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

said to Milo, “Why don’t just the two of us go get Don Vallejo? I’m sure he’ll come without protest.”
    “Good plan,” Milo agreed. “However, let us take Grigsby and Stuttering Zeke. That way we can’t be accused of ignoring the more radical contingent.”
    “Right. Placating the Californios or some such hot gas.”
    The two partners shook their rifles manfully in agreement. Louder, Milo instructed the gangly, calm Semple, “Take five men to hold the garrison in case there’s resistance. Origin, try and control those oiled Osos when they show up.”
    “Aye aye, Captain!” Origin trilled enthusiastically. The dough-head even saluted Milo, and the four men started for Vallejo’s Casa Grande.
    “That fellow’s a little too exuberant if you ask me,” Reynaldo opined to Milo.
    “I agree,” said Milo. “Anyone that exuberant usually winds up causing tumult when they get carried away. I don’t see why Tallulah retains him. He’s constantly roostered and prefers strumming away on his obnoxious guitar to serving patrons or cleaning anything.”
    “I think I understand their companionship,” said Reynaldo. “They’re like siblings. Tallulah treats him like a brother, with indulgence. There’s something in Origin that reminds her perhaps of her own brother.”
    Not a word had been spoken between the two men about their randy encounter in the barracks yesterday. Reynaldo was thoroughly aware he’d been duped by Milo once again, and once again he’d taken the bait. As the foremost Yankee military man at Sonoma, Reynaldo had sat up until midnight with Milo and others at the Blue Wing, plotting their overthrow of the Mexican regime, but not even a glance from Milo or a fingertip on a wrist had indicated to anyone they’d recently been screwing in the army barracks till the cows came home.
    No, Milo was all business, writing up his proclamation that would be delivered to Commodore Stockton of the United States Navy, stationed in Monterey. Milo only betrayed his intimacy with Tallulah a few times that Reynaldo could see. Once, as she’d been placing a cup of tea on the table next to him, his arm had lifted as though he was about to grab her ass. He’d started as though taken aback and grabbed the cup of tea instead of her ass.
    It was obvious to Reynaldo that Milo was an extremely conflicted man. He wasn’t a ganymede, yet he trucked only with men—until meeting up with the bountiful Tallulah. He had a rule to only submit to one erotic encounter with men, yet now there had been three—since meeting up with Reynaldo. A great many rules appeared to have been flung out the window in the past couple weeks for Milosz Stefanski, Polish farmer. To add to his intimate turmoil, he was now the leader of a rebellion that stood to gain thousands of leagues of land for the United States. Sure, Frémont the Pathfinder would probably take credit for it, knowing Frémont as well as Reynaldo did. But Reynaldo, as well as everyone up and down the California coast, would know of Milo’s part in freeing them from the tyrannical Mexico City.
    But Milo had slept, Reynaldo was fairly certain of that. He’d seen Milo stagger off with exhaustion, not drink, to an inn room far removed from Tallulah’s little house. Only then had Reynaldo caved and staggered to his own barracks bunk, but not after staring at the proclamation Milo had been scribbling. He had signed it
     
    With every consideration of respect and by will of the People. I have the honor to be,
    Milo Stephens
    Commander in Chief
    At the Fortress of Sonoma
     
    Something had bothered Reynaldo about that signature. It seemed a little stilted and formal for a document that should be raw with emotional angst and drive. So, since Milo had often stated it was only a draft, Reynaldo had sat in Milo’s chair and crossed out
    I have the honor to be
    And replaced it with
    Your obedient servant
    That looked much better. It showed that Milo wasn’t trying to capture