A Horse Called Mogollon (Floating Outfit Book 3) (4 page)

‘
M’sieur le Vicomte
has business matters to hold his attention,’
Beatrice explained, the harsh timbre underlying the seductive tone
telling Libby that the clerk’s references to her husband had been
unappreciated. ‘He cannot accompany me.’

‘
Maybe
Lieutenant Lebel’ll be able to go with you?’ suggested the man
behind the desk. ‘He’s only just left—’

‘
He has
his duties to perform!’ Beatrice gritted, for the clerk was going
from bad to worse in his desire to be helpful. ‘I merely plan to
take a short ride, if to do so will be safe.’

‘
It
sure will, happen you tell the owner to give you a steady hoss and
don’t go too far off, ma’am,’ answered the clerk. ‘Country
hereabouts’s been real quiet since the Flores gang got wiped out
by—’

‘
Hey,
sonny,’ Libby put in, sensing that she and Mark might become
involved in the conversation by virtue of their part in the ‘wiping
out’ of the Flores brothers’ gang. ‘How about showing me to my
room?’

‘
Huh?’
grunted the boy, dragging his gaze reluctantly from the gently
pulsating front of the white blouse. ‘Oh! Yeah! Sure thing, Mrs.
Schell.’

Bending over, the boy took hold
of Libby
’s
carpetbag and looked at Mark’s saddle which lay alongside it.
Although he raised the bag with no trouble, the bellhop faced a
problem. One of his duties around the hotel was to carry the
guests’ baggage to their rooms. While a sturdy youngster, he knew
that he would be hard-pressed to tote the saddle even without the
added burden of the carpetbag.

‘
Best
let me take that,
amigo,’
drawled Mark, and swung the saddle effortlessly on to his
right shoulder.

Two sets of eyes followed
Mark
’s
actions, but with vastly different interests. The boy displayed
admiration over the ease with which the blond giant hoisted up the
load. Running the tip of her tongue across her lips, Beatrice
contemplated the pleasures that might come her way if she played
her cards correctly.

‘
Perhaps it would be better if I waited for an escort,’
the
Vicomtesse
purred and eyed Mark suggestively. ‘But I had so set my
heart on taking a ride—’

When the big blond showed no
sign of volunteering her services as the escort, Beatrice turned
and made for the stairs. She went with an undulating gait that set
her breasts bobbing and caused the cheeks of her rump to grind
against each other in a fluid manner observable beneath her skirt.
Eagerly the bellhop followed her and the new guests trailed along
at a more leisurely pace. That was how Beatrice wanted things.
Let
M’sieur
le beau
Counter compare her with the fat old hag at his side and
the
Vicomtesse
would find him the more susceptible on their next
meeting.

‘
Whooee!’ breathed Mark, watching Beatrice disappear into
her room. ‘There goes a butt-end just begging for some feller to
pinch it.’

‘
Or for
some gal to kick it,’ Libby said dryly. ‘Was I the clerk down
there, I’d sure watch her ’n’ her husband when it comes time for
them to pull out.’

‘
How
come?’ the big blond inquired.

Wishing to get a better view of
the
Vicomtesse’s
departing derriere, the bellhop had drawn ahead of Libby
and Mark. So they carried on their conversation without being
overheard.

‘
Happen
her husband’s too poorly off to buy her anything to go under that
blouse,’ Libby elaborated, ‘he won’t be able to pay his
room-rent.’

‘
You
mean she wasn’t wearing
anything
under it?’

‘
Way
you was a-sweating and staring down there, I figured you knew
that.’

‘
Can’t
say’s how I noticed,’ Mark lied.

‘
Maybe
the steam the clerk was raising fogged up your eyes same way it got
on his spectacles,’ Libby grinned. ‘Was I you-all, I’d sure look
under my bed afore you get into it tonight.’

‘
I
allus do,’ Mark assured her. ‘My Mammy taught me to have regular
habits.’

‘
This
time you could find more than the chamber-pot there,’ warned
Libby.

By that time they had reached the door
of Room Seventeen and the bellhop opened it.

‘
Put my
bag on the bed, son,’ Libby instructed, then looked at Mark. ‘You
feel like going riding?’

‘
Where’d you want to go?’

‘
Me?’

‘
Dusty
said for me to stay close to you while you’re toting the horse-sale
money,’ Mark reminded the smiling blonde. ‘And life goes a heap
easier happen he’s kept happy.’

‘
I
just thought you might want to take up that invitation you
got down in the hall.’

‘
Did I
get one?’ Mark asked in mock surprise. ‘Damned if
I
noticed
it.’

‘
Are
you sure you’re Big Rance Counter’s son?’ Libby demanded. ‘Anyway,
after we’ve settled in, we’ll go grab a meal. Then we’ll collect
the money and pay off the
mesteneros—
less you’ve other notions.’

‘
Nary a
notion, ma’am,’ grinned Mark and walked along to the door of his
room.

Entering her quarters, Libby thought
of the incident in the hall and smiled. That foreign gal had sure
made her intentions towards Mark obvious. Given half a chance, she
would have likely picked him up and toted him to her bed. Not that
Libby entirely blamed her. Young Mark Counter was one helluva hunk
of man.

‘
Now
hush yourself from thinking things like that, Libby Schell,’
thought the blonde as the bellhop left the room. ‘And you not a
year widowed, for shame.’

After settling into their rooms,
Libby and Mark went downstairs. Entering the
dining room, which faced the bar
on the other side of the hall, they found the
Vicomtesse
and a man they assumed to be her
husband already present.

Tall, slender, dressed to the
height of Eastern fashion, the
Vicomte
de Brioude had hair so thickly plastered
with bay rum that it looked as glossy-black as his wife’s. Although
sallow and thin, his face was passably handsome. There was,
however, an obsequious air about him that seemed more suited to a
servant than a member of the
Ancien Regime.
For all that, everything about the
couple’s appearance hinted at considerable wealth and social
standing.

Beatrice gave no sign of being
aware of Mark
’s presence, other than darting an occasional glance his
way. Libby had selected a table on the far side of the room and the
meal went by without incident.

‘
That
feller looked a mite peaked,’ Mark commented
sotto voce
after the de Brioudes had
finished their meal and left. ‘Word around the hotel has it he’s
been playing poker most of yesterday and today. Could be that’s
what makes him look all tuckered out.’

‘
Could
be,’ Libby admitted. ‘How’d you find out?’

‘
Bellhop told me.’

‘
The
gal who turns down the beds allows they’re real important folks
back home in France,’ Libby remarked. ‘Come over here to hunt
buffalo, antelope and the like. They’ll be pulling out in a few
days. Got them a hunter, skinner ’n’ outfit. They’ve even fixed it
to have an Army escort along.’

‘
Likely
been hearing how wild ’n’ woolly Texas is,’ Mark
grinned.

‘
Funny
thing about that Countess,’ Libby said. ‘The gal allows she don’t
have a maid along.’

‘
So?’

‘
So she
packs and tends her things as neat as any maid.’

‘
Maybe
she’s done a fair piece of travelling and had to learn.’

‘
Or
she
was
a
maid and married the boss’s son.’

‘
You
gals sure sharpen your claws on each other,’ Mark
drawled.

‘
Yah!’
Libby sniffed. ‘It wasn’t
me
who learned about her husband being out all night playing
poker.’

‘
I
didn’t ask the boy,’ Mark objected. ‘He told me. What do we do now
we’ve ate, Libby?’

‘
Go
tend to business,’ Libby replied.

Leaving the hotel, Libby and
Mark went to collect the payment for the two hundred and fifty
horses. Then they made their way to the Mexican section of Fort
Sawyer where the
mesteneros
were waiting to receive their money.

With that matter attended to,
they continued with a round of business and social calls which kept
them occupied until sundown. From then until almost midnight, they
joined in the
mesteneros’
celebrations.

Wherever the blonde and the big
Texan went, curious eyes followed them. Already the whole town was
buzzing with talk of how Libby Schell had sold a large bunch of
horses
—varying, depending on the source of the rumor, from the
actual number to over two thousand—to the Yankee Army’s buyer.
People studied Libby with interest and some envy. On average,
Colonel Monaltrie had paid twenty dollars a head for the remounts.
That totaled up to a whole heap of money. Legal tender, too. Not
like the Confederate States’ currency with which most folks found
themselves stuck at the cessation of hostilities. Few of Fort
Sawyer’s citizens could show an equal amount to that obtained by
Libby and carried in a money belt about Mark’s waist.

On the whole, however, the consensus
of public opinion was that anybody with notions of relieving Libby
of her money would wind up by regretting the idea. That big blond
cowhand looked strong enough to break a man in two with his bare
hands and his Colts hung just right for a real fast
draw.

Shortly after midnight,
following a hectic session of celebrating at the
Posada del
Mesteneros,
Mark undressed to his long-handled underpants. With the
money belt under his pillow and his gun belt hung over the back of
a chair so that he could reach the right hand Colt swiftly should
the need arise, he climbed into bed. About five minutes went by and
Mark was almost asleep when a faint clink drew his attention to the
door. He had not bothered to draw the drapes and the light of the
moon illuminated the door. The key he had turned and left in the
lock now lay on the floor. Even as Mark sat up and slid the right
hand Colt from its holster, he heard the lock click and saw the
door start to open.

‘
If
you-all after Libby’s money,’ Mark mused, thumb resting on the
long-barreled revolver’s hammer-spur, ‘you’ve come to the right
room—but a whole heap too early to catch me asleep.’

Holding the
Colt ready for use, Mark watched
the door open and a figure enter. On the point of cocking and
firing the revolver, he refrained from doing so and let out a hiss
of surprise.

Clad in a
diaphanous robe, left open to
display an equally flimsy nightgown, the
Vicomtesse
de Brioude closed the door. Easing
the robe from her shoulders in a tantalizing manner, she approached
the bed with an air of concupiscence. Her whole attitude hinted
that she expected Mark to greet her with open arms.

‘
What
the hell?’ Mark growled, sounding anything but delighted at the
visit.

Suspecting that he might be
running into the old badger game, Mark retained the Colt in his
right hand as he swung his legs from and sat on the edge of the
bed. If the woman
’s husband burst in, ready to demand payment for the
‘alienation’ of his wife’s affections, he would receive a response
that might not be accorded to the male half of a ‘badger’ team
operating in Europe.

Unaware of the suspicions
Mark
harbored
towards her, Beatrice tossed her robe on to the foot of the bed.
Her eyes raked Mark from head to toe and she decided that, if
anything, she had underestimated his physical attractions on first
seeing him from her window.

‘
You
shouldn’t have sat up,
mon cherie,
Beatrice purred. ‘And you won’t need that
revolver.’

Everything appeared to be going
exactly as the
Vicomtesse
had planned it. Much to her annoyance, she had found no
opportunity during the afternoon or evening to develop her
acquaintance with the blond giant. If Arnaud had noticed her
interest in Mark during lunch, he had given no hint of it. Flushed
with success at having emerged a winner from the poker game, her
husband had insisted on celebrating with an after-lunch session of
lovemaking.