by Jon Sharpe
It wasn’t up to him to solve problems like that, however. He was more concerned with the night riders and kidnappers making life miserable for the folks who lived around here.
He and Billy unsaddled their horses and turned them into the corral. ‘‘I see you’ve still got that big Ovaro,’’ Billy commented. ‘‘That stallion’s a mighty fine horse.’’
‘‘He’s pulled me out of plenty of scrapes—that’s for sure,’’ Fargo agreed as they walked toward the house.
‘‘I’ll come out later and see that he’s got plenty of grain. I know not to get too close to him, though. I remember how he took a bite out of that sergeant’s hide one day when the sarge got too pushy.’’
Fargo grinned. ‘‘Yeah, Sergeant Ferguson steered clear of him after that.’’
They went into the house and saw that the other members of the family, plus Echo McNally, were sitting around a big, rough-hewn table. Echo looked better now as she sipped at a cup of coffee, as if her dizziness had subsided. In the light of the lamp, Fargo could see that a bruise was beginning to form on her jaw, about halfway between her left ear and her chin. That was where one of the men she’d struggled with had clipped her with a punch.
‘‘Those men are gone,’’ Billy announced. ‘‘Skye and I took a good look around and didn’t see any sign of them.’’
‘‘Why would they attack us?’’ his father, Cam-at-so, asked. ‘‘We have no enemies. We have done nothing to injure anyone.’’
‘‘Maybe they’re after the farm,’’ Fargo suggested as he accepted a cup of coffee from Billy’s mother, Mary Ann. ‘‘Is there anything about it that would make it more valuable than the other farms around here?’’
Billy shrugged. ‘‘Nothing that I can think of. Pa? How about you?’’
Cam-at-so shook his head and said, ‘‘It is just a farm. The land is good for growing crops, but no better than that belonging to anyone else among our people.’’
‘‘Well, there has to be some reason they jumped you this evening,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘Maybe if we can find those missing girls, we’ll find the answer to that question, too.’’
A worried frown creased Billy’s forehead. ‘‘You’ll try to pick up their trail, Skye?’’
‘‘First thing in the morning,’’ Fargo promised.
‘‘Now you must eat,’’ Billy’s mother said. ‘‘There is plenty for all. You, too, Echo.’’
‘‘Thank you,’’ the younger woman said, ‘‘but I really should be getting back home. I just wanted to drive over and see if you’d heard anything about Wa-nee-sha.’’
Cam-at-so shook his head sadly. ‘‘I wish we had. Perhaps soon.’’
‘‘You’re not driving back to your folks’ place tonight,’’ Billy said to Echo. ‘‘After what happened to you a little while ago? No way in—’’ He stopped short at his mother’s glare of disapproval, then continued. ‘‘There’s plenty of room here. You can spend the night and go home in the morning.’’
Mary Ann nodded and told Echo, ‘‘My son is right. You should stay here.’’
‘‘My parents will worry,’’ Echo objected.
‘‘No, they won’t,’’ Billy said. ‘‘They’ll just figure you’re spending the night. Heck, you practically grew up over here. This is almost as much your home as it is ours. Remember when we used to go skinny-dipping in the creek?’’
‘‘At-loo-sha!’’ Echo and Mary Ann exclaimed together, glaring at the grinning Billy. Embarrassment gave Echo’s skin an even deeper reddish hue than usual. She said, ‘‘That was a long time ago. We were children.’’
‘‘Yeah, but I remember it.’’
‘‘Young one, mind your tongue,’’ Mary Ann snapped. ‘‘Daisy, help me with the stew. The rest of you, keep your places. We will bring the food.’’
The meal was a pleasant one. Fargo enjoyed the warmth of being surrounded by a family, something that was rare in his experience. And the food, a savory beef stew flavored with wild onions, was excellent.
When they had finished eating, Billy stood up and said, ‘‘I’m going to check on the animals one last time.’’
‘‘I’ll go with you,’’ Fargo said as he got to his feet.
‘‘Just in case there are any varmints around?’’
‘‘The thought crossed my mind,’’ Fargo admitted.
For now, though, everything around the farm seemed to be peaceful. Fargo tended to the Ovaro while Billy made sure all the other horses and the cows had plenty of water and grain. They paused to lean on the corral fence, under thousands of stars that sparkled in the deep black night sky.
‘‘Echo seems to be quite a woman,’’ Fargo commented. ‘‘Beautiful and smart . . . and a mite feisty.’’
‘‘She is, at that,’’ Billy agreed with a chuckle.
‘‘I’d say you’re a lucky man.’’
Billy looked over at Fargo and sounded confused as he asked, ‘‘How come?’’
‘‘Well . . . you and her . . . I just figured that the two of you—’’
Billy let out a laugh before Fargo could go any further with that line of thought. ‘‘You’ve got that all wrong, Skye,’’ he said. ‘‘I love her, all right . . . like she was my own flesh and blood. I told you she was over here nearly all the time when we were growing up. Hell, she’s almost as much of a sister to me as Daisy and Wa-nee-sha.’’ The mention of the missing girl sobered him. ‘‘If I’ve still got two sisters, that is.’’
‘‘We’ll find Wa-nee-sha,’’ Fargo vowed. ‘‘And we’ll do everything in our power to bring her back safely to her family.’’
‘‘I hope that’s true . . . but after these past few months, well, I’ll believe it when I see it.’’ Billy sighed. ‘‘Come on to the house. We might as well turn in.’’
Fargo jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the barn. ‘‘I spotted a nice, comfortable-looking hayloft. Thought I might spread my bedroll up there.’’
Billy frowned in the starlight. ‘‘You’d rather sleep in a hayloft than in a real bed? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the house?’’
‘‘Not necessarily. The life I lead, I might go for a long spell without ever sleeping in a bed, so I’m used to being without one. Anyway, if there’s any more trouble tonight, whoever causes it might not be expecting me to be out here.’’
‘‘Catch ’em in a cross fire, eh?’’ Billy rubbed his chin in thought. ‘‘Well, my ma won’t like it. . . . She’ll feel like we’re not being hospitable enough . . . but what you say makes sense, Skye, just like always. I’ll tell the folks what you’re doing.’’
The two men said their good nights, and Fargo went back into the barn. He got his bedroll and his saddle and climbed the ladder to the hayloft. He had ridden a lot of miles that day, before getting involved in the trouble that had broken out several times since his arrival in this part of the territory, so he was tired and looking forward to stretching out for some rest.
He spread his blankets where the layer of hay was thin but still soft enough to serve as a mattress of sorts, positioned his saddle so that he could use it as a pillow, and then took off his hat and boots. He unbuckled the gun belt from around his hips, coiled it, and placed it on the floor of the hayloft next to his blankets where it would be handy if he needed it during the night.
Small scurrying sounds made him smile. The mice and rats who nested in the hay would keep him company tonight. He didn’t mind. He felt a kinship with most animals, even the lowliest ones. As long as they didn’t bother him, he wouldn’t bother them.
Fargo crawled into his blankets, rested his head on the saddle, and closed his eyes. He thought he might ponder a little on the problems plaguing the Seminoles, but like a healthy animal himself, he was sound asleep in a matter of moments.
3
Fargo woke like an animal, too, going from slumber to full alertness in the blink of an eye. Hearing something that wasn’t the scurrying of a mouse, he silently closed his hand around the walnut grips
of his Colt and then, as boot leather scraped on the hayloft floor near him, he rolled over and brought the gun up. His thumb looped over the hammer, ready to pull it back and fire.
The figure looming over him in the darkness gasped and jerked back in surprise. ‘‘Mr. Fargo!’’ a familiar voice exclaimed.
‘‘Miss McNally, what are you doing here?’’ Fargo asked coolly. He lowered the Colt.
‘‘Why, I . . . I . . . It occurred to me . . .’’
‘‘What occurred to you?’’ Fargo asked when her voice trailed off and she didn’t say anything else.
‘‘I wanted to make sure you were comfortable—that’s all.’’ She paused. ‘‘Were you pointing a gun at me just now?’’
Fargo grunted as he sat up and slid the revolver back into its holster. ‘‘You go sneaking around a man when he’s sleeping, you’ve got to expect him to react a mite strongly when you wake him up.’’
‘‘I’d hate to be the one who has to call you for breakfast in the morning, then.’’
Her acerbic tone brought a laugh from Fargo. ‘‘Sorry,’’ he said. ‘‘It’s just habit. Sometimes people who wish me harm have tried to slip up on me in the darkness.’’
‘‘But it’s rather difficult to take you by surprise, I imagine.’’
‘‘I’ve got pretty good instincts,’’ Fargo admitted. He didn’t add that if he didn’t, he likely would have been dead a long time ago.
A glance through the little square door in the front of the hayloft told him that it was nowhere near morning. The night was dark as pitch. Echo wasn’t carrying a candle or a lantern, so she must have known her way around the place pretty well in order to be able to find the ladder and climb into the hayloft without any light.
‘‘Well, I’m sorry I disturbed you,’’ she said as she turned toward the ladder. ‘‘I’ll leave you alone now. . . .’’ She stopped, and he heard her take a deep breath. She turned back to him and said, ‘‘Actually, there’s another reason I came out here.’’
‘‘Oh?’’ Fargo said. ‘‘What’s that?’’
‘‘To thank you. If those men had succeeded in carrying me off, Lord knows what would have happened to me. They might have done . . . anything.’’
Fargo shook his head, even though he knew she might not be able to see it in the darkness of the loft. ‘‘No thanks necessary,’’ he told her. ‘‘I would have done the same for anybody.’’
‘‘Yes, but it wasn’t anybody you saved. It was me.’’ He heard her moving closer to him, the hay crackling under her feet. ‘‘And I want to repay you.’’
He put a gruff edge in his voice as he said, ‘‘You already thanked me. That’s plenty. You’re welcome.’’
She reached out blindly. Her hand touched his chest. ‘‘Mr. Fargo . . . Skye . . .’’
Fargo took hold of her wrist. ‘‘Listen, Echo,’’ he said, using her first name as she had used his. ‘‘I was prepared to steer clear of you when I thought that Billy might be courting you—’’
‘‘Billy?’’ she interrupted. ‘‘Courting me? Heavens, no! He’s more like my brother than any sort of beau.’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ Fargo said, ‘‘he made that clear to me. Made me feel a mite better about finding you so attractive.’’
‘‘You do?’’ She sounded a little surprised, and Fargo didn’t think it was false modesty.
‘‘I do,’’ he said. ‘‘I think you’re as pretty a woman as has crossed my trail in a long time. But that doesn’t mean you’re beholden to me in any way.’’
Her hand still rested on his chest, and his fingers still curled around her wrist. She leaned closer, and her other hand came up and stroked the short beard on his jaw.
‘‘Then don’t consider this my way of saying thanks or repaying any sort of debt to you,’’ she whispered. ‘‘Just consider it something that I’ve wanted to do ever since I laid eyes on you.’’
She leaned closer still and kissed him.
Fargo brought his right hand up and cupped the back of her head as he returned the kiss, relishing the hot sweetness of her mouth. She was so close now that the tips of her breasts grazed his chest. He moved his other hand between them and stroked her right breast. His thumb found the hard nipple poking against the homespun fabric of her shirt and circled the sensitive nubbin.
Echo’s lips parted eagerly as his tongue prodded against them. The warm, wet cavern of her mouth seemed to draw him in. Her tongue met his, dueled with it in a sensuous dance. Echo groaned low in her throat and pressed harder against Fargo. His hand tightened on her breast.
She pulled her head back abruptly, gasping for breath as her chest heaved. Fargo’s hand shifted and found the beating of her heart, as he had earlier that evening when she’d fainted. Her heartbeat had been strong and steady then; it was even stronger now as arousal washed through her.
‘‘You don’t think I’m a wanton woman?’’ she asked in the heated darkness of the hayloft.
‘‘I think you’re a woman who knows what she wants,’’ Fargo told her with a smile.
‘‘And I want you, Skye Fargo,’’ she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck and bore him over backward on the bedroll. She kissed him again.
They lay there wrapped up in each other’s arms for a while, kissing and stroking and caressing until the excitement in each of them had grown too strong to be denied, even if they had wanted to. Echo sat up and tugged at Fargo’s buckskin shirt while he unfastened the buttons on her garment, spreading it open so that he was able to fill both hands with her bountiful breasts. He cupped the firm globes and strummed the erect nipples. Echo tipped her head back and moaned in pleasure again before getting back to work on his clothes.
All tangled up with each other in the darkness like they were, getting their clothes off was a challenging task. They had to work at it by feel . . . which had definite rewards of its own.
Eventually they managed to strip each other naked. Echo wrapped both hands around Fargo’s manhood, which by now jutted up like a long, thick iron rod from his groin. He felt her shifting around to bring herself closer to it, and then an exquisite sensation washed over him as her lips closed warmly around the head of his shaft.
As she sucked gently on him, he slid a hand down her back, over the curves of her hips, and then between her legs, finding the fleshy folds of her sex. She was already slick with desire, and he had no trouble slipping a finger into her.
That made her suck harder on him. As he began to work his finger in and out of her, she lifted her head from his groin and gasped with pleasure. Fargo added a second finger to his probing strokes and felt passionate shudders ripple through Echo’s body.
After a few moments, she whispered, ‘‘That feels so good I don’t want you to ever stop, Skye . . . but I know something that will feel even better.’’
So did Fargo. He slid his fingers out of her and grasped her hips, moving her around so that she straddled him on her knees. She seemed to think that he was ready to penetrate her, but Fargo wanted to postpone that just a little while longer. He urged her forward so that when he lifted his head, the musk rising from her filled his nostrils and his beard brushed against the dark triangle of wiry hair at the juncture of her thighs. He extended his tongue and ran it along the heated furrow of her femininity, pausing at the top to flick the most sensitive spot of all before spearing it into her.
Echo gave a low, throaty cry as she spasmed and thrust her hips at him. Fargo continued licking, kissing, and thrusting as Echo jerked and moaned, deep in the grip of passion.
Finally, neither of them could stand to deny themselves the pleasure of the ultimate joining any longer, and she slid back along his muscular torso until her dripping sex was poised above his manhood. She gripped the thick pole of male flesh, rubbed the head between her nether lips until a slick mixture of their juices coated it, and then slowly lowered herself onto it until he was completely sheathed inside her.
She leaned forward and rested her hands o
n his chest as her hips began to pump. Fargo matched her thrust for thrust. He cupped her breasts again and brought each of them to his mouth in turn so that he could suck the nipples. Echo rode him harder and faster. Fargo’s heart slugged in his chest as he felt his own arousal growing to a fever pitch.
At that rate, it didn’t take long for either of them to reach their culmination. Fargo shifted his hands from Echo’s breasts to her hips and grasped them firmly as his hips arched upward from the blankets and his shaft drove to its deepest penetration yet. He froze there as he began to empty himself inside her. Echo shuddered in her own climax.
The shared moment seemed to last an eternity, but when it was finally over Fargo sagged back onto his bedroll and Echo slumped forward onto his broad, heaving chest. Fargo felt her heart pounding against him, and it seemed almost to be beating in time with his own. He stroked her back and her quivering flanks and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the clean scent of her thick dark hair.
After a while she lifted herself slightly and gave a soft laugh. ‘‘What’s funny?’’ Fargo asked.
Still a little breathless, she replied, ‘‘Now it seems that . . . I have something else to thank you for, Skye Fargo.’’
Fargo laughed, too, and tightened his arms around her. When he had thought that she and Billy were romantically involved, he had been prepared to honor that, as he had told her. He had even told himself that he didn’t need the distraction of making love to Echo McNally.
But every man could use a little distraction every now and then, he told himself. Made the brain work better in the long run. . . .
Or so he hoped, anyway.
Echo had walked from the house to the barn by herself, but Fargo insisted on going back with her. He didn’t think any troublemakers were still lurking around the farm right now, but you couldn’t be sure about such things, especially with the way things had been going around here lately.
