by Jon Sharpe
“That would complicate things.”
“You don’t know the half of it. It wouldn’t surprise me if he raised a posse and scoured these woods for the killers and then made each of us go to his office for questioning. It could be a week or more before you can hold another hunt, if he even lets you.”
“It’s in the will. The sheriff can’t stop it.”
“He can go to a judge and have the judge stop it,” Tom predicted. “Then where will you be? No hunt, no way to settle the inheritance except in court. The case could be tied up for years.”
Pickleman looked worried. “I wouldn’t want that. The cost to the estate would be enormous.”
“There’s even a chance the judge might declare the will invalid. And you couldn’t do a thing about it.”
Prying at Tom’s hand, Pickleman said, “Please. Let go of me. You’ve made your point.”
“I’m not disqualified?”
“No. Neither is Sam. I’ll permit both of you to continue under two conditions.”
Sam asked suspiciously, “What are they?”
“First, that neither of you tell anyone I broke the rules for your benefit. It could cause all sorts of trouble for me, legally.”
Tom shrugged. “All I care about is staying in the hunt. What’s the second condition?”
“While I am willing to reinstate the two of you, I can’t reinstate Mr. Fargo. He’s out, and that’s final.”
“No,” Sam said.
“Come on, Samantha.” Pickleman was growing flustered. “I’m trying to meet you halfway. You could at least do the same.”
“I need him.”
“He has a knife.”
“That’s easily remedied.” Sam walked over to Fargo and held out her hand. “You’ll get it back, after.”
Fargo was loath to part with the toothpick. It left him unarmed, with two killers out there somewhere.
“Please, Skye. It’s the only way.”
With great reluctance Fargo placed it in her hand. “Hell.”
Sam turned and held the toothpick out to Pickleman. “Take this. Problem solved. He doesn’t have a weapon and can continue as my partner.”
“You’re making a mockery of the will,” Pickleman complained, but he put the toothpick in his valise. “Carry on as you were. I’ll arrange for these bodies to be taken to the lodge and will hold them there until the hunt is over.”
Sam smiled and patted his cheek. “I knew I could count on you, Theodore. You’ve always been a friend as well as our counselor.”
“To you, perhaps, but to your father I was never anything but his lawyer. Another menial to be bossed around as he saw fit.”
“He confided things in you he never confided in the rest of us.”
“Only because he knew my lips were sealed against ever revealing his secrets. There’s such a thing as attorney-client privilege.” Pickleman regarded the bodies. “Off you go. There’s a lot I must get done and still do my duty as monitor of this horrible hunt.”
“Even you agree it’s wrong,” Sam said.
“But not for the same reasons.” Pickleman gazed at the wall of green. “Let me see. Which direction would the lodge be?” He started walking to the east.
“Not that way,” Fargo said, and extended his arm in the direction the lawyer should go. “The lodge is that way. To the northwest.”
“Thank you. But if you don’t mind my asking, how can you tell which is which?”
Fargo squinted up at the sun. “There’s all the help you need. It rises in the east and sets in the west. Remember that and you can never get lost.”
“Maybe you can’t but I can.” Pickleman gazed uncertainly skyward. “What about north and south?”
“It’s early yet so the sun is still in the eastern half of the sky,” Fargo explained. “Raise your left arm and point at it. Like that. Now raise your right arm. Your left is pointing east, your right is pointing west, your face is to the north and your backside to the south.”
“How do you remember all that? And what if it happens to be the afternoon and the sun is to the west?” Pickleman shook his head. “I would make a sorry plainsman. Give me my law books any day.” He hurried off in the right direction.
Sam said to Tom, “Thank you for standing up for us and getting him to change his mind.”
Tom laughed. “I didn’t do it for you, stupid. I did it for me. I couldn’t very well demand he permit me to continue the hunt and not you when both our partners broke the rules.” He headed off. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a chest I need to find.”
“He’ll never change,” Sam said.
Fargo was thinking of the toothpick and his Colt. Thank God it wasn’t the Rockies where he’d have to be on the look-out for roving grizzlies and painted hostiles.
Sam looked down at her hands. She gave a slight shudder and said in horror, “I just noticed. I have Charles’s blood on me.”
“Wash it off. I’ll keep watch.” Fargo turned his back to the creek and assumed she would do as he suggested. Instead, she came over and stood so close to him, her breasts brushed his arm.
“Do you know what would be wonderful right about now?”
“For you to have a six-gun hid under your dress.”
“No, silly. A bath.”
All Fargo could do was stare.
“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m sweaty and smelly and I have blood on me. What’s more natural than to take a bath? That pool is deep enough. We could sit and let the water wash over us. It will be grand.”
“We?”
“You can’t expect me to do it alone. Shed your buckskins and join me. It won’t take long.”
Fargo glanced at Charles and then at Brun and then at the shadowed woods and finally at her. “Was everyone in your family born with empty space between their ears?”
“Whoever stabbed my brother and shot that oaf are long gone. Please. I really want to wash this blood off.”
“You can jump in the creek if you want but not me.” Fargo had credited her with more common sense. “I like breathing too much.”
“All right, then. Be that way.” Sam flounced to the bank and slid down to the water’s edge where she began stripping with her back to him.
Fargo moved to a log and sat facing the woods. He heard her mutter, and grinned. His grin died when he thought he spied movement off in the undergrowth. He tensed and braced for the crack of another shot.
The vegetation parted and a brown shape stepped timidly into view. It was a doe, her ears up, looking right and left. She had caught his scent but didn’t know where he was.
“Howdy, girl.”
That was all it took. Wheeling, she showed her tail and bolted in long leaps that swiftly carried her out of sight.
“What did you say?” Samantha asked.
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“You were talking to yourself? And you accused me of having space between my ears.”
Fargo chuckled. Her dander was up. Most females took criticism about as well as most males took being called yellow. He glanced back and saw her bare back and her luxurious hair falling past her shoulders and entertained a notion he shouldn’t. “No,” he said out loud.
“What was that? Or are you talking to yourself again?”
“Hurry up and wash and get dressed,” Fargo said more gruffly than he intended.
“I’ll thank you not to be so bossy. I hired you, remember? Not the other way around.”
Fargo heard her wade out.
“Goodness, this water is cold. I have gooseflesh all over me.”
“No,” Fargo said again.
“I beg your pardon? You’ll have to speak up.”
Fargo fought with himself, and lost. He shifted on the log so he could see her and the forest, both. “Oh God,” he breathed.
Samantha had reached the middle of the pool. Sunlight played over her superb body, showing every detail: the velvet sheen of her neck, the upturned peaks on her twin mounds,
her flat tummy, and bushy thatch and smooth thighs. She bent and dipped her hands in the water and her breasts jiggled. Her bottom was two smooth moons.
“No,” Fargo said, more quietly than before.
“The water is so clear I can see the bottom. There are small fish in here. And I saw a frog on the other side.” Sam went on splashing.
Fargo couldn’t take his eyes off her. He felt himself stir, and whispered to himself, “No, damn me.”
“Now that I’m getting used to the water it’s not bad,” Sam informed him while slowly sinking in to her waist. She splashed water on her neck and her breasts and giggled girlishly. “I needed this.”
Fargo imagined one of her nipples in his mouth, and stood. Self-preservation battled lust and lust won. With a last glance at the vegetation, he moved to the top of the bank.
“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind?”
Fargo sat and tugged on a boot. “If we get killed it will be your fault.”
Samantha cupped water in both hands, placed her hands on her breasts, and slowly rubbed. “If you come in, you must promise to behave yourself.”
“Like hell,” Skye Fargo said.
17
There were times when a man knew he was making a mistake but he made it anyway. Times when a man knew he was being as dumb as a tree stump but he couldn’t help himself. Times when a tiny voice in the back of his mind warned, “Don’t do this!” and he did it. Times when, like now, Fargo wanted to kick himself. He stripped off his boots and clothes and hat and waded into the pool. It came only as high as his knees. The bottom was slippery, mud and a few loose rocks, and he stepped with care. His skin rippled with goose bumps. He shivered slightly.
“Told you it was cold.”
Fargo’s eyes were glued to her breasts. She was still rubbing them, a silent invite in her eyes. A mocking invite, if her grin meant anything. “I was wrong about you,” he said.”
“In what way?”
“You’re just like every other woman I’ve ever met.”
“You thought I wasn’t?”
“For a while there I thought you never let your feelings get the better of you.”
Samantha laughed. “Silly man. Women always think with their hearts and not with their heads.”
“I’ll try to remember that.” By then Fargo reached her. A gnawing ache in his loins bore testimony to his need. He reached out and cupped her right breast. It was wet and smooth and the nipple hardened when he pinched it.
“Oh,” Sam said softly.
Fargo glanced over his shoulder at the woods. Either of the assassins, or both, could be near. To hell with it, he thought, and gave Sam his undivided attention.
Her eyelids were hooded. The pink tip of her tongue rimmed her red lips. “Don’t stop.”
Fargo cupped her other breast and kneaded both. Under the water his manhood twitched and stirred and firmed. His need became an irresistible urge. He pulled her to him and kissed her. Their tongues met. Their bodies touched. The wet of the water added an extra sensation. He felt his pole rub her thigh and his lust became complete. “Damn, I want you,” he said when they broke for breath.
“You make it sound like a bad thing,” Sam teased.
“This is the same as poking my head into a grizzly’s den.”
“I’m a smelly old bear?” Samantha giggled.
“You’re bare, all right,” Fargo said, and applied his mouth to her neck, to her throat, to her ear.
Sam mewed and ground herself against him, the while her hands explored his back and his buttocks and one of them slid around and down to grip his member. “Oh, I do so love this.”
It was what Fargo lived for. For some men it was money. For other men it was power. Some men it was other pursuits, like horse breeding or hunting or fishing or any of a thousand things. Not him. He lived for females. In his eyes nothing could hold a candle to the feel of ramming his pole into a willing woman.
Fargo took her standing up. He caressed and molded and kissed until she was hot with desire and her need as keen as his own. Then he parted her legs and had her grip him by the shoulders and raise up, and in one swift movement, he impaled her.
Samantha gasped and threw her head back. The windows to her soul shone with pure pleasure. “Yesssssss. Like that.”
Fargo rocked on his heels. He had to be careful, as slippery as it was. The feel of her hot sheath and the cool water and the air on his skin were like a potent drug. The tiny voice yelled at him to stop and he smothered it. “Some things a man just has to do,” he said to himself.
“Ummmmm?” Sam’s eyes were closed and she matched his thrusts with swirls of her pelvis.
Fargo devoted himself to pounding her. His mouth, his hands, were everywhere. It wasn’t long before she moved faster and harder and he could tell she was near the brink. To send her over he slid a hand down between them and rubbed her swollen knob. It was all it took.
Sam exploded, churning the pool with the violence of her release. “Huh! Huh! Huh!” she gasped.
Fargo let himself go. He rammed up and in and it felt as if his insides were being ripped from his body. The pool roiled, the water lapped at them in small wavelets. It went on and on until finally she was spent and sagged against him and he was spent and suddenly tired.
“God, you’re good,” Sam whispered. She slowly lowered her legs and leaned against him. “I’m as weak as a kitten.”
Fargo scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bank. He set her down on the grass and lay next to her, his arm for her pillow. He closed his eyes. The tiny voice was at it again but the bank partially hid them so he was content to lie there a while.
“Skye?”
“Mmmm?” Fargo wanted her to be quiet but it wasn’t to be.
“May I ask you a question?”
“I can’t stop the moon and the sun from rising, either.”
“What? Oh.” Sam gave a throaty laugh. “Very well. Who do you think it is?”
Fargo sighed and opened his eyes. “Who what?”
“Who hired Brun and that Anders fellow? Who hired the brother and sister? I know it’s not me so it has to be Tom, Roland or Charlotte. I would guess Tom hired Brun and Anders even though he denies it. That leaves Roland or Charlotte to have hired the other two.”
“Could be.”
“I can’t see Roland doing it, though. He’s too nice.”
“Tom is right about one thing. When there’s a lot of money at stake, nice doesn’t always count for much.”
“I still think it has to be Charlotte. My sweet little sister has always had a hard edge. She hides it well but it’s there, just under the surface. I’ve often thought she would make a good wildcat.”
Fargo grinned and nipped her ear. “You make a fine wildcat yourself.”
“Oh, you.” Sam kissed his cheek. “I can’t help myself. You bring it out of me, somehow.”
After that she lay still. Fargo closed his eyes again and was about to doze off when a twig snapped. He heard it as clear as anything. He raised his head and saw that Sam had heard it, too, and was tense with apprehension. Putting a finger to his lips, he slid his arm out from under her and edged to the top.
The woods seemed undisturbed but something, or someone, had stepped on that twig. Fargo watched and waited but nothing showed and after a few minutes he slid back down. “Get dressed.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t even know if it was a who.”
“I’m glad you’re with me. I don’t know as I could take this if I were by myself. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, but this—”
Fargo put his finger to her lips. “Get dressed,” he repeated, and hurriedly donned his buckskins, boots and hat.
Sam was slower but only because she had so many buttons and more garments. “I’m ready,” she finally whispered.
The woods appeared peaceful. Fargo reached down and said, “Grab my wrist.” When she did, he hauled her up beside him and then over the top of
the bank. Still holding on to her, he crouched and moved along the bank and into a stand of cottonwoods. Hunkering next to a trunk, he said quietly, “From here on out we don’t take chances. You stay close. We don’t make noise if we can help it. When I stop, you stop. If I drop flat, you drop flat. Savvy?”
“I love it when you’re forceful.”
Fargo could have slapped her. He took hold of her shoulders and they locked eyes. “No more games. Emmett and Charles are dead and I don’t care to join them.”
“I was only joking.”
“No more. We’re being hunted. We stay sharp or we’re dead.”
“You really believe that? About being hunted, I mean?”
“The only way whoever hired those killers can be sure of claiming the inheritance is if the rest of you are dead.”
“But no one can be sure unless they find the chest.”
“It ups their odds.”
“I suppose. And later, if they don’t find the chest, they can contest the will in court as the sole surviving heir.”
“I don’t give a damn about why they want us dead,” Fargo said. “It’s enough that they do. And I don’t die easy.”
Sam started to reply but Fargo hushed her with a gesture. He thought he’d heard something. He probed the shadows dappling the green but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “You’ll do as I say?”
“We have an accord,” Sam said, and grinned.
Over the next several hours they spent every minute searching. They paralleled the creek until they came to a tree with a red patch of paint, marking the boundary of the search area. They crisscrossed the woods. They poked into thickets and under leaves and moved logs.
By the position of the sun it was about two in the afternoon when Fargo came to the base of a low bluff. It offered shade and concealment, and he sat and put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “We’re not getting anywhere.”
“Don’t give up. We have until six tomorrow morning.” Sam placed a hand at the small of her back and wearily sank beside him. “By then I’ll be so sore and tired, I’ll hardly be able to move.”
“You’ll need to sleep eventually.”
“Not if I can help it. I intend to stay up all night searching, if it comes to that.”
