The next thing Fargo knew, fingers were on his cheek. With a start he jerked his head up.
“Relax, silly,” Sally Brook said. “It is only me.”
Fargo’s mind felt mired in mud and his veins were filled with turtle blood. “What time is it?” he asked, his tongue feeling as thick as a deck of cards.
“Eleven thirty. I couldn’t wait. I have been thinking of you all morning.” Sally’s eyes gleamed with a special kind of hunger.
Fargo had slept the morning away. He shook his head to try to clear lingering mental cobwebs. “Any sign of Durn and his bunch?”
“They searched the whole town,” Sally related. “When they couldn’t find you, they retired to the saloon. I haven’t seen any sign of them since.”
Fargo noticed she had brushed her hair and undid the top two buttons on her dress. Her notion of being brazen, he reckoned, and smothered a grin.
“Would you like me to fix you some food?”
“For some things food can wait,” Fargo said. She brightened with excitement as he pulled her to him, and when he kissed her, her passion surpassed his. Her fingers roved everywhere, exploring, caressing, while her silken tongue danced a sensual waltz with his.
After a while Fargo eased her onto her side so they were face to face. He kissed and licked her neck and sucked on her ear while prying at her buttons and stays. Some dresses had a lot and hers was one. He squandered time undoing them he would rather devote to her body.
“We only have an hour as I recall,” Fargo said.
“A little longer won’t hurt,” Sally huskily answered. “I told you I close at noon every now and then. Durn will not think it unusual.”
Fargo glued his mouth to hers and silenced her for the duration. His free hand slid up over her leg and over the flat of her belly to her mounds. She was nicely endowed. He cupped and massaged each breast through her dress and felt her nipples become tacks. When he pinched one, she groaned and squirmed.
His pole was a redwood, bulging at his pants for release.
Since it was taking so long to undo her dress, Fargo hiked at the hem until he had the garment up around her thighs. He ran his palm in small circles from her knee almost to her nether mound and she grew as hot as a griddle. Her skin was creamy soft.
Inserting two fingers into her undergarments, Fargo wormed under them to her slit. Sally trembled at the contact. When he ran a finger along it to her knob, her mouth parted but no sounds came out. He stoked her furnace for a good long while but he did not enter her, not until her breasts burst free. Swooping his mouth to a hard nipple, he plunged a finger up into her.
Sally nearly came off the bed. Her mouth lavished hot kisses on his face and neck while her fingers dug at his shoulders and arms as if seeking to tear the flesh from his bones.
Fargo inserted a second finger. For a few seconds she lay perfectly still. Then she erupted into a paroxysm of release, grinding against him in abandon. Her breathing rivaled a blacksmith’s bellows.
Fargo knelt between her legs. No sooner did he expose his lance than her hands were on him, fondling, cupping, doing things that brought a constriction to his throat and threatened to send him over the brink before he was ready.
Fargo aligned the tip of his sword with her sheath. Their eyes met, and he thrust in to the hilt. The bed creaked under them as they settled into a rhythm, her cherry lips forming an O of pure pleasure.
Fargo paced himself. She gushed twice, each time in a wild upheaval that added to the bite and scratch marks she was inflicting.
On they went, in and almost out. Fargo felt her inner walls contract, felt Sally spurt, and his own dam broke. Holding her hips, he pounded into her. She rose to meet each lance of his pole, willingly impaling herself in the interest of mutual release.
Coasting down from the summit was pleasant. Fargo lay in a contented haze, listening to her breathe, the damp cool of his sweat a relief from the heat of their union.
When she could, Sally whispered, “That was wonderful.”
“I aim to please, ma’am.”
Smiling, Sally closed her eyes, stretched, and nuzzled his shoulder. “I am so tired I can’t stay awake.”
“You have time for a nap,” Fargo said, in the grip of lassitude he could not deny.
They drifted off.
When Fargo opened his eyes he did not know what to make of the fact the room was dark. Sitting up, he blinked in sleep-induced confusion. A glance at the window revealed night had fallen.
That couldn’t be, Fargo told himself. He wondered why Sally had not woken him up, then realized she was next to him, deep in dreamland. A sense of unease gripped him as he placed a hand on her shoulder and gently shook.
“Ummmmmm?”
“It’s dark,” Fargo said.
Sally shifted and smiled but did not open her eyes. “What did you say?” she asked dreamily.
“It is dark out. We slept all day.”
Sitting bolt upright, Sally raised her hands to her disheveled hair and gazed about the bedroom in disbelief. “Dear God! No!”
“Maybe Durn was too busy to notice,” Fargo said.
“I hope you are right,” Sally said, sliding her legs over the edge of the bed. “Lord, how I hope so. But he keeps such a close eye on me—” She let the thought dangle.
Fargo slid to the end of the bed and hitched at his pants. “Are all the doors locked?”
Sally nodded while pulling herself together, her worry lines obvious even in the gloom.
“If he sent someone, or he came himself, we would have heard them knock,” Fargo said to ease her anxiety.
“That’s right!” Sally said. “I just don’t want him to find out, is all. There is no predicting what he will do.” She finished dressing and lit the lamp on the end table. Holding it in front of her, she went to the door. “You can wait here if you want.”
“Nothing doing.”
The house was quiet. They went down the hall to the millinery, Fargo with his hand on the Remington, Sally gnawing on her bottom lip.
The store was undisturbed. Sally went to the door and tried it and smiled when she confirmed it was bolted. “I guess you are right. I am surprised, though. Mrs. Garbundy was due to come by and she is quite the busybody. She was bound to tell everyone she met that I was closed when I shouldn’t be.”
“I bet she ran right to Durn and told him,” Fargo joked.
“I see your point,” Sally said, chuckling. “I am worried for no reason.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” said a deep voice, and from out of the shadows along the walls and from behind the counter and the mannequin came Big Mike Durn and six of his underlings, Kutler foremost among them. “I would say you have plenty to be worried about.”
The rest all leveled their guns.
18
“How?” Sally Brook blurted.
“A window, my dear,” Mike Durn answered. “You locked the doors but neglected to latch all the windows.” He held out a hand to Fargo. “I will take that pistol, if you don’t mind, and even if you do.”
The ring of gun muzzles were a powerful persuader. Using two fingers, Fargo gripped the butt and slowly slid the Remington from his holster.
