Longarm 242: Red-light by Tabor Evans Page A

he’d had anything to eat. Hard on the heels of that thought came his stomach, cramping with hunger.
    Angie brought the tray over to the bed. “Can you manage by yourself, or do you want me to feed you?”
    â€œI’m a mite light-headed, but I’ll give it a try.” Longarm reached for the spoon beside the bowl.
    Before he could reach it, a wave of dizziness hit him, and he had to sag back against the pillows. Angie said firmly, “You just sit there, Custis. I’ll take care of you.”
    â€œI reckon I’d better let you,” he said reluctantly. “I wouldn’t want to spill that broth.”
    â€œAbsolutely not. It’s hot, and if you dump it in your lap, you might burn something important.”
    Longarm chuckled. She was a brazen hussy, he thought, but what else could you expect from a gal who worked in a saloon? That didn’t mean he was going to like her any less. Some of the best women he’d ever known had been the ones whom society found the least respectable.
    She spooned up some of the broth and leaned toward him, saying, “Open wide.” Longarm took the spoon in his mouth and swallowed the hot broth, and as he did so, he noticed that Angie was holding her own mouth open slightly, and her tongue darted out to lick over her lips. She was breathing a little harder, too, he realized as she continued to feed him. Obviously, it didn’t take a whole hell of a lot to get her all hot and bothered. Right about now, Longarm could say the same thing about himself.
    All in all, it was a mighty interesting meal, but Longarm was still too weak to do anything about it. He ate as much of the broth as he could and then lay back down again, letting the strength from the broth seep into him. He felt himself growing drowsy again and didn’t fight the sensation. The last thing he was aware of was Angie bending over him and pressing her lips to his forehead. “Sleep well, Custis,” she whispered.
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    Longarm tried not to lose all track of time. The curtains had been closed when Angie was in the room with him, and he had assumed it was night again. They were still closed when he awoke, but he saw strips of brightness around them that told him it was day once more.
    He was aware of something else—a pressing need in his bladder. He lay there for a moment, trying to ignore it, but that was impossible. With a groan, he pushed the covers back and started to swing his legs out of bed.
    â€œHere now! What do you think you’re doing?” a woman’s voice asked him sharply.
    Longarm froze. He was uncovered, and his manhood was standing up straight and tall, not from arousal but from the need to relieve himself. Whatever the reason, it was enough to draw the attention of the woman who was standing up from a chair on the other side of the room.
    Coolly, she appraised his shaft, then shifted her gaze to his face as if she wasn’t overly impressed. “You shouldn’t be getting out of bed,” she said. “If you need something, I’ll get it for you.”
    She was a brunette, slender in a simple gray dress. Longarm put her age somewhere between Nola Sutton and Angie. She was pretty, too. Not as elegantly lovely as Nola or as earthily attractive as Angie, but definitely pretty in a dark, intense way. Under other circumstances, Longarm was sure he would have appreciated her looks even more, but right now he had other things on his mind.
    â€œChamber pot,” he grated out.
    The woman nodded. “I’ll fetch it for you.” She went to the end of the bed and bent down to pick up a porcelain pot with a handle on it. She carried it around to Longarm.
    He practically grabbed it out of her hands. “Much obliged,” he said. When she didn’t go anywhere, he added, “That’s all. I reckon you can go now, ma’am.”
    She shook her head and said, “I don’t think so. I don’t want you falling and