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

feel!
    So eat your beans at every meal!
    Like a professor proving a theorem, he suddenly tilted sideways on his chair, lifted one stout leg, and broke wind with resounding force.
    â€œDid an angel speak?” he said innocently, staring at the petrified actress. Her face crumpled in disgust and revulsion and, as if spring-loaded, she stormed off in high dudgeon.
    â€œFox smells his own hole first!” he shouted to her retreating back.
    Nonchalantly he reached across the table for her untouched plate.
    â€œAin’t
she
silky-satin?” he barbed, scraping her supper onto his plate.
    â€œSir, you are a barbarian,” the preacher announced.
    â€œSheep dip, Bible thumper. I ain’t never shaved a man in my life. ’Course, I
have
cut a few throats in my day,” he added with a menacing glower. “Ask Fargo.”
    Fargo, however, was staring into the kitchen, where Socorro was hidden from everyone’s view but his. One hand reached up to tug down her peasant blouse, baring two beautiful tits that suddenly gave him an appetite for something besides good cooking.
    â€œThink I’ll have a look outside,” he told the others, and Socorro smiled.

6
    His Henry to hand, Fargo slipped out into the moonlit yard. Socorro’s bold advances inside had lust throbbing in his blood, but even the rut need could not quell his gut conviction that serious trouble was about to erupt.
    He circled the station, senses alert, Henry at the ready. For some reason he recalled his meeting in El Paso with Ambrose Jenkins and Addison Steele. Jenkins had quoted an anonymous letter sent to Kathleen:
Behold! The
day
cometh.
    The day being promised, Jenkins surmised, was the nineteenth of this month—the one-year anniversary of Kathleen’s public and scornful rejection of Zack Lomax’s marriage proposal. If Jenkins was right, her day was coming in one week.
    But for Lomax to succeed, Fargo’s day had to come sooner. The stagecoach was deep into New Mexico Territory now. Maybe Fargo’s day was tonight. Maybe—
    A foot scraped in the sand behind him and Fargo whirled, jacking a round into the Henry’s chamber.
    â€œDo not shoot me,” a soft, heavily accented female voice called from the darkness. “There is something much nicer we both want,
verdad
?”
    Socorro stopped in front of him, her eyes sheening in the moonlight. “I am shameless, I know. But I have no man, and always the fire burns inside me. Life here, Fargo—it is, how you say, boring. Men like you come to me only in dreams. The priest, he says that good girls always sleep with their hands outside the blankets. But I am bad—I dream of men like you and touch myself down below. Tonight I want to feel a real man inside me.”
    â€œYou’re going to, girl,” Fargo promised. “Feel what your talk has done to me.”
    He guided her slim hand to the hard furrow along his left thigh.
    â€œ
Cristo!
Like a rock it is, and so big. Now
you
feel.”
    She guided his free hand under her blouse. Fargo was astounded—her breasts felt soft and hard at the same time, like trim muscles wrapped in smooth French wool. Instantly her nipples stiffened, poking hard into his palm. She moaned at his touch and began stroking the hard furrow until both of them were panting like overheated dogs.
    Fargo grounded his Henry and opened his fly, freeing his straining, hungry manhood. He dropped his gun belt while she hitched her skirt high. Fargo knelt, gripped her hourglass hips, and pulled her down onto his lap. She gasped with eager pleasure as his curved saber parted the slick, pliant walls of her love nest.
    â€œHard and fast, Fargo!” she urged him. “Raul will soon miss me—oh! Yes, like
that
!”
    Holding her firm ass tight, Fargo bucked hard, deep and fast, enjoying the mazy waltz after a dry spell of several weeks. Neither one showed the other mercy, driving each other to a frenzy of