Denver Strike Read Online Free PDF

having a man. Being without a man weakens a woman’s body, and it makes her soul go all hungry. That’s how I feel right now. Hungry.”
    Hawker watched as the woman stood abruptly and stripped the cotton gown over her head. It was the same ripe, earth-brown body he had seen that afternoon, but the firelight added subtleties of shape and texture that made her look even more desirable. Suddenly shy with the vigilante’s eyes hard on her, she gave a girlish shrug, “I know I ain’t much to look at anymore. Having babies puts some wear on a woman’s body. But what I got, Mr. Hawker, is all yours, yours to do as you want, any way you want. All I ask is that you treat me like a woman. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
    Hawker took the woman by the shoulders and pulled her to him, sliding his hands down so they cupped her large, soft breasts. “For starters, how about calling me James?”
    Her head was thrown back, eyes slightly closed. “That surely does feel nice, James,” she moaned.
    Hawker lowered her breasts down onto his face, feeling the nipples flatten themselves against his eyes. Then he began to use his tongue on her, touching her nipples in slow rhythm to the pressure her hips made against his bare leg.
    He rolled her over then, and she pulled his lips to hers, hard, as her hands moved over his body and stripped away his underwear, and Hawker wrapped his fists in her long black hair as her legs spread wide and, with her small left hand, she found him and guided him into her, too anxious for any more touching or hugging, hungry, as she had said, for the feel of a man in her.
    Her face had gone soft and sluggish, her eyes closed, lips swollen, and she moaned in ecstasy with each thrust the vigilante made as the sweat from his forehead dripped down onto her face.
    His left arm, he noticed, had begun to bleed again.
    It was more than an hour before Hawker had time to do anything about it.
    When Hawker first awoke, he wasn’t so sure that it all hadn’t been a dream. But the quick, familiar kiss Lomela gave him told him it had been real enough.
    â€œHow’s your fever, James?”
    â€œAll gone, Lomela. How’s your fever?”
    She flashed a vampish smile. “Never better. I found me the sure cure for it last night”—her smile broadened—“but it’s only a temporary cure.”
    â€œI’m happy to hear that. My body’s happy, too—I think.” Grimacing humorously, Hawker got up and wrapped the blanket around himself as Lomela returned to the wood stove where thick slices of bacon and a half-dozen eggs were frying in the same black skillet. “Where are your kids?”
    The woman pointed with the spatula. “I sent my girl, Dolores, for a bucket of water. My oldest, K.D.—he’s nine—is out chopping me some more wood so I can finish your breakfast.”
    Hawker’s expression changed as he went quickly to the window. He pulled back the deerskin curtain. “How long have they been gone?”
    â€œâ€™Bout five minutes.” The woman handed him a cup of very dark coffee as she asked quickly, “Don’t you see them out there?”
    Hawker dropped the curtain back, smiling. “I see them. They’re fine. Good-looking kids, too. I thought so yesterday, watching them through the binoculars.”
    The woman came into Hawker’s arms, smiling. “The way you watched me?”
    â€œI could have lied to you. I could have said I was a gentleman and turned away.”
    She slid her hand up under the blanket and held him in her fingers as she gave him a quick kiss. “I’m glad Tom Dulles didn’t send no gentleman to watch over us. Maybe that man really does still care about me.”
    Hawker found the clothes he had worn under the camouflaged jump suit: jeans, black crew-neck sweater, ankle-high climbing boots with Vibram soles. When he was dressed, he sat at