Page 26 of Blowing Off Steam

“Someone might steal the guitars,” Haight said thinly. “No one will steal a riceman body.”

“Well,” said Rushy, still standing with hands on hips. “How do we know you’re trustworthy? As far as we’re concerned, we don’t know you from any other Tom, Dick, or Jorge.”

The bog-hopper headed for them, but at a slight motion of Haight’s hand, he stopped cold. Haight gave them that smile that was even more ghoulish than his frown of disapproval. “I understand your concerns. It might assuage your fears to know that I am a member of Brannan’s Vigilance Committee and a majority stockholder in his company. You have no fear of him molesting your corpses. Please sit, Mr. Wakeman.”

Rushy sat, and Haight continued in his monotone. “I am also in the process of forming Huntington Hopkins and Company to run all the hardware and iron business here in Sacramento.” He turned icily to Field and said pointedly, “Perhaps you are familiar with one of the founders, Mr. Mark Hopkins, Junior.”

Field was struck clean to the heart. His brain felt as though it was bleeding, and he knew he wore an expression like a deer about to be stampeded by a herd of cows. How did Haight know he was acquainted with Mr. Hopkins? Yet he looked calmly, directly at him when he said that! To smooth over the awkward moment, Field said, “We weren’t questioning your business acumen, Mr. Haight.”

But Haight continued, “I am also in the process of forming the California Steam Navigation Company and have just been elected president.”

“The Combination!” Rushy exclaimed, mortified. “But that monopoly of river tycoons will put all of us smaller owners out of business!”

“Not if I have my say. Gentlemen, you must admit. The old riverboating days are over. Enough with this nonsense of people shooting at each other from rival ships, prices fluctuating. Boats exploding due to ill-advised racing practices.”

“We like racing,” Rushy pointed out.

“Well, there will be none of that from here on in. The El Dorado will still be the fastest on the river and the only boat with her own mechanic. Now, if you would be so kind. I have a meeting with Captain Sutter.”

Soquel Haight was evidently not leaving with them. Rushy turned for one last attempt at negotiating. “If we do this for you, Mr. Haight”—Haight nodded primly, hands folded on his nearly empty desk—“will you get Sam Brannan off my back for good?”

Another curt nod. “I will return the favor you already did for me.”

Back down in the street, the stunned partners walked a couple blocks in silence. Only then did Field say, “Did he just say what I imagined he said? ‘Returning the favor’? Rushy, we killed Kwok Lee. Or so Haight thinks. You didn’t intend for him to murder Sam Brannan, did you?”

Rushy threw his head back and laughed fully. It was always a glorious sight to watch the brawny, sensual pilot laugh like that, with such relaxation and grace. Rushy clutched Field’s shoulder as though to keep from falling down. “I don’t know, Field! Though I’d be plumb satisfied if I read his obituary tomorrow.”

Field had to laugh, too. It was all so absurd. “Maybe I should ask him about getting Mark Hopkins off my back, too.”

Rushy guffawed as they navigated the crowded street. “I guess we’re in the corpse business now.”

“I guess so.” Field sighed. “Haight should provide us with a giant icebox. Else those stiffs are going to start smelling in this Indian summer weather.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Field! Field, my possum!”

The way Calliope pulled him into her stateroom was a caution!

All Field did was politely knock on her door, but the whirlwind of a wildcat yanked him into the compartment so rapidly his feet nearly left the floor. She slammed the door by pressing him against it then layering her body to his like a tortilla. Field had to take great handfuls of her generous ass in his hands to maintain his balance. His cock was instantly up like a hammer, especially when he realized she was clad in not much other than a pink silk dressing gown so loosely bound at the waist he could easily see that her bobbling breasts were thrust upward by only the striped corset.

That door had seen a lot of action in the past couple of days.

“My puss,” Field gasped before Calliope glued her mouth to his.

This kiss was much more lurid and amorous than the one in the alley had been, when Calliope had been excited by the danger of making off with the opium bowls. Her pouty strawberry mouth slathered against his lips, and she snorted hot breaths against the side of his face like a mare in heat. Her little tongue peeked out, licking his stubbled chin, and she lifted one foot to bring it round the back of his calf and hitch her toes into the top of his boot. This way, her pussy mound under her flimsy drawers was pressed onto his thigh. The head of his cock squished eagerly against the stricture of his gun belt, and he knew if she proceeded to hump him, he would shoot just as Rushy had the night before.

Field had noted, though his hand had been laden with Rushy’s admirable tool, that the little minx was made so hot she humped Rushy’s splendid ass. He had imagined a former hooker wouldn’t be so impassioned about things of a sexual nature, having only engaged in those things as part of a repellant job. But it was evident she was genuinely enflamed when she gripped Rushy’s wrists at the small of his back, encouraged Field to kiss him, and humped his ass.

Now, she chewed on Field’s lower lip and muttered, “Oh Lord, Captain Trueworthy. How I want to ride you.”

Nearly insane with lust, Field gathered her ass to his crotch and humped her—low, lewd, and salacious, so that the entire underside of his prick ground against her pubic bone. He had not fucked a woman who hadn’t expected payment since his wife, but he had the stimulating feeling he’d be doing so any moment now.

Only. Except. Should they not talk first? If Calliope was to be their chef for the near future, he couldn’t just mount her like a common whore. And he didn’t want to do anything that would even vaguely remind her of her former career. If Field intended to court her properly, he must at least give her an explanation for why he was behaving like such an outlaw.

“Calliope,” he gasped, banging the crown of his head against the door when he detached from the kiss. He panted too heavily to speak, though, and tiny clear bubbles swam before his eyes.

She assisted him, although she panted just as heavily. “Yes,” she gasped in agreement. Her fingers fumbled at his cravat in frustration. “Did you get that contract you wanted, the o-fuyung?”