Devil's Temptation

Carol McKenzie

DEVIL’S TEMPTATION BY CAROL McKENZIE Venus Press LLC

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DEVIL’S TEMPTATION

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. DEVIL’S TEMPTATION Copyright © 2006 by CAROL McKENZIE ISBN: Cover Art © 2006 by Dan Skinner All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. Printed and bound in the United States of America. For information, you can find us on the web at www.VenusPress.com

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Dedication:

To Jack

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Chapter One

Southern Illinois December 1922 The gray ominous sky promised to blanket southern Illinois with snow. Dressed in woolen outerwear, a charcoal gray scarf and sock hat pulled over her long, dark-brown tresses, Miss Liza Jane Colbert checked the chamber of a loaded Remington before she exited the back door, crossed the screened-in porch and descended the steps. With thumb and index finger held between her upper and lower lips, she whistled for Teeth to come running. "Come on boy," she said to the approaching dog. Toward the southern edge of the property, they crossed a frozen field. Overhead a windmill creaked and clanked more loudly than usual. Last autumn's brown leaves and frozen clods of dirt crunched underfoot. Her ankle-length gray skirt and petticoat whooshed with the wind. "Time's a-wasting," she said, holding the barrel of the rifle pointing upwards so if it fired it wouldn't hit Teeth. "Lord have mercy," she muttered in dismay. "Not snow again." She stopped at the cemetery where her kin rested. It would just take a minute. The dog traipsed off alone while she entered to pay her respects and ask a favor. A black ornamental gate arched overhead; its hinges eerily creaked as she opened it. She stepped up to her daddy's grave marked with a large rock. For a moment she stood silently looking up at the darkening clouds. Drawing her gaze down she saw several other rock markers and a few small tombstones that bore her last name--Colbert. Most of her departed folk had died of the fever, others in infancy or of infectious pneumonia. Twelve unnamed children had come into the world stillborn, but Liza Jane didn’t know all the details. Standing among the mounds, she didn't know why she was the only member of the 5

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Colbert family who had been spared. She was thankful, but why did the Lord spare her? Perhaps God would chastise her with loneliness and despair before he took her, though she did not remember ever doing anything wrong except for stilling a little moonshine and having relations with a fourth cousin. Maybe she stood in her final days and didn't know it. Liza Jane resembled the Colbert womenfolk with her medium-dark skin, wide-set eyes, delicate features, and high cheekbones. She still had lithographs of some of them up in a linen drawer. Maybe her lips had a little more pout than most of the Colbert womenfolk. Slender and soft-spoken, the women could be downright fierce if the situation called for it. Her daddy had told her the women had spunk. She placed her rifle on the ground, clasped her hands and began praying for all her dead relatives. Swallowing hard she lifted her chin. It was too cold to cry; her tears would freeze right on her cheeks. "Just why have I been left behind? I'm the only one left to take care of all this land. Lord, I'm a woman...a black woman at that and it’s really hard sometimes.” She picked up the rifle. "I go to feelin' sorry for myself, I guess. But maybe you could send me a man so he could help me out, 'specially with the chores. I don’t want to be too picky or nothin’, Lord, but it would be nice if he was good-lookin’? You know, for a husband, maybe. It gets real lonely… Don't send me no lazy man neither, Lord you know I got too much on me now." Again she sniffed and wiped the wetness off her cheeks with a swipe of her thumb. "The more I think about it, forgive me for buttin' into your business, Lord. Amen Jesus.” Liza Jane left the cemetery and resumed walking, whistling for the dog. "I said my piece, Teeth. I don' know if it'll do any good, but I asked. I guess that's all a body can do. But a man who could help me work this land would be welcome." “Teeth, let’s get the whiskey and get ourselves back. I have things I've got to do before the storm cuts loose. It's lookin' bad.” From a high point of a cliff, she viewed the road. Since no car approached, she figured that she had time to make it to the whiskey shed and get back before she saw the rattletrap Model-T that belonged to Widow. Shivering, she thought that if certain men in town thought funny business occurred on Kramer land she feared they'd hang, rape or tar and feather her. Just maybe they'd do all three. She didn't want to think about it. Reaching the shed, she unlocked the wooden door and gave it a shove with the toe 6

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of her shoe. With a swift swing of her foot, she kicked a box of copper tubing aside then lit a lantern and hung it on a nail in the darkest part of the shed so she could tend the stills. When all eighteen blue flames had been lit, she readied a newly aged batch of liquor for the whiskey-running Widow Herrington, to take. Using glue, she stuck white labels to bottles and put the bottles into a wheelbarrow. The labels sported the title "Pale Moon" so the roadhouse owners would know that she made it. Liza Jane took pride in stilling safe liquor. Finished, she opened the shed door and saw Teeth stood at attention outside. "Good boy. You're momma's big boy. You know that?" Squinting, she waited until she saw the Model-T approaching Kramer land. Locking the splintery door behind her, she pushed the load of clanking bottles across the frozen plowed-under cornfield, cursing under her breath at the too heavy load she transported as the dog freight-trained toward the lane. She halted when the rumbling Model-T coughed and sputtered to a stop. Widow Herrington climbed out toting a rifle and something else that Liza Jane did not recognize. "How are you doin', Widow?" "How are you, girl?" "What do you have there, Widow?" asked Liza Jane in a sunny tone, recognizing the present she'd brought for Teeth. "This is for your hound..." The older white woman said to the dog that sat before her, panting expectantly. The Widow’s ivory skin magnified the darkness of her navy blue eyes. Wrinkles lined her face and outlined a hint of humor at the corners of her mouth and eyes. But her skin pulled taut over her high cheekbones. Liza Jane remembered the day when the Widow was one of the most beautiful white women she'd ever seen. When Widow put the large bone down, Teeth carried it into the darkness of the barn, lay down and chewed eagerly. Widow leaned against the automobile door. She reached up and took a deep drag of blue smoke then exhaled it out the corner of her mouth, thoughtfully. "That was rightly nice of you, Widow." "Why thank you, Liza Jane." Widow said in her usual craggy voice. Widow wore men's ankle-high shoes, a black felt wide brimmed hat, serge trousers, a western shirt and a Navy jacket, not dressing like a woman, which was scandalous even if it was the 1920s. She had tied her long silver hair in a ponytail and stuffed it under her hat. 7

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A cigarette hung from her lip and her arms were crossed at her bosom. From a distance most folks wouldn't be able to tell if she was a man or a woman. Once a white woman referred to Widow as “poor white trash” what ever that was. Liza Jane realized by the woman's stance that she wanted conversation. "I see you've got a load of whiskey ready," she said in her deep voice. Nervously Widow looked down the lane then shifted her gaze to the whiskey bottles. "That's good." "I slapped some labels on 'em not five minutes ago. But they're ready; I knew you'd get out here before the snow started." "All right, honey." Widow parked the cigarette in the corner of her mouth and counted out five tens and a five into Liza Jane's hand. "I always trust your whiskey. Can't say that about everyone's stuff, ya know. The roadhouse owners always ask me whose it is. If I tell 'em it's yours they hand over the money real fast like." "That's good to know." They stood silently for a few minutes peering toward the barn near where the dog chewed on the bone. "Want to come in for a cup of coffee, Widow?" Liza Jane asked. "I can't. I've got to head on down the road and see another widow lady," she drawled. Widow looked over her shoulder again. And as she did, Liza Jane noticed several new bullet holes that had pierced the fender of her Model-T. "Us women have to eat is all I gotta say," said the Widow. She exhaled then dropped the cigarette at her feet and crushed it out. "I hate like hell that the law takes pock shots at me. They do it all the time, but I just figure that if I don't run it someone else will. Someone who runs whiskey that is cut with poison. Folks won't do without their liquor. You know what I mean? Drinkin' makes hard times a hell of a lot easier. Hell, honey. I even have a shot on occasion." She laughed. "I know that if I still it, it'll not be cut with poison," said Liza Jane with pride. "This government is damned inventin’ that anti-whiskey law. I think they made it more popular." Liza Jane took her Remington off the wheelbarrow, propped it against the fender and said, "Where do you want it?" "Let's put 'em in the floorboards." Liza Jane arranged the bottles of whiskey on the dusty petrol-scented floorboard of 8

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the Model-T after the Widow handed them to her one by one. When finished she stepped aside and the Widow closed the door. "Listen, Liza Jane. How long have you and I been friends? For years, right?" As Liza Jane brushed her hands together, she answered, "Years and years, Widow. I don't remember exactly how many." "A lot, right?" She shrugged. "You were friends with my parents since my birth." "It's been a long time," she said grinning and then paused. "Well, girl, I trust your judgment. Especially regarding menfolks. Except for that one time you...well you know with your cousin. That lowly bastard. I'm glad he high-tailed it out of these parts." Embarrassed, Liza Jane rolled her eyes. "I guess so." "I'm glad you got a place." Liza Jane considered the sentence. "I'm lucky I do. Mr. Kramer didn't seem so bad he'd get himself hung." "That'll get 'em to execute ya ever time, what he did--murder." "I suppose so." "Over a game of cards," said Widow as she picked a bottle from the wheelbarrow and held it up to the light, studying its clarity, body and proof. "Daddy and Gus Kramer were close." "This land's prime." Liza Jane nodded and looked down. "I'm grateful for it." "I want you to think twice though, for your own safety. It just ain't safe you bein' out here alone. 'Specially in these times." "I'm careful, Widow." "They don't like women leggers." A second or two of aggravation glittered in Widow's eyes. "Probably hate black women leggers worse than all of 'em." "That's true." A short pause followed. "I do it 'cause I have to," Liza Jane said with some derision in her tone. "There're no other choices." Widow's voice took on sympathetic overtones. "Ain't nothin' wrong with that. A body's got to eat. But I know one thing..." "What's that, Widow?" "There's this Johnny law type in town stayin' at the European Hotel. He wears one of those fancy U.S. Government uniforms and five-dollar shoes. A real looker, I'd say. 9

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Probably, he's six feet tall," she said, scratched a match and lit a loosely packed cigarette. "Clean and smooth. Has a deep voice. He has hair cut straight back and it's black as a crow. And his eyes are like wet coals. The son of a bitch loves to track down bootleggers and haul them to jail. I wouldn't swear to it, but I just bet he's after me. Maybe you too. A mean cuss. I'll also bet he's one of 'em that tried to kill me a time or two. Maybe put one of them there bullet holes in my fender. Anyway, if you see anyone out this way who looks, sounds or acts like I just said, girl you can bet your shoes that he's the Prohibition Agent we've read about in the papers." Liza Jane gasped and flicked ice flecks from her cheeks. Committing the agent's description to memory, she said, "I appreciate you givin' me fair warnin', Widow." "Don't let his sheik looks fool you, girl. This son of a bitch would arrest his own mother if ya'd give him the chance." Liza Jane felt every vertebra in her spine stiffen. "What was his name?" "John Metz." "Rest assured, I'll remember everything you said." "There’s a rumor about his womanizing ways. One of the whisper sisters, up yonder at Pandora's Box as the crow flies toward Johnson City, told me about him. He's like a sailor...has a woman in every port." The Widow coughed before she sucked more blue smoke from the cigarette. "Shoot first and ask questions later if you see him. Drag his ass out behind yonder barn and bury him, so nobody will know." Liza Jane held her palm up. "Look, snow." Why was she standing around schmoozing as if she had nothing better to do? "I've got to get busy." "I know. I do, too." Widow Herrington straightened her hat. "Honey, it looks like we're in for some bad weather. I need to get on down the road here a piece then get my tail on back to town 'for it cuts loose." Widow rounded the back end of the motorcar and opened the door. "You got all the supplies you need?" "I got everything I need to get me well in to February...if I really pushed it," said Liza Jane. "Let the snow pile up, I don't care. Just so it melts fast." Widow laughed. "All right then, honey. Yeah, it sure looks like there's a bad one comin’. When I see the cows a-huddlin' and black birds a-linin' the tree limbs, I know how it's gonna be later on. I'll talk to you another day. Keep that gun of yours cocked and ready," 10

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she said, then climbed into her motorcar and chugged away. Teeth ambled from the barn carrying the bone. The sky had grown darker and more broody. Liza Jane walked briskly to the woodpile, leaned her rifle against a stump, chopped wood and stacked it along the porch of the two-story eclectic manse house. A little over an hour later, Teeth carried his bone into the house with Liza Jane following behind. Before she closed the door, she retrieved the Remington and told Teeth, "I'm ready for it, I think."

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Chapter Two

John had seen her in town a little over a year ago and learned her name was Liza Jane Colbert--a black woman. He liked calling her Liza. After talking to several people, he had learned that she didn’t have a man. A dead man walking had bequeathed her a big house and a lot of land just because he'd befriended and given her daddy a job and they had hit it off. The dingy gray hotel rooms that he resided in depressed him, so daydreaming about Liza cheered him up. Weary, John ran spread fingers through his hair as he considered her. It was time to conjure her up. Liza attracted him, but did she know that he existed? God, he hadn't wanted to scare her by gawking when he encountered her somewhere in town. John raised the flask to his lips and sipped long. Just thinking of Liza got his cock instantly hard. Considering the possibility of bedding the woman down--he'd say his chances were slim to none. The whiskey burnt like fire going down. The jolt jarred his thoughts loose regarding his feelings about her being black and him white. He searched his soul. Did he harbor any negative feelings regarding her race? Every time he asked himself that question, the answer was always the same–no. Even though it was the early-1920s, ignorant folk still thought it was unacceptable for people with different skin colors to mix, but he didn't feel that way. In fact, John didn't give a hoot about what was or was not socially acceptable or idiotic customs and prejudices regarding the color of a person's skin. Maybe he was one of a kind, but he liked to judge people from the inside out--not vice versa. Peering out the second floor window of the European Hotel, he watched a Model-T rumble down the wet brick road. It looked like Widow Herrington's motorcar. He predicted that she'd just traveled to Liza’s house, picked up a load of whiskey and was en route to a roadhouse. Widow had come into town from Liza’s direction. 12

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He'd seen Widow's car parked near the bank earlier; the fender sported new bullet holes. Who was taking pock shots at her? His fellow agents? It was just a matter of time before one of his buddies would kill or arrest the both of them. What was it about Liza that drew him? Was it her glistening sienna eyes or her full lips? It was more than sex that drew him...much more. He loved her soft manner. A storeowner told him that she had an interest in books. Come to think of it, townsfolk had a lot of good things to say about her. She was honest, trustworthy and sweet natured--his type of woman. How could he arrest a woman whose friendly and good ways won everyone's friendship? The next question--was he good enough for her? He was a drinking man, one who had never settled down. Now he liked the idea of having a special woman and a place to call home. Hotel rooms and eating out at cafes was getting old. In his daydreams he'd fucked her, but they failed to quench his thirst. Perhaps he would drive to her house. Sitting on the edge of the hard mattress, he remembered a morning earlier in the week; he had watched Liza load supplies into the back of a wagon and the longing he felt. Another morning she unknowingly stood on the opposite side of a fruit stand. She had looked him right in the face over a mound of melons, and then turned away. He admired her long dark lashes and feminine features. Her line of vision dropped when white folks passed by. Why? She was every bit as good as they were! He had brushed by her en route to his motorcar. She had smelled feminine--like lavender and baby's breath. Liza was a beautiful woman. It saddened him that the U.S. Government had ordered him to arrest her and her friend. But that was what Prohibition Agents were supposed to do--arrest people who stilled whiskey. His heart just wasn't in his job. He could have made the arrest long, long ago, but he had ignored orders. Right after the orders had initially come, he tore them up so other agents wouldn't read them and go after Liza and Widow. Weeks later another order came, asking John personally to go after the women. John knew that if he didn't do as he was told, he'd get into hot water. He wasn't worried about himself. Hell with them. Let them throw him in jail if need be. 13

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Living out in the middle of nowhere with no man to take care of her, was not right, not when Liza looked as good she did. He'd bet his bottom dollar that she had been without a man for a long, long time, too.

*** John drank half a flask of bootlegged whiskey. When he'd emptied the tin container he threw it across the room; it clanked when it hit the wall. With a sigh of frustration and loneliness, he stared up at the musty hotel room’s dark ceiling listening to the music that emanated from the speakeasy below. Soon he let his mind wander, conjuring up her image in his favorite daydream. John pictured her in a bedchamber, perhaps in the house in which she lived. He watched as Liza pulled the muslin petticoat over the soft tumble of her dark-chocolate hair. Carefully she hung it in the closet and began freeing her breasts and midriff from the confines of a white lace-up contraption. Wearing one was probably torture. Mmm, he'd like to have her in restraints. With a flick of her dainty wrist, she tossed the garment onto the bed. When finished undressing, she approached the dresser. Looking into the mirror, knowing he watched, she massaged her breasts, heightening his arousal. He told her she was beautiful and faced her, showing her his erection. "John. Come here, baby." He went to her. For him, she propped her foot onto the seat of a chair and parted her thighs to give access; her head dropped back. "Suck my pussy, John." Such a tantalizing situation he daydreamed! John knelt before her. His lips found her bud and he began feeding, licking and sucking until she struggled to stand still and begged for more. He thought his cock would explode with arousal. "Please, John." He lifted his mouth from her curly mound. Hearing but not listening to her plea to continue, he rose to a standing position, turned her toward the dresser and flattened her hands on the dresser top. She became putty in his hands and he was her sculptor. From behind, he massaged her breasts, his cock pressing against her hip, letting her feel the effects she had on him. 14

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She did not attempt to move away. In fact, she swayed with him, voicing her enjoyment by pressing back into him. Her eyes closed and she licked her lips, writhing, showing him her need. He watched it all in the mirror. The desire to have her fully, spiked through him like a jolt of electricity. Using his thigh, he spread her legs then drew his fingertip along her weeping slit. The mere idea of sinking his cock into her, almost push him out of control. "You're so beautiful,” he whispered. He felt her shudder. "Take me to bed, John," she breathed when she could speak, nearly overcome by desire. "Put your cock in me. Do it to me now." "No, no, no. Not just yet." As his flattened tongue ran down her spine, her breath caught in response, she smiled back at him in the mirror, her breasts heaving. John turned her around so she faced him, and then drew circles with the tip of his finger over each taut nipple. Cocking his head to one side, he watched her reaction; her gaze returned to his face so he covered her lips with his, administering an intimate, plundering kiss that she would surely feel deep in her core. He felt her hands caressing his back, in this magical moment. When they parted, she arched her back, wanting, no urging him to continue teasing her breasts as the head of his cock pressed into her belly giving her promises of heated moments to come. He bent his head and drew wet circles on her nipples with his tongue, and then bit gently. Unrelentingly he tasted, licked and nipped until she closed her eyes and a moan escaped her lips. "I need your cock now, John." "Not just yet, Liza. Have patience," he repeated. "I have other things planned. Bear with me." "Mmm," she whined. John took her hand, led her to the bed and swept her back onto the pillows. He spread her thighs, making room for his head. He kissed the soft flesh. She cried out when his tongue touched the lips of her pussy. Her fingers in his hair, she cupped each side of his head while he spread her folds until he touched her clit with the tip of his tongue. In a sequential round of swift flicks to her bud as he slid his fingers in and out of her, it seemed a struggle for her to hold still. Her body shook with intense erotic pleasure. Sure that he took her just to the brink of ecstasy, John withdrew his fingers and tongue and knelt 15

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between her thighs, his cock rising firm, rugged and ready. Liza Jane reached out and grasped it with her delicate hand as though it were a priceless commodity. She stroked his shaft up and down with her tightened fist until John's head fell back. It was so erotic. He felt her eyes lingering on his size and marveling over its thickness. In a moment of sauciness, she said, "Well then, if you're goin' to be that way...I'm goin' to tease you," her tone defiant and naughty. More, he wanted of her mouth and tongue...much more. Moving to his side, anticipating her to lick and nip at his sex, seeking comfort at the same time, he called her name, as she set about accommodating him. Liza Jane moved into position and touched the tip of her tongue onto the throbbing head, then blew, cooling it, causing it to pulse. God, he loved how she tasted the drop of pre-come that oozed from the slit and repeatedly licked its length. "Okay. If you want it to be this way, then..." Lightly he grasped a handful of her hair and inched his pelvis forward asking her without words to take his length into her mouth. It thrust him into a higher degree of excitement when Liza Jane did exactly that. John reached down and fondled her heavy breast as she brought him to the threshold of a climax. He'd kept his control throughout; the time to consummate their relationship had arrived. "Mmm, baby. I love what you're doing." He touched her shoulder. "But I need to be in you." "Okay," she said and lay back. He touched the head of his cock to her slit, pushed his pelvis forward until his cock entered her slowly inch by inch until he was all the way in. Her breath hitched and she arched her back, taking him inside her even more deeply. Slowly, his quest gained momentum. Soon as if in a frenzy, with one goal in mind, he pressed his cock into her grasping, moist, warm pussy. Repeatedly, the mattress dented and rose and the headboard rapped against the wall. Harder, faster and more deeply he fucked her. Like beautiful animals, their bodies damp, their breathing coming in short rasps, he saw to it that she had reached the brink before he pressed into her one last hard time, causing her to climax, and shooting his juice deep within her. Breath escaped his lungs in the final rush. He moved inside her until every drop left 16

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his cock and oozed into her canal, achieving his goal...relief came and he lingered in a sensual daze. Liza Jane called his name as they flew like freed birds over the pinnacle of their experience. They collapsed on the bed, falling silent and unmoving, but still joined. Euphoric. Satisfied and at ease, he feathered a string of kisses along her throat and once again told her that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Once his breathing normalized, he opened his eyes and looked around at the musty room and saw reality. Liza Jane was gone. It was settled; he would take a drive out to her house in a couple of hours, regardless of the road conditions. He had to meet her properly and they would take it from there.

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Chapter Three

Dark warmth filled the downstairs of the big house. Tasty-smelling beef stew simmered in a pot on the stove in kitchen. Her tummy growled as she scratched a match and raised the globe of an oil lamp and lit the wick, bringing a golden glow to the room. Liza shed her wraps and hung them up. "Lay down," she told the dog. He ambled down the hall; his tail raised high and settled near the fireplace. At six o'clock, she ate supper, fed the dog and then washed the dishes. With her stomach full and the work done, she retired to the library. The winds and storm had arrived in full force dropping heavy snow. The dog noisily chewed his present, seemingly unaffected while lying next to the crackling fire. The downstairs of the estate consisted of many rooms bearing Victorian decor. In the front main hall, the library and sitting parlor hosted visitors. A birthing room, kitchen and pantry took up the back part of the house. Six bedchambers occupied the upper story. The dark wood stairway stood in the entry hall. Mr. Kramer's dwindling bank account paid a few of the costs, but not the total upkeep. Bookcases full of Mr. Kramer’s books lined two of the walls. From the main hall, glass-paned double doors opened into it. A thick dark-red carpet covered half of the room's highly polished wood-planked floor. Matching heavy dark drapes covered the windows. An étagère filled with mementoes occupied a corner near two comfortable dark-red settees. A soft beige sofa faced the crackling fireplace. A time or two she remembered sleeping on it. A Victrola and a few records lay to the side atop a small table. She'd read almost every book and listened to every record. Standing before a bookcase, Liza Jane ran a finger along the spine of the books, reading the titles while wind whistled under the eaves. Even inside a cold breeze swirled on the floor, so she wore shoes and woolen socks. As the grandfather clock ticked, she picked out the book that she'd purchased in town and plopped into an easy chair near the window. 18

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Soon she lost herself in a Sinclair Lewis book, Main Street. As it neared eight o'clock, the wind had picked up; tree branches scratched the roof and siding and Liza Jane realized that the storm had turned into a blizzard. Much to her horror, she thought she heard a pleading man's voice cut into a lull of the din, "Help me!" The wind howled and she didn't hear it again. Liza Jane froze and took in a quick breath. She knew what she'd heard and she hoped it didn't come in the form of trouble. Teeth's head rose from the floor; his ears perked up. He barked and stood ready. Liza Jane's interest rose from the page she was reading and re-situated on Teeth's actions. "Did you hear it, too, boy?" She hadn't imagined it. Wide-eyed she rose from the chair. Where was the rifle? Should she take it? After putting the book down, she steeled herself for a meeting with someone who was out in the yard. The voice sounded masculine. She hurried through the house toward the coat rack, holding her gun. She had to shoot if the situation called for it. After she threw on a coat and hat, Teeth raced her down the hallway and out the front door into the bitter, wintry night. Teeth took the lead. "Find him, Teeth!" The snow blew horizontally, taking her breath. Anyone who was out on such a night had lost his or her mind because within a matter of minutes a person could freeze to death. Carefully, she held the gun ready and aimed it upward as she made her way toward the area she thought she heard the voice. Had he lost his way and the Kramer Estate was the first house he had come to? Surely he had a logical explanation. She guessed she'd soon find out. "Where are you?" "Please...." The plea came again. Teeth barked and moved forward, gun in hand she followed him toward the voice. With the exception of the yellow light that flowed from the windows, it was dark, but her dog found him. "Help me." How did he get all the way out to the Kramer property without sliding off the road? Unable to see any of his features, size, or build, she warned the intruder, "I've got a gun here, Mister. Any funny business and you're dead. I ain't afraid to use it." "Just...help...me." His words were weak and slurred. 19

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Was he freezing to death? She wondered while bending over him. Thinking better of it, she helped him up with her free hand. After he draped an arm over her shoulder, she guided him along the side of the house and up the stairs. Subconsciously she realized that he towered over her. He was a strong man. A man of his size could over-power and harm her with ease. Was he the agent the widow warned her about? Or worse, a highwayman? She hoped he was neither one. They struggled through the door after Teeth. Relieved, she closed and locked it. Guided him to a chair, she helped him sit down. "Sit here, please.” He leaned over, his hands touching the floor. What was wrong with him? She predicted he would fall onto the floor. "Hold on there, Mister." Hesitantly, she let go of him, needing to take the chance. "Why me, Lord?" A tense quiet settled in the house as she shed her wraps, hung them up and placed the rifle where it would be easy to get hold of in case of an emergency. Her tone grouchy, she said, "No one ever comes down my road, let alone when the weather's bad like it is now." Like an armload of laundry, the white man's eyes rolled upward and he dropped into a pile onto the floor. Had he just died? She retrieved a looking glass, bend, and held it under his nose, checking his breathing. She noted the white vaporous forming on the glass. Did she smell alcohol on his breath? Just wonderful. "At least you're alive." She stabbed her hands onto her hips. "Have ya been drinking?" He didn't hear her. His body lay there like a two hundred pound sack of flour, if there was such a thing. Apparently confused, Teeth gazed at her from his rug near the fireplace. "Go, go sleep, Teeth." What was she to do now? The grandfather clock chimed nine times as she looked down at the lanky man. Was he suffering from frostbite? “Mister? Wake up!” Great. Just great. Wishing she didn’t have to, Liza Jane made up her mind to save him from catching the infectious pneumonia. It could set in and he could die. Was she doing it so he could 20

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later do her harm? Damn it, she had to take off his ice-caked, soggy clothes--ever last one of them, starting with his coat. “Hello? Are you awake? I know ya ain't dead.” Silence prevailed as the dog peered her way, obviously wondering what she was up to. Of all the things she didn’t want to do...she had planned to read a book and have a nice, relaxing evening by the fire. Now this had to happen! “Darn it.” With dismay, she heaved a sigh. "This fellow is not what I was thinkin' about when I asked you for a man, Lord." With grim determination, she unbuttoned and wrestled his coat down his arms, untied his shoes and removed them from his feet. After lining them alongside other shoes near the back door, she soon unfastened the waistband of his trousers and peeled the khaki uniform trousers down, noticing the massive bulge at the apex of his thighs, and rolled her eyes. She admitted to herself that he looked...intriguing. Were his clothes government issued? When she turned her line of vision away, her effort failed to keep her eyes off him. What a body he had on his six-foot build. The man was handsome…very handsome. His looks would turn any woman's head. He had striking raven hair cut short. She extended a finger and raised an eyelid to find that his eyes were blue, ice-flecked and fringed with black lashes. Such chiseled features. The man would standout in any crowd, especially for the ladies. She jerked her hand away when she thought he showed signs of consciousness. "You okay, Mister?" She waited, but he did not speak or move. Maybe it was best that he was unconscious. Should she be smart and shoot him? What was wrong with her? She couldn't kill anyone. Don't think, just act, she told herself. Off came his socks. He had big feet. His cold, wet long johns effortlessly came down his muscular hair-dappled white legs, revealing his sleeping cock, which nestled among heavy balls and sprigs of dark hair. Everything about him was so...large and strong. He didn't look dangerous lying there so still. The sight of his cock stirred her to the marrow of her bones. Liza Jane steeled herself and tamped the spiking emotion down. Often nurses saw men without clothes and she didn't see one iota of difference. As she raised his trousers by the waistband and shook them out, and counted the months it had been since a man showed interest in her. The sight of the stranger caused 21

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every sensual nerve ending in her body to come alive. White men and black women mixing was considered worse than immoral! Not that such evil doings was in her mind. Stifling her thoughts, she unbuttoned his uniform shirt then struggled to pull his arms out of the sleeves. A difficult job, she considered cutting the fabric, but then if she’d ruin his clothes, he’d have the excuse of parading around undressed. She worked his arms until she got them out of the sleeves. Of course her dad’s clothes could fit him; he had been a big, tall man. She hurried upstairs and retrieved the dry clothes and a blanket. Once downstairs, the lawman's body drew her eyes again, capturing her imagination. She knelt beside him. Straining, punctuated by grunts and gasps, she shoved and pushed until he rolled onto a blanket. "You must weigh a ton, mister. This is where you're going to stay for the night. I guess I don't want it on my conscious if I let you freeze to death." She grasped one corner of the blanket, pulled with all her might and inched the sleeping man toward the warmth of the fire. "I don' usually cuss, mister, but you're somethin' else." As Liza Jane picked up his coat and froze when a silver flask and a badge dully clunked to the floor. Gasping, her eyes dropped on the bits of metal. That’s all she needed: a pickled, bare-ass naked man. A Prohibition Agent most probably, passed out on her floor. Though, he wasn't bad looking. Hopefully, his personality fit his looks. After draping several quilts over him, she began picking up his ice-caked dripping clothing, then hung them near the fireplace so they'd dry. Speedily, she mopped the floor. After snooping through his coat pockets, Liza Jane discovered that he was not merely a lawman, but an agent. "Well, Mr. Agent Man or whoever you are, you could have frozen to death if it weren't for me." A question bothered her. How could he arrest people for bootlegging whiskey when he drank the stuff? It just was not fair! A sigh of disgust left her lips. For all she knew his flask contained her whiskey! Maybe with some careful nosing she'd find out more about him. Slowly and carefully, she slid her hand into a sopping trouser pocket and drew out a wet paper, and unfolded it without pulling it into shreds. Holding it up to the light, she read it. It was just as she suspected. "John Metz, Prohibition Agent for the United States Department of the Treasury. Just wonderful." Liza Jane also found a set of handcuffs and key, a pistol, and more papers further proving his identity. 22

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"Ain't this just peachy keen?" she muttered. All doubt had vanished--unfortunately he was the lawman the Widow Herrington had warned her about. She heaved a sigh as fear crept through her. She refused to let it take over her thoughts. Hopefully he was more human than most government agents were and he’d have pity and not arrest her. Maybe he had a conscience. Rolling her eyes, she hid his possessions under the stairway, figuring that she was in a whole kit and caboodle of trouble. Of all the cursed luck! It was one of those days that it didn't pay to get out of bed. How would she escape the mess she was in? An idea formed. Where was the length of chain she used on the wagon? There was still time to stop him from taking her to jail. She hurried out the back door and onto the freezing screened-in porch, located the chain and dragged it inside, the links clinking the whole distance to the center of the room. She went back and shoved the door shut with the toe of her shoe. Perhaps she’d outwit the tinhorn with the badge. No matter what happened, she refused to go with him and do time without putting up a fight. In fact, she'd die first. Young, pretty, sweet women who entered the federal prison system and served time left looking and acting like hard old hags. They treated white women badly--God only knew how they treated black women. Liza Jane had dragged the chain to a spot between the sleeping agent and the floor-to-ceiling beam. Good. She fetched a lock then halted. Maybe she'd wait before chaining him up. She'd hate to have made a mistake she thought, and decided not to chain him to the beam. After all, he was drunk and passed out, and she had her gun if he tried any funny business. Liza Jane turned her eyes toward the man on the floor. His breathing was even; she figured he would sleep till morning. She'd rest for now; it looked like she'd need it when he awoke.

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Chapter Four

It gave her the jitters to leave the lawman downstairs naked, unbound and unchained. She did him a service by leaving him her father's overalls, long johns, socks and shirt on a table. Maybe he'd wake up and get dressed. She hid the guns and chain under the stairway, hoping he wouldn't find them. Seeing that he peacefully slept off his over-indulgence, Liza Jane lowered the wicks on the oil lamps then ascended the steps carrying a lit candle. Her weight caused the stairs to creak with each step. She cringed and hoped he would not awaken. Once at the top of the steps, she padded down the hallway. Soundlessly, she opened and closed her bedchamber door and turned on the room warmer. The wind still whistled under the eaves and tree branches scraped the sides of the house creating more noise then before, she thought as she undressed and put her clothes away. Her heavy chocolate-colored breasts ached from being bound by the restraining lace-up undergarment. Lovingly, she massaged them. They rode high on her chest wall; their deep rose tips slanted upward, never having had a man make real love to them. Oh, she had a quickie in the hay, but her partner never had taken the time to tend them like they needed. She pulled a thin cotton nightdress from a lavender-scented top drawer and slipped it over her head and down her bare body. Sitting before the mirror in the dim light, she brushed her long flowing dark-brown hair down from its pinned top knot to her bare shoulders. Then wearily she turned down the bed quilts and climbed onto the feather bed. Teeth climbed the stairs and scratched on the closed door. She climbed from the bed, padded across the room, and opened the door for him. "Come in boy." Teeth whined as he took a sleeping spot on a rug near the room heater. With a hand pressed to her forehead and looking up at the darkened ceiling, she fretted about the man who was sleeping downstairs. Would he wake up in the middle of the 24

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night and rush up the stairs to arrest her? Highwaymen had been known to force sex on innocent women. Then when they had their fill, they'd kill the woman. Would he? What a horrible thought. Animals all of them. But that would be giving animals a bad name. Highwaymen were devils in men’s skin, the whole lot of them. Surely, the stranger was not one of those. She would not let anyone ruin her way of life or hurt her! She had a gun, a Colt .45 hidden under the pillow. A loaded rifle was propped two feet away against the wall. Perhaps she over-reacted by having the weapons ready. On a brighter note, perchance John Metz had a conscious unlike so many men of the day. The more she pondered the danger John Metz posed, the more she thought she had to protect herself. Liza Jane climbed out of bed and descended the stairs. She'd made a mistake. The dog followed so she whispered, “Teeth, stay. I said go back.'” The dog retreated. Downstairs she relocated the handcuffs and the long clinking chain. Lord, did he hear her moving it? She intended to cuff his wrists to a bracing ceiling beam near his head. Just as she was about to close a handcuff around one of his wrist, his other arm came down and around her, pulling her to him. Effortlessly, with one fluid motion, he swept her under his naked, hot body. She screamed and fought him to no avail. Teeth descended the stairs and stood a few feet away, a growl bubbled up from deep within his soul as though he’d fight the lawman to the death. Liza Jane could smell the lawman's whiskey breath and feel his bracingly male body that so violently, and suddenly had meld to hers. His hard-on pressed into her bare tummy, and for a moment she enjoyed it. A lot. "Call the fuckin' dog off," his gravel voice ordered. His mouth inches from hers, his warm breath tickling her lips. “Do it!” he ordered again. His cock now strained against her cunt. And to think she had undressed him! She’d know better next time. “Mmm.” The sound rumbled deep in his throat. “You feel good.” Immovable and speechless, her cheeks heated like the sweltering summer afternoon heat. During the ensuing struggle, her gown rode up high above her thighs to her waist. Her pussy was exposed, her legs spread accommodating his rock-hard lower torso. She found herself in a perilous position. The engorged tip of his cock pressed against the lips of her 25

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pussy. She felt the touch all the way to her core. Her blood coursed through her veins. Knowing how close he came to sinking it into her pussy, she sucked in a deep breath. It was not right that it felt so very good! But she refused to admit her exhilaration. "It's your fault we're laying here like this," he growled. "How dare you?" Oh dear Lord, how did this happen? His thighs separated her legs wide open. In her life, she'd never experienced the trouble that she now found herself in; on the floor wedged under the lawman. Teeth took a step forward, snarling. Gripping her hands together and holding them up and over her head, he asked, “Did you hear me about the damned dog?” His member threatened to penetrate as it rubbed against her slit. "Ow," she said, though he was not hurting her. "Call him off. Do it, now!" "Stay!" She turned her head toward the dark area in which the dog stood, staring at Teeth as he bared his long, sharp teeth. "'Stay' I said!" Whining, the dog backed away. "Make him lay down and shut the hell up. No, make him leave the room." "Teeth, upstairs with ya," she ordered the dog. Subdued, she realized that her struggle failed; the lawman could do anything he wanted to her now, including rape or murder. “Now,” he said quietly. “You’ll do what I’ll tell you to do.” “Did you come here to arrest me?” she asked, her tone tainted with anger. Her heart thudded in her chest as he let go of her hands. Not answering, his rough hand moved up her delicate skin, upward from her waist to the large mounds of her breasts as his dick inched into her pussy. “You feel good, woman. You’re beautiful too.” With his other hand, he played with a few ringlets that outlined her face. His toughened hand wallowed her ample breast against her chest, making her squirm. It felt good and she didn’t pull away. Within she bitterly warred with herself as he rolled her nipple between his index finger and thumb. Tingles shot through her body like forked lightning at the height of a storm. For some reason the word "no" stalled, sticking in her throat. 26

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Liza Jane felt his steel-hard cock still moving against her moist slit. Fiercely the predicament stirred her desire and she fought it with all her might. In fact, she didn’t mean it when she ordered him, “Get off me. Quit it. This won’t happen.” Not moving his tone softened. “So tell me, Liza, what would you do if I chained you naked to a post? Hmm?” he breathed as he smoothed his hand down to the underside of her pussy and massaged, making her wetter than she'd ever remembered being. "Turn about is fair play." The idea sounded delightful, though she wouldn’t tell him that. “I’d like to kiss your pussy. Then what would you do? 'Specially if you're trussed,” he said softly as he reached for the cuffs and the chain. Soon he had her restrained. "Would you like that?" "Trussed? What?" "Tied." A sexual pull curled low in her belly. “No.” Lord, his fingers felt good when they toyed with her down there. Never had a man’s touch felt so heavenly and so naughty at the same time. It made her hips move on their own. Disturbed, she pondered her possible fate. Accepting his touches seemed such a devilish temptation; she'd burn in hell for considering him in that light. She imagined his taut lips sucking her after his lashing tongue had found her sex. He whispered, “It'd make you feel good all over, what I can do.” She just bet he could. He licked his fingers, she noticed by the light of the fire. "I know it's sensitive. I won't hurt you." "You won't?" "Promise." John was scaring her...well sort of. The handcuffs now held her wrists as he sat astride her torso. He leaned forward over her and made sure her restraints held securely. As he moved down, he spread her thighs open with his and scooted down until his head was between her legs. He parted the outer lips and his tongue carefully smoothed over her erect bud until she couldn't lie still any longer. She screamed with delight. Her legs jackknifed and she raised her bottom. Lord have mercy, she didn't want him to stop. "Want more, Liza?" She didn't have to say a word; he knew the answer. 27

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John drew his tongue along the crease where her legs joined her pussy. Her breath caught and she was afraid to move, wanting his voodoo magical tongue to do more wicked things to her. But when he tongue-fucked her, she begged. "Please. I need you to stick your cock into me." Many torturous seconds later as she was about to come he lifted his face. “No!” she moaned. She was so close. "Mmm. A bad girl needs a spanking, I see." He turned her ass aside and smacked it several stinging times. John ran his flattened miracle-curing tongue over the smarting skin and turned her onto her back. Like a wild animal, she arched up as much as she could because he'd cuffed her; she liked it. Oh mercy did she ever! He alternated hard, bruising kisses with kisses that barely touched her, running his tongue up and down, separating her feminine folds and alternately swatting her ass. She cried out as if in pain when he spread her more with his strong hands and then tongue-fucked her. "Dear, dear God. This feels soooo good." She shuddered. "Do it now. Do it however you want--hard or easy. Just fuck me!" He rose and turned her on her back. His hard body came down on hers, nose to nose, cock to pussy, he laughed. "Not just yet." His breath was hot. His demeanor showed desire. She had not come! "Why are you quitting?" she demanded. "That was for thinking about chaining me." She couldn't measure the pleasure that he'd just given her, and then he stopped short of making her come! The moment she was about to surrender everything because of the prospect of fucking with him, the house, the property and her freedom, much to her surprise he stopped in mid-stream. She looked down; his cock was still hard as granite! There were some things she just didn't understand about men. Disappointed, she considered resorting to begging him. He unlocked and removed the handcuffs and dropped to her side on the blanket, letting her get up...as though he were a gentleman. But she wasn't sure she wanted that. She liked the idea of being cuffed while he ravished her. “Go,” he said cheerfully pulling her gown down, hiding her pussy and taking the cuffs away. “I don’t push myself off on a woman who don’t want me.” How dare he retreat! 28

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Hearing his chuckle, she said during an exhalation, “Oh!” In a single motion she hopped to her feet and ran toward the stairs, confused. If he were going to rape her, it would’ve happened. Then again, rape only happened when there was a forced entry. She still tingled from his touch; her ass stung from the spanking. Feeling embarrassed she pulled the dresser so that it held her bedchamber door shut. Liza Jane climbed on the feather bed and slid down between the cold sheets, whiffing the familiar scent of lavender, which was very different from the man’s downstairs musky scent. Grasping the quilt's border she covered her head, positioned herself like a baby in its mother's womb and listened to the howling wind outside, wondering how deep the snow would pile up and how long they'd be snowed in together. She visualized him towering over her as she lay back on the floor. Her pussy would fit his cock like a tight glove. “Mmm.” She flopped over on the other side wishing the wanton desire would lay to rest so she could sleep. Horrible conflicts churned low in her belly. Had her common sense fled?

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Chapter Five

Crack! Liza Jane's eyes slit open. The sun hurt her eyes as she struggled to get a firm grasp at what had woken her. What in the world was...? Crack! Her eyes opened wide. Gunshots! "Oh heavens no!" Where was the dog? "Teeth?" And the shots, where were they coming from? Who had opened her bedroom door and stole her gun? She rolled to the bed's edge and looked more closely, thinking Teeth may have knocked it over. He did not! Definitely she remembered leaving it leaning against the wall. She gasped when she discovered that he took it. Her muslin nightgown drooping off one shoulder, she lifted the quilts. Standing on the mattress, she leaned and peered through the lacy curtains toward the silhouetted figure in the distant snow-covered cornfield. Teeth barked and played at his side as though they had made friends. He could find the whiskey shed--proof that she broke the law. Maybe he already found it. Liza Jane imagined the clank of the closing jail cell door and jerked. She had to stop him. The lawman raised the rifle, aimed and fired hitting a rabbit. She gasped in astonishment as Teeth loped toward the rabbit, seized it and brought it back to the lawman, triumphantly. "Oh!" she cried out in anger. In addition to her house and her, John Metz had taken over her dog, too. Partially dressed she rushed downstairs, shoved her feet into heavy shoes, slipped on a coat and hat and stomped out the back door into the bitter cold screened in porch, 30

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angry and getting angrier with each passing second. The sun’s reflection shone off the snow, blindingly. After locating a pair of snowshoes, she strapped and fastened the footwear onto her shoes; vaguely realizing her legs would chill in the sub-freezing temperatures. In a huff, mumbling, she shoed out to his side, and with her hands stabbed on her hips looked him straight in the face. Flirting with disaster, she said awkwardly, "Sorry Mister, but you shouldn’t have come out here. There's a drop off close by. It's dangerous." She recognized a flicker of a smile. Didn't he believe her? John Metz glanced toward the direction of the whiskey shed before recapturing her gaze. She waited for her anxiety to settle then asked in a quiet voice, “Why are you here, Mister?” One maddening dark eyebrow rose. He squinted, taking in her face then looked away. White puffs rose from his lips as he spoke. "I'll be honest, Liza. They sent me to arrest you." “Oh.” She gritted her teeth. "Liza, wait. I need to tell you more..." Her name coming from his lips sounded odd. For one thing, he didn't call her Liza Jane...just Liza. Feigning surprise and innocence, she controlled her split-second anger, and lifting her hand touched the second button on her black wool coat as his eyes followed her fingers. "Arrest me? What for?" Liza Jane looked away so the lawman could not see the guilt in her eyes. He had taken her weapons; all except one, so she couldn't shoot him. "Illegal contraband...whiskey. Where is it?" She shrugged. "Who told you that?" "I hear things. That's my job." She swallowed hard and shivered. A slight breeze blew a fine mist of white powdery snow off a ten-foot drift onto them. Teeth peered up at the lawman, with friendliness glistening in his eyes. "I'm going in. So if you're going to arrest me, I need notice. I have animals to think about, ‘cause they need to be fed. And, I'm cold." 31

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He stared at her for a few seconds before he spoke... "I have meat for breakfast." He held up the dead, bleeding carcass. "Rabbit. You like it?" "No." The poor little critter. He ignored her answer. "I'll cook." Cook? Men didn’t cook, especially white men for black women. She answered, "Fine." She'd not eat it. Her mood delved to a new low as she tramped toward the back porch ahead of John Metz. "What in the world?" Snow had blanketed Kramer land in at least a foot of snow. But, a large metal square shone near the lane. She muttered and looked at it holding a hand cupped over her eyes. If she weren't so mad at him, she'd ask what it was. Head down he followed, his snowshoes crunching in the snow as he trudged forward. He had even found a pair of her snowshoes. When he neared her, he said, "That's my automobile." John pointed toward the shiny motorcar that was nearly buried in a large snowdrift. "I made it this far then got stuck." It was too bad that he hadn't frozen to death she thought, aggravated. Liza Jane rolled her eyes and shoed faster toward the back steps. "Never in my life have I seen such a..." she muttered under her breath. It was best she kept her mouth shut. Liza Jane turned back noticing that he slowed and now shoed twenty paces behind. She stated firmly out the side of her mouth, "You had no right takin' my guns. And it's dangerous you goin' out not knowing where you're a goin'." She thought of the ravine; he could have fallen off the edge. Then again, perhaps the fall would rid her of her problem. "Nice view you have." Had he listened? "It's not my land. Not yet it’s not. I'm just workin' it for a man. Some say he might leave it to me. I don't have any other choices right now." "I know." Liza Jane stopped and looked back. "You do?" He passed her, shoeing quickly. "Sure I do. I know of Kramer. Well, he's doin' a life sentence. When he dies you get it. Right? Something about being buddies with your father?" Shaking her head she wished she could turn back time and shoot the lawman. Just like Widow had told her to do. 32

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"I'll chop more wood," he said. "And breakfast will be ready in no time." "I've stacked wood on the front porch," she said, rolling her eyes. "Good," he said arrogantly while removing his snowshoes at the base of the steps. She swept by him and up the steps. He was all she needed underfoot.

*** They were in the kitchen, bathed and in his case shaven, when he made a simple hand gesture toward the chair next to him and said, "Sit here. With me." Dumbfounded, she stalled near the stove holding a plate of food. It didn’t seem like a smart thing to do, sit with a white man at the table. Not at all. It was just something that wasn’t done. He rolled his eyes at her fear. "I insist. Have a seat." Liza Jane didn't know whether to try shoeing toward town to escape or stay and take her chances that he would let her loose. Suddenly an image of last night crossed her mind. Of her under him, cuffed and chained to the ceiling beam, her legs spread and his tongue slipped in and out of her pussy. The flashback dissipated leaving her feeling uneasy. Clearing her throat she hesitated, wishing the recollection to go away. John pointed at the chair beside him. "Sit down, for God’s sakes!" he ordered grumpily. "Let's eat." Frustrated, she took a seat and ate with her head down. For one thing, she didn't know him and number two; well she didn't want to think about it. Over a steaming cup of coffee, he peered at her, seemingly deep in thought. The action unnerved her. Actually, everything about him unnerved her. Damn his hide. Teeth was absolutely useless because he liked the man. She watched him lick John Metz' hand. If she wanted to shoot him, she'd have to go upstairs and get the Colt .45 from under the pillow. Teeth would probably bite her! If she did kill him, dragging his body behind the barn and digging up frozen earth would be a bear. The ground was frozen; she could hide him until the snow melted. Then the wolves would get his cadaver if she did that. Her thoughts were so conflicting. "You have any more guns, Liza?" he asked as though she would tell him the truth. The question delivered her from her chilling thoughts. She grimaced and put down her cup. "No," she lied. After he put down his fork, he said, "I don't want you to shoot me." 33

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Perhaps it was the way he said it, but his words caused emotion to tug at her heartstrings. She wondered if she could shoot him. The rest of the day she cooked, cleaned and dusted furniture in tense silence, wondering if he'd take her away as soon as the roads cleared, which usually took three or four days after a big snow. As sundown neared, she slipped her fingers between the curtains and peered outside. The lawman had dug out his automobile as she spied on him through the slit of her bedchamber's lacy curtains. Remembering the Widow's comment about John Metz' womanizing ways, Liza Jane realized that any woman with eyes to see would be affected by his striking good looks. Not that she looked at him in that light. But he did, John Metz was a good-looking man and had likeable ways for a white lawman.

*** It was later, much later, after Teeth retired upstairs to Liza Jane's bedchamber that the agent began to work his magic charm. For a while, she sat in the library her feet curled under her, reading. After he had put a record on the Victrola and the song Second Hand Rose played, he found Mr. Kramer's liquor cabinet, poured himself a drink and took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa sipping Kentucky straight bourbon. Liza Jane tried desperately to ignore the scent of his expensive cologne. The unwanted haunting recollection of the previous night returned. She had worn a thin gown. It rode her sweat-slicked body high. Their bodies pressed to each other's hot flesh. Her heart stopped beating for a second or two during the recollection. She loved to go back to that incident, re-living it. A difficult but hot admission it was, but the memory of his body draped over hers had aroused her to high passion more than once since it had happened. She tried to read, but the words were not registering. She lifted her eyes and watched him turn the Victrola off. Her pussy tightened in response to his nearness and obvious interest in her. God forgive her, it was immoral for a white man and a woman of color to lust after one another... If her dad were alive, he’d take her to the woodpile if he knew her thought. Nevertheless, Liza Jane couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to let the lawman fuck her. 34

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She recognized the way John Metz looked at her, all bothered. Of course, she didn't know for sure but he probably had a hard-on right that very moment. Call it a silly notion, but she sensed his need. When he noticed her looking at him, he raised his glass and toasted, his eyes glistening like ice. "Cheers." Not saying a word her eyes shot back down to the book in her lap. “Why are you so quiet?” She shrugged and kept her eyes down and away from him. "Are you wanting to say something?" "It's just that..." her voice stalled. "Never mind." She resumed reading, but her brain didn't process the print, so she closed the book and looked him straight in the eyes. What was he up to? "I was just going to say...you are the most beautiful woman I've ever met." A frog developed in her throat; her heart skipped a beat. Liza Jane didn’t know what to say. Dear Lord have mercy, was he flirted with her? She didn't know how to handle his forwardness. Surely, she hadn’t heard him right. "I loved it how you got excited and your pussy got wet. Did you dream about me last night?" She vowed to ignore his stirring words and the resulting heat that passed between them. She'd keep her eyes down and read like the sensible woman she was.

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Chapter Six

Liza Jane feigned interest in the words on the page while John added a few logs onto the dying fire. A complex mixture of emotion and thoughts clutched at her heart, for she wasn't used to having a man working around the house, especially not one like John. She wore a blue cotton nightgown under a white housecoat that was belted at her slender waist and slippers, but her feet were still cold. Chilly air hovered low in the room, and she raised her feet to the seat of the sofa so they could warm up. Turning from the fireplace, his line of vision dropped onto hers for a tense second or two before he went to the liquor cabinet and poured a second glass of whiskey. Feeling a little silly because she realized that it was too dark to read, Liza Jane got up, lit a lamp, turned the wick higher, sat back down and opened to the bookmark of her book, feeling his eyes burning through her. Definitely, she didn't want him to think he interested her, but she occasionally caught glimpses of his chiseled profile across the library. What was he thinking? When the grandfather clock chimed ten times, still standing across the room and sipping his drink, John spoke up. "You're not reading, are you?" Annoyed, her eyes darted to his face then retreated. How much had he had to drink? Unnerving her, he took a seat opposite her on the end of the soft sofa. Out the corner of her eye, she saw him pat his thigh. What was he up to now? "Put them here," he said, pointing to her feet. "I'll warm them up." A long pause followed during which she contemplated the invitation. Almost talked in to it, she said, "I don't think so." "Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you." "But..." Her voice quaked. "Maybe you won't exactly hurt me, but you'll try and…" He raised a finger. "No. Shh. Up, up, I won't have none of that." It would be dangerous, wouldn't it? Besides, he probably would take her to jail 36

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within the week and she had no business mixing company with him. Then again, what would her feet lying in his lap hurt? With a simple wave of his hand, he urged, "Here." Could she trust him? "I…I don't know if I should." His voice, so male, scratchy as sandpaper yet soothing, smooth as silk, he said, "I insist." Fire danced in his mysterious and intoxicating eyes. His motives seemed bold and plain. Liza Jane knew what he sought--her, in body, mind and soul. Widow's warnings re-played in her mind, but she shoved them aside. It was all so confusing. The lawman offered everything Liza Jane needed that evening--warmth, friendliness and intense male attention. The tension would melt away and she would feel so good. Thinking better of it but doing the opposite she placed her feet on his lap, thinking that she had made a mistake. John turned down the wick and the room darkened somewhat. His hands set about untying and removing her slippers. He pulled off her wool socks and ran his fingers over her toes. "I'm going to take out the kinks." His clever hands pushed and plied, wreaking havoc on her body. "It feels good." No man had ever done that for her. Liza Jane laid her head back, closed her eyes and relaxed. "This is a cozy room," he said. "Mmm." "And you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met." She glimpsed at him just as he touched his chest. "In your heart you're beautiful." "Thank you, John." How many women friends did he have, a man like him? Liza Jane settled back on the cushion thinking that she had to gird herself with resolve and not yield to the devil's temptation that was surely coming soon; perhaps it was already there. Just a little more of this foot rub, then she'd tell him to quit. "So tell me, Liza, how long have you been stilling whiskey?" Audibly, she swallowed, thinking here it comes. Duly, she considered his question. "I don't know what you mean." She was not a very good liar. Never had been. He knew. "I think you do. I saw your shed. Please not now, don't lie to me." 37

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"I'm not." "Want me to spank your ass again?" "No." She remembered the embarrassing encounter on the floor and thought the notion sounded intriguing, if it happened again. As he continued rubbing her toes, she fought the smile that threatened to give away her deteriorating condition. "You don't like that question, do you?" She knew that he knew. "Huh-uh." "Okay." She just wanted him to continue. A simple foot massage and her brain had turned to mush. Someone once told her that anything that felt good had to be evil. And now she knew it was true. After a while, he asked, "So do you have a man? Or have you ever had one?" She slit her eyes and she looked toward the opposite end of the sofa, eyeing him. "No." "No beau ever?" he asked in an ‘it's-hard-to-believe’ voice. "No." It wouldn't hurt to level with him. "Uh, make that a yes," she murmured with a wayward smile. A pause followed. A long sigh left her lips. "I-uh, never mind. You wouldn't want to hear it." "I do too." His expert touch made her feel wonky, like a broadcloth doll. Her pussy clenched. Already he knew too much about her. His touch, even on her feet, charged her with erotic ideas. Liza Jane didn't want to talk to him about it. The subject brought back painful memories. "Come on, baby." John stoked an ever-growing fire by wanting to learn her inside out. "I want to hear about it. Sometimes it helps to let it all out. I want to learn all I can about you." Stifling a bout of uneasiness, Liza Jane's dropped her eyes. "It's just that I don't want to talk about it, Mr. Metz." He growled, "Don't call me Mr. Metz. Christ, its John.” He paused, evidently noting her humiliation. “Who was he? How was it?" 38

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It? He wanted her to tell him about how they screwed? She had only known him a day. "I can't say Mr.--oh--John." It wasn't okay to discuss her sexual relations. Jeb had been the only boy her age that had attracted her. Not very many black boys had lived close by. As though John pried into her mind, he said, "Someday maybe you'll tell me." "Someday?" She paused thoughtfully. "Okay, you asked for it. So here goes. One summer day, we made love far out in the woods in a vacant barn. When it ended, I ran all the way back to the house and pretended to my family that nothing had happened. It hadn’t been good. Unmarried women don't or shouldn't have relations with men, black or white, especially with a cousin, even if he was a distant one." He nodded. She could not believe she just told him her deepest, darkest secret. He had pried it out of her. "So tell me one of your secrets like that." "Like that...hmm. I don't know if I have any quite like that." He paused. "Okay. Once I went to a woman's house, a friend of my parents, to stay for the summer. She was twenty-eight and I was eighteen. She and I, well, we did it...we fucked. All summer long. It was good. The woman taught me a lot about making love. She was supposed to be watching me while my parents went on vacation." A long thoughtful pause followed. "That is some secret," Liza Jane admitted. "I don't think anyone knows, except me and her." "Do you know where she is now?" "No." He looked down as he continued the foot rub. His voice broke into the silence. "If you and I should do it...I want to see you again." Astonishment laced her voice, “Really,” she said, her spine stiffening. She sat up and he stopped rubbing, but his hands stayed on her feet. “Yes, I do.” John placed his hands on her toes and resumed the massage. She relaxed again becoming a boneless blob. “Oh, I don't know...I just don't." Shocked, she looked his way. "You mean as a man comes to see a woman? That way? Me and you?" Then again the more Liza Jane thought about it, maybe she knew it was coming. 39

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"Yes." His wonderful hands were taking her to places beyond all bounds of legal tolerance as they ran up the inside of her calf, causing shooting threads of pure sensation to ripple throughout her body. "Did you stop seein' him?" "He quit seein’ me. Well, I guess I told him to never come by. "Stupid man." "I don't understand..." "For cutting you loose. He was ignorant.” She looked John's way trying to understand his reasoning. "You're a beautiful woman. You have ripe curves in all the right places. You have...brains. He'd have to be out of his mind." His cock beckoned her. "Oh, I don't know--" She forced her eyes away from his. It could not happen, she told herself firmly. John lifted her feet from his lap and stood. Kissing her forehead, he left the room. When he came back an hour later, she noticed that he came into the room with a sense of purpose. But what was it?

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Chapter Seven

John took a seat next to her and interrupted her reading. "May I do this?" he asked. With surprise, she looked at him. "Do what?" "This..." He took the book and set it aside. John groaned as his mouth opened widely against hers. “It would not be like it was with him, between us.” While drawing her tongue deeply into his whiskey-sodden mouth, he moved to one side, taking her down on the sofa. His fingers glided over her robe and opened it wide, pulled down the neckline of her gown and exposed her heavy chocolate-colored breasts for his pleasure. John's lips left hers and his line of vision dropped to her heaving breasts that now filled each of his hands. He caressed them, paying special attention to their deep-rose nipples. Liza Jane shoved her rising panic aside. It was wrong for him to touch her so intimately, so soon. The guilt was settling in, but she didn't stop him. She could not. Brushing his rough thumbs over her nipples, he said softly, "They're beautiful, my love." John lowered his mouth and gave them each a deep suckle causing her to feel a constricting sensation tugging in her core. John better situated his thigh between her legs, opening her, preparing her. For what she did not know or didn't want to think about. It didn't come as a surprise that she wanted, no she needed him to fuck her more than she ever remembered wanting anything. But she hid that need. The rough cloth of his overalls brushed against the delicate flesh of her thighs and belly. "From the first moment I saw you in town, I wanted to do this." He pulled her soft cloth belt off and raised the hem of her gown. She mounted a feeble protest, but her words fell away as his hands glided over her curves. "But you don't know me too well and…" 41

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"I know you." Her pussy dampened as he ran the tip his devilish tongue between her breasts, then moved down over her belly button and stopped above the black velvet curls of her pubic mound. He nipped at her pussy lips for several moments. She writhed wanting his mouth to find her button. And he did. Taking great care, John ran his tongue over the small nub. Liza Jane spread her fingers into his thick hair. His head rose and his eyes returned to hers while he rolled a nipple between his index finger and thumb. John a vital, virile man sought her with ferocity. She knew she had it within her power to drive him mad, if she so wished. “Mmm,” she moaned, lying back and letting him have his way. "You didn't know it, but I've wanted you for a long time. My dick's hard all the time when I see or am near you." He inserted two fingers into her moist canal and began stroking her. "So tight and wet." She pressed her lips together suppressing the guttural animal sound that gurgled in her throat as his fingers quickly pressed in and pulled out of her. "You're so wet and hot." A thread of guilt caused her to ask; "You have many girlfriends, don't you?" “I won’t lie to you, I’ve had many women, Liza. But that was in the pass.” As her breasts compressed under the weight of his chest, his pulled his fingers out of her pussy. His mouth covered hers. The friction of his clothed body against her flesh set her afire. His tongue slipped between her teeth and sunk deep. Her arms naturally encircled his neck and she raised her buttocks off the sofa as she strained toward him. The kisses gentled. There, by the light of the oil lamps, a shudder rose from her soul. John Metz brought her to the point that she didn't care about morals, customs or skin color. To survive, she needed him inside her. "My lovely beauty, you are delicious." He tasted her mouth, lingeringly and taking small sips. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Do you want me?" "I do, John." That was all he needed to hear. He took over. Under his weight, Liza Jane re-situated her hands around his waist; her fear and panic had long ago yielded to passion and arousal. 42

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"I need to know something first," she asked, between slow drugging kisses. "What?" "How could you arrest me for whiskey-making? You drink it." An evil laugh rumbled from his throat. "Don't worry about that." "But I do." "Don't. I would never arrest you," he said. “But I’m going to do this.” “What?” “This.” When it happened, it was all so natural...so inevitable. John raised her leg and draped it over the back of the sofa. With the fingers of one hand, he spread the lips of her pussy wide. Swiftly his wonderful mouth descended upon her nub and feasted for the longest of times, driving Liza Jane nearly mad with desire. She cried out his name and writhed in sweet agony as he continued. Her breathing quickened and the world around her blurred. She didn't know anything except she wanted him. Salty tears glossed her cheeks as he supped greedily in the most secretive spot of her sweat-slicked body, making her forget all about taboos of the times, reaching a crescendo from which she did not want to recover. After nipping her inner thigh, John rose causing the sofa to crunch under his weight. He stood over her, unbuttoned his shirt, and tossed it aside. "I could do that to you all night." He pulled his white undershirt over his head; obviously pleased he had made her hot and bothered. Her hand went to the light sprigs of male hairs that adorned his ivory chest; a shudder quivered through her. Her excitement grew, butterflies fluttered in her tummy and her pussy clenched in need. He undid his trousers slowly. Down his powerful hairy legs they slid. He kicked them away. Off came his underwear. A gorgeous naked male body stood before her now. She looked at his hard blood-engorged cock that he held in his hand. Want, like wildfire blazed through her. He was a sight to behold--rugged and ready. The thick, hard dark-red shaft stood high--a purely sensual experience to see. His voice husky, he ordered, "Take it in your mouth, Liza." She looked at it, stunned. "My mouth?" It would choke her to take something that big. "Yes. All of it." 43

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“I don’t know if I can.” The pearly liquid formed a drop on the tip of his cock. “Try it.” Sitting on the couch before him, he stood over her, his cock hard inches from her mouth, every thread in her body wanted to taste him. She grasped its thickness, leaned forward and took the head into her mouth. Scooting closer, she took him deeper. An explosion of air left his lungs as if in pain. One of his hands threaded into her hair guiding her. "Suck it, baby. Lick it." She pleasured him as best she could. Liza Jane ran the flat of her tongue up its leathery ridge several times and nibbled the velvety cap as if it were a stick of peppermint candy. She peered up at John’s face enjoying the effects that sucking his dick had on him. His placed a hand on her temple and his head dropped back. "My lovely woman." No longer could see his face. John seemed blissfully out of his mind. She pressed the lower part of his cock between her index finger and thumb while she ravished the head by feathering it with flicks of her tongue then dragging her teeth along the shaft. He growled low in his throat when she licked and nipped at his balls. When she ran her squeezing fingers down his cock, he lowered a hand to her chin and raised it so he could look her in the eye. "Wait, Liza, no. I don’t want to come in your mouth, baby, when I come I want to be deep inside your body." Pulling her mouth from his cock, he leaned and kissed her quick and hard, and then sat down beside her on the couch. Somehow she knew what he wanted. Liza Jane gazed down at his erection and decided to do it for him, because it was the same thing she wanted. She relished the thought of his hard-cock sliding into her tight pussy. Face to face with him, a delightful shiver of anticipation passed through her as she swung a leg over his lap. John guided his engorged length into her constricting hole and pushed until it went all the way into her. She gasped as a jolt of excitement shot through her body. "Oh yeah, Liza." He groaned. “Oh, my God!” she cried out, he filled her so completely. Mindlessly she moved on him. Squirming, trying to get used to his invasion, she drove him ever deeper inside. Her hips rotated as she ground herself against him, causing them immeasurable pleasure. She 44

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slid up and down on his thick cock, enjoying the solid feel of him and let out a series of erotic grunts and groans. Naturally, his hands cupped her wobbling, heavy breasts. Biting her lip, she stifled a passionate outcry for mercy. Their loins fitting flush, he stopped her. "Hold on," he murmured. "Let's...get comfortable. Let's get in bed," he said, pulling his cock from her. Their bodies’ damp, he picked her up and effortlessly whisked her up the stairs. He bumped the door open with his foot. And there, in her bedchamber he laid her down in the semi-darkness. The moonlight from the open drapes bathed her and the bed in shades of purple. "This will be more comfortable. Come here, baby." Her head on the pillows he drew her legs over his shoulders. At first, he pressed two fingers into her wet slit, and then began stroking her, driving her closer to the abyss of oblivion. Immediately she knew when his large cock replaced his fingers. In sweet agony, she cried out. "Ohhh." "Want me to stop?" "God, no. Do it." Slowly and carefully like a gentleman, he let her adjust to his size. "You feel so good," she murmured. "Fuck me hard." Her words broke his self-control and he pounded hard into her while gazing into her eyes. The headboard banged against the wall. Liza Jane pushing to meet his thrusts, her pussy gripping his cock like a glove, pleasure threatened to overwhelm her until she could deny him nothing—and then he stopped. "Why are you stopping?" she cried out. His hands slid under her derriere and held her bottom more tightly to his erection. He began pumping her again. "That's it, baby, come for me, say my name" he growled. The resuming rhythmical pounding almost drowned out by the sweet but violent sound of blood rushing in her ears and her bottom smacking his upper thighs. "My love…" he breathed as the mattress under her rose and fell. Their bodies covered with a fine wet sheen. “Your pussy is so damned tight.” Her hands clung to his back where the muscles bunched and relaxed with each thrust. Ragged were her pleas for him to continue as she neared her peak. 45

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Then with one last hard push, they found themselves atop the mountain. Just as she experienced waves of pleasure, John squirted his pearly white seed deep into her core. "John, John, JOHN!" she cried out as she came. For several seconds they held onto each other, riding the pleasurable moment before coming down to the here and now. It had been a rapturous few minutes. After normalcy returned, she could herd the tick of the clock and the crackle of the fire downstairs. With tenderness, he raised the flat of his hand to her damp forehead and wiped away the perspiration. "I love you, Liza," he reached over and cupped her breast. Leaning, he kissed a nipple then laid his head on her breast. Lying awake she stared at the ceiling. Finally Liza Jane was willing to admit that she wanted his love and his trust. She wanted it all. Most of all she wanted to share her life with him. But could she trust her heart to his man? He drew her closely into the circle of his arms where they dozed until the fleshy-pink sky peeked in the east windows. Snow began melting off the roof. The roads were clearing and Liza Jane knew that he would soon leave.

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Chapter Eight

Wearing nothing by a nightgown, Liza Jane sat at the kitchen table peered out the window watching Teeth chase birds off the property. Icicles dripped off the eaves. If there was a way, Liza Jane wished John Metz could stay longer. “I don’t know nothin’ about you John, and I let you make love to me.” His smile could melt her soul. "I'm glad we did it." He leaned and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. A new powerful tide of love flowed between them. “Tell me about yourself.” He grasped her hand atop the table and held it gently. “There’s not much to it, really. What would you like to know?” “Where were you born and raised?” she asked, bringing the coffee cup to her lips. “Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I’m thirty and I've never been married. How about you?” “I've not been married, and all my folks are dead, ‘cept me.” “I’ll bet you miss them.” “I do,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Now who do you have?” A sad pause followed during which he stood up came around the table and pulled her to him. “I have one person. She’s like a relative, but she’s not.” “I’m glad.” John pressed a loving kiss to her cheek. “You’re stuck so far out here...” “She’s white, my friend. She’s about the only one who comes by these days.” John laughed, “Except for me coming during snowstorms at night.” She smiled, “Yes, ‘cept for you.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad you did." “I’m afraid if you went to town a lot, all sorts of men would be coming out here, you're so beautiful.” 47

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“I don’t know about that.” “I think I could spend three days straight with you in my bed." "Me too." "It's hard to control my needs around you.” She smiled then stated in a whisper, “I just don’t think I’d draw any other man though. Just you." “Why, as beautiful as you are...they'd flock out here.” After managing a shaky laugh, she said, “You probably won’t want to come back.” “Now, why the hell do you say that?” “This thing between us happened so fast. It should never have happened. We are so different. I’m black and folks don’t take kindly to the races mixing. I just don know about all this. I...just don't. Maybe your folks won't like it." “That has nothing to do with my feelings for you. To Hell with what others think,” John said harshly. “If they don't like us being together ‘cause of our skin color, then hell with them." Astonished, she blinked. “You really feel that way? I mean, I--” His face softened with love. He leaned forward, grasped her chin and pressed his pliant lips to her forehead. “I have to go back to Springfield and won’t get back this way for a spell. I have to work. Two weeks maybe three, it depends on the weather. My dick will be hard the entire time, 'cause I'll be thinking about you.” Desire glazed his eyes. Heat washed through her body when she felt his cock pressing into her tummy. She felt his hand slip under the hem of her gown, slide up to her waist then move to the fullness of her breasts, where he toyed with her at-attention nipples. Her heart hammered in her chest. She closed her eyes when his fingers re-located her moist slit and brushed her nub until she cried out in need. Instinctively she rode his fingers without shame or guilt, she no longer hid her need. As his fingers slid in and out of her wet slit, he whispered huskily, “Naughty black temptress. You're in my daydreams. I love your tight pussy." The finger fucking continued. "It's back to bed with you.” John picked her up and carried her up the stairs. "Or I could fuck you right here." She laughed. "On the floor?" "Nah, you deserve better than that." John kissed her hard, kicked the door open and placed her on the bed. His nimble 48

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fingers moved over the buttons of his shirt as he undressed before her. Wordlessly, she raised her arms allowing him to pull her nightgown over her head. With his legs between her thighs he spread her. Her hands moved over his ass, as she gained the courage to let go with him again. Liza Jane knew her touch drove him crazy. With his palms on either side of her face he gazed into her eyes. John's breath caught when her fingertips brushed over his cock. "Christ, what you do to me..." As though he was losing control, his breathing became heavy. He gripped her legs and pulled her pussy toward his erection then stopped when the walls of her pussy grasped his cock like a glove as he eased it inside her. He slipped his hands under her slim derriere and held her to him. An exquisite sensation. Her warmth surrounded him, clasping him tightly as he lunged harder and deeper each time, withdrawing until another orgasm threatened to erupt. He exploded inside her with great force, causing a jolt of sensation that came over her like rippling waves, and screamed through her nerve endings. Soon they lay lifeless, their legs and arms enrapt unmoving in sheer exhaustion. "Is this our last time together?" she asked. "No. I want to talk to you about that."

*** Later they sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee, talking about his job. It had warmed up outside, so she opened the windows an inch and the incoming air smelled fresh. It seemed she’d remember that moment forever. Her love for him had grown. “So where are you off to now?” “Liza, I wish I could stay longer, I really do, but I have to go.” “What're you doin' tonight?” “You don’t want to hear it, do you? I mean about me arresting folks for stillin’ and runnin’ whiskey?” Actually, she wasn’t sure if she did want to know, but she guessed that if she had taken him into her bed and may do it again, then she should at least know what he was up to. “I'd like to know.” His voice deepened and sounded almost apologetic. “I have arrests to make. One is a woman. I hate arrestin' women.” Liza Jane blinked and took a deep breath. Her whole attention riveted onto his face 49

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in astonishment. “What's her name?” She got the impression he was not proud of what he was doing. “Is she from around here?” “Yes. A widow woman." John looked at the ceiling, thinking. "She’s probably sixty. She’s one of Illinois’ busiest.” Liza Jane swallowed hard. “Widow Herrington?” Please, she thought, don’t let it be her friend. John eyed her curiously. “Why?” The time of reckoning had arrived. She drew a fortifying breath; she had to tell him. “Oh dear, John. Can you not do that to her? John, she’s my friend, the one that I’ve told you about. Of all the people, please no, not her,” she said, nearly begging. Plainly disturbed, he rose. His lips taut and frowning, he said, “It’s my job. I’ve been sent down here to take her and you in. But I’ll tell them I couldn’t find any evidence on you.” Liza Jane rose and grasped his arm. “Please don’t. She doesn’t have any other way to make ends meet, ‘sides with whorin’ and she won’t do that. John--” “I don’t want anyone tellin’ me who I can and can’t arrest. It’s my job, Liza. I have to. I didn’t make the laws!” For the first time she raised her voice to him. “If you do, then you cannot come by here again.” Coldly she turned away, angrily crossing her arms at her waist. “I suggest you leave. Women die in these prisons around here. That law’s not right, besides they arrest bootleggers and then turn around and drink the liquor themselves, stupid, all of them.” “I’m leavin’,” he said in an aggravated tone. “I guess I won’t be comin’ back then.” Opening the door, he stepped out without looking back. “Fine.” She cared for John, but when he started putting her friends in prison, it came time for her to get him out of her life as painful as that task would be. Liza Jane wouldn’t feel right; Widow was her best friend. Friends stuck up for one another she thought as she watched her lover speed down the lane and onto the road en route to town. She imagined John Metz would never return. When would he realize the law was wrong and would never work?

*** Widow Herrington drove up the lane a few days later, surprising Liza Jane wanting a load of whiskey. Relieved that John Metz hadn’t arrested her, she invited the Widow inside for a cup of coffee and a long heart-to-heart talk, while Teeth slept on a mud rug near 50

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the back door. The kitchen smelled of the cinnamon rolls she had made that morning. “It’s so dangerous. Widow, I worry about you.” “It’s strange sometimes,” Widow said as she spooned sugar into her cup then stirred. “You wouldn’t believe what happened this last trip north, though.” Liza Jane took a seat across from her and looked her way with a rumpled brow. “I don’t understand. What happened?” Widow sipped her coffee then gently put it down. She shoved a few strands of silver hair out of her face. “It’s funny in a way.” “What is?” “Oh, that lawman I was tellin’ you about. He had me arrested and cuffed. I’ll be darned if he didn’t up and turn me loose, sayin’ he couldn’t do it.” “He? Who do you mean, he?” “That John Metz, the Prohibition Agent, I was tellin' you about. Him. He’s in town right now stayin’ at the European Hotel, I’ve heard. He took every one else in but not me. It was the craziest thing I ever had happen.” She laughed. “Widow, you’re not going to believe this...” “Believe what?” Liza Jane told Widow Herrington the entire story. She told the widow how Teeth and she had saved John from freezing to death during the snowstorm. Under her breath, she also told the widow about their affair. Liza Jane finished the story, telling Widow Herrington “I fell in love with him, but I don't think I’ll see him again.” “Aw, I’m sorry girl,” said Widow Herrington. “Love is tough to find. Now you lost it over me. I feel bad now.” “I thought we had something good going on. There are long nights I can’t sleep thinking of him, Widow. I…” Tears streamed down her face. “I know it was a mistake. I’m sorry, Widow, forgive me.” Liza Jane hesitated for one long pregnant moment before adding, “But the dear Lord knows I miss him.” “My poor, Liza Jane. Is there anything I can do?” the Widow asked before she came around the table with a clean handkerchief. “No, there’s nothing anyone can do. It’s over.”

*** Two weeks passed then faded into three. From her window she saw his automobile driving up the lane, and then it stopped. 51

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"Who in the devil…" She ran outside, crossed the field and approached John who sat behind the steering wheel. She rounded the front of the car, leaned and peered in at him. “John?” “It’s me all right.” He was drunk, she could tell because he slurred his words and his eyes looked glassy. “You shouldn’t be driving.” “It’s your fault.” He tapped the steering wheel and let out an elongated breath. “No.” “What are you talking about?” “What you do and who you are is more important to me than this job. Look at me. I have a drink once in a while and here I came to arrest you and your friend for something I use. I’m sorry.” “I don’t know what to say, John, except that I missed you.” “I quit,” he conceded, slurring his words. "Your job?" "Do you need a hired hand?" Her mouth dropped open at his admission--request for a job and apology all rolled into one. Suddenly he was next to her, nose to nose, his body heat mingling with hers. His legs were widespread and his thighs were touching her. He kissed her and then kissed her again. His presence nearly overwhelmed her as he raised a finger to her cheek and ran it down her neck to her throat. "I'm so in love..." He got a firm grasp on her and took her mouth in a long, lingering kiss. "Mmm." "And I am, too," she said to her man. "You're not mad at me?" "No, baby." “Let’s talk in the bedchamber.” Holding hands, laughing like they were kids again, they climbed the stairs.

*** Afternoon sun stabbed through the curtains and lightened the bed. Teeth stayed outside and chewed a new bone. John closed the door and they stood facing each other in the lavender-scented room. 52

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In one swift moment he’d backed her against the wall into a corner and feathered kissed down her neck. The time for making up had ended and the time for making love began. “I needed you the whole time we were separated,” he whispered against the base of her throat while cupping her clothed breast. “In fact, you’ve made my dick go hard right now.” "So are you wantin' to do something about it?" she teased. "How'd you guess?" John added petrol to the fire that smoldered between them as his hands found her derriere and pressed her into his hard loins. It was such a relief to have him back. His hungry mouth opened against hers; his lips were warm, sweet, firm and loving. After wrapping her arms around his neck with warmth and love, she slid her tongue into the deep recesses of his mouth, her tongue meeting his. No man she knew or ever wanted to know could kiss like John. A shudder erupted from the erotic turmoil that swirled inside her. Liza Jane wanted John more than she’d ever wanted anything; she wanted him in the bedchamber and out, now and forever. He was her man, without a doubt. His mouth pulled at her lower lip, when their kiss ended and he looked down. Between her clothed breasts, his large hands began unfastening the buttons. He pulled the dress over her head and flung the ankle-length garment onto the dresser. Then off came the petticoat. With fervor, he untied and unlaced, setting her body free of the undergarment restraints. Liza Jane released a shuddering sigh as a new wave of passion settled in her. In his rough hands, he held her newly-freed, heaving breasts then leaned and brought them to his mouth, suckling each nipple in turn with fervor. "Mmm, John. It's so good," she murmured as he nipped and tugged on their deep rose tips until she felt like a melting boneless mass that could slide down to his feet like the last storm’s snowfall. He stepped back. As she watched, he undressed for her, taking off his shirt, teasing her with the luscious look of his hard-muscled body. No words were exchanged. Her initial misgivings vanished, there was no doubt left, especially about the difference of their skin color; she wanted him as a woman wants her man. Whatever the problems that would arise, they would meet them head on, together. After his pants slid down to the floor, his freed cock rose tall, thick and hard before her eyes; he grasped it and ran his hand up and down his length, absently stroking himself. 53

Carol McKenzie

Excitement thrummed through her veins as she watched. Her own juices coated her inner thighs; her nipples hardened. Noting that he enjoyed it, she reached for him and began stroking his cock. He stepped closer to her and peered down. Several seconds elapsed as she aroused him; it seemed beyond human endurance. John extended his hand. Liza Jane put her hand into his and he led her to the bed. They fell onto the soft bed lying side by side, looking into each other's eyes. Their breathing quickened and he rose on his knees between her spread thighs. Slowly he dipped two fingers into her, readying her, checking her pussy for readiness to receive him. In response, her cunt clenched. Her body quivering, she sought the relief that a climax would bring. Liza Jane closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath for the penetration. With a hungry moan, she arched when the head of his cock passed between her lips. With one thrust, he sank all the way in, jolting her system. His hands found and massaged her breasts while he let her accustom herself to his massive size. Her pussy grasped him; she needed his cock almost more than she needed air to breathe. As one they moved. As if set on fire, John picked up speed thrusting the entire length of his cock into her. Their breaths erupted in raspy puffs lost in a swift hot fuck--a blissful moment in which they proclaimed to one another and the world they had reunited. Ecstasy speared through her soul; it felt exhilarating and indescribable. He continued until the climactic spasms rippled through her body; her cunt convulsed around his cock. During the intense moment, he came to grips with his own arriving climax. After one last hard thrust followed by a breathy exhalation, John cried out her name and told her he loved her all over again. He filled her with his pearly cream and together they rode the high. Slowly they returned to the sleepy late afternoon in which John returned to her. And moments later as they lay nose to nose exhausted to the point of sleepiness, their legs entwined and his come still wet inside her pussy, John kissed the top of her head and slid his hand around her waist keeping a firm grasp on her as if he didn't want to let her go again. John made her feel cherished. His lips sought hers for a slow kiss. "What are you doing for the rest of your life?" he murmured. "You're here to stay?" she asked, as she settled into arms. "I'm here for a long, long time. For as long as you want me. And I meant what I said 54

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about loving you." She trembled at his words. Quietly she admitted, "And I did too." Teeth came in the room, jumped onto the foot of the bed and dropped off to sleep. "Comfortable there, buddy?" asked John. Liza Jane laughed. After they lay quietly for a few minutes, her mind wandered back to that cold day she had felt lonely and prayed in her family's cemetery asking God for a man. Beyond a doubt, she knew that her relationship with John Metz was meant to be.

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Carol McKenzie

About the Author

Carol McKenzie is a free spirited woman who enjoys quilting, sewing, and oil and watercolor painting. She attended a university and received a Bachelor of Arts degree as an adult student. She loves dogs and is raising a rambunctious puppy who walks across her keyboard when she tries to write. As you may have guessed, Carol's favorite new past time is writing. Recently she began writing romantic erotica and is loving it.

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