Promises Keep

  PROMISES KEEP

  An Ellora’s Cave Publication, June 2004

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

  PO Box 787

  Hudson, OH 44236-0787

  ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-962-2

  Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

  Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

  PROMISES KEEP © 2004 SARAH MCCARTY

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Edited by Pamela Campbell.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Promises Keep

  Sarah McCarty

  For Pam,

  A wonderful woman with an incredible capacity to believe and inspire. May life reward you with the same positive enthusiasm you show others.

  Sarah

  Chapter One

  Cattle Crossing, Wyoming Territory

  May, 1869

  Cougar downed his second scotch of the last twenty minutes. Quality stuff, not the rotgut he’d noticed the barkeep passing to most of the other customers who were so falling-down drunk, they couldn’t tell the difference. The luxury had cost him an arm and a leg, but the way he figured it, a man didn’t skimp when courting demons. He took a last drag of his cigarette and motioned at the barkeep to fill his glass again.

  In an obscure corner, a man pounded the keys on a beat-up piano. Disgusted, Cougar blew a stream of smoke in the direction of the scrawny man’s back. He wished the guy would just give it up. It wasn’t as if anyone could tell what tune the fool was striving for. And about all he was accomplishing with the raucous rendition was a jarring of Cougar’s already raw nerves. He flicked the cigarette onto the floor and ground it under his heel.

  Running his finger over the flimsy bar, he grimaced. He wasn’t a man overly concerned with dirt, but next time he came to one of these places, if there ever was a next time, he was going to select one with a little more emphasis on cleanliness and a lot less on obscurity. Madame Cecile’s Pleasure Emporium was so damned rickety, he kept expecting the stairs to collapse if one more saddle bum set foot on them.

  He wiped his grimy finger on his pants. One thing was for sure, it was a safe bet none of his acquaintances were going to walk through the door. For himself, he didn’t care, but if Doc got wind of this, he’d be disappointed. And Dorothy, hell, Dorothy wouldn’t say a word, but the old biddies in town would sure rub her face in it. They’d been waiting since the day the McKinnely’s took “that breed” in for him to bring shame upon Doc and his wife. Which is why he’d come to Cattle Crossing for this endeavor.

  Cattle Crossing was just a couple of miles east of his hometown Cheyenne, but they were pretty important miles. While Cheyenne was a town striving for respectability, Cattle Crossing was a cesspool of ill repute. The only people who came here, came with something to hide. So much so that anyone who recognized him wouldn’t admit it in polite company, so that was one worry off his plate.

  Which meant he still had his original worry to contend with. He swirled the scotch in his shot glass and sighed. And that worry wasn’t going to go anywhere if all he did was sit here and count the nicks in the planks set across two crates that formed the bar.

  He took a deep breath and viewed the seedy room from beneath the brim of his hat. What he beheld was shocking. Even after reminding himself that he was in one of the most disreputable whorehouses in the territory, he had to shake his head. Men and women were in various stages of mating, out in the open, without a care to privacy. He’d never in all his born days seen anything like it. Oh, he’d seen lust a time or two before, but never like this.

  He watched a young boy, barely out of knee pants, sidle up to a plump blonde. The kid was young, but his instincts were sound. With eager hands, the boy freed the woman’s full, white breasts by simply yanking down her top. She had huge nipples. Pink, fat and mouthwatering. The boy took one look, grinned big, and latched onto a nipple with voracious hunger.

  Cougar watched the couple intently, studying every nuance of the exchange, as if through sheer perseverance he could borrow some of the youngster’s heat. He looked down at his crotch and silently ordered, “React.”

  But nothing happened. He tossed back the liquor in his glass, welcoming the burn as it slid down to his stomach. As the whore led her eager client up the stairs to the cribs above, Cougar slammed the empty glass down on the battered bar. His hand curled into a tight fist beside it. Had Emily’s death unmanned him?

  It had been a year since her passing. In that entire time, he hadn’t successfully managed to bed a woman. Not once. Not even his housekeeper, whom he’d hired precisely because of her reputation in the bedroom. He motioned the barkeep for another shot as he contemplated life’s little ironies. Hell, for six months before that fateful day, ever since he’d gotten engaged to Emily, he’d walked around perpetually cocked and ready to fire.

  Emily had been everything a man could hope for in a wife. More than a half-breed should aspire to. When she’d agreed to marry him, he’d been through the roof. Blonde. Beautiful. Demure. Respectable. The perfect lady. Almost too perfect to touch. Which had him wondering if she’d meet his needs in bed. Which was why he’d pushed her so hard for a response the day before their wedding. The day she’d died.

  He took a deep breath and let it out, remembering that day. He swallowed down his scotch. Damn! She’d been shocked. The glass hit the bar with a soft thunk. Horrified when he’d touched her breast. Repulsed that he’d wanted to put his mouth there. He pushed the empty glass away, wishing he could put the memories away as easily. The glass hit the seam in the planks, tipped and then rolled with an uneven thump to the edge of the makeshift bar. She’d called him every name in the book after he’d told her what he would expect as her husband. Words he had no idea she knew. The fury of the flash flood had been nothing compared to her fury that he, a dirty savage, expected her to let him do those animalistic things to her. He righted the glass but left it teetering on the brink of disaster.

  She’d still been calling him names when the floodwaters had taken them both under. Fighting him, making it twice as hard to get them to the side of the gully. When the tree had slammed into them, she’d been wrenched out of his grip and he’d been unable to find her again. Three days later, the search party had found her body downstream. Two days after that, he’d helped put her in the ground. He gave the glass a nudge and it shattered on the floor.

  And now he was here, in a rundown excuse of a whorehouse, looking for a miracle. He turned half around, leaned his elbow against the bar and pretended a nonchalance he didn’t feel as he searched the room’s occupants. He didn’t need perfect. He just needed one woman who could break the curse Emily had left him with.

  The smoky haze permeating the dimly lit room forced him to squint as one by one, he narrowed his choices. The young prostitute heading his way looked like a “possible”. She had the wide hips and big breasts he favored in a woman even though there was too much paint on her face for his liking.

  Hell, he admitted wryly, it wasn’t the makeup he objected to. It was the woman herself. She looked like she’d been ridden hard and put up wet, but a man couldn’t be too picky at times like this. He decided to motion her over, but in the time it took for him to make the decision, she’d veered to the right, latching onto the arm of an elderly gentleman. Damn! Obviously, he was going to have to put more pep in his step if he wanted anything but leftovers tonight. He resumed his lounging position and his search.

  Despite his determination, when he heard the rustle of skirts behind him, his gut clenched. Maybe the woman was just passing by. Maybe she didn’t want to talk to him. Maybe he was getting skittish for no damned reason.

  “I couldn’t help but notice that none of my girls appear to interest you. Is there something special you require?” That voice, coming from just right of his shoulder, was pure sin and seduction. His response to it marked him as a coward because as soon as she finished the asking, he had an inclination to get moving.

  But it was too late to run and he wouldn’t allow himself to even if he could. He was done running, hiding and making excuses. He’d either bury this problem tonight or learn to live with it for the rest of his life. He pulled himself straight, turned and faced the woman.

  She was tall, he noted. Her head came to just beneath his chin. She had a shape on her that could knock a man’s jaw to the floor. And there wasn’t much of her running for cover, either. Especially above the waist. Her white breasts looked ready to take a leap for freedom from the pale blue material of her bodice. Like maybe if he held his hands out right now, he’d be just in time to catch them.

  This one had possibilities, he decided, as he met her cool blue eyes. He’d been told a man owed a whore nothing but the money on the dresser, but he found twenty-nine years of preaching just wasn’t as easy to shake as trail dust. He took off his hat.

  “I’m not sure, Ma’am.” He noticed no one else had taken off theirs. Damn, he was probably sticking out like a sore thumb, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. She was a woman despite her profession, and in his world, women were treated with respect.

  “Maybe if you could be more specific about your desires, I could help you,” she suggested in a soft, throaty voice.

  He’d come here looking f
or help with his problem. No doubt, this woman was an expert in men’s problems, a well-paid one if the pearls around her neck were real. However, he’d been hoping to sort of drift into the subject if he couldn’t avoid it altogether. Nowhere in his plans for the evening had he anticipated blurting out the humiliating suspicion that he wasn’t capable anymore.

  And he wasn’t going to start now. He settled his hat back on his head. “I’m sorry Ma’am, but I think I might have come to the wrong place.”

  A perfectly manicured hand high on his thigh halted his retreat.

  “Not necessarily,” she contradicted in that same bedroom voice, leaning her chest against his arm. The heat of her breasts burned through the blue cotton of his shirt. Her perfume mingled with the scent of sweat and smoke. A heavy floral scent. Her hand slid up his buckskins to cup his balls. He froze. He shifted his hips. Her grip tightened to the point of pain.

  He looked into her eyes and noted a ruthlessness he’d missed while admiring other assets. He had a feeling she’d squeeze his balls right off if he moved. He caught her wrist in his hand. He didn’t take orders from anyone. She arched her brow at him, the question in her eyes giving him pause. He relaxed his grip and settled his weight more solidly into his moccasins. This was her place. Her show. And until he knew where she planned on taking him, he might as well stay put.

  She petted his balls as if to reward his compliance as she said, “I have a woman upstairs who specializes in, shall we say, these ‘little problems’ that crop up now and then.”

  Her fingernail scratched along the curve of his scrotum through the supple leather of his pants. The heat of her hand penetrated the thin leather as her fingers slid behind his balls and pressed. Hot, shivery sensation shot up his spine and out to the tip of his cock.

  “Her methods may appear a bit unorthodox at first,” the woman continued rubbing those fingers in small circles, creating new sparks and increasing the sensation, “but they are successful.”

  He tightened his grip on her wrist. “Unorthodox?”

  She didn’t appear upset with his interference. Her smile broadened. She bracketed his cock with her fingers and began a milking motion through his buckskins. She pressed those huge breasts up against him and continued massaging his cock. Her cooing, “My, you are a big one,” alerted him to the fact that if he didn’t do something soon, his privates were going to be flapping in the breeze. He wasn’t a shy man and sure enough, no one would notice this little show in the corner of the bar with all that was going on, but tonight was not a night he wanted to make a spectacle of himself.

  “Ma’am, you’ve definitely misunderstood—”

  She pressed her lips to his throat. Her fingers slid inside his buckskins, under his gun belt. Damn, she was quick! He twisted to the side but she grabbed his penis like a handle and started massaging. Hard. He wasn’t sure if the slight swelling that began was because of the abuse to his flesh or the stimulation. But a response was a response and he’d come here to see if he could still have one. He let her continue.

  “Ooh, very nice.” The woman’s fingers stretched to encompass his width. “Lorraine is going to be a happy woman tonight.”

  His plan was for him to be the happy one. “I’m not sure Lorraine is going to be enough—”

  “Ah,” she breathed in his ear, her smile wickedly pleased. “So that’s it. Well, honey, taking care of that fantasy will be my pleasure.”

  She slid down his body. Her heavy perfume wafted up to envelope him as her breasts rolled down his chest, and over his belly until they came to rest at his hips. He forgot about the witnesses, the crowd. Everything except the sight of her huge breasts cushioning the bulge of his erection.

  For the first time in months, he felt a glimmer of hope. He stopped her when her hands went to his gun belt. He hitched it up and to the side instead. She made a moue with her lips, stroked his Bowie knife like it was a cock, and then pulled his blue shirt free from his pants. Her tongue dragged across the side of his belly until it tangled with the narrow line of hair that began low on his abdomen. She caught a few strands in her teeth, tugging them lightly.

  He cupped her head in his hands as her fingers went to work on the ties of his pants. Her hair felt strangely brittle to the touch, but her breath was hot and moist against his stomach, and the things her tongue was doing to his belly promised paradise for his hardening cock.

  Cougar gritted his teeth at the surge of pleasure that caught him by surprise when she pinched the head of his penis before sliding her hand down the length and lifting him free. Despite the crowd, despite his embarrassment, his cock had a mind of its own, and it was enjoying the attention.

  A hooted, “Got yourself a big one there, Cecile!” from the stairs above had the woman smiling.

  “A really nice big one,” she murmured, running her tongue over her vivid red lips. She glanced up at him from under her lashes. “You don’t mind if I warm him up for Lorraine, do you?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer but slid that brightly painted mouth around his shaft, taking him all the way to her throat. The debate of how much of a floorshow he wanted to provide died a quick death. He no longer cared.

  Fire streaked outward from his cock. The woman knew what she was doing. What started as a little interest developed into pure lust. The crowd, the hoots, all dissolved into the background. His world focused on her hot mouth and his aching cock. Pleasure he hadn’t known in months rolled over him. When Cecile pulled back to tongue fuck the tiny slit at the tip of his penis, he growled low in his throat and pulled her mouth back to where he needed it.

  “No teasing.” This was too important to him to chance anything going wrong.

  She cupped his balls in her hands, rolling them gently in her fingers as she withdrew her mouth. “But, cheri,” she glanced around the saloon, at the interest they were garnering, the money changing hands, “teasing is what this is all about.”

  Thinking about that was not good for his erection.

  Cecile motioned with her hand to someone behind him as she lapped his flagging cock. “I am sure you will be more comfortable sitting.”

  He’d be more comfortable fucking the hell out of her mouth before this moment dissolved into yet another disappointment, but when the sound of chair legs scraping the wooden floor occurred behind him, he sat.

  As much as it galled his pride, he was that desperate.

  Her glance let him know she knew what he was thinking.

  “My name is Madame Cecile. I own this place.” She tugged her neckline down until it cupped her massive breasts in a tight embrace, pushing them together and up. “You’re going to enjoy this. I promise you.”

  The nipples on her breasts were small and tight, whether from the cool air or excitement, he couldn’t tell. She massaged his cock with the tips. She put her fingers in her mouth and then spread the saliva over her cleavage. When her white flesh was wet and glistening, she took his cock, and slid it into the deep valley.

  Her flesh was hot. Fragrant. And hugged him as tight as any pussy. By rights, the top of his head should be coming off. It wasn’t.

  Cecile didn’t seem at all concerned. She shifted forward until she was braced on her forearms, her mouth hovering above his cock as it pressed into her breasts. She lapped along its length, cooing when it quivered and jerked beneath the caress. As she leaned forward to nip the base, her ample buttocks pushed out behind her.

  In the mirrors set on the wall kitty corner to the bar, he had a good view of both of them. Her white flesh was a stark contrast to the tan of his buckskins, the ruffles on her dress blending with the fringe of his knee-high moccasins, her mouth red against the darkness of his shaft as it slid through the pillowy whiteness of her breasts. She cooed again when the tip jerked against her chin and wiggled her ass like a puppy happy with its treat. In the mirror, he watched the plump flesh jiggle invitingly. So did half the patrons of the bar. Damn. That ass begged to be spanked.

  Using his grip on her hair, he pulled her back onto him, watching as her ass shimmied again. Cecile motioned to a brown-haired, beefy looking man standing to the side. Cougar judged him to be the bouncer or the local blacksmith from the abundance of muscle in his chest and arms. Immediately, new energy whipped though the saloon. Catcalls dropped to murmurs and the crowd thickened. The atmosphere took on a dark expectancy that had the hairs on the back of Cougar’s neck lifting.