Flathead Fury (16 page)

“You wouldn't!” Sally blurted.

“You have a lot to learn about me,” Mike Durn said. And without any warning, he pointed the revolver at the mannequin.

Fargo was caught off guard. Somehow or other, Durn knew where he was. He started to lower his hand to the Remington but Durn's six-gun went off before he could touch it. Instinctively, fully expecting to take lead, he flinched. He felt the mannequin shake to the impact of the heavy slug followed by the patter of tiny bits and pieces raining down.

“Smack between the eyes,” Durn boasted.

“What was the point of that little demonstration?” Sally angrily demanded. “You have ruined a perfectly good dress model.”

“I will pay for a new one,” Durn said, sliding his revolver under his jacket. “As to the point, I should think it obvious.”

“At last you show your deepest, darkest nature,” Sally said. “Should I go to the authorities, you will have me shot.”

“No, my dear,” Durn said with mock politeness, “I will shoot you myself.”

Kutler and the others came out of the hall and Kutler shook his head. “No sign of him, Mr. Durn. And we looked everywhere there was to look.”

“Very well,” Durn said, unable to hide his disappointment. “We will keep searching.” He motioned, and they preceded him out. Durn went to follow, then paused in the doorway. “I trust you will not think ill of me, Sally. I am not as cold-blooded as you must think.”

“Says the man who just threatened to kill me,” Sally rejoined.

“Only if you force me,” Durn said. “I would rather we were intimate than enemies.”

“Intimate!” Sally snorted. “It will be a cold day in Hades before that happens, I can assure you.”

“We will see.” On that enigmatic note, Durn departed.

Fargo was out from under the dress the instant the door closed. A walnut-sized chunk of the mannequin's head had been shot out, the shards littering the floor. “You had the right idea,” he said.

“About what?” Sally absently asked. Profound sorrow etched her features.

“Reporting him. Find someone to go with you, a townsman you trust. I will give you a letter to a friend of mine, a Colonel Travis, and he will send troops.”

“What about you?”

“I need to stay and keep Durn so busy he won't send anyone after you,” Fargo said.

“I refuse to leave you,” Sally said.

Fargo went over and put his hands on her hips and kissed her on the forehead. “Fine sentiments. But what about those Indian girls you want to save? And all those who will die if Durn pits white against red?”

Sally gnawed on her lower lip. “It might take some doing to find someone to go with me. Most everyone is too scared to do anything that might rile Mike Durn.”

“There has to be someone.”

“Thaddeus Thompson,” Sally proposed. “Provided he isn't so drunk he can't sit a horse.”

“How will you get word to him?”

“He is due in for a bottle, and he usually pays me a visit. If he doesn't show by evening, I will ride out to his cabin.”

Fargo had not taken his hands from her hips and she had not objected. He made bold to pull her close and liked the pink flush that tinted her cheeks. “I admire you in more ways than one.”

Grinning mischievously, Sally said, “And what ways would those be, I wonder?”

Lowering his mouth to hers, Fargo gave rein to his rising passion. She mewed like a kitten as her fingers entwined in his hair.

“Enough of those and my head will be spinning.”

“We have the rest of the morning and all afternoon to ourselves,” Fargo said with a wink.

Sally frowned. “Would that we did. I would have to close the shop, which might make Durn suspicious.”

“You have to eat. Can't you lock up for a while at midday?” Fargo hopefully proposed.

“I do now and then,” Sally mentioned. “But usually only for an hour or so.”

“That is more than enough time,” Fargo said, and kissed her again as added incentive. He liked how she pressed her bosom to his chest and how her fingers strayed to his shoulders and kneaded his muscles.

“My goodness. You are made of iron.”

Fargo pulled back so his growing bulge was obvious. “You don't know the half of it.”

Sally glanced down, and gasped. “Mercy! You have a knack for flustering me.”

“The flustering has just begun.” Fargo went to enfold her in his arms but she pushed against his chest.

“No. Please. As much as I want to, I expect a few customers in this morning.” Sheepishly backing away, Sally smoothed her dress. “I will be back in my living quarters about noon. Wait for me in my bed if you want.”

Reluctantly, Fargo repaired to the kitchen. He was famished. After firing up the stove, he checked her well-stocked pantry and helped himself to several thick strips of bacon and half a dozen eggs. He also had a hankering for a couple of thick slices of buttered toast.

The aroma set his mouth to watering.

As Fargo cooked, he pondered. There had to be a way for him to put an end to Durn's mad scheme. He considered a number of ideas, everything from sneaking back into the saloon to confront Durn to dropping Durn from afar with a rifle. That last was the safest but he had never much liked shooting from ambush.

A burp from the coffeepot let Fargo know the coffee was percolating. He had timed it so that the coffee and the food were done about the same time, and now he filled a cup to the brim and ladled heaping helpings of eggs and bacon onto a plate. Taking a seat, he rubbed his hands in anticipation and reached for his fork—and thought he glimpsed a face at the back window.

Fargo could not say for sure. The face had been there for only an instant. Pushing his chair from the table, he ran to the back door, threw it open, and almost blundered into the sunlight. Catching himself, he leaned out far enough to look in both directions. No one was in sight.

Nerves, Fargo reckoned. Returning to the table, he forked eggs into his mouth and hungrily chewed. The sizzling bacon was delicious; the toast had just the right crunch.

The hot food made Fargo drowsy. Four cups of coffee did little to help, so Fargo bent his steps to the bedroom. Not bothering to pull back the quilt, he tossed his hat on the dresser and sprawled out belly-down on the bed. It was wonderfully soft and warm.

The next thing Fargo knew, fingers were on his cheek. With a start he jerked his head up.

“Relax, silly,” Sally Brook said. “It is only me.”

Fargo's mind felt mired in mud and his veins were filled with turtle blood. “What time is it?” he asked, his tongue feeling as thick as a deck of cards.

“Eleven thirty. I couldn't wait. I have been thinking of you all morning.” Sally's eyes gleamed with a special kind of hunger.

Fargo had slept the morning away. He shook his head to try to clear lingering mental cobwebs. “Any sign of Durn and his bunch?”

“They searched the whole town,” Sally related. “When they couldn't find you, they retired to the saloon. I haven't seen any sign of them since.”

Fargo noticed she had brushed her hair and undid the top two buttons on her dress. Her notion of being brazen, he reckoned, and smothered a grin.

“Would you like me to fix you some food?”

“For some things food can wait,” Fargo said. She brightened with excitement as he pulled her to him, and when he kissed her, her passion surpassed his. Her fingers roved everywhere, exploring, caressing, while her silken tongue danced a sensual waltz with his.

After a while Fargo eased her onto her side so they were face to face. He kissed and licked her neck and sucked on her ear while prying at her buttons and stays. Some dresses had a lot and hers was one. He squandered time undoing them he would rather devote to her body.

“We only have an hour as I recall,” Fargo said.

“A little longer won't hurt,” Sally huskily answered. “I told you I close at noon every now and then. Durn will not think it unusual.”

Fargo glued his mouth to hers and silenced her for the duration. His free hand slid up over her leg and over the flat of her belly to her mounds. She was nicely endowed. He cupped and massaged each breast through her dress and felt her nipples become tacks. When he pinched one, she groaned and squirmed.

His pole was a redwood, bulging at his pants for release.

Since it was taking so long to undo her dress, Fargo hiked at the hem until he had the garment up around her thighs. He ran his palm in small circles from her knee almost to her nether mound and she grew as hot as a griddle. Her skin was creamy soft.

Inserting two fingers into her undergarments, Fargo wormed under them to her slit. Sally trembled at the contact. When he ran a finger along it to her knob, her mouth parted but no sounds came out. He stoked her furnace for a good long while but he did not enter her, not until her breasts burst free. Swooping his mouth to a hard nipple, he plunged a finger up into her.

Sally nearly came off the bed. Her mouth lavished hot kisses on his face and neck while her fingers dug at his shoulders and arms as if seeking to tear the flesh from his bones.

Fargo inserted a second finger. For a few seconds she lay perfectly still. Then she erupted into a paroxysm of release, grinding against him in abandon. Her breathing rivaled a blacksmith's bellows.

Fargo knelt between her legs. No sooner did he expose his lance than her hands were on him, fondling, cupping, doing things that brought a constriction to his throat and threatened to send him over the brink before he was ready.

Fargo aligned the tip of his sword with her sheath. Their eyes met, and he thrust in to the hilt. The bed creaked under them as they settled into a rhythm, her cherry lips forming an O of pure pleasure.

Fargo paced himself. She gushed twice, each time in a wild upheaval that added to the bite and scratch marks she was inflicting.

On they went, in and almost out. Fargo felt her inner walls contract, felt Sally spurt, and his own dam broke. Holding her hips, he pounded into her. She rose to meet each lance of his pole, willingly impaling herself in the interest of mutual release.

Coasting down from the summit was pleasant. Fargo lay in a contented haze, listening to her breathe, the damp cool of his sweat a relief from the heat of their union.

When she could, Sally whispered, “That was wonderful.”

“I aim to please, ma'am.”

Smiling, Sally closed her eyes, stretched, and nuzzled his shoulder. “I am so tired I can't stay awake.”

“You have time for a nap,” Fargo said, in the grip of lassitude he could not deny.

They drifted off.

 

When Fargo opened his eyes he did not know what to make of the fact the room was dark. Sitting up, he blinked in sleep-induced confusion. A glance at the window revealed night had fallen.

That couldn't be, Fargo told himself. He wondered why Sally had not woken him up, then realized she was next to him, deep in dreamland. A sense of unease gripped him as he placed a hand on her shoulder and gently shook.

“Ummmmmm?”

“It's dark,” Fargo said.

Sally shifted and smiled but did not open her eyes. “What did you say?” she asked dreamily.

“It is dark out. We slept all day.”

Sitting bolt upright, Sally raised her hands to her disheveled hair and gazed about the bedroom in disbelief. “Dear God! No!”

“Maybe Durn was too busy to notice,” Fargo said.

“I hope you are right,” Sally said, sliding her legs over the edge of the bed. “Lord, how I hope so. But he keeps such a close eye on me—” She let the thought dangle.

Fargo slid to the end of the bed and hitched at his pants. “Are all the doors locked?”

Sally nodded while pulling herself together, her worry lines obvious even in the gloom.

“If he sent someone, or he came himself, we would have heard them knock,” Fargo said to ease her anxiety.

“That's right!” Sally said. “I just don't want him to find out, is all. There is no predicting what he will do.” She finished dressing and lit the lamp on the end table. Holding it in front of her, she went to the door. “You can wait here if you want.”

“Nothing doing.”

The house was quiet. They went down the hall to the millinery, Fargo with his hand on the Remington, Sally gnawing on her bottom lip.

The store was undisturbed. Sally went to the door and tried it and smiled when she confirmed it was bolted. “I guess you are right. I am surprised, though. Mrs. Garbundy was due to come by and she is quite the busybody. She was bound to tell everyone she met that I was closed when I shouldn't be.”

“I bet she ran right to Durn and told him,” Fargo joked.

“I see your point,” Sally said, chuckling. “I am worried for no reason.”

“I wouldn't say that,” said a deep voice, and from out of the shadows along the walls and from behind the counter and the mannequin came Big Mike Durn and six of his underlings, Kutler foremost among them. “I would say you have plenty to be worried about.”