The Wildest Heart

by Rosemary Rogers

  “Your gun. That must be worth something.”

  His lips tightened, but he drew it from his holster and put it on the table before him.

  I pretended to consider it thoughtfully, and Mark said tightly, “You’re still about five hundred dollars short. Why, those emeralds and that diamond ring alone are worth more than a thousand dollars!”

  “But Mark’s right, of course,” I said sweetly. “Let me see—I hate to be unfair, especially when I have been challenged.” I looked appealingly at Montoya, who sat regarding me with his twisted, sardonic smile. “What do you think, señor? You set the rules for this game. And you did say ‘services,’ did you not?” He inclined his head, and I turned back to Lucas, who was watching me narrowly. “Then I will name the stakes, and if you are not afraid of having your bluff called you may accent my proposal—or lose everything you have won this evening.”

  I thought that Monique clapped her hands together softly as she murmured “Bravo, Rowena!” The sun wrinkles deepened about Lucas’s eyes and he said tightly: “Name them!”

  “Well,” I said softly, “if you win I will throw in another one of my diamonds. You heard my husband say how much they are worth. But if you lose—you came here to listen to a business proposition, did you not? If you lose, you will work for me and follow my orders. You’ve already staked your gun. I’ll buy it. At top wages, until you’ve paid off your debt.”

  It was Mark, I think, who tipped the scales when he laughed. “By God! Rowena, I’m proud of you!”

  I looked questioningly at Lucas, and he said, his voice almost savage, “Done! All right—I’m calling you.”

  Smiling, I put down three aces, and then, after a pause, two queens.

  I thought his face whitened with fury, but I couldn’t be sure. There was a concerted sigh as he put his hand face up on the table almost indifferently.

  “Three kings!” Jesus Montoya murmured. “A pity. But you should never bet against a woman who is sure of herself, amigo. I could have told you that before.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t you? Before you dealt that hand?”

  “Amigo!” Montoya’s voice was reproachful. “If I didn’t know you better I might think you were accusing me of cheating.”

  “I think your friend is a bad loser. Perhaps he does not care to have the tables turned.’’

  It was the first time that Mark had referred openly to the past, and seeing the dangerous look in Lucas’s narrowed eyes I said quickly: “Why do men always hate losing to women? I just felt lucky this evening.”

  Careless of my low-cut gown, I leaned forward, pulling my winnings toward me. The gun I pushed back at Lucas.

  “If you’re to work for me, you’ll need that.”

  For an instant when our eyes met, I felt myself swept back in time. And then, as if the tension had been too much to bear, everyone began to speak at once.

  I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath, until I released it in a long sigh that, fortunately, went unnoticed.

  Without looking at me again Lucas picked up the gun. John Kingman was pouring more brandy into our glasses, and Monique said softly, her green eyes glittering, “I have not decided yet, Rowena, if you are very lucky or very clever.”

  “My dear,” John Kingman raised his glass, toasting me, “I think Mrs. Shannon possesses both advantages.”

  The cigar smoke had begun to sting my eyes; and perhaps the brandy, combined with the headier wine of success, had gone to my head slightly.

  “Thank you,” I said to Mr. Kingman, and then, draining my glass defiantly, I rose to my feet. “Perhaps I’m of a mind to find out if you are right.”

  Mark had also risen automatically, pulling back my chair, and I smiled at him sweetly. “May I have my shawl, please? Suddenly I find it very close in here, and if you’ll excuse me, I think I would like to take a walk outside.” I turned abruptly to Lucas. “Would you act as my escort? I’m sure the others would like to continue playing—or perhaps discuss the business that we’ve so sadly neglected.”

  The surprising thing was that no one, not even Mark, whom I had taken by surprise, raised a voice to stop me. I heard Monique’s high, tinkling laugh behind me as she said poutingly, “Lucky Rowena! Now she had a bodyguard to escort her wherever she pleases to go!”

  And Montoya’s smooth voice murmuring, “There’s no need to look so angry, amigo! It was a fair contest, and the lady won. You will not embarrass your old friends by appearing ungallant, would you?”

  I did not expect Mark to follow me. The laughing comments of the others and his own pride would not allow him to do so. And I did not deign to turn my head, as I walked outside, to see if Lucas followed me or not. I only knew he had done so when I heard the outer door slam shut behind him. Still without looking around I walked to the edge of the porch, leaning my elbows on the wooden railing that ran its length. “I do hope you’re not so poor-spirited a loser as to continue acting so sullen and fierce, especially when it was all your fault for accusing me of bluffing.”

  In spite of the somewhat sarcastic tone I had adopted, I could not repress the nervous shiver that ran up my spine when Lucas came up silently beside me, casually leaning his back against the railing. I told myself that this time I would remain calm. I would show him that his nearness could not affect me any longer.

  “I should have guessed it. You’re real good at playing games—always were.”

  His husky voice was deceptively soft, but I could sense the bitter anger behind his words as I turned my head to look at him directly.

  “As I recall…” and this time I could not prevent my voice from shaking slightly, “you are the one who excels at—playing games, as you call it!” I went on recklessly, determined to have my say before my newly found self-confidence faltered: “Why did you come here after promising to stay out of my life? Was it the thought of the profits you think to gain from this crazy scheme? Or was it the notion that you will at last have the chance to be revenged on Todd Shannon? But I forget—you don’t like to give explanations for your actions, do you? Perhaps you have none that will not incriminate you!”

  “You’ve always thought the worst of me, so what the hell difference does it make? You’re giving the orders now, Mrs. Shannon. Maybe you should tell me what you had in mind.”

  It was impossible to read any expression in his hard, beard-shadowed face. Against my will, I found myself wondering, does he hate me? Do I really mean nothing at all to him? And then—is there always to be a wall of lies and pretense between us?

  I hardly knew what I said, or why. Perhaps I only put my thoughts into words. I heard myself say, in a clear, cold voice, “To begin with, I think you ought to kiss me.”

  “You comparin’ notes already, Mrs. Shannon? On your honeymoon? From what I could see this afternoon, your husband takes damn good care of you. Or did you want to find out if he’s capable of feelin’ jealous?”

  “Is that what you’re afraid of? You shouldn’t be. Mark’s a very understanding husband, and after all, if I could understand your feelings for Elena…”

  I put my arms around his neck, and it was like that afternoon when we had kissed for the first time, and only Elena was between us. I could almost feel my fingers throbbing with pain again as they touched the soft thickness of his hair. I remembered how he had called me a witch, even while his lips were claiming mine; unwillingly, almost despairingly.

  And suddenly, I felt time fall away. Like the breaking of an iron band that had kept all my real feelings locked within myself, like a river bursting its banks in flood. How could I have forgotten? How could I have pretended to myself for so long?

  There are times when words are unnecessary, when the body knows truer than the mind. And Lucas, when he kissed me now, was no more capable of holding back than I. If they had all come out onto the porch at that moment, we could not have broken away from each other. I had forgotten that they existed—had forgotten Mark, had forgotten all the doubts that had tortured me for
so long.

  “For God’s sake, Ro… Why?” His whisper was both angry and agonized. “You and Mark Shannon! When Marta told me I was crazy-mad enough to kill you both! That damned interfering old woman—she had it in her mind it was all my fault. An’ maybe it was, for not tellin’ you straight off why I’d come. But damn you, Ro, when you started flinging all those crazy words at me…”

  “You went back? To see me?”

  “Oh, Christ! A woman always knows when she’s got a man so mixed up in his mind he can’t even think straight! You knew that, and you… how long did you think I could stay away from you?” He put his hand at the back of my neck, forcing me to look up at him, and his voice held a bitter accusation that made me flinch. “You couldn’t even bring yourself to tell me you were carrying my child, and yet you found it easy to turn to him!”

  “Lucas, don’t! Please! If you only knew…”

  “All I know is what you’ve told me! Damn it—what do you expect me to think? Seeing you with him, watching the way you acted tonight. Ro, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing this time, but I ain’t good at pretending, not the way you are.”

  I couldn’t bear to hear any more. I set my mouth against his, standing on tiptoe, and heard him make a half-smothered sound that was almost a groan as his fingers closed painfully on my arms, pulling me up against him with a violence that drove the breath from my body.

  “Do you still think I’m pretending?” I asked at last in a shaky whisper.

  Lucas dropped his hands from my arms, moving a little distance away, as if he didn’t trust himself too close to me. I thought I heard him sigh.

  “Christ, I don’t know! You’re such a damned unpredictable woman, Ro. I never have known what to make of you, or what you wanted of me.” He had begun to roll a cigarette, each movement swift and impatient. For a moment, as the match flared, I saw the familiar green fires come to life in his eyes. “An’ I still ain’t certain…” he went on in the same deliberately expressionless voice, just as if he had not paused.

  In the sudden silence between us I heard Monique’s high laugh from inside the house.

  “Then that makes two of us.” I couldn’t keep the slight breathlessness from my voice. “Lucas, don’t you see?”

  “I can see that it’s time you went back inside, before your husband starts wondering what you’re doin’ out here for so long, with the hired help.”

  Why did he have to remind me of Mark? I bit my lip, trying to keep my voice as even as his.

  “But we have to talk. Please, Lucas!”

  He shrugged. “Sure. You’re the boss.” In the faint glow of his cigarette his face looked bleak and withdrawn. It was almost as if he was determined, after what had just taken place, to put a distance between us. And I was equally determined not to let it happen again.

  “When?” I persisted, and saw his brows draw together.

  “Tomorrow maybe. I’ll think of something.”

  Something in his voice warned me not to press him any further, and yet I was not content to leave things as they were. I wanted reassurance. Before I was forced to go back indoors to the man who was my husband, I wanted, once more, to feel of my lover’s kiss on my lips.

  I saw him send the half-smoked cigarette arcing away into the darkness and put my hand up, tracing the outline of his mouth with my fingers.

  “Lucas.”

  With a fury that startled me he caught my wrist, forcing it down.

  “Don’t!” I had the impression he spoke through clenched teeth. “Go back in the house now, Rowena. I’ve had just about all I can take for one night—what the hell are you trying to do?”

  He was still holding my wrist, fingers gripping it so hard I thought it must surely snap. But I almost welcomed the pain, because he was inflicting it, and I knew why.

  “Do you think I want to go back in there? Oh, God, Lucas, will we ever stop hurting each other? I’m not pretending—I never have, with you. It’s only been my pride that’s made me try to hate you. Even to hurt you, if I could, because you hurt me. You see, I haven’t loved a man before, I haven’t been prepared.”

  “Don’t, Ro.” But this time his voice was a husky whisper, no longer harsh as it had been a moment ago. “You didn’t have to tell me that, I guess I always knew it, and yet I—Christ, if you only knew how mixed up I’ve been! But tomorrow…” He kissed me then, without another word, his kiss at once gentle and angry, tender and cruel. And when he released me, he said roughly, “There! Take that back with you to your bedroom tonight!”

  It seemed that it was only seconds later, as I still stood there with one hand on the railing to support myself, that I found myself listening to the sound of retreating hoofbeats; Lucas’s words still echoing in my ears.

  I had to go inside.

  Straightening my shoulders, I pulled the shawl closely about myself as if to ward off the chill I felt gathering in me like a cold hand closing about my heart. Without giving myself any more time to think, I pushed open the door and the heat and the cigar smoke hit me like a blow in the face. And I told myself that if I had never acted before, I would act now, and deceive them all.

  Four pairs of eyes turned to watch me as I walked slowly into the center of the room. Monique’s slanted green gaze—amused, and somehow knowing at the same time. Montoya’s dark, glittering stare, over his twisted, cynical smile. John Kingman’s eyes told me nothing. Mark…

  I let the shawl slip to the floor with a careless shrug of my shoulders, smiling at them all.

  “My goodness! Are you still talking business?” I sat down in the chair that Mark held stiffly for me and picked up the fan I had left on the table, beginning to fan myself languidly. “It’s so hot in here, after the cool air outside.”

  “Did you walk far?” Mark sounded as if the words had been forced from his throat. I met his eyes, and they seemed unusually bright.

  I raised my shoulders negligently, almost glad that the role I had chosen to play kept my thoughts occupied and concentrated. “Oh, we stayed on the porch in the end, and talked. I didn’t care to ruin my slippers in the dust.”

  I looked around at them all, my eyebrows raised. “Why is everyone so silent? Mark…” and this time I looked directly into his eyes, noticing his flushed, almost sullen face. “You didn’t mind, did you? After what we had talked about, I knew that you would understand.”

  Montoya interposed smoothly, “I think we were all rather worried because my headstrong friend does not take kindly to following orders. And especially those given by a woman. But I was sure, señora Rowena, that you would not find it difficult to persuade him otherwise.”

  I shrugged, as if I had dismissed an unpleasant subject “We argued a great deal, of course. But at least I made him admit that he had lost fairly. I believe that when he is over feeling angry he will keep his word.”

  Monique’s laugh broke the slight tension that had seized us all. “There! Didn’t I tell you? ‘Rowena is quite capable of holding her own,’ I told these silly men. And you see, I was right.” Her eyes caught mine in what was almost a conspiratorial look. “And now that you are back, cherie, and quite unharmed, shall we retire? I think we will have a long day ahead of us.”

  Forty-Four

  I do not choose to dwell too closely on the rest of that night. Once we had left the others, Mark’s indifferent attitude changed to one of anger and jealousy. The only way I could calm him was to affect an air of arrogance.

  “For heaven’s sake Mark! Don’t act so—so middle class. Surely you remember that I married you of my own free will?”

  He had drunk too much brandy, and swayed slightly on his feet, the flush on his face more apparent than ever.

  “Yes, by God! I remember that. But do you? Does he?”

  “You brought him here, Mark. Pray, do not spoil the effect of your clever idea with a display of jealousy.” I pouted deliberately. “Surely you trust me? I am already beginning to see him through your eyes, now you must allow me t
he opportunity you promised—of bringing him to heel. Perhaps I might even be able to persuade him to admit to a few of the crimes he has committed.”

  “Rowena, Rowena! If I thought…”

  Mark’s hands tightened on my shoulders, but I continued to remove the diamond stars from my hair, wrapping each one carefully in tissue paper before I put them away in the chamois leather bag I kept them in.

  “If you’re afraid of him, Mark, then why don’t you send him away? Tell him we’ve changed our minds, that his services are no longer needed.”

  My purposely indifferent tone had the effect wanted.

  “Damnation! Of course I’m not afraid of him! An illiterate, half-breed gunman, with barely enough intelligence to follow orders… and you’ll see that for yourself too, soon enough!” Mark began unhooking my gown, and his voice became almost feverish. “Yes—we’ll use him, and the blind hate he has for my uncle—his own killer instincts. And he won’t even guess it! When Lucas Cord is the one to kill Todd Shannon there won’t be a person in the whole territory who won’t think it was done out of revenge. And in his turn, he’ll die for it! There’ll be no more reminders, nothing left to come between us. And it will happen soon—very soon, my darling.” Mark laughed triumphantly. He went on, his words slightly slurred, “I think that you must be the one to suggest it to him. After all, he gave his word that he would follow your orders. And I will arrange for just the right opportunity. Nothing will go wrong this time! Don’t you see the subtle irony of it all?”

  This time, Mark had said. What had he meant? Was it possible that… but no, I must not start thinking along those lines yet. I still had a part to play. It was all I could do to control my expression, to force a faint smile as I met his bloodshot eyes in the mirror.

  “You’re even cleverer than I had already suspected, Mark. But when is all this to happen?”

  “Soon.” He mumbled the word, and I realized, with a feeling of relief, that he was more inebriated than I had thought. He swayed against me as he bent his head to kiss my bare shoulder, and it was all I could do not to shudder.