Monongahela and was filling their glasses when murmuring broke out and Fargo turned to see Cecelia Mathers march into the saloon with her brood in her wake.
“What the hell?” the bartender said.
Cecelia looked around, then came straight toward the bar, parting those in front of her as the prow of a ship might part the sea.
Fargo figured she hadn’t taken no for an answer but it wasn’t him she came to see. She halted in front of Moose and put her hands on her hips.
“If it can’t be him it might as well be you.”
“Ma’am?” Moose said.
“I need a partner to go after Brain Eater,” Cecelia said, and jerked a thumb at Fargo. “I asked him but he’s already got one. So now I’m askin’ you.” She paused and glanced at the Englishman. “Wait a minute. How about you? I’m not particular, and they say you have a rifle that can drop a buffalo with a single shot.”
“I’m sorry, madam, but I hunt alone.”
“Then it’s back to you,” Cecelia said to Moose. “How about it?”
“How about what?”
“Aren’t you payin’ attention? How about partnerin’ up with me to hunt the griz.”
“You and me?”
“They say you’ve killed a heap of bears so you must be good at it.”
Moose squared his wide shoulders and puffed out his enormous chest. “A heap is about right.”
“Then will you or won’t you?”
“Won’t I what?”
Cecelia rose onto her toes so her face was inches from his.
“Is there somethin’ the matter with you?”
“I ain’t been sick in years,” Moose said.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m always serious about being sick,” Moose said. “I don’t like to throw up.”
Cecelia took a step back. “Enough about sick. Will you or won’t you be my partner? We’ll split the bounty fifty-fifty. In return, while we’re on the trail, I’ll do all the cookin’ and such. I’ll mend any socks you have that need darnin’. And do whatever else you say needs doin’. Does that sound fair?”
“Gosh,” Moose said. “You’d be just like a wife.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Cecelia said. “I admit you’re big and good-lookin’ but I’ve got my young’uns to think of. I can’t just latch on to anybody. For all I know, you’ve got habits I can’t abide.”
“Habits?” Moose said.
“Do you spit a lot?”
“Mostly I just swallow.”
“Do you snore?”
“I never heard me snore so no.”
“Do you belch and cuss and pick and scratch at yourself all the time?”
Moose seemed mesmerized by her boldness. “I reckon I belch now and then. But I don’t try to do it every day or anything. And I don’t cuss much except when I stub my toe or that time I accidentally shot my own foot. Lost half my little toe and I’d have sworn that rifle wasn’t loaded when I started to clean it. As for picking and scratching, I ain’t no chicken.”
“My Ed used to always be pickin’ lice off and scratchin’ himself down low,” Cecelia said. “And then he’d just throw the lice without squishin’ ’em. If I told him once I told him a thousand times to squish his lice.”
“I only scratch when I have fleas and I don’t get fleas unless I have a dog and I don’t have a dog right now as the last one got old and died on me,” Moose said.
Cecelia nodded. “You might do, after all. All right. You can tag along.” She turned to go.
“Where are we going?”
“To my room to talk about bein’ partners. I’ve got to tuck these young’uns in. Come along, now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Moose said, and was last in the string as they filed across the saloon and out the batwings.
Wendy raised his glass and chuckled. “I say, you Yanks sure are a colorful lot.”
Skye Fargo sighed.
6
Fanny was done at midnight. Fargo was sixty dollars ahead when she placed her hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Ready when you are, handsome.”
The night air was brisk, the town dark and quiet save for the two saloons still open. Fanny linked her arm in Fargo’s and led him to a side street and along it to a two-story frame house, one of the few in Gold Creek.
“All us girls are staying here,” Fanny revealed. “The man who owns it is only asking a dollar a day so long as we throw in free pokes.”
“Smart man,” Fargo said.
A few of the windows were lit. The porch creaked when Fargo stepped on it. Fanny opened the front door, clasped his hand, and put a finger to her lips. Quietly, they ascended a flight of oak stairs and went down a narrow hall to the last door on the right.
“This is mine,” Fanny said.
The bed was small, the dresser had three drawers, and the small table didn’t look sturdy enough to bear the weight of a hat. She tossed her bag on it and turned in profile to accent the bulge of her bosom and the sweep of her hips.
“Like what you see, handsome?”
Fargo had done enough talking for one day. Wrapping his arm around her slender waist, he pulled her to him and hungrily glued his mouth to hers. Her lips were exquisitely soft, her curves molded to his hard body as if the two were one. She tasted of mint. He cupped her bottom and she cupped his. He cupped a breast and she reached down low.
“Oh my. You’re hard already.”
Suddenly bending, Fargo swept her into his arms and whirled her onto the bed. It sagged under their weight. Fanny hooked her arms around his neck and gazed into his eyes in undisguised lust.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
Fargo had been thinking about her, too. Her lips were strawberries he couldn’t get enough of. Her body responded ardently to his every touch. He pinched a nipple through her dress.
“I like that,” Fanny cooed. “Be as rough as you like and I won’t disappoint.”
“Quiet, damn it.” Fargo put his hand on her knee and traced up the inside of her thigh. She had on stockings and garters. He caressed the silken sheen above and his knuckles brushed her bush. Mewing, she pried at his buckle and his pants.
Fargo sank into a pool of carnal sensation. Fanny knew just what to do and did it well. Their coupling was passionate, almost fierce. They did it half clothed, their need too great to wait. Her fingers raked his back and her teeth nipped his shoulder, drawing blood.
The bed sagged so low, Fargo would swear his knees brushed the floor. He hooked her legs over his shoulders, aligned his pole, and with a dip of his hips, was in to the hilt.
“Yessssssss!” Fanny exclaimed, her eyelids fluttering.
Fargo placed his hands flat to brace himself, and commenced. He could go a good long while when he put his mind to it and he put his mind to it now. In and almost out, over and over, the explosion slowly building at the base of his spine. She crested first in a paroxysm of thrashing limbs and cries of delight. Then it was his turn, and if the bed didn’t break it wasn’t for a lack of trying.
Afterward, they lay on their sides, her back to him, his cheek on her shoulder.
Fargo slowly drifted off. He figured to sleep through to dawn and was on the verge of dreamland when a sound snapped him awake. Unsure what it had been, he waited to see if the sound was repeated. The night stayed
