Beartooth Incident by Jon Sharpe Page B

him a little. And I thank you for the lessons, even if they didn’t make any kind of sense.”
    “Your mother wouldn’t happen to have a whiskey bottle hidden around here somewhere, would she?”
    “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”

10
    The children were asleep and their door was closed. Flames crackled in the stone hearth. Outside, the night wind shrieked down off the mountains and on across the valley. Wolves tried to compete and couldn’t.
    Fargo sat in a chair facing the fireplace. His eyes were closed, his chin bobbed. He was tired and ready for bed. It had been a long day. He’d held up well, but it would be a few days yet before he recovered enough from his wounds to be his old self. A noise made him turn his head. It came from the bedroom he was using: Mary’s bedroom. She had excused herself a while ago and gone in. She didn’t say why. He figured she was getting ready for bed.
    Supper had consisted of another chicken and fresh bread. Fargo had taken small portions and didn’t ask for seconds so there was enough for all of them. The kids had been too busy stuffing their faces to notice. If Mary did, she didn’t say anything.
    Fargo stared into the dancing flames. He needed a good night’s sleep so he could get an early start. He had a plan—a crazy plan as Mary called it—but if it worked, she and the kids would be free to go wherever their hearts desired, and be free of the claws of Cud Sten, as well.
    Another noise from the bedroom caused Fargo to turn, and for a few seconds he was breathless with desire. Then he caught himself and quietly asked, “You did all that for me?”
    Mary Harper had changed into a nightgown. Where many gowns were loose-fitting and bulky, this was tight and scandalously sheer. It was bright red, matching the red of her cheeks. She had brushed her hair and done things with her face so that she appeared as fresh as a new-bloomed daisy. Nervously clasping her hands in front of her, she said demurely, “Frank got this for me so I could treat him now and then, as he put it.”
    Fargo’s estimation of the man rose considerably.
    “I know I don’t look like much but it’s the very best thing I own.”
    “Come here,” Fargo huskily requested.
    With a glance at the door to the kids’ bedroom, she crossed and stood timidly beside the chair, her eyes downcast.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I told you. The only other man I’ve ever been with was Frank. I’m scared out of my wits. You’d think I wouldn’t be, given I’ve had two kids and all. But this is nothing like being married. This is”—Mary paused as if seeking the right word—“exciting.”
    Fargo put his hand on her wrist.
    “Wait. There are rules.”
    “Rules?”
    “I don’t want Nelly and Jayce to hear us. We have to be quiet. And we go in my bedroom and throw the bolt so one of them doesn’t walk in on us. And if they knock, we stop right away and I get dressed and get out of bed to see what they want.”
    “Anything else?”
    Her eyes were pools of uncertainty. “You won’t hurt me, will you? I mean, you’re not one of those? My Frank was always gentle. That’s how I like it. Nice and easy and gentle.”
    “I’m not Frank,” Fargo said, and pulled her into his lap. She resisted for the briefest instant. Then her bottom was on his manhood and his mouth was molded to hers. She gasped and in doing so parted her lips, enabling him to slide his tongue into her mouth.
    Mary was momentarily taken aback. She pressed against his shoulders, but not hard, and cooed deep in her throat. Slowly, she melted against him, until her mouth was molten with need.
    They kissed and they kissed. It was Fargo who broke for air. Mary rested her cheek on his chest and shook from head to toe.
    “Oh, my.”
    “What?”
    “Frank never kissed like that.”
    “I’m not Frank,” Fargo repeated. He caressed her hair and ran his other hand down to the small of her back. She sat still, her hands in her lap, a frightened