by Jon Sharpe
“I resent that. I have no idea who these men are or what they were up to.”
“They were after the bowie,” Dandy said again.
“That stupid knife,” Lester spat. “Look at the lives it’s cost. There were how many bandits the other night? And now these two.”
“There will be more,” Fargo predicted.
Both Lester and Sarah Patterson looked at him sharply, and the latter said, “What makes you say that?”
“They didn’t get what they were after and whoever put them up to it won’t give up.”
“Wait,” Dandy said. “You’re suggesting they worked for someone else? They weren’t doing it on their own?”
“Posh,” Sarah said. “Somehow they heard about the knife and how valuable it is and came to steal it.”
Fargo called her bluff by asking, “How many people know you have it?”
“What is this knife you keep talkin’ about?” Brazos asked.
Her jaw muscles twitching, Sarah pulled her robe tighter. “Forget about that. Have the men carry the bodies to the woodshed. We’ll bury them in the morning.”
“Do you want me to have some of the hands stand guard?”
“No, I do not. Do what the hell I tell you.” Wheeling, Sarah stalked back in.
“What’s gotten into her?” Brazos said to no one in particular.
“I’m sure I don’t know, and don’t care,” Lester said, sounding bored. “Since all the excitement is over, if you’ll excuse me, and even if you won’t, a soft bed beckons.”
Dandy was about to follow her brother but Fargo said her name and ushered her to the far end of the porch. “This makes twice now. You better start taking this seriously.”
“You think I don’t?”
“What I think,” Fargo said, “is that you should keep Bronack close from now on. Carry your gun everywhere and be ready to use it.”
“I didn’t know you cared,” she said with a mischievous smirk.
Fargo stared at the men he’d shot. “This makes three times someone has tried to blow out my wick. I aim to nose around and find out who put them up to it and return the favor.”
“More of that eye for an eye.” Dandy shook her head. “I wish you wouldn’t. I wish you’d let the law handle it.”
“There isn’t any for hundreds of miles,” Fargo reminded her.
“What if I beg you to let it drop?”
Fargo gave it to her straight. “There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell.”
13
The next morning Fargo was up before everyone else except the cook. In the wilds he was used to rousing at the crack of dawn.
He dressed and strolled to the kitchen where a stout woman in an apron was making oatmeal and humming to herself.
“Any chance of coffee?” Fargo asked.
She bobbed her double chins at the stove. “I just put a pot on. It’ll be ready in a few minutes. I’m Esmeralda, by the way.”
“I’m—” Fargo said, and got no further.
“I know who you are,” Esmeralda said without looking up from her stirring. “You’re the gentleman who shot those two dead last night.”
“They were out to kill me.”
Esmeralda raised the big wooden spoon to her lips and tasted the oatmeal, and nodded. “No need to say why. I’m just the cook.”
“Just?” Fargo said.
“I know my place,” Esmeralda said. “Mrs. Patterson made it plain as plain can be that I’m to tend to the cooking and baking and not stick my big brown nose, as she called it, into matters that don’t concern me.”
“She did, did she?”
“Yes, sir,” Esmeralda said. “Mrs. Patterson can’t abide an uppity staff. She gave a speech about that shortly after Mr. Patterson died.”
“I take it you don’t like her much.”
“Don’t be putting words in my mouth,” Esmeralda said. “She’s the lady of the house and I’m the cook. She’s the boss, and I’m the cook. She tells me what to do and I do it because I’m the cook.”
“Let me guess,” Fargo said. “Her exact words.”
“You’re a good guesser,” Esmeralda said, and sighed. “There are days when I miss Mr. Patterson awful fierce. He was a good man. A nice man. He always treated me like a friend and not just the cook.”
“Ever wonder why he took up with her?”
Esmeralda set down the spoon and wiped her hands on her apron. “No need to wonder. She threw herself at him. Her with her female ways. Why, it wasn’t but the third evening they went out together that she spent the entire night. Poor Mr. Patterson didn’t stand a chance.”
“Too bad he died.”
“Now that I do wonder about,” Esmeralda said. “He was healthy as could be. In all the years I cooked for him, I never saw him sick once.” Esmeralda tilted her head and glared at the ceiling, but it wasn’t the ceiling she was glaring at. “Then she came along. And Mr. Patterson started to have complaints. About how he’d ache in the mornings when he got up, and how he felt puny a lot, and how his heart would pound in his chest.”
“You don’t say.” Fargo had never even considered that Sarah got her husband out of the way so she could take over the Bar P.
“Again, you didn’t hear that from me,” Esmeralda cautioned.
“I know. You’re just the cook.”
Esmeralda laughed. “Let me bring you that coffee. And a biscuit, too, to tide you over until breakfast.”
“You’re a sweetheart,” Fargo said.
“What I am is sad,” Esmeralda said, “that people like her get away with whatever they want and no one ever holds them to account.” She opened her mouth to say more but suddenly stiffened and snatched up the wooden spoon and turned to the stove.
In walked the lordess of the manor. She had on a smart riding outfit with a small round hat, and was carrying a crop. “Look who else is up” was her idea of a greeting. “I thought I heard voices. What were you two talking about?”
“The weather,” Fargo said.
“Is that all?” Sarah said. “I thought I caught a few words that suggested something else.”
“Your ears were playing tricks.”
“Could have been,” Sarah said, but she didn’t sound convinced. “In any event, I’m about to go for my morning ride. Care to accompany me?”
“I’m content right here,” Fargo said. He was looking forward to a heaping portion of eggs with juicy bacon and buttered toast.
“Too bad. There’s nothing like a ride to start the day.”
“I know something.”
Sarah chuckled.
“Will you be wanting your tea before or after your ride, Mrs. Patterson?” Esmeralda asked.
“Today it will be after. Miss Caventry is supposed to join me when I get back and give her opinion about the knife.”
“What if she decides it wasn’t Jim Bowie’s?” Fargo wondered.
Sarah shrugged and said a strange thing. “It’s a means to an end, nothing more. I won’t be upset. I’ll offer it to others who might be interested.” She tapped her riding crop against her shoulder and swayed out.
Fargo had a thought. “The bowie knife, Esmeralda. Did Mr. Patterson ever mention it to you?”
“Not a word. I only heard about it when Miquel told me how you folks were coming to visit and I’d be cooking for more than usual.”
Fargo accepted a steaming cup of coffee, and when the food was ready, ate as if there’d be no tomorrow. As he was dipping his last morsel of toast in the last bit of yolk, he remarked, “You’re about the best cook ever. If I had a ranch, I’d hire you away from Mrs. Patterson.”
“What a sweet thing to say.” Esmeralda came to the table, checked that the doorway was empty, and bent. “You’re a fine gentleman, Mr. Fargo. You treat me the same as Mr. Patterson did. So let
me give you a word of advice.”
“I’ll all ears.”
“Don’t trust that woman as far as you can throw me. Never turn your back on her. And never, ever, eat or drink anything she wants you to.”
Fargo pondered that as he strolled to the front of the house. He was on his way outside but he stopped at the parlor when he saw Dandy seated on the sofa, as before, with the knife case and her satchel. She was holding the knife and turning it over and over in her hands. “What’s the verdict?”
Dandy adopted a pained expression. “I honestly can’t decide.”
“I thought you know about old things?”
“I can authenticate everything from a book to pottery. But this—” Dandy held it so that sunlight splashing in a window made the blade gleam. “If it’s a fake, it’s well thought out. They got hold of an old knife and somehow aged the initials they engraved. The blood spots are a nice touch, too.”
“Then you’re going to make her an offer?”
“I don’t know. Something keeps nagging at me that it would be a mistake. I hardly slept a wink last night and I’m afraid I’m not thinking clearly.”
“Take a break,” Fargo suggested. “Go riding with me and save the knife for later.”
“The air might clear my head, at that.” Dandy placed the bowie in the polished case and closed it. “Mrs. Patterson went riding a while ago. Maybe we’ll run into her.”
“I’d rather step on a rattler.”
“Oh-ho?” Dandy said, smiling as she rose and smoothed the green dress she had on. “Has your opinion of her changed?”
“Not a lick.”
“But you and she—” Dandy stopped. “That is, I suspect you did. And surely you wouldn’t do that if you didn’t like her.”
“Why not?”
Dandy was almost to the hallway and stopped as if she had run into a wall. “Am I hearing right? You would have carnal relations with a woman you didn’t particularly care for?”
“Why not?” Fargo asked a second time.
“Because that is supposed to be special. You should only do it with someone you care for.”
“Says who?”
“Most everyone,” Dandy smugly declared.
“I reckon you’ve never heard of whorehouses.”
Dandy had a knack for turning pink in the cheeks. “That’s different. That’s only—”
“Sex?” Fargo said when she wouldn’t or couldn’t.
“Yes.” Dandy coughed. “What you’re saying is that to you, having that with Sarah Patterson is no different than having that with a prostitute.”
“Did you think it was true love?” Fargo asked, and laughed.
“No. Of course not. It’s just—”
“Don’t make more of it than there was,” Fargo cut her off.
“Are you a man or a wild beast?” Dandy asked. “Animals do it that way. They do it just to do it. I prefer to believe we’re better than that. That when a woman and a man make love, they do it out of affection.”
“You did hear me mention whorehouses?”
“Stop bringing them up. Yes, I admit that a lot of people, male and female, are like rabbits in heat. It doesn’t mean I have to be.”
“You don’t have it in you to be a whore,” Fargo said.
“Thanks,” Dandy said. “I think.”
“All this jabber is hurting my head,” Fargo said. “How about that ride?”
“Yes, please. My ears can only take so much.”
“Your ears?”
“Whenever I talk to you, they feel as if they’re burning. I’ve never met any man as frank about that as you are.”
“On our ride I won’t bring it up once.”
“You promise?”
Fargo nodded. He’d do anything to get her away from the house. It might induce her to let down her hair, in more ways than one.
That early, the air was crisp and invigorating. Sparrows chirped in a rosebush. Over at the bunkhouse, cowboys were filing to the cookhouse for their breakfast. The blacksmith stoked a fire in his forge.
Near the house, Lupe was picking flowers. She smiled as they came down the steps.
“Everyone is so nice here,” Dandy said.
“Not everyone,” Fargo disagreed.
The stableman, an older cowhand with a limp, insisted on saddling their horses and bringing them out.
“Where to?” Dandy asked once they were mounted.
“The lady gets to pick.”
Dandy rose in her stirrups, her dress clinging to her long legs, and surveyed the countryside. “How about yonder?” she asked, pointing at a stand of trees about half a mile away.
“Wherever you want,” Fargo said. “I put myself in your hands.”
“Oh, my,” Dandy said.
14
It was a pleasant ride. The cool of morning had yet to give way to the heat of summer. Dandy wasn’t in any hurry and Fargo wasn’t about to rush things.
This was grass and brush country, for the most part. Due to the lack of rainfall, the trees tended to be short and hardy. Prickly ash, bluewoods, Spanish daggers, hackberries and more thrived where northern trees would wither away.
The stand Dandy took them to covered less than an acre. The trees were far enough apart and Fargo and her had no trouble threading through them to a small clearing.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to sit here a bit?” Dandy proposed.
It was fine by Fargo. Not that they or their horses needed the rest. They dismounted, and she moved off about twenty feet, bowed her head, and clasped her hands as if she was nervous.
“I have a confession to make.”
Fargo played along; some women resented it when a man saw through them. “You do?”
“I didn’t bring you out here for the exercise.”
“Oh?” Fargo would let her get to it in her own way. She was less likely to balk.
“It’s been gnawing at me. You and Sarah Patterson. We rode all the way here from Austin and you never once tried to have your way with me. Yet you poked her the very night you met her.”
Fargo decided not to mention that it was more of a case of Sarah having her way with him.
“I like you, Skye. I like you a whole lot. You’re about the handsomest man I’ve ever set eyes on. Those blue eyes, those shoulders.” Dandy wouldn’t raise her head. “You must have heard that a lot.”
“Once or twice.”
“Remember, I told you I couldn’t sleep last night? It wasn’t the bowie. It was the thought of you and her. And how much I wished it was me.”
“I’m plumb shocked,” Fargo said.
“It’s just that I don’t have a lot of experience,” she went on as if she hadn’t heard. “I’m awkward at it.” She closed her eyes. “And I hate the notion of playing into my brother’s hands.”
“I’ll never tell.”
“Neither would I. But that doesn’t ease me much. Maybe I’m a hussy at heart.”
“Do you plan to bring Bronack here?”
“What? No.” Dandy laughed. “Not in a million years.”
“How about the Bar P foreman?”
“Brazos? Goodness gracious, I’d never give myself to a man—” Dandy stopped and her lovely eyes narrowed. “I see what you’re doing. You’re showing me I’m not a hussy.”
Fargo walked over and placed his hands on her waist. He was encouraged when she didn’t pull away. “Never in a million years,” he quoted her.
Dandy started to laugh but stopped. Suddenly she turned and gripped his chin and drew his face to hers. Her kiss was clumsy—she missed his upper lip entirely—but her passion was undeniable. She tried to suck his lower lip into her mouth. After a minute she drew back. “How was that?”
“You were a bass and I was the worm.”
“I kiss li
ke a fish?”
“You kiss like someone who hasn’t kissed a lot, but we can remedy that.”
“How?”
Fargo cupped her right breast. At the contact Dandy arched her back and gasped. For a moment he thought she’d change her mind and bolt for her horse. Instead, she threw herself at him and fastened her mouth to his neck as if she were trying to suck his blood.
He reminded himself she was young. He reminded himself she was green as grass. He reminded himself of the curve of her breasts, to say nothing of the curves lower down.
“Why did you stop?”
Fargo wasn’t aware he had. Dipping at the knees, he eased her down.
Dandy didn’t resist. She did blush redder than ever, and when she kissed him, her mouth was on fire. When she pulled back she looked him in the eyes.
“Not a word to anyone. Ever.”
“My lips are glued.”
“God, I hope not,” Dandy said, and fused hers to his. Her hands roved everywhere she could reach, rubbing, inciting. Grinding her nether mound against his hardening pole, she uttered a tiny moan. “I want you.”
Inwardly, Fargo smiled. She’d hidden it well. But then, some women didn’t like to come right out with that, as she liked to call it. They’d rather beat around the bush. They’d rather act as if they had no interest whatsoever until the moment came when they couldn’t hold their hunger in any longer. And then they became every man’s dream: a woman who would rip a man’s clothes off to get what they wanted.
In Fargo’s case, Dandy nearly did. She swatted his hat and undid his gun belt and dropped it and then tugged and twisted at his buckskin shirt in such haste, she got his arm caught in the sleeve. He disentangled, motioned for her to stand still, and stripped it off.
Dandy did something few women ever had. She swooped a mouth to his nipple while her fingernails dug into his ribs.
Damn, Fargo thought. He pried at the buttons on her dress and got enough undone to slide it over her shoulders. He kissed her ear, her neck, the swell of her globes. A sharp yank, and the dress was down around her waist. He had a chemise to deal with but nothing under it.
Her breasts were superb. Perfectly formed, swollen and ripe, their tips upturned and inviting. Her belly was flat. Below that—Fargo couldn’t wait to find out. He pushed and tugged and her dress slid lower.
