‘‘You aren’t trying to weasel out on me, are you?’’
All three flushed with anger. Cleopatra bent down, crooked a finger, and hooked her fingernail under his chin. ‘‘If you weren’t so damn good-looking, I would take my whip to you.’’
‘‘So would I,’’ Myrtle said. ‘‘We always keep our word. Ask anyone.’’
Mavis nodded. ‘‘When we say we will do something, we will do it.’’
‘‘But we are not common tarts,’’ Cleopatra added, lightly sliding her finger along his jaw to his ear. ‘‘We do not spread our legs for every male we see. We choose carefully. And when we do share ourselves, we like to do the deed in private.’’
‘‘Do you have a problem with that?’’ Mavis demanded.
‘‘Not at all, ladies,’’ Fargo assured them. ‘‘I don’t care if we do it in a wagon or off in the desert or in a ditch. Just so we do it. And since it will be harder to find time to ourselves once we are in the mountains, now is as good a time as any.’’
‘‘My, oh, my, aren’t you the randy?’’ Cleopatra teased. ‘‘But then, all men are. You can’t help yourselves. You are born that way.’’
‘‘Slaves to your peckers,’’ Myrtle said sagely.
‘‘Not that we are complaining,’’ Mavis threw in. ‘‘A man’s pecker is a like a nose ring on a bull. All a savvy gal has to do is take hold of it and the man is in her power.’’
‘‘My pecker is not a nose ring,’’ Fargo enlightened them.
‘‘Oh, please,’’ Cleopatra said. ‘‘All men ever think of is one thing. I have never met a man yet who did not have his brains below his belt.’’
‘‘That is harsh.’’
‘‘Don’t take it personal. Like Mavis just told you, you won’t hear us complain. We are fond of peckers, ourselves. ’’
Fargo laughed.
‘‘As for your notion that now is as good a time as any,’’ Cleopatra went on, ‘‘give us a minute or two and we will get back to you.’’
They went out of earshot of him and everyone else, and huddled. From their expressions and how they kept shaking their bullwhips at one another, they appeared to be arguing, and arguing heatedly.
Fargo had no inkling what it was about. Cranmeyer had noticed and did not look happy, probably because a lot of the drivers and guards had noticed, too.
Mavis fished in her pants and produced a coin. She flipped it high into the air and let it land at her feet. All three bent to see which side of the coin was up. Then Myrtle flipped it. Then Cleopatra took her turn.
Smoothing her shirt, Myrtle sashayed back to Fargo. She was grinning from ear to ear.
‘‘Guess what, handsome?’’
‘‘You won.’’
Myrtle nodded enthusiastically. ‘‘That is how we decide. We take turns tossing the coin so it is fair.’’
‘‘What if I want one of the others?’’ Fargo asked, and chuckled at her crestfallen expression. ‘‘I was joshing. The three of you look so much alike, it doesn’t matter.’’
‘‘Ah, but it does,’’ Myrtle disagreed. ‘‘Looks are not everything. We might seem to be as alike as like can be, but we are each of us different. Cleo is a wildcat when she is with a man. Mavis hardly ever does more than kiss and fondle until the deed is done.’’
‘‘And you?’’
‘‘Me?’’ Myrtle said, and showed her pearly teeth. ‘‘I like to give as good as I get, if you catch my meaning.’’
‘‘Prove it,’’ Fargo said.
Myrtle gestured at the campfires and the men. ‘‘In private, remember?’’ She touched his knee with her bullwhip. ‘‘Why don’t we go for a stroll and I will prove I am as I say I am?’’
Fargo drained his tin cup and pushed to his feet. ‘‘A stroll happens to be just what I need.’’
‘‘I’ll bet.’’
Fargo linked arms with her. ‘‘I am looking forward to this.’’ He was not exaggerating; he was curious to learn whether the parts of the Frazier sisters he could not see were as gloriously perfect as the parts he could.
‘‘So am I, handsome,’’ Myrtle admitted. ‘‘I know it is not proper for a lady to confess to carnal desires, but I refuse to go through life pretending to be someone I am not.’’
‘‘I don’t blame you.’’ Fargo made small talk while admiring the twin peaks that poked at her shirt.
They had taken only a few steps when someone came up behind them. Timothy P. Cranmeyer was without Krupp for once. His hands were behind his back, as was his habit, and he nervously rocked on his heels. ‘‘Pardon me, Mr. Fargo. But might I have a few words with you?’’
Fargo glanced at Myrtle, who shrugged to show she had no idea what Cranmeyer wanted. ‘‘So long as the words are few.’’
Cranmeyer smiled and motioned for Fargo to walk beside him.
‘‘This better be important,’’ Fargo grumbled. He had his mind, and body, fixed on one thing, and he did not appreciate the interruption.
‘‘It is,’’ Cranmeyer said. When they were a fair distance from Myrtle and everyone else, he stopped and bowed his head and commenced rocking on his heels again. ‘‘This comes hard for me.’’
‘‘What does?’’
‘‘Intruding where I have no right to intrude. But I must do what is best for the good of all.’’
‘‘You are taking the long way around the stable to get your horse in the stall,’’ Fargo said drily.
‘‘Very well.’’ Cranmeyer coughed and finally met his gaze. ‘‘I would take it as a personal favor if you would refrain from indulging your physical urges until we reach Silver Lode.’’
‘‘I should shoot you,’’ Fargo said.
‘‘Excuse me?’’
‘‘You are the one who sicced the Fraziers on me, remember? To convince me to change my mind? Well, they did, and here I am, and here they are, and if they want to go on convincing, by God I will let them.’’
Cranmeyer glanced at Myrtle, then toward Cleopatra and Mavis. ‘‘If only they weren’t three of the best mule skinners in the business I would have nothing to do with them.’’
‘‘That is between them and you.’’
‘‘True,’’ Cranmeyer said. ‘‘But what goes on between them and you can cause all sorts of trouble for me. Trouble I could do without.’’
‘‘Spell it out,’’ Fargo said.
‘‘Since you insist.’’ Cranmeyer paused. ‘‘I doubt it has escaped your notice that they are three of the loveliest women on God’s green earth. They turn heads everywhere they go.’’
‘‘They turned mine,’’ Fargo said.
‘‘I was hoping they would,’’ Cranmeyer admitted. ‘‘But now that they have, it wouldn’t do to give the impression they are partial to you over everyone else.’’
‘‘The hell you say.’’
‘‘Every man here would love to get his hands on them. I have made it clear the Fraziers are off-limits, and the men have smothered their urges. But they will not keep those urges smothered if they see you carrying on as if you have your own personal harem.’’
Fargo saw where it was leading, and swore.
‘‘Please. All I ask is that you hold off until we reach Silver Lode. Once we are there you can do as you please.’’
‘‘You are making a mountain out of a prairie dog mound.’’
‘‘I have enough problems,’’ Cranmeyer said. ‘‘What with the Apaches on the warpath and Jefferson Grind out to get me and creditors camped in front of my house. I do not need for my men to kill one another in fits of jealously.’’
‘‘Silver Lode?’’ Fargo said.
‘‘Yes, just until there,’’ Cranmeyer said hopefully. ‘‘Do I have your word?’’
Fargo stared at Cleopatra and Mavis, then at Myrtle, who was impatiently tapping her foot. Three of the most exquisite females he ever met, each the kind of woman a man remembered for the rest of his born days.