Reckless Desire

by Thea Devine

  She did not count Prestina, who hovered around her with a faint air of concern. Prestina was family. Prestina was like having a safe, secure wall surrounding her.

  Nothing could touch her now. She felt powerful be­cause something that had seemed a reversal had turned nit to be a blessing, and she laid it to the fact that the Rylands were now out of Deuce's life and, concurrently, hers.

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  She looked out benignly over the broad fields of Sweetland and leapt up as she saw their peace disrupted by a hard-driving rider. Not Deuce. Not anyone she expected. Not anyone she could possibly want to see.

  And certainly not Kalida Ryland, who was coming toward her across the fields at breakneck speed. She almost toppled off her mount as she pulled him to a quivering halt.

  Ardelle stood as still as a statue, mustering her reserves, quelling her temper. "What do you want?" she finally demanded ungraciously.

  "I must see Deuce," Kalida panted, sliding off the mangy horse she had commandeered earlier that morn­ing. A simple task, right from an unlocked barn, when everyone was still asleep; her shame was incalculable, but she had to.

  "Well, you mustn't," Ardelle contradicted her. "And you won't because he certainly doesn't want to see you. So now you will kindly remount and leave."

  Her hostility was palpable, and Kalida recoiled.

  "He'll see me," she said harshly. "Tell him."

  "I can't and he won't. And you can just leave. We don't want you here." Ardelle turned to go back into the house, and Kalida's question stopped her.

  "Why?"

  "Deuce doesn't want you here," Ardelle repeated.

  "Let him tell me," Kalida countered, trying to buy time. She had to see Deuce. "I'll go to him. Where is he?"

  Ardelle considered for a moment, and then whirled back to her. "He's gone away. And he wouldn't want to see you, don't you understand that? It would be better for you if you would just go. And stay away."

  "Maybe," Kalida said cannily, wondering at her insis­tence, knowing how much Ardelle disliked her, "it's you who wants me to go away, not Deuce."

  Ardelle's face hardened. "I do; I thought I had gotten

  rid of you."

  Kalida's glazed cobalt eyes widened at this bald state­ment, but she didn't have the strength to assess just what Ardelle meant by it. "Tell me where Deuce is, I'll go find him."

  "Really, Kalida-" God, Kalida was so tired of that contemptuous "really, Kalida" of Ardelle's, but she re­peated it. "Really, Kalida, I would think you would understand you are not welcome here, and you would just leave as graciously .as possible."

  "I haven't got the energy," Kalida muttered, but Ardelle did not hear her. She had wheeled away and was disap­pearing into the house. Kalida stared after her, utterly numbed by her callous treatment.

  She just couldn't face climbing onto that horse again and the jolting ride back to Bozeman. And the time. The time it would take . . .

  "Miss Kalida." She knew that soft voice. She looked up to see Prestina motioning to her from around the corner of the old house. Gingerly, Kalida walked the horse over to her and let Prestina's warm embrace enfold her for a brief, revivifying moment. "You need Mr. Deuce?"

  "Desperately," Kalida whispered.

  "He is with the Linaria. No one knows where. Do you need to eat?"

  "Please."

  "Come, we go around the back, and quietly; Miss Ardelle need not know."

  And then she waited ever so patiently in the loft of the b-Ji at her old homestead. It seemed the most reasonable thing to do. Ardelle was'still thumping angrily around the house, finally coming into the kitchen and catching Prestina feeding Kalida, which caused her to have a tantrum.

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  But Ardelle felt betrayed. Prestina was family; Prestina was there to cosset Cavenders, not Rylands. Prestina had sided with those who were no longer welcome at Sweetland.

  Prestina was totally bewildered. She had sent Kalida off with a canteen and a basket of food, with instructions to wait, since she could not return to town today, nor did she want to. And Prestina would tell Deuce—whenever that might be—about Ardelle's strange humor and how she had turned Kalida out once again.

  Kalida was, in reality, relieved to be alone and far away from everyone. She needed to think, to understand Ar­delle's animosity, to decide what to say to Deuce. . . . What if it came down to begging money from him? she wondered. What if he truly meant everything he said? But then, why would he have paid Ellie to reserve her time the next night after the godawful evening he had spent with her? No, she was reckoning he had some vestige of feeling left for her, as she did for him, and that he would help her once she told him everything she knew.

  The peace of the homestead was restful after the eve­ning and morning she had spent. It was a relief to feel comfortable, full, free, and unencumbered of other people's machinations.

  She didn't understand anything. Weeks and weeks ago, Deuce had been adamant about marrying her. And then suddenly she had been the pawn in a game between her father and him. And then she had tried to discourage his interest by making herself into the kind of woman Ardelle said he distinctly did not want.

  But her instincts had said differently, even as she went about convincing Ardelle that it was not so. Ardelle had no reason to hate her so much. She had never known before the incident with Jake that Ardelle wanted the same thing she did—to get her off of Sweetland. In fact, she herself was doing a nice job of showing everyone how

  she felt about the whole thing. So why would Ardelle be so adamant suddenly? What did she mean, "I thought I had gotten rid of you"?

  Kalida's head whirled. Had Ardelle misdirected her from the beginning for her own purposes? And then when Kalida went straight ahead and behaved outra­geously, it must have thrown all her plans out of whack.

  Kalida groaned; more plans involving her that she had never had an inkling of. Ardelle never meant to be her friend. It must have killed Ardelle to watch her doing the very things that Deuce would have wanted her to do, that he really would have expected her to do. Why wouldn't she have wanted Kalida at Sweetland?

  There was something she was not understanding. Ar­delle hated her; that much had become very obvious. But Ardelle had welcomed her, had taken her in hand and instructed her as to what Deuce expected. It was Kalida's own defiant nature that had caused her to flout Ardelle in the hopes of earning her bad opinion so she would convince Deuce to get rid of her.

  But it seemed like Ardelle hadn't needed convincing. Ardelle seemed to never have wanted her there in the first place.

  But why? She hardly knew Ardelle before she came to Sweetland. And since she herself had played directly into Ardelle's hands, why would her animosity be so intense, so abrupt and dismissive now?

  Because she knew Deuce still wanted her? Did he? Could he? After everything that had happened? And Ardelle's expressed negative opinion?

  Ardelle did not want Kalida on Sweetland. That was the conclusion she came to abruptly. But she couldn't figure out why. Ardelle had intimated that when —and ." — Deuce married her, she would leave. But it didn't look like she had any intention to —now.

  She still didn't understand. It was like a puzzle, with a

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  piece missing. Perhaps Deuce had the information that was lacking.

  She heard her name being called, and a weight lifted off her shoulders. He had come.

  He walked in the barn door and his body cast a long shadow deep into the recesses of the stalls.

  And then he called her name again, and she knew Deuce hadn't come for her. Someone else had. And, as she sought desperately for someplace to hide, she won­dered frantically how he had known.

  Never had Prestina seen Deuce in such an uproar.

  "You are telling me that Ardelle just sent her away— again?" he repeated harshly, his whole body tightening at the thought that she had come back of her own volition and Ardelle had bani
shed her—for what reason he couldn't begin to guess. It was crazy.

  "Miss Ardelle has been wrought up, Mr. Deuce. You know. She was very upset Miss Kalida had come back. She did not want her here, and so we arranged she would stay and wait for you in the barn of her old homestead. I do not know why Miss Ardelle chased her away. I do not understand it. But I do not understand much of what has happened," she added pointedly, her liquid eyes accusing him.

  "Neither do I," he growled. "Where is Ardelle?"

  "She has gone out, I do not know where, but she was

  riding." 'r

  "What?! But she never rides anymore."

  "She was riding," Prestina said firmly.

  "All right," Deuce said brusquely; he didn't have time to figure it out now. "I'll go and get Kalida. Ardelle can't refuse her sanctuary when I am in the house."

  Prestina nodded. "Please, Mr. Deuce, you will listen to Miss Kalida. You have not heard what she has to say,

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  only what your eyes interpret."

  Deuce paused with one foot in the stirrup and swung around to look at her. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean your heart too knows what is the truth. Now you must listen with your mind. Go to her now, Mr. Deuce. She waits you."

  He rode fast, but it seemed to him that Prestina's words echoed in every hoofbeat. He already knew the truth; he had only to hear her words. By God, he was desperate to hear her words, he thought, as the miles raced by, seem­ingly so slowly. Kalida. The horse's hooves sounded her name, beating as fast as his heart as he finally came in sight of the stone markers of the Ryland property.

  Kalida, as he wound through the fields and up the drive to the house and the barn. Kalida, as he dismounted at the barn doors and thrust his way inside.

  To emptiness.

  Intense, gray emptiness. And the sinking feeling she had played him for a fool once again.

  She lay bound hand and foot on the cold dirt floor of an abandoned line shack on the furthestmost boundary line of Sweetland. It was a one-room shack, with two built-in bunk beds, a ratty, rusty old stove that provided heat and cooking facilities, a tilted table with one foot slightly shorter than the other three, three crates that were used as chairs set around it, some cracked dishes on top Of it, and a dresser in the corner that was falling to pieces. On it a guttering kerosene lamp threw dim, eerie light. On the furthest wall there was a dilapidated box nut served as a cupboard. Sitting in it were tins of tomatoes, coffee, vegetables, dried fruit. On top of the stove a coffee pot simmered, sending a warm aroma through the dank atmosphere of the shack. On one of the beds Jake Danton hunkered, a rifle

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  across his knees, utterly entranced by the sight of Kalida helpless on the floor.

  She hadn't spoken. For some reason, she sensed she would be in worse trouble if she said a word. Jake was just looking for a reason to exercise his power over her. Her lungs were sore from screaming anyway; as he stalked her in the loft, she had prayed that Deuce was coming, that he would arrive in time and hear her. But he hadn't come, and there was nowhere to hide, and Jake's pursuit was inexorable until he finally shot at her to show he meant business.

  She didn't even ask questions. He had tied her, gagged her, lifted her onto her horse, taken her to this godfor­saken shack, removed the gag when he had set her in the corner on the floor, and she had not opened her mouth. Her blue gaze said everything she had to say—her con­tempt, her anger, her pride, her determination not to be cowed by him.

  He read it all there, as he made the coffee, lit the stove, and sat back on the bed with his rifle to watch her squirm.

  But she didn't squirm. He could not intimidate her by the look in his flaming eyes or the motion of his rifle or the way he had her helpless and at his mercy. He hated her in those brief first moments that he perceived all of this, and then it didn't matter to him. He had the gun, he had the might as long as it was in his hand, and she would have to do whatever he wanted.

  He waited for her to speak, to ask questions, to beg.

  She said nothing.

  He poured himself some coffee finally, holding it close, letting its heat penetrate his body, its warmth heat his hands and his emotions. And he sipped, looking at her over the rim of his cup, daring her to ask for some. Which she didn't. She closed her eyes to avoid looking at him altogether, and he thought at that moment he might

  kill her.

  But he had to wait. And when he had apprehended her, he had been eager to wait because he now had his chance with her. Even though her molten blue eyes told him she would not willingly do what he wanted, he now knew he could make her. He looked forward to making her. And since no one knew her whereabouts, he had all the time in the world to make her.

  He waved the rifle at her, wanting to see fear in her face. She spat at him.

  He threw down the rifle and crouched over her, pulling her hair so that her head fell back and she could look him directly in the eye. Her teeth nipped at his upper arm as he yanked her inky hair so tightly she felt like he would pull a whole hank of it right from her scalp. He slapped her and she went for one of his fingers, barely missing it with her biting teeth.

  "You bitch, so high and mighty," he growled, his hand going for her neck, encircling it, his fingers constricting just enough to let her know who had control of her. Her blazing eyes did not flinch, and he felt like beating her to make her grovel and bend to his superior strength.

  Her bound legs lifted suddenly and whacked him side­ways on his thigh. His face turned murderous as the heel of her boot bruised his hip, and his fingers tightened and lifted her chin so she could see him more clearly. See him more clearly and know . . . And he didn't care if he never got to enjoy her luscious wanton body now. He would enjoy making her pay for all the trouble she had caused and for the beating Deuce Cavender had given him —over her, over the slut bitch tease whore. . . .

  "JAKE!!"

  The voice that roared from the doorway was the last one Kalida expected to hear—ever.

  Ardelle.

  She choked as his constricting fingers released her

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  throat and he stood up slowly, shaking away the obsessive sensation of wanting to destroy her. He turned to Ardelle and said familiarly, "It's about time you got here."

  "So you found her where I told you? Good." The mean little smile on Ardelle's lips was chilling.

  For the first time, Kalida felt scared. Ardelle. And Jake. She shook her head to clear her brain. Nothing made sense. Why the devil would Ardelle feel she had to kidnap her? And what was Jake still doing on Sweetland?

  Ardelle turned her attention to Kalida. "You are the most interfering bitch —even when you don't know it. I wish to hell you had just gone away and stayed away, Kalida. Really, things would have been much simpler if you had."

  "Truly," Kalida agreed sardonically, wondering why Ar­delle had sent Jake after her and what she intended to do with her. Her surmise was not positive.

  "Too late now," Ardelle said, accepting a tin cup of coffee from Jake and seating herself on one of the bunks while he made himself comfortable on the other. "So here she is," Ardelle said to Jake.

  Jake said, "I'll take care of her. I have an old score to settle with her."

  Ardelle nodded. "Fine. But not here. You'll have to get her away from here. I can't take the chance Deuce might come looking for her if that lousy Prestina tells him she came to the ranch today. Joe Slim may have seen her too, I don't know. He's rather preoccupied by the fact that Deuce is about to accuse him of rustling."

  Jake cocked an inquiring eyebrow at her, and then they both laughed, an unpleasant sound that made Kalida shiver.

  "Maybe it's time we copped out," he said tentatively.

  "Maybe," Ardelle agreed cryptically. "But not before we tend to Kalida. Really"—she turned back to Kalida with that hateful preface that made Kalida want to smack

  her—"if you had just stayed away after Deuce got rid of you .
. . It's really all your fault for coming back."

  Lovely; her father thought it was all her fault for allowing Deuce to send her away. She was crunched between the two of them and did not even know the reasons why. "How?" she demanded suddenly. "How is everything my fault? Why don't you explain what is going on, since you're probably going to kill me anyway?"

  "If I do explain," Ardelle said ominously, "I will have to kill you. Unless you're a better actress than I thought, and you've made all the connections already."

  "Tell her," Jake said. "Tell her; we don't have to kill her. I'll keep her. For a while. And by the time I leave her, we'll be so far away nothing can touch us anyway. Tell her."

  Ardelle stood up and walked toward Kalida, and Kali-da's eyes widened: no limp, no hobbling. Her back and her gait were as straight and firm as Kalida's own.

  "Really, Kalida; I was sure you had noticed on a number of occasions that I didn't have my cane or that I was walking without infirmity. On the steps that night, when we were bringing you your clothes? Out in the garden with Ellie? No? When you saw me meeting Jake on the drive? You didn't think I knew you were watching? I was damned mad when you stole my ruse, Kalida, and then rather happy about it when I realized everyone's attention would be focused on you. Too bad Deuce wanted you instead of some meek little town girl who wouldn't poke her nose all around Sweetland and discover what I was doing."

  Kalida's darkening eyes narrowed, trying to fit the pieces together as Ardelle talked. She didn't quite get it yet, except that Ardelle had been pretending all these years to be lame. And Ardelle didn't want anyone to know her business. What business? "What were you doing?" she asked softly.

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  "Stealing cattle, of course," Ardelle said, and every­thing clicked. Of course ... of course . . . Hadn't she heard Deuce say again and again that someone on Sweetland must be giving away information? And who else intimately knew Deuce's movements? Who had de­manded to know every moment of his schedule every day? Who kept the account books? Dear God. "The Linaria," she whispered, in sudden comprehension.