“It would not be right for you to wear clothes when I am bare-assed naked,” Sweet Flower replied. “If you will not be bare-assed naked with me, I will put my dress back on and go.”
Fargo proceeded to strip. He made it a point to put his gun belt within easy reach. As he turned to Sweet Flower, she placed her hands on his chest.
“This is strange.”
“What is?”
“You have a lot of hair on your head and a lot of hair on your face but you do not have much on your body.”
Fargo sighed. “Hair and bare-assed naked. Next you will want to talk about flying pigs.”
“Pigs? I am sorry. I do not understand. I have seen pigs. They do not have much hair. All they have is skin. Does that make them bare-assed naked? Or can only people be bare-assed naked? And how can they fly when they do not have wings? I am confused.”
“Shoot me now and put me out of my misery.”
“Sorry? You are hurting?”
“Only between my ears.” Fargo kissed her before she could say anything else. He hoped that was the end of the hair business but when he slid his mouth lower and nuzzled her neck, her hand found his manhood and groped around it as if she were searching for something. Then she giggled.
“You do not have much hair there, either.”
“Please tell me we are done with hair.”
“What you do have is soft and crinkly like my own.”
“God in heaven.”
“God? That is the white word for the Great Mystery. I do not think the Great Mystery has hair.”
Fargo rose onto an elbow and cupped her chin. “Sweet Flower?” he said softly.
“Yes?”
“Say the word hair one more time and you can make love to yourself.”
“You sound upset.”
“I am, as the whites would say, pissed, and when a man is pissed, it spoils his mood.” Fargo went to kiss her.
“I am sorry I pissed you. I have never made love to a white man and I do not know how white men like to do it.”
“Without talking. We like to make love to women who keep their mouths shut the whole time.”
“Even when we kiss? What if I want to suck on your tongue?”
“One. Two. Three. Four—”
“Why are you counting?”
“I need the practice. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.” Fargo stared at her.“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Is there anything else perfectly stupid you would like to say?”
“But you just told me to keep quiet so I do not piss you. I wish you would make up your mind how you want me to be. I am confused.”
Enough was enough. Fargo spread her legs and eased onto his knees between them. He touched the tip of his pole to her slit. Then, without any other foreplay, he rammed up into her. “Piss this.”
Sweet Flower came up off the grass with her back in a bow and her luscious lips parted wide. She grabbed him by the back of his head, pulled his face to hers, and gave him a kiss the likes of which few women ever had. Her hands were everywhere, exploring, kneading, caressing.
Now this was more like it, Fargo thought. He pinched a nipple and nipped her earlobe. He sculpted her other breast. All while he rocked on his knees and slowly thrust his hips.
Sweet Flower moaned. She cooed. She breathed molten air. Her nails dug into his shoulders deep enough to draw drops of blood. Her legs rose and her ankles locked behind him.
Fargo took his time. He was in no rush to get back to camp now that he knew the senator’s party wasn’t in any danger. It had surprised him that the Lakotas would even think of signing a peace treaty, but stranger things had happened.
A loud moan from Sweet Flower signaled her release. Her eyelids fluttered and she churned her bottom.
Her climax was an earthquake that shook Fargo to his core and set off his own eruption. He rammed into her again and again, pounding her until he had no energy left to do more than sink down on top of her and rest his cheek on her breasts. He closed his eyes.
After a while Sweet Flower asked, “Did I make you happy?”
“You would make any man happy.”
Sweet Flower smiled and playfully pulled at his beard. “This tickled me. I almost laughed a few times.”
Fargo didn’t care to get her started on hair again so he didn’t respond.
“If I ask you for a favor, will you do it?”
Half dreading it would be something silly, Fargo said, “That depends on the favor.”
“I still want to see the white woman and her child. I heard Little Face and the one called Owen mention them. I would like to see the kind of clothes they wear and how they do their hair.”
Fargo was more interested in something else. “They were talking and not using sign language? I did not know Little Face speaks the white tongue.”
“The one called Owen speaks Lakota.”
This was news to Fargo, too. Owen must have had previous dealings with the Sioux. “Where did you hear them talk?”
“They were in Little Face’s lodge. I only heard a little. It is not polite to listen outside lodges.”
“How do your people feel about the treaty?”
“The what?”
“A man has come from the Great White Father to talk peace with the Lakotas. The White Father wants the Sioux to sign a paper that says the Sioux will never again kill another white.”
“No one told me this. All I heard them talk about was the—” Sweet Flower stopped, and stiffened.
Fargo looked up. She was staring over his shoulder at something behind him. He twisted to see what she was seeing—and his gut balled into a knot.
Not ten feet away stood several warriors. Two had arrows nocked to their bowstrings, the strings pulled back, the shafts ready to fly.
The third warrior was Little Face, the Lakota who hated him.
14
Fargo went to reach for his Colt.
“Touch it and die, white dog.”
Fargo froze. He didn’t doubt the threat would be carried out. The two warriors with Little Face looked eager to sink their arrows into him.
Sweet Flower shifted from under him. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I saw you follow the white men who came to our village,” Little Face said in his usual flinty tone. He wore his buffalo robe, and his face was pinched in displeasure. A small face, it was, much too small for a man his size, which was why he had the name he did. “I came after you to find out why, daughter.”
Fargo was flabbergasted. He glanced from her to Little Face and back again and didn’t see any resemblance at all.
“I asked Long Forelock and Bear Loves to come with me and help me stop you,” Little Face had gone on. “I have planned for too long to have you ruin things.”
“I wanted to see the white woman,” Sweet Flower said.
Little Face grunted. “Instead I find you lying with the white man I most want dead.” He glared at Fargo. “We meet again, He Who Walks Many Trails. I have waited a long time for this.”
Sweet Flower gave a start. “
