Texas Timber War

by Jon Sharpe

  4

  Fargo returned the smile, cupped his hand under Isabel’s chin, and tilted her head back a little as he brought his mouth down on hers. He had been attracted to her as soon as he saw her, and evidently the feeling was mutual.

  Her lips were soft and warm and tasted sweet. The kiss was gentle at first, their mouths barely brushing against each other, but as Isabel slid her hands down to his waist and leaned against him so that her breasts pressed into his chest, the kiss became more urgent. Fargo’s tongue stroked her lips, and they parted, eager to invite him in.

  Fargo accepted the invitation, delving into the hot, wet cavern of her mouth. Her tongue met his in a sensuous duel as they swirled and circled around each other. Isabel locked her arms around Fargo’s waist and molded her body to his. He moved his hands to her back and slid them down to the swelling curve of her rump.

  His manhood grew hard, and she had to feel it pressing against the softness of her belly. She pressed forward with her hips, grinding herself into him. The passion they had kindled within each other roared up into a fierce, all-consuming blaze.

  After a few moments, Isabel pulled back a little and said, ‘‘We probably shouldn’t be standing out here in the hall doing this, Skye. Why don’t you come inside with me?’’

  Fargo chuckled. ‘‘I thought you’d never ask.’’

  Isabel slipped out of his embrace, turned, and unlocked the door. She had left the lamp on the bedside table burning, Fargo saw as he followed her into the room, with its flame turned down so that it gave off only a faint glow.

  But that was enough to see by as he closed the door behind them and she started taking off her clothes.

  He watched with great appreciation as she pulled the top of the dress down, baring her shoulders and the upper part of her breasts. She reached behind her to unfasten the buttons on the back of the dress, which made her breasts stand out even more. As the buttons came free, the dress slid more. Isabel shrugged it off, along with the shift she wore under it. She pushed the garments down around her waist.

  Her breasts were high and firm and full, creamy young mounds of womanhood crowned with large, pale pink nipples that cried out for a man’s tongue to lick them. She cupped her breasts in her palms and ran her thumbs over the nipples, making them grow hard. The erect buds were even more appealing.

  Fargo resisted the temptation, though. He was made of sterner stuff than most men. With a faint smile on his face, he waited for her to finish disrobing. Isabel pushed dress and shift and petticoats down over her hips and let them fall to the floor around her feet. She kicked them away, along with her slippers, and that left her clad only in white cotton stockings that came up just over her knees.

  ‘‘Now you, Skye,’’ she whispered in a husky voice.

  Fargo unbuckled his gun belt, coiled it around the holstered Colt, and placed it on a chair beside the bed where it would be within easy reach. That was habit on his part. His adventurous life had taught him it was always wise to have a weapon handy.

  He unstrapped the sheathed Arkansas toothpick from his leg and set it on the dressing table. Then he pulled the buckskin shirt over his head, revealing his broad, muscular chest that was lightly matted with dark brown hair.

  ‘‘Let me get your boots,’’ Isabel offered.

  Fargo sat down on the edge of the bed and stuck out his right leg. Isabel turned her back to him and straddled it, leaning over to grasp the high-topped black boot and pull it off his foot. Considering that she was nude except for her stockings, that position provided Fargo with quite an intriguing view. Isabel had to know that, and he suspected that was one reason she had offered to help him remove the boots.

  She repeated the process with the left boot, then turned and came close to the bed, standing there in front of Fargo. He took advantage of the opportunity to lean forward and close his lips around the nipple of her left breast. He ran his tongue around the bud of erect flesh and then sucked gently on it. Isabel sighed in pleasure as she rested her hands on his head and stroked her fingers through his thick dark hair.

  Fargo gave equal attention to the nipple on the right breast. Then Isabel knelt before him and said, ‘‘Lift your hips.’’ When he did so, she slipped her hands into the waistband of the buckskin trousers and pulled them down over his thighs, along with his long-handled underwear. His erection sprang free, jutting up from the thicket of dark hair at its base.

  Isabel tossed the trousers and underwear aside and then leaned forward to close both hands around his long, thick shaft. She stroked it up and down, and the soft touch of her palms made Fargo groan. He clenched his jaw to prevent an even louder response as her tongue made a heated swipe all the way up the underside of the shaft from its base to its crown. When she reached the top, she pressed her lips to it in a kiss.

  Her oral caresses continued for long, maddening moments until it was all Fargo could do not to explode down her throat. Perhaps sensing this, Isabel drew back and stood up. Fargo eased back on the bed, and she straddled him, placing a knee on either side of his hips as she poised herself above the iron-hard pole of his manhood.

  As soon as Fargo felt the searing touch of her opening, he grasped her hips, pulling her down and thrusting up at the same time. She gasped in delight as his member sheathed itself inside her, filling the hot, clasping vault of her femininity. ‘‘Oh, God, Skye!’’ she whispered. ‘‘I never . . . I never . . .’’

  She couldn’t go on, because he had reached up with his left hand to cup her right breast and slipped his right hand down where they were joined to rub the sensitive spot at the top of her sex. Isabel took short, sharp breaths as her climax shuddered through her.

  Fargo was far from finished with her. He remained inside her as she lay forward to rest on his chest as her culmination trailed away. She was breathing hard and he felt her heart pounding. He let her rest like that for a few minutes, lightly stroking her flanks as he did so, but then he began moving his hips a little so that his shaft slid in and out of her, an inch or so at a time.

  That began to increase Isabel’s arousal again. She started pumping her hips to meet Fargo’s thrusts. After a moment she rested her hands on his chest and pushed herself into a sitting position again. She took Fargo’s hands and brought them to her breasts, urging him to squeeze and caress the firm globes. His thumbs strummed the hard nipples as she rode him in an ever-quickening pace.

  Fargo waited until her eyes were closed and he could tell that she was on the verge of erupting in another climax. Then he grasped her hips in a tight grip and rolled over, remaining buried inside her as he put himself on top. His hips thrust forward as he finally unleashed his own passion and made love to her with a hard, driving urgency.

  Isabel wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he pounded into her. She moaned in his ear. As she began spasming in culmination again, Fargo’s climax surged up, too. He exploded inside her, filling her with burst after burst of his scalding juices.

  The moment seemed to go on forever but finally came to a shuddering end. Fargo would have rolled off so that his weight wouldn’t be crushing Isabel, but she held him so tightly that it seemed she never wanted to let him go.

  At last she sighed and said, ‘‘That was incredible, Skye. I knew that if we ever got together, it would be good, but I didn’t expect it to be that good.’’

  Fargo withdrew from her and rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow so that he could look down into her flushed but still lovely face. ‘‘Sometimes people are lucky,’’ he said. ‘‘They’re in the right place at the right time to meet someone, and everything comes together.’’

  ‘‘So to speak,’’ she said with an impish grin.

  Fargo laughed. ‘‘Yeah. So to speak.’’

  Her face grew more serious as she went on. ‘‘But that doesn’t mean those moments will last, does it? People move on.’’

  ‘‘Some people do,’’ Fargo admitted.

  ‘‘And you’
re not the sort of man who stays any place for very long.’’

  ‘‘I never have been before . . . but I’m here now.’’

  She reached up and rested the palm of her hand against his cheek. ‘‘I know,’’ she whispered. ‘‘And that’s going to have to be enough. I understand that. But . . . you’ll stay with me tonight, Skye?’’

  ‘‘I’m not going anywhere,’’ Fargo said in a voice rough with emotion, ‘‘as long as you want me here.’’

  ‘‘Oh, I want you,’’ Isabel said. She slipped her hand behind Fargo’s head so she could pull his mouth down to hers. ‘‘I want you very much,’’ she whispered just before their lips met again.

  That night, Fargo never did make it to one of Jefferson’s saloons for that drink and poker game. Instead he spent it in Isabel’s bed as they explored every inch of each other’s bodies again and again, finally dozed off in exhaustion, woke up and made love again, and then drifted back into slumber.

  Fargo woke up early enough the next morning to slip out of bed, get dressed, and return to his own room across the hall before anybody else was up and around. No point in scandalizing that prissy clerk, he thought . . . although it might have been entertaining to watch the hombre’s reaction if he knew that Fargo had spent the night with Isabel.

  Fargo stretched out on his own bed and slept for a while longer, and as a result, the sun was already up by the time he woke again. That was unusual for him. Like most frontiersmen, he was in the habit of being an early riser.

  He splashed water on his face, got dressed, and went downstairs. When he walked into the dining room he looked around, thinking that Isabel might be there having breakfast. He didn’t see her anywhere, but Lawrence Kiley was seated at one of the tables. Kiley caught Fargo’s eye, raised a hand, and motioned him over.

  Kiley waved a hand at the empty chair on the other side of the table and said, ‘‘Won’t you join me, Mr. Fargo?’’ The remains of a hearty breakfast were in front of the man, but he still had a half-full cup of coffee.

  ‘‘Don’t mind if I do.’’ Fargo pulled out the chair and sat down, dropping his hat on the floor beside him.

  The waitress brought a cup and a fresh pot of coffee without being asked. Fargo ordered flapjacks, bacon, and hash browns, then poured himself some coffee and took an appreciative sip of the hot, strong brew.

  ‘‘I’ve already been by Dr. Fearn’s this morning to check on poor Captain Russell,’’ Kiley said.

  ‘‘How’s he doing?’’ Fargo asked.

  ‘‘As well as can be expected. He’s as weak as a kitten because of all the blood he lost, but he’ll recover from that. And of course his wounded arm is still causing him quite a bit of pain. The bullet did enough damage to the muscles that the doctor says it could be weeks or even months before Andy recovers his full strength in that arm.’’

  Fargo frowned. ‘‘That’s going to make it sort of hard for him to handle that steamboat, isn’t it?’’

  ‘‘I’m afraid so,’’ Kiley replied with a sigh. ‘‘It’ll be a week or so before he’s strong enough to get around much, Dr. Fearn says, and he’ll have to have a good helmsman to handle the wheel before the Bayou Princess can start back downstream.’’ Kiley regarded Fargo with interest. ‘‘Would you be interested in the job, Mr. Fargo?’’

  Fargo grinned and shook his head. ‘‘I managed to help get that boat here yesterday, but I’m afraid I’m not cut out for that chore.’’

  ‘‘Well, maybe I can find somebody else,’’ Kiley said with a shrug. He changed the subject by continuing, ‘‘I heard you had a run-in with Nick Dirkson after you got here yesterday.’’

  Fargo nodded. ‘‘Yeah, he and some of his friends saw me with you and Captain Russell and got it in their heads that we were friends.’’

  ‘‘I hope we will be.’’

  ‘‘Dirkson didn’t want me going to work for you,’’ Fargo went on. ‘‘They thought roughing me up might scare me off.’’

  ‘‘Obviously they didn’t know who you are, or they wouldn’t have tried such a thing.’’

  The waitress arrived with Fargo’s food. He always had a healthy appetite, so he dug in with gusto for a few minutes before resuming the conversation with Kiley.

  ‘‘I’m curious about this river pirate, McShane,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘I’m told he and his men have attacked several of the boats that travel on Big Cypress Bayou. Were those other boats ones that carry your timber to Shreveport for you?’’

  ‘‘As a matter of fact, they were.’’ Kiley leaned forward with a frown on his round florid face. ‘‘You think that was a coincidence, Mr. Fargo?’’

  Fargo responded to that question with another of his own. ‘‘Have any boats carrying logs for Jonas Baxter been hit?’’

  Kiley shook his head. ‘‘Not even once. And I must say, I’m glad that someone besides me finally finds that a little suspicious.’’

  ‘‘I hear Captain Russell is having trouble keeping a crew because of McShane. What about the other captains?’’

  ‘‘They’re having the same problem. I used to ship two or three loads a week down the bayou. Now I’m lucky if I can get one load to the mills every week.’’

  ‘‘Have you talked to the law about McShane?’’

  Kiley grimaced. ‘‘Sheriff Higgins does a good job of keeping the peace here in Jefferson, but he claims he can’t spend his time chasing around the swamps and the sloughs looking for McShane. My feeling is that Baxter got to him and convinced him not to try too hard to find those pirates. I hate to accuse anyone of being corrupt, but . . .’’ His face suddenly lit up. ‘‘Say! I know you don’t want to work on the riverboat, Mr. Fargo, but what would you say to the job of tracking down McShane and his river rats? If you could stop them from plaguing my shipments, it would be worth a lot to me . . . and I’d make it worth your while, too.’’

  Fargo turned the proposal over in his mind. He had gone after outlaw gangs in the past, and this was no different. Besides, even though he hadn’t met Jonas Baxter, he didn’t like the man because of the run-in with Dirkson and the other loggers, and if there was a connection between Baxter and McShane, Fargo wouldn’t mind exposing it.

  And he couldn’t forget the way the river pirates had attacked the Bayou Princess the day before, putting Isabel Sterling’s life in danger. Even though he hadn’t known Isabel at the time, he sure as hell knew her now, and anger smoldered inside him as he thought about how she might easily have died in that attack.

  ‘‘I don’t have any pressing business elsewhere,’’ he said after mulling it over for a few moments. ‘‘I reckon I could stay around here for a while and see what I can turn up.’’

  ‘‘That would mean a great deal to me,’’ Kiley said. ‘‘I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Fargo, things are starting to look a little grim for my operation. I have to get some logs moved, and soon.’’

  ‘‘I’ll see what I can do,’’ Fargo said with a nod. ‘‘If I can locate McShane’s hideout and find proof that Baxter is behind the attacks on the riverboats, the sheriff will have to do something about it.’’

  ‘‘Indeed, he will,’’ Kiley agreed. Then he looked past Fargo and smiled. ‘‘Why, hello, my dear.’’

  Fargo looked around and saw Isabel coming toward the table. He got to his feet.

  ‘‘Good morning, gentlemen,’’ she said. She smiled at the Trailsman. ‘‘You slept well, I hope, Mr. Fargo.’’

  ‘‘Very well,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘And yourself?’’

  ‘‘Never better.’’

  ‘‘I have to be going,’’ Kiley said, ‘‘but why don’t you join Mr. Fargo for breakfast, Miss Sterling? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the company.’’

  Fargo echoed the invitation and held Isabel’s chair for her as she sat down. Kiley put on his beaver hat and said, ‘‘I’ll talk to you later about that, ah, arrangement, Mr. Fargo.’’

  When Kiley was gone and Fargo was sitting across the table from Isabel, she leaned forward and as
ked, ‘‘What arrangement was he talking about?’’

  Fargo didn’t see any harm in telling her, although he kept his voice low so that no one at any of the other tables would overhear. ‘‘I’m going to try to track down McShane and his gang of river pirates. Kiley and I both think there may be some connection between them and Jonas Baxter.’’

  Isabel’s perfectly curved eyebrows arched in surprise. ‘‘You’re going after McShane? That could be dangerous, Skye.’’

  ‘‘I plan on being careful,’’ he said with a smile.

  ‘‘You’d better be. Now that we’ve met, I don’t want anything happening to you.’’ She paused, then said, ‘‘I have to admit, even though I’ll worry about you trying to find those pirates, I’m glad to know you’re going to be staying around here for a while.’’

  ‘‘You won’t be leaving right away, either,’’ Fargo pointed out. ‘‘Kiley told me that it’s going to be at least a week before Captain Russell can assume command of that riverboat again, and even then, he’s going to need a good helmsman.’’

  ‘‘Well, I can think of worse places to spend some time than Jefferson. It’s a nice town. There are several decent saloons where I can find a game.’’

  ‘‘You plan to gamble?’’

  ‘‘It’s how I make my living, Skye, remember?’’

  Fargo hadn’t forgotten. And as pleasant as it had been spending time with Isabel in bed, he had a feeling he would enjoy sitting across a poker table from her, too. She would be a good competitor.

  After breakfast, she wanted to go see Andy Russell, so Fargo volunteered to walk with her over to Dr. Fearn’s house. He wanted to talk to Russell about the river pirates. Since the captain steamed up and down the bayou on a regular basis, he ought to know the country around here pretty well. Maybe he could give Fargo an idea of where to start looking for Red Mike McShane.

  They left the Excelsior House and started strolling toward the doctor’s place. As they made their way, Fargo’s instincts warned him that he was being watched. He turned his head quickly and caught a glimpse of a man ducking around a corner into an alley between Austin and Lafayette Streets. Fargo didn’t recognize the man and didn’t really see anything except a shock of black hair under a battered old hat and a black patch over one eye.