by Jon Sharpe
Perhaps too quiet.
Fargo’s eyelids became heavy and he started to doze. With an oath, he roused his sluggish senses. It would be all Rika needed: him to fall asleep and be as easy to take as a newborn babe.
A feeling came over him, a conviction that he was being watched. Rika, waiting for his chance.
Fargo glanced at the horses and then out over the flatland and then to his left into the woods—and saw an Indian so close he could hit him with a snowball. Fargo blinked, and the Indian was gone. Straightening, he placed his hand on the Colt. He wondered if he’d really seen him or only thought he did. Warily, he moved toward the spot.
The woods were deathly still; even the sparrow had gone quiet.
Tracks didn’t lie, and there in the snow were moccasin prints.
Sometimes Fargo could tell from the shape and the stitching which tribe fashioned any given footwear. But that was when the prints were in mud or soft earth or it was so dusty every detail showed. Here in the snow there wasn’t much to go on.
Fargo debated giving chase and decided against it. It would be foolhardy, bordering on stupid, to leave Mary and the kids alone. He backed away. Why invite an arrow between the shoulder blades?
Now he had a possible hostile as well as a killer to deal with. One good thing: Seeing the warrior had jarred him awake.
He let about half an hour go by, then shook Mary’s shoulder and had her wake her kids. Nelly and Jayce were snails. They sat up slowly and stood slowly and climbed on the sorrel slower than molasses.
Fargo was impatient. For all he knew, Cud Sten and the rest of the outlaws were after them, too. The more miles they put behind them, the safer they would be. From Sten, anyway.
Mary smiled and fluffed her hair as she brought the dun up next to the Ovaro. “Thank you for letting us sleep. I feel rested. I take it there’s been no sign of that man you think is following us?”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe he isn’t back there. Maybe he never came after us and you’re fretting over nothing.”
“And maybe buffalo will sprout wings and fly. Don’t make the mistake of assuming anything.”
“Do you ever make mistakes? I only ask because I’ve never met anyone so sure of himself as you are. You always seem to know just what to do.”
“Fat lot of good it’s done me, lady. I’ve lost count of my blunders.”
“It’s Mary, remember? After what we did, I should think you could at least call me by my name.”
Fargo sighed. It was just like a woman to think that since she had shared her body, she was entitled to some sort of claim on the man she had shared her body with.
“I heard that.” Mary sounded hurt.
“Heard what, Ma?” Nelly and Jayce had come up on the other side. Where before Nelly had been handling the reins and Jayce had ridden behind her, now he was in the saddle and she had her arms around him.
“A jay,” Mary said. “I thought I heard a jay.”
The sun climbed higher. The temperature warmed but not enough to melt the white mantle.
Fargo checked behind them so many times he lost count. Not once did he spot a hostile or Rika. But one or both were back there. He amused himself by imagining the result should Rika and the warrior stumble on each other.
Sunset splashed pink and yellow across the western sky. Amid lengthening shadows, Fargo rode along the tree line seeking a spot to stop for the night. Mary could scarcely keep her head up and the kids were near the point of exhaustion.
He came on a gully rimmed by trees that had sheltered it from the worst of the snow. The sides weren’t too steep and the bottom was wide enough and flat enough to make for a comfortable camp. Dismounting, he walked the Ovaro down, and in turn did the same with each of the other mounts. Next he gathered firewood, which took a lot longer than it ordinarily would. Most of the downed limbs were covered with snow and too wet to burn. He persevered, though, until he needed both arms to carry it all.
By then the sun was almost gone. Twilight was about to fall, and after that, the Stygian mantle of night.
Nelly and Jayce were asleep. They were bundled to their chins, as serene as cherubs.
Mary was huddled beside them, shivering, a blanket over her shoulders. “There you are! I was getting worried.”
“Hear or see anything?”
“It’s been as peaceful as a church service. I’ve dozed off once or twice.” Mary smiled. “I was hoping you’d make it back before I passed out.”
Fargo broke some of the branches for firewood. The rest he stacked to use later. He added a handful of dry grass he had found, then took out his fire steel and flint. It took five tries before a spark caught, and he fanned a tiny flame to life. Wisps of smoke rose, growing thicker as the branches ignited. Soon the welcoming crackle of flames warmed his fingers and face.
Mary came over and held her hands to the fire. “Mercy me, that feels good. I’m so cold, you could set me on fire and I’d take a week to burn.”
In short order Fargo had strips of cow meat roasting on the end of sticks. The aroma set his mouth to watering.
Jayce woke up and commenced to sniffing and looking about. When he saw the meat, he scrambled out from under his blanket and crawled over on his hands and knees. “I could eat that raw.”
Soon Nelly was up. She joined them in hovering over the sizzling morsels, her anticipation so keen she appeared to be in pain.
The moment Fargo announced the meat was done, they grabbed sticks and tore into it with zeal that wolves would envy.
Fargo had to admit it was delicious. He chewed slowly, savoring.
With every swallow a little more vitality flowed through his veins. It would be best to ration the meat, but he roasted another piece for each one of them. It still wasn’t enough. When he was done, he was still hungry.
Jayce licked his fingers and thumbs, smacking his lips between licks.
“What do you say?” Mary asked him.
“It was good.”
“That’s not what I meant. When someone treats you to a meal, you’re supposed to say ‘Thank you.’ ”
“Thanks, Ma.”
“Not me, silly. Thank Mr. Fargo. He cooked it.”
“He sure is a good friend, isn’t he, Ma?”
“He sure is.”
Whether because of that, or on her own account, later, when it came time for the children to turn in, Nelly gave Fargo a hug. “Thank you for being so nice to us. It’s been so long, I’d almost forgotten what nice was.”
Since his sister had come over, Jayce did, too. But he just stood there, rocking on his heels, unsure of what to do until Fargo held out a hand for him to shake.
Mary shooed them under their blankets. She tucked them in and said prayers with them and then pecked each on the forehead and advised them to get a good night’s rest. Strolling to the fire, she sat closer to him than before. “You’re a good influence on them.”
Fargo tried to recollect the last time anyone had said that about him; he couldn’t. “They should sleep the whole night through.”
“Yes. As tired as they were. And then the meat. I imagine it would take a lot of noise to wake them.”
Fargo broke a limb and added half to the fire. He didn’t attach any special meaning to her remark.
“Yes, sir,” Mary said, and shifted so she was closer. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“You’ll sleep as good as they do,” Fargo predicted.
“I suppose I will, provided I can relax. All day I’ve been tense with dread.” Mary shifted again.
“I’ll keep watch.” Fargo didn’t ask her to help although he knew very well he wouldn’t be able to stay awake much past midnight. He was worn-out. He needed rest as much as they did.
“Is that necessary? We haven’t had any trouble all day. Why not catch up on your sleep, too?”
“I’ll get what I can.”
“What you need,” Mary said, “is to take your mind off all that’s happened. You need
to forget about Cud Sten and Rika and the rest.” She moved so that when he poked at the fire, he couldn’t raise his arm without brushing against her.
Only then did Fargo catch on. He looked at her and said the first thought that popped into his head: “Oh, hell.”
“What?”
“Are you drunk?”
“I should say not.”
“Crazy, then? We’re being hunted. There are Indians about. It has to be twenty above, if that. By two in the morning it will be five below.”
“So?”
“So you really want it that much?”
“I do.”
Skye Fargo shook his head. “Women.”
17
Mary Harper pressed against Fargo and gave him a look he had seen a thousand times. A look that said she was a ripe cherry waiting to be tasted and all he had to do was reach up and pluck the cherry from the tree.
“What about women?” she teased.
“Now?”
Mary laughed, caught herself, and glanced at her children. “I better keep the noise down.”
Fargo could feel the warmth of her body against his. He admired the suggestive sweep of enticing thighs and remembered her passion, and he twitched below his belt.
Mary clasped his hand in both of hers and rubbed it. “You have big, strong hands. I like that in a man.”
“You gush nice. I like that in a woman.”
Mary blinked and started to laugh again. Covering her mouth, she giggled and said, “Oh, my. You come right out with it, don’t you?”
“No, you do.”
“I do what?”
“Come right out with it.”
Mary managed to smother her mirth enough not to wake Nelly or Jayce. “Thanks. You’ve drained the tension right from me.”
“Then I guess there’s no need for the other,” Fargo said. But the notion of having her again was making him stiff where it would do both of them the most good.
“I never said that. Don’t you want me?”
Fargo cupped her twin mounds and squeezed, hard. “What do you think?”
Mary threw back her head and gasped. She gripped his wrists and pulled his hands tighter against her. The tip of her tongue rimmed her lips, and when she looked at him, her eyes were pools of raw lust. “Yes, I like that. I like that a whole lot.”
So did Fargo. He massaged and kneaded. Her nipples became tacks, poking into his palms. He pinched one and then the other, and Mary squirmed in delight.
“I’ve wanted you so much. The other night, you did something to me.”
Fargo hoped she wasn’t confusing passion with something else. He shut her up by covering her mouth in a long kiss. Her tongue met his in wet need. The warmth of her body and the warmth of the fire combined to make him hot with desire.
“Mmm,” Mary husked when they parted for breath. “I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. You’re the best kisser ever.”
“Says the woman who’s only been with one other man.” Fargo smiled to lessen the sting in case she took it the wrong way.
“Go ahead. Rub it in. But I’ve always been a one-man woman, and Frank was my man until he died. When I get back to civilization, I’ll be on the lookout for another. Until then . . .” Mary grinned and fused her lips to his.
The sigh of the wind, the blowing snow, the howl of a wolf, and the cries of coyotes—Fargo was aware of it all. A part of his mind stayed focused on the world around them, probing for the slightest hint of danger.
Mary, meanwhile, explored him with her hands, running them over his shoulders and down the shirt she had lent him and then under and up over his washboard muscles. “I like your body,” she whispered in his ear.
Fargo liked hers. He ran a hand through her hair, and with his other, he gripped her bottom. He pulled her to him so they were bosom to chest and leg to leg.
“Goodness,” Mary breathed, and reaching between his legs, she began fondling him.
A branch popped in the fire.
High on the mountain a cougar screamed.
Fargo glanced at the horses. All three stood with their heads bowed, weary from the long hours of hard travel. None had their ears pricked or showed the least alarm. It was safe to give free rein to his craving.
Fargo pulled Mary onto his lap and she parted her legs wide to grant him access. But he wasn’t about to plunge right in. He kissed and licked her throat. He nipped an earlobe. He slid a hand under her dress and caressed her leg.
“Lordy,” Mary gasped.
Fargo rubbed in small circles until he reached her knee. He traced a finger along her inner thigh and she quivered.
“Please,” she said.
“When I’m ready.”
She had started this; he would finish it.
Mary cupped his chin and tried to suck his mouth into hers. Her yearning was at a fever pitch. Loosening his belt, she swooped her hand low and held him where it would drive any man to the heights of delight. “Do you like that?”
“What do you think?” Fargo retorted in a voice that didn’t sound anything like his.
“I think your stallion should be jealous.”
“I think you talk too much.”
For long, languid minutes they kissed and groped and fondled. Fargo’s manhood was iron. Mary’s thighs were almost as hot as the fire. She was even hotter higher up—hot and wet, for when he lightly ran a finger along her slit, his finger grew moist with her dew.
“Ohh, more of that, if you please.”
Fargo obliged. Each flick of her tiny knob brought a convulsion of release. She ground against his hand, her hips bucking. Her groans and mews filled the air, but never too loud. Hers was a cautious abandon.
Fargo was cautious, too. He glanced at her kids, making sure they were still asleep, and then at the horses. The Ovaro had its head up but showed no sign of being agitated.
“What’s wrong?”
Fargo realized he had stopped stroking her. “Nothing,” he said throatily, and took up where he had left off. A hard lance of his finger, and he was in her velvety sheath up to the knuckle. She came up off his lap, then sank down with a soft moan.
“The woman you take for a wife will be the luckiest woman alive,” Mary whispered, and commenced to thrust her hips in rhythm with the thrust of his finger.
Fargo added a second finger and her inner walls rippled. Her hips churned. She was wetter than ever.
The Ovaro was staring into the gloom. Something had caught its interest, but it didn’t nicker or stamp.
Fargo glanced in the same direction but all he saw were the white humps of trees. If Rika or the warrior were out there, now was when they would strike. He kept on pumping his hand, but he didn’t take his eyes off the woods until the Ovaro lowered its head again.
Mary’s fingers enclosed his pole.
Fargo wasn’t expecting it, and it took his breath away. He rose high enough to drop his pants to his knees, then hiked her dress and lightly touched the tip of his member to her slit.
“Now. Please, now.”
“Now,” Fargo said, and rammed up into her. For all of five seconds, she was rigid with a flood of emotion, and then her body came alive. She met each of his thrusts with abandon.
Faster and faster they rose toward the summit. Harder and harder they sought to trigger mutual release.
Suddenly Mary gushed, her mouth wide but no sounds coming out. The whites of her eyes showed, and her eyelids fluttered.
The very next thrust sent Fargo over the brink. It was the end of him and the beginning of him all over again. It was the moment he lived for. There was nothing else like it.
They coasted to a stop, and sagged, Mary’s cheek on his chest and her eyes closed in grateful weariness.
“You’re marvelous. Truly marvelous.”
“Don’t tell the Ovaro.”
His remark brought a snort and a light laugh. “I’ll miss you when we go our own ways. You’ve brought me out of myself. You’ve reminded me of what it’s like to
be alive.”
“You’ve reminded me of why I like women, so we’re even.” Fargo tugged his pants on; the air was cold on his private parts. Once he was buckled, he pulled her dress down over her legs to keep her warm.
“Thank you, kind sir. I hope you don’t mind me throwing myself at you like that.”
Women, Fargo reflected, said the silliest things.
Mary closed her eyes and forked an arm around his neck. “I could go to sleep right here in your lap.”
“Better turn in, then.” Fargo helped her stand and walked with her to her blanket. She kissed him on the cheek, tenderly touched the spot she had kissed, and sank down.
Fargo returned to the fire. He added another branch. The wolves and the coyotes had gone quiet and the near-total silence made every slight sound he made seem twice as loud. He scanned the trees and checked the horses, and convinced it was safe, he threw a blanket over his shoulders and huddled close to the fire for the warmth.
Time crawled on claws of ice.
Fargo didn’t know how long he could stay awake, but the longer he could, the safer they’d be. He struggled. His body was close to shutting down, he was so tired. He kept forgetting that he hadn’t fully recovered from his clash with the wolves.
Eventually the inevitable happened. Fargo’s eyes refused to stay open and his brain refused to stay alert. He drifted in and out, snapping awake now and then to stare numbly at the fire and add more fuel. Then he would go under again, dreaming chaotic dreams.
The last time he fell asleep, he slept the longest. He came back to wakefulness slowly, sensing that it had been hours and that it must be close to dawn. He yawned and went to stretch and opened his eyes, and froze with his arms half in the air.
“Morning,” Rika said.
Fargo was awake in a heartbeat. His gut churned but outwardly he stayed calm. “What time is it?”
“The sun will rise soon.” Rika was in a squat on the other side of the fire, the Henry trained on Fargo’s chest, the hammer already thumbed back.
“I knew I should have tried harder to stay awake.”
“I did my sleeping while you were making your camp and eating. About midnight I got up, and I’ve been waiting my chance ever since.”