Out of the Past by J. R. Roberts

Olivia just walked in the door, and—”
    â€œI don’t want to see her.”
    â€œUh, no, I mean . . . she left.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œWith him.”
    â€œWith who?”
    â€œWith the Gunsmith.”
    â€œYou’re telling me my wife just left with Clint Adams?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œAnd you let her go?”
    â€œH-how could I have stopped them?”
    Cameron stared at Walters for a moment, then said, “How, indeed. Walters, come have a glass of whiskey.”
    â€œYes, sir!”

TWENTY-NINE
    â€œYou strike me as being a smart woman,” Clint told Olivia when they were seated with coffee and pie in front of them.
    â€œReally?” she asked. “Little ol’ me?”
    â€œI think a lot of men buy into your act,” he went on, “like your husband.”
    She sat back and lowered her voice about an octave.
    â€œOh, you can bet he bought it,” she said. “But you know what? He’s no dope. He bought what he wanted, and I give it to him.”
    â€œAnd what did he want?”
    â€œA beautiful wife to wear on his arm.”
    â€œAnd that’s it?”
    â€œYou mean, do I share his bed?” She shuddered. “No, we have a strict hands-off policy.”
    â€œSo what do you do when you want . . . hands on?”
    She smiled.
    â€œI pick the hands I want on me,” she said, “but so far I’ve had nothing but disappointment in Kansas City. There seems to be no men here who know what to do with a woman.”
    â€œThat’s a shame,” he said. “A woman like you deserves to be handled right.”
    â€œYou know,” she said, leaning forward and giving him the full effect of her green eyes, “I’ve heard stories about you.”
    â€œYou can’t believe everything you hear,” he said. “Nobody alive can have killed as many men as I’m given credit for.”
    â€œOh,” she said, “I wasn’t talking about your prowess with a gun.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œBefore I lived here,” she said, “I lived in San Francisco. I met several women who had many . . . nice things to say about you.”
    â€œThat’s good to hear,” Clint said. “I mean, having people say something nice about me for a change.”
    â€œOh,” she said, “they were very complimentary.”
    Clint leaned over his half-eaten pie and said, “And you’re curious, aren’t you?”
    â€œTo tell you the truth,” she said, “I’m desperate, and you just may be the answer to a girl’s prayer.”
    â€œSo where do we go from here, Olivia?”
    â€œI’ll bet you have a room in the best hotel in town.”
    â€œYou’d win that bet.”
    â€œThen I say we go there.”

THIRTY
    Clint thoroughly enjoyed escorting Olivia Cameron under the clerk’s nose, because he knew word would get back to her husband.
    When they got to his suite, she looked around and asked, “How did you rate the best suite in the house?”
    â€œMaybe I scared the clerk,” Clint said.
    â€œYou know my husband owns this hotel.”
    â€œI suspected as much,” he said. “Word got back to your husband pretty quick that I checked in.”
    â€œWord gets back to my husband about everything.”
    â€œIt doesn’t bother you that he’ll hear about this?”
    â€œOh, no,” she said. “It will kill him, especially if you and he are doing business.”
    â€œWe’re not doing business, exactly,” Clint said.
    She began to loosen the stays on her dress and slip out of it.
    â€œYou see, I believe your husband had a friend of mine killed.”
    She stopped just for a second, then stepped out of the dress and said, “Oh, yes? You’ll have to tell me about that . . . later.”
    She undid her undergarments, let them fall to the ground, and then stood with her hands on her