by Thea Devine
FLEEING FROM LOVE
Kalida Ryland had despised her arrogant neighbor for as long as she could remember. Deuce Cavender thought he should be king of all of southern Montana... including the prime Ryland range. Why else would he have asked her father for her hand? He had to realize she hated him. She never swooned at his feet like his empty-headed conquests, never paid any attention to his strong-muscled body or his piercing gray eyes. And even if she had wondered once or twice how his rough, powerful hands would feel against her skin, shed die before letting him know it!
DRIVEN BY PASSION
Deuce Cavender had planned to possess Kalida from the first day he saw her. She was like a wild colt, full of breathtaking spirit and willful defiance. And he was sure she would use every trick known to woman to escape him. It was only a matter of time, though, before he found the key to her surrender.
Experience and Kalida's own fiery nature were on his side. Sooner or later she would give in to the passions that ruled her,the passions he would arouse. And there would be no turning back from the seductive heat of their
RECKLESS DESIRE
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SENSUOUS SEDUCTION
Kalida could feel the tension in Deuce's body as he balanced himself over her, waiting, seeing everything she could not hide. It was all in her face—the wonder of her response to his kiss and her determination not to give in to it.
His lips touched hers lightly. "Marry me," he whispered.
"I don't want to," she said succinctly.
"That hardly matters," he answered. "All you have to do is admit" —his lips descended to her traitorous mouth —"that I can make you want me."
Suddenly she wanted to pull closer instead of thrust him away, wanted to feel his hands upon her heated skin, caressing her, enflaming her.
He was expertly ensnaring her in the trap he had laid for her, and she was becoming his willing victim. . . .
For editorial purposes, if you encounter the word "hi" and the sentence doesn't make sense, replace it with "in" For example, "it was hi the drawer" should read "it was in the drawer"
Also, if you encounter "di" in any part of a word and the sentence and word make no sense, replace it with "th"
For example, "diere were people diat dien went" should read "there were people that then went"
Other possible replacements are "I" for "7" or "1" or "!" or "/" For example "1 am going to the store" should read "I am going to the store"
Other possible replacements are "m" for "th" For example "that should be" for "mat should be"
Sometimes, you may see the word "trie" which should be replaced by "the" For example "trie book" should read "the book"
Sometimes, you'll see a capital U for double ll's For example "she'U go next time" should read "she'll go next time"
Sometimes, you'll see an "m" all by itself which should read as "in" For example "it was m the store" should read "it was in the store
Sometimes, you'll see the word "tune" when it should read "time" For example: "it was the right tune to see him" should read "it was the right time to see him"
Unfortunately, it's impossible for me to go through every sentence, so I'll leave it for you to figure out if you run in to them.
P.S. If you think you're missing pages or there are really bad errors, send me a DETAILED message and I'll look them up and get back to you and correct the ebook before i put it back up for sharing. Thanx for your patience and your helpfulness.
Copyright 1988
Prologue
May, 1873
She didn't understand why Ellie had tried all the week long to put off their plans for returning home for just another day.
"Papa is expecting us today," she pointed out adamantly as she and Ellie packed clothes and schoolbooks, and she tried very hard not to act as if she had just been let out of jail.
"Kalida, what harm will waiting one more day do?" Ellie asked reasonably. She was beginning to resent Kalida's stubbornness and the fact that the onus of dissuading her imminent return was on her shoulders and not Hal Ryland's, where it so squarely belonged. His letter still crackled in her pocket where she kept it every moment lest the curious Kalida discover it —and her perfidy.
The point in fact was her father did not want her to return home as scheduled. Her father didn't want her to know the ranch was—again —in almighty trouble and that he was depending on Deuce Caverider's wealth, bounty, and good business sense to salvage his winter.
And he especially didn't want her to be aware of the fact that her own beloved pony was in the string of horses he was selling to Deuce.
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"/ am going home today," Kalida stated, "even if I have to go by myself. I'll —I'll ride, that's all. You can send the rest of the stuff later. And then," she added slyly, "you won't even have to make the trip from town." Her finely shaped black brows lifted in a show of innocence, as though to say she didn't mean anything by that simple statement, but her cobalt eyes, glimmering with mischief, betrayed her.
Ellie turned away, biting back a comment and shuttering her feelings behind her opaque black gaze. Kalida could very well ride back home without her, she thought, assessing Kalida's threat. Kalida could do too damned much for a fifteen-year-old girl. She ran the Ryland ranch, had done so for a year or more. Had taken to it like she had been born on the Montana plains, while her sickly mother wasted away from the unendurable hardships.
She could ride and rope with the best cowhand, and someone had taught her to shoot straight as an arrow with a rifle. She could cook and tend to the house, she raised the garden and looked after the ponies, and if Hal didn't have her, he would have sold out two years ago.
Kalida Ryland did not need Ellie Dean.
"All right, Kalida," she said resignedly, "we'll make the trip today."
All it required was hiring the wagon and team. Kalida handled the reins with relish, and they arrived at the Ryland ranch in the late afternoon, after a wearing day long trip.
As they pulled up to the .house they found a crowd of men hanging over the barn corral fence watching one man on horseback within who seemed to be cutting horses. Kalida leapt from the wagon and catapulted herself onto the fence. She knew the rider. He was Deuce Cavender, their wealthy, powerful neighbor to the east —if an autocrat like him could be characterized as a neighbor. She
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had always been of the opinion that he had been trying to drive them out; he wanted the prime Ryland range, and he wanted control of all southern Montana if he could get it. He wanted, she thought, to be king of all he surveyed.
She could abstractly admire the ramrod straight posture of his that sat his mount as if he were royalty, the flexing control of his muscular thighs that moved the horse effortlessly to his will as he circled his prey, stalked it mercilessly, and ultimately captured it.
She hated him.
She sensed Ellie behind her. "What's he doing here?" she hissed under the applause and catcalls of the men who were obviously Sweetland ranch hands.
"He's cutting out horses," Ellie said mildly, her bright dark gaze on Deuce Cavender's broad shoulders as he worked the lariat.
"Why?" Kalida demanded sharply. "Where's Papa?"
"I don't know; he's not expecting us today," Ellie evaded, turning her head to search for Hal Ryland's distinctive white mane. Obviously, he could not bear to be a part of this. She did not know whether to stay with Kalida or to search him out.
"Malca's in with the string that he's cutting," Kalida whispered suddenly. She turned on Ellie. "What is going on? What has Papa done?" Her eyes shot back to Deuce Cavender and a frown punctuated her troubled expression. She knew. She already knew.
"Papa sold the horses," she said in a unequivocal
voice. She watched Ellie's face, which instantly registered the truth of her statement. "Things are that bad?" she demanded in disbelief. Ellie nodded, her heart sinking.
"So bad that even Malca has to go?" Kalida pressed, wi h a note in her voice that Ellie knew boded trouble.
"Yes." How could she lie—now?
"Oh God . . ." The moan came from deep in her soul; Kalida turned to the corral again, watching as one of
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Cavender's cowhands released the next quarter horse for testing and came still nearer to bringing Malca into the ring.
That Papa would give up Malca! She couldn't bear it. She had so little else but her indomitable strength of will and sense of adventure. And Malca, her freedom.
"He won't have him," she ground out suddenly, clenching her fists. She began climbing down the fence, only to feel Ellie's ineffectually restraining hand.
"Don't," Ellie begged. "Don't do anything foolish. Don't embarrass your father."
"That damned Deuce Cavender doesn't need Malca— and I do," Kalida said stonily, allowing herself to be detained for just that moment.
"Kalida, you can't —they have a contract — "
"I don't care," Kalida raged. "Damn him, damn him! Do you think he doesn't know that's my horse? Do you think that cowboy king cares about anything or anyone? — I'll tell you what I know, Ellie, I'll tell you what I've learned already after two years' living in this godforsaken country: You take what you want, and everyone else be damned. And I'm going to take back my horse."
She wrenched away from Ellie and darted toward the barn, the only sure way to obscure herself and her intent. Ellie watched her until she could no longer see her midnight black hair, and then she turned and ran for the house.
Kalida caught Ellie's movement and was glad she was out of the way. By the time she scared up Papa, Kalida knew she would have accomplished her ends: AH she had to do was jump Malca and get him over the corral fence.
Tricky. But not impossible. And her determination was fired up and intense, licked with white hot flames of hatred for the man who would use her Papa so. She darted into the barn, the fastest way to reach the corral side where Malca was gated. And the quickest way to arm
herself should someone try to stop her. Papa always kept a gun buried in the stall nearest the doorway. And right then Kalida knew she would kill anyone who tried to stop her.
She foraged for the firearm, tucked it in her skirt, and ran for the corral door, flattening herself against the outside wall as she exited; she was in luck, for that perpendicular wall was deep in shadow. She watched the horses milling and the cowboys refocus their attention on Deuce Cavender who had, wonder of wonders, just then rejected one of the quarter horses in the string. A murmur swept the onlookers, and under the cover of that, Kalida took her chance and whistled shrilly. She was rewarded by the pricking of Malca's neat ears. Another whistle and the beautiful bay stallion lifted his head and turned toward the sound.
Kalida waited. It was almost as if time were suspended and she and the horse were moving in minuscule increments of motion.
Malca's curiosity propelled him to the edge of the herd of horses. Another whistle, now faint, had him trotting effortlessly to the side of the barn where, recognizing his mistress, he tensely waited to see just what Kalida would do.
Kalida waited. The noise around her rose and abated. When she was sure that all attention was fixed again on the corral ring, she jacked herself onto the fence and in a vaulting motion hurled herself onto Malca's back and spurred him toward the rear fence.
She heard the shouts behind her and the wind rushing in her ears. She felt her triumph rise into the wind. She had opposed and defeated the mighty Deuce Cavender.
She twisted her body and grabbed the gun as she became aware of hoofbeats behind her. The king, riding to battle, determined not to lose a dollar of his investment, she thought angrily, lifting the pistol and taking
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careful aim. She had one shot, one shot only; she risked scaring Malca and throwing herself. She risked that she might kill Deuce Cavender. She didn't care. She squeezed the trigger; the resultant roar jarred Malca's smooth gait and he almost stumbled.
And he caught himself just in time. The back feice rushed toward them. She tossed the gun to free her hands and grabbed onto Malca's mane as she urged him onward, then smoothly up and over the back fence.
In the distance, in the stunned silence, the gaping audience watched her receding figure.
Behind her, Deuce Cavender lay on the ground holding his grazed shoulder, a grim smile on his firm lips, his gray eyes hard and stone cold.
Chapter One
May, 1880
"He what?"
Kalida whirled on her father, her eyes a blazing cobalt shock of amazement.
"Must I recount the whole bald conversation?" her father asked her gently. "Dear Kalida, it is not impossible to understand that he wants to marry. And he wants you."
"Nonsense," she snapped, wheeling away from him and turning her gaze out the window once again.
Hal Ryland smiled to himself. Kalida had strong feelings—about everything, he thought with a slight touch of humor.
"On the other hand," Kalida added suddenly, turning to face her father, "I'm the only available woman around for miles. That's probably it. And I come from a respectable family. I'm a veritable treasure, aren't I? You can tell Deuce Cavender I'm not interested."
"Now you're talking nonsense," her father said mildly. He settled himself in his rocking chair, preparing to do a subtle kind of battle with his daughter in order to achieve his ends. He went on. "We are talking a kind of give and
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take here, Kalida."
"You give, he takes," Kalida interjected, leaning her slender body against the window sill. "As he's always taken," she added almost to herself.
"Kalida, believe me when I say he is determined to marry you."
"He's crazy; I hate him, and he knows it."
"Yes. Rest assured, he is prepared to overlook a certain amount of antipathy; but, my dear, you are not considering the advantages to be gained by this marriage."
"There couldn't be any," Kalida stated. "At least any that I would consider."
"My dear." Here was her father at his most conciliating. She waited, her interest piqued. "Think of it-mistress of Sweetland. You'd share his wealth and power. You'd have everything you could possibly want."
"And Deuce would have a housekeeper and someone to share his bed while he goes his own usual way," Kalida finished. "That's what he wants, Papa. And that's all I'd get and I won't settle for that, I'll tell you, when I've been my own mistress all these years."
"You don't know that," her father said.
"Papa, you're more naive than I am. Do you really think someone like Deuce Cavender could give in to 'the finer feelings'? Do you think he could love me? Or I him?"
"Oh-love, piffle," Ryland snorted.
Kalida grimaced. There was something more. "Tell me the rest, Papa," she invited, her voice on the edge of sarcasm.
"There is no rest. The man wants you, always has, only you've been too pigheaded to see it. You could be living in the lap of luxury, my girl. You'd manage Sweetland as admirably as you do us here, and you'd manage Deuce Cavender too, I'll warrant. There's nothing wrong with it, and I couldn't wish more for my daughter than a union
with a man like Cavender. Tell me what could be better, just tell me. All that wealth —and Sweetland too! Really, Kalida!" Damn, he thought. He had let his emotions run away with him; he wondered if he had gone too far. He looked at Kalida's stony face and rather thought he had.
"You want to get rid of me," she said tightly.
"Do I really," her father said pitifully, "with you the image of your mother? But God, Kalida, you want a life of your own. You'll only wind up taking care of me eventually. And you would be giving up the joy of having your own family, your own home. It's unnatural."
"I think Deuce Cavender's wanting to marry me is unnatural," Kalida said abruptly, moved not one whit by her father's diatribe. She had never yearned for her own home and family. Ryland ranch was her home, would be her home forever as far as she was concerned, and that was the end of it.
Or was it?
She watched her father's face working strangely. It was almost as if he had something more to say and was warring with himself as to whether he should speak.
He began hesitantly. "He —he has asked my permission to propose—"
"Just like that?" Kalida's voice shot out in exasperation.
"And I said yes. And, Kalida, you will listen, and you will not play tricks, and you will make the right decision." His voice was rock hard now with some determination she knew nothing about.
She faced him down. "Why?" Her voice was as flat and hard as his. Now they were coming to the hidden currents that she had been sensing all along. Yet she could see how reluctant he was to tell her anything. He had expected, she thought in wonderment, that she would leap gratefully on the idea of marrying Deuce Cavender! Incredible! So she waited.
And finally Hal Ryland pulled himself together and
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acknowledged silently that there was no way to hide the truth of his exchange with Cavender from his daughter. "It's quite simple," he said gently. "Do sit down, Kalida, and stop looking like some wild avenging angel. It's nothing cataclysmic." He watched with fond eyes as she warily took a seat nearby. "It's a trade of sorts, my deai. I want to get in the syndicate; he wants you. A bargain with no promises, no demands. Just the suggestion chat since I am interested in the one and he is interested in you . . ."
Kalida was dumbfounded. Her loving, good-natured, slightly scattered-brained father was telling her that he would willingly trade her for a place in the Sweetland cattle syndicate! It was mind-boggling. She couldn't believe it, yet as she looked at his slightly apologetic expression, she did believe it. She believed that he wanted that place and his piece of the Santa Linaria breed that Sweetland was famous for. That he wanted a lot more than he had ever let on to her. Further, to her, as she thought about it, it was obvious that this might be his last chance. He had tried to buy in before, and Deuce Cavender had baldly rejected his offer; he hadn't wanted Hal Ryland's money. It was even conceivable that Cavender hadn't wanted her, but that her father had used the last card he had —perhaps to bluff Cavender.