Merielle sought an answer to the question, but it wasn’t forthcoming. She felt dizzy and closed her eyes to concentrate. Her mouth was dry, and her tongue felt thick. Her head was pounding, but she furrowed her brow and forced herself to think back.
At first there was nothing. It was like being in a maze. Every road she took led to another blind alley. It was frightening because sometimes she felt trapped. As she traversed the maze, she saw something glowing in the distance. She headed for the light. It was candles. Candles on her birthday cake.
My birthday. It’s my birthday. But which one?
She could see her mother smiling at her, urging her to blow out the candles.
Count them. How many candles are there? One, two—
“I’m eleven!” Merielle announced triumphantly. She opened her eyes and smiled at Patch. “I’m eleven.”
Patch hadn’t realized how farfetched it was to hope that Merielle would regain her memory, until she heard the lovely young woman announce that she was eleven years old. Especially since Merielle had just recollected that her mother had died when she was twelve.
There was nothing in Merielle’s behavior that led Patch to believe she had any notion of all the years that had passed since she had been violated. Her actions were consistent with the age she believed herself to be, even if the words that came out of her mouth were not.
There just had to be some way to get through to her. All Patch had to do was find it.
Merielle picked up her rag doll and began rebraiding Emily’s hair. She leaned close to Patch and said, “I told Emily about Frank.”
“What about Frank?”
“That he kissed me.”
“Frank kissed you?” Frank hadn’t said anything about kissing Merielle. Talking, yes. Kissing, no. But then, they hadn’t really had an opportunity to discuss Frank’s efforts to help Merielle regain her memory. Maybe he had thought a kiss would do the job.
Merielle put a fingertip to her lips. “Don’t tell Father.”
“Why not?”
Merielle bit her lower lip as she concentrated on Emily’s braid. “I …” Merielle knew there was some reason she was not supposed to tell her father about kissing Frank. But she couldn’t remember what it was. “I don’t know. But I’m not supposed to tell him about kissing Frank.”
Patch’s eyes lit with excitement. Maybe Merielle was remembering a time in the past when kissing Frank had been forbidden. Frank had said they kept their relationship a secret from Merielle’s father. “When did Frank kiss you?”
“The other day we were in the barn, and he asked me if he could kiss me.”
“Oh.”
Merielle mistook the reason for Patch’s disappointment. “It wasn’t so bad. At first I liked it.” Merielle reached down and put a hand on her stomach. “It made me feel … funny.”
Merielle tried to remember the sensations. The ticklish feeling that had spread throughout her body. The way her knees had suddenly buckled so she had almost fallen. Then the blackness, swallowing her up, sucking her down, so she felt like she was falling. Even now it made her tremble to remember those other feelings.
“After a little while, I didn’t like it,” Merielle said abruptly. “It scared me.”
“Why were you scared?”
Patch knew she had pressed too hard when she saw the panicked look in Merielle’s dark brown eyes.
“It doesn’t matter,” Patch said.
At that moment Maria knocked on the door and called them to supper. Patch noticed that once again Merielle walked wide circles around Boyd. She made up her mind to ask Boyd if this was the first time he had been around Merielle, or if she always acted this way toward him.
Conversation at the dinner table was surprisingly general. Patch couldn’t remember afterward what had been said. She was hoping for a chance to talk to Merielle again after supper, but the young woman pleaded fatigue.
“Will you come again soon?” Merielle asked.
“Maybe we could go on a picnic,” Patch suggested.
“That would be fun! May I go, Father?”
Patch couldn’t look at Trahern because his eyes gave away too much of what he was feeling, and it was plain that his feelings were sad.
“If you wish,” Trahern said. “When is this picnic going to be?” he asked Patch.
“How about next Sunday, after church,” Patch suggested.
“Next Sunday,” Trahern agreed.
Patch gave Merielle a quick hug before she left.
Once Patch and Boyd were back in the buggy, Boyd sidled closer and quipped, “I like the way you say good night. Am I going to get a hug, too?”
Patch wasn’t in any mood to put up with advances from Boyd, especially since she had put him back on her list of parties suspected of raping a vulnerable young woman.
“What you’re going to get is a black eye if you don’t put some distance between us.”
Boyd scooted away, but looked offended. “You didn’t mind me getting close earlier tonight.”
“Did you rape Merielle Trahern?”
There was a moment of stunned silence before Boyd said, “You’re taking an awful chance asking me a question like that when we’re all alone in the dark, miles from anyone who could hear you scream for help, don’t you think?”
The irony and sarcasm in his voice was enough to convince Patch she had made a mistake. She groaned and looped her arm through Boyd’s to make amends. “I’m sorry, Boyd. I’m going crazy wondering who could possibly have done it.”
“We may never know,” Boyd said.
“Let’s talk about something else.”
“All right. There’s a dance in town on Saturday night. Will you go with me?”
Patch’s first thought was to wonder why Ethan hadn’t mentioned the dance. The answer was painfully obvious. Ethan couldn’t walk freely down the main street of town, let alone attend a social function in Oakville. Patch wished she could tell Boyd that she was committed to Ethan. But Ethan had forbidden it. She was now in the awkward position of having to refuse Boyd without being able to give him the real reason she wouldn’t allow him to court her.
“I couldn’t leave Mrs. Hawk alone,” she said. It sounded like the lame excuse it was.
“You can’t leave her for a few hours to go to a dance, yet you’re going on an afternoon picnic with Merielle the next day?”
“I don’t want to go with you, Boyd.”
“That answer sounds more honest, although I’m not any happier with it. Why won’t you come with me, Patricia?”
“I’m not attracted to you, Boyd.”
Boyd clucked his tongue. “You’re lying again, Patricia.”
Patch flushed, mortified that Boyd knew she was a little fascinated with him, even though it was Ethan that she loved. She told herself it was merely that she felt unsure of herself with Ethan, who had known her first as a baby whose wet drawers he had changed and then as a coltish child of twelve. Naturally she had relished Boyd’s attentions as a sign that she was the kind of woman who could attract a man. But it was Ethan she wanted to attract. Not Boyd.
“I’m flattered that you want to take me to the dance, Boyd. But I wouldn’t feel right kicking up my heels when Ethan is still a hunted man.”
“That’s more honesty, but still leaves me without a partner for the dance.”
“I like you, Boyd,” Patch admitted to soften her refusal. “But I don’t—”
Boyd put a hand to her lips to stop her speech. They were back at the rutted part of the road, so he slowed the buggy down. “All right, Patricia. I’m willing to wait a little while to see whether—how—Ethan’s situation gets resolved.”
“Boyd, I—”
Boyd kissed her.
It happened so suddenly, Patch didn’t see it coming. He just turned his head and laid his mouth on hers. The kiss was over before she had a chance to protest. By the time she realized she should have slapped him, he was already leaning forward again in that harmless pose, his f
orearms on his thighs, his eyes directed between the horse’s ears. He slapped the reins, and the buggy picked up speed again.
Heat burned in her cheeks. “Don’t ever do that again!”
“You liked it.”
“I didn’t! I hardly know you.”
Boyd showed her a cheeky grin. “But you like me.”
Hoisted on her own petard. Patch was feeling her lack of sophistication in worldly matters. Boyd was Ethan’s age, and it seemed he had learned a few tricks in the ten or twelve years he had on her. But Patch knew the time to stop this flirtation was now, before Boyd’s feelings got engaged.
Whether Ethan wished it or not, she would have to tell Boyd the truth.
Patch saw lights in the distance that signaled they were nearing the Double Diamond. If she was going to say something, she had to do it now.
“I can’t get involved with you because I’m already in love with another man.”
Boyd didn’t look at her, but she saw a muscle tighten in his jaw.
“Ethan,” he said flatly.
Patch said, “Yes.”
“Ethan can’t—won’t—marry you.”
“I won’t argue with you about this, Boyd. I can’t change how I feel.”
It didn’t happen right away, but she saw the tension ease out of him.
“Ethan’s a lucky man,” he said at last.
“I wish you’d tell him that,” she replied with a wry laugh.
“All right, I will.”
“No, don’t!” She put a hand over Boyd’s and removed it when she felt him flinch.
“Why not?”
Patch laughed to relieve her nervous tension. “I want him to figure it out for himself.”
Patch had half expected Ethan to be waiting up for her, but there was no sign of him on the porch when they arrived at the ranch house. She got down on her own, unwilling to give Boyd the opportunity to touch her, afraid he might take liberties again that would cause another confrontation. This time she would slap him!
“I’ll unharness the buggy and take care of your horse before I leave,” Boyd said.
“Thanks.” Patch fled into the house before he could say more.
Ethan wasn’t waiting on the porch for Patch because he was waiting in the barn for Boyd. He was sitting on a bale of hay just outside the circle of light created by a lantern hung on the end of an empty stall.
“How did it go?” he said as Boyd led the tired horse into the barn.
Though startled, Boyd quickly recovered his composure. “I couldn’t figure out why you weren’t waiting on the porch for her. I would have been, if she were my girl.”
“Patch is not my girl.”
“She thinks she is.” Boyd walked Patch’s gelding into the empty stall, found a brush, and began currying the animal’s sweat-flecked hide.
Ethan stayed in the dark. It was easier to speak to Boyd when he didn’t have to worry about his friend reading the brittle emotions on his face. “Patch believes my name will be cleared. She thinks we have a future.”
“What do you think?”
“I think she’s dreaming.”
“Why not tell her so?”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried? She was stubborn and willful as a kid, and she hasn’t changed a whit! She doesn’t know when to give up.”
“Then you give up. Sell out, take your mother and sister and go away. Leave Patch behind.”
Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the loss of the Double Diamond that crossed his mind. It was the thought of a lifetime without Patch that left him feeling bereft. “I can’t.”
Boyd threw the brush down in the hayrack in disgust. He found his horse in another stall and tightened the cinch on the saddle. “Patricia deserves a chance to be happy. Speaking frankly, I think she’d be happier with me than with you.”
“Maybe so. But I’m not giving her up. Not yet.”
Boyd led his horse to the barn door and mounted up. “You’re my friend, Ethan. So here’s a little friendly advice. Do yourself a favor. Leave Oakville while you still can.”
“And Patch?”
“She won’t miss you. I plan to make her my wife.”
Frank grasped the naked flanks of the woman beneath him and thrust himself deeper inside her. He withdrew and thrust again. His air-starved lungs, his sweat-streaked body, his pounding heart gave mute testimony to his labor. There was pleasure to be had from the exquisite friction of flesh against slick flesh as he drove himself toward satisfaction. His fingers tightened as he felt the woman struggle for freedom beneath him.
“Don’t move,” he said through gritted teeth. “Don’t move.”
She stilled, and he continued his plunder of her body. He kept his eyes closed, squeezed tight, and used his imagination to remake her features into the ones beloved to him. He imagined her with dark eyes alight with desire, her lips full from being bitten in passion, her nostrils flared to catch the scents of lovemaking thick in the air between them. He heard his name whispered by her voice, heard her begging him to fill her full with himself.
He sat up and pulled the woman’s legs over his thighs. He slipped his hands under her buttocks and levered her body closer to his. And thrust again. Harder. Deeper. Faster. Wet sounds. Slapping flesh. Harsh breathing. His body drove him to find surcease from the endless craving for one particular woman. He felt as though he would die of wanting. Die of needing. Finally, his body demanded release from its torment. As he spilled his seed, he cried, “Merielle!”
His body slumped forward, drained of its essence. Exhausted. Finished.
Frank wished he could be swallowed up in a void so he wouldn’t have to face what happened next. He heard the woman take a breath to speak and tightened his fingers to keep her silent. After so many years, she knew what he wanted. Sometimes she gave him the peace he needed. Sometimes she forced reality back too soon.
“Frank? I’ve got another customer waiting downstairs.”
Frank’s breath shuddered out of him. He opened his eyes. The room was dark. But not completely. Harsh yellow light seeped in under the door and up through cracks in the floor along with the noise of the piano from the saloon downstairs. “All right, Jewell. Give me a minute to get my pants on.”
Frank liked the dark. It helped the illusion last longer. He didn’t want to see Jewell’s kohl-blackened eyes and rouged cheeks, her plump, middle-aged body. He didn’t want to see the starkness of the room where she did business. He rid himself of the condom Jewell made all her customers wear and left it in the brass spittoon beside the bed.
Jewell had risen and crossed to a dry sink, where she kept water in a pitcher for washing. He heard her wet a washcloth and wring it out in the bowl. He knew she was wiping away all traces of him, of his saliva and sweat and semen, before her next customer came. It was one of the things he appreciated about Jewell. She was clean.
“How is Merielle?”
It was a question Jewell always asked. She knew, as well as anyone, that Frank had always loved the other woman. She knew, better than anyone, just how much.
“I tried talking to her about what happened all those years ago,” Frank said.
Jewell sank down onto a bench beside the dry sink. “My, my. What happened?”
“Nothing. Except maybe I scared her.”
“How’d you do that?”
“By kissing her,” Frank admitted in a taut voice.
“She didn’t like it?”
“I think she did, at first. Then she pushed me away.”
“So what she’s feeling toward you now maybe is at odds with what she remembers happening to her a long time ago?”
Frank frowned. “I never thought of it like that.”
“Are you going to kiss her again?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she didn’t like it.”
Jewell shook her head. “I think maybe you ought to kiss her some more and see what happens. What have you got to lose?”
/> “She might not want me around anymore.”
Jewell laughed. “That girl adores you. You’d have to do something pretty terrible for her to send you packing.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “And I’m telling you, Frank, there isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t enjoy your kisses.”
Frank felt embarrassed by the sexual compliment. He turned his back on Jewell and pulled on his long underwear.
“I haven’t seen Ethan in a while,” Jewell remarked.
Frank pulled on his jeans over his long johns. “He’s been busy.”
Jewell laughed, a husky, throaty sound. “Busy with a long-legged blonde, the way I hear it.”
“Miz Kendrick is a lady, Jewell.”
“A lady’s got all the same equipment as a woman, last I heard,” Jewell replied.
Frank took some money from his pocket and laid it on the table beside the bed. He reclaimed his shirt from the standing mirror he had thrown it over. He had caught sight of himself in bed with Jewell once, and ever since had made sure the mirror was covered. He slipped on his shirt and began buttoning it. “I think she means to marry Ethan.”
“Question is whether Ethan means to marry her,” Jewell said. “Or whether he’ll get the chance. Saw a man come into the Silver Buckle tonight looked like trouble for Ethan.”
“Gunfighter?”
“Think so. Mean, hard-looking son of a bitch. Gonna find out just how hard in a few minutes,” she said with a grin.
“He your next customer?”
“Uh-huh. Do me a favor, will you? Ask him to come on up.”
Frank stomped his feet to make sure his heels were down in his boots. “Sure. And Jewell?”
“Yes, Frank?”
“Be careful.”
“You know me, Frank. I’m always careful.”
Once downstairs, Frank searched the bar for the stranger he knew he would find. The gunman was tall and lean. He looked tough as hobnails. His spurred boot was hooked over the footrail, but he wasn’t leaning on the bar. He kept his body free, ready to react. Frank met the man’s eyes and had the feeling he was seeing death—cold, icy gray orbs that bore no human emotion.
Frank crossed the room quickly, not wanting to give the stranger time to worry that he was looking for a fight. “Jewell says she’s ready for you.”
Outlaw’s Bride Page 14