Fargo’s lance was still pushed up between her breasts, and Molly leaned her head forward to take the tip of it in her mouth. She nursed and tongued it vigorously while rubbing her hands over her distended nipples. Fargo leaned back a bit and worked his finger between her legs.
She stopped her work and said breathlessly, “If you don’t quit that, I’m not going to be able to finish you.”
“I have an idea,” Fargo said. “Let’s both finish.”
“That sounds mighty fine. Give it to me. Hurry.”
Fargo slid down her ample frame until he was positioned between her legs. She was spread out invitingly, knees bent, hips already moving in anticipation, and he bent forward to take a nipple in his mouth. Each time he sucked it, she quivered.
“That feels wonderful,” she said, “but you’d better—ahhhh!—get inside me. I can’t wait much—ahhh!—longer.”
Fargo didn’t keep her waiting. He shoved inside all the way in one smooth stroke and lodged himself there. He felt her inner walls rippling around him, closing on him as they had on his finger. He waited for a moment, then started a slow slide out.
After a few leisurely strokes, he sped up, and Molly threw her legs around him, locking her ankles, urging him to go faster, faster.
Soon they were rocking together in such a frenzy that the bed began to bang against the wall, and Fargo thought it might break right on through.
There wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it, however. He felt a tremendous pressure building in him. It seemed to start in his toes and work its way all the way up his legs, which tightened like a bowstring.”
“Please!” Molly said. “Please give it to me. Now! Now!”
Fargo gave it to her. In one last lunge he thrust into her as far as he could go as Molly screamed with joy.
“YeeeeeeeeeeeeeeHaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw!”
There were a few more screams, and when she finally subsided, they lay on the bed until their breathing returned to normal.
“My God, Fargo,” Molly said. “I never knew anything could be like that. I don’t guess there’s any chance of you settling down and being a farmer, is there.”
“That’s not my line,” Fargo said.
“I knew that. Too bad. You’re going to miss out on a lot. And so am I.”
“I told you these fellas around here didn’t know what they were missing.”
“I knew you were right. I just didn’t know how right.”
“Maybe if you gave one of them a chance, he’d do you some good.”
“I doubt that any of them cares about a chance, except maybe for Rip Johnson, and he’s as bad as a goat. He’d try for anybody or anything, but I don’t mess with married men. Besides, on his best day he couldn’t give me as good as what I just had. But maybe I ought not to be so choosy. A woman can get mighty lonesome living all by herself. I’d been wanting to do that a long time. None of the boneheads around here seemed likely to make an offer, though. They were too busy wishing that tiny little Abby Watkins would give them a tumble, which she never did for a one of them, not until Jed came along. And now that she’s available again, nobody’s going to give me a second look.”
“Then they’re crazy,” Fargo said.
“I thank you for that. And for what we just did.”
“The pleasure was mine,” Fargo said. “Maybe not all of it, but plenty.”
“I’m glad Murray wasn’t here, and we could use the bed. Otherwise I might’ve had to get you back to Lem’s and drag you down in that hayloft. Hay can be mighty itchy.”
Fargo said that was the truth, and then they heard the first gunshots.
9
“Goddammit,” Molly said as she tumbled off the bed. “Get dressed Fargo.”
Fargo was already pulling on his shirt. He said, “How far away do you think those shots were?”
“Sound carries a long way out here, but I’d say at Rip’s. They’re after him instead of after Tom’s stuff. We should’ve guessed.”
“Why?” Fargo asked, pulling on his boots.
“Because everybody there at Rip’s will be half drunk by now. All the men drink too much when they’re sitting up with somebody, maybe because they’re celebrating that it isn’t them on the table. Murray knows all about that. I knew he wouldn’t let us kill two of his men and do nothing about it. We have to get over there before it’s too late.”
They got their horses out of the barn and started off for Johnson’s farm at a gallop. When they got there, Fargo didn’t see any sign of Murray.
It was quiet for a few seconds, and Molly said, “What’s going on? Is it over?”
“Just a lull,” Fargo told her, and almost as soon as he said it, more shots were fired.
Fargo saw flashes from Johnson’s cornfield as the Murray gang fired on the house. Now and then there would be an answering shot from the house, but it didn’t seem to Fargo that there was a lot of resistance being put up.
The lamps were still on inside, and Fargo said, “They should have doused those lights. Every time somebody gets close to one, he’s going to get shot.”
“At least Murray hasn’t burned the place down yet.”
That surprised Fargo a little, considering that there’d been plenty of time, and Johnson wasn’t doing much fighting back.
“What are we going to do, Fargo?” Molly asked.
That question seemed to be asked a lot lately. Fargo said, “We can get behind Murray, but we’ll have to be careful not to hit anybody in the house when the shooting starts.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Molly said, pulling a shotgun from a leather case tied to her saddle. “This thing won’t shoot that far, but it’ll tear apart anybody who gets close enough.”
“You don’t want to get too close to that Murray bunch.”
“I’m not worried about them. Once they see this gun, they’ll keep their distance.”
“We’ll leave the horses here,” Fargo said, sliding off the Ovaro.
He went quietly along the edge of the cornfield, with Molly right behind him. When he judged that they were far enough behind Murray and his men, he entered the tall green stalks and started down a row, trying not to make any noise. The breeze was already rustling the corn, and Fargo didn’t think there was too much danger that he’d be heard. He was accustomed to moving silently in cover, but he didn’t know about Molly.
He looked back to see her only a few steps behind him. She had been so quiet that he hadn’t heard her himself, which was quite a compliment to her stalking skill. He turned back and followed the row until he figured they were right behind Murray’s gang. He motioned Molly to him and whispered in her ear.
“When I give the signal, you cut loose with that shotgun. Let’s hope they run the other way.”
Fargo drew his Colt. He couldn’t see anyone, but he heard movement ten or twelve rows in front of him. And then someone started shooting toward the house again.
Fargo nodded to Molly and started firing his Colt. He didn’t like firing blind, but he was shooting low to avoid the house. It didn’t matter whether he hit any of Murray’s men or not, as long as they got to moving.
And they did. When the gang realized that they were caught in a crossfire, the men all started running for their horses, bolting through and over the corn, crushing some of the stalks to the ground and trampling them. Molly pulled her pistol and shot at the retreating figures, but Fargo headed for the house. It was pretty much a waste of bullets to shoot at someone running away from you, especially when something, even something flimsy like stalks of corn, was in the way.
Arriving at the house, Fargo saw a body on the porch. It wasn’t Johnson. It was a woman. Johnson’s wife, probably. Fargo didn’t remember having met her at the dance or the funeral, but he couldn’t think of anyone else it was likely to be.