Death Devil (9781101559666) (14 page)

“You're the sexiest sawbones ever,” Fargo said.

Belinda smiled. “Why is it men think of one thing and one thing only?”

“You answered your own question.”

Laughing, Belinda went to a cupboard. “I needed that to help me take my mind off the gruesomeness of it all. I've never enjoyed cutting people open but there are times when it has to be done.”

“They were past caring what you did,” Fargo said.

“And I don't want others to share their fate.” She took down a cup and saucer. “Perhaps I should contact the governor and have him impose a quarantine.”

“How would you get word to him?”

“I'd have to ride there myself, I suppose.” Belinda stepped to the stove and picked up the pot. “He'd need to hear it from my lips.”

“Nice lips,” Fargo said.

“Have you been thinking of that the whole while you've been waiting?”

“That and other things.”

“Such as?”

“I should go after Old Man Sawyer in the morning. He's still running around out there, foaming at the mouth.”

“You would do that? After how you've been treated?”

Fargo regarded his knuckle. “I have as much at stake as anyone in finding out what this is.” He touched the tiny bite mark. “You could say I have more.”

“If you find him it would be wonderful if you could take him alive and bring him here for me to examine.”

“Taking Abigail alive was hard enough.”

“I know. I ask a lot.” Belinda sipped and came over and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Don't think I don't appreciate your help. If there's ever anything I can do for you, let me know what and when.”

Fargo ran his gaze from her lips to her bosom to her winsome legs. “There is,” he said. “And right now is as good a time as any.”

“You can't be serious.”

“Try me.”

“I'm a mess,” Belinda said, and fussed with her hair. “I'd have to wash up first.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Fargo said.

Belinda blushed and glanced down the hall and bit her bottom lip. “Why not?” she said, more to herself than to him. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Take as long as you like.”

She turned and started out but stopped and looked back at him. “Are you always so easy to get along with?”

“Orville and the rest of his dumb-as-stumps clan don't think so.”

“I mean, with women.”

“You're wasting time,” Fargo said.

Belinda smiled coyly, and with a swirl of her dress, she was gone.

Grinning, Fargo refilled his cup. If he knew anything at all about females, she'd take a lot more than ten minutes. He went down the hall to the parlor. She'd draped sheets over the bodies. In a bucket by the table were organs she had removed.

The bucket was speckled with blood and small pieces of whatever she had dropped in it.

Fargo continued on to the front door. She'd forgotten to throw the bolt. He opened it and stepped out for some fresh air.

Ketchum Falls lay quiet under the stars. Not many lights were on at that hour. He scanned the street but saw no one out and about. Somewhere off in the forest a fox yelped.

Going back in, Fargo threw the bolt. He made a circuit of the rooms, checking that the windows were latched. Returning to the kitchen, he opened the back door to check on the Ovaro. It was dozing. He closed the door and worked the bolt.

Draining the cup, Fargo placed it on the counter. He didn't care to sit in the parlor with the bodies so he stayed in the kitchen, in the chair by the window, until nearly an hour later when a soft rustle made him look around. The wait had been worth it.

Belinda was enough to make any man hungry with desire.

She'd not only washed up, she'd done her hair, too, and it cascaded in a bright sheen past her slender shoulders. Instead of the ankle-length dress, she had on a sheer white nightdress that left little to the imagination. It wasn't see-through but it might as well be. He could see her nipples outlined against the white, like hard tacks. And at the junction of her thighs was a darker triangle. He felt a lump in his throat, and swallowed.

“Do you like it?” she shyly asked.

“Never liked anything more,” Fargo said.

Belinda plucked at the fabric. “It's the only one like this I own. I hardly ever wear it.”

Fargo rose and walked over and placed his hands on her hips.

“You'll be gentle, won't you?” she asked, looking into his eyes.

“I left my whip and chains in Denver.”

Belinda laughed. “I'm serious. I don't have a lot of experience at this.”

“It will come naturally,” Fargo said, and kissed her lightly on the lips.

“I hope so. I don't mind admitting how nervous I am. I'm afraid you won't like me.”

“What's not to like?” Fargo rejoined, and switched his hands from her hips to her breasts.

At the contact Belinda gasped and stiffened. Her red lips parted in an oval. “Oh! You get right to it.”

Fargo squeezed. She moaned and closed her eyes. He fused his mouth to hers and tasted mint on her breath. Her lips parted and he touched his tongue to hers in a wet dance. Belinda forgot her inhibitions and ground her nether mound against his rigid pole.

“Goodness,” she gasped when they broke for breath. “You make my head spin.”

“I'll do more than that,” Fargo said, cupping her rounded, firm bottom.

“Shouldn't we go up to my bedroom?” she suggested. “We'd be much more comfortable on my bed.”

“We'll get there,” Fargo said. Pressing her against the wall, he ran his hands over her breasts and down over her belly to her legs even as he ran his mouth over her throat and her ears.

Belinda uttered another moan.

Fargo caressed from her hip to her knees and up again. He pressed the tips of two fingers to the bottom tip of the dark triangle, and she shuddered.

“Mercy me,” Belinda breathed. “You better get me to bed. My legs are so weak, I don't know as I can stand.”

Tucking, Fargo scooped her into his arms. He went on kissing her as he carried her down the hall and up the curved flight of stairs. Her bedroom door was wide open. Her bed was a surprise: a four-poster with a rose-colored canopy. She had already folded the quilt at the bottom and drawn a pink blanket back. Two long pillows and two small ones were arranged along the top.

“Be gentle,” Belinda said again as he set her down.

Fargo unbuckled his gun belt and set it on her dresser. Sitting on the bed, he removed his spurs and let them drop. He tugged out of his boots. Finally he stretched out next to her and reignited her spark by kissing her long and hard.

“What you do to me,” she cooed when the kiss ended. “You positively make my heart flutter.”

“Less talk,” Fargo said.

“I'm sorry,” Belinda said. “I told you I was nervous and when I'm nervous I tend to gab.”

“Put your mouth to better use.”

“As you wish, handsome,” Belinda said demurely, and applied her wet lips to his throat. Her hands were on his chest.

Fargo hiked at her night dress and got it as high as her knees. He delved under and roamed his palm along her satiny skin, ever higher until he slid his hand between her legs. Belinda sucked in a breath and bowed her forehead to his chin.

He ran a finger along her moist slit and she shivered. He parted her nether lips and her whole body shook. He circled her tiny knob with his fingertip and she suddenly gripped him and pumped her hips and cried out.

Just like that, she gushed.

Fargo had barely begun. He kissed her as she thrashed and moaned.

“My heavens,” she whispered when she subsided. “This will be a night I'll never forget.”

Fargo hiked her dress above her waist and up over her twin globes. Her mounds were like ripe melons. He nipped a nipple with his teeth and she arched. He pinched the other nipple and she glued her hot mouth to his as if seeking to devour him.

For a long while they kissed and fondled. She ran her hands all over him but only above his waist. To encourage her to delve lower, he took her hand and placed it on his bulge.

“Oh!” Belinda exclaimed. “You're so big.”

“Rub it,” Fargo said huskily.

“You really want me to?”

Of all the stupid questions Fargo had ever been asked, that took the cake. He moved her hand up and down and she took the hint and commenced moving it herself.

“Like that?”

Fargo grunted. The sensations she provoked made it hard not to explode.

“How about this?” Belinda said, and squeezed him.

The lump was back in Fargo's throat.

“Or this?” Belinda said, and gently closed her fingers on the tip.

Now it was Fargo who arched his back.

“You do like that, don't you?”

“Shut the hell up and fuck me.” Fargo pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his. He squeezed and massaged her breasts until she panted with need. Lower down, he rubbed and stroked. Her legs parted and he inserted a finger into her sheath. For a moment she was perfectly still. He stroked and her bottom came off the bed. When he inserted a second finger, she gripped both his shoulders and dug her nails in so deep, it hurt.

“Please,” she said.

Fargo went on stroking. She shook and pulled at his hair and her eyes fluttered and she gushed a second time, more violently than the first. Afterward, she clung to him, taking deep breaths and mewing deep in her throat.

“I didn't know it could be like this,” she whispered. “It's heaven.”

Fargo spread her legs wider and eased onto his knees between them. He held his pole and rubbed it along her slit and her face flushed with lust.

“Yes. Do it. Put it in me.”

He didn't need encouragement. Penetrating only an inch or so, he smiled at her and suddenly rammed in to the hilt. She voiced an inarticulate peal of pleasure and drove against him as if to batter him senseless. He plunged, pulled back, plunged again.

Under them the four-poster moved as if to an earthquake.

Fargo took his time. He let the inevitable build until there was no holding back, not for her, and certainly not for him. The room seemed to burst at the seams and she drenched him with her release. They pumped and pumped and eventually coasted to a mutual stop with her gasping and his chest pounding. Cushioned by her softness, he lay on top of her and caught his breath.

“You're magnificent,” Belinda breathed.

“Don't spoil it,” Fargo said.

“How does my complimenting you spoil things?”

“Just don't.”

Fargo rolled off her and lay on his side. Sleep tugged at him and he let himself drift off. How long he was out he couldn't say but when his eyes snapped open he was cold, his skin covered with goose bumps. He raised his head, wondering what woke him.

Belinda was sound asleep, her bare breasts rising and falling to the rhythm of her breathing. Every now and then she let out a soft snore.

Fargo lowered his cheek to the bed. He could use more sleep. But no sooner did he close his eyes than he heard a noise from the rear of the house. He raised his head again, trying to identify it. It might have been the thud of a hoof.

Recalling the dead mule out at Old Man Sawyer's, he sat up. He tried to tell himself that the odds of the old lunatic coming to town and attacking the Ovaro were slim. But Robin Hood Timmy had shown up there and had gone after the stallion and Belinda's horse.

Better safe than lose the best horse he'd ever known, Fargo decided. Sliding off the bed, he pulled his pants up and pulled on his boots. He left his spurs on the floor. Rather than take the time to strap on his gun belt, he snatched the Colt from its holster and hurried down. As he went past the parlor he noticed the clock on the mantle. It was almost four thirty.

Fargo moved along the hall to the kitchen. He slid the bolt and opened the door and stepped out into the chill air. He needn't have worried. The Ovaro and the doc's horse were over by the picket fence. Neither was asleep. Their heads were up and they were looking in his direction. He thought they were staring at him until a gun muzzle was jammed against his temple.

“One twitch,” Abner McWhertle said, “and I'll by God blow your brains out.”

The night disgorged more than a dozen of them. Clyde was there, his shoulder bandaged, and other faces Fargo recognized from the farm.

Orville towered above the rest. He came up and gripped the Colt, careful not to stand in front of the muzzle. “I'll take that.”

With Abner's revolver to his temple, Fargo didn't have any choice. He frowned and let go. “What the hell are you jackasses up to?”

“We're doin' what we told you we would do,” Abner gleefully crowed.

“You better not,” Fargo said.

“We're scared, mister,” Clyde taunted. “We're real scared.”

Some of the men laughed.

Orville wedged Fargo's Colt under his belt and half turned. “All right, Mabel. You and the others can get to it.”

To Fargo's surprise, Orville's wife and eight other women came out of concealment. Mabel marched up to him and glared.

“You hit me, mister.”

“You deserved it, bitch.”

“Did I, now?” Mabel retorted, and kicked him in the shin.

Fargo nearly buckled. The pain shot clear through him. Gritting his teeth, he stayed on his feet.

“None of that, woman,” Orville said. “And don't be beatin' on her, either.”