Bayou Trackdown

and full, her belly was smooth and flat, her bottom nicely rounded. Her curly thatch was silky soft to the touch. He drank her loveliness in, then got down to arousing her. First he eased her onto the bed and crawled on so he was next to her, his chest to her breasts. The quilts were so soft it was like sinking into fluff.

Liana looped an arm about his neck and pulled his face down to hers. “Something tells me this will be a night I’ll long remember.”

“I’ll try my best, ma’am.”

If there was anything finer in life than a willing woman, Fargo had yet to come across it. His mouth and hands roved everywhere, exploring, arousing. She did the same. Both of them took their time, savoring the feel and the taste, her lust a mirror of his.

Eventually Fargo spread her legs wide and aligned his redwood with her slit. He ran it up and down, sparking quivers from her head to her toes. Inserting the tip, he slowly fed himself in until his steel sword was up to the hilt in her wet sheath. For a space they lay motionless on the precipice.

“I could do this forever,” Liana cooed. Her eyes were hooded, her red lips more inviting than ever.

Fargo began stroking. He had experience, too, and he didn’t go at her hard and fast and end it too soon. He dipped into her slowly, rocking gently on his knees, his toes braced for leverage. Her nails dug into his arms so deep, he would swear that this time she drew blood.

Finally Liana was ready. She put her mouth to his ear and whispered, “Now, amoureux. I am a flower and you are a scythe. Cut me.”

Fargo had never heard it expressed quite that way before. But cut her he did, thrusting his scythe up into her flower harder and harder until the bed bounced and she cried out and arched her back and spurted.

Fargo’s redwood exploded. Pinpoints of light danced before his eyes. He rocked in and out until he was spent and then sank on top of her, cushioned by her heaving bosom. But he lay there only a few moments. Rolling off to spare her his weight, he closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

A noise awakened him.

How long he had been out, Fargo couldn’t say. Beside him Liana snored, and he assumed it was her snoring that roused him. Then his gaze fell on the mirror above the table and suddenly he was fully awake, his blood racing in alarm.

The bedroom door was open. Midway between it and the bed stalked a figure with a knife in his hand.

Doucet.

Fury gripped Fargo. Sheer, red-hot fury. He’d spared the fool and this was how Doucet repaid him. As yet, Doucet hadn’t realized he was awake. Fargo remedied that. Abruptly rolling, he deliberately fell over the side of the bed. He landed next to his gun belt and molded the Colt to his palm. He thought Doucet would come around after him and he would blow the Cajun to kingdom come. But there was a gasp, and then nothing. He sat up.

Doucet was on his knees on the bed, his blade to Liana’s throat. Grinning smugly, he said, “We meet again.”

“For the last time.”

“I agree.” Doucet’s eyes glittered. “You will drop your revolver or I will cut her.”

Liana’s own eyes reflected mute appeal. She started to move but Doucet grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back, further exposing her throat.

“Don’t move, ma chere. I do not want to harm you. But you have brought this on yourself by sleeping with this pig.”

“Where are your friends?” Fargo asked.

“Pitre and Babin refused to help. They said I should let it drop. That you had proven the better man.” Doucet swore. “They said that to me. As if the likes of you could ever be my better.”

“Let her go. This is between you and me.”

“No.”

“Then all your talk about caring for her was a lie.” Fargo tensed his legs for his push off the floor.

“To the contrary. But a man does what he must. Now you will drop that revolver as I have told you or she bleeds. Do you want her death on your conscience?”

“I’d rather have your brains splattered all over a wall. But you win.” Fargo let the Colt fall.

“Excellent. Now stand up.”

“Whatever you want. Just don’t hurt her.” Fargo put both hands flat and began to rise. His right hand was only inches from the Colt. He didn’t glance down at it, though. That would give him away.

“Most excellent,” Doucet gloated. Then he did something Fargo didn’t expect: he ducked behind Liana so that only part of his face was visible, a cheek and one eye. “Nice and slow, yes?”

Fargo kept on rising but he didn’t snatch up the Colt as he intended. He needed to be sure. There must be no risk to Liana. His pants slid down around his ankles, bunching about his boots.

“Hold your arms out from your sides,” Doucet commanded, “and back up until you are against the far wall.”

Reluctantly, Fargo complied.

Only then did Doucet slide off the bed and step away from Liana. He shoved her as he did, growling, “Stay on that bed, woman.” A few quick steps brought him to the Colt, which he picked up and cocked.

“How dare you lay a hand on me!” Liana fumed, rising on her elbows. “I will tell everyone what you have done.”

“Go right ahead. You haven’t been harmed. As for this outsider—” and he gestured with the Colt at Fargo —“no one will care what I do to him.”

“The person who sent for him will.”

“So he claims. But he hasn’t said who it was, or why.” Doucet shook his head. “No one will care that another outsider became lost in the swamp and was never heard from again. Or that is the story we will tell if anyone should come looking for him.”

Liana glanced worriedly at Fargo then softened her tone toward Doucet. “Please. I ask you nicely. Don’t harm him. We have been friendly, have we not? Spare him as a favor to me?”

“True, we have been friends,” Doucet said. “Until the moment you slept with this pig. Now I no longer care if you live or die.”

“Damn you.”

Doucet laughed and addressed Fargo. “Women. Ce n’est pas la peine. N’est-ce pas? ” When Fargo didn’t answer, he translated, “They are not worth the trouble. Isn’t that right?”

“You are the pig here,” Liana said.

“How soon they turn on us, eh?” Doucet went on addressing Fargo. “One day they hold our hand and go for a walk with us, and the next they glare at us and call us pigs.”

“I want you out of my room, out of my tavern, out of my life.”

“What you want, my dear, and what will happen, are two different things.” Doucet pointed the Colt at Fargo’s chest. “The question now is whether I kill you outright or have fun with you a while.”

“No, Doucet, please,” Liana said.

“Shut up. Another word out of you, just one, and I swear I will shoot him. Not to kill, mind you. I want him to suffer. I’ll shoot him in the knee, perhaps. Or in that tool of his he used on you.” Doucet glanced down. “Mon Dieu. That I should be so endowed.”

Fargo had stayed silent long enough. To keep the Cajun’s tongue wagging he revealed, “The gent who sent for me is called Namo Heuse. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

Doucet’s brow puckered. “Namo? Oui. I know him well. But what would he want with an outsider?”

“He sent me a letter by way of the army. I work for them at times. I scout. I track. The letter doesn’t say exactly why he wanted me to come. Only that he needs my help to avenge the death of someone he loved.”

Liana sat up on the bed. “Je comprends. You know about Namo’s wife, Doucet. I think Namo wants him to track the thing that killed Emmeline.”

Doucet glared at her. “I told you to be quiet, remember?” To Fargo he said, “Namo is a good man but he’s a fool. This isn’t the prairie. The swamp and bayous are mostly water and nothing leaves tracks in water.”

Fargo shrugged. “I reckon he figures I can help him.”