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Longarm's hand and led him to a beautiful staircase
of polished walnut.  "The bedrooms are upstairs.  Would you like
to see them?"
    "I would," Longarm
said, unable to hide his enthusiasm.
    "Then come
along."
    She led him up the
staircase and they entered the first bedroom, which had belonged
to her father.  Martha studied the room for a long time in
silence, then backed out.  When Longarm looked at her closely, he
saw that her eyes were misted with tears.
    "And this," she
said, trying to put some lilt in her voice, "was my bedroom.  He
told me he kept it exactly the way it was when I
left."
    It was decorated
in white and lavender.  There were lace curtains and a bedspread
to match.  The furniture was heavy and very expensive.
    "Nice bed," he
offered.
    "It's very
comfortable."  Martha walked over and sat down on her bed. When
Longarm remained poised beside the door, she studied him for a
moment, and then raised a finger and crooked it for him to come
join her.
    Longarm needed no
further urging.  Martha Noble was not the most beautiful woman he
had ever seen or desired.  She was pretty, but not classically
beautiful.  Her nose was a little too large, her lower jaw
slightly undershot, and her figure less than perfect.  But, after
just twenty-four hours, he felt as if he had known her forever. 
She'd gone from being critical and naive to being sympathetic and
understanding.  Martha was not the same woman who had left
Laramie on her way to confront the ghosts of her childhood in
Cheyenne.
    "Take me," she
pleaded, clutching him tightly.  "Smother me and make love to me
as hard and as long as you can!  Help me forget about last
night."
    "I can't do that,"
he said as he began to undress her.  "Not really, But I can sweep
away your doubts and fears for a while and take your mind off the
bad things of the past.  I can fill you with love."
    "Then please do
it.  Only hurry!"
    Longarm did not
profess to understand women.  He never had and he never would. 
Men who swore they understood the workings of the female mind
were either fools or liars.  All that Longarm was certain of was
his ability to make love to a woman so that, when he had to leave
her, she was happy and satisfied.
    Martha practically
tore her own clothes off, and as soon as Longarm had his boots
and pants off she was wild with desire.  "Hurry!" she begged,
reaching for his manhood.  "I want you in me now!"
    He pulled her
silken-haired thighs wide apart, and when he reached down to
guide his throbbing manhood into her honeypot, Martha was wet and
ready. He felt her fingernails dig into his muscular buttocks as
he plunged his rod into her with a series of hard, quick
thrusts.
    "Yes!" she cried,
throwing her head back and then rolling it from side to side.
 "Oh, Custis, what would I have done without you up on that
mountain?"
    "You'd have
survived," he grunted as their bodies pounded at each other like
waves crashing against rocks.  "You'd have survived!"
    She found his
mouth.  Her tongue pushed between his teeth, and he could feel
her body surging powerfully against his own.  Spurred by her
extraordinary passion, Longarm pinned her to the bed as his own
body matched her intensity.
    On and on they
went, each lifting higher and higher.  Finally, Martha threw back
her head.  A thin bead of perspiration covered her upper lip and
her eyelids fluttered as she screamed, "Oh...  oh!"
    Longarm
understood.  He felt his own control crumble like a dam in a
flood as his manhood spewed its torrent into her eager body.  And
for a few moments, he too forgot about the train wreck, the
death, and the carnage.
    She would not let
him go the rest of the afternoon.  It was only when darkness fell
on Cheyenne and his stomach was rumbling that she yielded to his
plea for food and something to drink.
    "I'll take you out
to dinner," he said.  "I doubt that there will be food in the
house."
    "You're all the
food I need."
    "I'm sorry," he
told her, "but my stomach tells