Chapter Seven
A man rushed from the cover of some trees, pointing a rifle at them. “Don’t move, or you’ll both get it,” he yelled.
Sam screamed and her heart lurched. With a curse Mac drew her back, positioning himself between her and the gunman.
As the man drew close, Sam gagged. Mud caked his clothes and streaked his face. He smelt like a pile of animal droppings that had been lying in the sun.
The dog was following him and as Scrag tried to take a bite out of his trouser leg the man lashed out with a booted foot. “Get this stupid mutt off ‘afore I shoot him,” he snarled.
Sam whimpered and Mac whistled. “Leave, Scrag.” The dog obeyed his command and let go of the material, growling low. “Sit!” He obeyed Mac’s command, but still growled deep in his throat.
“Tie ‘im up,” the intruder ordered. “Or, so help me, I’ll shoot ‘im.” The shotgun was waved about, while still directed their way.
“Steady, man.” Mac held up a hand. “Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll tie the dog up. All right?” Slowly he transferred the lead from the horse’s halter to the dog’s collar and tied the rope to the fence rail. He clicked his tongue and the pony ambled away to the far side of the yard.
“Move it. Quick.” The man waved the gun towards the house.
Sam clung to Mac’s arm, as side by side, they obeyed the abrupt order. “Keep calm,” Mac whispered. Now that was a hefty order, but with him there to protect her she would do her best, even though her knees knocked so hard she felt ready to collapse. Even in the city, she’d never been this close to a gunman.
As they reached the back door, the man whistled through his teeth shrilly, while prodding Mac in the back with the weapon. Sam stumbled, but Mac stopped her falling on her face with a steadying hand on her arm.
As they entered the cool kitchen the gunman said roughly, “Sit down, and don’t get any stupid ideas.” He waved the rifle near their faces. Mac nodded for Sam to do as he bade, pulling his chair close to hers so they could link hands. “The cops are already onto us for knocking off the old guy, so another one or two stiffs makes no difference to me,” he said, as another man came into the kitchen.
This one was even filthier. Without paying them any attention he went to the fridge and opened it. Taking out the plate Mrs. Morrow obviously prepared for Mac, he began to stuff food into his mouth. Meanwhile his brother poked about in cupboards, the gun still pointed Sam and Mac’s way. He produced a slab of cake and a few tins of meat which he slung on the table.
Sam could feel sweat dripping between her breasts and her teeth chattered uncontrollably. “Aren’t you...” She coughed when her voice failed her. Mac squeezed her hand and she went on, “Graham? Graham Tourney?” Striving to keep the fear from her voice she asked, “Didn’t we go to high school at the same time?”
He came closer, his stench overpowering as he peered at her, the gun still poised and ready. “So we did.” Mac raised an arm in front of her defensively, and the weapon was pointed at his head. “Don’t get any ideas,” he warned.
Mac slowly lowered his arm. “You were a horse-crazy little twit back then, weren’t you?” Graham sneered, transferring his attention to Mac. “Yeah, and you and this big bloke were always hanging about together. We took bets on you, you know. On just how old you was when he screwed you.” Mac glared at him with hatred, his fists clenched, but this only seemed to amuse Graham. “I reckoned it would have been about twelve, or maybe thirteen.”
“You filthy bastard!” Mac half rose out of the chair, and when the nozzle of the weapon was pressed on his chest, Sam screamed. She tugged on his arm until Mac sat back down.
“Graham, look, the police are hunting all over for you. If they close in, your brother could get hurt, you know?” Sam glanced to where the younger man was still stuffing food into his mouth, oblivious to everything going on. “He’s just a child, really. And he doesn’t deserve to get shot. That could well happen if the police get near enough. Why don’t you give yourselves up before this all gets out of hand?” She knew she trod a fine line. Both men had low mentalities.
Graham’s brother was busily pulling cartons from cupboards and the kitchen was fast becoming littered with discarded wrappers. Graham’s eyes flickered to his brother and he looked momentarily undecided. With the gun balanced on one arm he picked up a brown paper bag and began to fill it with food. “We didn’t mean to kill the silly old bastard,” he said belligerently. “If he’d just handed over his money we would have left him alone. But he kept calling us names.”
Mac swore violently. “You had no right to steal his money in the first place. He’s worked hard and long for it.”
Graham swore viciously. “What did the silly old fool have to go and jump us for?” He glared at Mac. “I didn’t mean to kill ‘im. He jumped me. If he’d had the sense to hand over the cash and guns we wouldn’t have done him in.”
Mac glanced at Sam. “Sam’s right, you know. Give yourselves up, man. If not for your brother’s sake, then what about your mother? Think what all this must be doing to her.”
While talking Mac had started to stealthily rise. Graham forestalled any further movement by bringing the barrel of the shotgun round to prod it in his chest, both hands on the barrel. Sam winced. Mac held up both hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Sit down, big fella,” Graham warned. “What would you know about our mother? She’s a slut!” He spat on the floor and Sam cringed. “Our dad’s knocked us about since we were kids. You wealthy folk with your big farms and horses running around your paddocks wouldn’t know what it is to go hungry.” Turning to his brother he yelled, “Stop stuffing food for God’s sake, you idiot, and come here.”
His brother dropped the slice of cake he’d been cramming into his mouth and shuffled over, his face covered in crumbs and bits of food. Graham placed the gun into his arms, and ordered, “Hold this, Reg.” He took Reg’s finger, and after a bit of tugging, positioned it over the trigger.
“No, don’t press it.”
Sam flinched. The mucky finger behind the trigger could blast her and Mac at any moment.
Reg’s slack mouth, wet with spittle, split into a wide grin. Graham’s face softened as he placed a hand on Reg’s head. “God help me, I would have been miles away if I hadn’t dragged you along,” he said hoarsely. “Silly sod.” Standing over Mac, he gave Sam a leer. “Don’t move, big fella. Wiggle so much as a toe and she gets it in the middle.”
Mac’s fingers were clenched so tightly his tanned skin had gone white. “You don’t have to worry about me, Graham. I don’t want anyone to get hurt here.”
“That’s the idea.” He moved Reg’s arm until the shotgun pointed at Sam’s middle. “Shoot her, Reg, if the big bloke so much as moves a muscle, got it?”
“Yeah, Gray.”
Graham patted his brother’s shoulder, moved him back out of the range of Mac’s arms then went into the other room.
Sweat rolled down Sam’s neck and between her breasts. An agonized expression filled Mac’s eyes and she knew he felt useless. Enjoying the game, Reg waved the shotgun up and down and she fully expected it to explode at any moment.
Closing her eyes, she tried to regulate her breathing. Graham slammed about next door. After about five minutes he came back—arms loaded with clothing, which he dropped to the floor.
“Lookee what I found, Reggie, old man. Bullets, bullets, bullets.” He held a box of ammunition aloft and waved it about as if it were a treasure. “Right, little girl, push your chair over so the two of you are back to back.” Sam did as ordered, as fast as she could considering she shook all over. Graham set about trussing them together with ties and stockings. Mac must have made a small move, for Graham, taunted, “Now, now, Reg will do as I tell him. The little lady will be dead long before you can get a hold on the gun.” He found Mac’s mobile clipped to his belt and tucked it in the back pocket of his trousers. “Won’t be needing that will you?”
&nbs
p; Her clothing clung to her uncomfortably and Sam cringed back when Graham’s eyes hovered and rested on the swell of her breasts, visible beneath the thin fabric of her shirt. He went round and round, until they were secured together like bound hogs.
When in front of her again, he muttered, “You always were a good-looker.” Saliva pooled at the side of his mouth as he tilted her chin with a filthy finger. Studying her face he nodded over her shoulder. “You knew what you were up to, big fella. This is one fine piece of woman flesh, yes sir.”
Sam’s jaw ached as she clenched her teeth and pain shot to her temples when he ran a finger up and down her cheek, before moving lower to drift over her right breast. Bile rose in her throat and she stifled a scream, knowing Mac would do something foolish if she alerted him to what Graham was doing behind his back. “If only I had more time.” Graham settled his finger on the nipple, tapping it.
Mac twisted his neck sideways, futilely struggling to free himself. “Take your filthy hands off her, scum. Shoot me, but for God’s sake don’t harm her.”
Graham laughed, and Sam shuddered at the awful sound. “Keep your bloody shirt on.” His vile breath fanned her cheek as he reached over to push at Mac’s shoulder. Nausea choked her.
“Gray,” Reg whined. “I’m sick of holding this thing.”
Graham swore. “Right, Reg, my boy.” He straightened, and Sam breathed a soft sigh. Hopefully, he’d remembered they were in a hurry to get out of here and away.
Her relief was short-lived, for Reg asked, “Are you gonna do things to her like Dad did to Greta when he used to make us watch.” Spittle ran down his chin, and as he moved closer, she trembled so hard she thought she might faint. Until now Reg hadn’t seemed too fussed she was female.
Graham’s face contorted with some terrible emotion as he yanked the gun from his brother. With the weapon aimed at Mac’s head, he roared, “Shut up. Pack the food and ammo. Put it in them bags.” He pointed to a pile of grain sacks lying in a corner.
Leaning over Mac, Graham checked his bonds. “Think yourself lucky I haven’t got enough time to do what I’d like with your woman,” he grated near Mac’s ear.
“If you’d touched her I’d come after you and kill you,” Mac said savagely.
Graham’s head went back as he roared with laughter. The gun was poked into Mac’s chest. “Oh yeah? I’m shaking in my boots.”
“Is this enough, Gray?” Reg had filled two of the sacks.
“Yeah, that’ll do us for now, Reg. Get ‘em outside.” Following his brother to the doorway he waited until the man had gone outside, a sack over each shoulder, then turned. He laughed obscenely. “By the way.” He pressed the trigger and Sam felt dizzy as she waited for the explosion. It never came. The click filled the silence as she squeezed her eyes closed. “No bullets.” Graham chuckled. “What a laugh, eh? No bullets.”
Still hooting with laughter, he ran outside.
“Are you all right, Sam?” Mac’s question was emotion-packed. Struggling with his bonds he swore as he groaned, “If only I could get my hands free.”
“I thought Reg was going to pull the trigger all the time,” she whispered. Violent tremors racked her body. “And all the time it wasn’t loaded.” Tears trickled from her eyes as she gave a mirthless little laugh. “That hurts, Mac,” she protested as his struggles tightened the bonds around her middle.
“I’m sorry.” Breathing heavily Mac slouched in the chair.
“Perhaps we’d better wait until the Morrow’s get back,” she suggested.
“Supposing they go against character and stay out all night?”
“Oh God, I never thought of that.” She swallowed the tears as she bit her lower lip until it grew sore.
“I’ll go round the bend being this close to you without being able to hold you.” Anguish clouded his words.
Sam laughed—sure the harsh sound held a hint of hysteria. “Mum enlisted you as my guardian while she was away.”
“Fine watchdog I turned out to be.” He grunted. “Perhaps it would be best not to tell her too many details about the mess we’ve gotten ourselves into. She worries about you so much.”
“I know. And when I see people like those two hopeless men, I realize how lucky I am. I remember when their young sister left home, do you?”
“Yes.” Mac let out a soft sigh. “The poor kid was about eleven when she ran away, wasn’t she?”
“Yes. Everyone assumed she was a slut, just like her mother. Well, now we know exactly why the poor child fled.” Sam sighed. “We’re so lucky to have been brought up in homes filled with love.”
For seconds the tick of the clock and the buzzing of the refrigerator motor were the only sounds filling the void. Then Mac muttered, “So much for finding a quiet spot to settle our differences.”
It couldn’t get much quieter than this. “We’re alone and seem to have plenty of time on our hands.”
“Not quite what I had in mind,” he grumbled. “I want to see your face when I talk to you. But as you’re a captive audience we may as well continue our discussion.”
“Captive audience is right.” Sam fidgeted to try and get comfortable. Her hands ached and nature called. She had the awful suspicion they would be tied up for some time. Anything would help to take her mind off that unsavory thought. “It will fill the time.”
“Right.” He seemed to think for a minute. “Every time I came back from university I thought how beautiful you’d grown. I longed to be back with you, you know.”
“Sometimes I doubted that,” Sam said. “You never gave a sign.”
“My mistake. I was such a fool for not making my feelings clear. After you blossomed at sixteen plus, every spare moment was spent fantasizing about what it would be like to make love to you.” At her small sound of denial, he said gruffly, “It’s true. I was so obsessed I began to wonder if I was a deviate for lusting after someone barely out of childhood. My father began to drop hints about the neighbors suggesting it was a bit strange for a young man to be inclined to spend all his spare time with a little girl, rather than females my own age.”
Sam wanted desperately to see his face. His voice had grown husky and she wanted to look into his eyes as he made these confessions. Not that she doubted his sincerity; it was there in his every syllable.
“One reason I stayed away for longer periods was because they’d half convinced me I wasn’t normal. So, I went on those trips. But I always pined for home.”
For home, or her? Sam turned her head and whispered, “I was prey to similar doubts. I was used to being treated like the original innocent, so believed I was decadent when these erotic images took the place of my childhood yearnings.”
“What a pair.” They both laughed, and at the same time a car door slammed. “Thank God. It sounds like the Morrow’s are back.” As she said the words, fear struck her. “Or is it the Tourney’s returned?”
But it was the Morrows, and Sam almost collapsed with relief as the pair came bustling in, their shock clear when they saw the chaos in their kitchen.
“Heavens. What’s happened?” Mrs. Morrow scanned her kitchen. It looked like a herd of wild animals had stampeded through it. “Who did this?”
Mac quickly explained as she went to a drawer and came back with a pair of scissors, which she used to extricate them in record time. Going to the door she yelled, “Dad, come in here quick.” Sam and Mac rubbed their wrists and stared at each other. Mac swore when he touched the welts on her skin.
When Frank entered, looking as stunned as his wife, she repeated the explanation.
Mac went to pick up the phone, then said angrily, “Damn, he’s cut the lines. I wouldn’t have thought he’d had time to do that.” It was doubtful the Morrow’s had a mobile phone, so he didn’t bother asking.
Mrs. Morrow looked dazed. She took a dustpan and broom from a cupboard and began to clear some of the mess from the floor, brushing the spilt flour and grains into a small pile.
“I’ll he
lp,” Sam said.
“No, leave it.” Mac gently took hold of one of Sam’s hands. “Mrs. Morrow, have you something for Sam’s wrists?”
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Morrow left the room and when she came back handed him a tube of cream and a bandage. Mac smoothed the salve onto Sam’s welts and bandaged her wrists.
“I’ll kill Graham Tourney.” Mac swore beneath his breath.
“No.” Sam certainly didn’t want Mac getting himself arrested. “The police will see he’s punished accordingly. It could have been a lot worse. At least he didn’t...” She bit her lip. He could have assaulted her or gone as far as raping her. She owed that to his poor sister, who had suffered such a fate at her father’s hands.
Mac’s expression said he knew exactly what she’d been about to say. “I’m afraid we’ll have to leave the worst of this mess with you to clear up.” Mac glanced about the ransacked kitchen. “We’ll go and find a phone and get your line reconnected, then warn the police before those two get firmly entrenched in the forest again.”
“Yes, you go on and do what you have to do.” Frank, who’d been looking bemused and angry, waved his hat at them.
As they left they heard Mrs. Morrow saying, “Come on, Frank, get a move on. Fetch the bin and we’ll get this mess cleared up in no time.”
“Hang on.” Mac went over to the yard to release the dog. Sam sat in the vehicle and when he joined her he pulled her round and kissed her soundly. When he drew back he stared at her silently for a moment before starting the motor.
Neither spoke on the short drive to a neighbor’s house. The people listened in disbelief when Mac explained what had happened. Mac rang the police and they drove home. Sam felt bony weary, but wasn’t sure if her tiredness was caused by what they’d experienced or by a surfeit of emotions. She must have fallen asleep, for she woke with a start when the vehicle stopped.
“Sorry, I must have nodded off.” She stifled a yawn.
“That’s okay. I let you sleep. You needed it after that ordeal.”
“Will you come in?” Perhaps they could carry on where they’d left off earlier.
But that was apparently not on, for he shook his head. “Sorry. Unfortunately I have to front up at the clinic for an hour or two.” He didn’t look any more pleased with that than she was. “I have a couple of operations I can’t put off. Clare can’t manage on her own.” Sam hadn’t given Clare a thought for hours. Just the mention of her name was enough to rehash her doubts.
“What would she have done if you’d been stuck out at the Morrow’s place longer?” Sam didn’t want to sound bitter but couldn’t help it.
“Then I guess she would have had to get in touch with the clients. But one of the ops is urgent. Come on, I’ll check your house before I head off.”
Rusty ambled to meet them and followed Mac about while he looked in every room. Once sure every corner of the house was safe Sam walked with him to the door. She shivered as he ran his hands up and down her arms.
“Have dinner with me?” When she said nothing he rubbed his nose on hers. “Please. You don’t want to stay here alone, do you?” Of course she didn’t. “Mavis Green looks after me and I took the liberty of telling her to expect you to be joining me this evening.” When she looked doubtful, he added, “Mavis loves to practice her culinary skills. She promised to prepare something special.”
Sam smiled. “Then I guess I’ll have to come. I wouldn’t want to disappoint Mavis, now would I?”
She watched his eyes darken, then close as he lowered his head. Apart from their mouths no other part of their bodies touched. All she was aware of was the leaping of her pulse and the feel of his lips, so warm, soft and sexy.
As he lifted his head and stepped back, combing his fingers through his hair, he sighed as if reluctant to leave her. “I’d better be off. I’ll go over to the station on the way through town to explain to the sergeant what happened. I’ll try and get you out of giving a statement if possible. Do you want me to pick you up later, or will you drive over when you’re ready?”
“I’ll drive over—it’s pointless you coming back out, especially as you have a busy afternoon ahead.”
“Right.” He seemed loath to go. “Lock this door after me.”
Sam waved, watched him drive away, and then did as he suggested. It was so weird to be locking oneself in—something they’d never worried about before. She wandered into the bathroom and filled the tub. Sinking into the scented water, she sighed with pleasure. The welts on her wrists stung, but the water helped ease the soreness.
Unavoidably, her thoughts went to Mac. The physical attraction between them was undeniable, but doubts about Clare still plagued her. Frightening as the encounter with the criminals had been, the horror dimmed beside Mac’s confession.
How she wanted to believe him. What she couldn’t understand was why Clare was still around if she meant nothing to him. Why was she sharing his practice if he had no feelings for her?
Could he be deceiving her? Perhaps he’d always deceived her and she was gullible. There was no denying his desire for her, but Sam knew that even at twenty two she was inexperienced where men were concerned. In today’s climate where girls tested the waters at a very early age, she was an anomaly.
Would she and Mac be married now if she hadn’t gone into the barn that night, she wondered, as she sorted out fresh underclothes. Pulling a face, she mused that Mac was right about her being too thin. The apple green dress she decided to wear enhanced her coloring, but certainly showed off her leanness.
It was hard to connect the woman who stared back at her from the mirror with the coltish tomboy she’d been at sixteen. A few men had gone as far as telling her she possessed an unusual beauty, but she’d always scoffed at that. Mac was an Adonis—she was just passable in the looks department. But hadn’t Mac told her he thought she’d grown into a lovely woman. Gorgeous was the word he’d used. She shook her head as she secured her hair with a jeweled comb behind her left ear. Now that was going too far.
She slipped on low-heeled sandals, picked up her purse and keys and went out to the kitchen.
Rusty grunted as he settled in his basket, his stomach full. “Now, you be a good boy and guard the house.” As if he understood her request he gave her an answering sound, halfway between a bark and a whine.
Feeling somewhat like a girl going to her first encounter with a boy she took a few deep breaths before going out to her car.
Lonely Pride Page 21