good if he had to drag through the day, now would he? But when sleep came it was troubled sleep with dreams of shadowy doorways and cards dealt from the bottoms of decks and smiling faces that were not at all what they seemed.
As was his habit, Fargo awoke early and took a moment before opening his eyes, letting his other senses tell him about his surroundings. The streets of New Orleans were beginning the slow process of waking up—unlike frontier towns that often started even before sunrise, New Orleans was a city of night, and it woke like an ill-used prostitute, slow and cranky and stiff.
It suddenly hit him that Mary wasn’t in the bed. He opened his eyes and saw that the room was empty. He sat up, wondering where she’d gone and had just decided to go find her when the door handle rattled and began to turn.
With lightning reflexes, Fargo snagged his Colt free from its holster on the end of the bed and spun back to the door just as it opened.
Mary let out a little gasp of surprise and almost dropped the tray laden with breakfast and coffee she held in her hands. “Oh!” she said.
Fargo eased the hammer back on the Colt and put it away. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know where you’d gone.”
She blushed a bit, her dark-skinned cheeks showing just a hint of rose. “I’m sorry . . . Skye. I thought you’d like some coffee and food.”
Fargo nodded appreciatively. “You reckoned right,” he said. “I worked up a fairly good appetite last night.”
She giggled and stepped the rest of the way into the room, setting the tray on the dresser and pouring coffee for him. Handing him the cup, she looked briefly into his eyes and the knowledge of the previous night once more made her blush. “Here,” she said. “I made it myself.”
Fargo grinned and took the cup, enjoying the hot feel of it in his hands. He took a long sip and tasted chicory—something he hadn’t had in his coffee in a long while. “Mmmm,” he said. “That’s good.” The coffee was rich and black and strong.
He pushed a pillow against the headboard, and leaned back to enjoy the view as she went about the business of making a plate for him and then a smaller one for herself. She was as pretty as a night sky, and he felt his manhood stirring once more.
She turned back to him and must have noticed his condition through the thin sheet.
Setting the plates down, she smiled shyly and said, “Do you . . . ?”
He put his coffee on the floor and pulled her into the bed and his arms. “It’s the best breakfast in the world,” he said.
Pleasuring her, he quickly found, was a pleasure. She was a fast learner and it wasn’t long until once again her cries of joy were echoing in the small room.
When they finished, Fargo got his makings out of his saddlebags and rolled himself a smoke, using a saucer as an ashtray. He wanted a bath and suggested they find one.
“I have an idea,” she said, sitting up in bed and sipping out of his coffee cup.
“What do you have in mind?” Fargo asked.
“Would you take me for a ride on your horse again, Skye?” she asked. “I know a place. . . . It’s private and we could bathe and do . . . other things.”
Fargo laughed. “I think you’ve developed a taste for sex,” he said. “That’s a fine quality in a woman as beautiful as you.”
She laughed, too, though he could sense her embarrassment. “Please,” she said. “I don’t want to tire you, but it is beautiful and private.” She paused, then added, “And your horse is wonderful. Those colors!”
“He’s special,” Fargo said. He didn’t have anything in particular to do today and a ride away from this place in good company might give him time to think about everything he’d learned—assuming Mary let him think at all. “All right,” he said. “We’ll go for a ride.”
“Thank you!” she squealed. “You won’t regret it.”
Noticing that in her excitement the sheet had dropped away, Fargo eyed her gorgeous body with appreciation. “I don’t reckon I will at that,” he said.
Snatching the sheet to cover herself, she giggled again.
“Get yourself dressed,” Fargo said.
She jumped out of the bed, ready to head down the street stark naked if it meant getting the day started.
“Then we’ll go?” she asked.
Mary was so full of excitement that Fargo couldn’t help but join in. “Yes,” he said. “Then we’ll go.”
It didn’t take long for them to get Mary outfitted in some comfortable riding clothes and it was only two hours later that they picked up the Ovaro and headed out of the city.
She guided him back to the field where they’d first met and from there to a small grotto nearby. A clear pool had formed beneath the cypress trees and the hanging moss. It was as private as any bathhouse he’d ever been in.
He helped her out of the saddle, then grabbed his soap and a towel from his saddlebags.
The water was almost as warm as she was and it took quite some time for her to reach all his spots, but with his guidance, they managed to get them all . . . and all of hers, too.
After, she led him to a moss-covered place beneath the trees and they toweled themselves dry. It had been quite a while since Fargo had been with someone of her considerable appetite, but she sat quietly next to him now and let him think.
There was a lot more going on in New Orleans than a simple high-stakes poker game, and more players, he thought, than had actually agreed to come to the table.
With so much at stake, he knew he’d have to be very careful over the next few days if he was going to get out of the city with the money he’d been promised . . . and his life.
Life was often cheap, he knew. But the kind of money and power that was involved in this game was more than enough for many people to kill for. These two jobs—keeping the game fair and keeping Hattie Hamilton safe during the game—wouldn’t be easy, lay-down jobs.
They’d be the kind of jobs that could get a lot of men killed. One easy distraction and . . .
Fargo sat bolt upright, realizing that there was a huge distraction sitting next to him. One that had already caused him to lose a night and most of a day.
“Mary,” he said, “do you have any family at all around here? Somewhere you could stay for a few days?”
She shook her head. “No. They all been killed or run off during the war. I’m all I got.”
Fargo sighed. He’d have to find somewhere to stash her. One look at her eyes or her body and like any man, he could be distracted at a critical moment that could lead to his death. “Well, you’ve got me,” he said. “At least until we figure out what to do.”
She smiled and Fargo couldn’t help but wonder if he was being played for a fool. He looked into her eyes, but there wasn’t the smallest hint of guile. She was innocent, he thought. There wasn’t any sign that she was anything other than a beautiful prostitute who’d been caught up in the games of her employer.
Knowing they’d have to head back soon, he put an arm around her and she snuggled close.
9
H.D. was not happy. In fact, he sounded downright
“Not for the next few days, you don’t,” Fargo said. “Unless I miss my guess, Parker, Beares, and Anderson are going to pull all their men in and wait for the outcome of the game. It should be pretty quiet around here.”
“But why a
