by Jon Sharpe
She smiled. ‘‘I guess I’m not as charming as I thought.’’
‘‘You’re very charming and you know it. But this is between you and your father.’’
‘‘And Alexis.’’
‘‘And Alexis.’’
‘‘I suppose you hate me now. Trying to use you. When I went to school back East they said that when you came right down to it, all a woman has is her charm.’’ She touched his hand again. ‘‘I did my best. And I really do want to help my father.’’
Fargo followed the sudden track of her gaze. Whispers circulated throughout the ballroom as beneath the center chandelier Lund and Alexis came together. The orchestra struck up a waltz and the couple began to dance. All the onlookers applauded. Lund and Alexis were the only dancers. Fargo was starting to tire of all the wealth and pomposity of the evening. He wanted back in his own duds with a beer in one hand and a cheroot in the other. He wouldn’t mind taking Serena along for a night in his hotel room, but he reckoned that she wasn’t used to that type of experience.
But as he looked closer at the couple he noticed how rigid their bodies were. Both of them were angled back at their waists, as if they didn’t want to get closer. Their smiles were rigid, too.
‘‘She’s happy,’’ Serena said. ‘‘The center of attention.’’
Fargo wished Lund hadn’t told him to stay around. He wanted to get on his Ovaro and head back to town. The dance went on for a long time. About halfway through, other dancers took to the floor. All Fargo could see of the couple was Lund’s white hair above the heads of the others.
‘‘I think I’ll go outside and have a smoke. I need a little air.’’
‘‘I’m sorry if I made you mad.’’ She was so winsome and erotic at that moment that Fargo wanted to grab her up and haul her off to the first private room they could find.
But proper folks probably didn’t act that way. But then he’d never been proper.
‘‘I’ll be back,’’ he said.
In the massive front doorway people stood smoking and talking. A good number of them were drunk and jovial. A woman slapped a man and he slapped her right back. The people around them found this greatly amusing.
Fargo found a side door that led to a small, deserted stone patio. He leaned against the wall and rolled himself a smoke and took in the gleam of the snow-peaked mountaintops in the moonlight. The air was clean, vital here. To hell with them inside. He didn’t belong here and regretted that he’d come. Except for meeting Serena. She was a girl-woman, not quite grown up, but she was a damned appealing girl-woman.
He heard private coaches and surreys clatter up to the wide front steps of the mansion. People were starting to depart for the night. Inside, two choruses of a birthday song were being sung. Lund spoke for a few minutes afterward. Then there was applause and the orchestra began playing again.
Fargo looked east to the boomtown of Reliance. For all his civilized ways, Lund didn’t seem to see anything wrong with the town he’d built remaining wild and generally lawless. It hadn’t taken Fargo long to see that the sheriff and his deputies catered to the rich and the Lord help everybody else. Three or four times Fargo had stopped a deputy from pounding on a drunken miner with his billy club. The miners were harmlessly drunk and staggering their way home. Fargo would be drunk most of the time, too, if he had to work in mines that were subject to cave-ins, and, even worse, the possibility of running into veins of water—sometimes the exploding water was scalding and killed a man instantly. No, not a job Fargo would care to have, especially not for the wages paid and the galling evidence of so much wealth made on the backs of the workers. He’d actually seen a carriage trimmed in gold plying the main street the other day.
Fargo rolled another cigarette and thought about going back inside. He wished he knew where the study was. He’d go straight there rather than mingle with the people in the enormous vestibule.
But a voice said, ‘‘There you are, Fargo. I guess we can talk out here if we keep our voices low.’’
Lund’s demeanor had changed from that of a man celebrating his birthday with friends to a man both anxious and angry. A small tic had developed under his left eye. Whatever was bothering him was bothering him a great deal.
Fargo leaned against the stone railing. ‘‘I take it something’s come up with the stage line again.’’
He noticed that Lund’s right hand made a fist. A big, tight one. ‘‘I wish it was as simple as that. This is personal, Fargo.’’
‘‘Personal?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ Lund said, his jaw muscles jutting, his fist white-knuckled now. ‘‘I believe my wife is seeing somebody on the side and I want you to start following her for me.’’
A laugh from a stone path not far away chastened him. ‘‘Maybe we’d better go to my study after all.’’
3
Leather couches and furnishings; book-lined walls; a framed photograph of Lund standing in work clothes outside his first mine; an outsize globe on a stand; and a desk clean and broad enough to play croquet on. The rich oak walls gleamed with the colors cast by the flames in the stone fireplace. And beyond the mullioned windows, framed exactly, were two of the highest snow-covered peaks, silver in the moonlight. This was a sanctuary, a place to shut away the world and relax. But given Lund’s grief and anger the air was as tense as that of a saloon before a gunfight.
He got each of them brandies. He paced and talked. Fargo sat and listened.
‘‘I can’t be sure of it. But I have my suspicions.’’
‘‘This really isn’t my kind of job. I’m not a detective or a spy.’’
‘‘I know that. I could contact the Pinkertons tomorrow, but it would take them two days to get here. I can’t wait another two days. I haven’t been able to work for a week. I can’t concentrate on anything else. I can’t get much sleep, either.’’
If that was true, he was a damned good actor. He’d managed to look and sound very businesslike these past three days since the trouble at the stage station.
‘‘You could ask the sheriff.’’
He glared at Fargo as if he were stupid. ‘‘You’re not naive, Fargo. Sheriff Tyndale is a thug. And so are his deputies. Thugs are the only people who can keep a boomtown from coming apart. But you know and I know and so does everybody else that you can’t trust them. If I told them this, it would be all over town in an hour. And who knows? They might find out who she’s seeing and try to blackmail him.’’
‘‘You don’t have much faith in the people you hired.’’
‘‘You’ve seen them, damn it. Do you have any faith in them?’’
Fargo didn’t need to answer that.
Lund continued pacing, went to the window that framed the mountain peaks. ‘‘Sometimes it’s so damned tempting to just go up into the mountains and never come down. Live out the rest of my life up there.’’ Fargo let him talk at his own pace. ‘‘I was never much of a ladies’ man. Always too busy with other things. With my first wife, it was no great romance. I loved her and she loved me. We were husband and wife, but in a lot of ways we were brother and sister, too. There was never any question of trust. I would have given my life for her and she would have given her life for me.’’
He came back from the window and seated himself behind the marble-topped desk. He seemed drained now, weary. ‘‘This thing with Alexis—nothing in my life prepared me for it. I walked into a room and saw her and my life was never the same afterward. I had to marry her, possess her. Nothing else mattered. And nothing else matters now, either.’’
‘‘Maybe you’re imagining things.’’ Fargo felt dishonest saying it given what Serena had told him. But he had to pretend that he knew nothing about Alexis or her background.
‘‘I hope I am. God, I hope I am. But I need to be sure.’’ He nodded to Fargo’s glass. ‘‘How’s your brandy?’’
‘‘Fine.’’
‘‘Want more?’’
‘‘No, thanks. But I do want to ask you a quest
ion.’’
‘‘Of course.’’
‘‘Do you have some kind of evidence that something’s going on with Alexis?’’
He leaned back in his cordovan leather chair. ‘‘There’s a small acreage not too far from here. Whenever I pass by there the elderly lady who sits on the porch waves at me. Every once in a while I stop and talk to her. She always has coffee and the best bread I’ve ever had. Puts a lot of butter and preserves on it. We have a nice talk about how the Territory was when she and her husband first came out here from Ohio. The last three times I’ve visited her she’s talked about seeing Alexis ride by and head over to where there’s a bend in the river.’’
‘‘Maybe she’s just taking a ride.’’
But his obstinate expression said otherwise. ‘‘The same place three times in less than a month? And a part of the country where there’s no reason to ride?’’
‘‘Have you asked her about it?’’
‘‘I’ve asked her where she went on a particular day. She always has the same answer. She says she just likes to ride along the river.’’
Fargo set his brandy glass on the desk. ‘‘I’m sorry. I just don’t want to get involved in this. I’m supposed to start working the northern stage route in two days, anyway.’’
‘‘Then it’ll work out. You’ve got a couple of days to help me with Alexis.’’
Serena’s words came back to Fargo. She’d want him to help her father. If Fargo could show that Alexis had a lover, Lund would have to confront what his life had become. He almost smiled to himself imagining Serena sliding her slender little hand over his and trying to gently talk him into helping out her father.
‘‘What happens if I turn something up?’’
‘‘Then I’ll take it from there.’’
‘‘I don’t want to get involved past just telling you what I saw. I’m not going to say anything to her or him—if there’s a him.’’
‘‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’’
‘‘What happens if I find a man with her?’’
‘‘Then it’ll be my problem, and you’ll be off working on that stage route. We’ll be using that to haul some gold. I want you to help me increase protection for the wagons at the key points.’’
Fargo stood up. ‘‘Well, let me know when you want me to start. Meanwhile, I’ll head back to town and get some sleep.’’
‘‘I want you to start tomorrow morning. She always goes off for a good part of the day on Wednesdays. And you won’t need to go back to town for your sleep tonight. I was hoping you’d agree to help me so I had one of the guest cabins prepared for you. It’s the one north of the stables. You can come to the house for your breakfast here. You can keep your horse in the stable, of course.’’
‘‘Your wife won’t think it’s strange that I’m here?’’
‘‘All she’ll know is that you’re helping me. And you damn well are going to help me.’’
Fargo wondered if the man might not have slipped over into madness. His body shook now; his eyes bulged slightly; his hands became fists again and again. Fargo sensed that Lund was very near his breaking point.
‘‘I’ll walk you to the cabin if you’d like, Fargo.’’
‘‘I’ll be able to find it.’’
‘‘There’ll be a bonus for doing this.’’
Fargo wondered how a bonus would work. A larger bonus for good news? A smaller bonus for bad?
‘‘I’ll be fine.’’ Fargo picked up his hat. ‘‘I’ll talk to you in the morning.’’
When Fargo reached the door, Lund said: ‘‘I appreciate this, Fargo. Very much.’’ The anger and agitation were gone from his voice. Now there was only sadness.
Fargo fed and watered his Ovaro and bedded him down for the night in the long, clean stable where a dozen other horses were sleeping. He smiled as he watched them in their slumber, many of them snoring, ears, legs, and tails twitching. A horse doc had told him that when a horse was doing this it was probably dreaming. Fargo had always wondered what horses would dream about.
On his way to the guest cabin, he rolled himself a smoke. The night was getting mountain cold but it was good, pure cold. He hoped there were plenty of blankets in the cabin. That was the best kind of sleep. Very cold out, nice and warm in.
He was ten yards from the sizable adobe cabin when he saw a flicker of light through the window. His hand dropped to the Colt he’d strapped on after leaving Lund’s mansion. Who the hell would be in his cabin at this hour? Or did he have the wrong cabin? He glanced around to see if there might be another one nearby. But no, this was the only one.
He thought through a couple different approaches for finding out who was inside. He could sneak up to the window and look inside, but he might get his head blown off for the trouble. He could stand in the front and order them to come out with their hands up. But again that might get him shot. Probably the best way— the least bad, as so many things in life came down to—was sneaking up to the door and crashing his way inside. He’d have surprise going for him. And darkness. He’d have a better chance of killing than being killed.
He swung wide toward a shallow copse of pines. From there he watched the side window. There was no flickering light this time. He listened for any sounds, hearing only owls, lonely, distant dogs, and wind.
He pulled his Colt from its holster and proceeded to work his way so that he stood directly in front of the cabin door. There was a flat porch with no steps to climb attached to the front of the place. He’d be able to throw his body against the door with no impediment to slow him down or lessen the impact of his weight smashing against the wood.
He took a deep breath, made sure his grip was tight on his gun, and then broke into a run aimed straight at the cabin door.
One thing he’d forgotten: that just about any closed door, no matter how flimsy, causes a good deal of pain to the shoulder that splinters it. A tiny shock of surprise raced through his system as the door was popped free of its frame and he rushed inside, Colt ready to deal with any culprit.
‘‘God, Skye, I was going to surprise you.’’
His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the gloom yet. He said, ‘‘Serena?’’
‘‘Yes.’’ Then she laughed. ‘‘The way you came through the door—you really have a flair for drama, don’t you?’’
‘‘I could’ve shot you.’’
‘‘Well, that wouldn’t have been very nice now, would it?’’
‘‘Where the hell’s the lantern?’’
‘‘I was trying to light it but the lucifer went out and that was the only one I could find.’’
The lucifer was what Fargo had seen flickering in the side window.
‘‘Here,’’ he said and went over to the bureau, where he could now make out the shape of the kerosene lamp. He yanked a lucifer from his pocket, scraped it against the bottom of a boot, and brought some light to the room. It was a pleasant place with a double bed, a wardrobe, a small three-shelf case filled with books, and two comfortable overstuffed chairs for sitting. The floor was wood, and heavy quilted rugs covered much of it. A woodstove dominated a far corner.
‘‘The important guests stay in the house, of course,’’ Serena said. ‘‘Those are usually Alexis’ guests. Dad’s guests tend to be some of the men he worked with over the years. Laborers, a lot of them. That’s why Alexis had these cabins built. She considers the laborers to be riffraff. Doesn’t want them contaminating the hallowed halls of the mansion.’’ She had changed into a white silk blouse and Levi’s. ‘‘I’m really pathetic, aren’t I? How much I hate her, I mean. Half the time I sound like I’m deranged, don’t I?’’
‘‘I’m too much of a gentleman to answer that.’’
She poked him in the ribs. ‘‘Well, if nothing else, you learned how to two-step tonight.’’
‘‘Yes, and that’ll come in handy someday. Probably save my life.’’ Then he realized that he hadn’t asked— or even thought of—the obvious question till now. ‘‘How�
�d you know I would be staying in this cabin tonight?’’
She gave him a lazy, winning smile. ‘‘I know everything, Mr. Fargo.’’ The smile got wider. ‘‘For instance, right now I know what’s on your mind because it’s the same thing that’s on my mind.’’
And with that she began unbuttoning the white blouse. In the lamplight he watched eagerly as the blouse parted to reveal perfectly formed breasts with soft pink nipples that made his crotch tighten and his manhood expand. But the striptease had only begun. She then began to slide off her jeans, the well-shaped hips giving way to the flat stomach and the thatch of dark hair at the top of her legs. She was only a few steps from the bed so she walked backward until she was able to fall down on the mattress. ‘‘Why don’t you pull my jeans off me, Skye?’’
He wasn’t about to refuse her request. She lifted her legs and he started sliding the denim off her long, smooth legs. Her musk was intoxicating him.
She didn’t waste any time. When the jeans were off, she reached out and took his hand and pulled him down next to her. She slid her fingers between the buttons of his trousers and wriggled them through his underwear until she found him rigid, waiting. Then she pressed him back so that he lay down while she turned her head to bring him a pleasure that was as heady as any wine he’d ever had.
She apparently wanted to take him all the way. But he liked to give pleasure as well as take it. Now it was his turn to press her back on the bed. He parted her legs and quickly found the most excitable part of her entire being. She moaned as he began to work carefully to bring her to the first of several peaks they would enjoy during the night.
Following a scream of sheer animal delight, she grabbed his hair with a touch of savagery and brought his face up to hers. Then he was inside her, filling her, driving her on and on to even noisier, blinding treats. His hands cupped her buttocks with enough force to make their groins virtually one as he continued taking them into blinding ecstasy.
Then they lay gasping next to each other. They didn’t talk at first. There was nothing to say. She waited several minutes before saying: ‘‘I don’t suppose you’d like to go again, would you?’’