Guadalupe's Tears Read Free

hairs on the back of his arms go up. Yet, Lee stood his ground. “What kind of a place is this where a man can’t even fill his canteen?”
    “The kind that wants you gone,” the shorter, swarthier of the three day riders said. “If you’re smart you’ll get out of here and you won’t come back.”
    “And you won’t tell nobody about us neither,” said the wiry day rider who was standing behind him. “Not if you know what’s good for you,”
    “Nothing would give me greater pleasure to get out of your...town...” Lee scathed. “But I have a little problem with that. I ain’t got a horse, and your livery man took off like his ass was ablaze.”
    “Sounds like a tough luck story to me, friend,” the swarthy man said.
    “And like Bruce said, we ain’t got no livery.”
    “You can always go out and sleep with the injuns, if you can catch one. Them Comanche gals are pretty hard to hold I hear.” The third one snickered.
    “I don’t give a shit about that,” Lee blurted. “And you’re right, boys. I think I will be on my way.” He backed slowly away from the bar, bumping the wiry man hard on the shoulder as he went. He tipped his hat to the picture on behind the bar. “And give my regards to the lady in the picture.”
    All three men stiffened. The wiry day rider put his hand on his holster. “I think it’s best you be gone now,” he said softly. “Sundown is on us. You won’t want to be here when the sun goes down.”
    Lee uttered a short laugh. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard, friend. What happens at sundown that you don’t want me to see?”
    “I ain’t your friend. And I’m telling you now to get out...” He paused; cast a wary glance at the stairwell. “Now, before things turn really bad for you.”
    “Bruce darling, why are you being so inhospitable to our guest?” A woman’s voice, indolent and sultry, came from the top of the stairwell.
    The day riders scattered like frightened mice into the dark recesses of the saloon. Bruce the bartender blanched his eyes wide. He stared at Lee who cut his eyes toward the door, his expression desperate. Lee didn’t get it. What was the barkeep trying to say?
    “Give him a beer,” the woman commanded as she descended the steps like a queen. Her eyes riveted him in a way Lee found erotic and terrifying at the same time. Somewhere buried in the back of his mind a voice told him to run, yet he did not.
    “You’re the woman in the portrait,” he stammered.
    “And food. We have plenty to spare,” she said, ignoring his comment. The portrait didn’t do justice to the woman who stood before him. Her skin was the color of fine porcelain, her rich auburn hair piled high onto her head the way he’d seen fancy ladies in San Francisco wear theirs. She wore a red velvet dress that accentuated her curves in a way that made Lee think of things other than his trip to Fort Stockton. She stepped up to him. Her scent was intoxicating, her eyes hypnotic, and her body heat craving sex.
    “Ma’am,” he said touching the brim of his hat as he stepped back and found himself buttressed up against a barstool. The woman moved closer to him, appraising him with her spectral eyes, which the artist, Lee noted, hadn’t fully captured. Without looking at Bruce she said, “Darling, aren’t you going to introduce me to this most remarkable man?”
    “I can’t say who he is, Miss Phaedra,” Bruce the barkeep choked. He sloshed beer into a glass with a trembling hand. He set it down in front of Lee. “The girl will be bringing out your supper directly.” He shuffled his feet, then wiped sweat from his brow with the bar towel. “That’ll be ten cents for dinner and the beer.”
    “It’s on the house,” Phaedra said, her voice husky as she stood nose to nose with Lee. Lee felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Her heat, her breath, her very essence pulsed of power and lust. Lee found himself yearning to bed her, then run away screaming