* * * *
Dressed and ready for school, Shelby and Emma were ordered to quietly sit at the table like good little girls and finish their breakfast. Meanwhile, she absently tended the garden, waiting for Caleb to appear.
Every few seconds, she’d glance at the dirt road on the side of the barn, searching for a cloud of dust, a sure sign a hoarse approached. If Devin’s threat still held salt, Caleb’s fate more than likely continued to rest in her hands.
For once, she wished Caleb was not a man of his word. Since he took his biblical name to heart, it was highly unlikely.
The thought sent a chill down her spine. If rumors were true, could Reed’s son be heartless, shoot and kill an innocent man without recourse or provocation, with no regard for human compassion or life itself?
Her blood ran cold.
* * * *
Devin’s eyelids fluttered as his ears picked up the faint sound of movement across the plank floorboards. He sensed he was not alone. His eyes remained closed and breathing steady as the faint sound neared.
Devin had settled back low in the armchair next to Reed’s bed. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, he had fallen asleep, his. arms dangling over the sides, long legs stretched out in front of him.
The vibration was too faint for a grown man, and the scent wasn’t that of a woman. Certain it wasn’t Megan, his right hand slowly journeyed to his pistol, fingers curling around the butt.
In a flash, he bolted upright in the chair, colt cocked, out of leather, and by his side. His gut wrenched at the sight in front of him. One more second, and his two sisters, whom he’d completely forgotten about, seeing as how he only saw the tops of their heads last night, would have been dead.
He gulped down the lump in his throat and returned the gun to its rightful place. Unaccustomed to being in such close proximity to children, for once, he didn’t know what to do or say. He stared at them, overwhelmingly dumbfounded.
The bigger girl sat on the foot of the bed, staring wide-eyed at him as though she was ready to bolt at any moment. The smaller one stood by his side, her arm frozen mid-air as though she was about to touch his whiskers. His brows drew together as the little one brought both hands to her mouth and started to giggle. The other one looked on warily.
The hand-hewn wood creaked under the tension as he clutched the chair arms in a death grip. The older one, with long, blonde pigtails, a button nose, and tight-lipped with familiar silver eyes looked older and wiser beyond her minimal years. The youngster, with a head full of silken curls, big round blue eyes, cute little nose and cherubic cheeks, appeared the opposite of what was considered proper for nineteenth-century children. Obedient. There was little calm and quiet to the bubbly child, who beamed with a naughty and rebelliousness spirit in her eyes.
These two tiny creatures were his half-sisters.
His gaze narrowed as the oldest continued her appraisal with the intensity of a hawk.
The smallest was the first to speak, and she did so with a guileless exuberance that he found unnerving. “Megan says you’re our brother. My best friend in the whole wide world has a brother. They play together. Will you play with me?”
“Shelby,” Emma’s small voice rang out, chastising her younger sister and drawing her attention, albeit temporarily. “He’s too big.” Her eyes swept over him with an air of disapproval, and she quickly concluded, “And too old.”
With a slight tilt of his head, he glanced in Emma’s direction, raising a brow.
“I don’t mind, Emma.” Shelby moved closer to Devin’s side, and when her pudgy palm landed on his hand, he stiffened.
Damn it if the little girl wasn’t scaring the living shit out of him. He quickly wondered if this was how other men felt in his presence. For the first time in his life, he understood their unease.
“He’d be good for climbing trees.”
His gaze jumped from one girl to the other while they discussed his merits between themselves, as if he wasn’t even in the room. He wished he wasn’t.
“Megan says he won’t be round long ‘nough.”
“We can play hide-n-seek while he’s here.”
“He’s visiting Pawpaw, not you.”
Devin noticed the little girl’s disposition changed instantly. Her bottom lip puffed out. Her big, blue eyes cut to her father, lying eerily still on the large bed.
“He’s sick.” Her innocent voice sounded both pained and worried, yet there was a touch of hope glistening in her eyes even he could comprehend.
“He’s dying,” Emma corrected Shelby in a remarkably stern tone. She pointed in Devin’s direction. “And he’s leaving, so don’t go getting used to the idea of a brother.”
Very little escaped Devin’s intuitiveness, and there was a hurt so deep in the girl, it drowned the childhood right out. A troubling so intense for one so young, it showed in the stiffness in her form, harsh sound of her voice, and in the dark aura emanating from her stone-cold heart. Was he describing the young girl who shared the color of his eyes, or himself? The likeness was uncanny.
A large, round tear formed in Shelby’s sky-blue eyes. “You goin’ way?”
Devin watched the tear slide gently down her pink cheek until it trailed down her chin, then fell, leaving a small wet spot on the front of her yolk-colored dress. He glanced at Emma, sitting with her hands crossed daintily in her lap, a challenge in her eye as though daring him to deny.
He faced Shelby and replied with a single nod.
“Told ya, Shelby.” Emma’s face radiated with smug satisfaction as a new, bigger tear formed in Shelby’s eye. “They all leave.”
Devin watched Emma with an intense regard and realized she wouldn’t stop the torment until her younger sibling was left as bereft as she. At that moment it came to him, he was clearly a new pawn in an old game. A game of torment she probably used often.
“Damnation, I’ve heard enough.” He rose out of his seat, and the one called Shelby bolted out the door.
“He said a soap word,” Shelby screamed over and over as she ran through the house.
“Don’t tell,” Emma called out after Shelby, but it was too late, as the swift girl had already thrown open the front door and dashed outside.
His full attention was riveted on Emma as she slowly swung her legs off the mattress. She stood at the end of the bed. Her hands gripped the round knob on the end of the short bedpost.
“You’re not afraid of me.” Now that they were alone, she didn’t have to put up a brave front for her little sister, and he could tell she was clearly terrified.
She hesitated for a moment. He could almost see her mulling over whether or not to tell the truth. Slowly, she shook her head.
“Why not?” He took a step closer.
Her head drew back and she looked way, way up at him until she had to take two steps backward.
After a big gulp, she confided, “Cause you’re in trouble. Shelby’s a squealer. She’s a tellin’ Megan you said a soap word. Then, you’ll get it.”
He laughed, which seemed to confuse the little girl. Apparently, punishment for uttering a “soap word” was severe enough that even he should be shaking in his moccasins. “What of your misdeed?”
She stared at him in wide-eyed wonder.
“You were told to stay out of this room.” He gathered at least that much from the girls’ effort to keep their shaky introduction private.
Her eyes narrowed in defiance.
“It’s my home, and you can’t tell me what to do,” she shouted.
In a stern tone meant to intimidate, not frighten the child, he ordered, “Leave, now.”
She glanced at her father. Reed’s eyes flickered. “No,” she shouted defiantly.
“Get out of here before I pick you up by your pigtails and toss you out the window,” he said with a bit more emphasis. To prove his point, he took a step closer and reached for her ponytail.
He chuckled as Emma ran out of the house, screaming for Megan. Flicking his wrist,
he closed the door. This time he locked it. He resumed his seat and took Reed’s hand. Despite his father’s eyes being closed, Devin began where he left off last night, recounting the less gruesome and noteworthy misadventures in the wilderness.
* * * *
“I told you girls, best stay out of his way while he’s here. Calm down, Emma.” Megan brushed wayward strands of hair off the quivering child’s forehead in an attempt to settle her nerves. She understood all too well just what effect the virile bushwhacker had on the female psyche. What she didn’t know was how it seemed to transcend through the generations.
“You gonna make him eat soap, Megan?” Shelby yanked on her skirt, looking up at her eagerly, eyes full of expectation.
The sound of hooves turned them around. Caleb was trotting around the bend.
Megan dropped to her knees, gathering the girls in her embrace. “Now girls, we aren’t supposed to breathe a word of this to Caleb. Remember what I told you earlier?”
The girls nodded in unison, acknowledging their brother’s visit was to remain a secret, even after he left. Megan promised that if neither girl spoke a word to anyone, in one month, each would receive a half-pound of rock candy. As they licked their lips and their eyes took on a greedy quality, she was sure they would keep their word.
With a nervous glance toward the front door, Megan stood and shook the dust from her skirt. She brushed a few wayward strands of hair behind her ear, and prayed silently for a quick departure.
Her praying was disturbed midway when Shelby yanked harder on her skirt. “But Megan, he said a soap word.”
She managed a nervous smile. “Not to worry, Shelby. He doesn’t know the house rules. I’ll speak to him. Okay?”
“Okay!” She nodded happily, as if satisfied at least he was going to get a good talking to, and not she or Emma for a change.
Both girls ran up to meet Caleb as he dismounted. He hugged and kissed them both as they squealed with delight, the blatant display of affection conveying equally.
“Good morning, Caleb. If you don’t mind, the girls need to get to school early this morning.”
With Shelby propped in one arm and holding Emma by the hand with the other, he sauntered to the garden. Megan knelt down and began to yank swiftly at the weeds, desperate to appear occupied.
“No time for coffee this morning?” His tone was casual, yet the suggestive undertone was clear, reminding her of last night’s conversation as he gave her a quick wink.
“Afraid not. The girls are ready. Right, girls?” The hint was apparent, and she dreaded what would happen when he returned shortly, expecting if not coffee, then a whole lot more.
In unison, they both nodded and replied with a quick and unusually polite, “Yes, Uncle Caleb.”
“Very well, if higher learning is their pursuit, who am I to dawdle?”
He placed Shelby in the front of the saddle first, then lifted Emma up and sat her directly behind her sister before remounting. The girls were small enough to easily fit in front of him.
With a lusty gleam in his eye, stirring a part of Megan that had no business being stirred, he tipped the brim of his hat, turned his reins, and off they went.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she relaxed the tight-fisted grip on her skirt she hadn’t even realized she held.
* * * *
The distinct sound of a rider garnered his attention. Devin watched the friendly interaction between his father’s wife, his father’s children, and another man from the kitchen window. Not just any man, one he deemed too handsome for his own good. He was the same fellow that dashed out of the house last night and threw his arms around Megan when she rode up.
A bile bitter taste rose in his mouth as his lips tensed with scorn.
Blond hair and blue eyes were wasted on men, better served on a woman for when a man looked into her sultry eyes while he fucked her. Pretty Boy was too much of a dandy, clean and proper, dressed in an Eastern-style suit complete with vest and tie. He was out of place in the untamed frontier. Same as an Indian in a loincloth would be in the big city. This was where manhood was based on how tough a man was, how fast he could draw, and how much whiskey he could drink. From the looks of it, one shot of rot would do Pretty Boy in.
Once again, proof God didn’t exist—worthless good looks on an even more worthless man.
Just then, Megan walked through the front door and paused in her tracks when she noticed he was leaning against the kitchen counter. His deceptive, mellow stance didn’t quite fit the bitter reproach he felt.
“I…” From the way she stammered, Devin figured she knew he’d at least witnessed the other man’s departure. “Would you like breakfast?” She reached for the egg basket on the table. “How do you take your eggs?”
“I’m not hungry.”
He couldn’t remember exactly when he’d eaten his last good meal. Aside from what he scrounged during his trek to Tejas, it was probably two weeks ago. Awakening to find little girls staring him down, his father’s condition no better, and now, Pretty Boy eyeing his father’s wife rendered all thoughts of food pointless. The bitterness still lingered on his tongue and wrenched his innards.
“Coffee? I can make a fresh pot.” She hurried to the pot sitting on the stove. “Won’t take but a minute.”
“Maybe later. I’m going for a ride.” He took two steps past her and stilled when she shouted unexpectedly for him to wait.
A nervous energy had her rushing into Reed’s room. Puzzled, he watched her kneel before a wooden chest sitting in the corner of the room.
It seemed she located what she was searching for, a sealed letter Reed wrote before he fell ill. She briefly explained how he told her about it after his first stroke and her promise to give it to Devin if he showed up. When she handed it to him, she asked if he wanted her to read it. He looked at her coldly, stuffed it in his pocket, and walked away.
On the way outside, he cursed her to hell and back and felt a twinge, a very minor twinge, of remorse when he noted his horse, Deuce, had already been supplied with oats and fresh water.
For half a sliver of a woman, she possessed unparalleled nerve and courage. She’d assumed he was not only illiterate, but deaf and blind to not notice the other man and offer no explanation as to why the good doctor’s assistant behaved as though he retained ownership of the family while Reed lay dying inside.
There was one sure thing he knew about women—the effect they had on a man. That sinful look a man gets in his eye when all he wants to do is bend her over, throw up her skirts, and burrow so deep into her snow-colored mounds that no one would be able to find him until the first defrost of spring. Hell, it was spring, and Pretty Boy definitely wanted to be buried.
And Devin was more than willing to make his wish come true. Bury him six foot under, that is.
* * * *
Devin had been gone no less than thirty minutes by the time Caleb returned. As usual, she heard him waltz into the Spawn home as though he lived there. He smiled, charming as ever, as Megan exited Reed’s room, holding a plate with a half-empty bowl of vegetable broth.
“How about that cup of coffee?” he asked, tossing his brown Stetson over his shoulder. It latched onto a peg of the hat rack near the door. He settled into an armless chair at the table and his gaze trailed over her boldly, appreciatively.
Megan felt the simmer of sexual awareness deep in her womb. The sheer potency of his maleness stroked the long-forgotten fire Devin awakened. She was shocked how readily her body now stirred with sensuality, when only this time yesterday, the presence of strikingly good-looking Caleb purely warmed her heart.
She cleared her throat and stepped over to the sink. Her face flushed with embarrassment. She felt the heat coursing through her veins at the unmistakable attraction.
“Caleb, there is nothing better I’d like to do all day than sit around with you drinking coffee. But Reed needs his morning bath,” she replied calmly.
“Let’s skip the coffee and go straight t
o what we both long for,” he suggested. His voice was low, filled with wicked intent as he made his way to the small kitchen.
Stunned by his boldness, she swirled around. A shiver of alarm raced through her. Her gaze darted toward Reed’s bedroom door, as if expecting him to barge out and defend her honor in light of the other man’s crude remark.
With that same boyishly wicked grin she had seen numerous times in the past, he was there, trapping her between his arms against the sink. A familiar lust shone in his eyes as he peered down at her, only inches from her upturned face.
“It’s been too long, Megan,” he said softly. “I’ve been a very patient man. I’ve not laid a hand on you since…”
His voice trailed off. She gasped when he lifted her tiny frame effortlessly, sitting her on the edge of the counter.
She felt the arousal emanating from the only true love of her life. Try as she might, she could not ignore the answering sensations surging through her quivering body. The need in his beautiful blue eyes weakened her resolve, her strength to resist the carnal temptation of her heathen flesh.
“Please, Meg,” he pleaded. His warm lips brushed over her cheek and along the delicate curve of her throat, making her moan softly. He stood between her legs, pressing his upper body into hers. One hand cupped her buttocks, grinding the thickness of his arousal into her pussy lips, the heat penetrating the layers of fabric and sending a jolt of sinuous vibration coursing through her veins. His other hand traveled beneath the layers, searing her skin. Through her stockings, she felt the heat of his fingers running over her calves and inching upwards.
His gaze darkened with lust. His hands smoothed up her bare thighs. “You’re not wearing pantalets.”
“Caleb,” she breathed with arousal, but in her mind, she begged him to stop. For more reasons than one, this was wrong. Yet her body arched into his. She felt his hand touch the skin of her upper thigh, and she parted her legs even wider, allowing him full access.
1933563060-Devils-Pact-Cruise Page 7