New Mexico Nightmare by Jon Sharpe

Author:Jon Sharpe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

Fargo went back outside, where the ashes of Rosalinda’s home still smoldered. He circled the place several times, studying the ground in the moonlight.

And then he spotted, in the confused pattern of prints, the familiar, hobnail boot prints.

Just looking at them turned his stomach. Blaze Weston had chosen the trail to Chimayo.

Fargo returned to his room, where a soft pallet awaited him on the rammed-earth floor. The old woman had also left a pan of water, a lump of yucca-root soap, and a towel.

Fargo stripped, cleaned up, and forced himself to shave again—his thick, heavy beard had grown back quickly, as if resentful of the change after so many years. Then, all three of his weapons to hand, he crawled into his pallet. Not as plush as the Dorsey, but better than a cold camp on rocky ground.

Rosa linda—pretty rose.

Fargo was weary, and already his eyes felt weighted with coins. He saw her honey skin, the full, glistening lips, the woman’s hunger as she’d gazed at him. . . .

Outside, an owl hooted. As he drifted down a long tunnel into sleep, Fargo heard the reassuring champing sound as the Ovaro took the grass off the slope behind the house.

A door meowed open, and Fargo snapped awake, filling his hand with blue steel.

“Dave? Con permiso?”

A smile tugged at his lips. Even when she whispered, Rosalinda’s musical voice was unmistakable.

“Permission granted,” he assured her moonlit form as she crossed to his pallet. She held a blanket snugged around her.

“Maria made a point of telling me she is a heavy sleeper. That is not so true. She wanted me to come to you.”

“Then that makes two of us,” Fargo said.

“Three,” she assured him.

She knelt at the edge of the pallet, holding the blanket closed in front of her.

“You saw me naked earlier,” she whispered, so close to his ear her breath was warm, moist, and tickling. “But you did not see me naked. I want you to.”

Rosalinda dropped the blanket, and Fargo felt heat pulse in his groin. A silver-white shaft of moonlight, slanting in through the unshuttered window, showed Fargo a sylvan nymph right out of erotic mythology.

“Te gustas? Do you like what you see?”

Fargo’s woman-hungry eyes took in pointy, perfectly sculpted breasts, wide, flaring hips, an excitingly thick and dark bush.

“Me gusta mucho,” he assured her, cupping a breast and taking the nipple into his mouth.

Her need was so intense that a shudder moved through her as he teased her nipple into a hard little bullet.

“La otra?” she begged, and he obligingly gave the same treatment to her other breast.

In mere moments she was hotter than a branding iron, her soft gasps starting to turn into urgent panting.

Fargo was fully aroused now. He threw back the blanket, and Rosalinda stared at his straining, curving length.

“I did not realize a man could be so big down there,” she confessed, gripping his shaft at the base and giving him a squeeze.

Pleasure jolted through Fargo’s groin as she stroked his length.

“It’s never been too big yet,” he assured her.

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