Colt cleared the holster and was aimed at the form. “Show yourself!” he barked, his hands rock steady.
“Don’t . . . don’t shoot me, please,” a female voice said. “I didn’t mean to startle you or your fine horse.”
“Come on out from beneath that tree,” Fargo said. “Nice and easy. I’m a mite jumpy, and I’ve run across far too many women who were good with a gun to go on pure trust these days.”
She stepped out from beneath the trees and Fargo felt his jaw unhinge a little bit. She was just about the most breathtaking creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Her skin was the color of coffee with just a bit of fresh cream mixed in and her eyes, large and dark, were mirrored pools deep enough for a man to drown in. Her face was absolutely guileless, unmarked by lies or harsh words, like so many women he’d seen. It almost glowed from within.
She wore a simple dress, cut of one cloth, and her large breasts swelled against the tight, cotton fabric. The ivory color suited her, he thought, as his eyes traveled over her hips and down her shapely legs. From his vantage atop the horse, he could see that she wore no shoes. He holstered the Colt, and tipped his hat. “Ma’am,” he said.
She laughed, and it was the sound of an angel singing. “Don’t you go calling me that,” she said. “I may be a lot of things, but I don’t hardly qualify as no lady.”
“Reckon I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” Fargo said. “Least until you prove otherwise. You’re a long way from anywhere out here.”
“I like to come here sometimes,” she said. “It’s quiet most of the time and no one bothers me.”
“I don’t suppose,” he said. “Why were you hiding under the trees?”
“I . . .” She cast her eyes downward, in the same way he’d seen slaves do. “I didn’t mean no harm. I just wanted to watch your horse. I never seen one like that before.”
“Yes,” he said. “He’s a good one. Full of himself, too.” He climbed down out of the saddle. “Would you like to ride him?”
She looked startled and held up her hands. “Oh . . . oh, no! I didn’t mean that! I just wanted to watch. I . . . I’ll leave now and won’t trouble you no more.” She started to back away.
“Hold on,” Fargo said. “You haven’t troubled me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He gestured vaguely at the trees. “Are you from around here?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I work in the city most every day. I just come out here once in a while, when I can . . .” She caught her breath, then took what must have seemed to her a daring risk, by adding, “Just so I can
Fargo chuckled. “I understand,” he said. “I don’t know much about New Orleans, but it sure is ripe.” He took a deep breath, inhaled and exhaled. “It’s better out here.”
She smiled shyly at him and nodded. “I guess I better be going back,” she said. “I don’t want Miz Hamilton to get mad at me.”
“Miss Hamilton?” Fargo asked. “Hattie Hamilton? ”
“Yes,” she said. “She runs the Blue Emporium over on Basin Street. Best bang for the buck in all the city.”
“You work there?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m what Miz Hamilton calls a ‘special.’ Lotsa men like their girls to have some dark in their skin.”
Fargo eyed her appreciatively. “I can see why,” he said. “I should be the one apologizing—for interrupting your quiet time. I think we both”—he jerked a thumb at the Ovaro, who was busy grazing on the green grass and ignoring them—“just needed to stretch our legs a bit. That riverboat ride from St. Louis was a long one.”
The girl nodded as though she’d been on the trip herself several times, though Fargo doubted she’d been more than fifty miles from New Orleans in her entire life. “Do you . . . I don’t mean to pry, but do you
Fargo nodded. “A little,” he said. “We just met today, down on the docks. Her friend Mr. Parker introduced us.” The girl shuddered and did her best to hide it, but Fargo’s experienced eyes could see that she didn’t think much of Parker—or of Hattie Hamilton. “Why do you ask?”
“It ain’t none of my business,” she said, her voice meek. “You just seemed like you knew her is all.”
Suspecting that his earlier thoughts about Parker not telling him everything were accurate, Fargo decided to take the girl into his confidence. “Well, I’ll tell you,” he said. “Mr. Parker—Senator Parker—strikes me as a dangerous man who likes to get his way. He’s asked me to work for him for a few days this week, but maybe I should rethink it a bit. You haven’t said as much, but I can tell . . . you don’t like him much. Him or Miss Hamilton, do you?”
She stared at him, her dark eyes wide with fear. “No, I like ’em both just fine. Don’t say nothing, please.”
Fargo placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said. “Calm down. I won’t be saying a word to either one about you. But I need to know the truth. What am I walking into here?”
She looked at him for a long minute, then sighed and nodded. “Nobody works for Mr. Parker for a few days. It’s like . . . like jail, only worse, ’cause you can’t ever get out. And Miz Hamilton, she acts all nice and pretty and like a lady, but deep down, under the clothes, she’s still just what she was when she first came to New Orleans—a scavenger rat.”
She grabbed him by the arm. “You should just run. Don’t go back! Head west and don’t look back, not even once!”
Fargo gently removed her hand and shook his head. “My name is Skye Fargo,” he said. “I’ve made an agreement with Mr. Parker and I’ll hold up my end, but he’ll get more than he’s bargained for if he tries to double- cross me. That much, I can guarantee you.”
She went quiet for a moment, looking him over, like she was examining something of deep interest. “Just be careful,” she finally said. “You are going into the snake pit. The whole city ain’t nothing but one big den of snakes.”
“I’ll be careful,” Fargo said. He turned back to the Ovaro. “Now, why don’t I give you a ride back to the city? I’m headed that way.”
Her eyes went wide and she shook her head violently. “Oh, no! If Miz Hamilton saw us, I’d get . . . I’d get in trouble for sure. I’m not supposed to even talk to a man without her permission!”
Fargo felt his jaw clench. If what this girl was saying was true, then he knew exactly the type of place Hattie Hamilton was running. Girls stayed on out of fear of retribution or beatings or worse. He’d seen a few brothels out West run that way, and it was never a pretty sight once you got behind the scenes.
“I’ll drop you off when we reach the edge of the city,” Fargo said. He climbed into the saddle and reached out a hand. “You’ve never even been on a horse, have you?”
“No,” she said, her eyes darting left and right. “You promise you won’t tell?”
“I promise,” Fargo said. “And I’m a man who keeps my word.”
She grasped his hand and let him pull her up behind him. “It’s very high,” she said.
Her added weight wouldn’t make any difference to the horse on a trip as short as this. The Ovaro had been through far more difficult challenges. “Wrap your arms around my waist,” he said. “If you’ve never ridden a horse, I want you to have the full experience. ”
“What . . . what do you mean?” she asked, grasping him tightly.
Fargo laughed and put his heels to the horse. The Ovaro responded by leaping into a smooth canter, and turning to take one more run at the open field. “Come on, boy,” he called. “Show her what it is to ride!”
Given his head, the Ovaro ran as though he knew he’d be in a stall for a while. Behind Fargo, the girl squealed in delight and held on even tighter. The trees flashed by on either side, blurs of green leaves and the ruddy brown of bark. They reached the end, and Fargo turned him around, heading him back across the field once more.
“Is it always like this?” she called over his shoulder.
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like . . . flying,” she said. “So free.”
“Always,” Fargo said. “Unless someone’s chasing you. Then it’s a little more tense.”
“I’ve been chased before,” she said into his back. “I don’t mind that none.”
