A Horse Called Mogollon (Floating Outfit Book 3) (5 page)

While Beatrice never objected
to
that,
she had had her heart set upon the change many philosophers
insisted was as good as a rest. By the time Arnaud’s passion had
worn away and he returned to the poker game,
le beau
Counter and the fat old woman had
left the hotel.

Learning that Mark would not be
returning until late, Beatrice had made preparations. Waiting until
she could do so unobserved, she had taken the
hotel
’s
passkey from its hook behind the reception desk. Having obtained
the means to enter the Texan’s room, she had returned to her
quarters and changed into suitable attire for the occasion. Leaving
her own door open an inch or so, she had settled down with what
patience she could muster to await Mark’s return. Time had dragged
by slowly, but she had consoled herself with thoughts of the
pleasure to come. Unless she misjudged her man, Beatrice expected a
night to remember.

On hearing Libby and Mark
arrive, Beatrice had watched them enter their respective rooms.
Wise in such matters, she waited long enough for them both to
undress and get into their beds. Then she had set out for her
assignation. Using the
passkey, she had gained admittance to Mark’s
quarters and—although she did not guess it—had come mighty close to
taking a bullet in the head as she entered.

Now she was prepared to reap the
benefits of her enterprise.

Unfortunately, she had reckoned
without Mark
’s views on the matter. Maybe the big cowhand had an eye
for a well-turned set of feminine curves and was not averse to
dalliance with members of the opposite sex,
^xi
but there were limits to how far he
would go. His interest in the
Vicomtesse
had departed the moment he had learned that she
was married. So the sight of Beatrice in his room gave him none of
the pleasure nor desire she had expected to arouse.

Ignoring the cooing words, Mark
returned the Colt to its
holster. He rose and strode towards Beatrice. Eyes
glowing with lust and eagerness, she raised her hands ready to slip
off the nightgown. Before she could touch the shoulder straps, Mark
had caught hold of her arms. Drawing them together,
he enfolded her wrists in his powerful left hand. Gathering up her
robe with the right hand in passing, he started to haul her towards
the door.

‘
What—?’ Beatrice croaked, hardly able to believe that he
planned to evict her. ‘Let go of me!’

‘
I sure
as hell will,’ Mark promised grimly. ‘Just as soon’s I’ve tossed
you out of my room.’

‘
You
filthy pig!’ the
Vicomtesse
spat viciously, her voice rising higher with each syllable.
‘You stinking Yankee pig! I came here to—’

Realizing that the woman would be
screaming loud enough to wake up the other occupants of the
building if she continued, Mark knew he must stop her. Tucking the
robe into the waistband of his underpants, he whipped his right
palm hard across her cheek. The force of the slap rocked her head
violently to one side. Tears burst from her eyes and the pain of
the impact brought her words to an abrupt end.

‘
Start
yelling again and you’ll get some more,’ the blond giant warned,
ignoring the kicks she lashed at his legs and reaching for the
door’s handle. ‘I know why you came here and your husband’s the man
to give it to you.’

‘
H-He-pl-plays-ca-cards with the sher-sheriff and oth-other
men,’ the
Vicomtesse
sobbed, tears ruining her carefully applied make-up. She
kept her voice down, guessing that the Texan would carry out his
threat. ‘If-if-y-you-do as you-s-say, I’ll g-go and t-tell them you
tr-tried to f-force yourself on to me.’

‘
I’ll
chance that,’ Mark growled, opening the door and thrusting her into
the dimly lit passage.

Catching her balance and skidding to a
halt, Beatrice twisted around. Before she could speak or make
another movement, Mark had flung her robe into her face and closed
the door. By the time she had torn the clinging fabric from her
head, she had heard the click of the lock. A string of violent
French oaths bubbled furiously from her lips, sounding all the more
obscene coming from such a beautiful set of features. She looked
like a great wildcat preparing to spring at and rend its prey with
teeth and claws. Pitching up and down with the force of her
emotions, the all but naked hemispheres of her bosom seemed to
throb with an inhuman passion.

For a moment she was on the
verge of leaping at Mark
’s door and battering it with her fists. Cold,
savage logic prevented her from doing so. With an almost visible
struggle, she calmed herself down. A vicious glint came to her eyes
as she remembered the things she had heard about how Texans treated
a man who molested a ‘good’ woman.

‘
You
just wait,
le beau
Counter!’ Beatrice hissed audibly, taking hold of her
nightgown and ripping it down the front. ‘You’ll pay for spurning
me. See if you don’t, my friend.’

Still sniffling and screwing her
eyes up to make the tears keep coming, she scuttled to her room.
Inside, she rumpled her hitherto immaculate hair and donned a more
sedate robe. Scowling at her tear-stained face in the mirror, she
nodded her satisfaction. She looked just right to arouse sympathy
from her husband
’s poker playing companions and inflame their desire to
avenge her ‘besmirched’ honor. Smiling in a manner that, taken with
the tears still trickling along her cheeks and her disheveled
appearance, made her look old and evil, she returned to the
passage. Throwing a glare of undistilled hatred towards Mark’s
door, she made her way to the room in which her husband was playing
poker.

After locking his door, shoving
the
passkey
out with his own, Mark returned to the bed. He sat down and let the
anger ooze from him, then started to raise his feet from the floor.
Before he could lie down, he heard a soft knock at the door.
Flinging himself from the bed, he stamped grimly across the
room.

‘
If
that’s you again—!’ Mark began.

‘
It’s
not,’ Libby Schell’s voice replied. ‘Open up, Mark!’

‘
What
the—?’

‘
Do
it.
Pronto!’

‘
Let me
put some clothes on first,’ Mark suggested, impressed by the note
of urgency in the blonde’s voice.

‘
There’s no time for that!’ Libby warned him. ‘Open up, damn
it, or you’re in real bad trouble.’

Wondering what the woman meant,
Mark obeyed. Certainly she would not act in such a manner for the
reason that had brought the
Vicomtesse
to his door. Almost as soon as he had operated the
lock, Libby twisted the handle and pushed her way in. Bare-footed
and wearing a far less glamorous nightdress than Mark’s last
visitor, she looked like she had come until morning. She carried
her dress, underclothing and shoes in her arms. In her right hand,
she held the passkey by which Beatrice had entered.

‘
What’s
the idea, Lib—?’ Mark began.

‘
Lock
the door again,’ the blonde ordered, hurrying across the
room.

Frowning and puzzled, Mark
obeyed. On turning, he found that Libby had dumped all her clothes
on the chair that held his own. Going to the window, she opened it
and hurled the
passkey along the alley behind the building. Closing the
window again, she swung to face the big Texan.

‘
Get in
bed,’ Libby said, voice tight with emotion. ‘We likely don’t have
much time if she’s doing what I reckon she aims to.’

‘
What—?’ Mark gasped.

‘
Get in
bed, damn it!’ Libby hissed. ‘Do you reckon I’d be doing this if it
wasn’t necessary?’

‘
I
don’t—’

Once more
Mark
’s words
trailed off in surprise at Libby’s actions. Wriggling out of her
nightdress, she climbed into the bed as naked as the day she was
born and threw the garment underneath. Seeing that Mark hesitated,
her face twisted in an expression of anger. Realizing that only a
most unusual and desperate set of circumstances would cause Libby
to act in such a manner, Mark joined her in bed.

‘
Turn
this way,’ Libby ordered as he lay on his back. ‘Damn it! This’s no
game I’m playing. That foreign hussy’s planning mischief and us
looking right might save you from a bad fuss.’

Rolling on to his side and
feeling her upper arm slip across his neck, Mark opened his mouth
to ask for further details. Then he heard feet running along the
passage and saw the glow of a lamp appear under the crack at the
bottom of the door. Close against his, the firm, warm flesh of
Libby
’s body
was shivering. He realized what an ordeal it must be for her to be
acting in such a brazen manner. His request for information went
unsaid.

The feet halted outside
Mark
’s door
and a brief, muttered conversation followed. There was a sudden,
violent crash and the lock sprang open to let the door burst
inwards. Two middle-sized, stocky men wearing the dress-style of
professional gamblers thrust into the room with revolvers in their
hands. Behind them loomed the big, flabby form of Sheriff Lansing,
the
Vicomte
and three more men.

Mark
’s reaction to the intrusion was
immediate, instinctive and appeared completely natural under the
circumstances. Sitting up, he jerked Libby erect with him. The
bedclothes fell away, showing their naked torsos as Mark grabbed
for his nearer revolver.

‘
What
the hell—?’ Mark spat out as the Colt left its holster and its
hammer reared back under his thumb. ‘Ben Thompson!’

Coming to a halt, the gamblers stared
across the room. After making sure that they had seen her state of
undress, Libby let out an embarrassed screech and jerked the
blankets up to her chin.

‘
Well
I’ll be—!’ Ben Thompson ejaculated, letting his revolver’s barrel
sag towards the floor. ‘Air that you, Mark?’

‘
Yeah,’
the blond giant confirmed. ‘What’s the game, Ben,
Billy?’

‘
It’s a
mistake,’ the older of the Thompson brothers replied and looked
over his shoulder. ‘This here’s Mark Counter, Arnaud. I know him
real well. It couldn’t’ve been him’s tried to lay hands on your
missus.’

‘
It
sure couldn’t,’ grinned Billy Thompson.

‘
What’s
up, Ben?’ Mark demanded, figuring that the question would be
expected of him.

‘
The
Count here’s missus had some feller get into her room and try to
ra—jum—well, you-all know what I mean,’ Ben Thompson answered.
‘Allowed it was the big jasper’s has this room. We didn’t know it
was you in here, Mark.’

‘
You’re
big all right,’ the gambling gun fighter’s younger brother
chuckled. ‘Only you sure as hell wouldn’t be chasing no
oth—’

‘
Shut
your fool mouth, Billy!’ Ben snapped. ‘’Scuse him, Mark, he’s a
fool kid who don’t mean nothing—’

‘
Get
out of here!’ Libby shrieked.

‘
Has
Mr. Counter been with you all night, Mrs. Schell?’ Lansing inquired
as the Thompson brothers turned to leave.

‘
He’s
been in here ever since we got back from the
Posada del Mesteneros,’
Libby replied,
telling the truth if not answering the question. ‘Now will you-all
get the hell out of here and leave us have some sleep?’

‘
Come
on, we’ve got the wrong man,’ Ben Thompson said, making for the
door and holstering his Colt. He looked back and went on, ‘Right
sorry to have bust in on you like this, ma’am. Damn it, Arnaud,
that missus of your’n could’ve got us killed, saying what she
did.’

‘
I will
speak to her about it,’ de Brioude promised, throwing a calculating
glance into the room. His eyes rested on Mark for a moment. ‘I’m
sorry if my wife has caused you inconvenience,
m’sieur.’

Leaving the bed, Mark turned the
key of the
‘sprung’ lock. He closed the door after the intruders and
locked it. Instead of rejoining Libby, he stayed and listened to
the men talking in the passage.

‘
I
never thought Libby Schell’d do nothing like that,’ Lansing
commented.

‘
Was I
you, I’d not go talking too much about it neither,’ advised Ben
Thompson. ‘Mark Counter might not go for that and, mister, he’s a
man it’s best not to have riled at you.’

Which was not a bad tribute,
coming from one of the fastest and most dangerous men in Texas. At
that moment, though, Mark felt more grateful to Thompson for the
warning he had given to the sheriff. If Lansing took it to heart,
he might not spread the story of Libby Schell
’s indiscretion. Mark hoped that
the affair would be finished, but his hope failed to
materialize.