Free The Obedient Servant [Going for the Gold 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) by Karen Mercury Page A

yelled Cowie, a youth who had been a saddler. “You are the most literate of us all, the most eloquent.”
    “Yeah”— Stuttering Zeke chuckled—“I’m a stumped old yokel, if the truth is known. You write a manifesto, Milo!”
    “Why don’t you lead, Milo?” said Grigsby, who Reynaldo knew to be a fellow farmer of Milo’s on the upper reaches of the Sacramento. “Stuttering Zeke here is a hothead liable to lead us into the shit.”
    Fowler said, “Yes, we choose you as commander, Stephens.”
    The final straw was when the gorgeous innkeeper added her two pennies’ worth. “Yes, I think that’s a splendid idea! You need someone with drive and gumption.”
    “Enterprise,” added Semple.
    “Initiative!” declared Bidwell. “Stephens has got it in spades! I once saw him wrestle a cougar barehanded!”
    Akers chimed in, “I saw him confront a grizzly barehanded—he had no pistol in sight!”
    Reynaldo rolled his eyes. Everyone in California knew it was impossible to successfully wrestle a bruin. Many of these Osos were former grizzly hunters themselves. But it gave Reynaldo an opening to finally speak to Tallulah. “Can you believe that? The claims these pendejos make!”
    But her shining face indicated she was carried away with lust and enthusiasm, too. Milo must have really dazzled her with some fancy erotic moves—Reynaldo didn’t want to imagine what. “I know it’s not possible to wrestle a Cuffy, but I do believe Milo would make an excellent commander. He’s so very strong, determined, bold.”
    He’s bold, all right. Reynaldo narrowed his eyes as Milo accepted rounds of congratulations from his fellow Osos. Stuttering Zeke didn’t even seem to care about being taken down a peg. He, too, was handing Milo a glass of ale—perhaps relieved he didn’t have the responsibility of being captain anymore.
    Reynaldo sighed. “Well. If this is the way we’re heading, toward the ‘rule of the people’ without the authentication or command of our government, I term it anarchy of the highest order.”
    “But Frémont sent a message that these were his orders,” said Tallulah. She went behind the bar and began pouring out beers that were snatched up as quickly as she lined them on the bar.
    “I’m still skeptical of that.” Reynaldo gulped down some ale because he was thirsty, not out of any great sense of celebration. “It will all become evident in a couple weeks, but I’m telling you, this fort has only a few field pieces, and the carronades are more for show than for use due to lack of ammunition. I checked the barracks—there are less than a hundred pounds of powder, very few canisters and grapeshot. We have not powder to work the cannon, and we won’t be able to long resist the Mexican army. We have maybe a hundred rifles, but how many soldiers to arm them? Thirty?”
    The innkeeper didn’t appear to be concerned. She had that lovely catlike smile and seemed to be looking up at Reynaldo from under her sooty, long lashes. He thought it was a shame that she had to work her fingers to the bone at this Blue Wing Inn. She had that pickled rummy, Origin, who appeared to be drinking more bug juice than he was serving. Reynaldo would consider it an honor to be allowed to assist such a bonny gal, but it appeared that Polish pendejo had already sunk his domineering tentacles into her. This was proven shortly when Milo went behind the bar as though he owned the place and even put a hand on Tallulah’s ass, a mark of ownership.
    “I’m not afraid of the Mexican army,” said Tallulah as she fussed refilling a brass whale oil lamp. “I’ve never seen more than half a dozen of them at one time. You’ve traveled across California a lot. What is the largest regiment you’ve seen?”
    She was obviously addressing Corporal Vargas, but that overbearing and swaggering pendejo Milo was full of himself today, and answered her. “Do you have a pen, my sweet? I’ll need to write up a proclamation