Stay a Little Longer

by Dorothy Garlock

  That no-good bastard!

  Not for the first time, Rachel marveled that Zachary Tucker and his brother were related. Mason, she knew, was honorable and decent, and she believed that, in the end, he would do what was right by Charlotte. That fate had been so cruel as to take Mason from all of their lives and leave Zachary in his place, working his wicked machinations, was nearly more than Rachel could accept.

  Carefully the two of them made their way through the back door, across the small kitchen, and through a narrow doorway before settling Otis in his favorite chair in the sitting room. Lowering his ample girth into his seat, the wounded man grimaced in obvious pain.

  “I need to go for the doctor,” Rachel explained. “Can you stay here?”

  “I’d be better… if I had my flask…”

  “That’ll just have to wait,” she said with a weak smile. “Once I fetch Dr. Clark, I’ll be right back.”

  “Me and my broken arm… ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  With her heart full of equal measures of worry and anger, Rachel left the house.

  By the time Dr. Clark had come and gone, Otis was sleeping fitfully. Thankfully, the freshly wakened physician had been able to reset the broken arm. Otis had shouted so loudly that he would have roused the whole town had it not been for the leather strap he had been given to bite down on.

  “I’m sorry about all this, Otis,” Dr. Clark said.

  “Not… not as sorry… as I am… I bet…” Otis replied tearfully.

  A makeshift sling had been improvised to keep the arm immobile. Come morning, Dr. Clark would return to set it in plaster. A pill he had been given and the contents of the flask Rachel had retrieved from the yard put Otis to sleep, but this was an injury he would be suffering from for some time to come.

  With Otis repositioned in his own room, Rachel shut the door behind her as she left, closing off the sound of her uncle’s snoring. The rest of the house still remained silent except for the usual creaking and groaning of the old building. Regardless, Rachel’s heart thundered.

  Her anger at Zachary Tucker had not subsided since she first had realized it was he who was behind the attack on her uncle. How dare he do something so very cowardly as harm an innocent old man! She had every intention to go down to the bank, march into his office, and give him a piece of her mind. If his goal was to make them frightened enough to sell the boardinghouse, he was going to be in for quite a surprise.

  Thinking about one Tucker man made Rachel aware of the other. She made her way up the tall flight of stairs and carefully opened the door to Mason’s room. From the sliver of light that followed her in from the hall, she could see that he was sleeping soundly, the wool blanket that covered his chest rising and falling rhythmically. Tomorrow, she would tell him of her many concerns about Zachary; maybe Mason would have a clearer idea of what they should do. Watching his peaceful sleep, Rachel found it so inviting that she decided to go and get some of her own.

  Rachel had no more than pulled the door shut when strong hands grabbed her by the waist and yanked her backward. She scrambled wildly for something to grab hold of, but the strength of her attacker was too great for her to fight off. Before she knew what had happened, she had been dragged from the light of the hall to a place of darkness, a hand pressed down so tightly over her mouth that she found it hard to breathe.

  There wasn’t even time to scream.

  Chapter Twenty

  EVEN AS RACHEL WATKINS struggled futilely against him, Jonathan Moseley could not help but revel in the warmth of her body, the fragrant smell of her skin, and even the spirit of her fight. After all, there was much to love about this woman who eventually would become his wife.

  Jonathan pushed the door shut with his foot and they were both instantly plunged into darkness. Although Rachel’s heart was thundering as her breath frantically filled and emptied her lungs, he remained the essence of calm; there was no doubt in his mind that what he was doing was right. Regardless of how hard she fought to free herself from his grasp, Jonathan felt safe in the fact that his body was far stronger than the impression given by his tall, spindly frame; besides, he knew there would never come a day where he would be so weak as to let her go.

  “You don’t need to fight it any longer, my dear,” he whispered in her ear.

  For an instant, Rachel’s struggle subsided, no doubt because she now knew who had placed hands upon her. When that realization completely sank in, her resistance grew even more intense.

  “Hush, hush, darling. You’re with me now.”

  And that is exactly as it should be…

  Jonathan had been wakened by the sound of voices rising from the first floor of the boardinghouse. Opening his door slightly, he had strained to listen as the doctor and Rachel cared for Otis. Later, he had watched Rachel come up the stairs. For the briefest of instants, he thought that she would come to his door, to finally acknowledge her own passionate feelings for him and that he had been right about their being destined for each other. His heart began to pound loudly with anticipation of his fondest dreams coming true. As she had drawn nearer, Jonathan led himself to believe that they were about to begin the life he knew they were destined to lead.

  But then she had gone to the stranger’s door…

  In that moment, Jonathan had known that Rachel was truly confused. That she was choosing to care for a man she knew nothing about, a man who could potentially pose a danger to them all, was more than he could continue to bear. He had waited angrily, ears straining to hear her come back out into the hall, and then he had struck.

  “Everything will be all right, my dear,” he soothed, knowing that if she could just listen to him for a moment, hear his loving voice, she would surely understand and would no longer fight. “Now that we are together, everything will be as it should, as it always was meant to be.”

  But even as Jonathan spoke to calm her, he could feel his own ardor stirring, his very loins afire with a burning passion. He had never before allowed himself to be so close to her, to touch her, close enough for his true feelings to be released. As if it had a mind all its own, his free hand began to roam beneath Rachel’s skirt, up her quivering thighs, across her squirming stomach, and finally to squeeze her breasts.

  “We belong together… as husband and wife…” he moaned.

  Rachel struggled mightily, shouting something into the palm of his hand still clamped down over her mouth; Jonathan couldn’t be certain, but he could hope that she was declaring her own pent-up feelings for him.

  “I know just how you feel,” he whispered in her ear.

  Touching Rachel after so many long weeks of frustration now stoked his fires to fury. An aching spread across the front of his trousers; his manhood was fully erect. He had little doubt that his pain would end only upon its release.

  “You should have just taken my offer and come with me to the woods,” he panted as his free hand struggled to undo his trousers, and he used the weight of his body to prevent Rachel from breaking free of his grasp. “If you had, you would have known me to be an honorable man, someone you could love and trust, and all of this would’ve been unnecessary.”

  Just as Jonathan finally managed to thread the clasp of his belt, Rachel drove her elbow into his ribs, and in the immediate mixture of stinging pain and startling confusion, he let go of her. In an instant, she shot for the freedom beyond the door to his room, but he managed to fall toward her and with his long reach snatched her by the skirt and pulled her to the floor directly in front of the door. Both of them landed with a resounding thud, a sound Jonathan feared might bring unwanted attention.

  Clawing desperately for the door, Rachel gave him more reason to worry. She shouted, “Help! Somebody help me!”

  Instantly, Jonathan was upon her. Straddling her chest, he pinned her to the floor as his previously tender feelings gave way to a blinding anger. Savagely, he slapped her across the face, first with the front of his open hand and then with the back, snapping her head from side to
side. Rachel offered no more resistance, the fight draining out of her as easily as if he had smashed a grape under his foot.

  “Why do you deny this?” he snarled. “Why must you make me do this to you? Don’t you know what is for the best?”

  Angrily, Jonathan tore open the front of Rachel’s blouse, popping several of the buttons. In the scant moonlight that filtered in through his window, the rosy tint of her skin was revealed. Her hands never moved to stop him as his fingers sought the soft feel of her breasts, and the excitement coursing through him threatened to overwhelm his pounding heart and the continued pressure in his groin.

  It’s time for me to take what is mine!

  Mason suddenly woke from a deep sleep, his chest filled with a feeling that something was wrong. It was a sensation to which he was well accustomed; for during his years traveling the iron rails that crossed the country, there had been many occasions when his intuition had saved his belongings, not to mention his life. In the darkness of his room, he waited, listening.

  “.help… somebody…”

  In an instant, he was alert. Sliding from between his covers, Mason tentatively put one foot on the floor. In the last several days, with both Rachel and Charlotte’s many words of encouragement, along with plenty of nourishment, he had managed to regain a fair amount of his former strength. He had done a little walking around the room, but always with Rachel at his side, ready to catch him if he began to fall. This would be the first time since he collapsed in the cabin that he had attempted to walk by himself.

  Before Mason could so much as stand, the sound of a man’s angry voice came to his ears. Rachel was in trouble.

  Testing first one foot and then the other, Mason stood and began to move along the edge of the bed, one hand upon the mattress and then the footboard. Though his room was dark, he had no trouble seeing, another benefit of his years spent sleeping in rail cars. Finally, reaching the far end of the bed, he knew that he would be forced to let go and walk the few feet to the safety of the door.

  I can do this…

  Taking deep breaths, Mason finally convinced himself to let go, traversing his way across as sporadic tremors shot up the length of his weak legs. His knees quaked, but he didn’t fall. The coolness of the November night touched upon the sweat standing on his brow, but he didn’t shiver, his mind set firmly on the task before him. After a brief pause leaning against the doorframe, he opened the door to the hall.

  Outside, faint light rose up from the bottom of the stairs. In the scant illumination afforded him, Mason could see that all the doors in the upper hallway were closed. Because this was the first time he had been out of his room, the memories of his many visits to the boardinghouse at Alice’s side began to rush back at him, but he tamped down the flood, choosing instead to focus upon his worries for Rachel.

  “Hello?” he called into the quiet house. “Who’s down there?”

  He received no answer. There was little doubt that the sounds he had heard had come from nearby, so he moved first to the door next to his own. Tentatively, his hand still on the doorframe, he leaned toward the door and listened. Faintly came the rustling of clothing. Though he couldn’t be certain he wasn’t making a rash mistake, his hand grabbed hold of the doorknob. Steeling himself, he threw it open, and what he saw inside made him gasp with disbelief.

  Rachel lay unconscious on the floor, her blouse violently torn open and her naked flesh exposed. Her arms lay defenseless at her sides, her coal-black hair splayed out on the floor around her unmoving head. Kneeling before her, caught as he was lowering his trousers to the middle of his pasty thighs, was a man Mason didn’t recognize. When he looked up, his wispy hair flung helter-skelter around his balding head, instead of the expected surprise at being caught, his bony face became a mask of anger and indignation.

  “What the hell? Get out! Get out!” he demanded.

  “You no-good son of a bitch!” Mason roared in answer.

  Fueling Mason’s arms and legs with a strength he hadn’t known for many years was a burning, relentless drive to save Rachel. He leapt forward as if he were a wolf protecting its cub, passing over Rachel’s unconscious body and barreling into the man. Even though the stranger raised his hands to defend himself, it was a useless gesture. Jamming the would-be rapist back onto the floor, Mason knelt upon his chest and drove his fist hard into the man’s jaw, following up with another blow to his midsection. Over and over he swung, punch after punch connecting, his thoughts a whirling torrent of both pain and anger.

  “How dare you touch her!” Mason thundered.

  Desperately, Rachel’s attacker tried to fight back, throwing feeble punches of his own, but even those that connected had little impact; to Mason they were nothing more than the gentlest of taps. His anger at what this man had done, let alone what he had intended to do, fueled him ever forward. I will make him pay for what he has done to you, Rachel.

  But just as Mason was about to throw a punch laden with all of his remaining might, to try to end the whole horrific affair, the rapist managed to buck his hips and tip him on his side. Unable to balance himself, Mason fell on the floor, but before he could right himself, the bastard scuttled away from him. In a flash, the man jumped to his feet, desperately yanked his trousers up, and then barreled over Rachel and out the door. The clatter of footsteps rose from the staircase and was followed by the slamming of the front door.

  We belong together… as husband and wife…

  Rachel woke with the suddenness of a gunshot, her mind racing as fast as her heart. Gripped by panic, she felt the touch of a man’s arms on her shoulders and was certain that she was in grave danger. In that split second, she remembered what had befallen her: she had just left Mason’s room, tired from having cared for Otis’s wounds, when a hand had clamped down on her mouth and she had been dragged away into darkness.

  As she had struggled to get away, to get back to the safety of the light, she hadn’t been able to think straight, hadn’t been able to ascertain who it was that was attacking her. Not until her assailant had shut the door behind them and spoken had she learned his identity, and with that knowledge had come a hopelessness, an icy dread that had latched on to her heart and refused to let go no matter how much she fought.

  Now that Rachel was once again alert, that dread returned. Her arms jerked outward, scratching and fighting to push him away. Though her vision was still clouded, which made it impossible for her to clearly see Jonathan Moseley’s face, she knew that she needed to get away from him as quickly as she could. While her legs felt as weak as a newborn calf’s, she implored them to move, to push with all that she had.

  “Rachel, stop fighting!” a man’s voice pleaded. “It’s me!”

  Instantly, she knew that the person who held her was not Jonathan; instead of his reedy, nasal voice, what she heard was much deeper, the sound of a man infinitely more sure of himself than the salesman. Blinking rapidly in the dim light from the hallway beyond, Rachel recognized her rescuer.

  It was Mason.

  He leaned down over her with the slightest wisp of a smile, a lightness that was betrayed by the grave seriousness of his eyes. Though some dizziness washed over her, Rachel couldn’t help but notice the tiniest of details in his face; the dark stubble that graced his cheeks, the faint wrinkles that spread at the corners of his eyes, and even faint strands of his black hair. Still, these pleasant features couldn’t calm the terror in her heart.

  “He… he… he was going to rape… me,” she whispered.

  “I stopped him.”

  “Where… where is… he… ?” Rachel panicked, looking about the room for some sign of Jonathan.

  “He’s gone from here,” Mason answered reassuringly. “When I opened the door and found him with you, I tried all that I could to stop him from doing any more harm, but he managed to get away. I would have gone after him, but I’m not well enough to run down the stairs. Besides, I need to know if you’ve been hurt.”

  Even as Mason spoke,
Rachel realized that she had been saved. With shaking hands, she touched the tattered front of her blouse, realizing just how much horror Jonathan had wished to visit upon her. Seeing her naked flesh exposed made her flush crimson with embarrassment.

  “I tried my best to cover you,” Mason explained, his own modesty keeping his eyes from meeting hers. “Thank God that I was able to reach you before he could do real harm.”

  Suddenly, the enormity of what had nearly happened struck Rachel. Tears began to fall in a cascade that showed no sign of stopping. She knew that she had made a terrible mistake in not reporting to her mother Jonathan’s improper advances toward her, beginning with the day at the laundry line. By not drawing attention to him, by not calling him out for the bastard he was, she had allowed him to gain confidence, to believe that nothing and no one would stop him. Only because of Mason had she been allowed to maintain her dignity.

  But I’ve lost a lot more than pride…

  While sobs racked Rachel’s body, Mason took her into his arms. There, in the darkness of her attacker’s room, he held her close, allowing her to shed her emotional burden. His touch comforted her. Nestled into the crook of Mason’s muscular arms, she wasn’t ashamed of her fear, but instead allowed it to be revealed and then cast out.

  “Hush now,” he soothed. “You’re safe with me.”

  And at that moment, she knew it was true.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  MASON STOOD BEFORE the window of his room in the boardinghouse, staring at the raging storm beyond. Angry rain fell, needles of cold water lashing against the glass panes as gusts of intermittent wind pushed insistently upon the branches of the dappled trees. Occasional forks of lightning laced across the sky, followed moments later by the deep bass rumbling of thunder. The weather, dark and gloomy, was nearly as brooding as his own mood.