The Last Trail Drive Read Online Free

I’ll hop on.”
    â€œSounds good.”
    â€œStroke it a little for me,” she said, “while I watch. Make it hard.”
    â€œDamn, woman!” he said. “Yer dirty.”
    â€œAnd isn’t that why you come to see me?”
    â€œIt sure is.” He took his cock in his hand and started stroking it. Before long it was standing long and hard—mostly because while she smoked with her right hand, she played with herself with her left, getting herself wet and ready.
    â€œOkay,” she said, stabbing out the cigarette, “here I come.”
    She dropped her robe, straddled his legs, reached down for his cock, and then sank down on it, taking it inside.
    Hard for him to try to split her in half from here.

SEVEN
    Jack Trevor came out of the general store, stopped to light a quirley. He didn’t see the man watching him from across the street.
    He had purchased what they needed and made arrangements to have it all picked up by buckboard early the next morning. Now all he had to do was find a chuckwagon cook, and they didn’t grow on trees. You couldn’t just go into a restaurant or café and grab a cook out of the kitchen. Cooking out of a chuckwagon for a group of drovers was very different.
    If he didn’t find one, he and the other men were going to have to eat Henry Flood’s cooking the whole way. That was not an option for him.
    Â 
    Clint and Flood finished their burned steaks. It was still better than what they had eaten lately on the trail. Even burned meat was better than beans day after day.
    Over pie—peach for Clint, rhubarb for Flood—the trail boss asked, “Well? Ain’t you given it enough thought, already?”
    â€œI’m still thinking, Hank,” Clint said. “You’re asking me to give you three months of my life.”
    â€œYou got other plans for that three months?”
    â€œWell, no—”
    â€œCan you think of a better way to spend them three months?”
    â€œI can think of a lot of ways—”
    â€œOkay, never mind that part,” Flood said, waving his hands. “I know you’d rather sit at a poker table for three months.”
    â€œThat’s just one—”
    â€œWhen’s the last time you turned down a friend askin’ for help?”
    â€œThe last time a friend asked me for three months—”
    Flood sat back hard in his chair.
    â€œYer startin’ to rile me!”
    â€œOkay, take it easy,” Clint said, laughing.
    â€œStop funnin’ me like that, Clint,” Flood said. “This is real important to me.”
    â€œI know it is, Hank,” Clint said. “Look, I’ll have to send some telegrams today. I was supposed to be someplace in about two months, but I can cancel.”
    â€œSo you’ll come?” Flood asked.
    â€œAs long as nobody else on the drive objects,” Clint said.
    â€œI’m the boss,” Flood said. “Nobody’s gonna say nothin’ if I tell ’em—”
    â€œHold on,” Clint said. “I’ve been on trail drives before where there was tension between some of the men. It doesn’t make for a pleasant three months.”
    Flood scratched the beard stubble on his chin.
    â€œI guess you’re right,” he said. “Well, I’ll talk to the men. I don’t think anybody’s gonna say nothin’ about it.”
    â€œWhat about Trevor?”
    â€œI’ll talk to Jack,” Flood said. “I don’t think I’ll have a problem with him.”
    â€œWhere is Trevor anyway?” Clint asked.
    â€œHe had to go and buy some supplies,” Flood said. “And we gotta find us a cook. The one I had did a damn fool thing and now he can’t come with us.”
    â€œWhat’d he do?” Clint asked.
    â€œHe died.”
    â€œWell,” Clint said, “I might have somebody for you.”
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    Clint and Flood entered the Crystal