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.
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.
