She massaged it into her breasts, soft and gentle, lifting and cupping them. She let her thumbs stroke over the nipples. She imagined a man doing it. ...t could have been Carl, her late husband, or her recent lover, Paul Crane. Then her thoughts turned to a man who had never touched them, Walter Hartley. She scooped more shampoo from her hair and let her hands rub the lather into her lower triangle of hair. The pressure of her fingers was firm, but light, and then she let them drift lower. She. 'I surely wouldn't.' and I poured myself a cup, holding it in my hands and blowing on it a mite afore I drank. "Well, sir?that there coffee had obviously been made by a master of the art. Strong enough to float a horseshoe in as we used to say and with just a hint of chicory for added flavor. 'There's a plate of bear-sign right beside yuh if yore hungry," our hostess said to Shovelhead as he rejoined us after rubbing down the horses and putting their feedbags on em. "'Ma'am I calls that right. More

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