by Jon Sharpe
“I can untie them for you.”
“No.”
“How about I give you a backrub? That should help.”
“Your hands,” Dandy said, “are not touching my body. And that’s final.”
“I have some whiskey left.”
“That’s generous of you. But again, no. It would lower my inhibitions, which is exactly what you want.”
“Me?” Fargo said innocently.
Dandy chortled.
“So, do we go for a walk?”
“Do you ever take no for an answer?”
Fargo scratched his chin as if thinking. “No.”
“I think I’ll turn in before you talk me out of my chemise.”
“I’m obliged,” Fargo said.
“For what?”
“Giving me hope.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You haven’t slapped me.”
“You, sir, are incorrigible.”
“Mostly I’m horny.”
Dandy started to laugh loudly but glanced at the others and covered her mouth with her hand. She went around the fire, laid out her blankets, smiled, and turned in.
“Hell,” Fargo said.
The night was quiet save for the occasional lowing of cattle and the cries of coyotes.
At one point Fargo shifted and stretched and happened to spot the orange glow of another campfire. He made it to be a mile ahead, or better. Punchers, he figured. The Comanches and the Apaches wouldn’t make their fire where it could be seen. And bandits weren’t about to dare the wrath of a tough outfit like the Bar P.
Midnight came, and it was Bronack’s turn.
Fargo slept fitfully. He tossed. He turned. He had no reason to be restless, yet he was. Daybreak couldn’t come soon enough. He was the first to saddle his horse and the first in the saddle when everyone was ready to head out.
The punchers led. They drew rein when they came to the smoldering embers of the fire Fargo had noticed the night before.
“Must be the greasers,” the shorter of the cowboys said. “I don’t much like that she uses them and not any of us.”
“I don’t know why she does it, either, but they work for her the same as we do,” the tall puncher said.
“Even so.”
On that mysterious note they rode on.
The closer they grew to the ranch house, the more cowhands they saw. Most, Fargo noticed, were as young as their escorts. That struck him as strange. A lot of ranches preferred more seasoned hands.
They came to a low ridge that overlooked a dozen outbuildings and the house.
“Dear Lord,” Dandy exclaimed. “Tell me I’m dreaming.”
Fargo summed up his astonishment with, “I’ll be damned.”
8
The buildings, every last one, were painted pink. The ranch house, the stable, pink. The bunkhouse, the blacksmith’s shop, pink. Even a chicken coop and the outhouses, pink.
“It’s the boss lady’s doing,” the tall puncher explained. “The week after her husband passed on, she sent for the paint.”
“It sort of grows on you after a while,” the other cowhand said.
Fargo looked at him.
“A long while,” the cowhand amended.
“Mrs. Patterson wanted to liven up the spread,” the tall puncher said, his cheeks almost as pink as the buildings. “Make it more female, as she put it.”
“More female?” Fargo said.
“When you meet her, you’ll savvy.”
“You punchers didn’t mind?”
“Two or three of the older ones packed their wag bags and lit out. They said it wasn’t natural, making everything pink. The rest of us stayed on. And like Shorty just told you, you get used to it.”
“Not in a hundred years,” Fargo said.
“Well, I think it’s perfectly adorable,” Dandy said. “My bonnet is off to her.”
Lester roused from his sulk to say, “I see a lot of pink things when I’m drunk.” He smacked his lips. “I wish I was drunk now.”
So did Fargo.
“Come on,” the tall cowboy said. “And I hope she doesn’t skin me alive.”
Cowboys were at the corral, cowboys were busy at the stable, cowboys were scattered here and there. About half wore sombreros. Most stopped what they were doing to stare.
“Do you suppose it’s me?” Dandy asked.
“Probably Lester,” Fargo said.
“I heard that,” Lester said.
A well-watered yard shaded by oaks and rimmed by a pink picket fence fronted the house, which was three stories high and three times as long as most ranch houses Fargo had seen.
They no sooner drew rein at a hitch rail next to a gravel path than a handsome young man in a black jacket and pants came out on the broad porch.
“Miquel, we need to see the boss lady,” the tall puncher said.
“I will tell her, Senor Clay.”
Fargo was glad to climb down and stretch. They had been riding for so many days, his kinks had kinks.
Clay and Shorty ushered them along a path to the stairs. Bronack came last, his right hand hooked in his belt near his Remington.
Fargo didn’t see cause for alarm. None of the hands acted unfriendly.
Then the front door opened, and Fargo almost whistled in admiration.
Sarah Patterson was thirty if she was a day. Her hair was a rich brown, her body didn’t show an inch of “wide” anywhere. She had on a pink dress and pink earrings. And no doubt about it, she was an eyeful. In every respect she appeared to be the perfect lady. Until she opened her mouth. “What the hell is this, Clay? It better be goddamned important to bring me out in this heat.” Her eyes, an emerald green, flashed with fire.
“It’s the knife gal, Mrs. Patterson,” Clay replied. “I brung her like you wanted.”
Sarah Patterson gave Dandy a strange sort of scrutiny. “So this is her? Who are these others? I told you her and her alone.”
Dandy said, “It’s my doing, Mrs. Patterson. I couldn’t very well leave my brother and . . .”
“I’ll get to you in a minute, dearie,” Sarah interrupted. She jabbed a finger at Clay. “I don’t like being disobeyed. You know that. I have half a mind to fire you.”
Fargo never could abide obnoxious people. “Do your ears work or are you just a bitch?”
Everyone stiffened.
Sarah Patterson slowly turned, and if her green eyes were fire before, now they were molten lava. “What did you just call me?”
“A bitch,” Fargo said. “Miss Caventry was talking to you and you ignored her.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“The gent who brought these folks here and can take them right back if this is how you’re going to treat them.”
“Skye, no,” Dandy whispered.
Clay and Shorty were dumbfounded. Miquel appeared terrified.
Sarah Patterson took a step, and stopped. The fury on her face faded and was replaced by something else. “Well, now,” she said, appraising him much as a horse-buyer might appraise a stallion. “Who do we have here?”
Fargo introduced himself. He also introduced Bronack but she didn’t so much as acknowledge he existed.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re awful easy on the eyes?” Sarah asked in a throaty purr that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She smiled at Dandy. “So are you, sweetie.”
Dandy seemed puzzled. “I’m what now?”
“I reckon I did jump out of the gate,” Sarah said to Fargo. “Thank you for bringing me to my senses.”
“About the knife—” Dandy said.
“Please, you just got here,” Sarah said. “Business can wait until after you’re refreshed and we’ve had a talk.” She came down the steps and hooked her arm with Fargo’s. �
�How about if I take you to the sitting room and serve coffee or tea?”
“Tea, hell,” Fargo said. “Do you have any whiskey?”
Sarah Patterson squeezed his arm. “Handsome, I have every kind of liquor, and then some. You’re welcome to whatever you want.” She looked down at her own body. “Whatever you want,” she stressed.
Miquel moved aside and Sarah guided Fargo toward the house, pausing to say over her shoulder, “Clay? Shorty? Why are you two still here? You have jobs to do.”
The pair looked relieved.
“Yes, ma’am,” Clay said. “We’ll be on our way.”
Sarah ran her hand up Fargo’s arm. “My, what nice muscles you have.”
“Are you always so friendly?” Fargo asked.
“I like my treats. It’s how I hooked Charlie and my other husbands.”
“Treats?” Fargo said.
Sarah Patterson glanced at his crotch. “We’re all fond of something.”
Fargo liked her honesty. He liked, too, how her bodice swelled, and the suggestion of willowy legs under her dress.
Behind them Dandy said, “Mrs. Patterson, I really would like to talk about Jim Bowie’s knife.”
“Honestly, sweetie,” Sarah said. “It can wait until supper. In the meantime we’ll get better acquainted.”
The interior put most ranches to shame. Extravagant, was how Fargo would describe it. Paneling and carpet and all the little luxuries, like a chandelier, of all things, in the sitting room. He roosted on a settee. Lester plopped into a chair while Bronack leaned against a wall.
“Miquel, a whiskey for this handsome gentleman,” Sarah commanded. “And whatever else my guests desire.” She smiled and gave a slight bow. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back.” Out she whisked.
“Goodness,” Dandy said. “She’s not at all as I expected her to be.”
“Are we staying the night?” Lester asked.
“Most likely. She doesn’t seem in any rush and we have a lot to discuss. Why?”
“I’ve only just met her and I dislike her.”
“You would.”
Staying the night was fine by Fargo. He’d like to find out if the mistress of the house was even friendlier after the sun went down.
Lester was saying, “The woman is rude. She hasn’t spoken three words to me.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Dandy said.
Just then a dress rustled and a woman entered. But it wasn’t Sarah Patterson.
Fargo almost thought he was imagining things. “Consuelo?” he said, coming to his feet.
Consuelo drew up short. “Skye? What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
“You know this woman?” Dandy asked.
“I came with these people,” Fargo answered Consuelo. She was wearing an expensive sea-blue dress and her hair practically glistened. He remembered the campfire they had seen the night before, ahead of their own. “Is this where Basilio and Tadeo brought you?”
Consuelo nodded. “She sends for me from time to time. She pays very well.”
“No,” Fargo said.
“Yes,” Consuelo said.
“I’ll be damned.”
“What are you two talking about?” Dandy asked. “If it’s any of my business?”
“How friendly Sarah Patterson is,” Fargo said.
“She is, isn’t she? All those stories I heard must be exaggerated. She’s a lot nicer than everyone makes her out to be.”
Consuelo came over to Fargo and rose on her toes so her mouth was at his ear. “I am sorry to see you here.”
“Why?” Fargo asked in surprise.
“Be on your guard. Mrs. Patterson, she is loco. You can never predict what she will do.”
“You seem safe enough,” Fargo said.
Consuelo gripped his hand so hard, it hurt. “Please believe me. She has no boundaries, this one. No boundaries at all.”
“Boundaries?” Fargo said.
Just then Sarah returned. “Consuelo, there you are. I wanted to tell you I have company and you should stay in your room but now you might as well join us.”
“I would like that,” Consuelo said, stepping away from Fargo. “Muchas gracias.”
Sarah turned toward the easy chair, and Lester. “So you’re the brother? You don’t say much, do you? Must come from being so scrawny.”
“I’ll thank you not to insult me,” Lester said, sitting up.
“The truth is never an insult.” Sarah smiled at Dandy. “It’s plain your sister got all the looks in your family.”
“Mrs. Patterson, please,” Dandy said modestly.
“I don’t like you much, lady,” Lester said.
“I’ll try not to lose sleep over it.” Sarah turned back to Dandy. “Sorry to be so rude to him, my dear, but your brother is a cockroach.”
Fargo laughed.
“He can be quite pleasant when he puts his mind to it,” Dandy said.
“How about you, sweetie? What do you like to put your body to?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Sarah turned yet again, to Fargo. “I promised you a whiskey, didn’t I? My husband, God rest him, liked the most expensive brands. I’ll have the maid bring a bottle and a tray.” She raised the hem of her dress, displaying shapely ankles. “I also need to give instructions to the cook.” Out she whisked.
“Goodness gracious,” Dandy said. “She’s like a dragonfly, flitting this way and that.”
“More like a wasp, senorita,” Consuela said. “The kind that stings.”
“Why do you say that? She’s being as nice as she can be.”
Consuelo gave a slight bow. “Believe as you will. If you will excuse me, I must freshen up before supper.”
“Will I see you later?” Fargo asked.
“Not under her roof,” Consuelo said. “I do not want to be stung.” She smiled and departed.
“What a strange woman. I don’t quite know what to make of all this,” Dandy remarked. Brightening, she said, “It promises to be an interesting evening, though, don’t you think?”
“In more ways than one,” Fargo said.
9
Sarah Patterson lived the life of a queen. She had servants to wait on her hand and foot. She had cowhands eager to please to do the work around the part of her ranch that was north of the border and vagueros to do the same for the part of the Bar P that was south of the border.
Her dinner table was longer than a keelboat. Fine china glittered, silverware gleamed. In addition to Miquel, a Mexican girl in a skimpy outfit by the name of Lupe and a man of middling years in a starched uniform were at her beck and call during the meal.
Dandy and even Lester seemed to be in awe of her.
Fargo wasn’t. He never did take to people who put themselves on pedestals. The way she spoke to her servants, the way she held herself, suggested she looked down her nose at most everyone. But she did have nice legs.
Lester had come out of his shell and was talking up a storm about growing up in Austin. Sarah Patterson, Fargo noticed, kept bringing up his father.
Bronack wasn’t with them. Once Patterson learned he was their bodyguard, she’d insisted he eat with the hired help in the kitchen.
At the moment Dandy was saying, “We’ve traveled a considerable distance to see the bowie. I hope you won’t mind if I ask how you came to possess it?”
“Not at all, sweetie. It was Charlie’s grandfather’s,” Sarah said. “How he got it I don’t know, although there was a rumor that he happened to be passing through San Antonio shortly after the Alamo fell and somehow got his hands on it.”
“There was a lot of confusion back then as to what happened to their possessions after Santa Anna disposed of their bodies,” Dandy said. “Some say the Mexican soldiers helped themselves. Others that their
effects were buried with them or burned.”
“Really?” Sarah sounded as if she couldn’t possibly be less interested. “Charlie was fond of the knife. He had a great respect for Jim Bowie. He was always going on about that sandbar fight Bowie was in, and how Bowie cut a man’s heartstrings.”
“I would have liked to have met him,” Dandy said.
Sarah shrugged. “I’ve heard tell that he ran slaves. Charlie said a lot of people did back then but you wouldn’t catch me doing it.”
Fargo glanced at her servants and had a thought he kept to himself.
“Charlie treated the knife as if it were priceless,” Sarah related. “Every now and then he’d take it out and fondle it as if it were me.” She laughed without mirth.
“I can’t wait to see it.”
Sarah sat back, touched her cloth napkin to her lips, and placed it in her lap. “I suppose you’ve been kept in suspense long enough.” She clapped her hands at Miquel. “Fetch it for us, would you.”
“Si, Senora Patterson.”
Dandy fidgeted in her chair. “Aren’t you excited, Les?” she asked her brother.
“I’m so worked up I can’t stand it,” Lester said dryly.
Miquel wasn’t gone long. He returned bearing a polished oak case a foot and a half long and about five inches wide. Setting it in front of Sarah Patterson, he backed away.
“The blade that belonged to the legendary Jim Bowie,” Sarah said, and slid it across to Dandy.
“Oh, my,” Dandy said like a little girl given a present. “This is a moment I’ll never forget.”
“Me either,” Lester said in his droll way.
“I thank you for letting me look at it first,” Dandy said to Sarah.
“Who else? Your brother couldn’t give a damn and handsome, there, can’t keep his eyes off my legs.” Sarah grinned at Fargo.
“Hell,” Fargo said. He didn’t realize he was that obvious.
“No need to be embarrassed about an appetite.”
“Is that what you call it?” Fargo said.
“It’s what I call it. Others call it true love or romance or nonsense like that. I wouldn’t know true love if it bit me on the backside.”
