She grinned from ear to ear. Oh, yes, she said with faint malice. She did, indeed have a girl, one who was sure to please the
Americano
. The girl was very pretty. It would cost him a lot for this one. At least five American dollars.
Quinn was intrigued. He'd never seen a pretty woman in a place like this. She must be Mexican, all the others were, but it would be worth the price if what the woman said was true.
He gave the money to the buxom woman, and she showed him to a small room far down the dirt floor of the hall.
"
Allá
," she told him, pointing to the door. "
Buenas noches, señor
," she added with a cruel smile.
Quinn frowned. It sounded as if the woman disliked the girl. He began to wonder if something was amiss here.
He opened the door and went inside, closing and locking it behind him. It was a sparse confinement, with only a chair and a bed and a tiny window. The sounds of music from the cantina drifted in the open window along with voices murmuring in Spanish.
Quinn took off his hat and tossed it onto the chair. He ran a hand through his thick blond hair and moved to the side of the bed.
A girl was lying on the serape that covered the rudely made bed. She had long, black hair that laid around her oval face like a fan. Thick black lashes laid on cheeks that were faintly flushed. Her skin was almost translucent, her lips red, a natural red, not colored. She was wearing a peasant blouse that revealed breasts like pert little apples, firm and beautifully shaped. Her waist was small, and her hips gently rounded above long, elegant legs that showed where her colorful skirt had ridden up to her thighs. Her feet were bare. Pretty feet, he thought absently.
He sat down beside her and gently ran his big hand up her waist and over her breasts. They felt as firm as they looked. She was wearing nothing under the thin blouse, and as he touched her, her nipples hardened. He could see them stand erect. She made a sound and moved on the serape, but her face was drawn as if in pain.
"Wake up, pretty girl," he said softly, and shook her gently. "She was right, you know. You are
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