Motherlode by James Axler Page A

always. She still wondered if Sand wasn’t showing a chink in her otherwise sound-looking armor.
    “How do you intend to play it?” Sand asked. “It’ll take you a while to get up those heights and sneak up on him.”
    “No need,” Ryan said.
    “We’ll need a diversion,” J.B. added.
    Krysty smiled. “Gentlemen,” she said, “leave that to me.”
    * * *
    R ICKY M ORALES CROUCHED by the front window of the playhouse, peering out. The frilly curtains had been pushed to the sides and tied with ribbons. He was trying hard not to be too conscious of the elbow digging into his left ear or the smells—mostly perfumes, but not all—of the warm bodies pressed against him, sides and back.
    Most of all, he was desperately trying not to pop wood.
    Alone, Krysty walked from the front door of the building. She followed a neatly raked path that led toward where the stream ran by to the west of the huge house. She seemed to be swinging her jeans-clad hips more emphatically than usual.
    Ricky swallowed.
    He was acutely aware of Mildred watching over his shoulder. She had told him if he watched he’d be struck blind, possibly by her. Krysty had only laughed and said the point was to be seen....
    Some of the people working near the big house glanced up as Krysty approached the stream. She was an outlander, so naturally they were curious. Also she was tall, with that vivid red hair looking almost metallic in the sunlight, and breathtakingly beautiful. Naturally she’d attract eyes.
    And, as she’d said, that was the point of her little show.
    As she neared the stream, he could tell by the way her elbows started moving around by her sides that she was unbuttoning her blue shirt. As she approached the water, she pulled the hem out of her waistband.
    She crouched to test the water with a finger. When she stood again, she shucked off the shirt and let it fall on the grassy bank by her feet. The only thing she wore on the upper half of her body now was a gray sports bra supporting her generous breasts.
    More and more faces were starting to rise from shovels and hoes and other tasks. Many expressions were shaded by wide hat brims and hard to read by way of distance. But the way their faces were turned made it obvious where they were looking.
    Kneeling at Ricky’s side, Jak moistened his lips. This wasn’t where he wanted to be right now—he claimed. But it was where Ryan had told him to stay. For once he’d obeyed without much fuss.
    Standing first on one leg, then the other, Krysty pulled off her blue cowboy boots. She showed a balance that surprised Ricky, and he’d spent pretty much every day of the past few months in her presence. The well-worn socks joined her shirt.
    To Ricky’s right, by the window on the other side of the front door, someone tittered. He heard a thwack, followed by a muted, “Owww!”
    There had to have been a dozen people crowded into the front room of the hacienda alone, craning and jostling for a view through the narrow windows. Ricky had the impression the other front-facing windows had drawn crowds, as well. Aside from Ricky, Jak, Mildred and Doc, everybody in the front room belonged to the hacienda. Baron Sand herself stood by the other window, leaning forward with keen interest on her oddly handsome moon face, taking advantage of her height—augmented by the ankle boots she wore—to see over her retainers.
    She had issued stern warnings against making the least bit of noise no matter what happened. Apparently she had given the violator a thump on the head to punish his breach.
    Or hers. In some cases, Ricky wasn’t triple sure.
    Krysty bent over, skinning the jeans down her legs. Her skin was so white in the bright afternoon that it was startling. As was the tapered perfection of those legs, so leanly muscled. Ricky might have moaned, but he wasn’t the only one.
    She was now dressed only in the sports bra and some faded lavender panties. She turned profile to the house as she skinned the bra