by Jon Sharpe
Dandelion Caventry, her name aside, was a feast for the eyes. Her legs were as fine as her breasts. Her lustrous mane of hair and the beauty of her face were icing on the cake.
Fargo would never have guessed to look at her since he couldn’t see under her clothes but she was one of those rare females blessed with a body that other women dreamed about having.
Spreading the dress out on the ground, he laid her on it. She clung to his neck as he did, yearning in her gaze, near breathless with her wanting.
“God forgive me,” she said.
“For wanting to make love?”
“For an urge I can’t resist,” Dandy said. “For throwing myself at you like this.”
“Hell,” Fargo said, and got back to it.
At the contact of his lips to her rigid nipple, Dandy gasped. As he swirled and lathered it with his tongue, she moaned.
He placed a hand on her inner thigh and caressed higher. Her skin was so soft, so smooth. And so hot.
Fargo lost himself in her body, from her hair to her toes, every square inch. He licked, he kissed, he rubbed, he kneaded. He made her bubble like a boiling pot. He stoked her desire into burning passion, and then, at the cusp of her need, he parted her nether lips with his finger and sheathed it in her hot, wet core.
Dandy cried out. Her nails sank into his shoulders and she thrust against him in abandon.
Fargo thought of Sarah Patterson; two women in twelve hours. At a whorehouse in Denver he’d once had three women in six hours. But he’d been drunk and couldn’t hardly remember them.
Dandy mewed.
It was time.
Fargo penetrated her slowly until he was all the way in. She shivered and raked his chest and bit his arm.
Their rhythm came naturally. It was instinct, as old as the first man and the first woman.
It was a while before they reached the peak.
Then Dandy raised her face to the heavens. “Oh, Godddd,” she cried, and gushed.
Fargo let himself go. The tide of release caught him and swept him along and he lost all track of time and everything else except the feel of it.
After, they lay panting, she on her back, he with his arm across her breasts.
“Thank you,” Dandy said.
Fargo grunted.
“You were magnificent.”
Fargo closed his eyes. He wouldn’t mind a short nap to make up for the sleep he didn’t have last night.
“I knew you cared for me. I could sense it.”
Her words sank in and brought him out of himself. “All we did was make love.”
“Wonderfully so,” Dandy said, and snuggled against him. “I can see us doing this every night for the rest of our lives.”
Fargo frowned. He hadn’t seen this coming. It happened from time to time, though. Some women just naturally thought that when they gave their bodies to a man, they became joined at the hip. Permanently.
“You can ask Father for my hand. I’m sure he’ll be agreeable once I explain how I feel.”
“Where in hell did this come from?”
“It’s the proper thing to do after a man has his way with a woman.”
Reluctantly, Fargo opened his eyes and raised his head. “When you said not to tell anyone—”
“I don’t want it to get out that we did it before we’re man and wife.”
“Dandy . . .”
“Don’t worry. I won’t ever bring up Sarah Patterson. You’re forgiven.”
Fargo drew back and studied her. “You’re goddamn serious?”
“Why are you suddenly so mad?”
“Get it through your head. This was one time and one time only. I’m not marrying you, today or tomorrow or ever.”
Her eyes moistened and her lower lip commenced to quiver. “I’ve given myself to you and you don’t want me?”
“I don’t want a ball and chain,” Fargo said, and regretted it when she reacted as if he had socked her. “You’re a great gal, but—”
“All I am to you is a body,” Dandy said. “The stories are true. You like to poke and skedaddle.”
“I’m lying here, aren’t I?”
“Don’t quibble,” Dandy said, offended. “How could I have been so stupid? I mean no more to you than Patterson does.”
“She means nothing to me.”
Dandy winced and a tear trickled down her cheek. “All women are hussies to you, is that it?”
“Look—” Fargo began, and gave a start.
They were no longer alone.
Men with guns were slinking toward them from all four points of the compass.
15
The first time it had been Mexican bandits. The second time, gringos. This time it was half and half—two men in sombreros and two more wearing high-crowned hats and vests. Each held a pistol and was turning his head this way and that.
They’d seen the Ovaro and the sorrel but hadn’t yet spotted Fargo and Dandy in the grass.
Buck-naked and unarmed, Fargo whispered in her ear, “Don’t move a muscle. We have trouble.”
To her credit, she didn’t speak, didn’t ask what the trouble was.
Twisting, Fargo snaked his hand to his gun belt and pulled it toward him.
The movement caught the eye of one of the men in sombreros, who swung toward them and raised his pistol.
Fargo was quicker. In a heartbeat he had the Colt out and cocked and sent a slug crashing into the would-be killer’s chest. The boom of his shot was all the others needed to realize where he was, and their revolvers blasted.
Fargo rolled, fired at the man to the north, rolled again, fired at the man to the west. That left the bushwhacker to the east, who was behind him. Dandy cried a warning as a shot cracked and lead bit into the earth not an inch from his head. He banged off a shot of his own and saw the man arch onto the tips of his boots and dip into a pirouette.
Two of the three were down. The first man he’d put lead into had staggered against a tree and was trying to take aim.
Fargo had one pill left in the wheel; he had to make it count. He aimed and fired a fraction of a second before the man in the sombrero.
A hornet buzzed his ear even as the man’s forehead acquired a bloody hole.
Quickly, Fargo snatched at cartridges in his gun belt and reloaded. He was worried one of them would get back up but none moved.
The stand was preternaturally quiet after the thunder of guns.
“Is it over?” Dandy whispered.
“Hush.” Fargo finished reloading and rose.
Only one of the four was moving, weakly trying to raise his gun. Fargo stalked over to him, careful to keep an eye on the others.
“Bastard,” the man hissed.
“No, you don’t,” Fargo said, and kicked the man’s hand so the six-gun went sliding.
“Damn your hide.”
“Who sent you?” Fargo said.
“As if I’ll say after what you’ve done to me.” The man shuddered and blood trickled from his nose. “I’m lung-shot, you bastard.”
“Give my regards to hell,” Fargo said.
The man quaked and groaned. “I never saw anyone so damn fast. They didn’t tell us that.”
“They?”
The man coughed and blood leaked from his mouth. “She’ll never make it back. Not with that much money.”
Fargo thought he understood. “You were out to rob the Caventry woman.”
“Rob?” the man said, and uttered a gurgling laugh. “You don’t know beans.”
“I know you’re dead,” Fargo said, and shot him in the head. Then he went to each of them to make sure. The last, a Mexican, was breathing, if barely.
“Who hired you?” Fargo tried again.
“Su madre.”
“Funny man,” Fargo said.
“Usted es un hombre muerto.”
“I am, am I?”
The man was fading yet he got out, “Mas pistoleros se enviara.”
“Figured they will be,” Fargo said. He pointed the Colt but lowered it again. There was no need.
A twig crunched and Fargo whirled, primed to shoot. “Damn it, girl. Are you trying to get yourself shot?”
“I figured it was safe,” Dandy said, staring aghast at the bodies, her dress clasped in front of her. “How many more will be out to kill us? I wonder. And who is sending them?”
“They wouldn’t say.” Fargo strode to his buckskins. For all he knew there were more out there, and as a general rule he didn’t like to swap lead bare-assed.
Dandy followed, holding the bottom of her dress up so she wouldn’t trip over it. “Didn’t you learn anything?”
“You might want to get dressed,” Fargo advised as he grabbed his pants off the ground.
“Oh.” Dandy gathered up her clothes and moved toward the trees.
“Where the hell are you going?”
“To do what you told me.”
“Get dressed right there.”
“With you watching?”
Fargo bit off a few choice words. “You do remember making love a few minutes ago?”
“So?”
“Nothing,” Fargo said. “Go behind the trees. And if you get shot, don’t blame me.”
Dandy gnawed her lip and set to dressing where she stood. “I suppose that was silly, wasn’t it?”
“Silly as hell,” Fargo said.
“Shows how much you know about females,” Dandy said archly. “Just because a woman has let a man see her naked doesn’t mean she wants him to see her get dressed.”
“That could only make sense to a female,” Fargo said. He scanned the stand. So far their luck was holding.
Dandy had turned her back to him and was dressing in sharp movements.
“Nice ass,” Fargo couldn’t resist saying.
She didn’t reply or even look at him.
Fargo finished first and prowled through the trees in ever wider circles. He was almost to the south end when he spied the four horses the killers had ridden. There was no sign of anyone else.
About to gather up the reins and lead the animals back, it occurred to him to rummage through their saddlebags. He was searching for a clue as to who hired them. All he found were the usual mix of clothes, tin cups, ammunition, and whatnot. He also found a letter and gave it a cursory glance. It was from a sister to her brother, wishing him the best in his “grand adventure in the West.” It was dated two years ago.
Dandy was dressed and waiting. “Are we safe?”
“For the time being.”
“It was foolish of them to attack us,” Dandy said. “What did they think, that I’m carrying thousands of dollars around with me?”
Her comment gave Fargo food for thought as they rode back to the ranch house. Brazos, the foreman, was at the stable, and when he heard what had happened, he sent half a dozen punchers to scour the countryside.
“Any strangers you come across, bring them to me. If they won’t come, bring them anyway.”
“They give us too much trouble,” a cowboy said, “we’ll bring them belly down.”
Fargo was about to ask if Sarah Patterson had made it back safely when he saw her on the porch.
Dandy didn’t waste any time dismounting and walking off. She was still angry at him and her back was as stiff as a washboard. She went up the steps and inside without responding to something Sarah said.
Fargo unsaddled the Ovaro and placed it in a stall. When he came out, Sarah was still on the porch, in a rocking chair. He made straight for her. He’d come to a decision. The way he saw it, only one of two people could be behind the attacks. To find out which one, he needed to stir them up.
“What happened out there?” Sarah asked as he climbed the porch steps. “I asked your darling Miss Caventry why she looked so mad and she wouldn’t answer me.”
“We were bushwhacked,” Fargo said.
“That would do it,” Sarah said. “But I suspect something else has her drawers in a knot. I suspect that something is you.”
“I must have missed the part where it’s any of your business.”
Sarah feigned shock. “Is that any way to talk to a lady after you’ve screwed her brains out?”
“There were four of them this time,” Fargo informed her. “It could be that two were from south of the border.”
“Could be?”
“Texas was part of Mexico before it was part of the United States.” Fargo paused. “And your ranch straddles both.”
“Go to hell,” Sarah said. “I had nothing to do with any of these tries on your life.”
“Someone does. And if it’s you, you’ll pay.”
“I didn’t take you for the blustering kind.”
“Consider this your only warning,” Fargo said, and walked off. He’d shaken one tree. Now to shake the other.
Lester didn’t answer until the fifth knock. Cracking the door, he frowned and said, “What the hell do you want?”
“Nice day if it doesn’t rain,” Fargo said.
“I have no time for your nonsense. Go bother someone else.”
Lester started to close the door and Fargo threw his shoulder against it, slamming it into Lester and knocking him back. Before Lester could recover, Fargo was inside.
“You could have hurt me doing that,” Lester said, his small fists bunched.
“I’ll only say this once. Leave your sister be.”
Lester’s mouth worked as if he were chewing tobacco. Finally he spat, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Someone is hiring the gun hands who keep trying to spill our blood.”
“And you blame me?”
“Why not?”
“They’re after money. Our money,” Lester stressed. “Haven’t you been paying attention? Do you seriously think I want them to take money that belongs to me?”
Fargo stepped up to him.
Recoiling a step, Lester jutted his chin in defiance. “Do your worst.”
“My worst,” Fargo said, “would end with you not breathing.”
Lester’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
“The next try on your sister’s life, I’ll come looking for you.”
“You don’t scare me,” Lester said, although he sounded plenty afraid.
Wheeling, Fargo strode out. There, he’d done it. He’d provoked both of them. Now all he had to do was wait for it to bring a rain of hot lead down on his head and hope he survived.
16
The get-together was in the parlor at four in the afternoon.
They were all there when Fargo entered. He didn’t bother taking a seat but leaned against a wall and folded his arms.
“Let’s begin,” Dandy said. She was on the settee with the oak case in her lap and the satchel at her feet.
Behind the settee stood Bronack, his hand on his revolver.
Lester had plopped into a chair and hooked one leg over an arm. He looked as bored as a human being could look and picked at his front teeth with a fingernail. He stopped picking for a few seconds to glare at Fargo.
Sarah Patterson had claimed the largest chair in the room. She gave Fargo the sort of smile a rattler might give a mouse it was about to swallow.
Dandy said, “I want to thank all of you for bearing with me. It’s taken longer than I expected to come to a decision.”
“Too long,” Lester muttered.
Dandy ran her hand over the case lid. “It hasn’t been easy. Not that I would ever impugn Mrs. Patterson’s integrity by implying she would engage in fraud.”
“I certainly hope not,” Sarah said.
“It could well be
that her husband’s father was mistaken. That someone told him this is Jim Bowie’s knife and he took it for granted it was true.”
“My husband, rest his soul, never told a lie a day in his life,” Sarah said. “Nor, I understand, did his father.”
“Any cherry trees around here?” Lester asked.
“Keep it up, boy,” Sarah said, “and I’ll have some of my hands take you out and tie you to one.”
“Please,” Dandy said. “Let’s stop spatting, shall we? We’re all friends here.”
Sarah snorted.
“Anyway,” Dandy said, and opened the case, “to the point. I’ve examined the knife as thoroughly as I can. The metal, the workmanship, the style, its age, all indicate that it could well be Jim Bowie’s blade.”
“You’ll buy it, then?” Sarah asked.
“Let me finish. My father left its purchase entirely up to me. At my complete discretion, was how he phrased it.” Dandy took the knife out and held it in both hands so all of them could see it.
“This is a large bush you’re talking around, dearie,” Sarah remarked.
“I’m almost done.” Dandy touched a spot of blood on the blade. “While everything indicates it might be the real article, part of me, my intuition, isn’t so sure.”
“Well, hell,” Sarah said.
“But I can’t let that stand in the way,” Dandy said quickly. “If there’s the slightest chance it’s genuine, I have to do what common sense dictates.”
“You’re not saying what I think you’re saying,” Lester said.
“Yes, dear brother,” Dandy addressed him. “It’s better to have the knife and later find out it’s fake than to not buy it now and later have it proven to be authentic. So, I’ve decided to bite the bullet and buy it.”
Lester looked fit to spit nails but Sarah Patterson laughed merrily.
“How much is your father willing to pay?”
Dandy looked at her. “Ten thousand dollars.”
“Be serious,” Sarah scoffed. “We’re talking about the weapon Jim Bowie used at the Alamo. It’s priceless. I won’t accept less than, say, one hundred thousand.”