The Ballad of Hattie Taylor

by Susan Andersen

  Jake did a slow burn while Hattie ignored his sarcasm and hefted her saddle onto a railing as though this were a perfectly acceptable time of night to be performing her post-ride chores. She put the rest of the tack in the tack room, then reached for a brush and quickly groomed the mare. Finally, she tossed a blanket over Belle and led her to a clean stall.

  Jake watched every move through narrowed eyes. Hattie’s appearance was quite the change from the spit-and-polish schoolmarm she’d shown the town since her return to Mattawa. He inspected her loose, wild hair spilling over her shoulders, breasts, and back. And while Hattie was covered in a respectable blouse, split skirt, and boots, she wore no corset. Displaying every bit of sensuality she’d suppressed these past eleven months.

  What the hell was going on here? The instant she reemerged from the stall, he pushed off the post he’d leaned against. In two giant strides, he stood in front of her. “Now,” he said with implacable command, “I want to know what the hell you were doing out on a horse on a deserted country road in the dead of night.”

  Jake’s tone made her hackles rise, but Hattie resisted her immediate inclination to respond in kind. “I was riding,” she said and congratulated herself on her neutral tone of voice.

  “No shit,” he replied, making her promptly bristle. If he was going to spout obscenities, he could just . . .

  “Well, gol-ly,” he drawled with heavy-handed mockery, “I wonder why I didn’t figure that out for myself?”

  Taking exception to his country-bumpkin sarcasm, she whirled away.

  Instantly, his hand clamped down on her wrist and she was whirled right back. “Where the hell you think you’re going?” he demanded, his voice rough and his hayseed impersonation forgotten.

  “In the house,” she snapped. “I don’t have to put up with this from you.”

  “Ah now, that’s where you’re wrong,” he disagreed smoothly. “You don’t appear to get the big picture, Big-eyes. I’m not offering you a choice here. I’m bigger than you, so until I say otherwise, you’re not going anywhere. Not until I get to the bottom of this.”

  “To the bottom of what, exactly?” Hattie planted her free fist on a round hip, impatiently shaking her hair behind her shoulders as she stared up at him. “Is there supposed to be a mystery? I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a ride.” Her chin jutted toward the rafters. “Nobody was hurt by it.”

  Involuntarily, his fingers tightened around her wrist. “Which makes you damn lucky! It’s Saturday night, or had you forgotten? Payday for every cowboy and farmhand in the county. There are any number of drunks out at this time of night, making their way back home. They would just love running into a tasty little tidbit like you.”

  Hattie tried unsuccessfully to yank her arm free. Nerves finally soothed were once again jinglejangling, and the darn unable-to-scratch itch in that embarrassing spot between her legs was back with a vengeance. “Darn you, Jake! Why do you have to ruin everything? All I wanted was one midnight ride. I’ve been dreaming of this for months.” Her frustrated gaze met Jake’s irritated dark hazel-green eyes, and for a moment, she couldn’t look away.

  Neither, from the looks of things, could he.

  “It’s really none of your business,” she finally said, “but I’ve been so restless lately. My nerves have been so on edge I can’t bear it. I can’t explain it because I don’t understand it myself, but what I do know is the one thing that’s helped me through too many sleepless nights is the thought of racing Belle.” She shifted in agitation. “Well, tonight I finally had an opportunity, and it was wonderful until you had to go rain on my parade. I was nice and calm and tired enough to sleep. In short, I felt magnificent.” Her blood ran so thick and fast under her skin, she’d put money down her freckles were drowned beneath the red bloom on her chest, throat, and cheeks. She tried once more to tug her captured wrist free, but he held it firmly. “Now you’ve got me all riled up again, and I’ll probably never get to sleep.”

  Jake went very still. Christ. Of course. It explained everything: the lack of foundation garments, the tangled hair. The meaning behind her words struck at a vital hidden nerve deep inside him and he forgot his anger, his good intentions, and every previously given promise. Slowly, he reached out and tunneled the fingers of his free hand beneath the thick wavy hair at the nape of her neck. It flowed through his fingers with crackling vitality. “I know what you need to take care of those restless urges,” he whispered roughly as his fingers tightened on her neck and the wrist he still held, exerting pressure to bring her closer. “And, Big-eyes, it isn’t a horseback ride.” The corner of Jake’s mouth tipped up as Hattie’s eyes grew round . . . and aware.

  Oh my God, oh my God. Hattie wondered if Jake could hear her heart pounding in her chest. He looked as if he knew the effect he had on her. And, good God Almighty, his voice. It was as raspy as a cat’s tongue, licking a message up her spine. She shivered beneath the goose bumps cropping up in the wake of the ghostly communication.

  She could read Jake’s intent in his eyes and instinctively, knowing if he kissed her she’d lose all will to resist, she ducked her head. Why hadn’t she run for safety the moment she realized she was alone with him? Now it was too late. Jake’s hand twisted in her hair, wrapping it around his fist, and tugged, forcing her head back until her neck arched. She closed her eyes against the helpless longing assailing her as his head lowered.

  His mouth was urgent and hot, and it rubbed her lips apart before she knew what was what. She was conscious of the roughness of his stubble abrading the soft skin around her lips. But when his tongue slid across her teeth and plunged, wet and determined, into the recesses of her mouth, all rational thought dissolved. He released her wrist and her freed hands twisted in the material over his chest, using it as leverage to pull herself up on tiptoe. Pressing herself against him. Striving to get closer.

  Hattie reveled in the low sounds rumbling in Jake’s throat and in his rough-skinned hands sliding down her back until his calloused fingers gripped her resilient bottom. He pulled her up, and as her feet left the ground, instinct had her spreading her legs, then clamping them tightly around his hips as he backed them into an empty stall. Without releasing her or breaking their kiss, he scraped clean straw into a pile with the side of his boot. Then his legs folded and he knelt with her still astride his lap.

  An unidentifiable unit of time later, Jake broke the kiss, plunging his fingers into her hair and holding her head erect as he kissed his way down her throat.

  Hattie’s response was unthinking and incontrovertible. Clutching Jake’s shoulders, she moaned her pleasure and tilted her pelvis to feel more of the hard heat barely nudging that space between her thighs.

  Then before she could string two thoughts together, her blouse was on the stable floor, her chemise was pulled down around her waist, and Jake’s mouth was moving with damp suction over and between her breasts. His hands pushed her loose-legged split skirt high up her legs. Warm, hard, fingers gripped the back of her thighs and paced her slow, mindless rocking motion, rubbing her back and forth against the warm thickness straining behind the fly of his pants. Hattie’s head dropped back and her eyes slid closed. She panted softly between parted lips.

  Jake pulled his face from Hattie’s lush cleavage and looked at her. His breath hissed sharply between his teeth. Oh God, if he didn’t have her soon . . . Leaning over, he eased her onto her back atop the piled straw. Kissing her from throat to waist, he wrestled off her skirt and her cotton step-ins, leaving her wearing a twist of material around her waist, polished riding boots, and white stockings held up by the pink garters above her knees.

  Jake kicked off his boots and only managed to get his pants as far as his knees before lowering those same knees between her thighs. Holding himself in one fist, he watched as he rubbed his erection between the soft, giving folds of Hattie’s pretty cunny.

  Oh Jesus, Jesus, she was so wet.
Hunching over, he pulled a distended nipple into his mouth and milked it with eager lips. A small moan rattled in the back of her throat and her legs parted. Carefully, he aligned his cock and pushed with slow care, mindful of her virginity.

  There was no barrier to impede his progress. He sank into her in one smooth, gliding thrust. Stilling, he stared at her in shock. Who—?

  Hattie’s eyes were closed, her expression lost in wonder. He wanted to know who she had given her virginity to; he needed to love her; he—

  Oh hell, he couldn’t deal with this right now. Hattie’s face was flushed with desire, and her beautiful eyes were prominent even behind closed lids. Her teeth were startlingly white against the natural red of her lower lip. And inside, surrounding him, she was hot and wet and, God, so unrelentingly tight. He couldn’t look at her, could not feel her sheath gripping him, and still be expected to think. Slowly, carefully, he began to move. He brushed her nipple with his lips and felt her contract around him. Oh hell, yes. Later. Hands planted on the dusty floor next to her shoulders, elbows locked, Jake slowly thrust in and out of her.

  Hattie had never dreamed anything could feel this good. Her legs spread farther and her hands reached to grip the backs of his thighs, her fingernails sinking into the muscles standing out in hard relief. Little whimpers issued from her throat as something deep inside of her began winding more and more tightly.

  Then . . . Hattie had no idea if it was the sounds, or the sight, or the feel of her woman parts wrapped around his man part that got to Jake. Whatever it was, it seemed to push him beyond all restraint. His straight arms unlocked and his chest suddenly crushed her breasts. His body was clearly in control now, his hips moving fast and rough, slamming into her.

  Hattie hadn’t connected this emotion erupting between them with her rape. But with Jake’s sudden weight pinning her down, the sweet, exciting feelings his touch garnered were abruptly buried in an avalanche of terror. She couldn’t breathe. Dear Lord, she was suffocating and there was material against her breasts, in her mouth . . . just like That Night. Worse, once again there was a pounding, pounding, pounding between her legs. The lack of pain didn’t register, only the abrupt violence of his movements.

  “No! No, stop it!” She began to fight him, her hands trying to push him away, her fingernails reaching for his eyes.

  Jake was stunned by her sudden attack, by the tears standing in her eyes and the stark terror where only moments ago there had been desire. His body was a senseless beast knowing it was seconds away from a climax and had no desire to follow his command to pull out of her. But, Jesus, that look on her face! Gritting his teeth, he jerked back.

  “Oh God, oh fuck,” he said as he pulled out. But he wasn’t completely free when he started to come. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered as he ejaculated some of his seed in her before fully extricating himself to spill the rest on the ground. He shuddered as every bit of his strength drained from him and sat back heavily on his heels, his head hanging in shame.

  Next thing Jake knew, he was lying on his back, looking up at Hattie, who had kicked him there. He didn’t think he would ever, as long as he lived, forget the look in her eyes as she scrambled away from him, hitching up her chemise and snatching up her skirt and blouse.

  He’d never seen such terror or disgust in his life. She stepped into her clothes but didn’t take the time to fasten anything, holding the skirt’s waistband closed with one hand and the button placket to her blouse bunched together in the other. She headed for the door.

  He wanted to stop her, to find out what the hell had gone so wrong. He wanted to know why she’d been so willing one moment, so frightened the next. He wanted to stop her for a hundred good reasons. But mostly to apologize, to say he was so sorry he didn’t stop the very instant she got scared.

  Instead, he was appalled by the words that left his mouth even as they halted her flight. “Who did you give yourself to before me, Hattie?” he demanded. White-hot jealousy, that anyone could have seen her, felt her, the way he had, ate at him. But, God, why did those particular words have to come out now?

  Hattie whirled in the doorway. Her face was stark white, lacking even the minutest drop of color. “Give myself?” she said in a low, rusty voice. “I didn’t give myself, you sonovabitch. I was handed over on a silver platter. The man didn’t ask, and I didn’t offer. He took.”

  Jake jerked in shock. But before he could say a word, she was gone.

  33

  Jake sat for almost a full minute, wrestling with the implications of her words. Some man raped her? One minute Hattie had been clinging to him, all sweet, soft cooperation; then the next she was fighting him off in obvious terror—and she said she’d been raped?

  Ah, God, please. Tell me I’ve misunderstood.

  But Jake knew he hadn’t misinterpreted, misread, or misconstrued a damn thing. Murderous rage pumped through his veins, while nausea churned acid in his gut. He jumped to his feet and yanked his pants up, dancing cautiously in place as he buttoned them. Christ. He’d learned the hard way about lockjaw, yet here he was running around stocking-footed in a stable? It seemed the instant he’d recognized Hattie as his mystery rider, his common sense took off for parts unknown and his emotions and damn traitorous body ruled each subsequent move.

  Out in the yard, Hattie kept darting panic-stricken glances over her shoulder as she raced for the house. But Jake wasn’t in hot pursuit as she’d feared. Knowing didn’t dampen her roiling emotions. She flew up the porch steps and slipped inside the kitchen, maintaining just enough restraint to resist slamming the door behind her. She maintained enough wits as well to step over the third riser in the staircase to avoid its telltale creak, though God alone knew how, given her state of mind. Moments later she closed her bedroom door behind her. She stood in the middle of her room, chest heaving as she panted for breath. Oh Lord, she had to get ahold of herself. She was so far out of control—

  Her door whipped open.

  Hattie screamed. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she cut it off mid-cry.

  Jake stepped into the room and closed the door. Leaning against it, he worked to get his breathing under control. His instinct was to grab Hattie and shake some answers out of her. He retained just enough good sense to know approaching her at all would be a mistake. Her eyes were huge with near hysteria, and she looked like she’d fly to pieces if he took so much as a half step in her direction.

  “Did I understand you correctly?” he asked with forced softness. His skin felt as though it might split at any moment trying to contain all the emotions swelling and clawing inside him. “Some man forcibly relieved you of your virginity?”

  Her eyes grew impossibly larger and she didn’t say a word behind the fingers pressed to her lips. But she didn’t have to; he read the truth in her face. His last hope that he’d somehow twisted her words to mean something other than what she’d intended sank without a trace. “Who?” he demanded in a raw voice and took a step toward her.

  She removed her hand from her mouth and pointed her finger at the door. It shook badly. “Get out.”

  “Hattie, please . . .”

  Her voice rose hysterically. “Get out!” She was trembling all over.

  “All right,” he said in a placatory voice. “It’s okay, baby, don’t be upset. I’m leaving.” He backed toward the door, reaching behind him to fumble for the knob. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Her voice was expressionless, her eyes icy. “We will talk never.”

  Jake paused, wanting to argue the point but knowing this was not the time. Hopefully she’d be calmer in the morning and he could get some answers then. He opened the door and turned to leave.

  Only to very nearly bowl over Augusta, who stood on the other side of the threshold.

  For the first time in his life, Jake saw no vestige of warmth in his mother’s eyes. She looked at him as if he were a stranger—and not on
e she cared to know.

  Then her gaze went to Hattie. She pulled her bedtime braid from the collar of her robe and tugged her lapels tighter across her chest. “Are you all right, dear?” She turned to Jake. “You will wait for me in the parlor,” she said with cold authority and turned her back on him, crossing the room to take Hattie in her arms. Hattie immediately clung to her guardian.

  Feeling sick, he stared at them an agonized moment before obeying his mother’s order.

  It felt like he waited hours, even though he only had time to build up the fire and down a thimbleful of brandy before Augusta joined him. She accepted a sherry but the look on her face when she regarded him spread a chill throughout his entire system. “How is she? Is she okay?”

  “Of course she is not.”

  “Maybe if I go talk to her—”

  “No,” Augusta interrupted firmly. “You have done quite enough for one night.”

  Jake winced. “Look, I can explain.”

  “Can you, Jacob? I should like to hear.”

  He opened his mouth to defend himself, then realized, in truth, he could not.

  Augusta watched him for a moment, growing progressively angrier as she thought of the girl upstairs she had just bundled into a fresh nightgown. Finally, she asked coldly, “Can you explain the straw in Hattie’s hair, Jacob? Or her swollen mouth or the whisker burns on her face and her—” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word, but the hand she swept across her own chest and breasts said it for her. It was a measure of her fury that she did not blush one iota when she finally did speak the unspeakable. “Can you explain your seed upon her thighs? Will you still be explaining in a month or two if she swells with your child?”

  The thought of Hattie carrying his baby jolted something deep and primordial within Jake. But before he could respond, Augusta said with implacable authority, “This isn’t the first time you’ve dallied with that girl, Jacob Murdock, but it is, by God, the last.”