He heard a thumping sound, and then two voices, both grunting and groaning with effort. He lifted his fist to knock, then hesitated. Finally, he turned and walked away. From the sound of it, Clint Adams was perfectly healthy, and probably happy. If anything, he wanted to keep Clint Adams happy. He left the hotel and went home. “He’s what?” Miriam asked. “In his room with one of the girls from the saloon,” Taylor said. “Rio, the Mexican.” “A whore?” “Not a whore,” Taylor said. “A saloon girl. And she’ll keep him busy all night, believe me. Uh, considering what I’ve heard about her.” But Miriam Taylor wasn’t interested in how her husband knew about Rio’s stamina. She was more concerned with the fact that Clint Adams had rejected her, and then gone out and gotten a whore. She hoped he ended up with a disease of some kind. Taylor didn’t notice his wife’s distress, but therein lay the problem with their marriage—one of the problems anyway. “I’m going to bed,”
