Marshal Matt Dillon's tanned and calloused hands, belying their large proportions, were infinitely gentle as he carefully removed hair pins one by one from Kitty Russell's silken locks. Finally betraying a hint of the tall lawman's underlying eagerness, he laced his fingers beneath her intricate updo and gently tousled her curls loose as the remaining pins showered around her to the floor. They scattered among the various ruffled and lacy garments Matt had slowly and determinedly divested the beautiful saloon girl of only a few moments before.
Kitty's mind was reeling; she could not believe this was finally happening, albeit somewhat unexpectedly. She tremulously complied with his ministrations, feeling vulnerable as she stood in the middle of her bedroom, naked and exposed to Marshal Dillon's heated gaze for the first time. Kitty tipped her head back, closed lushly-lashed sapphire eyes, and shivered as Matt threaded his fingers through the tangled, shining strands to release them, copper red and flowing like liquid fire, down her bare alabaster back.
It was something Matt had been longing to do all night as he surreptitiously watched her flirt with rich cattle buyer Carl Phillips downstairs in the Long Branch. Kitty hadn't noticed Matt when he first strode through the doors of the noisy, crowded saloon, so he sipped watered-down whiskey alone at the bar, thankful for the burn in his throat and stomach to assuage the overwhelming ache in his chest. He'd barely managed to contain his pent up emotions as he pretended not to notice the well-dressed dandy from back east, loudly guffawing, then whispering conspiratorially in Kitty's delicate ear.
Tonight, she was wearing that black, strapless gown that took Matt's breath away whenever he saw her in it. All that exposed creamy white skin with outrageous curves swathed in dark fabric always drove him to distraction. But Matt was a plain-spoken man, not a poet. His words never quite managed to equal the depth and eloquence of his true feelings. He usually managed a simple yet heartfelt, "You sure look pretty tonight, Kitty." And she would smile her dazzling smile that made his heart skip a beat while he ducked his head a little and grinned. But right now, Matt's emotions were roiling because there was a possessive hand around the waist of that pretty dress he so admired, and it wasn't Matt's hand. Marshal Dillon wanted to slug that bastard Carl Phillips.
It had always been unspoken between Matt and Kitty. An understood taboo topic of conversation. Matt knew exactly what Kitty did when she occasionally took special customers upstairs to her room. It didn't happen often, and she tried to avoid entertaining under Matt's watchful gaze, but the sick feeling in his gut became worse with each passing "transaction" he happened upon. He'd hurriedly excuse himself from Chester's company and try to leave the Long Branch before he caught her quickly averted gaze as she led the moneyed gentleman slowly up the steep wooden stairs to her bedroom.
Matt and Kitty were good friends, and he bitterly reminded himself that it was none of his doggone business what she did for a living. He noticed she never took dirty cowhands or poor sodbusters to her bedchamber. Only the affluent could afford to savor the talents of the lovely and vivacious Kitty Russell. Night after night, it made him grit his teeth as he shoved his hands deep in his pockets in frustration to contemplate what went on up there. He'd bid a pensive "Night, Bill," to Long Branch owner Bill Pence and stalk out the swinging doors, trudging around the darkened, lonely streets of Dodge on his nightly rounds, trying in vain to get his dear friend, the lovely Miss Kitty Russell, out of his mind.
Matt couldn't tell you exactly what made this night turn out so very differently from all the previous ones. It all happened so quickly. One minute he was sullenly nursing his cheap glass of whiskey at the bar, the next he caught Kitty's uneasy expression out of the corner of his eye.
That jackass Carl Phillips was acting as though he'd had too much to drink by the way his hands kept wandering to places Kitty obviously would rather not have them. She was trying in vain to diplomatically avoid his awkward fumbling, and Matt was by her side before he thought twice about it. He placed his impressive frame firmly between Kitty and her antagonizer, rumbling in a low tone, "Phillips, I think you've had enough tonight. Why don't you go on back to the Dodge House and sleep it off, what do you say?"
Startled by the intrusion, Phillips squinted up at him and slurred, "What are you talkin' about, Marshal?" He steadied himself with one hand on the bar and smiled slyly at Kitty. "I'm fine as frog hair," he crowed.
Matt placed his hands on his hips and aimed a steely-eyed stare at the slick little weasel in his expensive suit. "I think the lady here has made it clear to you that she doesn't want your hands all over her." He stepped closer to Phillips and added quietly yet menacingly, "You need to back off. Immediately."
Kitty tried to smooth things over, placing her hand on Matt's arm. "Matt, it's okay, really. You don't have to…"
Phillips staggered over to Kitty and slid his hand around her waist, dangerously close to her backside as Matt watched with growing fury her unsuccessful attempts to slip away from him. The inebriated man smirked, "I assure you, Marshal Dillon, that this lovely little soiled dove here has every intention…"
Matt cut off the man's demeaning remark with a solid right to the jaw. Carl Phillips went down like a sack of potatoes. The resulting thunk as he unceremoniously hit the floor was a satisfying balm to Matt's spirits. He motioned to two strapping ranch hands standing at the bar, "Eli, Frank, take this man to the jail and wait for Chester, will you? Tell him Phillips needs to sleep it off in a cell overnight."
"Yes, sir, Marshal," they answered amiably, tossing back their drinks hurriedly.
Kitty sighed in relief as they hauled the unconscious man out, heels dragging, and motioned Matt over to a nearby empty table. "Thanks, Matt. I appreciate what you did, but you really didn't have to go to the trouble. I promise I coulda' handled him fine myself."
Matt grumbled, "Kitty, I don't like it when men treat you that way."
"Well," she sighed, "it's all just part of the job…" She trailed off as she caught the expression on his face, a mixture of anger and frustration. "Matt, really, you shouldn't worry so much. I'm a big girl, and I can take care of myself." She tried to appease him with a little smile and a touch of her hand on his sleeve.
"That's what I'm afraid of…" he muttered under his breath.
One finely chiseled brow rose ever so slightly as she playfully countered, "Huh? What's that supposed to…"
"Never mind," he sighed resignedly. He relaxed a bit, gazing at her with her elbows propped on the table, chin in hands. His eyes took in the lovely expanse of her white shoulders, lightly freckled on top, blue eyes sparkling as she smiled warmly at him. He melted as he thought about what it would feel like to touch that soft, dewy skin, stroking it slowly until she sighed...
With that, Matt realized his hand was around Kitty's small wrist, his thumb smoothing over it in velvety circles. Kitty's eyes had widened in surprise at his sudden, unexpected action, but the connection between their bodies and their gazes was powerful and undeniable. Matt was utterly incapable of resisting her red-headed siren's song. He determinedly took her hand and pulled her firmly out of her chair. "Come with me, Kitty," Matt whispered in her ear.
Her mouth dropped open in surprise as he led her toward the stairs.
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Matt had been in Kitty's room before, but tonight was different. Matt was acting so strangely. As soon as she pulled the door shut behind them, he turned as though he were going to say something to her, quickly closed his mouth again, then went to pour them both a healthy dose of dark amber whiskey from the bottle on the dresser. She nonchalantly sipped the offered drink, gazing curiously up at him through her lashes, "You got something you wanna say to me, Matt?"
He tossed back his entire drink in one gulp and quickly poured himself another, absentmindedly wiping his mouth on his sleeve, then nervously straightening his hat.
"Matt, are you okay?" Kitty asked anxiously.
"Kitty, I… I hope you know how much I care about you. A fella' can't help but worry sometimes…"
"Oh, Matt…" Brows knitted in concern, she lightly touched his hand and gazed up at him.
Looking into her sweetly concerned blue eyes, he suddenly realized himself incapable of speaking any further. Slipping silently behind her, he took her drink and set it back on the dresser. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his large hands come to rest on her bare shoulders and caress her tentatively with an impossibly gentle touch. To his great relief, she didn't resist. In fact, she unconsciously leaned her head to one side, which allowed him access to stroke her slender white neck and softly flushed cheek with the back of his hand.
When Kitty at last released the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, she whispered, "Matt, what on earth has gotten into…"
He ceased her protestations with a gentle finger to her lush lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as his hands returned to her shoulders and slowly glided down her back. She shivered as his fingers found the top button of her daring strapless gown and, with a little urging, came undone. He hesitated for a moment, and when she didn't object, he unfastened the remaining buttons one by one as her mind whirled. The black dress slid down over her lavish curves and puddled on the floor in a voluminous mound of fabric around her feet.
Kitty couldn't believe this was happening. After all this time, Matt Dillon was treating her like a desirable woman, and not just a friend. Kitty had been so lonely for attention these last two years in Dodge. She knew that sounded ridiculous—a saloon girl longing for male attention. But all those groping, drunken, lascivious men who paid her money to share her favors, they meant less than nothing to her. It was simply a means to an end, that's all. She could hardly bear for them to touch her, and rarely did they bother to really look at her. Usually, she didn't even have to take off her clothes. She'd hardly have time to get her drawers off before the horny old goats were practically finished. They'd want to lie on her bed and sleep off their cheap whiskey, but she'd shoo them away nicely, taking her hard-earned money right out of their pockets. It was the only way she'd ever manage to…
Matt was untying her ruffled petticoats and letting them fall to the floor as her mind was jerked back to the dreamlike present. She was astonished to realize her dearest companion was slowly but surely undressing her. He tenderly sat her on the bed and, kneeling before her, removed her black leather high-heeled boots one at a time with a minimum of struggle. Next came her silk stockings and lace garters, his hands trembling as he slid them down her long, shapely legs. She became rather breathless when he drew her to her feet and at last managed to unfasten her silk corset and drawers, abandoning them on the floor with her other forgotten garments, leaving Kitty bare as the day she was born. His finishing touch was to release her coppery red tresses to flow down her back, and he turned her slowly to face the mirror.
He stood behind her, eyes burning with unreleased passion. Wrapping his arm round her small waist, he placed his hand possessively on her gently-rounded woman's belly. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with desire as the warmth of his hand spread downward seemingly of its own accord. He pushed his hat back on his forehead with one index finger, and she could feel his darkening blue eyes scorching her tender flesh as he silently admired her. His voice was a ragged whisper in her ear, "Kitty Russell, you are simply the most beautiful woman I have ever met…” Matt’s voice broke before he managed to continue hoarsely, “I need you."
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Coming from Matt Dillon, man of few words, that was a declaration of deepest sentiment, and it made Kitty's head fairly spin. Before she could adequately recover from his unanticipated profession, he swept her up in his strong arms and placed her on the bed, back cushioned against plump pillows.
He held her hand and kissed the inside of one delicate wrist. Kitty could swear he must be able to feel the mad thumping of her heart in the veins beneath her skin. Seated facing her on the edge of the bed, he admired the breathtakingly lovely image before him, all creamy soft curves and fiery red curls. He took a deep breath and began haltingly, "I... Kitty... I need to…"
She grasped his hand tightly and implored, “What is it, Matt? You know you can tell me...” It was the troubled look in her expressive blue eyes that was his undoing.
As he gazed at her exquisite face and form, all he could think about was that he couldn't bear the thought of other men seeing her like this, coming up that staircase with her. At last, he screwed up his courage to murmur, "Kitty, I want you to stop bringing men up to your room."
She inhaled sharply and pulled her knees protectively to her chest. Her face looked stricken and she blushed slightly, exclaiming, "Matt, how can you say that? You know it's how I make my living…"
His eyes were pleading. "How you make your living? Can't you just work in the saloon? You don't have to bring men up here…"
"Matt, if I don't, I'll never make enough to…"
"Please, Kitty, it's drives me crazy when I see you…"
"Really, Matt, you think I like doing that sort of business?" Kitty took one of his big hands in both of her small, delicate ones and held it tightly against her chest. "Bringing those awful men up here and letting them touch me?"
Matt visibly flinched at her remark. When he failed to reply, she continued bitterly, "I hate them and I hate myself more, Matt. I think I die a little inside each and every time I have to…"
She trailed off sadly, and Matt tentatively reached out to stroke her flushed cheek with one finger. He said gently, "Then why do it to yourself, Kitty?"
Her desperate words flew out in a rush, "Bill Pence has promised to sell me half-ownership in the Long Branch. Do you know how much money I've got to save up? How else am I supposed to get that kind of cash, Matt?" She pressed his hand to her heart, and the beseeching look on her face made Matt's chest ache.
"Bill Pence? Partners?" Matt tried to wrap his head around the idea of Kitty as a business owner. He heaved a great sigh and rubbed his face tiredly. "Exactly how much more money do you need?"
She placed her hand on his cheek to placate him, "Only a few hundred dollars more, Matt. And then I won't have to bring men up here anymore. I promise! I'll be a full-fledged partner in this business, and I'll never have to do anything like that again. You understand, don't you, Matt?" Her eyes, liquid with tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks, searched his for some sign of compassion and understanding.
Matt took a deep breath and reluctantly extricated himself from her grasp. Standing, he unceremoniously emptied his pants pockets, spilling the contents onto her dresser. There were five silver dollars, several folded bills of indeterminate amount, the stub of a very short pencil, and several assorted bullets. He searched his vest pockets and came up with a few more coins and one more bullet, which he added to the pile. With that, he returned to Kitty on the bed, dropped a hot, molten kiss to the inside of one creamy thigh, making her shudder with passion. He then strode to the door, tipped his hat to her, and said, "I'll be back tomorrow, honey." Kitty's mouth dropped open in astonishment as he left.
To be continued...
