Fargo liked hers. He ran a hand through her hair, and with his other, he gripped her bottom. He pulled her to him so they were bosom to chest and leg to leg.
“Goodness,” Mary breathed, and reaching between his legs, she began fondling him.
A branch popped in the fire.
High on the mountain a cougar screamed.
Fargo glanced at the horses. All three stood with their heads bowed, weary from the long hours of hard travel. None had their ears pricked or showed the least alarm. It was safe to give free rein to his craving.
Fargo pulled Mary onto his lap and she parted her legs wide to grant him access. But he wasn’t about to plunge right in. He kissed and licked her throat. He nipped an earlobe. He slid a hand under her dress and caressed her leg.
“Lordy,” Mary gasped.
Fargo rubbed in small circles until he reached her knee. He traced a finger along her inner thigh and she quivered.
“Please,” she said.
“When I’m ready.”
She had started this; he would finish it.
Mary cupped his chin and tried to suck his mouth into hers. Her yearning was at a fever pitch. Loosening his belt, she swooped her hand low and held him where it would drive any man to the heights of delight. “Do you like that?”
“What do you think?” Fargo retorted in a voice that didn’t sound anything like his.
“I think your stallion should be jealous.”
“I think you talk too much.”
For long, languid minutes they kissed and groped and fondled. Fargo’s manhood was iron. Mary’s thighs were almost as hot as the fire. She was even hotter higher up—hot and wet, for when he lightly ran a finger along her slit, his finger grew moist with her dew.
“Ohh, more of that, if you please.”
Fargo obliged. Each flick of her tiny knob brought a convulsion of release. She ground against his hand, her hips bucking. Her groans and mews filled the air, but never too loud. Hers was a cautious abandon.
Fargo was cautious, too. He glanced at her kids, making sure they were still asleep, and then at the horses. The Ovaro had its head up but showed no sign of being agitated.
“What’s wrong?”
Fargo realized he had stopped stroking her. “Nothing,” he said throatily, and took up where he had left off. A hard lance of his finger, and he was in her velvety sheath up to the knuckle. She came up off his lap, then sank down with a soft moan.
“The woman you take for a wife will be the luckiest woman alive,” Mary whispered, and commenced to thrust her hips in rhythm with the thrust of his finger.
Fargo added a second finger and her inner walls rippled. Her hips churned. She was wetter than ever.
The Ovaro was staring into the gloom. Something had caught its interest, but it didn’t nicker or stamp.
Fargo glanced in the same direction but all he saw were the white humps of trees. If Rika or the warrior were out there, now was when they would strike. He kept on pumping his hand, but he didn’t take his eyes off the woods until the Ovaro lowered its head again.
Mary’s fingers enclosed his pole.
Fargo wasn’t expecting it, and it took his breath away. He rose high enough to drop his pants to his knees, then hiked her dress and lightly touched the tip of his member to her slit.
“Now. Please, now.”
“Now,” Fargo said, and rammed up into her. For all of five seconds, she was rigid with a flood of emotion, and then her body came alive. She met each of his thrusts with abandon.
Faster and faster they rose toward the summit. Harder and harder they sought to trigger mutual release.
Suddenly Mary gushed, her mouth wide but no sounds coming out. The whites of her eyes showed, and her eyelids fluttered.
The very next thrust sent Fargo over the brink. It was the end of him and the beginning of him all over again. It was the moment he lived for. There was nothing else like it.
They coasted to a stop, and sagged, Mary’s cheek on his chest and her eyes closed in grateful weariness.
“You’re marvelous. Truly marvelous.”
“Don’t tell the Ovaro.”
His remark brought a snort and a light laugh. “I’ll miss you when we go our own ways. You’ve brought me out of myself. You’ve reminded me of what it’s like to be alive.”
“You’ve reminded me of why I like women, so we’re even.” Fargo tugged his pants on; the air was cold on his private parts. Once he was buckled, he pulled her dress down over her legs to keep her warm.
“Thank you, kind sir. I hope you don’t mind me throwing myself at you like that.”
Women, Fargo reflected, said the silliest things.
Mary closed her eyes and forked an arm around his neck. “I could go to sleep right here in your lap.”
“Better turn in, then.” Fargo helped her stand and walked with her to her blanket. She kissed him on the cheek, tenderly touched the spot she had kissed, and sank down.
Fargo returned to the fire. He added another branch. The wolves and the coyotes had gone quiet and the near-total silence made every slight sound he made seem twice as loud. He scanned the trees and checked the horses, and convinced it was safe, he threw a blanket over his shoulders and huddled close to the fire for the warmth.
Time crawled on claws of ice.
Fargo didn’t know how long he could stay awake, but the longer he could, the safer they’d be. He struggled. His body was close to shutting down, he was so tired. He kept forgetting that he hadn’t fully recovered from his clash with the wolves.
Eventually the inevitable happened. Fargo’s eyes refused to stay open and his brain refused to stay alert. He drifted in and out, snapping awake now and then to stare numbly at the fire and add more fuel. Then he would go under again, dreaming chaotic dreams.
The last time he fell asleep, he slept the longest. He came back to wakefulness slowly, sensing that it had been hours and that it must be close to dawn. He yawned and went to stretch and opened his eyes, and froze with his arms half in the air.
“Morning,” Rika said.
Fargo was awake in a heartbeat. His gut churned but outwardly he stayed calm. “What time is it?”
“The sun will rise soon.” Rika was in a squat on the other side of the fire, the Henry trained on Fargo’s chest, the hammer already thumbed back.
“I knew I should have tried harder to stay awake.”
“I did my sleeping while you were making your camp and eating. About midnight I got up, and I’ve been waiting my chance ever since.”
“I’m surprised I’m still alive.”
Rika frowned. “It’s not up to me or you wouldn’t be. Cud wants you breathing.”
“He wants to do it himself,” Fargo guessed.
“I’ve never seen him so worked up about killing someone,” Rika revealed. “You killed Tull and you killed Boyce. No one kills his men and lives. He’ll have you staked out and then beat you to death, breaking a bone at a time, unless you beg him to end it.”
“I wouldn’t count on the begging.”
“You might be the toughest son of a bitch alive, but you’ll beg. I’ve seen him do it too many times. Some men can take having their arms and their legs broken. Some can take their fingers being snapped, or their ribs staved in. But when he uses that club of his on their crotch, they break.” Rika grinned. “You’ll beg, all right.”
“And them?” Fargo asked with a nod at the Harpers.
“Cud might spare them. He’s fond of the woman. He’d like to kill her brats but it would upset her too
