“Is that what you think?” he asked.
Louisa nodded against his chest, almost purring. “I do,” she said. “But you’re probably going to have to prove it to me.”
“Prove it to you?” he asked. “This didn’t?”
She laughed at the ire in his voice. “Oh, this will do for now,” she said. “But it
3
The boat arrived in the city of New Orleans at mid-morning. The air was a foul-smelling mix of human waste, trash, swamp, and too many people crammed too close together. In short, it was like most of the bigger cities Fargo had ever been in—no place he’d want to stay for any length of time, and why anyone else would was a mystery to him.
The trip down the Mississippi had been filled with good meals, great sex with the voluptuous Louisa, and good conversations with David Parker, who now stood beside Fargo at the rail, watching as they neared the docks.
“It’s good to be home,” Parker said. “I enjoy traveling, but my soul belongs to this city.”
Sniffing the air with distaste, Fargo said, “That’s hard to imagine, given the smell.”
Parker laughed. “I’ll admit that it does assault the olfactory senses, but you’ll get used to it. There are other compensations that more than make up for it not smelling like a bed of roses.” His eyes scanned the docks. “There’s one now,” he added, pointing to a woman descending from a carriage at the far end of the dock. She turned toward them, and Fargo was struck by her handsome features.
She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense, but her face was striking. She caught sight of Parker standing at the rail and raised her hand in a wave, then moved down the dock to where the passengers would disembark. The riverboat finally moored, and Parker led the way down the gangplank with Fargo close on his heels.
“Hattie,” Parker said. “You didn’t have to come down here to meet me.” He caught her up in his arms and kissed her on the cheek.
“You’ve been gone almost a month!” the woman exclaimed. “I wasn’t going to wait to see you even another minute.” She turned her gaze on Fargo, and then he knew why she was running a successful brothel. Her blue eyes screamed seduction. They glowed from within, like a twin set of blue flames, and the passion in them exactly mirrored the intensity and wetness of a woman reaching an orgasm. They were eyes meant for the bedroom, and her smile hinted at every dark desire that could cross a man’s mind. Despite the fact that her figure was more matronly than seductive, he guessed that she’d have no trouble bringing most men to their knees within moments. “I see you’ve brought someone along with you, David. Who’s this handsome specimen?”
“Hattie Hamilton, meet Skye Fargo,” Parker said. “We met on board during a poker game. Mr. Fargo here has an eye for detail and doesn’t take kindly to cheaters.”
Fargo took her outstretched hand and almost jumped as a wave of sexual heat passed from her to him. It wasn’t just her eyes, he now knew. She was pure sexual ambition in female form—almost a predator. “Miss Hamilton,” he said. “It’s a . . . unique pleasure to meet you. Mr. Parker speaks highly of your business establishment.”
She laughed, low and throaty. “I’m sure he does,” she said. “He financed its opening, but he’s made his investment back a thousandfold, haven’t you, David?”
“Yes, yes, indeed,” Parker said. “I thought Mr. Fargo might prove useful in our upcoming poker game. I trust all is prepared.”
She nodded, letting her eyes linger on Fargo’s a moment more before turning back to her patron. “Yes, everything is ready. The game is set for three nights from now, and everyone has confirmed their attendance.”
“That’s excellent news, Hattie,” Parker said. “I knew I could count on your delicate handling of this. We wouldn’t want any interference from those who frown on such high-stakes games.”
“Speaking of high stakes,” Fargo interrupted, “we probably shouldn’t be standing here on the dock talking about this.” He jammed a thumb in the direction of the boat. “I’ll need to get my horse and my things, arrange for a place to stay.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Fargo,” Hattie said. “There’s plenty of room at my establishment.”
Fargo saw Parker’s tense look and remembered his earlier words, then ruefully shook his head. “Thank you,” he said. “But I suspect I could get a mite distracted staying there and Mr. Parker has hired me to be sharp. You and your ladies could dull any man’s senses, I imagine.”
She laughed, and the sound was that of a young woman. “Why, Mr. Fargo, I do believe you are flirting with me!”
Fargo grinned and said, “Maybe a little. But the truth is, I’d best get a place to stay that’s elsewhere.”
“Indeed,” Parker said, his voice cold. “Hattie’s place is easy enough to find. Once you’ve stabled your horse, just ask any of the newspaper boys in the city for directions to the Blue Emporium. They’ll be able to direct you. Across the street is a decent enough hotel, the Bayou. It’s run by a bunch of Cajuns, but it’s clean and affordable.”
“Sounds fine,” Fargo said. “When do you want to meet up again?”
“Three days from now,” Parker said. “Be at the Blue Emporium at sundown. The game will begin shortly thereafter.”
“I’ll be there,” Fargo said. “Anything else?”
Parker took Hattie’s arm possessively. “Just stay out of trouble, Fargo. This city eats up cowboys and spits them back out as nothing but sackcloth and bones. Be careful.”
“Understood,” he said. He tipped his hat to Hattie and turned away.
The Ovaro would be restless from several days in the hold and Fargo felt the need to stretch his legs, too.
His horse was led out shortly thereafter, and with a wave to Louisa who was standing on deck and looking forlorn, he tossed his saddle on the Ovaro and began the work of crossing the crowded, dirty city, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, that a man and his horse could feel free.
So this was fabled New Orleans, Fargo thought, as he plied its streets and observed its broad spectrum of the human species. It seemed that on every street corner somebody was peddling something—gadgets or junky tourist mementos or elixirs meant to make you more beautiful or rich or intelligent.
The architecture was more interesting than most of the people. Most of the houses, even the poorer ones, had a certain style that made them worth a serious look. Fargo didn’t know anything about architecture but he knew that few cities offered the eye this kind of varied housing. The civic buildings were likewise impressive. For all its flaws, the place obviously had pride and that was reflected in everything from the humblest abode to the gaudiest mansion.
And that was certainly not the only kind of beauty on display. In carriages, buggies, and hansom cabs, and on horseback the range of female good looks was stunning. The rich women in silks, the working girls in scruffy cotton, the imperious ones in gold-trimmed carriages . . . a man didn’t know where to look, there were so many attractive women competing for his attention.
Sometimes it was difficult to remember that he was actually trying to find something out . . .
It took two hours of dealing with no small number of rude people with little knowledge of the surrounding country before Fargo finally found someone who gave him directions worth a damn. Following them, he found himself on the outskirts of the city, where swamp hadn’t taken over the fertile fields, and the trees looked almost normal, rather than the haunting, moss-covered trees that he’d seen elsewhere.
He gave the Ovaro his head, letting him run. It felt good to be on horseback again, the wind in his face, his hat blown backward. Even the rush of air through his recently trimmed hair made him feel alive and well. He had money—quite a bit of it—and if things went well, he stood to earn a good deal more.
The Ovaro dodged right, around a tree stump, and pulled a tight circle, ready to run across the field again. Fargo pulled him to a halt, letting his big lungs catch up for a minute. Suddenly, the Ovaro snorted a warning and stamped his front hoof. Fargo’s hand moved to the butt of his Colt, even as his eyes scanned the shadows beneath the trees for whatever or whoever was there. A faint movement caught his gaze, and with breathtaking speed the
