The Obedient Servant [Going for the Gold 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  “I thought about that.” Milo cinched some straps on his saddle. “But there isn’t an American flag to be had. When I sent my proclamation to Stockton I also requested a flag. Until then, they’re just going to see a bunch of robbers running over their plains and forests.”

  “We should paint a better flag,” said Reynaldo.

  Chapter Twelve

  Milo hadn’t spoken since ordering the men to stand back on the lip of the ravine.

  He just tossed his head at Reynaldo, and Reynaldo knew to follow him down the steep hill. Milo was glad Reynaldo didn’t require a lot of instruction, because Milo didn’t feel like talking. Not that any of the others were particularly eager to inspect the bodies of Fowler and Cowie, tossed heartlessly down this ravine.

  Señora Carrillo had told them that the men had been tied to two pine trees overnight. But Milo found some parts of bodies on his way downhill from the two pine trees. A finger. Some coiled intestines. And—he realized in retrospect once he reached the bodies, and saw it missing from Cowie’s face—a jawbone, teeth and tongue still gorily attached.

  “Dios mío,” Reynaldo muttered, smearing his red head cloth back from his face. “¿Qué han hecho?” What have they done?

  Milo was speechless. He couldn’t tell if the mutilations had been inflicted while Fowler and Cowie still lived. But this explained what Señora Carrillo yammered about when she blamed something, and everything apparently, on the mad barber Garcia. Of course her husband and Mesa Juan Padilla, a rancher, were blameless. According to her, the men had merely tied the gringos to the pine trees while they deliberated their fates, and gone into a shed to ponder. That was when the mad barber had gone on the rampage with his straight razor.

  He had hacked them with knives, riddled them with bullets, and torn them apart in the worst manner. Milo didn’t particularly care who was responsible. There was no excuse for this. The Osos had taken over California with not a life lost or a fingernail broken and had taken nothing but food and drink from Vallejo’s storehouses.

  “Skurwysyn,” Milo muttered. Son of a bitch.

  Reynaldo sighed heavily. “I suppose it’s up to us to pick up these pieces. We’ll get these pendejos, Milo. We know who they are. They can’t hide from us forever.”

  “Yes,” Milo agreed vaguely. “We can’t make the other men put these bodies back together.”

  They sent the others back to Sonoma, to warn the garrison of what had happened, send a message to Frémont, and attempt to find Fowler’s and Cowie’s next of kin. They retained the buffaloes Duell and Maliano in case the greaser outlaws tried to attack them next. A couple of men—Akers and Sears, namely—veered off into the valley that led to Padilla’s rancho, probably to burn it down, but Milo didn’t say a word.

  It was a strange juxtaposition, the body parts strewn all about this heavenly vale. It was as though the desperadoes had chosen the most bucolic spot to execute their prisoners. Thousands of wild geese and ducks swooped and quacked overhead as the men went about their dirty business of retrieving the bodies. A couple herds of nearly tame deer approached them with curiosity.

  They spoke little while working then rode down the valley carpeted with crispy brown wheat. It would have been a pleasant excursion were it not for the grim nature of their task.

  “This wheat grain was procured from the Columbia River.” Milo lectured Reynaldo. Because he didn’t want to talk about the day’s events—the month’s events, really—it was easier to discuss mundane matters. “It’s superior to the wheat at my farm.”

  But Reynaldo, being a hot-blooded Spaniard, insisted on pressing on intimate matters. “Have you given any consideration to purchasing farmland down here? I’ve investigated the vineyard. With proper care, it could produce wine to rival that of Madeira and France.”

  “It’s crossed my mind,” Milo replied but spurred his horse’s sides so he wouldn’t have to discuss it further.

  It had crossed his mind many times. He was very isolated up there in Virgin Groves. His closest neighbor, Grigsby, was an hour’s ride away. His only discussions were with Diggers or Californio laborers. Now that he’d spent a fair time roaming over this pastoral countryside that smelled sweeter than honey—and where it didn’t snow in winter—Milo had been giving it serious thought. It took weeks to get things to the Upper Sacramento by sloop, by which time some of the goods were spoiled. The soil of Sonoma’s valley seemed more than suited to a vast array of fruits and vegetables.

  And there was Tallulah Crabtree and her little inn. She didn’t like unfaithfulness on a man’s part. That was easy enough to accomplish, and the stunning innkeeper had stolen his heart so completely he would not be tempted anyway. And—one of the best features of this idea—if Tallulah didn’t wish her spouse to cheat, she obviously wouldn’t be cheating either.

  Reynaldo didn’t count. Milo had never envisioned such an arrangement before, but toying with Reynaldo seemed to enhance rather than detract from his relationship with Tallulah. No, Reynaldo didn’t count as cheating. They both took pleasure in Reynaldo’s body and his company as well. Although more than a twinge of jealousy had shot through Milo’s stomach when he saw Reynaldo and Tallulah emerge from Leese’s house earlier today, he knew he had nothing to fear.

  Tallulah loved him. Or did she?

  The further Milo rode the more anxious he became about Tallulah. When he had lied to her that he was unmoved by jealousy at her fondling of the Spanish corporal, what had she replied? “A wife? Who said anything about a wife? You did.”

  It’s true. I did. She didn’t. It was Milo who had first linked the name “Tallulah” with the label “wife”! Skurwysyn! Tallulah was the most bounteous, desirable woman in the entire Sonoma Valley! She didn’t need to settle for a surly, domineering Polish farmer. Reynaldo with his transits, levels, telescopes, and his dashing Spanish accent, he was far better husband material.

  Then, when Milo became aware he was even thinking about how satisfactory he’d be as a husband, he spurred his mount toward a deep pool in the creek so he could bathe.

  He had hoped to just bathe away these anxious thoughts of Tallulah. But Duell and Maliano insisted upon splashing and fooling around like obnoxious youths, so when he was done, Milo rested against his saddle and closed his eyes to the sun.

  However, that dogged Reynaldo soon fell to the ground beside him. Milo sighed heavily and resumed wrapping his turban about his wet hair, but Reynaldo insisted on speaking in intimate terms.

  “Tillie and I were not canoodling in Leese’s house earlier today. We were tasting his wine.”

  Milo looked sideways at his friend. “And I imagine the wine wasn’t to your liking?”

  “How did you know?”

  Milo had to smile. “The way the corner of your mouth crooked up and your nose wrinkled in distaste.” He surprised himself for noticing small gestures like that.

  But Reynaldo steered the conversation back to his favorite intimate things. “You don’t need to fear for me, Capitán. I pose no threat to your romance with Señorita Crabtree.”

  “Did I say that you did?”

  “No. But you strike me as a very possessive fellow and not willing to share that which you consider to be your domain.”

  Milo reflected on this. “I do consider her my domain,” he admitted grudgingly. “But I’m willing to share her, for your sake.”

  “Thank you.” He couldn’t tell if Reynaldo was being sarcastic or not. “But we did chat when we were tasting Leese’s wine. She told me she loves you.”

  Milo learned what the poets meant when they said “the world stood still.” Everything on the periphery of his awareness shut down, like a binocular closing its aperture. Suddenly all he could see was Reynaldo’s handsome, vaguely smiling face, drips of water from the creek still shining on his neck. She loves you…Milo’s heart did miss a beat, he was so stunned. “She…said that?”

  “Yes. But she seemed to fear it, fear her strong feelings for you. Especially since we recko
n you’ll be gone soon. I’ve told you that Frémont won’t let you take any glory for yourself. He’s going to rewrite the history books and make himself out to be the big dog of the tanyard. Unless you particularly want a career in politics, I’d recommend thinking past this week, Milo.”

  “Yes,” Milo agreed. “I’ve thought of staying. I have no interest in politics. I could lease my farm up north to Grigsby, maybe bring some of the cattle down here. Why would Tallulah fear her feelings for me?”

  Reynaldo flashed a crooked grin. “She knows you were traumatized by the deaths of your wife and child. She knows that’s why you haven’t courted another woman since.”

  “But I’m courting her,” Milo said hotly.

  “Yes,” Reynaldo was quick to agree, “but she knows it will be a very long uphill row for her to hoe, forgive the farming pun. She knows you have a very hard shell around you. You’ve let no one in for many years. No one has been allowed to see your true nature. I don’t think you’re as domineering and arrogant as you seem. Neither does she. But you never allow anyone to see that.”

  “And why should they need to?” Milo huffed, whipping his bowie knife from its sheath to idly whittle whatever happened to be around. “Who needs to see anyone’s true nature? I’d frankly like to be spared from seeing most people’s true natures.”

  “Women need to,” Reynaldo pointed out. “Tallulah needs to. She was betrayed very badly too, by her husband and now by countless lovers.”

  Milo sat up straight and narrowed his eyes at his friend. “‘Countless’? What are you insinuating about the woman we are both wooing?”

  Reynaldo held out a calming hand. “I just meant…she is no virgin, Milo. Nor would we want a woman who was. Imagine all the effort needed to train one of those! No, I’m saying her husband wounded her very deeply as well, so she’s a skittish creature now. And then if you leave—”

  “I’m not leaving,” Milo snapped. He tossed down the knife and the badly whittled stick and took Reynaldo’s jaw in his hand. His other hand went round the back of Reynaldo’s neck, slithering beneath the shiny dark curls. “I’m not leaving,” he whispered again and kissed Reynaldo on his full Latin lips.

  He was just so gratified that Reynaldo had told him Tallulah loved him. Reynaldo didn’t need to tell him that. He could have kept that information to himself. Reynaldo also could have supported Frémont’s bid for a coup and very easily gotten rid of Milo by playing up to Frémont, soaping him up. Then he would’ve had Tallulah all to himself and all for little to no effort on his part.

  Milo wanted to show Reynaldo his gratitude, so he opened his mouth over his and lapped at his bottom lip, sensuously and slowly. Unfortunately, now was not the time for sexual shenanigans, so Milo merely moved his mouth over his friend’s soft lips, nipping and sucking, allowing his tongue to stray lightly over Reynaldo’s.

  It was Reynaldo who gripped Milo by the biceps and drew him closer. A hand cupping Milo’s butt practically hauled him into his lap, and Milo, for once, was the one who pushed the other man away.

  “We must go,” Milo breathed, although he kissed Reynaldo several more times lightly on the mouth. “Up until today no one had shed any Mexican blood. It’s not right for them to precipitate a war.”

  “I know,” Reynaldo breathed, “but let there be a few moments for me to suck on your big prick.”

  His hand boldly gripped Milo’s cock through the cotton trousers. While the idea of the corporal coaxing his bulging prick to completion with his mouth was a very exciting and fearsome one, Milo knew they had to get back to Sonoma. It was with every shred of effort in his character that he grasped Reynaldo’s wrist and shoved him back.

  “Long live California,” Milo panted, and leaped to his feet to get away from the alluring soldier.

  She loves me, he sang to himself as he yanked on the red military jacket. She loves me, and I’m not letting Frémont drive me out of Sonoma. He thinks we’re just a band of adventurers, bear hunters, buggers, and mountain men. That we’re all going back to the sticks once we secure California for him.

  Well, I for one am not backing down. The Cuffy on that bear flag is coming down that flagstaff growling, not whimpering.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Frémont didn’t arrive in Sonoma until several days later. The mad barber Garcia, Padilla, and Carrillo did not visit the Blue Wing Inn any longer. In fact, Padilla’s rancho had mysteriously burned to the ground a few days ago. Milo convinced Tallulah to stay in one of Vallejo’s guest bedrooms—the one next to his. For protection, he told her. He didn’t want her staying alone in her little house with only Origin to protect her.

  Although Tallulah enjoyed feeling protected by Milo and Reynaldo, it also aggravated her. The men were usually out at the barracks discussing strategy with Ford, Sears, and Swift, who had emerged as leaders of the “Bear Flaggers.” And with an unusually large number of people in Sonoma, Tallulah was certainly running ragged keeping the Blue Wing open. But during the few waking moments she was at Casa Grande, she was constantly bumping into the men in the hallway or being forced to watch them emerge from the bathroom after bathing, wearing only dressing gowns.

  It was a horrible temptation for her, but since the men were too busy with their new California Republic to hold an extended conversation with her, or were usually out cold from exhaustion by the time she closed her bodega and came home, Tallulah did quite a bit of longing and pining from the comfort of her little bedroom. She had even appropriated a tin of bear grease so she could massage herself to climax while the men slumbered down the hall.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about her talk with Reynaldo at Leese’s. Reynaldo pointed out that Milo would leave Sonoma as soon as Frémont took the reins of the new republic on the Pacific. And Tallulah had given voice to her fear that Milo was capable only of showing affection for another man. She seemed to be proven right—she knew the men slept in the same bed some of the time, although she doubted they were fucking. Too exhausted. They were such wild bucks, she definitely would have heard if there were any shenanigans.

  But the idea of the two virile bucks merely lying with their muscular limbs entangled in the heavy four-poster bed drove Tallulah to the brink of delirium. Even when she was serving aguardiente to agitated rebels at the Blue Wing, racing breathlessly from the oven in the courtyard and back to the storeroom for another keg, she still thought of the two men. These were hectic, crazy times, but she could simply not erase the memory of Reynaldo sitting on the vanity stool, thighs spread and long cock jutting forth. She’d been sandwiched between the two men, but Milo was so bold he craned clean around her torso just to get his lips around Reynaldo’s cockhead.

  She wanted to view this again. She must somehow accept that Milo had to return to his Virgin Groves—that Reynaldo would probably march on with Frémont, although he’d told her he was weary of it and wanted to stop marching. Now she lay back on the bed with just the sheet draped over her knees. When she massaged her clitoris, the bear grease warmed as though a little fire glowed between her thighs. She felt the extension of her clitoris plump up under her fingertips, and she massaged with more intent.

  Milo could have easily fucked her when they were playing in the bathroom at being master and servant. He’d shoved his prick inside her, just a half an inch maybe, just the bulging cockhead, and then withdrawn it to lick her to climax. Oh, heaven. She was so transfixed with Milo’s handsome face on a regular day, but the idea of him lapping away at her core was enough to bring her off. That hawk’s nose embedded in her pussy was enough to have her quivering on the brink of orgasm—and now, as she fingered herself.

  Why had Milo not penetrated her and fucked her fully when he had the chance? Tallulah knew she should not care, since Milo would leave Sonoma soon. And even if he were not deathly afraid of women and was actively pursuing her, what future did they have? He would return to Virgin Groves upriver, and she was stuck with the Blue Wing. There were not many other career options for an unwed w
oman aside from hooker. She was very lucky to have the Blue Wing, and once California joined the United States, she’d have more business than ever to contend with.

  Oh, Dios mío. She had only to vaguely recall the sight of Milo leaning forward to suction Reynaldo’s prick in his mouth to instantly be on the threshold of orgasm. Those two men together were something to behold. Milo may imagine he is avoiding women by dallying with Reynaldo. But he’s only succeeding in arousing me all the more…

  She had worked herself into a fine lather by this time. That must’ve been why she didn’t hear the bedroom door being pressed open. She wasn’t even aware of Milo standing by her bed until much later. He must’ve been standing there for two full minutes, watching her frig herself silly, before he made a sudden lunge and sat on the edge of the mattress.

  “Oh!” She gasped loudly, her heart stilling for a moment when Milo grasped her by the hips. He flipped her over effortlessly, and she was on all fours. She grabbed ahold of one of the bed frame posters, crying, “You nasty, nasty man.” She was overjoyed he’d thought to enter her room. He must have been thinking of her.

  He cradled her to his naked torso. He was apparently nude aside from the thin pantaloons he usually wore under his fringed leggings, and the bulbous cockhead nudged against her soaking pussy. The hair that sprinkled his pectorals rubbed crisply against her shoulder blades. “You’re the nasty one, my sweet. Masturbating in your bed when you’ve got two perfectly able men to satisfy you.”

  “I thought you weren’t interested in me. You’re so preoccupied with running your new republic.”

  “I love you, my sweet Tillie,” Milo whispered against her ear. He unsheathed his prick and rubbed the cockhead against her clitoris, apparently aiming to distract her from his remark.

  Her inner vaginal walls contracted spasmodically as he blurred his glans against her. She didn’t want to be distracted, however. Had she really heard correctly? She grasped his penis in her fist to quiet him. Her other hand reached over her shoulder and caressed his head to her. Although she wagged her hips to create friction between them, she whispered, “I encourage people not to love me, Milo. Apparently, I am so unlovable men cannot help but be unfaithful to me.”