Read Online Utah Deadly Double (9781101558867) by Jon Sharpe - Free Book Online Page A

interrupt a lady.”
    â€œBest Indian fighter my sweet aunt,” Old Billy muttered, miffed.
    â€œDid Mrs. Tipton name him?” Fargo asked the girl casually.
    â€œWell, she did and she didn’t. The man said he was Skye Fargo, and looked a lot like him. But she didn’t seem so sure it was. Aunt Esther says she’s still nerve-frazzled. Maybe by tomorrow she’ll be able to make sense of it.”
    â€œSounds to me,” Old Billy remarked, sticking the knife into Fargo and giving it the “Spanish twist,” “like this Skye Fargo is a mad dog off his leash.”
    â€œUh-huh, and it surprises folks that know of him. This today wasn’t the first attack. A rider come in from Fort Bridger and said Fargo attacked a young gal up there. Outraged her and cut her up real bad. Some of the men are whipped up into a frenzy—say they don’t give a hang about Mormon law, they’re gonna break every bone in his body and then drag-hang him slow.”
    â€œEven that’s too good for the son of a bitch, you ask me,” Old Billy said, watching Fargo with a sly grin on his face.
    â€œNobody did ask you,” Fargo said in the same warning tone. “Sounds to me like folks need to wait and hear what Mrs. Tipton has to say. Mistaken identity is common out West.”
    â€œUncle Ralph says the same thing,” Caroline chirped. “Anyhow, it’s lucky for her there’s a real doctor in camp. He just rode in, and he’s taking good care of her.”
    â€œA doctor?” Fargo repeated.
    â€œUh-huh. Dr. Jacoby. An elderly gent from Baltimore.”
    Obviously tired of all this gossip, she set her cup down and reached over to take Fargo’s hand. “Would you like to take a walk, Frank? There’s a real nice spot down the creek a ways. Nice soft grass—and real private. The stars are pretty tonight.”
    â€œI wouldn’t mind stretching my legs,” Fargo agreed, pushing to his feet with difficulty in the tight corduroys.
    â€œYou two take a care out there,” Old Billy called out behind them. “This Fargo sounds like one dangerous son of a bitch.”
    Â 
    Caroline tugged Fargo eagerly along in the direction of the fast-moving creek. They emerged from a clump of hawthorn bushes and spotted the water, gleaming silver in the moonlight.
    â€œSee?” she told him, indicating the ankle-deep grass all around them. “Makes for a soft carpet.”
    Fargo suspected that the ardent young woman had been here plenty already, but what did he care—right now it was his turn, and he hadn’t topped a woman in more weeks than he cared to remember. He pulled her down beside him in the cool grass.
    â€œLet me get this foolish shirt off,” she murmured, starting to undo the button loops. “A man with a chest like yours—why, it’s like covering a mahogany table with an oilcloth.”
    While she unfastened his clown shirt, Fargo reached behind her and undid the stays of her bodice, tugging it down. A pair of hefty, strawberry-tipped breasts gleamed like polished ivory in the moonlight. While he unbuckled his gun belt and set it aside, he moved back and forth between spearmint-tasting nipples, licking and nibbling them stiff.
    â€œLand o’Goshen, Frank!” she gasped. “You seem to know what you’re doing! My stars, that feels good—gets me all stirred up and warm down in my valentine.”
    She shucked his shirt off and gasped. Not only at the rock-hard pectorals and stomach, but at the startling array of bullet wounds, knife scars, and old burns.
    â€œA hunter! What exactly do you hunt—or should I say who?”
    â€œHoney, this is no time for my memoirs. You’ve got me all het up, and I’m ready to burst a seam here.”
    Fargo wasn’t exaggerating. The ridiculously small and tight trousers Old Billy had bought him were especially constricting now that Fargo was