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up here. Food, beer, and women, that’s what they’re usually after.”
    He didn’t like being lumped in with the others, but that had been what he’d been after, too. There was no getting around it.
    He got on the bed with her and she lay back. He ran his hands over her skin, touched her nipples with the tip of his forefinger until she giggled and grabbed hold of it.
    â€œI get the feeling you’re a violent man,” she said. “Out of bed.”
    â€œI am,” he admitted.
    â€œThen why are you so gentle with me?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWere you gentle with women before you went to prison?” she asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhen you were in prison, did you do anything . . .” She trailed off.
    â€œAnything . . . like what?”
    â€œYou know,” she said. “With other . . . men?”
    â€œWhat? No.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that other men, when they come here it’s because . . . you know, they have to prove something to themselves.”
    â€œNo,” he said, “like you said. I’m a violent man. As soon as I got inside I made it clear I was to be left alone.”
    â€œThat’s good,” she said. “You’re strong.”
    â€œI thought we said that already.”
    â€œNo,” she replied, “we said you were violent. Strong men are not always violent.”
    â€œI don’t think I know the difference,” he said.
    â€œThat’s okay,” she said, “I do.”
    She pushed him down onto his back and straddled him. She smiled down at him while she tucked his hard cock inside of her. He groaned as her heat closed in on him. She began to ride him slowly, her slim body undulating rhythmically. He moved his hands over her, and finally came to rest on her lower back, just above her buttocks. As she began to move faster, though, she leaned forward so that his hands could slide right beneath and grab hold of her butt.
    Abruptly, he flipped her over, managing to do it without sliding out of her. He was thinking he’d show her who was gentle. He got up onto his knees, grabbed her slender ankles and spread her legs wide. He fucked her hard, then, the bed actually bouncing on the floor, the sound of their slapping flesh filling the air. At one point she began to jerk her hips up toward him with each stroke so they came together even harder. It was as if they were each trying to prove how gentle they were not .

TWELVE
    Clint decided it was time to leave Labyrinth and hit the trail again.
    â€œThe day’s gonna come, my friend,” Rick Hartman said, “when getting back in the saddle is not gonna sound so appealing to you.”
    â€œEither that, or somebody will shoot me out of it for good,” Clint said.
    They were in Rick’s Place the next morning, Clint sharing Rick’s regular breakfast with him. Rick’s had a full kitchen, and while they didn’t offer food to their patrons—except for some hard-boiled eggs and sandwiches, which they put on the bar—Rick always had a full breakfast prepared for him each morning. Sometimes, when Clint was in town, he had breakfast with his friend.
    â€œWell, I’d prefer my idea, if you don’t mind,” Hartman said. “And when that day comes, what are you gonna do?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Clint said. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t thought about it much.”
    Which wasn’t exactly true. Clint actually did expect to be shot out of his saddle, or outdrawn on the street some day. He never thought he’d be settling down to a sedate old age.
    â€œYou’re such a liar,” Hartman said.
    â€œWhat can I tell you?” Clint asked. “I really haven’t thought about what I’d do if I settled down here—or if I’d even settle here if and when the day comes.”
    â€œWhere else would you go?” Hartman