California Carnage

by Jon Sharpe

  With one hand, she pumped slowly on his shaft, while the other cupped the heavy sac at the base of his manhood. All the while, her lips and tongue continued their exquisite teasing. When at last she closed her lips, hollowed her cheeks, and sucked hard on him, it was all he could do not to let himself explode in her mouth. He wanted to delay his climax, though, until she was ready to share it.

  When she raised her head from his groin, he put his hands under her arms and lifted her slender figure like she weighed little or nothing. Holding her above his throbbing hardness, he lowered her onto it, letting his shaft sink into her inch by inch. She gasped when he hit bottom, sheathed all the way inside her.

  They stayed there like that for a long moment, luxuriating in their closeness. Then Fargo withdrew a little and surged up again, causing a delicious friction as he slid between the slick folds of her femininity. Belinda rocked her hips to meet his thrust. They fell into a rhythm, rocking and thrusting, that sent their shared arousal spiraling higher and higher.

  Together, they climbed those heights until Fargo felt his culmination boiling up inside him. It was too strong to be denied. Thankfully, he didn’t have to, because at that moment shudders began to ripple through Belinda’s body and he knew she had reached her own climax. He drove hard up into her, burying his manhood to the deepest possible point, and let go, emptying himself into her.

  A final spasm went through Belinda, and then she seemed to melt against him, the muscles that she had tensed as her climax swept over her all going soft and yielding. She rested her head on his shoulder. He felt her hot breath against his neck. Turning his head so that his lips nuzzled her ear, he stroked her back. Her heart beat strongly against his chest. He figured she could feel his heart beating as well.

  When she had caught her breath enough to be able to speak again, she said, ‘‘Skye, that was . . . that was as good as I thought it would be. Hoped it would be. Every bit as good.’’

  ‘‘Yes, it was,’’ he agreed.

  ‘‘I wish I could spend the rest of the night here, so that we could do it again. Maybe even more than once.’’

  ‘‘But it’ll be dawn in an hour or so,’’ Fargo said. The faint tinge of gray in the sky he could see through the window of the hut told him that.

  ‘‘Yes. I’d better get back.’’ She lifted her head and kissed him again. The urgency was gone now, but not the sensuous delight they both took in each other’s lips.

  After a few moments, she slipped out of his arms and picked up her robe from the floor. Wrapping it around her, she went to the door, eased it open, and went out, pausing only to glance back at him one last time. Because of the darkness, Fargo couldn’t read the expression on her face. He hoped it was a satisfied one.

  He lay back on the bunk and took several deep breaths. Now that Belinda was gone, he was beginning to feel those bruises again. But he smiled, knowing they didn’t really amount to anything. In a day or two, it would be like he had never had that battle with Matthias Jarlberg.

  Thinking about the tavern owner made Fargo frown. He sat up and swung his legs off the bunk, then stood and went to the door. From there he could see the long, low bulk of the tavern. The building was dark now, closed down for the night. He wondered what, if anything, was going on in there. A part of him worried that he shouldn’t have left Angie there. There was no telling what Jarlberg might have done when he regained consciousness. He might have gone into an insane rage.

  And yet, Angie ought to know him well enough to know whether or not she would be in danger, Fargo thought. She had seemed confident she would be all right—or at least as confident as someone could be whose spirit had been beaten down as Angie’s was.

  Fargo shook his head and went back to the bunk. The night was quiet, and within minutes he had dropped off to sleep, taking advantage of the time he had left before a new day began.

  9

  ‘‘I want to go with you.’’

  The words were spoken in a quiet voice—so quiet that even Fargo’s keen ears had a little trouble making them out. As usual, Angie’s eyes were downcast as she made her request.

  Fargo put his hand under her chin and brought it up, lifting her head so that she had to look at him. She used her right hand to push her hair back on that side, but left the hair on the left alone so that it obscured her burned cheek.

  ‘‘What about Jarlberg?’’ Fargo asked.

  She cast a nervous glance toward the tavern, which sat dark and silent in the gray dawn. ‘‘That’s why I want to go with you,’’ she said. ‘‘He—he’s asleep now, but he swore he’d get even with you . . . and with me. I—I’m afraid of what he might do.’’

  Fargo wasn’t afraid of Jarlberg, but he could understand how this slip of a girl would be. Despite her confidence of the night before, fear had caught up to her and prompted her to slip out here while Fargo, Sandy, and Jimmy were getting the teams and the coach ready for another day of travel. Belinda and Grayson were still asleep in the farmer’s hut.

  ‘‘Please let her come with us, Mr. Fargo,’’ Jimmy put in from the back of the coach, where he had been securing the canvas cover over the boot after stowing away some of their gear. ‘‘That fella Mr. Jarlberg might go on a rampage. He’s a bad man.’’

  In his own way, Jimmy cut right to the heart of the matter. Fargo didn’t trust Jarlberg. They had already seen plenty of evidence that the man mistreated Angie on a regular basis. Filled with rage and the desire for revenge, there was no telling what he might do.

  Fargo looked at Angie. He didn’t see any fresh bruises or other signs of violence on her. After the thrashing Fargo had given Jarlberg, he probably hadn’t felt like dishing out any punishment to the girl the night before. But when he awoke this morning, that might be a different story.

  ‘‘Who is he to you?’’ Fargo asked. ‘‘Any kin?’’

  She shook her head, making her hair move and giving him a glimpse of her scarred cheek. ‘‘No. He’s no kin. He was a friend of my father. When the fever took my mother, and then my father died not long after, Mr. Jarlberg said he’d take me in and give me a place to live if I’d work for him. I—I didn’t have anyplace else to go.’’

  Fargo heard the bleak desperation in her voice and knew it must have been a terrible time for her. But despite the sympathy he felt for her, he wanted to know exactly what she had in mind.

  ‘‘Where will you go if you come along with us?’’

  ‘‘You’re bound for San Francisco, aren’t you? I can get by in a big town like that. I’m a hard worker. And I ain’t afraid of anything except . . .’’

  Her eyes darted toward the tavern.

  ‘‘You don’t have any relatives in San Francisco?’’

  ‘‘No, sir. But like I said, I can get by.’’

  She would wind up in a Barbary Coast whorehouse, Fargo told himself. Even with that scarred cheek, she was young enough and pretty enough to last for a while, and she probably wasn’t inexperienced. Jarlberg had talked like he’d rented her out to travelers before. But it would be a hell of a grim life, and probably a short one, too.

  What did she have to look forward to here, though? Years of abuse at the hands of the brutish Jarlberg? Would that really be any better?

  Fargo couldn’t answer those questions, but he knew that if Angie left this place, at least she would have a chance, slim though it might be, for a better life. As he came to that realization, he nodded and said, ‘‘You can come with us.’’

  She smiled. The expression was an awkward one, as if she hadn’t had much practice at it. ‘‘Thank you, Mr. Fargo,’’ she whispered.

  ‘‘Go get your stuff, but be quiet about it. You don’t want to wake him up.’’

  ‘‘I can go with her,’’ Jimmy volunteered.

  ‘‘You stay right here, boy,’’ Sandy told him. ‘‘No offense, but them big clodhoppers o’ yours make enough noise to wake the dead when you go to trompin’ around.’’

  ‘‘That’s all right,’’ An
gie said. ‘‘I’ll be right back.’’

  Like a shadow, she flitted off toward the tavern and disappeared inside.

  Sandy came over to the Trailsman with a frown on his face. ‘‘You sure this is a good idea, Fargo?’’ he asked. ‘‘When that fella Jarlberg finds out the gal’s gone, he’s liable to come after us and cause us even more trouble.’’

  ‘‘I thought about that,’’ Fargo admitted, ‘‘but I don’t think he’ll do it. That would mean leaving the tavern, and I’m not sure he’d trust the folks around here not to break in and help themselves while he’s gone. He’s bound to know that he’s not well liked. He might even be afraid that they’d burn the place down if he left.’’

  Sandy scratched at his beard. ‘‘Yeah, could be. Anyway, I don’t reckon we can leave the poor little gal. No tellin’ what that Scandahoovian bastard might do to her if we did.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘I ain’t that fond o’ havin’ another of her species along for the ride, though. Sooner or later, them blasted females always mean trouble.’’

  Fargo chuckled and went to saddle the Ovaro. He kept an ear out for sounds of trouble from the tavern, just in case Jarlberg woke up before Angie could gather her few belongings and leave.

  The place was still quiet as she stole out of it a few minutes later and hurried over to the coach. She carried a small carpetbag. Jimmy had unfastened the cover over the boot again and pulled it back. He took the bag from her and placed it inside.

  ‘‘There you go,’’ he told her with a shy smile. ‘‘Safe and sound, just like you.’’

  ‘‘Thank you.’’

  ‘‘My name’s Jimmy. And yours is Angie—I know that. Angie’s a pretty name, I think.’’

  ‘‘Thank you,’’ she said again, not looking at him. In fact, each of them was being so careful not to look at the other one that they were liable to trip over their own feet if they tried to walk, Fargo thought with a grin as he led the stallion over to the coach.

  He handed the Ovaro’s reins to Jimmy and said, ‘‘I’ll go wake Mr. Grayson and Miss Grayson. We’ll have to get breakfast farther on up the trail somewhere. I don’t reckon we’d be welcome for a meal at the tavern, and these farmers are poor folks. I don’t want to impose on their hospitality any more than we already have.’’

  ‘‘Reckon we can get somethin’ to eat at San Luis Obispo,’’ Sandy said. ‘‘We got a few supplies left if we can’t, so we won’t starve to death ’fore we make Paso Robles tonight.’’

  Fargo went to the hut where Grayson and Belinda were staying, intending to knock on the door, but it opened before he got there and Belinda stepped out, looking fresh and rested. She smiled at Fargo and said, ‘‘Good morning, Skye. Are we ready to go?’’

  ‘‘Just about,’’ Fargo told her. ‘‘Is your father awake?’’

  ‘‘I certainly am,’’ Grayson answered as he emerged from the hut behind Belinda. ‘‘Any trouble from that man Jarlberg this morning?’’

  ‘‘No, but we’ve picked up another passenger for the rest of the trip.’’ Fargo waved a hand toward the coach. Angie stood beside it with Jimmy.

  ‘‘Oh!’’ Belinda said. ‘‘That poor girl! I hoped that she might come with us, but I wasn’t sure if she would want to.’’

  ‘‘She wants to,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘She sure doesn’t want to stay here.’’

  ‘‘Hmmph! Can’t blame her for that,’’ Grayson said. ‘‘She’s more than welcome to come along. She can be the first official passenger of Grayson’s California Stagecoach Line!’’

  With the team hitched up, the coach was ready to roll. Several of the farmers came out to say good-bye to the travelers. Fargo shook hands with them and thanked them again. The sun was just about to peek over the tops of the mountain range to the east when Fargo swung into the Ovaro’s saddle and called to Sandy to move out. With a pop of the whip, a slap of the reins, and a rattle of the wheels, the coach lurched into motion and rolled along the trail, away from Los Olivos.

  Fargo glanced back and thought, Good riddance.

  Farther up the coast, the next stop on the original Mission Trail had been Mission La Purísima Concepción, but it had been abandoned some years earlier and was no longer a church of any sort. San Luis Obispo was still in use, and a small town was beginning to develop nearby. That was where the stage stopped at midday. The village of San Luis Obispo had an inn, and Fargo and his companions were grateful for the chance to sit down and have an actual meal there, washed down with cups of strong coffee.

  When they came back out to the coach to depart, Angie surprised all of them by asking if she could ride up top on the driver’s seat.

  ‘‘Mighty windy up here, gal,’’ Sandy replied with a scowl. ‘‘And if’n we was to hit a bad spot in the trail, you might get bounced right off.’’

  ‘‘I can hang on,’’ Angie said. Fargo had noticed during lunch that she kept stealing glances at Jimmy, and he suspected the gangling young man was the reason Angie wanted to ride on top of the stage. That way they could see each other and maybe even talk.

  Jimmy said, ‘‘I think it’s a good idea.’’

  ‘‘You would,’’ Sandy grumbled. ‘‘You just want to make calf’s eyes at this poor gal.’’

  Both of the youngsters blushed.

  Belinda put a hand on Angie’s shoulder and said, ‘‘I’ve enjoyed talking to you this morning, but if you want to ride outside, I think you should. You’ll get a lot more fresh air that way.’’

  ‘‘It’s settled,’’ Fargo said, trying not to grin at Sandy’s obvious discomfiture. ‘‘Climb on up, Angie, and hang on tight.’’

  They were still in the long valley between mountain ranges, so the afternoon’s travel went fairly easily. By evening they were approaching the settlement of Paso Robles, near the old San Miguel mission. Fargo had dropped back to ride alongside the coach on one side, while Jimmy rode on the other side, leading the spare horses.

  Grayson poked his head out the window on Fargo’s side, sniffed, and asked, ‘‘What’s that smell? It smells like . . . brimstone.’’

  ‘‘Don’t worry,’’ Fargo told him. ‘‘We’re not coming into Hell. There are some hot springs up here at Paso Robles, and they give off that smell of sulfur.’’

  ‘‘Hot springs, you say?’’ Grayson asked with sudden interest. ‘‘Such springs are very healthful. People will travel for miles to visit them. Once the stages are coming through on a regular basis, they can come to Paso Robles and bathe in the springs for their health.’’

  Grayson was a canny businessman, always looking for some way to sell his enterprises to the public. Fargo had to give him credit for that.

  In Paso Robles there was a hotel operated by a man named Houck. Out back was a stable, and that was where Sandy wheeled the stage, bringing it to a halt in a billowing cloud of dust. A couple of hundred people lived in the town, and it appeared to Fargo that most of them had heard the stagecoach coming and turned out to greet its arrival.

  Kids ran around, followed by barking dogs; men stood in groups with their hands in their pockets, talking among themselves; and women held handkerchiefs over their noses to protect them from the dust. This was the biggest settlement the coach had visited since Santa Barbara, and the farthest it had deviated from the original trail between the missions.

  The owner of the hotel came out to the stable to shake hands with Grayson and greet the rest of the party. ‘‘We heard you were comin’,’’ Houck said. ‘‘It’s a great day for the town o’ Paso Robles. Yes, sir, a great day!’’

  ‘‘How did you know we were coming?’’ Fargo asked, surprised that word of their journey had reached the settlement ahead of them.

  ‘‘Why, Mr. Stoddard told me, of course,’’ Houck replied.

  Grayson stiffened in surprise and anger. ‘‘Stoddard’s here? Hiram Stoddard?’’

  Houck nodded. ‘‘That’s right. Only he’s not here anymore. He left earlier today, heading on up the coast toward Soledad.’’
r />   ‘‘Damn it!’’ Grayson burst out. ‘‘Was he traveling by stagecoach?’’

  Houck looked confused as he replied, ‘‘No, him and the fellas with him were on horseback. Ain’t he your partner? I got the feelin’ that him and the other fellas were sort of advance men, I reckon you could say.’’

  ‘‘No, he’s not my partner. What he is, is a cutthroat son of a—’’

  Belinda put a hand on her father’s arm, stopping him before he could finish. ‘‘Mr. Stoddard and my father are competitors,’’ she said. ‘‘He hopes to start a stage line between Los Angeles and San Francisco, too.’’

  Houck scratched his head. ‘‘Well, he didn’t say nothin’ about that. Just said you folks’d be along later.’’

  Grayson smacked his right fist into his left hand and said, ‘‘That devil’s up to something! I know it. How in the hell did he get past us?’’

  ‘‘Rode some at night, more than likely,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘We wouldn’t notice a few horsebackers going by on the trail.’’

  ‘‘But I don’t understand. What does he hope to accomplish by this tactic?’’

  Fargo could only shake his head. ‘‘I don’t know . . . but I reckon if we keep going, there’s a good chance we’ll find out.’’

  Fargo’s main worry was that Stoddard and the men with him would set up an ambush somewhere farther along the trail. He didn’t think Stoddard would stop at murder to prevent Grayson from reaching San Francisco. With Grayson dead, Stoddard could take his time about setting up his own stagecoach line along the coast.

  But for tonight, anyway, they were safe, Fargo figured. Stoddard wouldn’t try anything in the middle of a settlement.

  Then he recalled the attempt to kidnap Belinda in Los Angeles. Maybe it would be a good idea to remain alert, just on general principles.

  When Fargo discussed that with Sandy, the jehu agreed that they should continue to guard the stagecoach and the horses at night. ‘‘I’ll stand the first watch,’’ Sandy offered. ‘‘Jimmy done just fine last night, so I reckon we can trust him after all. He can take the second watch.’’