Beartooth Incident (16 page)

“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.”

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.

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.”

“I’m surprised I’m still alive.”

Rika frowned. “It’s not up to me or you wouldn’t be. Cud wants you breathing.”

“He wants to do it himself,” Fargo guessed.

“I’ve never seen him so worked up about killing someone,” Rika revealed. “You killed Tull and you killed Boyce. No one kills his men and lives. He’ll have you staked out and then beat you to death, breaking a bone at a time, unless you beg him to end it.”

“I wouldn’t count on the begging.”

“You might be the toughest son of a bitch alive, but you’ll beg. I’ve seen him do it too many times. Some men can take having their arms and their legs broken. Some can take their fingers being snapped, or their ribs staved in. But when he uses that club of his on their crotch, they break.” Rika grinned. “You’ll beg, all right.”

“And them?” Fargo asked with a nod at the Harpers.

“Cud might spare them. He’s fond of the woman. He’d like to kill her brats but it would upset her too much.”

“A fine gent, Cud Sten,” Fargo said sarcastically.

A rare smile curled Rika’s mouth. “Cud Sten is the most vicious bastard who ever lived. He killed his own mother when he was fifteen and he’s been killing ever since. Or maybe killing is the wrong word. Cud
destroys
people. He tortures them and then he laughs in their faces and finishes them off. He enjoys it. He loves to break bones. He loves to hear people scream and cry and beg. He loves it more than he loves anything.”

It was the most Fargo ever heard Rika say, and he noticed the excitement that crept into Rika’s own voice. “You love it, too.”

“Almost as much as Cud does. It’s why him and me have been together so long. We both like to kill.” Rika chuckled. “They say friends should have something in common.”

“You could let
them
go on,” Fargo said with another nod at the Harpers. “I’m the one Cud wants.”

“And tell Cud what? That they got away from me? Do you honestly think he’d believe it?” Rika gazed at their sleeping forms. “They mean nothing to me. Whether they live or they die, it’s all the same. Hell, I’d kill them myself if Cud wanted me to.”

The whole time they talked, Fargo had been inching his hand toward his Colt. The blanket over his shoulders hid the movement. Another few inches and he would take his chances rather than let himself be taken back to face Cud Sten’s club.

“We’ll wait until sunrise and then wake them,” Rika was saying. “I suppose you’d better feed them, too, or the brats will whine all the way back.”

Fargo’s fingers were so close to the Colt, all it would take was a flick of his wrist and Cud Sten would be even madder.

But suddenly, unexpectedly, Rika snapped the Henry to his shoulder. “Ever been shot?”

“A few times.”

“Want to add another time?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“That’s too bad. A man as dumb as you has to expect to be shot once in a while.” Rika took deliberate aim.