by Sandra Brown
* * *
One afternoon in early March, Lauren sat at a small table in Ben’s office composing a letter of commendation to the Ladies of Texas Freedom who had so generously donated fifty pounds of cornmeal to be distributed to the needier citizens of Pueblo.
She heard Jared’s spurs jingling on the parquet floor in the hall just before he stood framed in the doorway. The sight of him never failed to accelerate her heartbeat. Never had anyone loved as much as she did. Of that she was positive.
He was wearing his cowboy garb and looked much as he had the first time she saw him. She put her fountain pen down and started to get up and go to him.
“No, stay there.” Puzzled by his words, she sat back down and watched him close and lock the door.
“Jared?” She laughed a bit nervously. His expression was so intent it was almost frightening. “What are you doing?”
“Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about you looking just the way you do now? You nearly drive me crazy with that prim and proper countenance, the eyeglasses perched on your nose, back straight as you bent over some damn thing or another. It’s become a driving ambition of mine to ruffle those calm feathers.”
He advanced into the room, pausing only to fling his black hat into a chair. He strode purposefully to the large picture windows and pulled the drawcord on the heavy drapes, plunging the room into deep shadows.
As though stalking prey, he came toward her chair with measured steps and drew her out of it. He sat down where she had been and pulled her onto his lap facing away from him.
“Can your feathers be ruffled, Mrs. Lockett? Since that day I sneaked into your room and spied on you, I’ve wanted to do this.” He placed his lips against the nape of her neck and traced a path of warm kisses from there to her earlobe, tantalizing it with a capricious tongue.
“And this.” Her watch pin was covered by a hand that came around her and pressed against her breast. His hands slid over her breasts and met at her waist where he began to pull her blouse from the high waistband of her skirt.
“Then I was going to do this.” His hands moved slowly to her back and began unbuttoning the bottom buttons on her shirtwaist. He only released about half of them before his hands slipped under the blouse and moved to her front. Brushing past eager, quivering breasts, he untied the decorative bow at the top of her chemise. Feeling his way, he unbuttoned the tiny buttons, pulling the diaphanous garment down with agonizing slowness until her breasts spilled into his hands.
Lauren had not spoken, but leaned back against his hard chest and purred pleasurably as his fingers caressed her, bringing her nipples to hard peaks by rotating his thumbs over them.
“Tell me when you lose all composure,” he whispered challengingly. His breath became uneven. The lips that nibbled at her neck became more impassioned, the tongue more adventuresome.
Hands, too, ceased to be teasing and became imploring. “You feel so good, Lauren,” he rasped as he stroked her. “Silk… no, satin. Cool. Warm. God, I don’t know,” he groaned, as he gently rolled the dusky pink crests of her breasts between his fingers.
A fumbling, clumsy hand finally waded through the material of her skirt and petticoats, over a silk stocking and a lacy garter, to find her linen-covered thigh. The skin beneath the sheer covering trembled as the searching fingers smoothed up the length of her thigh until, even through the light fabric, he discovered her prepared for his love. “Oh, God,” he groaned.
One hand left her to unfasten the remaining buttons on her back and slip the blouse from her shoulders. Then he pulled the pins from her heavy hair and buried his face in its cascading waves, drinking in the lavender-water fragrance of it.
Turning her slowly toward him, he rested her shoulder against his chest and looked down at her disheveled state. “Just as I imagined. You’re ravishing,” he whispered huskily.
She suddenly realized she was seeing him through the lenses of her eyeglasses and raised a hand to take them off. He trapped her hand in his and said, “Uh-uh. They’re part of the fantasy.”
His fingers followed her collarbone and moved down her chest, adoring the tips of her breasts, tormenting her by not touching what she craved to be touched. She arched her back at the same time she tangled her fingers in his thick hair and drew his head to her.
He cupped one of her breasts, brought it up to his descending face, and nuzzled it with his nose and beard-roughened chin before closing his lips around the center bud and raking it lightly with his tongue. When she moaned into his hair, he raised his head and smiled in devilish satisfaction before melting her lips with an ardent kiss.
He pulled back in shock as he felt her slender fingers working with the buttons of his shirt. Playful lips and a darting tongue tormented his nipples until they were turgid. Then her mouth followed the path down his chest and stomach that her fingers charted. She snuggled down his body until she dropped to her knees between his thighs. Staring up at him boldly, she peeled away the chemise and slipped her arms free, completely baring her breasts for his avid inspection. Her raven hair cloaked his thighs as she rested her cheek against his lap.
“I’ve had some fantasies of my own, Mr. Lockett,” she whispered as her fingers deftly unfastened his pants.
She said something else as her hand closed around the swollen shaft, but he couldn’t hear her over the pounding of his heart. And when the love-moistened tip of his sex felt the sweet brush of her tongue, his ragged breathing drowned out every other sound.
* * *
Much later, they lay on the rug before the fireplace where Jared had struck a match to the logs already stacked there. He lay on his back, hands folded under his head, a cheroot clenched in his teeth, brazenly unconcerned by his nakedness.
Lauren was curled up on her side, staring into the fire, her cheek resting on folded hands. He had covered her with his shirt, long ago discarded along with the rest of their clothes.
“You’re very quiet, Lauren. Is something wrong?”
She was glad that he was sensitive to her mood, but reluctant to disclose the worry niggling at the back of her mind. She felt him turn on his side toward her, felt his eyes on her, though she didn’t look at him. “What is it? Tell me.”
He could barely hear her, she spoke so softly. “I enjoy… the things we do, Jared. I… it’s wonderful, but…” She stopped speaking, closed her eyes in embarrassment, and continued, “I don’t think ladies are supposed to… to participate. I’m afraid you’ll think me wanton if I do… if I…”
His laughter boomed in her ear as he drew her around to face him. Between guffaws, he covered her face with light kisses. When his amusement subsided, he said tenderly, “Lauren, you’ll always be a lady. You couldn’t be anything but a lady. And no matter how often we make love, or how we make love, or how much you enjoy it, you’ll still retain that aura of innocence that first attracted me. It set you apart from any other woman I’d ever met.”
He traced her high cheekbone with a gentle finger. “Wanton? I’m surprised you even know the meaning of the word.” He chuckled again before his mouth claimed hers.
The kiss was deep and telling, and when it ended, his lips remained on hers as he said, “However…” The shirt was moved aside. His index finger began at the base of her throat and traveled down the length of her torso, between her lush breasts, over the smooth skin of her stomach, past her navel and mons to disappear between her thighs. “As long as we’re on the subject of wantonness…” He touched her knowingly and was rewarded by her ready response.
She sighed in mock-despair. “I’m no better than a common prostitute.”
He smiled even as he kissed her. “Yes, you are. Much better.”
She wanted to admonish him for his impudence, but his swift and certain possession robbed her of the initiative.
Chapter 23
They came out of the office arm in arm into the wide hall. There they met Olivia. She looked at their wrinkled clothing and mussed hair and assessed the si
tuation correctly.
“I heard you had come home early today, Jared.”
“Yes, Mother. You might say I took the afternoon off.”
She chose to ignore his bantering tone as she did his holding Lauren close to him with an arm firmly around her waist. She could feel her control over him slipping and it both angered and terrified her. “You have some mail, Lauren,” she said tightly.
Lauren looked at her with questioning eyes and took the white envelope that was extended to her. A tiny gasp escaped her lips when she read the return address. “It’s from the Prathers,” she said. “My guardians,” she clarified to Jared, who was looking curiously over her shoulder at the letter. She glanced up at him significantly. He knew the story behind her leaving North Carolina, knew why she would be surprised to receive the letter.
“Open it,” he said gently.
She inserted her finger under the flap and withdrew the two sheets of white paper. Lauren had read enough of Abel’s sermons to recognize his neat, careful handwriting. Eagerly, somewhat apprehensively, her eyes scanned the page.
“They don’t know of Ben’s death. They send him their regards.” Her eyes roved lower on the page. “Oh!” she exclaimed. Her hand flew to her throat. “William Keller is dead!”
“Good. How did he die?” Jared asked harshly.
Stammeringly she explained as she read, “A big scandal. He was murdered… a woman’s husband shot him… she confessed to their being lovers.” She paused in her recitation to read more. The words blurred on the page, seen through a lake of tears. “He… they are sorry now for not believing me.” She folded the paper and looked up at Jared. “They beg my forgiveness and say that I have a home with them if I ever want to come back.”
Jared was looking at her, but he was thinking of the fate of William Keller and not the sentiments of the couple who had condemned Lauren. “That bastard! I wish I had killed him.”
“Someone from Lauren’s past?” cooed Olivia, who had watched the whole scene with growing interest. She was ignored.
Lauren grabbed Jared’s sleeve and shook him slightly. “Don’t say that, please.”
At her touch and remonstration, he snapped out of his temper. His gaze was warm and compelling as he looked down at her. “In a way, I guess I have Mr. Keller to thank, don’t I?”
She smiled, understanding his meaning. Shyly she murmured, “I guess maybe I do, too.”
* * *
Lauren would remember that afternoon and evening in the weeks that followed. She treasured those hours with Jared in the seclusion of the office. For after that day, everything changed.
The next night was the first time the men came to the house. Jared had left early that morning and didn’t come in until after Olivia and Lauren had shared a silent and tense meal.
Jared’s mood was surly and rude. He ate little of the food Rosa had kept warm for him, but drank incessantly. When the men began to arrive, Olivia suggested that Lauren might be more comfortable in her room upstairs. Lauren took the hint. She looked toward Jared, expecting him to intercede, but his back was to her as he poured himself another drink at the sideboard.
She watched from the front windows of her bedroom as more and more men arrived. They came in groups of twos or threes, but they all had the same characteristics. They looked mean, disreputable, and vexatious. These were the mercenaries who had been hired to excite trouble in Pueblo, trouble that would be blamed on the inhabitants of that community.
Loud, ribald talking and laughter came from the rooms below. Lauren saw Parker and Kurt Vandiver when they arrived, and a cheer rose to greet them as they entered the parlor.
That was the only occasion when the mercenaries all came at once. As the weeks went by, a few of them would come to the door almost nightly asking for Jared. He would leave with them and Lauren would hear him return to his room in the early-morning hours. Sometimes he would ride out alone late at night and be gone for hours before she heard Charger galloping up to the stables at the back of the house. Was he holding meetings to plan the attack on Pueblo?
To help relieve her anxiety and alleviate her boredom, Lauren took a more visible role in the projects abetting Pueblo. Her frequent trips to that community filled her committee workers with renewed zeal. The townspeople soon grew accustomed to seeing Pepe drive her down their dusty streets in a buggy. Some of the less shy even presented her with handmade gifts. She accepted each one graciously and with a gratitude disproportionate to its value. If Olivia or Jared knew of or cared about her work in the Mexican settlement, neither said so.
Just as dawn was breaking one morning, Lauren awakened to the heavy thumping of Jared’s boots in the hallway. Excitement welled in her breast when the footsteps neared her door. There they stopped. Expectantly she sat up in bed. Long moments passed. Once she even thought the doorknob rattled slightly. But she was crushed with disappointment as Jared’s tread retreated toward his room.
Flinging the covers aside, she flew out of bed, grabbed her wrapper, and dashed to her door. Opening it, she called faintly, “Jared.”
The large silhouette halted abruptly. Dejection and weariness were etched along every angle on his body. He turned toward her slowly. “I’m sorry I awakened you, Lauren. Go back to sleep.”
She clung to her door frame, her knuckles white with anxiety. “D… did you want, need, anything?” She hated the pleading sound of her voice, but she longed for that closeness they had shared for even a brief time.
“No,” he said harshly. “Go back to bed.” He took a step away from her.
“Jared,” she said with more force. “Tell me what you’re doing, where you’re going. Tell me you’re not having anything to do with—”
“Lauren,” he barked, cutting her off. His voice echoed through the still house. In agitation, he whipped off his hat and slapped it against his thigh as he stared at the floor. Finally he raised his head. His tone was softer, almost apologetic. “You’re my wife, but don’t expect me to account to you for everything I do. Some things you’ll either have to overlook or… or accept on trust. Do you understand?”
Trust? Could she trust him? She wanted to. Never had she thought Jared could carry through with Olivia’s plot. She wanted to believe that still. “Yes,” she answered softly. “I understand.” Silently she begged come to me.
“Then we won’t speak of this again,” Jared dismissed her, entering his room alone.
From then on, Jared avoided Lauren completely. If they should chance to meet each other, he inquired politely about her well-being. That was all. He never came to her room. She never went to his. It was as if the intimacies that had been established between them existed only in her vivid imaginings. His indifference was as hard for her to accept as the reason for it.
Olivia sparkled radiantly during these weeks. Her smooth cheeks were flushed and her eyes glittered with excitement. She looked far younger than her years. The tight lines on her face relaxed. She was in her element.
Carson was at the house constantly. He was extremely nervous.
Lauren found the presence of the Vandivers the hardest cross to bear. Three or more times a week, they had dinner with the Locketts and Carson. For Lauren, the meals were an ordeal. Jared sat picking at his food, drinking too much, snarling if Kurt so much as spoke to her, answering anyone brave enough to speak to him in monosyllables.
Kurt, as if sensing Jared’s animosity, provoked it at every opportunity. He was unctuously courteous to Lauren. Each time his hand closed around her elbow to lead her into another room or seat her in a chair, it took all her control to keep from snatching her arm away. She worried, too, that Jared might make good his threat to kill the man one day. Nor had Kurt forgotten Jared’s pistol being pointed into his face.
For all his bravado, Lauren knew that Kurt was afraid of Jared. Her husband’s malevolent looks were too blackly threatening to be taken lightly.
One evening, Jared was called away for one of his “secret meetings,” as Lauren te
rmed them to herself. Olivia had just suggested that she and her guests take their coffee in the parlor. Lauren watched forlornly as Jared went out the front door without so much as a nod in her direction. Instead of following the others, she excused herself and went into the library. She loved that room of the house and often sought refuge there, for no one else used it much.
She had been reading in one of the overstuffed easy chairs for about twenty minutes when she heard the door open and close quietly. She turned to see Kurt standing just inside the room. His thick, bulky body was repugnant to her, as was the insinuating expression on his ruddy face.
“Lauren, I missed your piano playing this evening. You deprive us of your company. Why? Are my father and I so offensive?”
She knew he was deliberately baiting her and she refused to rise to it.
“Of course not, Mr. Vandiver. I was overly tired tonight and knew that I would not be very good company.”
“I’m sorry you are unwell.” He approached her and took the chair closest to hers, his knees inches from her own. She pulled back quickly and the action wasn’t wasted on Kurt. He was not at all perturbed. Rather, he seemed to enjoy her uneasiness. Again she felt that there were undercurrents of cruelty in this man.
“Your husband shouldn’t neglect you this way. You’re far too tempting to be left alone for long.”
“Jared will be home shortly,” she said hurriedly, furious with herself for showing him her nervousness.
He laughed. “I happen to know that he’ll be gone most of the night, Lauren.” He fixed her with a sinister stare that caused her to jump from her chair.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Vandiver, I’ll—”
She all but ran past him, but he reached out and grabbed her arm, spinning her around and pulling her against him.
“You’re not being very friendly, Lauren, with your husband’s business partner. Haven’t you learned anything from your mother-in-law? She has always been nice to Carson, Ben’s partner.”