so his right ear was toward Fargo and loudly declared, “How do you do, friend? If you’re after a room, you’re in luck. It’s late, but we happen to have one handy at the back.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need one.” Fargo was staying in the loft at the stable. He’d had little money on him when he arrived, not dreaming what good fortune awaited him at the poker table.
“Then what can I do for you?”
“I was up a street a ways and thought I saw someone I know come in here,” Fargo fibbed. “A drummer I met once. His handle is Smith. Jed Smith.”
“Do you mean the fella who just came in about a minute or so ago? A tough customer in a dark suit?”
“That would be him, yes.”
“Then he’s not your drummer. I have no idea what he does for a living, but his name isn’t Smith. It’s—” The clerk opened the register and ran a bony finger down the right-hand page. “Ah. Here it is. That was Mr. Colter. Frank Colter. Says here he is out of Washington, D.C.”
“How long has he been staying with you?”
The clerk’s eyes narrowed. “Since he’s not your friend, I don’t see where that is any of your concern.”
“I’m obliged,” Fargo said, and got out of there. The last thing he wanted was for the desk clerk to become suspicious and mention his visit to Colter.
Stymied, Fargo retraced his steps. By now it was close to midnight, but the saloon was packed. Smoke hung thick above the tables. The loud voices, the gruff mirth, the tinkle of chips were as much Fargo’s natural element as the wilds. He was halfway to the bar when perfume wreathed him.
“I was beginning to think you had abandoned me,” Saucy McBride said in mock sadness.
“Not likely,” Fargo said, grinning and wrapping an arm around her slender waist. “What did you have in mind?”
“Why don’t I take you to my room and show you?”
4
Saucy McBride’s room was above the Hitch Rail. Like most doves, she could ill afford a plush apartment. The room was small and sparse, with a run-down bed, an old table, and two well-worn chairs. Through the thin floorboards wafted the tinny notes of the piano and the hubbub of conversation.
“It’s not much,” Saucy said apologetically as she stepped aside so he could enter, “but I can’t complain. There’s a water closet at the end of the hall, and in the winter plenty of heat.” She closed the door and threw the latch. “I’ve stayed at places that were a lot worse.”
So had Fargo. Leaning against the table, he commented, “Your boss doesn’t mind you bringing men up?”
“My free time is my own to do with as I please.” Saucy fluffed her red hair and smoothed her dress. “And before you ask, no, I don’t make a habit out of getting acquainted with every gent who strays into the saloon. But now and again a gal needs companionship. Know what I mean?”
Fargo knew all too well. A scout’s life was often a lonely one, with days and sometimes weeks spent on the trail, far from human habitation, days and weeks when he did not set eyes on another soul.
“The moment you walked in, I had butterflies in my stomach,” Saucy said while opening a cupboard and taking down a whiskey bottle. “You are an uncommonly handsome rascal.”
“I’m as ordinary as candle wax.”
“Oh, please. I bet you have to beat the ladies off with a club. There isn’t a gal alive who wouldn’t leap at the chance to bed you.”
“I’ve met a few.” Fargo did not care to talk about his escapades with females. Certain things were private.
Saucy produced two glasses, wiped them on a towel hanging from a peg, and set them on a counter. She filled each glass halfway, sipped from hers, and handed the other to him. “It’s not the best money can buy, but it’s not bad, either.” She treated herself to another swallow. “I’ve long since given up on the notion of ever being rich, so this will have to do.”
“You don’t hear me complaining.” To Fargo, liquor was liquor. He had tasted everything from Georgia moonshine to El Paso tequila, from the finest Scotch to rotgut so watered down it was more water than alcohol.
“You don’t say a whole hell of a lot, period,” Saucy said, “unless it’s to answer me.” She drained the rest of her glass at a gulp and poured another. “If you’re hungry I have bread and cheese.”
“I’m hungry, all right,” Fargo said, reaching out and snagging her wrist, “but not for food.”
Giggling, Saucy said, “I was beginning to think you were the bashful type. Most men would have ripped my dress off by now.”
“Dresses cost money.” Pulling her close, Fargo molded his hips to hers. “Or would you rather I don’t give a damn?”
“A true gentleman
“I’ve yet to meet a female who doesn’t try to talk me to death,” Fargo groused. He finished his drink, waited for her to do likewise, and placed both glasses on the table. Then he boldly cupped her bottom with both hands and ground against her. “How about if you kill me with your body instead?”
“Why, sir,” Saucy playfully teased, “whatever do you have in mind?”
Fargo covered her lips with his. She responded as if she were famished and he were a feast. Her tongue delved into his mouth and swirled around and around, her bosom swelled against his chest, her thighs molded to his. From deep in her throat came a tiny mew of kindled passion.
When they broke for breath, Saucy was panting. “You sure can kiss,” she said, flattering him. “That just about tingled my toes.”
“Just about isn’t good enough,” Fargo said, and kissed her again, harder, his left hand rising along the sweep of her legs to her smooth belly and up over it to cup her right breast. She shivered at the contact, and groaned when he tweaked her nipple through the fabric.
“Keep this up and I’m liable to ravish you,” Saucy bantered.
“Promises, promises.” Fargo kissed her neck, then fastened his mouth to an earlobe and sucked while he kneaded and caressed her twin melons until they heaved with unleashed desire. Her breath became a furnace, her skin warm to the touch.
“Mmmmmm,” Saucy huskily cooed. “That did the trick. My toes will be tingling for a month of Sundays.”
“Not long enough.” Fargo slid his hands down the backs of her thighs and hoisted her into the air. She took that as her cue to wrap her legs around him and lock her ankles. Her feather-soft lips fluttered to his and her fingers traced the hard outline of his biceps.
Carrying her to the bed, Fargo gently laid her down. Stepping back, he took off his hat and threw it on the table, then peeled off his buckskin shirt.
Saucy’s eyes widened. “Oh, my. You have more muscles than most ten men. A girl could get used to a sight like that.”
She jabbered too much, Fargo thought. He silenced her with another kiss that went on and on in languid, molten wetness. His fingers explored every square inch from her knees to her shoulders, and soon he commenced unfastening buttons and undoing stays to get at the charms hidden underneath.
“Oh, yesssss,” Saucy breathed, writhing under his erotic ministrations. “You touch me in all the right places.”
Fargo leaned over her shoulder and pried with his thumbnail at a tiny button that was being stubborn.
“You would be surprised at how many men don’t have any idea what excites a girl.” Saucy rambled on. “They treat us like we’re a piece of sausage. Or, worse, they can’t be bothered to excite us at all so long as they have their fun.”
Fargo wished to heaven she would shut up. He was growing impatient with the button and had half a mind to tear the dress off.
“You would think it would come naturally,” the chatterbox babbled, “but it has to be learned, like everything else.” She chortled. “I thought about opening a school to teach men how to make love but figured I’d be tarred and
