As the evening wore on, the men relaxed and mingled. All save Onfroi, who hung in the background like a vulture circling a carcass. Fargo got a crick in his neck from keeping an eye on him.
Clovis and Halette liked Remy. That was plain to see. Halette sat on his leg and they listened to tales of his wild times. Tales toned down, Fargo suspected, so as not to shock them. It was obvious Remy cared for them as much as they did for him. So much for the hard-hearted scourge of the Atchafalaya Swamp.
Namo insisted his children turn in at ten. “They have had a long day and we have a long way to go tomorrow to reach Gros Ville.”
“You are giving up the hunt?”
“Never! I won’t rest until the thing that killed my Emmeline is a pile of rotting flesh.”
Remy offered his tent to Namo and the children. As for Fargo, “You may sleep where you will. We can lend you blankets if you need them. But be warned. It’s not uncommon for us to find snakes in them when we wake up in the morning. They like the warmth.”
“I know about snakes,” Fargo said. Rattlers did the same thing. “And we have our own blankets.”
The spot Fargo chose was under a cypress a stone’s throw from the southernmost fire. He bundled a blanket for a pillow and then spread out another and was about to lie down when a figure detached itself from the shadows. Instinctively, suspecting it was Onfroi, he swooped his hand to his Colt.
“Don’t shoot me, monsieur,” Pensee teased, coming over and standing so that her chest practically touched his.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“If I have to tell you, then perhaps you don’t know what pleasure is.”
9
Fargo glanced toward the large tent and the silhouettes backlit from within by a lantern. “What about Remy?”
“What about him?” Pensee rejoined. “I’m free to do as I want. To be with who I want. And from the moment I laid eyes on you, I wanted you.”
The camp lay quiet under the stars. About half the men had turned in. The rest were swapping stories at the fires or playing cards or rolling dice. None were paying the least bit of attention to Pensee.
“What’s the matter? Can it be you are afraid? I didn’t take you for timid.” She snickered. “Or is it that you don’t like women?”
“If I liked them any more, I’d own my own whorehouse.”
“Is that so?” Pensee pressed her bosom to his chest, her hips to his hips. “Then why hesitate? Life is too short for hesitation. We must take what we want when we want or we may never get to take it at all.”
“Is that your outlook on life?” Fargo was scanning the camp to be sure they weren’t being watched. He didn’t see Onfroi anywhere and that bothered him.
“It is the only one to have. Why deprive ourselves of the pleasures life offers? Of food and drink and, yes, intimacy.” Pensee lightly ran a fingertip along Fargo’s chin. “Me, I deprive myself nothing. This way, when I die, I won’t have any regrets.”
“None of these gents are going to try and stick a knife in me?”
“Are you always so cautious?” Pensee rose onto the tips of her toes and nipped his chin with her teeth. “What if one did?
“Doesn’t that mean ‘that’s life’?”
“
“You’re not worth dying over.”
Offended, Pensee took a step back and put her hands on her hips. “That’s a fine thing to say to a lady who is offering herself to you. Have you no respect?”
“I could ask the same of you. You’re the one who doesn’t seem to care if I get stabbed or shot for touching you.”
Pensee burst into peals of mirth. “Touche. I admit I am thinking of only one thing.” She stepped up close again and placed her hand on his manhood. “I am thinking of this.”
Fargo felt himself stir. “Damn, you are a tease.”
“And you like it, admit it?” Pensee ran her hand over his hardening pole. “Goodness. You grow and grow.”
A constriction had formed in Fargo’s throat and he had to cough before he could say, “Isn’t there somewhere private?”
“Are you shy?” Pensee asked, and tittered. “Men! They act so big and tough. But in a woman’s hand they are kittens.”
“I’ll give you kittens,” Fargo said, and plunged his hand between her thighs. At the contact she arched her back and her mouth parted in a tremulous gasp.
“Oh! No.”
“What’s the matter? Are you shy?” Fargo gave as good as he got.
Pensee glanced toward the other fires and the tents, then clasped his hand and pulled him around the cypress to the other side. “One thing I am not is that, monsieur,” she said huskily. “But like you I don’t need an audience. That is how I got into trouble before I met Remy.”
“Trouble how?”
“There was this gentleman who shared my lack of inhibitions. We let people watch for money. You would think the world was coming to an end, to hear the upstanding citizens who wanted us hung for our crime.”
“There are limits,” Fargo said. Not that he had room to talk. He had done more than a few things in his time that most would brand scandalous.
“Not for me. Not then. Not now. Not ever. I like to live to the fullest. And if some are upset, that is their nature, not mine.”
“Did you bring me behind this tree to make love or talk me to death?” Fargo asked.
“Talk is a poor second to making love.”
With that Pensee melted into his arms. Her molten mouth fastened to his and her lips widened to admit his tongue. She groaned when he sucked on hers. He cupped a breast, pinched the nipple.
The night was suddenly a lot warmer.
Fargo pressed her against the tree. Her arms rose to hook around his neck and her pelvis glued itself to his. It occurred to him that he had left the Henry lying on his blanket but he decided to leave it there. He doubted anyone would be stupid enough to try and steal it.
“Why did you stop? Don’t you know what to do next?”
“I reckon I do.” Fargo rubbed his forefinger across her nether lips; she wasn’t wearing undergarments. She shivered and cooed and bit his shoulder, and not lightly, either.
“Do that again.”
Fargo did, dipping the tip of his finger into her. She ground against him and lathered his neck and his ear. At the same time she pried at his buckskin shirt, raising it so she could slide her hands underneath and rove them over his muscular chest and knotted belly.
“Nice. Very nice.”
Fargo could say the same but chatter was a distraction he could do without. He shut her up with another kiss and kept his lips there while he kneaded and tweaked her breasts. Soon her chest was heaving. Her breath fanned his throat as she bent to run her tongue from one side to the other.
By now Fargo’s pants bulged. He needed release. Unbuckling his belt, he lowered his holster and the Colt, then let his pants slide down around his knees. As his pole came free she let out a soft cry of delight.
“
Eagerly, she enfolded him with her fingers. Fargo had to clamp down a mental lid to keep from exploding before he was ready. The constriction returned as she delicately ran her fingernails up and down and then cupped his jewels.
“I would like to chop this off and keep it with me always.”
