Read Online New Mexico Madman (9781101612644) by Jon Sharpe - Free Book Online

flue in the chimney.
    Just then, Socorro Jimenez turned from the range to bring in a platter of biscuits and spotted Fargo. The pretty, shapely Mexican gave Fargo a welcome-big-boy smile as big as Texas—a smile he suddenly felt throbbing in his hip pocket. She wore a peasant blouse, baring one light brown shoulder, and a wild cascade of dark hair framed her face with wanton appeal.
    Well, now,
Fargo thought, instantly recognizing the message those smoldering black eyes sent to him.
    All the passengers except Kathleen Barton were already seated at the table.
    â€œMr. Jimenez,” she said in her imperious tone, “will you kindly show me to the ladies quarters? I’d like to freshen up before evening repast.”
    â€œPues, claro,
senorita
,”
Raul replied, hovering around the great lady like a paid toady. “This way,
por
favor
.”
    She gazed at the Trailsman. “If you’re done ogling that serving girl, Mr. Fargo, would you kindly bring my trunk?”
    Booger grinned wickedly. “He’ll need a moment before he can walk right, muffin.”
    She stoically ignored this crudity, following Raul to the rear of the house. Fargo hoisted the trunk onto his back and trailed them.
    â€œWhat is the meaning of
this
?” he heard her exclaim as he reached the slope-off room.
    The Jimenezes had provided female passengers a small bedroom with a threadbare, rose-pattern carpet and a washstand with enameled pitcher and bowl.
    â€œ
Pues
, senorita, it is the best we can afford,” Raul apologized.
    â€œI don’t mean the room. I mean
that
.”
    She pointed to one of the iron bedsteads, its legs set in bowls of coal oil.
    â€œThat keeps the bedbugs off, Princess,” Fargo informed her, struggling to keep a straight face. “Won’t help much with the snakes, though.”
    â€œThe . . . ?” Her face suddenly drained of color. Like an Indian at a treaty ceremony, Fargo had perfected the silent “abdomen laugh.” By now, however, his belly ached.
    â€œIf one crawls in your bed during the night,” he advised her, “don’t move a muscle. I’ll get it out in the morning. However, it may require some
groping
under the blankets.”
    â€œOh, you’d love that!”
    Fargo winked at her. “You’d love it even more. I’m . . . experienced in these matters.”
    She was on the verge of throwing the pitcher at him, so Fargo beat a hasty retreat. By now Socorro had laid the table with a veritable feast in Fargo’s eyes: hot beef, chili beans and sourdough biscuits and tortillas. Booger had devoured a biscuit in one bite before Pastor Brandenburg spoke up.
    â€œSir! We have not said grace.”
    Booger quickly did the honors for him: “We thank the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost—he who eats the fastest gets the most.”
    Fargo tied into his meal with gusto, glancing up as Socorro returned to the kitchen for more biscuits. She shot him an inviting, cross-shoulder glance, the moist tip of her tongue quickly brushing her upper lip. Booger winked at Fargo. The human bear had already drained a half bottle of pulque, and Fargo sensed a hullabaloo coming.
    The actress returned, clearly in a foul mood. She stared at the table as if it were piled with raw tripes.
    â€œIt ain’t Delmonico’s,” Booger boomed out with his mouth full, leering at her. “But a hungry dog must eat dirty pudding. These beans’re delicious.”
    â€œBeans?” Kathleen repeated in a horrified tone.
“Again?”
    â€œâ€™S’matter, cottontail,” Booger teased around his mouthful of food. “’Fraid you’ll toot in front of us?”
    She turned scarlet, which only egged the drunk reinsman on. Banging both fists on the table to keep the beat he bellowed out:
    Beans! Beans! Good for your heart!
    The more you eat, the more you fart!
    The more you fart, the better you