“It doesn’t pay to wonder,” she said. “A man can get in a lot of trouble that way, and I don’t want to make any more trouble for you. You’re in enough trouble already.”
Fargo didn’t have to ask what she meant by that. He had a feeling that Murray might be after him again as soon as Angel was safe. Angel went on to confirm that he was right.
“Pa blames you for what happened to Paul,” she said. “It’s not just that you killed him. You put him in that shallow hole and called it a burying.”
“He wouldn’t have been killed or buried, either, if he’d stayed away from here.”
“That’s not the way we Murrays look at things.”
Angel turned the horse’s head and started to ride away. After the horse had gone a few paces, she pulled up on the reins and looked back over her shoulder.
“If you were smart,” she said, “you’d get back to wherever it is you came from and leave these farmers to us.”
“I never was too smart,” Fargo said. “Not smart enough to run out on my friends, anyhow.”
“Too bad. But at least I tried to warn you. I guess you just like trouble too much.”
“I don’t like trouble. It just seems to come my way now and then.”
“It wouldn’t if you’d mind your own business.”
“Maybe I’m just too curious.”
“You know what they say about curiosity and the cat?”
“I’ve heard about it,” Fargo said. “Can’t say as I ever believed it, though. Cats have nine lives, after all.”
“And I don’t believe that,” Angel said. “So long, Fargo.”
She turned and snapped the reins. The horse started off at a walk, but before she’d gone too far, she urged it to go faster. She was such a good rider that she didn’t bounce enough to bother her shoulder.
Fargo watched her until she was almost out of sight. Then he saddled the Ovaro and went after her.
Fargo had no trouble at all following the tracks of Angel’s horse. It was almost as if she wanted to be followed, he thought, so he was wary of a trap. Not that there was any place to trap him.
He rode across fields, past cornfields and farmhouses, always staying so far back that there was no chance of Angel catching a glimpse of him. She didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry, so Fargo dawdled along as slowly as he could.
It wasn’t long before he knew where Angel was headed. She was riding right toward the creek, and she would enter the trees that grew along it not far from the spot where her brother had first been buried. If she got into the trees, she might have a better chance of losing him, but Fargo didn’t think she would. He could track her there as easily as he could out in the open.
But Angel was taking no chances, as Fargo learned when he reached the creek bank. The sun came through the tree limbs and sketched shadows on the ground. The water in the creek was shallow and slow-moving, and Angel had ridden right into it.
It didn’t take Fargo long to discover that she hadn’t ridden out on the other side.
He sat on the Ovaro for a minute and thought about it. He had only two choices, left or right. He could take one direction for a while and then the other. It shouldn’t take him too long to find out where she’d left the stream, unless she hadn’t left it at all. If she hadn’t, she might lose him if he didn’t make the right choice.
He turned the horse’s head to the right. Might as well try in that direction first, he thought. The trees grew close to the water in places, and there might be some sign of her passing. If there wasn’t, he’d go back and try the other way.
After he’d gone a couple of hundred yards down the narrow, winding waterway, the banks grew steeper on either side of him, and the trees grew more thickly. It wouldn’t have been easy to ride a horse up the muddy banks, and Fargo was beginning to think it was time to turn around and go back the other way. But then he saw up ahead of him a cut in the bank, begun when water from some heavy rain in the past had found a crack in the earth and rushed into the creek, leaving a track for water to flow through later.
Fargo rode up to the cut and saw the tracks of Angel’s horse leading up the bank. He turned the Ovaro’s head and followed the tracks.
He didn’t have far to go.
In the trees a few yards ahead, Angel was waiting for him.
12
Her horse’s reins were tied to a tree limb, and Angel stood there, her hands on her hips. She was wearing only her shirt, and it hung down just far enough to cover the part of her body that Fargo automatically looked for. Her legs were slim and white, tapering to trim ankles. The sunlight fell through the leaves and dappled her dark hair.
“I thought maybe I’d lost you,” she said.
“That’s not as easy to do as you think,” Fargo told her, halting the Ovaro. “Aren’t you afraid you might get the grippe, dressed like that?”
Angel gave him a languorous smile and said, “You mean undressed, don’t you?”
“I guess I do.”
“The weather’s still warm. I don’t think I’ll get sick. Why don’t you get down off that horse so we can talk. I don’t like looking up at you. It hurts my neck.”
Fargo slid off the Ovaro, led it over to a nearby tree, and looped the reins over a branch.
“I knew you’d follow me,” Angel said. “So I thought I’d come somewhere we could have a little privacy.”
Fargo looked around. They were in a little clearing in the trees, with the only real opening being the narrow cut that he’d just ridden out of. He could hear some birds in the trees, and a squirrel chattered away somewhere nearby. But there was nothing else to hear, not even the sluggish flow of the creek. Fargo didn’t think there was much danger that anyone would find them there.
“You picked a good spot,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”
For an answer Angel started to unbutton the shirt. She took her time about it, letting Fargo wonder a while about what he was going to see, but eventually she got it done. The shirt hung loosely on her, but she’d been careful not to let it gape open. Fargo could still see no more than he’d seen when he first arrived.
Angel smiled. “You remember what I said when you asked me if I was ready?”
Fargo nodded. “You said you were always ready.”
“That’s right, and now you’re about to find out just how ready I am.”
She took both hands and opened the shirt, holding it wide.
Fargo saw that her breasts were even bigger than he’d thought, standing high and proud, with their erect nipples pointing straight at him like bullets. Her waist was small enough for him to circle with his two hands and emphasized the curve of her hips. The crisp hair on her mound was as black as the hair on her head, and it was thickly tangled. The puckered red wound in her shoulder didn’t detract from her beauty at all.
“The question is,” Angel said, “are you ready, Fargo?”
“I’m as ready as anybody ever was,” Fargo said, which was the truth if he’d ever told it.
Angel let the shirt fall to the ground and walked to where a nearby tree shaded a pile of leaves that Fargo thought she must have gathered there while waiting for him to catch up with her. She lay down on the leaves, careful not to hurt her shoulder, and let his eyes take her in. As he watched, she spread her legs and let her fingers play with her dense pubic hair for a moment before allowing her middle finger to slip into the enticing crack between her legs. She let the finger remain motionless for a second or two before rubbing herself lightly. Her hips wiggled, her lips parted, and she moaned deep in her throat, letting her finger slip inside herself.
“What the hell are you waiting for, Fargo?” she said huskily after a moment had passed. “I don’t want to have to do this all by myself.”