Hannibal Rising (6 page)

Fargo went down the steps three at a bound. His jingling spurs alerted Tom who turned just as he reached him. Without saying a word, without any warning whatsoever, Fargo hit him flush on the jaw.

Down Tom went. More stunned than hurt, he rubbed his chin and looked up in anger. “What the hell?”

“Don’t ever touch a man’s horse without his say-so.” Fargo strode past him and bellowed at the servant, “Hold it right there.”

The servant stopped and looked back.

“Let go of him.”

The servant quickly did and retreated. “I was only doing what I was told, mister.”

“That’s the only reason I don’t bust your skull.” Fargo snatched the reins. West of the Mississippi, taking a man’s horse for any reason was a hanging offense. “Tell the rest that no one goes near my horse but me. Savvy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then make yourself scarce.” Fargo slid the Henry into the saddle scabbard and patted the stallion’s neck. “If I am touchy about anything, I am touchy about you.”

“How dare you?”
Tom Clyborn was livid with wrath. His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. “No one strikes me with impunity. Do you hear me? No one.”

“I made it plain my horse wasn’t to be moved.”

“This is
our
estate.
We
say what will and won’t be done. If I want to put your damn animal in the stable, I by God will!”

Fargo placed his hand on his Colt. “Care to bet?”

“You’re threatening me? On my own land? In front of the servants?” Tom shook with fury. “You miserable lout. You’ve just made the worst mistake of your life.”

“I’ve tangled with Apaches and Comanches,” Fargo said.

“What do a bunch of stinking red savages have to do with this?”

“Compared to them, as threats go, you’re downright puny.”

Tom’s face twitched and he raised his fist but a jasmine-wreathed vision slipped between them and placed a hand on his chest.

“That will be enough,” Samantha said.

“He struck me.”

“Let it pass.”

“Like hell.” Tom glowered over her shoulder at Fargo. “Mark my words, plainsman. You have made a mortal enemy this day.” Whirling, he stormed toward the house. Two servants scurried out of his path but one wasn’t fast enough and was shoved aside. Another moment, and Tom slammed the front door behind him.

“That was unfortunate,” Samantha said.

“Forget about him,” Fargo said. “I’m not waiting another minute for you to tell me why you’ve sent for me.”

“Certainly.” Samantha smiled. “I want you to be my partner in a hunt unlike any other. There’s just one catch.” Her smile faded. “I can’t guarantee we’ll live through it.”

The twenty riders wound along a pockmarked trail that was taking them steadily deeper into the lush green forest. High above, the morning sun blazed bright. Around them, songbirds warbled and squirrels scampered.

It was as perfect as a day could be, but Skye Fargo didn’t let it lull him into letting his guard down. Not when there had been two attempts on his life.

A monarch butterfly flitted past. Fargo watched it, envying it its freedom. Arching his back, he stretched and breathed deep of the rich wood scent. He wished he was back in the Rocky Mountains.

Hooves thudded, and Charles Clyborn came up next to him. “Good morning. We hadn’t had a chance to talk yet and I thought this an excellent opportunity.” As usual, Charles was immaculately dressed, this time in a riding outfit that was the pinnacle of fashion.

“Did you, now?”

“I’m sorry. Am I bothering you? I only wanted to make your acquaintance.” Charles smiled. “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re still here. I understand my sister explained everything.”

“She’s paying me a thousand dollars a day.”

“Ah. To you I suppose that’s a lot of money. Even so,”—and Charles’s smile became a frown—“do you have any idea what you have let yourself in for?”

“A hunt, she called it.”

“She told you all the rest? How this was our father’s bizarre idea? How he refused to leave each of us an inheritance, as any reasonable person would have done? No, that wasn’t good enough for him. Or I should say it wasn’t vicious enough. So he concocted this ridiculous contest where we must pit ourselves against each another.”

“It’s mighty unusual,” Fargo conceded. Which was putting it mildly. According to the will, only one of Clyborn’s children could inherit his enormous wealth and vast holdings. It would all go to whoever won a special hunt. “How far is it to this hunting lodge of yours?”

“As the crow flies, the lodge is about twelve miles from the mansion. Since we left at seven we should be there by noon at the very latest.” Charles sniffed. “I have only ever been there a few times. I am not the hunter Roland is. With him it’s a passion. I’ve never liked the sight of blood or seeing animals suffer.”

“They don’t if you drop them with one shot.”

“You sound like Roland. Me, I would much rather enjoy the comforts of my club. A fine dinner with friends, a friendly game of cards or perhaps chess, a glass or three of vintage port, and intelligent conversation.” Charles gazed about with distaste. “The wilds are not to my liking. The sun burns my skin and the plants makes me itch and don’t get me started on the mosquitoes and other bugs.”

“You’re a city boy at heart.”

“I freely admit it, yes. My life would be complete if Father had left me a paltry million or two. I could spend the rest of my days doing what I love best. But he hated me as much as he hated the rest and he refused my request.” Charles glanced back. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I shouldn’t leave my partner alone too long. He hates the wilds as much as I do.” Reining around, Charles rode back down the line.

As Fargo understood the rules, each of them was allowed to have one person help them in the hunt. Samantha had sent for him. Charles had picked a friend from his club. Charlotte chose a female cousin about her age. Emmett had a friend from town. Tom’s partner was a sullen, hulking backwoodsman. Roland was the only one who intended to hunt alone.

Hooves drummed again, and Samantha took Charles’s place at Fargo’s side. “What were the two of you talking about just now?”

“How much your brother loves the outdoors.”

Samantha was wearing a blue riding habit with buttons up the front and a full skirt. The jacket had white at the collar and white at the ends of the sleeves. She had put her hair up in back, and her top hat was tipped forward. She also wore doeskin gloves and had a riding crop in her left hand. “Charles has disliked nature ever since he was seven and he was bitten by a garter snake.”

“That outfit fits you real nice.”

“Don’t start. I rebuffed your advances yesterday and I will rebuff them today.” Samantha smiled thinly. “I’m well aware of your reputation, Mr. Fargo. It’s claimed that you have bedded more women than Casanova.”

“Who?”

“A great lover. It is alleged that he made love to over a thousand in his lifetime.”

“That’s all?”

For the first time since Fargo met her, Samantha Clyborn laughed. “Humility is not one of your traits, I see. But I must admit there are moments when you amuse me.”

Fargo leaned toward her and raked her body with a hungry stare that left no doubt as to his meaning when he said, “I can do a lot more than that.”

“Honestly.” Samantha shook her head. “You never give up, do you? What will it take to get it through your head that I’m not the least bit interested?”

“I know better.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. If I have refused myself male companionship all these years, why would I possibly indulge in a dalliance with you, of all people?”

“Because there are no strings attached,” Fargo answered truthfully. “We do it and that’s it. You’ll never see me again after this weekend is over and I’ll never tell a soul you indulged.”

“That’s hardly sufficient cause. Can’t you think of anything better?” she mockingly asked.

“I can think of one thing.”

“What would that be?”

“The feeling you get when you gush.”

Samantha jerked her head back as if he had slapped her. “I daresay you are the most brazen man I’ve ever met. You have no respect for a lady.”

“I have plenty of respect,” Fargo disagreed. “I also know something about ladies that most men don’t.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“A lady will part her legs just like any other woman if she is interested enough.”

“I should slap you.”

“I’d slap you back.”

Samantha’s eyes blazed with anger. “You’re the most aggravating man I’ve ever met and that includes my father.” Reining sharply around, she jabbed her heels.

Fargo chuckled. He had planted the seed. Now all he could do was wait and see if it took root. On a whim he jabbed his own heels and rode to the head of the line. “Mind some company?”

Roland was in the lead. He wore the same tweed hunting garb as the day before, and in addition to the stag-hilted hunting knife he had a Smith and Wesson revolver on his other hip. “Not at all. Out of all of them, you’re the only one I have anything in common with.”

“I wanted to ask. Why didn’t you pick a partner like the rest?”

“No need,” Roland said. “I’ve hunted every square foot of this forest. An exaggeration, perhaps, but not by much. Whatever we’re to hunt down, I’m confident I’ll win the inheritance.”

“No one knows what it is?”

Roland shook his head. “It’s a condition of the will. Pickleman is to read the clause that explains everything this evening after supper. All we know is that my father called it a hunt.”

Fargo was surprised by what he said next.

“I’d never admit this to my brothers or sisters, but the reason I’ve spent so much time in the woods was to get away from my father and to get away from them. Father, with his carping and his insults. My siblings, with their never-ending bickering. It got so, I spent more of my time at the hunting lodge than I did at the mansion.”

“You like killing game?” Fargo had met some who lived for the thrill of the chase and the blood of the shot.

“I don’t kill just to kill, if that’s what you’re getting at. I hunt for food. That might sound silly given how well-off we are but I’d rather eat venison than beef any day, and the butcher doesn’t carry bear meat.”

“What will you do if you end up with all your father’s money?”

“Give shares to my brothers and sisters. It’s only right, the hell we’ve endured. The rest I’ll sock away in a bank and live pretty much as I have been all these years. I don’t care about controlling everyone, like Sam does. Or only wearing the best clothes and being a member of the most expensive men’s club in Hannibal, as Charles does. To me the forest has always been enough.”

Fargo decided he liked this man. “I hope you win.”

Roland shifted and gazed down the line. “Don’t let Sam hear you say that or she’s liable to take her riding crop to your head.” He grinned as he said it but he was serious.

“Everyone keeps saying how mean she is but I’ve yet to see it,” Fargo mentioned.

“It’s not that she’s mean so much as she is controlling. She loves being in charge, and woe to anyone who bucks her.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“No doubt you can in the mountains and on the prairie. But this is Missouri, and Sam is a power to be reckoned with. If she wanted, she could have you arrested and the key thrown away.”

“On what charge?” Fargo skeptically asked.

“Take your pick. Right now you’re in her good graces but whatever you do don’t cross her.”

On that dire note Fargo fell back in line. He kept to himself for the next couple of hours. The humidity got to him but for the most part he enjoyed the Missouri woods as much as he would any other.

In addition to bear and deer, Missouri was home to elk and—or so he had heard—a few moose. The streams and rivers were favorite haunts of beaver and muskrat while wood-chucks were the bane of many a farmer. Smaller game like rabbits, foxes, and raccoons were everywhere. The day sky was ruled by eagles and hawks, the night sky by owls and bats. Catfish and carp were fished out of deep pools while bass thrived in the ponds and lakes and trout ran the swifter waterways.

Fargo could see why Roland liked it here so much. There was plenty of animal sign for those who knew how to read it.

Their little caravan stopped about midmorning to rest the horses. Roland called a halt in a clearing and Fargo dismounted to stretch his legs. He had taken only a few steps when a petite bundle of winsome legs and young innocence imitated his shadow.

“Can we talk, Mr. Fargo?” Charlotte asked.

“I’m right popular today.”

“It’s about my sister.”

“What about her?” Fargo figured either Samantha had told her of his remarks about ladies spreading their legs or Samantha was having second thoughts about hiring him.

“What have you done to her?”

“Not a damn thing. Why? What did she say?”

“She confided in me that she thinks you are just about the most interesting man she ever met.”

“Are you sure she was talking about me?”

“Yes, indeed.” Charlotte bobbed her chin and her lustrous hair bobbed with it. She put her hands on her slim waist and squared her shoulders, which had the effect of thrusting her bosom against her dress. “I’ve never heard her say the flattering things about any man that she does about you.”

“You must have heard wrong.”

“No, I did not. It only came up because I happened to mention I think you are uncommonly handsome and she—”

“You do?” Fargo interrupted, and smiled. “I happen to think that you’re uncommonly handsome, too.”

“Honestly, Mr. Fargo,” Charlotte said in mild exasperation. “Women aren’t handsome. They’re beautiful or lovely or pretty.”

“You’re all of that, too.” Fargo bent close to her ear. “You remind me of a ripe cherry in a cherry tree.”