The Rogue

by Janet Dailey

  The area around one side of his mouth and chin was all swollen and discolored. Guy turned the other way so Diana couldn’t see that side of his face. His look was sullen as he nodded a reluctant agreement.

  “That’s all it was,” he mumbled. “I’ll go up and relieve Rube now.”

  “Did you have much water left in the canteen you gave Rube?” Holt asked Diana.

  “It was a third full, I think,” she answered.

  “You’d better take another with you,” he told Guy.

  The extra canteens were beside Diana. She picked out the fullest one and turned to hand it to Guy. He didn’t immediately take it from her, a troubled and frowning look on his face as he searched her expression.

  “Why do you keep siding with him?” His voice was low and taut, a wealth of bewildered hurt in its stiffness.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Guy. I’m not siding with Holt,” she denied softly so Holt couldn’t overhear.

  “Yes, you are, A minute ago—”

  “A minute ago you would have been fired. Is that what you wanted?” Diana reasoned.

  A grim look entered his expression, hardening his features in a way that was reminiscent of Holt. “No,” he sighed and took the canteen from her. “No, that isn’t what I wanted.” Guy turned away, mumbling, “I’ll see you later.”

  Chapter VIII

  Diana watched Guy scramble up the steepest section of the arroyo wall and disappear toward the place where they had left Rube earlier. As she turned back to the dishes, she caught Holt studying her, his expression assessing and cool. He held her gaze for a scant second before calmly turning away.

  Her tips tightened. “Thanks, Diana,” she issued sarcastically, mocking him. “I appreciated that.”

  Holt slashed her an icy glance. “Am I supposed to be grateful that you intervened?”

  “If I hadn’t, Guy would have been leaving,” she retorted. “Why did you threaten him with dismissal? It was practically an ultimatum. How did you think he would react? It was self-defeating.”

  “Self-defeating?” An eyebrow quirked, aloof and arrogant. “If Guy no longer worked on the ranch, he wouldn’t live here, either. How long would you be interested in him if he wasn’t around?”

  Her mouth opened in stunned anger. “You pushed him deliberately?” Diana accused. “That was stupid.”

  “Perhaps I should take lessons from you in how to handle my son,” Holt suggested sardonically. “Maybe I could twist him around my finger then, hmm?”

  “Maybe you could!”

  “How long are you going to keep Guy dangling on the hook before you cut the line, Diana?” “I am not dangling Guy on any hook,” she denied.

  Holt ignored her denial. “When you cut it, he’s going to fall. What am I supposed to do? Wait to pick up the pieces when you get tired of playing with your new toy and break it? I’ll do everything I can to stop you first.”

  “What can I do about it?” Diana argued. “It wasn’t my idea for Guy to fall in love with me.”

  “Fall in love with you? You are the goddess Diana. He worships you. He doesn’t just love you. And you encouraged him to fall in love with you when you seduced him.”

  “That’s not true. I didn’t.”

  “Guy certainly didn’t seduce you. He wouldn’t have dared to touch you unless he was invited. You could have stopped him at any moment with just a word. Guy would never have forced himself on you. Why didn’t you say that one word?”

  “I knew he wanted me, but I never guessed he was in love with me. If I had—” Diana pivoted away in frustration, a lump blocking the words in her throat.

  “Why did you make love to him?” he demanded.

  “I felt sorry for him.”

  The admission was barely out of her mouth when a steel vise clamped on her shoulder and twisted her around. Diana stared into a pair of wintry eyes, Holt’s features hardened with anger.

  “You felt sorry for him?! Why?”

  All her nerves screamed at the contact with him. The chemistry between them produced its predictably volatile result. Her dislike of him was as potent as it had ever been in her youth. Hot blue flames blazed in her eyes.

  “I’d feel sorry for anyone who had you for a father!” The words carried all the venom she possessed.

  Both of her shoulders were seized, his fingers biting savagely into her flesh. He half-lifted her off her feet, pulling her toward him. Her hands gripped his bulging biceps, arms bracing to hold herself away. His face was close to hers, lean and hard, primitive in its ruthlessness, virile in its masculinity.

  “You vindictive little bitch.” His voice was low and ominous, like rumbling thunder. “Guy thinks you are a goddess and you’re made of clay—dirty, clinging clay that any man’s hands can mold.”

  Her heartbeat quickened in alarm. With a kicking twist, Diana wrenched out of his hold, the sleeve of her blouse tearing. She clutched at the material, her eyes wide and accusing when they turned on Holt.

  “Do you think Guy will believe that I was the one who had a fall this time?” she challenged.

  Holt took a threatening step toward her and Diana pivoted blindly. She had goaded him deliberately, and now she regretted it. She had outgrown her habit of using Guy to get back at Holt, but after all that had happened, he would never believe her.

  Diana started to run, as much from herself as from him. A half a dozen steps were all she managed before Holt caught up with her. She tried to twist away. Her legs became tangled up in his. Losing her balance, Diana tumbled to the ground, dragging Holt with her.

  For an instant, she was pinned by his weight, but she twisted and wiggled, pushing and kicking from beneath him. He still had a hold on her, pulling her back when she tried to crawl away. Her fingers curled into the gravelly earth as Diana tried to claw precious inches, unable to manage a centimeter. Holt’s superior strength was turning her onto her back. Her fingers closed around the gravel in her hand. As he succeeded, Diana flung the sandy grains in his face, momentarily blinding him.

  Before Diana could slip free of his iron grasp, Holt recovered. His groping hands found her wrists, spreading her arms above her head while his length covered the rest of her body, weighting her down. Vaguely, Diana was aware of Holt blinking and shaking his head to rid his eyes of the last dust particles, but she was not sorry for the discomfort she had caused him.

  Still she tried to strain free, arching her body in an attempt to throw off his weight. Her panting breaths ended in tiny whimpers of futility. Holt held her down until she had no more energy to fight. Her heart was hammering from the effort of her struggles. The muscles in her arms quivered and relaxed, no longer straining to free her wrists from their trap.

  At last, Diana looked into the impassive face of her captor. Exhausted and still breathing heavily, she ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip to moisten its dryness. Holt’s alert gaze caught the movement, its attention shifting to her mouth. His pupils darkened to a charcoal-gray, smoldering and intense.

  A tiny moan of protest sounded in her throat. Diana was capable of no other movement, not even the slight turning of her head to avoid his descending mouth. It closed over hers, warm and demanding, persuasive pressure moving over the sensitive curve of her lips.

  All her senses came to life. The bed of hard gravel was rough beneath her, chunks of rock poking into her flesh. Her arms scraped the ground as Holt drew her wrists down even with her shoulders. Diana tasted the salty beads of perspiration that trickled down from his upper lip to mingle into the kiss. Their combined body heat seemed to fuse them together, sweat heightening the male smell of him, musky and stimulating. The staccato beat of her heart seemed to match the erratic sound of his.

  The sensual possession of her lips shivered through her, exciting and arousing, despite Diana’s attempts to block out the pleasure it held. Marriage had opened her eyes to the passionate core of her nature, a passion that had not been ignited by Guy’s fervent but awkward attempts. And it had been so l
ong since Diana had known the touch of a man wise in the art of arousing a woman. Not until this moment, when the masterful skill was being practiced by a man who had always been her enemy. But if this was defeat, Diana knew she was going to glory in it as her lips softened in an initial response.

  That one, small movement was the striking of a match head, igniting a blaze that consumed them both. His tongue probing in the intimate recesses of her mouth sent waves of rapture cascading through her limbs. Aware of his fingers dispensing with the buttons of her blouse, Diana fumbled at those of his shirt. Her body seemed weightless as he lifted to free her of the restricting material of both her blouse and her bra.

  The touch of his hand on her breasts was so firm and sure that it seemed they had always been his to caress. The nipples became hard and erect in his palms, sensitive pebbles his mouth had to taste. A curling sensation went all the way down to her toes as Holt rolled his tongue around them.

  His hands were never still for an instant, roaming at will about her body, molding the clay of her flesh to his desire. In a mindless whirl of sensual ecstasy, Diana was aware of the remaining clothes being stripped from her. She was dazzled by the knowledge that soon there would be nothing between them. Her hands slid over his back, feeling the uneven marks on his flesh and the hard muscles rippling like living steel.

  At the moment of total possession, her hips lifted to meet his thrust, her nails digging into his flesh, like the flexing claws of a cat in a state of satisfaction. She was drowning in a sea of desire. Never had she felt so alive. Nothing existed but the all-encompassing pleasure he gave her and the fervor with which Diana returned it. But it was not a progression without end. It came with a heady rise to delirious heights and a spinning fall to earth.

  Diana lay on the ground, her eyes closed, aware of the burning rays of the sun beating down on her naked flesh. She listened to the breathing of the man beside her. For a few serene moments, she felt nothing but the bliss of satisfaction. Gradually, the lengthening silence brought other thoughts.

  Turning her head, she looked at him, her eyes wary and vulnerable, screened by thick, curling lashes. She stared at the rugged profile, the closed gray eyes, and his rumpled hair. A pulse throbbed in her neck at the vitality and strength etched in the powerful features. Diana saw him not as an enemy or an adversary, but as a man. And as a man, Holt had no equal. She wanted to reach out and touch him, tell him of the soul-destroying fire of his embrace.

  As if feeling her gaze and reading her thoughts, Holt sat up with effortless motion, an action that took him out of her reach and seemed to reject any confidence. Her dark lashes lowered to conceal the flash of hurt.

  “At least Guy wasn’t totally misguided. You’re good.”

  Within the demeaning statement was a reluctant compliment. But to Diana, it was a backhanded slap that made her feel cheap and promiscuous. Something that had been beautiful now seemed tarnished. She gathered her pride and sat up, reaching for her clothes scattered about the ground.

  “This doesn’t change anything,” Diana told him, refusing to glance in his direction. But she knew everything had changed.

  “I never thought for a minute that it would,” Holt answered dryly.

  Her hands were shaking as she pulled on her jeans, and there was a poignant tightness to her throat. Diana wanted to ask him why he had made love to her and if he really hadn’t felt that specialness that had devastated her. But she suddenly lost her natural candor.

  There was the sound of clothing being pulled on behind her as she fastened the clasp of her bra. Slipping her arms into the sleeves of her blouse, Diana turned around. Holt was tucking his shirt into his Levi’s.

  “What now, Holt?” The question fell somewhere between a challenge and a demand.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” His cool gaze raked her briefly, dismissing in its indifference.

  “How are you going to make this to your advantage? That’s what you’ve been doing ever since you came here.” Diana buttoned her blouse, aware that his steps had brought him closer, but she refused to give ground.

  “You have it turned around. You are the one who is always using people.”

  Holt stopped two feet in front of her. Diana’s heart skipped a beat as she met the silvery fire in his look. The flames had been banked, but they hadn’t gone out, not for either of them. The embers glowed, ready to be fanned into life.

  “Why?” She caught back a tiny, sobbing breath. “Why did it have to be you?”

  Holt looked away with seeming impatience and irritation. “I might ask the same question.” When he turned back to her, there was something musing and cynical in his expression. “Diana the huntress. Are you going after new game? Do you think it will be amusing if you can capture us both? A double trophy? Father and son?”

  Inwardly, Diana reeled from the cruel sting of his words. Any attempt to issue a disclaimer was thwarted by a miniature avalanche of gravel cascading down the slope. Simultaneously, they both turned to the sound, expecting Rube and seeing Guy.

  A shaft of cold fear plunged into her heart upon seeing the tortured rage in his young face. Hot tears were on his cheeks and hatred in his eyes when he confronted them on the arroyo floor, legs slightly apart in a challenging stance.

  “I saw you!” he told them in a voice that trembled with his violence. “Through the binoculars, I saw you!”

  An involuntary cry of anguish escaped Diana’s lips, her gaze flying to Holt, now standing to one side of her. Years of control kept his expression calm and impassive; his gray eyes revealed nothing of what was going on inside him.

  “Guy—” he began in a level tone.

  But Guy was already moving. The saddles and gear were only a step from him, and he moved toward them. For a moment his intention wasn’t clear. Then he drew a rifle from its scabbard and pointed it at Holt, aiming it from his hip.

  “I saw you rape her!” he accused in a sobbing cry. “I’m going to kill you!” Guy cocked the rifle. “Move away from her.”

  Gasping, Diana looked at Holt. An intense pain, pure agony, flashed across his face. It held no fear of death, only the searing torment that the gun aimed at him was held by his son. The entire force of it seemed to be transmitted to Diana. But the glimpse was fleeting. Again, iron control masked Holt’s reaction.

  “If you saw”—Holt took a step forward and to one side, away from her—“then you know it wasn’t rape.”

  “You told me all those lies about her because you wanted her for yourself,” Guy accused, lifting the rifle to his shoulder. “You’ll never touch her again.”

  “Guy, don’t!” Without being aware she had moved, Diana was between the two men. “My God, he’s your father!”

  “What good are fathers?” he retorted bitterly.

  Holt was pushing her aside, rejecting the shield of protection her body offered him. With slow, deliberate strides, he started toward Guy.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Guy warned, the muzzle of the rifle wavering slightly.

  Holt stopped when there was barely five feet between them. “At this distance, you can’t miss, Guy. So when you pull the trigger, be certain you won’t regret it.”

  Diana ran to Guy, her legs shaking with every step, her heart pounding in terror. She grabbed at his arm. “If you care about me at all, don’t do this!” she pleaded.

  His finger trembled on the trigger, but he didn’t look at her. Her widened gaze darted to Holt. The piercing metallic look in his eyes was impossible to hold, and Diana didn’t see how Guy could meet it. In another second, she would have reached for the rifle barrel, but it wasn’t necessary, as Guy pointed the muzzle at the ground.

  “If you go near her again, the next time I will kill you,” Guy warned.

  It was over and Diana sank weakly to her knees, trembling. Holt turned and walked several yards away, eliminating the possibility of further confrontation. The polished wood of the rifle butt touched the ground near her. Her shaking fingers lifted a c
urtain of tangled black hair and tucked it behind her ear.

  Guy’s hand rubbed across his forehead and roughly wiped the tears from his cheeks in a gesture that said he was waking from a nightmare. Reality had been much worse than a nightmare. Diana closed her eyes, trying to shut out the horrifying memory of it. She felt the tentative touch of Guy’s hand on her shoulder.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “No.” She nearly choked on a bubble of hysterical laughter. “No, he didn’t hurt me.”

  “Where’s Rube?” Holt’s voice cut into the quiet exchange.

  “He’s still up there,” Guy answered curtly.

  “Go relieve him.” It was an order.

  Guy hesitated before announcing, “Diana is going with me.”

  Holt’s gaze flicked over the pair of them. “Why tell me? She doesn’t need my permission.”

  Guy’s mouth tightened as he glanced down at Diana. “Come on.” He extended a hand to help her to her feet.

  Diana didn’t know what to do. Half of her wanted to stay with Holt. The other half knew she had to go with Guy or risk a whole new explosion. Her shattered nerves couldn’t withstand another such scene.

  Placing her hand in Guy’s, Diana rose and walked with him. As he helped her up the steep slope, she forced herself not to look back at the solitary figure of Holt watching them leave.

  It was a long, punishing climb on foot to where Rube waited. Her legs were aching and she was out of breath by the time they reached him. The physical pain felt good, overwhelming the mental torment for a while.

  “It’s about time you came back,” Rube grumbled. “I’d just about decided you was gonna leave me up here. I s’pose the food’s all dried up by now an’ ain’t fit to eat. What’d you mean by runnin’ off like that, anyways?” he demanded of Guy. “You took off out a here like a bull after a bee stung his privates.” His squinting eyes turned to Diana. “An’ what happened to you?”

  She guessed her face was still white, her eyes not yet losing their anguished look. When his gaze touched the torn sleeve of her blouse, her hand moved to cover it.