Free Nevada Vipers' Nest by Jon Sharpe Page A

familiar. But the woman he had spotted near the massacre scene had worn a blood-splotched muslin dress—a far cry from Belle’s emerald green, cut-velvet dress, which made it hard to compare impressions.
    â€œI’ve had a bath recently,” he coaxed her. “Just one dance?”
    â€œI’m under no obligation to dance with anyone I’d prefer not to.”
    â€œSomething’s a mite queer here,” Fargo opined. “You’re plenty cordial with the rest of these jaspers—they get smiles as big as Texas and even kisses on the cheek. But you act like I’m a smallpox blanket.”
    â€œI don’t like men who are full of themselves,” she dismissed him with icy hauteur.
    â€œOne of us is full of something,” he agreed.
    She spun away from him to accept a ticket from another man.
    â€œSay, deputy,” said a woman at Fargo’s elbow. “Is she the only girl you care to dance with? You’ll find me much friendlier.”
    Fargo turned to take in a petite brunette wearing a dark calico skirt and a crisp white shirtwaist. She was pretty with startling eyes like two black agates and lashes that curved sweetly when she fluttered them at him. Her bodice was enticingly swollen.
    â€œIt would be my pleasure, miss,” Fargo assured her, taking her into his arms as the piano player struck up a lively version of “Camptown Races.”
    â€œShe’s a snotty bitch,” the brunette informed Fargo as they twirled. “My name is Libby Snyder, by the way. And I already know that you’re the tall drink of water named Skye Fargo.”
    â€œPleased to make your acquaintance.” Fargo wanted to ask Libby some more questions about the haughty Belle Star. But he was too experienced with women to show much interest—especially when Libby was purposely pressing into him ever more tightly.
    â€œYou’re not like most of the yahoos who come in here,” she told him. “My lands! Your muscles are hard as sacked salt. And that’s not all that’s hard—have you got a railroad tie in your pocket?”
    â€œWhatever you feel down there,” Fargo riposted, “is your fault. Not that I’m complaining.”
    â€œSo you do like me?”
    In truth, Fargo was horny enough to like just about any female with a few teeth left. This gal had all of hers and plenty of other assets as well.
    â€œWhat’s not to like? You’re pretty as four aces and you’ve got too many curves to brake for. A nice smile, too.”
    â€œI hope this is going somewhere besides a dance, Deputy.”
    The piano player finished his tune with a fast glissando of notes, and Fargo watched Belle Star step up onto a low stage near the piano.
    â€œShe sings, too,” Libby volunteered. “And I hate to admit it, but she does a fine job of it. Stick with me for this next dance, won’t you? I’m just getting . . . warmed up.”
    The piano player struck up “What Was Your Name in the States,” and Belle Star’s silvery, melodic voice made it the best rendition he’d ever heard.
    â€œHave you got your own place?” Libby murmured.
    â€œUnfortunately, no. How ’bout you?”
    â€œWell, I have a room at Ma Kunkle’s boardinghouse, but I share it with two other girls. Seems like I’m never alone there. But there is a place we could meet. Have you seen the old Hartley place—that house just outside of town that was lightning struck and is half burned down?”
    â€œI noticed it today.”
    â€œWell, there’s one room at the back that hasn’t been damaged. There’s a corn-shuck mattress in it. Some of the girls sort of, you know, use it now and then. There’s a back door, too, so a person can get in without being seen. I could bring a blanket to cover the mattress so it won’t be so rough.”
    â€œYou just name the day and time, pretty lady, and