“Of course he has nothing to say!” Caroline, still trying to comfort her charge, but not sure how, snapped from her position on the floor. “We caught him in the act. For God’s sake, Ben, call the cops—or whatever passes for law enforcement around here—and press charges. If you don’t, I will!”
“Not necessary,” Ben, tight-lipped, snapped back.
“Hey, Boss,” Lundigan now tried to intercept, “it’s just some mangy mutt I picked up on the road. Figgered t’ make him a pet, but he’s too damn stupid t’ learn. I’s just teachin’ him a lesson when this dumb broad jumped in and attacked me.”
“This little stray is skin and bones!” yelled Caroline, too incensed by the abuse to even pay attention to Lundigan’s “dumb broad” comment. “And now you’ve badly hurt him, besides. If you’d but given him some food—”
“Caroline! Shut up!”
Such a blackness of spirit, of fury and impotence and sickening fear, had so filled the barn’s interior that even a violent electrical storm could not have done more damage. Ben, as caught up in the mood as both other antagonists, took several long savage steps to the open doorway and shouted, “Tom! Tom, c’mere!”
“Oh, he’s going to add the voice of reason?” Caroline couldn’t help jeering. “You have to call on your consigliere for—”
“Caroline, damn you, just shut the hell up for a minute!”
Ben had stomped back to glare at her.
Then suddenly, catching everyone by surprise, he swung around to pull free one muscular arm and one loaded right fist and fired off a hard jab. Straight into Lundigan’s outthrust, belligerent jaw. Kerflummoxed, he went reeling sideways. A left-handed punch to the man’s flabby gut knocked all the breath from his lungs, and another immediate right-handed uppercut rendered the knockout blow.
Tom came skidding through the door just in time to witness Lundigan emit a loud groan as he crumpled slowly, helplessly, to the floor.
“Wee-ooo,” the cowboy let out a whistle of astonishment. “Ain’t seen somethin’ like that in a long time. What’s goin’ on here, Benny boy?”
“Where’s Sophie?” was Ben’s first concern, as he pulled a saddle blanket off its wall hook.
“Left her with the colts and Jimmy. Y’ know—Marilou’s fella. They’re gettin’ along just fine.”
“All right. C’mere, hold this.”
Accepting without question, he stood silently with arms outspread as Ben draped the woven fabric across them. Then, shoving Caroline aside none too gently, he carefully picked up the injured puppy to lay in Tom’s open embrace.
“Let’s go,” he snapped at his wife, and set off.
Confused, unprepared, she stumbled upright and followed clumsily in his footsteps. “Why—what—where are we going?”
“To the vet’s, of course. Here’s the truck. Get in, and hold the pup. Tom, I’d like you to call Sheriff Palmer in Marigold. Have him get out here and arrest this piece of garbage. I’ll press charges when we get back.”
“Sure, I’ll do that,” Tom agreed. “Mind my askin’ what happened?”
“He worked over that dog pretty bad, just outa temper, or somethin’.” Once Ben had gotten Caroline settled on her seat, with the unconscious animal sprawled upon her lap, he swung back toward his own door. His blue eyes could have been no colder than the frozen steppes of Siberia. “Ain’t nobody on this ranch ever gonna mistreat an animal while I’m here to stop it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Dr. Wade Morgan’s veterinary office stood on the outskirts of Marigold, some twenty miles from the ranch. Ben made it there in ten minutes flat. It helped that the road was smooth and straight. It helped that, at this time of day, traffic was practically nonexistent. It helped that, whatever the speed limit in this area, Ben’s boot kept the accelerator pressed to the truck’s floor.
Once arrived, Ben, followed by an anxious Caroline, carried the lolling dog inside. There he waited only a few seconds before the doctor himself, alerted by Ben’s phone call, emerged from an examining room.
“Ah, here’s the boy,” he said, surveying dog and dishevelment with one quick glance. “Okay, bring him back with me.”
A thorough check of heart and lungs, blood-spattered flanks and paws, drooling mouth, and he could at least offer a medical opinion. “Hard to tell, at the moment, how bad his injuries are. What did you say happened?”
“I didn’t.” Ben’s face seemed carved into a mask, as if he were working hard to hold back emotion. But his blue gaze had gone from frosty to fiery, and his mouth was tight-lipped. “Discovered one of my men whompin’ on him.”
“That right?” Behind wire-rimmed glasses, the vet’s gray eyes took in and summed up the situation. “The guy still around?”
“Not for long. Think you have any diagnosis on this fella?”
“All I can tell right now, Ben, is that he’s been hurt. I’m just gonna take him in the back room for my tech to snap some X-rays, and then I can let you know more definitely what’s goin’ on. Got some time to wait?”
“Whatever it takes.”
Amazing. Who would ever expect one shred of compassion for a scraggly little homeless mutt from tough-guy billionaire Ben Taggart? Or, even, taking hours from his busy schedule to ensure that all would be well? Caroline was round-eyed with wonder. The actions of many people, especially this one, would never fail to upend her preconceived notions.
Pouring two cups of coffee from the self-service bar set up in a corner of the reception area, Ben offered one to Caroline as he joined her on a hard vinyl bench.
Overwhelmed by a storm of emotion during the last half-hour, Caroline was shaking on the inside as much as on the outside. Caffeine would only add to the surge of adrenalin still pulsing through her veins, but it couldn’t be helped. She needed something; she just wasn’t sure what.
“Thank you,” she told him quietly.
The office clock’s hands pointed to twelve; the place was empty, other than the receptionist, who was busy clicking away at the computer keyboard, or answering the occasional phone call.
“For what?”
“For the way you reacted a little while ago. For your quick thinking. For taking on the problem of an animal that could have no possible effect on your life.”
Shrugging, he took a sip of the blistering coffee.
“And for walloping that worthless scum into the next county. How are your hands?”
“My hands?” Surprised, he glanced down. The knuckles of both were reddened and bruised, slightly swollen, and showing a few gashes and splashes of blood. “Okay, I guess.”
“Maybe you ought to borrow the doctor’s X-ray machine.”
“Huh. Maybe.”
Clearly, he was locked into a welter of sensations as churning and changeable as her own. The barn’s confrontation had been disturbing enough that its aftermath was still roiling around, causing problems for both of them. It would take time to come down from that mountain top where tumult and agitation dwelt.
Ben sat hunched forward, flexing his wounded hands around the cup, while a muscle along the base of his jaw kept clenching and unclenching. Speaking little, but biting down hard on whatever was welling up inside, he shifted position, rose to pace from one window to another, returned to perch on the edge of his seat. Like a coiled spring, ready to explode.
At last Dr. Morgan came out to confer.
“Okay, we’ve got a couple of broken ribs and some bleedin’. I’ve given the little guy some pain meds, and a sedative, to let him sleep, and applied antiseptic to the cuts I found. Also put him on an IV for hydration, because he’s pretty rundown.”
“Skin and bones,” supplied Caroline, with a frown.
“That’s for sure.” Dr. Morgan consulted his notes. “Gonna do a heartworm test later, when he’s up to it, and get all his shots up-to-date—although I doubt, given his condition, that he’s been given a single one of the series. We’ll try him out with a bit of wet food once he’s able to eat. Oh, and he
’s got a rollickin’ case of fleas, besides. My tech can work on that problem.”
“Nothing too terribly serious, then?” Caroline asked eagerly.
“Not that I can tell. But I’d like to keep him overnight for observation, just to make sure nothin’ else is lurkin’ under his skin. Okay with you?”
“Okay with us.” The immediate answer of her thickened voice left no room for argument from Ben, even had he considered doing so. “Thank you, Dr. Morgan.”
“No thanks necessary. Good thing you got him in here as fast as you did. Cute dog, by the way. He’ll make a great pet for Sophie.” Slanting a knowing grin toward them, he waved one hand and strolled away to discuss appointments with his admin.
The cab of Ben’s dusty Ford truck, as they pulled out into traffic, seemed filled with waves of passion, ebbing and flowing: the remnants of anger and tension, the element of drama, the burgeoning of relief. Under the weight of so much conflict, Caroline was feeling restless, nervous, almost smothered by some unidentifiable pressure. As they drove along, she put down her window for fresh air, then almost as quickly put it up again.
Suddenly Ben sharply cut his speed to veer off the asphalt highway onto a dirt road, barely more than two tire tracks cut through the long grass.
“What are you doing?” Caroline’s startled voice jounced and joggled in tandem with the bouncing of the truck.
Silence. His battered hands were locked onto the steering wheel; his face, in profile, was set like granite into hard lines that might have been seen on a cemetery statue. For the first time, in any of her dealings with him, she felt a shaft of fear stab into her vitals and ooze like melted ice through her veins. She could almost see smoke pouring out of his ears, beneath the Stetson, but didn’t understand why.
They had gotten to the middle of a forest, populated by scattered trees and abundant green sod, when he slammed on the brakes, threw the truck into park, and jerked off the motor. Without a word, he jumped out, stomped around to her side, yanked open the door, and pulled her out.
“Ben—” she began with real apprehension.
Grabbing her roughly by both upper arms, he slammed her hard up against the century-old trunk of a sycamore. To yell at her, first and foremost, with eyes blazing blue fire.
“What the hell did you think you were doin’ in that barn? Were you lookin’ to get knocked around by a man twice your size?”
Taken completely aback by his light-speed movements over the past couple of minutes, she still managed to work up enough spleen to spit back at him. “I was rescuing a dog from death, if you’ll recall! Had I not stopped your precious employee, who obviously hadn’t been properly vetted to begin with—”
“You damned little fool! Did you think I wasn’t capable of handlin’ the situation? Did you really think I’d leave you alone to deal with things on your own?”
“Oh, I see. So that’s what this is all about. Your manhood was impugned!”
His fierce, furious face was jammed only two inches away from hers. Sparks flew between them like lightning between thunder clouds; the tensity and stress was a palpable thing, to be touched and marveled at.
“Damn your impugnity! And my manhood can take good care of itself!”
With that, he cradled and caged her head in his palms, holding her fast as he bent to savagely cover her mouth with his own. The shaggy bark not only cut into her writhing shoulders but blocked any attempt at escape. Exactly what he had planned. Exactly what she could not resist.
Keeping her captive now by force of will if not by physical prowess, Ben sent his hands plunging down to loosen and shove away her Capri pants, along with her nylon briefs. Immediately he found what he wanted—fire and heat and dew-drenched knoll—and seized upon it.
And Caroline? Helpless under his assault, she realized that this, now, was exactly the conclusion she had been unconsciously seeking—wild, wanton sex that would satisfy her odd restlessness, the itchy agitation that had been plaguing her most of the day.
The kiss went on and on—or, perhaps it was a series of killer kisses that closed off her breath and sucked the very life from her body. She opened her mouth to let out a delirious cry, but he merely snatched possession again. Mindless, heedless, she had no idea when he actually unzipped his jeans, pushed down his boxers, and released everything that was demanding release.
Abruptly pulling her away from the tree which had acted as barrier, he heaved Caroline erect to wrap her naked legs around his naked middle. His downward wrench on her hips met the upward thrust of his, connecting both together as slick and smooth as a washer sliding over a bolt. She choked, struggling frantically to grab hold of anything she could, while his hands opened her wide and he plowed inside with the force and fury of a pile driver.
Much as she wanted it, she was not ready. Oh, God, how could she possibly have been ready? At the sharp pain of entrance, she let out a yowl of protest. Then a wail at the indignity of his onslaught. Minutes later, a long moan as pleasure overtook her and she willingly succumbed to his expertise.
It was a bestial coupling, incited by the events of the day, and passion ruled.
Caroline had never known such blind, dumb desire, the need to be completely one with a rough and rowdy male. Even as, panting, he took her again and again, she tangled her fingers into his hair, attacked his jaw and bared throat with her teeth, desperately clawed at his muscular buttocks to pull him deeper.
Finally, it was finished, with screams and little hiccupping sobs on her part, a guttural triumphant bellow on his.
When, completely spent, he could no longer stand upright, Ben collapsed with her onto the grass and simply lay unmoving for some time, gasping for air.
Recovery was a slow, agonizing process.
“Oh—my—God—” came Caroline’s mutter after a while.
Ben, sprawled flat beside her, opened one eye. “Was it good for you?” he asked, and then burst out laughing.
Giving him an outraged glare, she managed, with much effort, to sit up. “I can’t believe this. Look at us. Just look at us.”
“Yeah, darlin’.” Grinning like an imp from Hades, he rolled onto one side and swept a lazy glance over her, disheveled top to unclad bottom. “I’m lookin’.” His impudent hand reached up to grab hold of one breast, just to prove a point. “You wanna try this again, my bordello queen, you’re gonna have to give me time to get my strength back.”
“Strength? Strength?” she screeched at him. “You maniac, you’ve put bruises on every part of my body. I ache all over. I won’t be able to walk for a week.”
Now his expression just turned smug. The dog.
“You wanna compare marks of passion, sweetheart? I think any good doctor would figure I’d been mugged in a back-alley brawl.” Under the much-rumpled, grass-stained shirt, his shoulders shifted in an effort to ease cramping. “Here.”
“What’s this?” She picked up the large square of gold cloth he had spread across her bare thigh.
“Thought you might wanna—uh—clean yourself up a little before we head back home. You know, that’s the real reason we cowboys wear a bandanna.” And he gave vent to an uproar of laughter again.
“Ben.”
“Uh-huh.”
“This has been—quite a session. You’ve shocked me…and surprised me. Did all this stem just from what we went through, earlier, at the barn?”
He was already standing upright, trying to pull himself back together and adjust everything that had been torn apart. Leaning forward, he took her chin in one hand to meet her gaze very straightforwardly. “Carrie, this was just a damn good roll in the hay, that’s all. Don’t make anything more of it than that. We were both all fired up, and it was time, and I didn’t wanna wait any longer.”
“I see.” Deeply disappointed, though at a loss to understand why, Caroline used the neckerchief as advised before beginning to retrieve her discarded clothing.
“Carrie.” He paused, to give her another of those direct but unreadab
le glances. “You’re definitely on the pill, aren’t you?”
“That was what we had agreed upon,” she said coolly.
“Good. And, listen. Don’t ever again get involved in a fracas like that one today. Not because of my male ego.” He brushed that aside. “But because you could’ve been badly hurt.”
“Very well. No more tackles.”
“And, Carrie?”
Attempting to disentangle her hair with unsteady fingers instead of a comb, she sighed. “Yes, Ben.”
“Any time you wanna claim your conjugal rights,” he grinned down at her, “my bedroom door is always open.”
Chapter Fourteen
To Caroline’s amazement, next morning her wayward husband decided he had nowhere more important to travel, and was staying home. Sophie seemed as surprised as her stepmother.
“Daddy. Two days in a row?” she demanded at the breakfast table.
“Uh-huh.”
She paused in the act of spearing a pancake. “Daddy.” The voice was lowered dramatically. “Have you been fired?”
He laughed. “Nope, no such luck. Sorry if I’m in your way, Princess, but I can head on out to the stables, instead.”
Squealing a vehement protest, she jumped down from her own chair to clamber up on the rung of his. “Naw, you can hang around if you like. Me and Carrie can put up with you.”
“Zat so?” Ben put down his fork to squeeze the little girl’s shoulders, clad in a goldenrod-yellow tee that matched her pair of miniscule shorts printed with sunflowers. Then, still leaning sideways, he slanted a speculative look up at his wife. “Think you can put up with me today, Carrie?”
Calmly spooning sugar into her cereal, she refused to meet a glance she knew would be laced with irritating good humor. The man was a pain in the patootie, when you came right down to it. All that twinkling sense of mischief, all that lighthearted boyish delight—it tended to wear thin, after a while.
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