Texas Timber War (5 page)

East Texas, with its thick forests, swamps, oppressive heat in the summer, dampness all year-round, and mosquitoes that the locals bragged were big enough to carry off a small dog, wasn't one of Fargo's favorite places. He liked the high plains and the mountains farther west and spent most of his time out there.

But his restless nature kept him on the move, and sometimes he found himself in places like this. He was the sort of man who could find something to enjoy about almost anywhere, and he had to admit that the piney woods had a few good features, not the least of which was the crisp, sweet scent of the trees. Flowers bloomed in wild profusion most of the year, too, and the landscape was splashed with brilliant color because of it. The Spanish moss that draped many of the cypress trees along the bayous was striking, too.

And of course, here and now in Jefferson, the company of Isabel Sterling was quite an attraction, too. She was a quick-witted, intelligent young woman in addition to being beautiful, and Fargo enjoyed talking to her. When they finished with their meal, he linked arms with her again and walked her back upstairs.

Isabel had commented that she intended to go to bed early, so Fargo thought that after he bid her good night he might stroll around town, maybe find a saloon where he could get a good drink of whiskey and a friendly poker game. He was still wide-awake, and that sounded like a decent way to spend the evening.

When they paused in front of Isabel's door, though, she turned to him with a smile and asked, ‘‘Would you like to come in, Skye?''

‘‘I thought you said you planned on turning in early,'' he commented.

The smile spread to her eyes, where it took on a mischievous sparkle. ‘‘I do,'' she said as she rested her hands lightly on his chest, ‘‘but I never said anything about going to bed alone, now, did I?''

Fargo returned the smile, cupped his hand under Isabel's chin, and tilted her head back a little as he brought his mouth down on hers. He had been attracted to her as soon as he saw her, and evidently the feeling was mutual.

Her lips were soft and warm and tasted sweet. The kiss was gentle at first, their mouths barely brushing against each other, but as Isabel slid her hands down to his waist and leaned against him so that her breasts pressed into his chest, the kiss became more urgent. Fargo's tongue stroked her lips, and they parted, eager to invite him in.

Fargo accepted the invitation, delving into the hot, wet cavern of her mouth. Her tongue met his in a sensuous duel as they swirled and circled around each other. Isabel locked her arms around Fargo's waist and molded her body to his. He moved his hands to her back and slid them down to the swelling curve of her rump.

His manhood grew hard, and she had to feel it pressing against the softness of her belly. She pressed forward with her hips, grinding herself into him. The passion they had kindled within each other roared up into a fierce, all-consuming blaze.

After a few moments, Isabel pulled back a little and said, ‘‘We probably shouldn't be standing out here in the hall doing this, Skye. Why don't you come inside with me?''

Fargo chuckled. ‘‘I thought you'd never ask.''

Isabel slipped out of his embrace, turned, and unlocked the door. She had left the lamp on the bedside table burning, Fargo saw as he followed her into the room, with its flame turned down so that it gave off only a faint glow.

But that was enough to see by as he closed the door behind them and she started taking off her clothes.

He watched with great appreciation as she pulled the top of the dress down, baring her shoulders and the upper part of her breasts. She reached behind her to unfasten the buttons on the back of the dress, which made her breasts stand out even more. As the buttons came free, the dress slid more. Isabel shrugged it off, along with the shift she wore under it. She pushed the garments down around her waist.

Her breasts were high and firm and full, creamy young mounds of womanhood crowned with large, pale pink nipples that cried out for a man's tongue to lick them. She cupped her breasts in her palms and ran her thumbs over the nipples, making them grow hard. The erect buds were even more appealing.

Fargo resisted the temptation, though. He was made of sterner stuff than most men. With a faint smile on his face, he waited for her to finish disrobing. Isabel pushed dress and shift and petticoats down over her hips and let them fall to the floor around her feet. She kicked them away, along with her slippers, and that left her clad only in white cotton stockings that came up just over her knees.

‘‘Now you, Skye,'' she whispered in a husky voice.

Fargo unbuckled his gun belt, coiled it around the holstered Colt, and placed it on a chair beside the bed where it would be within easy reach. That was habit on his part. His adventurous life had taught him it was always wise to have a weapon handy.

He unstrapped the sheathed Arkansas toothpick from his leg and set it on the dressing table. Then he pulled the buckskin shirt over his head, revealing his broad, muscular chest that was lightly matted with dark brown hair.

‘‘Let me get your boots,'' Isabel offered.

Fargo sat down on the edge of the bed and stuck out his right leg. Isabel turned her back to him and straddled it, leaning over to grasp the high-topped black boot and pull it off his foot. Considering that she was nude except for her stockings, that position provided Fargo with quite an intriguing view. Isabel had to know that, and he suspected that was one reason she had offered to help him remove the boots.

She repeated the process with the left boot, then turned and came close to the bed, standing there in front of Fargo. He took advantage of the opportunity to lean forward and close his lips around the nipple of her left breast. He ran his tongue around the bud of erect flesh and then sucked gently on it. Isabel sighed in pleasure as she rested her hands on his head and stroked her fingers through his thick dark hair.

Fargo gave equal attention to the nipple on the right breast. Then Isabel knelt before him and said, ‘‘Lift your hips.'' When he did so, she slipped her hands into the waistband of the buckskin trousers and pulled them down over his thighs, along with his long-handled underwear. His erection sprang free, jutting up from the thicket of dark hair at its base.

Isabel tossed the trousers and underwear aside and then leaned forward to close both hands around his long, thick shaft. She stroked it up and down, and the soft touch of her palms made Fargo groan. He clenched his jaw to prevent an even louder response as her tongue made a heated swipe all the way up the underside of the shaft from its base to its crown. When she reached the top, she pressed her lips to it in a kiss.

Her oral caresses continued for long, maddening moments until it was all Fargo could do not to explode down her throat. Perhaps sensing this, Isabel drew back and stood up. Fargo eased back on the bed, and she straddled him, placing a knee on either side of his hips as she poised herself above the iron-hard pole of his manhood.

As soon as Fargo felt the searing touch of her opening, he grasped her hips, pulling her down and thrusting up at the same time. She gasped in delight as his member sheathed itself inside her, filling the hot, clasping vault of her femininity. ‘‘Oh, God, Skye!'' she whispered. ‘‘I never . . . I never . . .''

She couldn't go on, because he had reached up with his left hand to cup her right breast and slipped his right hand down where they were joined to rub the sensitive spot at the top of her sex. Isabel took short, sharp breaths as her climax shuddered through her.

Fargo was far from finished with her. He remained inside her as she lay forward to rest on his chest as her culmination trailed away. She was breathing hard and he felt her heart pounding. He let her rest like that for a few minutes, lightly stroking her flanks as he did so, but then he began moving his hips a little so that his shaft slid in and out of her, an inch or so at a time.

That began to increase Isabel's arousal again. She started pumping her hips to meet Fargo's thrusts. After a moment she rested her hands on his chest and pushed herself into a sitting position again. She took Fargo's hands and brought them to her breasts, urging him to squeeze and caress the firm globes. His thumbs strummed the hard nipples as she rode him in an ever-quickening pace.

Fargo waited until her eyes were closed and he could tell that she was on the verge of erupting in another climax. Then he grasped her hips in a tight grip and rolled over, remaining buried inside her as he put himself on top. His hips thrust forward as he finally unleashed his own passion and made love to her with a hard, driving urgency.

Isabel wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he pounded into her. She moaned in his ear. As she began spasming in culmination again, Fargo's climax surged up, too. He exploded inside her, filling her with burst after burst of his scalding juices.

The moment seemed to go on forever but finally came to a shuddering end. Fargo would have rolled off so that his weight wouldn't be crushing Isabel, but she held him so tightly that it seemed she never wanted to let him go.

At last she sighed and said, ‘‘That was incredible, Skye. I knew that if we ever got together, it would be good, but I didn't expect it to be
that
good.''

Fargo withdrew from her and rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow so that he could look down into her flushed but still lovely face. ‘‘Sometimes people are lucky,'' he said. ‘‘They're in the right place at the right time to meet someone, and everything comes together.''

‘‘So to speak,'' she said with an impish grin.

Fargo laughed. ‘‘Yeah. So to speak.''

Her face grew more serious as she went on. ‘‘But that doesn't mean those moments will last, does it? People move on.''

‘‘Some people do,'' Fargo admitted.

‘‘And you're not the sort of man who stays any place for very long.''

‘‘I never have been before . . . but I'm here now.''

She reached up and rested the palm of her hand against his cheek. ‘‘I know,'' she whispered. ‘‘And that's going to have to be enough. I understand that. But . . . you'll stay with me tonight, Skye?''

‘‘I'm not going anywhere,'' Fargo said in a voice rough with emotion, ‘‘as long as you want me here.''

‘‘Oh, I want you,'' Isabel said. She slipped her hand behind Fargo's head so she could pull his mouth down to hers. ‘‘I want you very much,'' she whispered just before their lips met again.

 
That night, Fargo never did make it to one of Jefferson's saloons for that drink and poker game. Instead he spent it in Isabel's bed as they explored every inch of each other's bodies again and again, finally dozed off in exhaustion, woke up and made love again, and then drifted back into slumber.

Fargo woke up early enough the next morning to slip out of bed, get dressed, and return to his own room across the hall before anybody else was up and around. No point in scandalizing that prissy clerk, he thought . . . although it might have been entertaining to watch the hombre's reaction if he knew that Fargo had spent the night with Isabel.

Fargo stretched out on his own bed and slept for a while longer, and as a result, the sun was already up by the time he woke again. That was unusual for him. Like most frontiersmen, he was in the habit of being an early riser.

He splashed water on his face, got dressed, and went downstairs. When he walked into the dining room he looked around, thinking that Isabel might be there having breakfast. He didn't see her anywhere, but Lawrence Kiley was seated at one of the tables. Kiley caught Fargo's eye, raised a hand, and motioned him over.

Kiley waved a hand at the empty chair on the other side of the table and said, ‘‘Won't you join me, Mr. Fargo?'' The remains of a hearty breakfast were in front of the man, but he still had a half-full cup of coffee.

‘‘Don't mind if I do.'' Fargo pulled out the chair and sat down, dropping his hat on the floor beside him.

The waitress brought a cup and a fresh pot of coffee without being asked. Fargo ordered flapjacks, bacon, and hash browns, then poured himself some coffee and took an appreciative sip of the hot, strong brew.

‘‘I've already been by Dr. Fearn's this morning to check on poor Captain Russell,'' Kiley said.

‘‘How's he doing?'' Fargo asked.

‘‘As well as can be expected. He's as weak as a kitten because of all the blood he lost, but he'll recover from that. And of course his wounded arm is still causing him quite a bit of pain. The bullet did enough damage to the muscles that the doctor says it could be weeks or even months before Andy recovers his full strength in that arm.''

Fargo frowned. ‘‘That's going to make it sort of hard for him to handle that steamboat, isn't it?''

‘‘I'm afraid so,'' Kiley replied with a sigh. ‘‘It'll be a week or so before he's strong enough to get around much, Dr. Fearn says, and he'll have to have a good helmsman to handle the wheel before the
Bayou Princess
can start back downstream.'' Kiley regarded Fargo with interest. ‘‘Would you be interested in the job, Mr. Fargo?''

Fargo grinned and shook his head. ‘‘I managed to help get that boat here yesterday, but I'm afraid I'm not cut out for that chore.''

‘‘Well, maybe I can find somebody else,'' Kiley said with a shrug. He changed the subject by continuing, ‘‘I heard you had a run-in with Nick Dirkson after you got here yesterday.''

Fargo nodded. ‘‘Yeah, he and some of his friends saw me with you and Captain Russell and got it in their heads that we were friends.''