by Sharpe, Jon
Fargo took the stairs two at a stride. In his room he sat on the end of the bed and savored a long swallow. The burning felt good, and he smacked his lips in enjoyment. Some of the pain faded. “More medicine,” he said, and chugged.
It wasn’t five minutes that there came a light knock on his door. “It’s me,” Jennifer said.
“Come the hell in.”
She had the toothpick, and held it out. “Mother said to give this to you. I wiped it clean.”
“I’m obliged.” Fargo hiked his pant leg and slid the knife into the sheath.
“You sure are tricky,” Jennifer said.
“It keeps me breathing.”
“Mother’s mad at you.”
“I don’t give a damn.” Fargo held out the bottle. “Care for a swallow?”
Jennifer stared at it longingly and licked her lips but shook her head. “She’d beat me within an inch of my life.”
“Would she, now?” Fargo had come to regard Glenda Blasingame in a whole new light, and it wasn’t flattering.
“Don’t misunderstand,” Jennifer said. “She’s a good mother. She’s had to work really hard to keep us fed and keep clothes on our backs.”
Fargo motioned at the walls. “You have your own house.”
“We rent it,” Jennifer said. “We’ve been living off a little money she inherited when Grandma died, and it’s about gone. It’s why she wants the bounty money so much. If we don’t get our share, I don’t know what we’ll do.”
“But you say she beats you?”
“Now and then. Spankings, mostly, when I was little. Deep down she’s a good woman trying to do the best she can.”
“If you say so.”
Jennifer came over and bent so her face practically touched his. “Want me to tell you a secret?”
“I’m all ears,” Fargo said, although at the moment another part of him was stirring.
“Those hairs weren’t hers.”
“She plucked them off your goat?”
Jennifer laughed. “We don’t have a goat, silly. No, they were mine.” She glanced at the doorway as if to assure herself no one was there. “You see, it was my idea. We were sitting around talking about how badly we could use the bounty. Mother mentioned hearing about this famous tracker—”
“Me.”
“Yes. Constance said we should send for you but Mother didn’t think you’d come. She’d never heard of you tracking anyone down for money.” Jennifer chuckled. “But she’d heard of your, shall we way, wanton ways? Rumor has it you’re quite the ladies’ man.”
“I like to fuck,” Fargo said.
Jennifer snorted, caught herself, and covered her mouth and nose. “I’m sorry. I think I got snot on you.”
“I’ll live.”
“Anyway, I came up with the idea of sending you some hairs. Mother thought it was scandalous at first but Connie and I convinced her. We figured that if you’re as female hungry as they claim, you’d come running like a buck to a doe in heat.”
“Hell,” Fargo said.
“Mother was going to take scissors to the ends of her hair and send those but I said that you could probably tell the difference and they should be real. So I plucked my own.” Jennifer laughed. “You should have seen Mother’s face when we folded them up. She was red as a beet. Connie and I about laughed until we cried.”
“I’d like to see the rest.”
Jennifer straightened. “I can never tell when you’re serious.”
“I never joke about puss hairs.”
“There you go again.” Jennifer gave him a light smack on the arm. “And when do you think you’d like to?”
“Now is good,” Fargo said, and setting down the bottle, he reached out with both hands, cupped her buttocks, and pulled her to him. He pressed his face to her nether mount and nuzzled her through her dress.
Jennifer gasped and arched her back. “Oh God!” she gasped, and made as if to push him away. Instead, she suddenly grabbed his head and pushed his face harder into her.
Fargo could feel the slope of her mount and the warmth of her thighs. He kneaded her bottom with one hand while raising the other to a breast and cupping it.
“Ohhhhhh,” Jennifer husked.
Fargo’s member was swelling into a redwood. He stood and kissed her and she hungrily tried to suck his tongue down her throat.
Mewing like a kitten, Jennifer placed her hand on his pole. She pulled back, looked down, and her mouth formed an O. “I had no idea.”
“Want to see it?” Fargo said, and was about to undo his buckle when steps sounded on the stairs and someone came hurrying down the hall.
Quickly stepping back, Jennifer smoothed her dress and fluffed at her hair.
Fargo picked up the whiskey bottle and held it in front of him to hide his bulge.
Constance bustled in. “Sorry to bother you,” she said, “but the marshal is here and he wants to see Mr. Fargo.”
“Wonderful,” Fargo said.
8
The lawman was crouched by the body, probing at the wound with his fingertips. “I see you stabbed him,” he said as Fargo entered the parlor.
“Nothing gets past you, does it?” Fargo said.
He sat in the rocking chair and tilted the bottle to his lips.
Glenda frowned in disapproval. “I wish you wouldn’t do that in front of my girls.”
“Do what?” Marshal Cripdin asked, and glanced at Fargo. “Oh. Well, there’s no law against that. There is against killing, though, and Billy Barnes is definitely dead.”
“You are a wonderment,” Fargo said.
Cripdin stood. “Mrs. Hemmings tells me you killed him in self-defense. That he barged in here determined to kill you for shooting Zeke Bell.”
“It’s been one of those days.”
“I’ll say it has,” Cripdin declared. “In less than twelve hours you’ve killed three of the worst outlaws in the territory.”
“Lucky me.”
“You won’t think that when Cord Blasingame comes after you. Be smart and light a shuck before there’s more killing.”
“Can’t,” Fargo said.
“Why in Hades not? What’s keeping you here?”
Fargo avoided looking at Glenda. “I have something to do.”
“What?” the lawman demanded, and when Fargo didn’t answer, he snapped, “I asked you a question, damn you.”
Fargo set the bottle of Monongahela on the floor and slowly stood. He towered a good half foot over Cripdin, who gave a noticeable start. “Talk to me like that again.”
“Now see here,” Cripdin said.
“Marshal,” Glenda broke in, “I’d be ever so pleased if you would remove the body. You can’t expect to leave it here all night.”
“What? Oh.” Cripdin appeared grateful for the excuse to get out of there. “You’re right. It wouldn’t be fitting. I’ll go fetch some men to help and we’ll have it removed inside the hour.” Smiling, he touched his hat brim and hurried off.
“Why, he was scared silly,” Jennifer said.
“Hush. He might hear you,” Glenda cautioned. She waited for the sound of the front door closing to say, “But you’re right. He was.” Kneeling, she did something Fargo realized he should have done; she went through Barnes’s pockets. He had a poke with forty-two dollars, some lucifers, a few spare cartridges for his Sharps, and a scrap of paper. She was about to drop the paper on the pile when she set it on the floor and smoothed it out. “What’s this?”
Fargo picked up the Monongahela and went over.
The paper had been torn from a tablet, and on it someone had drawn a crude likeness of a bird’s head.
“What do you make of it?”
Fargo swallowed whiskey, and shrugged.<
br />
“You don’t seem interested. It could be important.”
“I’m tired,” Fargo said, and he was. Rising, he took the paper and stuffed it into a pocket. “I’m going to bed. If the marshal needs to talk to me, tell him it’ll have to wait until morning.” He nodded at each of the girls and bent his steps up the stairs.
Fargo didn’t bother undressing. He tossed his hat on the chest of drawers, removed his spurs, took off his gun belt and placed it beside his pillow, blew out the lamp, and sprawled onto the bed. It was so soft, the room so warm and cozy, that in no time he drifted off. His sleep was undisturbed—until suddenly he was awake with no idea why.
Fargo lay still, listening. The house was quiet. He opened his eyes. The bedroom was dark save for faint starlight around the edges of the curtains. Without moving his head he glanced at the door; he couldn’t be sure, but he thought it was open.
It had been closed when he turned in.
Easing his hand to his holster, Fargo slid the Colt out. He didn’t cock it. If someone was there, they’d hear.
Something rustled, and a silhouette appeared at the foot of the bed.
For all Fargo knew, it was another outlaw out for revenge. He coiled to spring, and caught a whiff of perfume. “Who’s there?” he growled.
The figure came around the bed, and bent. A finger was pressed to his lips. “Shhhh. It’s me. We don’t want Mother to hear.” Jennifer whispered. She removed her finger.
“What do you want?” Fargo asked, although he had a good idea.
“It’s past two,” Jennifer whispered. “Mother and Connie are asleep.”
Fargo’s eyes were adjusting. He could make out the cotton robe she wore. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I want more,” Jennifer whispered.
“Of what?”
“What do you think?”
“And you left the door open so anyone can walk in on us?”
“Oh Lordy.” Jennifer scooted over to it.
Fargo sat up and leaned back against the headboard. He pushed his gun belt under a pillow and stretched out his legs.
“I’m back,” Jennifer whispered.
Fargo patted the bed. “Climb on.”
“First you have to promise me something.”
“I won’t bite your nipples off.”
“What? No. Not that. I want your word that you won’t tell my mother.”
“Damn. I was going to wake her up and boast about it as soon as we’re done.”
“Be serious.” Jennifer slid onto the bed but stayed half a foot away and didn’t touch him.
She stared for so long that Fargo said, “Are you waiting for Christmas?”
“I don’t have a lot of experience,” Jennifer said in a small voice. “Isn’t it the man who should start things?”
“Where are my manners?” Fargo said. Smiling, he pulled her close so they were chest to breast. “I’ll take it easy on you.” Which, now that he thought about it, was a good idea; too much noise and they’d wake Glenda and there’d be hell to pay.
He kissed her and she nibbled at his lips as if they were cake. He covered a firm breast and she cooed and her nipple became a tack. Parting the robe with his other hand, he ran it over her belly.
Jennifer’s hands swooped to his pants. She unfastened the buckle and with almost frantic urgency, pushed and pried his pants down to get at him. He shifted and suddenly her fingers were on his member, stroking him. A lump formed in his throat, and it was all he could do to breathe. She fondled and cupped him, low down. For someone so green, she knew just what to do. He had to will himself not to explode.
Together, they stretched out. He peeled her robe off and she tugged his buckskin shirt over his head.
Jennifer kissed his ears, his neck. She licked his throat. She rained small kisses on his shoulders and his ribs.
Fargo grew hot all over. He craved her as he earlier had craved a drink. Kneading first one melon and then the other, he pinched and pulled on her nipples, causing her to squirm and moan. He ran his fingernails down her back and she shivered. When he caressed her thighs, her legs parted of their own accord.
Fargo was about to slide between them when he heard a sound out in the hall. He froze, his hand poised to delve to her nether mount.
“What?” Jennifer whispered. “Why did you stop?”
“Something,” Fargo answered. He cocked his head, listening. He wasn’t sure what the sound had been. A scratching sound, he thought. “Do you have a cat?”
“No. My mother hates them.”
“A dog?”
“Did you see one?”
“Maybe someone else is up,” Fargo whispered. He could just see Glenda barging in and tearing into him for having his way with her daughter.
“They were sleeping like logs, I tell you.” Jennifer raised her own head and after half a minute said, “You’re imagining things.”
Fargo reckoned that maybe he’d been mistaken. It didn’t occur to him until he resumed kissing and caressing her that another outlaw might be out to get him. Three had tried already. Who was to say a fourth wouldn’t?
The notion bothered him so much, he couldn’t bring himself to relax and enjoy their lovemaking. A part of him was alert for more sounds or anything else out of the ordinary.
He massaged one leg and then the other. But he didn’t touch her where it would excite her the most until she was panting with need and husked into his ear, “Please. Oh, please.”
Fargo placed his hand on her slit. She was hot and wet. He ran a finger along it and she arched into him and sank her teeth into his shoulder.
Fargo cut the foreplay short. He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was out there. Whoever it was must be listening. Jennifer and he were being quiet but it was still obvious what they were doing.
“Why did you stop?”
Fargo hadn’t realized he had.
“Did you hear something again?”
“No.”
“Am I boring you then?”
“You talk too much.” Rising onto his knees, Fargo aligned his member, inserted the tip, and slid inch by gradual inch up into her.
Gasping, Jennifer dug her fingernails into both of his arms.
Fargo only had to stroke a few times and he had a wildcat under him.
“Oh! Oh!”
Jennifer exploded with a ferocity that caught him off guard. The bed shook and the headboard thumped the wall and he inwardly cursed the noise they were making.
Then it was his turn, and he didn’t much care. He rammed up into her fit to tear her apart. His explosion rivaled hers.
Afterward, they lay spent and slick with sweat.
Fargo rolled off to spare her his weight and she bundled the robe about her and sat up.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’d better get back to my room.”
“Any time,” Fargo drowsily responded.
“And see?” Jennifer teased. “Nothing happened. No one was out there.”
That was when the Ovaro whinnied.
9
Fargo heard it even with the window closed. He knew the stallion as well as he knew himself, knew the sounds it made, and the whinny told him something was amiss.
He was off the bed before the whinny died. Pulling his pants up, he slid his hand under the pillow and grabbed his gun belt.
“What is it?” Jennifer asked in alarm.
“Get to your room.” Fargo didn’t bother with his shirt or his hat. Racing out the door and along the hall, he bounded down the stairs.
The house was dark and quiet. He reached the kitchen, threw the bolt on the back door and gripped the latch, and caught himself. It could be another outlaw. To go rushing out was the worst mistake he could make.
Quickly, Fargo opened the door wide enough to slip out. The air was cool on his skin. Crouching, he ran to the stallion and stared in the same direction.
An empty lot bordered the property on that side. It was choked with grass and weeds that waved gently in the wind.
Fargo waited. If someone was out there, eventually they’d give themselves away. He heard voices in the house, and light flared in an upstairs window. Intent on the lot, he didn’t think more of it until more light spilled from the back doorway.
“Fargo?”
Wearing a bulky woolen robe tied at the waist, Glenda was holding a small lamp. “What are you doing? What was all the ruckus?”
Fargo was caught in the lamp’s glow, an easy target. But no shots boomed. Retreating to the house, he ushered her inside and closed the door behind them.
“What is it?”
Jennifer and Constance were over by the hall, Constance nervously gnawing her lip.
“Something was out there,” Fargo said. Something, or someone. “It spooked my horse.”
“Is it gone?”
“I think so.”
Glenda set the lamp on the kitchen table. “It could have been a coyote. They come into town from time to time.”
“Once a bear did,” Jennifer said.
“And there are skunks,” Constance threw in.
Fargo hadn’t caught the scent of a polecat and he doubted it was a bear or any other animal. He had a sense that it was a man, although why he was so sure, he couldn’t say. “Sorry I woke you.”
“It’s perfectly all right,” Glenda said. “After what happened with Barnes, we can’t be too careful.”
It occurred to Fargo that, “Your husband must know I’m staying here.”
“My former husband,” Glenda stressed. “He’s nothing to me now. He lost all claim to my affections when he ran out on us.”
Jennifer came over, her arms folded around her breasts. “What if he came back and begged your forgiveness?”
“You’ve asked that before,” Glenda said, “and my answer is still the same. I want nothing more to do with him, ever.”