this?”
“It’s never the same with any two people.”
“No. I don’t mean that.” Mary’s brow puckered. “I thought I knew what it was all about. I mean, Frank and I did it, well, fairly often.” She touched him again, a great tenderness on her face. “But none of those times were anything like this. I don’t know if I can describe it in words.”
“There’s no need.” Fargo closed his eyes. If they had half an hour until daylight, he might as well get a little more sleep.
Mary kissed his cheek, his chin, his throat. “If I could, I would do it again right this minute. But the children will be up soon.”
“Rest,” Fargo said.
“I don’t want rest. I want you. I want you again and again. I want you until I pass out.”
Fargo looked at her, and damn if she wasn’t serious. “I won’t complain if you take it into your head to ravish me again sometime.”
“How about tonight?”
“If I make it back.”
Mary pressed her mouth to his, hard. “How about every night for the rest of our lives?”
Fargo sobered and propped his head on his arm. “I thought I made it clear. I’m not looking to put down roots.”
“I’d make you happy. I’d make you as happy as any man has ever been since the dawn of time.”
“Oh, Mary . . .”
“Think about it. That’s all I ask. Think about it, and if you want, stick around awhile and make up your mind.”
“I’m taking you and your kids out of here, remember?”
“There’s no rush. With you here we’ll have plenty to eat. You’ll hunt game, and I’ll cook and clean, and at night we’ll do what we did last night, over and over. There will be no end to it. No end to us.”
Fargo rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with his forearm. He liked her. He liked her a lot. Maybe it was even more than liking. There was no denying their coupling had been special. But what she was asking was impossible. He would eventually move on, as he always did.
“I’ve upset you, haven’t I?”
“No,” Fargo lied.
“Yes, I have. I can tell. I’m sorry. Truly sorry. It’s the last thing I want to do.” Mary rested her cheek on his neck.
Fargo was startled to feel a spot of wet on his skin. He peered from under his arm and saw tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. “Stop that.”
“I don’t want to lose you. This is so new, so wonderful. I’ve never known anything like it”
“I’m not the only man in the world,” Fargo said by way of suggesting she would find someone else one day.
“You are for me. Don’t you understand? What we have comes along only once or twice in a lifetime. It’s rare. If we go our separate ways, we might never have it again.”
Fargo draped his arm around her shoulders. “It’s new for you. You’re making more out of it than there is.”
“You don’t see. You just don’t see.”
“Mary, please.”
Mary tilted her head to look at him. The tears were still flowing but she didn’t sob or blubber. They were quiet tears. “I’ll make this as clear to you as I possibly can. Then it’s up to you to decide what you’ll do about it.” She cleared her throat.
“Don’t.”
“Skye Fargo, I love you.”
“Oh, hell.”
11
Fargo rode out half an hour after breakfast. He ate sparingly. They were running out of food. There wasn’t much of the flour left, and Mary was reluctant to kill another chicken. He made up for the lack with half a pot of coffee.
The three of them came out to see him off. The cold had abated somewhat, thanks to warmer wind from the south.
Fargo was about to step into the stirrups when Mary came over and, in front of the children, kissed him warmly on the cheek.
“Take care and come back safe.”
Fargo said he would try. He climbed on and looked down and felt a strange constriction in his throat. “If I don’t make it back and Cud Sten shows up, wait for your chance and steal three horses and head out of the Beartooth Range.” They wouldn’t last another six months, otherwise.
Mary put her hand on his leg. “You’ll come back. I know you will.”
Fargo used his spurs. He looked back once and they were still standing at the corner of the cabin. All three waved. He waved back, then swore.
Fargo told himself he was upset because of Mary. She had forgotten that he told her that he had no interest in planting roots. He’d meant what he said but she refused to listen.
With a toss of his head, Fargo focused on the here and now. He made for a point where two mountains seemed to merge. Mary had told him that between them wound a strip of grassy flatland. It was the easiest way in and out of the valley, the way Cud Sten was likely to bring the cattle.
Once he reached the flatland, Fargo stayed close to the forest so he could seek cover quickly if he had to.
The snow had turned the mountains white. Here and there boulders added a splash of brown and pines a dash of green.
There was no sign of the outlaws.
The middle of the morning came and went. Fargo arched his back to relieve stiff muscles. He looked up at a pair of ravens flying overhead, their wings beating loud in the thin air. He looked down and drew rein.
Fresh tracks marked the snow, the prints of a single horse. A shod horse. It had come down off the mountain and set off across the flatland.
Fargo rose in the stirrups. The horse wasn’t in sight. He reckoned it had gone into the forest on the other side. Sliding to the ground, Fargo hunkered down. A tingle shot through him and he was back on the sorrel in an instant. Then he hesitated. He wanted to go after the other horse. But Sten might come along while he was gone. Did he dare risk it? he asked himself. The answer was no. He had to put Mary and her kids first. It bothered him, though. He rode on with a heavy heart, glancing often across the flatland in the hope that the other horse would appear.
The sun was directly overhead when, faint on Fargo’s ears, fell the lowing of a cow. Wasting no time, he reined into the snow-shrouded trees and behind a pine half bent from the weight. By craning his neck he could see over it.
Presently, here they came: seven riders herding a handful of cows.
Mary had told Fargo there would only be five or six men. Somewhere or other, Cud Sten had added new curly wolves to his pack.
Figuring out which rider was Sten was easy. He was the only one holding—of all things—a club. About two feet long, it was thick at one end and tapered at the other. Oak, unless Fargo missed his guess. Why in the hell anyone would tote something like that around, Fargo couldn’t imagine. A six-shooter killed a lot quicker. Sten also wore a revolver, butt-forward on his left hip. A Smith & Wesson.
Comparing the others to wolves wasn’t far from the mark. All were lean and sinewy with eyes that glittered with the promise of death. Five were white. The sixth, who happened to be in the lead, had some red blood, as
