* * *
A light burned in the barn. “Park alongside the barn,” Sam said as Robert neared the huge building. They’d seen no one on the property. Barely had he eased on the brake before Sam was climbing from the car. Why was Clare’s bay mare still tethered to the rail at the side of the building?
The barn door was latched, which struck her as odd, for it was warm and muggy and Mac always left the doors open in summer.
“Mac?” Sam called softly as she went inside. The light was on over Rasputin’s loose box so she walked slowly down the center aisle.
Two figures were illuminated starkly by the single overhead light bulb. Time seemed suspended and her limbs felt as if she moved in slow motion as, in a moment of sheer panic, every muscle in her body froze. Whimpering childishly, she put a hand to her mouth.
Clare was naked, except for a pair of lacy panties that barely covered her bottom. Despite Sam’s sense of disbelief and horror she couldn’t help noticing Clare had a perfect figure, her spine curving gently, her buttocks nicely rounded. No wonder every man who came into contact with her was smitten. Mac’s shirt buttons were undone, the tail flapping behind him, Clare’s fingers pressed against his chest hair.
This is a bad dream. If she opened her eyes, Mac would be tending his horse and Clare would be fully dressed.
But when Sam blinked a few times Clare was still undressed and Mac’s look of stunned shock showed he’d clearly not expected Sam to turn up and find them like this. As Clare half turned her full breasts jiggled, and Sam’s eyes seemed riveted to the dark nipples that jutted invitingly.
“What the hell?” Mac’s shout echoed through the rafters as Sam whirled, a fist in her mouth to hold back a scream, and ran blindly back the way she’d come. “No, Sam, wait.” His footsteps sounded loud as he followed her. Dimly she heard the whinnying and snorting of the frightened horses, and in a moment of insanity, faltered to offer them a word of comfort.
Once outside, she leant against the barn wall and vomited. Dry sobs racked through her, making her chest and throat hurt. She shook in every fiber of her being, feeling like a limp rag doll. She was going to die—she knew it. Nobody could feel this bad and survive.
Mac came up beside her, and as he tried to put a hand on her shoulder, she slapped at it violently. “Don’t touch me,” she shrieked, pressing her hands over her ears.
“Sam, it’s not what it seemed. Believe me—you have to listen to me. Dear God, you must listen.” There was a buzzing in her ears and his words came to her as if through a thick fog. She swayed, and wouldn’t have been surprised if she passed out. “Clare tricked me. I was fixing my horse...”
She didn’t give him the chance to go on. “I hate you!” In that moment she really did despise him. “You’ve still got her smell on you.” The scent of Clare’s heavy perfume clung to his shirt, making her stomach churn anew. Her lip curled as she sneered in disgust. A scalding rush of tears clogged her throat as she thumped his chest, his arms, his jaw, anywhere she could reach. Aware he was trying to catch her flailing arms she twisted away from him. When he tried to cup her chin, she dashed at his hand with a fist.
With a muffled curse, he urged, “Don’t.” He sounded terribly sad, and in a brief flash of puzzlement she wondered why he felt sad. She was the one dying here. “Let me explain...”
“Explain? I’m not stupid, though you must think I am,” she hissed, stepping back. “I hate the sight of you and never want to set eyes on you again. Do you hear?”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Oh yes, I do.” Vaguely she felt a touch her arm. Robert stood there, looking sheepish. She’d forgotten him.
“Let’s go home, Sam.” He sounded very worried. Like a child being led, she allowed him to escort her to his car.
Robert helped her into the car, even did up the seat belt. Mac said something but in her agony of misery Sam didn’t catch the words. Robert said, “You’d best come over later, Mac. Give her time to calm down.”
“No, I don’t want him near me.” Sam buried her face in her hands as Robert started the car. Mac shouted something but such was her agony she didn’t catch it. As Robert drove away he murmured a few soft words—Sam had no idea what he said either. Sobs racked her body until her throat and chest hurt.
“Don’t tell Mum, will you?” she pleaded through her tears.
“I won’t tell her—but you know your mother, she’ll want to know why you’re upset.” Robert patted her knee.
“I know, but I’ll tell her when I’m ready.”
“All right, I promise not to say a word.” Sam came close to liking him in that moment. She wasn’t sure how much Robert had seen—or even if he’d known Clare was naked. Humiliation stopped her asking him.
On their arrival home, Sam managed to dodge her mother’s all-seeing eyes and ran to the bathroom, where she splashed her face with cold water and repaired the small amount of make-up she’d applied earlier.
As she joined the raucous crowd Sam plastered a smile on her face. Her friends were dancing wildly and she flung herself mindlessly into the mood, allowing numerous boys to whirl her about. Despite Barbara’s dictate there was to be no alcohol at the party, two boys smuggled in a bottle or two and Sam swallowed whatever was offered.
Someone lured her into the garden. Shielded from the house by a large shrub she was taking a swig from a bottle of vodka when Mac found her.
“What the bloody hell is going on here?” he demanded. Sam giggled and her young male companion vanished into the darkness.
“What’re you doin’ here?” She slurred the words as her foggy brain tried to recall why she didn’t want to see him. Then she remembered. As he tried to pull her into his arms she struggled free. “Don’t you dare touch me. I told you I never wanted to see you again.”
He ignored her plea, trying to grab her flailing hands. “Please listen. I have to explain.”
Anger fired her strength and with one sudden push at his chest she turned on her heel and stormed toward the house, stumbling over a tree root. Although she knew he trailed her she slammed the back door in his face.
When he opened it and followed her into the kitchen she glared at him. Her mother was taking something out of the fridge. “Good gracious, what have you been up to, Sam? You look dreadful.” She looked to Mac when Sam remained sullenly silent, tucking her hands beneath her armpits defensively.
Mac shrugged and looked at a loss for words. “She’s rather the worse for wear—some kid was giving her booze. I reckon she’s feeling mighty sick right now.” Reaching out, he wiped a tear from Sam’s cheek. She flinched at the tenderness in his touch.
She shrugged his hand away and glared at him. Anger replaced the tenderness in his eyes.
“I definitely vetoed alcohol.” Barbara looked angrily at Sam. “Who brought it? He can leave right now.” Sam wasn’t certain if her mother was conscious of the tension blazing between her and Mac.
“I think he’s taken off.” Mac’s features were taut with some emotion, and for a minute Sam was almost scared of him. She turned to flee.
“Why weren’t you here earlier?” she heard her mother ask, but any further words were lost to her as she rushed to the bathroom, where she fell to her knees and emptied her stomach down the toilet.
Feeling sick and weary as an old woman she went into her bedroom. Shuddering sobs racked through her as she leant back against the closed door and tried to control herself—to no avail. Dragging the dress she’d loved so much over her head she tossed the green silk into a corner. She donned her housecoat and lay on her bed, shivering and weeping. It seemed hours until the house went quiet.
Her mother tapped on the door, calling, “Sam, are you all right?” Sam ignored her anxious query. When Barbara opened the door, Sam squeezed her eyes shut. With her knees drawn up to her stomach and her face pressed into the pillow, she feigned sleep when her mother stood over her.
Barbara sat on the side of her bed and stroked Sam’
s head, but when Sam didn’t respond to her soft words she sighed and left. Alone again, Sam let the tears fall unchecked. How she hated and loathed him. For some inexplicable reason, she didn’t cast any blame on Clare. After all, she’d made no secret of her longing for Mac, any more than Sam had. No, she blamed Mac entirely. He should have resisted her.
Pain racked her as she sobbed into her pillow. Never had she felt so rejected—so worthless. How had she come to be so dependent on him? So emotionally dependent that there was no one on this earth who could match up to the fantasy hero she’d built him into over the years.
Lonely Pride Page 13