By Any Means

by Cindy Nord

  Instead, Annabelle met his attempts at familiarity with a distancing and reprimanding scowl...narrowing her gaze on this much-too-handsome tormentor who dared to offer her liberation where she knew none existed. Her sister’s murder, the weeks of despair, and a harrowing journey to a strange new land…all jumbled into soul-consuming angst that left her defenseless before him.

  And that was the one thing she would never allow.

  Run, Annabelle. Run.

  She jerked backward in an attempt to break free from this stranger who plotted with whispered words to pry out the frailties she’d kept hidden.

  His hold remained firm as the warmth in his eyes faded, replaced with a nameless imposing demand that penetrated past her panic. She pushed again as a tear rolled down her face.

  How dare he hold her against her will?

  On a hiccupping sob, she glared up at him. “Y-You can let…me…go.…”

  Still he remained silent, watching. She damned the empathy in his eyes. She’d spent years with her innermost fears, her heartbreaks delivered on the volatile waves of every storm.

  Always she’d endured them…alone, refusing to share her fears.

  Vulnerable…only to herself.

  On the ragged tails of an angry exhale, Annabelle planted her hands on his shoulders and shoved. Her pulse sputtered, then slammed hot through her veins. “Turn…me…loose.”

  Instead of an expected release, however, the tyrant dragged her closer, his presence enveloping her as she crashed against his chest. His quelling gaze skewered with an intensity that robbed her of breath.

  “Not yet,” he stated, the words strident. Unfazed.

  Another flash lit up the passageway, and her wall of protection soared higher, built from an endless quarry: her parents’ death, the move to a strange country, the forfeiture of years beneath caretaking…and Bernice’s murder at the hands of a monster.

  Another crack of thunder slammed overhead.

  Another broken sob tore from her throat.

  And still the damnable gambler pressed tighter. “Let it all out, Annabelle.”

  Wild-eyed, she gulped in air. She fought against him, her hands bunching his shirt into wads. “Non. Non. Y-You…can’t…you d-don’t know w-what--”

  Another blast drowned her words.

  “I can,” he whispered, his arms steel bands around her now. He bent closer, his breath sending tendrils to her cheek. They stuck on the path of her tears. “And I do know what you’re feeling. I’ve seen fear eat at battle-broken men ‘til there was nothing left of ‘em but hollow shells.”

  She scraped her gaze upward, glaring at this monster standing inside the hues of a stained-glass rainbow. She despised him and his perverse pleasure at tormenting her, forcing her to center on his devil-eyed gaze.

  The squeeze in her throat thickened. Panting now, she gritted her teeth against some unseen demon she knew not by name, yet swelled into being with every thunderstorm.

  More whispered words fell over her, his voice leading her. Commanding. “The terrors start small, Annabelle, then build ‘til there’s nothing left but despair. I don’t want that happening to you. You’re good and fine and everything decent in this wretched world. Let them go…”

  A shaft of heat sliced through her with as much force as the lightning that rent the sky.

  Against her crumbling will, his declaration penetrated, mesmerizing her, a lifeline tossed in her tempest.

  Her hands fell still.

  You’re good and fine and everything decent in this wretched world.

  From somewhere in her darkest depths a sliver of hope flickered. She slammed her eyes shut, blotting his striking face from sight. But, too late, she’d memorized every crease and angle of his strong-jawed features. “I…I…”

  She gave a rough exhale.

  He squeezed again, then dipped closer, his stubble rasping tender skin. She shuddered even as his voice ground deeper. “I know this because I’ve lived it, minx. And no matter how hard you try to deny your fears, this’ll end up consuming you, too.”

  The turmoil inside her sought freedom as his words forced her toward admission. She gasped once. Twice.

  Then spilled her misery upon him in one heaving sob.

  A minute became two…and then longer…and still he held firm.

  Even as Annabelle wept and struggled against him, the storm beyond matched her tempest….until finally, on a strangling sob, she’d purged every agonizing demon over to him.

  Slowly, the storm clouds receded. A distant rumble had her head resting on his chest. Her fingers still crushed expensive linen. She’d torn free a button, and his shirt now gaped wider. Beneath a smear of light, crisp brown hair shadowed bronzed skin.

  She swallowed, then relaxed. Her resolve to forever hate him withering away on a sigh.

  I’m safe here…in his arms.

  Though she couldn’t have prevented her parents’ death, whatever it took she’d make Edward pay for his crime…and her loss of Bernice.

  Weariness nipped through her shell-of-a-spinster body, and Annabelle sniffed. Worse, except for a bucketful of tears she’d just spilled upon this gambler, she had nothing to show for her life.

  Brennen lifted his head, removing the warmth she hadn’t known she’d miss until now. Her gaze rose as far as his chin, and she stilled, absorbing the fragrance of the rain-drenched day, the crisp bite of Babbitt’s soap, and the masculine scent of her unforeseen protector.

  On an unsteady breath, too aware of him, she glanced up. Flickers of silvery light illumined the bristles of his day-old beard, and the creases that fanned from his eyes. He stared straight into her soul. Holding his gaze, unable to stop herself, Annabelle inhaled, once more pulling his mesmerizing scent deep.

  His fingertips dug into her lower back.

  Sensations fluttered within and grew, unfurling around her tangled heart. Far from the oppressive fear of earlier, a new kind of pain mixed with pleasure. Her body tingled, too aware of her breasts pressed against his chest, how she molded to the hard plane of his belly, and lower where his all-too-profound virility swelled.

  Heat surged to her cheeks.

  His lips compressed beneath the shadow of a mustache, and her next inhale floundered.

  Another slash of lightning illuminated the sky outside as she stared up at this mountain of a man, his eyes as intense as the tempest that had thrown them together. Little warmth had existed in her life, yet the very thought of seeking such from this gambler sent prickles of awareness across her skin. He bent the rules or made his own, and walked away from responsibilities at the first opportunity.

  She knew all this yet her feet refused to move. Another shudder rippled through her. He was everything she’d never known. “Brennen, I…I…” she begged, her voice a strangled whisper as she struggled to name this ache coursing through her, one his presence had breathed into life.

  On a muttered curse, he cupped her jaw, his mouth but a breath from hers.

  Heat speared up her spine, a part of her terrified of what he made her feel, another aching to know more.

  Her breath matched his…raspy and penetrating.

  “I know,” he growled on the backside of a mumbled curse.

  He dipped his head…

  …and she surged upward.

  Their lips met in a fusion of inexplicable passion, as driven as the late-morning storm outside, a compelling kiss that had no end. Her legs grew weak as her body trembled beneath his onslaught. Then his hands joined in the seduction, caressing her, his arms wrapping her waist, until she moaned against the rightness of his touch, his taste.

  On a growl, he pressed her closer, one hand crushing her against his hardness, his other hand tunneling into her hair.

  Pins scattered.

  Freed from confinement, a braid brushed her cheek.

  His mouth devoured hers, taking, demanding until her mind hazed with need. One shuffling step backward, and then another, and Annabelle felt herself pressed against the co
ol wall. All sense of right or wrong faded as urgency for his touch stormed her every thought. He skimmed a hand down her body, wrapped her waist. And lifted her.

  On a ragged moan, he deepened his kiss.

  Lost in an exhilarating madness, Annabelle soared as if jumping from a rain-cooled cliff into a beautiful ocean, spurred on by a tremendous urgency for more…more taste, more pressure…more him. Her heartbeat matched the rapid thump of his as she slid her hands over his shoulders in a desperate attempt to draw him closer.

  Warmth penetrated the thin cotton of her blouse, reinforcing the riotous wildness that tore through her veins.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, skirting the bliss that drove her out-of-control insanity, the echo of footsteps pounding up the stairwell burrowed past the frenzy. She fought to ignore the sound, to stay in this all-consuming moment that required nothing more from her than surrender, until…the truth of someone’s approach scaled the walls of her passion-drugged senses.

  Reality crashed through the blinding wildness.

  Mon Dieu!

  Stop. Stop. Stop.

  She broke the kiss, and then shoved free from his embrace.

  The footsteps on the staircase grew closer.

  Annabelle bumped against the wall and then staggered into a wobbly stance at the exact moment Jubal Jones stepped onto the landing.

  Her gaze scraped from Brennen’s startled expression to settle upon the intruder.

  Eyes filled with worry, the giant stepped forward and asked, “Miz Annabelle…Mista Brennen…how’s my sweet Ruby doin’ now?”

  Chapter Ten

  Brennen took a gulp of air, then another in a desperate attempt to settle the pounding intensity raging through him, too aware that however much he might convince his mind, his body was another matter.

  He swerved, facing his foreman.

  “She’s just fine, my friend,” he said, striving to clear his jumbled mind as well as the unbearable pressure below his belt. He glanced at Annabelle, and his blood swooshed through his veins. She stared up at him, the soul-shattering sheen that glistened in her eyes not helping one damned bit. “Isn’t that right?”

  His words hung in the air between them, the tension crackling. Crimson mantled the curve of her cheeks, and her mouth now full and lush from his onslaught, still trembled.Five feet separated them, yet he still could smell her lavender essence.

  “Y-Yes,” she stammered. “Ruby’s doing much better.” Unsteady hands retucked the loose braid into place, and then smoothed down her rumpled skirt. “And…s-she’s finally sleeping. Although, I-I was just telling Brennen that I don’t know how she can with the storm making such a racket.” A puzzled scowl covered her face as she moved toward the upturned bucket, then bent and gathered her cleaning supplies.

  “Storms aren’t a favorite of hers,” Brennen explained as a wave of guilt at causing her further anxiety washed over him. He swallowed. What madness had possessed him to kiss her? She was an innocent, not some damned tavern wench all primed for a rigorous bedding.

  Another rumble of thunder rolled through the late-morning air, depleting what little the upstairs provided. He glanced outside. The deluge of earlier had now shifted into a downpour of hard droplets that pounded the glass in steady rhythm with his pulse.

  His gaze slid back, settling inside eyes as green as a mossy glen. His pulse spiked higher, manacled by another damnable squeeze of chest muscles.

  “Well, I don’t like storms neither, Miz’ Annabelle,” Jubal said, shifting. “And dis’n here’s meaner’n most.”

  She nodded, her eyelids lowering.

  Brennen forced his mouth into a strained smile. A quick pivot brought him face-to-face again with his foreman. “So, Jubal…how was your nap?”

  “Feelin’ refreshed for sure, boss.” The man grinned. “Since we cain’t make bricks in dis here mess, I’ll be more ‘n glad to sit wif Ruby for a spell if’n you both want to go do somethin’ else.” The sincerity in his voice proved he’d no clue what had transpired before his untimely arrival.

  Another flash brightened the passageway. “No! I-I’m fine,” she countered, her breath expelling in a rush. “Maybe later. But, you can come in if you’d like. I’ve just finished cleaning everything.” Turning, she hurried toward the sickroom. Shoulders stiff, back ramrod straight, everything about her manner confirmed she’d regained her composure.

  Jubal nodded, and then paused, glancing back. “Yo’ comin’ in wif us, Mista Brennen?”

  “No,” he stated dragging in air past the thick knot that churned his chest. “You go ahead. I’m heading into town.”

  “In ‘dis storm?”

  “Storm’s over.”

  His foreman bobbed his head once more, then followed Annabelle across the threshold. Without so much as a backward glance, she closed the door leaving Brennen to stare at the heavy panel.

  One minute, I’m comforting her. And the next…

  With a shake of his head, he took a full step backward. The soaked rug beneath his boots again squished. His emotions careened between dread at what had just happened, to euphoria at her unleashed wildness. He finally settled on the easiest reaction to handle…anger. A quick swipe of a palm over his face helped him refocus. He muttered a curse. The longer he stayed here, the more tangled he became -- in this estate, in the brick-making operation, and in a messed-up little termagant named Annabelle Swan.

  He gulped a gallon of air. His traitorous body had proved he could no longer deny his attraction to the hellcat. And, having lived through the horrors of war, he’d learned firsthand that the closer he crept to the home fires of hope, the more he’d char. Years of evasion had avoided just such slipups…not only in his dealings with others, but also in the handling of his own damned self.

  The lingering remnants of trust and caring that had spurted through him could go torment somebody else, because he sure as shit would never again allow them free reign in his own wretched life.

  His annoyance mounted.

  And despite some foolish kiss in a hell-spawned moment of weakness, he refused to allow himself to care about this woman one second longer. Her slamming the bedroom door without so much as a backward glance verified she shared his sentiment.

  A truly monstrous mistake.

  Romantic windfalls had ended with the pairing of his sister and Reece Cutteridge. They’d been the lucky ones. And the war that’d brought them together had all but destroyed him.

  Gambling, his trusted and faithful companion now, had proven enough. At the gaming table, his losses were measured only by a deck of cards.

  Nothing more…

  A life he chose. A life he understood. The only life he really wanted. Brennen dug his fingertips into his palms, then thinned his mouth.

  Annabelle’s taste still lingered.

  Son of a damned bitch!

  With a muttered curse, he cut toward the stairs. A distant rumble of thunder echoed outside as he banged down all sixteen steps. Yet, each footfall that slammed against dust-covered mahogany stirred up a haunting image of evergreen eyes edged in pain.

  He plowed across the entryway and jerked open the front door. Air ripe with the scent of rain assaulted him, vibrant and spicy and ethereal.

  Like Annabelle.

  Brennen strode straight out into the damp night, the wind that howled across the ground now fueling a different kind of storm that raged within.

  * * * *

  Tinny piano music jangled across Buster’s Saloon as Brennen leaned back in the chair. He’d been playing cards for half the night with no intentions on stopping.

  Stopping meant thinking.

  And thinking meant Annabelle Swan and his damnable weakness.

  Anger sizzled through him.

  “How many, Wallace?” he snapped, struggling to keep his frustrations over a simple kiss buried beneath the weight of the deck in his hands.

  “Two.” Discards landed on a heap near the lawyer’s elbow. Wallace glanced at his cards, scowling.
“I swear, Benedict, you must be cheating.”

  Brennen skimmed two additional cards across the table. “I assure you, Lady Luck is the one driving my odds tonight.” He set the deck aside and tugged open each shirt cuff. “See? Nothin’ up either sleeve.”

  “Game’s too steep for me,” complained the man on Brennen’s right, a horse trader from Lexington who’d joined them earlier. He collapsed his cards and dropped them atop the ever-growing pile of money. “I’m out.” With a backward scrap of his chair, the man stood then moved to the bar.

  A smile tipped the corner of his mouth as Brennen glanced at his own cards. Five in a row. A straight. Not the elation of a royal flush in the same suit, but still a reliable winner.

  He’d hold.

  He snagged a handful of coins from his stack of winnings and upped the ante.

  “I think you’re bluffing,” Wise stared at his cards, then chuckled. “What the hell. I’ll see you.” His coins jangled atop the mound. “And I’ll call.” With a sweep of confidence, he laid down his three of a kind.

  “Impressive, but--” Brennen placed his cards on the table, “--this is a smidgin’ better.” He awaited the rush at his win. Instead, disappointment eked through him.

  “You’ve got the damndest luck I’ve ever seen, my friend,” Wallace said with disgust.

  “Some nights are better than others.” Brennen scraped in the coins. “This just happens to be one of ‘em. By the way, do you know where I can hire a few people? No scrappers. Got some odd jobs around the estate that need doin’, and I want hard workin’ folks.”

  “Check the newspaper office,” the lawyer said. “Locals looking for employment usually post their availability on the board out front, ‘though most men nowadays are heading west to work for the railroad.”

  Brennen nodded. As should I. And he still might go once he held the money in his hands from the sale of the estate. Wealth waited in the gambling towns that’d sprouted up overnight across the plains. “Thanks, I’ll check the board in the morning.”

  “By the way, how’s your brick-making coming along?” Wallace asked as he lifted his glass of whiskey. He took a sip.