Aaron said, “You sound like a preacher, Mr. Fargo.”
Fargo laughed. “Now that’s the one thing nobody’s ever accused me of before.”
He set off for town, his stallion loping along the moonlit road.
Aaron wasn’t sure why but the mansion seemed unnaturally quiet to him when he returned. If nothing else, the servants usually made noise as they prepared the house for bedtime. But not now.
He was headed up the vast, sweeping staircase when Manuel stepped from the shadows and said, “Mr. Tillman would like to see you, sir.”
Aaron, sensing the danger of the moment—something in the shadowed peek he’d gotten at Manuel’s face ahead alarmed him—tried to appear at ease. “You know, Manuel, my name is Mr. Tillman, too. That could get confusing sometimes.”
There were pets that belonged strictly to one member of the family. As a child, he’d spent so much time with a kitten named Buttons that the animal didn’t want to play with anybody but Aaron. It was like that with Manuel. He answered only to Noah. He had no other boss. The most anybody else got from him was cold obedience. But you could tell that he could barely tolerate you—unless you were the one and only Noah.
“Is he in the study?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you.”
There had been times when he was drunk that he’d gotten abusive with Manuel. But not when he was sober. When he was sober, he treated Manuel as if he were the boss and Aaron the servant. Couldn’t help it. Manuel’s imperious manner always intimidated him.
Manuel slipped away, leaving Aaron to consider how to prepare himself for what he knew would be a confrontation with his brother. Had Noah discovered the three bottles of whiskey he had stolen from the basement? Had Noah received all the bills from his last binge at the whorehouse, when he’d sat naked with three whores and given them two thousand dollars to divide—two thousand dollars he’d had to borrow from the madame? You never knew what would piss Noah off. Sometimes he’d let some pretty outrageous things slide. Other times he’d jump all over him for practically nothing.
Aaron considered running away. He’d always known that some day Noah would no longer tolerate him. Would deal him with a very un-brotherly severity. Had Noah reached that point? Had Noah changed from his reluctant protector into his disgusted enemy? To run away . . . but where? And with what money? He’d be back begging at Noah’s door in no time. Always the same for Aaron—the boy-man who’d never grown up. The boy-man who’d always live at the mercy of his brother.
What did Noah want tonight?
Well, there was only one way to find out.
He walked down the stairs on legs that were now shaking. Patting his hair into place. Daubing at his sweaty face with a handkerchief. His stomach was sour, mean. Damn Noah anyway. Just once Aaron would like to put his brother through this kind of drill and see how he liked it.
Noah was standing in the center of his study when Aaron crossed the threshold. His smile was almost a smirk. “You’re a very sociable fellow, brother.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m told you followed Mr. Fargo when he left here.”
“That damned Manuel. Why can’t he mind his own business?”
“He’s minding my business. He thought I might be interested in why you followed Fargo.”
“I wanted to invite him to a party I’m having in town tomorrow night. On the Fourth of July.”
“He accepted your invitation, of course.”
“He said he’d think it over.”
Noah didn’t speak for a time. He just stood there looking at his brother. Aaron was surprised to find an expression of real hurt on his brother’s face. “I’ve taken care of you all of my life, brother. Every single day. I’ve bought you out of jail, I’ve paid off your gambling debts, I tried to wean you off the bottle by paying exorbitant rates at those hospitals you went to. And you’ve never shown me the slightest gratitude. Never a thank you. Never an offer to help me when I was having problems. Never even a friendly word.”
“I didn’t realize you were such a sensitive flower,” Aaron said, and instantly knew that he’d picked the wrong time for sarcasm.
Noah’s face tightened. The expression of hurt feelings shifted now into the more familiar one of cold contempt. “Luckily for me, I don’t give a damn anymore, Aaron. I don’t feel any obligation to protect you—especially since you’re doing everything you can to get me into trouble.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that you know damned well what Fargo was doing here. He wanted to know about the people who’ve gone missing around here. You’re just like my stepson. You’d both be happy to bring me down. And you see Fargo as the man to do it.”
There was a five-step difference separating the two men. Noah crossed it in swift, purposeful steps. Then, without feinting, without warning, he drove his fist so hard into Aaron’s stomach that the man was driven to his knees.
“Now, brother,” Noah said, “you’re going to tell me everything you’ve been able to figure out about my little island. I want to know exactly what Fargo knows.”
14
By the time he reached town, Fargo saw that some of the revelers had already taken to the main street. American flags, bunting, and banners festooned the street. A band consisting of an accordion, trombone, and fiddle played some pretty terrible dance music while drunks of both sexes careened and caromed through big, dramatic steps that looked more like wrestling than dancing.
Light was provided by a small bonfire overseen by a night deputy and his shotgun. You could have fun but not too much fun. Firelight played on the glazed, sweaty faces of the imbibers, giving their features mask-like qualities.
Just after dawn, this street would be jammed with wagons, buckboards, buggies, and men, women, and children of every kind. The state had entered the Union in 1836 and was proud of it.
Fargo went straight to his hotel. In the morning, he’d contact Liz Turner and share with her what he’d learned from Aaron.
He was one step into his room when a young, seductive female voice said, “No need to turn the lamp up, Mr. Fargo. I’m still on duty so this will have to be fast, I’m afraid.”
Now, how could you turn that down?
Even as he was dropping his trousers, she leaned forward and guided him to the bed with his rigid shaft, which she promptly began to stroke as if it were holy.
When he got on the bed and straddled her, she began to rub his massive tool against her breasts, her nipples coming erect instantly as her hips began to writhe and her throat fill with moans.
Only when her entire body was wracked with desire did she move his unbending rod down to the dark beauty between her legs. Once again, she teased both of them by running the tip of him up and down the lips of her sex. He began to moan as much as she did, sliding his huge arms under her small body and easing himself into her.
She’d wanted it fast and she got it fast, the two of them caught up as one in the play of their bodies. He surprised her by moving them both to the edge of the bed where she sat on his lap and began to bounce up and down on his shaft, biting his shoulder hard to suppress that animal scream yearning for freedom. But such a scream would only get her in trouble. Somebody might report her to the manager.
Fargo wanted to do his own screaming when he poured himself into her, her relentless grinding of his shaft causing him to have a moment that felt a little bit like dying—everything stopped—there was only the searing pleasure of their lust and the exquisite tautness of her buttocks in his hands.