Fargo scratched his head in mild bewilderment. Nothing added up. No one was as they seemed except for Gerty, who looked like a spoiled brat and acted like a spoiled brat. Rebecca played the part of the devoted wife but she was anything but. As for Senator Keever, he was supposed to be a conscientious public servant who never put his own interests first, but that was all he ever did. “It’s a damn ridiculous world.”
Supper was served. Fargo kept to himself, sipping coffee. After the meal everyone sat around relaxing. Then one by one they turned in. The wind picked up, the stars shifted, and presently everyone was asleep except the two night sentries.
And Fargo. From under his hat brim he watched the tent. He was on his side, his blankets up to his chin. He wondered if Rebecca would go through with it. She stood to lose all the money Keever was paying her if he found out she was playing around on him. But then again, maybe Keever didn’t expect her to be a nun, or just didn’t care.
Midnight came and went and Fargo had about given it up as a lost cause when the tent flap parted and Rebecca poked her head out. She glanced toward the sentries, then quietly opened the flap and quickly slipped off into the shroud of darkness. A blue silken robe clung to her shapely form like skin.
The sight of it sparked a hunger in Fargo to see more. Rolling onto his back, Fargo mumbled as might a man in his sleep. He saw both sentries over by the horse string, talking. Slowly easing from under his blanket, he slid his saddlebags underneath and fluffed the blanket to lend the illusion he was still under it. Then he removed his hat and placed it where his head would be. It wouldn’t stand close scrutiny but he counted on the sentries not paying much attention to the sleepers.
Crabbing backward until he was mantled in ink, Fargo rose and moved beyond the ring of firelight. A shadow separated from deeper shadows, and suddenly Rebecca was clinging to him, her cheek on his shoulder.
“What’s the matter?” Fargo whispered.
Rebecca looked up, her face pale and lovely in the starlight. “I was scared. I’m not used to the wilds like you are.”
“What were you scared of?”
“I kept hearing sounds.”
Fargo heard sounds, too: coyotes, wolves, owls, the bleat of a doe, the snarl of a mountain lion. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not afraid now that you’re here.” Rebecca hesitated. “But you don’t think any Sioux are around, do you?”
“No.”
“That’s a relief. I don’t mind admitting they terrify me. I would hate to end up in some buck’s lodge.”
To shut her up Fargo kissed her, mashing his lips against hers. She tasted like cherries with a hint of mint. The fragrance she had splashed on was intoxicating.
“Oh, my,” Rebecca whispered when he broke for breath. “But must you be so rough?”
Fargo grinned. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
10
Fargo went to kiss Rebecca again but she put a hand to his chest and nervously glanced toward camp.
“Not this close. Someone might hear us.”
Fargo couldn’t see how, since most were asleep. But he took her hand and moved deeper into the dark.
“Let’s not go too far,” Rebecca whispered. “I want to be able to see the fires.”
“Make up your mind.”
Sixty feet from their camp, Fargo stopped and pressed Rebecca against a tree. She responded to his kiss but her body was tense and stiff. “What is it now?”
“I’m nervous, I guess.” Rebecca looked anxiously about as if she expected a shrieking warrior to come rushing out.
“Relax. We’re safe. The Sioux stick close to their lodges at night.” Fargo didn’t add, “except when war parties go on raids.”
“You’re sure? What about bears? Or cougars?” Rebecca swallowed. “I don’t like these hills at night. I don’t like them at all.”
Fargo ran his fingers through her hair and placed his other hand on her hip. “Animals won’t come this near to fire,” he assured her, which wasn’t entirely true. A bear might, out of hunger or curiosity. A cougar might, too, if it caught the scent of the horses.
“If you’re sure,” Rebecca said uncertainly.
Fargo sensed she might change her mind. To prevent that from happening, and to take her mind off what might be lurking in the dark, he cupped her breast while at the same time he slid his other hand between her thighs. She stiffened, and gasped.
Gradually, Rebecca relaxed. Her body molded to his. Her kisses became delicious wellsprings of passion. She sucked on his tongue. She ground against him. Her fingernails scraped his skin.
Fargo relaxed, too. Making love to women had long been a favorite pastime. He would rather poke a willing filly than do just about anything else. He liked it so much that when he went without for more than a week or two, the need built in him until he was fit to explode.
Fargo never could savvy men who swore off women, whatever their reasons. Priests, for instance. Or those who were content with a poke a month, if that. It had surprised him considerably when it dawned on him years back that some men didn’t feel the same need he did. For him, the treats a woman offered were a slice of the best the pie of life had to offer, and any gent who didn’t care for a taste must not have any taste buds.
Fargo thought of that now as Rebecca continued to warm to their caresses. She pried at his shirt and his belt to get at his pants. He helped, and presently his gun belt was on the ground and his pants were down around his knees. His manhood had become a rigid pole. He shivered when she lightly clasped him and commenced to stroke. He thought he would explode when she cupped him but he was able to contain himself.
Fargo got her robe undone and delved into her charms with ardent zest. He licked her neck. He sucked and nipped an earlobe. He traced the tip of his tongue from her throat to between her breasts and then to a nipple. Inhaling it, he swirled it with his tongue and it became a rigid tack. She groaned when he cupped her other breast. Her hips thrust hard against his member. It was plain her fruit was ripe for the plucking.
Fargo lathered her tummy and stuck his tongue into her navel. He ran his hand from her knees to the junction of her legs. She was burning hot for him. She was wet, too, as he found out when he parted her nether lips with the tip of a finger and ran it over her tiny knob.
Rebecca arched her back. She mewed. Her whole body melted against him in wanton need.
“I’ve wanted it for so long.”
It reminded Fargo of her claim that she hadn’t enjoyed much in the way of lovemaking for the past thirteen years. He suspected she wasn’t telling the truth, but it was hardly worth bringing up, and definitely not then and there.
Fargo slid a finger into her velvet sheath. He stroked her, and her inner walls rippled. He added a second finger and stroked harder. It aroused her no end; she became an inferno of desire, her lips and hands everywhere.
Fargo drifted on tides of lust until he reached the point where he couldn’t wait any longer; he parted her thighs, rubbed the tip of his manhood on her slit, and rammed up into her. Her mouth parted wide and for a moment he thought she would cry out but instead she sank her teeth into his shoulder hard enough for it to hurt.
Fargo devoted his hands to her breasts and his mouth to hers. For a long while he was content to slowly thrust. But as their mutual need mounted and she cooed and squirmed and moaned, he couldn’t hold back. He pumped his hips harder and faster and she pumped hers in kind.
The woods blurred. The stars receded. Fargo felt his need to release build and build. Then she gushed and writhed in ecstasy, and it triggered his own explosion. For a while he lost all sense of time, all sense of anything save the addicting pulse of pure pleasure.