by Rita Herron
She moaned and spread her hands on his chest. He hesitated, thinking she meant to pull away, yet she pressed one hand to his cheek, tilting her head back in submission. The simple gesture took his breath away. He nibbled at he rear, then ran his tongue down her throat until she sighed and slid her arms around his neck. Taking her signal as one of pleasure, he dipped his head lower to tease the soft skin at the curve of her breasts. Raw hunger drove him, and he lowered one hand to gently touch her breast, so delicately at first that he didn’t think she felt it. His own need mounting, he found her mouth again and kissed her with his entire being, squeezing her plump breast into his hand as she clung to him. Even through her sweater, the budding tip of her nipple hardened. His sex pulsed against his jeans, and he spread his thighs and captured her in the V, her sex pressed against his. She froze slightly, and he realized he’d gone too far. Had been selfish. Needy.
He reined in his desire, fought for control and gently eased back. Desire simmered in her eyes. Her face was flushed, her lips parted, her breathing erratic.
But a sliver of fear also flickered in the depths of her eyes, and guilt slammed into him.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said softly.
Her breath hitched. “I…you didn’t.”
He threaded his fingers through her hair again.
“Then what is it?”
She lowered her head against his chest, her voice quavering, “I can’t do this, Deke. I’m sorry, I just can’t…finish.”
He eased a strand of her delicate curly hair behind one ear. “I’m sorry I pushed. But Elsie, I’m not sorry I kissed you.”
“Deke, it’s not that…I do want you, but—”
“Shh.” He brushed his lips across hers, softly, gently. “It’s all right, Elsie.” He kissed her forehead again, just a brush of his lips. “If we are ever together, it will be when you’re ready.”
Knowing that if he didn’t leave her that minute, he might kiss her again, he released her. He had to be alone, commune with the animals.
“Lock the door,” he said in a gruff voice. “And keep the gun beside you.”
“Where are you going?” she asked softly.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back.” With a half smile, he left her to think about what he’d said.
He had to regroup.
But he wouldn’t go far. Because he meant what he’d said. He wouldn’t desert her. And he’d prove to her that all men weren’t vile, that not all men hurt women.
That some men not only took pleasure, but they gave it, as well.
ELSIE PRESSED A FINGER to her lips, her skin still tingling with erotic sensations from Deke’s kiss. He had been so tender yet seductive. Had stirred desires that she’d never expected to feel again. A hunger that had nearly driven her wild, straight into his arms without even thinking about the consequences.
She hugged her arms to herself. He made her ache and burn for his touch. For more. For him to make love to her.
But Hattie’s words haunted her, “Physical pleasure is wrong, girls. It’s sinful.”
Elsie had paid a harsh price for her first experience in lovemaking. Only with Deke, she was older…could things possibly be different? Would she ever be able to have a normal relationship with a man?
No. Not after her past….
Not with all the bitterness, fear and guilt that had eaten at her soul for the past decade.
Yet as tender as Deke had been, his hunger had been palpable. Completely male. Guarded but potent. Asking and giving.
She didn’t know how to accept that kind of sexual interchange. In the past, she’d only known roughness. That she was expected to give. That when it was over, she had felt empty.
Now, her insides quivered with the need to feel his touch again. A warm unsettled feeling throbbed deep within her. How could Deke make her feel this way when other men’s touches had turned her stomach? An would happen if she actually encouraged him? Would she freak out and run away as she had with the last guy who’d tried to get close to her? Would she be able to please him the way a man wanted?
Doubt and uncertainty clouded the euphoria his touch had evoked. Irritated with herself, she poured another glass of wine, then retreated to her room, alone, where she was safe with her secrets.
The baby blanket mocked her from the dresser, and anger flooded her. She couldn’t show this to Deke, but she couldn’t throw it away, either. She had to know who had left it for her.
Hands trembling, she folded it and hid it beneath her bag, then spotted Hattie Mae’s diary. Would she be violating the woman’s privacy if she read it? Probably.
Then again, if Hattie Mae had revealed something about the adoptions or the other girls in the diary, she had to read it.
The creaking sound of the cradle from the attic echoed in her ears, a haunting sound that had repeatedly grated on her conscience in her nightmares. Driven by the painful sound, she opened the journal and began to read.
THE SOFT CREAK, creak, creak of the rocking chair calmed Eleanor Cross’s nerves as she rocked her infant daughter back and forth, soothing the bubbles from her stomach as she patted her back. God, how she loved this little girl.
Her other daughter’s voice humming from her bedroom while she played with her Barbie dolls drifted through the room, and she smiled again. Missy was such a special child. An angel. The first of her children.
The one who had filled the endless void in her life when she’d been informed she couldn’t bear children.
Then her brother, Morty, had spoken with her in private and suggested adoption. At the time, her husband had run off, so her chances had been slim.
Three months later, only minutes after birth, Missy had been placed in her arms. She owed her brother dearly.
Never far away, the ten-year-old stepped inside the nursery wearing Barbie pajamas, a wide smile on her face. Always exuberant and bustling with energy, she rushed inside and planted a big kiss on her new little sister’s cheek, then on Eleanor’s.
“Night, little Dorrie. Night, Mommy.”
“Good night, princess.”
Missy skipped from the room hugging her Harry Potter book to her chest, her long black hair swinging from side to side. Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat. She had been so lucky to have been given two beautiful girls. She’d do anything in the world to protect them.
Panic suddenly stole her joy as she recalled the gossip about Elsie Timmons’s return. She bit down on her tongue to stifle a cry, determined not to startle the infant in her arms.
No, Dorrie was safe.
It was Missy she had to worry about. Missy with the smile that went on forever, and the heart of an angel.
Her brother had warned her to keep the adoption secret. And she had. But if the Timmons woman poked around too much or stirred up trouble over the adoptions, he and B Thompson might be placed under scrutiny by the authorities. And if they broke or decided to come clean…
No, that could not happen.
She wished that she’d asked the name of Missy’s birth mother, but at the time she hadn’t wanted to know. Now, the urge was driving her insane with worry.
Cradling the baby in her arms, she laid her in the crib, then hurried to her bedroom, shut the door and phoned her brother.
Seconds later, his answering machine kicked in. Damn it. She left a message, then phoned Thompson, pacing the white carpet as she waited. He answered on the third ring, his voice agitated. “I told you not to call me at home.”
“Listen, Burt, I have to know who Missy’s birth mother is so I can protect her.”
“I can’t divulge that information, and you know it.”
“But I heard one of the girls from the orphanage is back.” Hysteria rattled her voice. “What if she’s looking for her baby?”
“We’ll handle her,” Thompson snapped. “Just stay calm.”
“How can I be calm when that tramp is in town? Even if she’s not Missy’s mother, if she opens up about the adoptions, then other gi
rls might come forward.” A shudder coursed through her. “I can’t lose Missy, Burt, you know that.” She heaved, barely able to breathe. “I just can’t. I would die without her.”
“You won’t lose her,” Thompson promised. “Trust me, Mires and I will keep the Timmons girl from talking.”
Eleanor inhaled a calming breath as she hung up, but the lawyer had not assuaged her anxiety. Instead her imagination created a whirlwind of possible scenarios. She’d never attended college like Morty, but she wasn’t ignorant, either. She’d read about lawsuits pertaining to adoptions, the birth mother’s rights, some adopted children even being given the option of meeting the birth mother, then choosing who they wanted to live with.
And she had a history. If the courts got hold of it, they’d make her look irresponsible….
Another possibility stabbed at her insides. What if her brother or Thompson decided to tell their secrets? Thompson was such a money-hungry bastard that he’d probably keep his mouth shut. But Morty—he was a good man. The little tramps hadn’t deserved to keep those infants. But her brother had taken care of those troubled teens and helped them find homes for their unwanted babies out of the goodness of his heart.
What if he released the list of adopting parents to the police? What if he talked to Elsie? Just how much did the girl know?
Her chest tight, she went to her oldest daughter’s bedroom and stared at her while she slept. Fierce protective instincts brought tears to her eyes, and she had to touch Missy’s cheek just to reassure herself that she was still there, not an apparition.
No one would take her beloved little girl from her.
If she had to, she’d kill anyone who tried to jeopardize their relationship. Then she’d take Missy and Dorrie and disappear forever…
Chapter Ten
Elsie’s skin crawled as she read Hattie Mae’s journal.
November 1
Today Howard asked me to marry him. I was so excited. I know my family thinks I’m too young, but I love him with all my heart, and I know we’ll be happy together. I’m already dreaming of having a family with him. That’s all I’ve ever wanted—a husband and children of my own.
Elsie’s heart squeezed. She couldn’t imagine Hattie Mae young and in love. All she remembered was the cowering, frightened woman who obeyed her husband’s commands. Although later, when he wasn’t around, she had occasionally slipped in to see the girls at night with soothing words and a sad, almost apologetic smile.
She skimmed farther, and found the first thirty pages consisted of similar entries—Hattie Mae and Howard were in love. They bought a small house. They were trying to conceive.
Farther in, the entries became darker, filled with sadness, frustration and a deep sense of guilt.
December 24
I had hoped today I’d find out that I was with child, but once again, I failed. Howard looks at me differently now, as if he can barely stand to touch me, as if I’m tainted because I haven’t conceived. He found me crying when he got home from work, and he slapped me and told me to stop behaving like a child.
But I smelled perfume on him, and I think he’d been with someone else. Maybe someone who is more woman than me….
Midway through the book, the abuse had grown rampant, both verbally and physically.
April 10
Howard called me “barren” today. I pleaded with him to understand, told him I would go to the doctor for more tests, but he said he doesn’t want me that way anymore. All I am to him is a maid and housekeeper. Even then, he criticizes my cooking. The meat is never done enough, the vegetables are soggy. And then he complains about my cleaning. There’s dust on the sideboard, the towels in the bathroom aren’t hung evenly.
I wish I could just fade away. I don’t deserve to live….
Elsie brushed a tear from her eye. She’d never understood how Hattie Mae had stood by and watched her husband hurt the girls, but now she did. Hattie Mae had been beaten down long before any of the teenagers had come along.
She flipped through several pages and discovered entries about the orphanage.
August 13
I spoke with the pstor in town, and he suggested that I must accept my fate as a childless woman, and find a purpose for my life. He said a social worker from Nashville planned to set up a home for orphaned kids and pregnant teenagers in Wildcat Manor.
Howard is out of work and we haven’t been able to pay our bills lately. I wonder what he’ll think if I offer to go to work at the orphanage. I’m almost afraid to tell him.
September 30
Reverend Alter phoned today and offered a caretaker position to me and Howard. He says we can live free at the manor if we oversee the place and the kids. I told Howard, and he stormed out the door. He said he didn’t need charity and didn’t want anything to do with sinful brats.
October 21
They turned off the power today and Howard gave in. We moved into the manor. Renee Leberman, the social worker, brought two little girls today. One is eight, the other five. They’re so precious. Although they’re frightened, I know they need me. The sound of laughter and children in the house will be good for me and Howard.
Elsie bit back a sarcastic, bitter comment. At least Hattie Mae had had good intentions, and hopes when she’d started the center.
Curious to know when things changed, she continued to read.
January 11
Oh my God. Howard hasn’t slept with me in a year now, but tonight…I can’t believe what I thought I heard. He went into one of the girls’ rooms. I prayed he was softening toward them, and he said he would turn out the lights for me, but he stayed in there a long time. And when he came out, I slipped down the hall and heard ten-year-old Joan crying. I went into her room, but she hid her face in the pillow and refused to talk to me.
February 18
The nights are almost unbearable now. I told Howard to stay out of the girls’ rooms, but he beat me senseless and locked me inside my room in the dark. He said it was my fault because I couldn’t satisfy him.
March 1
Today one of the girls gave birth, a difficult one, and we almost lost her. Then she changed her mind about giving up her baby and Howard got ugly….
I don’t know how I can let things continue. But at night, Howard beats me religiously and locks me in my room. If I tell anyone, he’ll kill me.
Then what will happen to the girls?
Elsie couldn’t read any farther. She knew there might be entries about her, but her emotions ping-ponged back and forth between hatred and bitternessard Hodges, to sympathy and anger at Hattie Mae for remaining quiet.
Although she understood the woman’s fear, she would have died before she’d let the man hurt those girls.
For the first time in her life, the guilt she’d felt over the man’s death abated slightly. She had murdered a man, yet if she hadn’t, his reign of terror would have continued. No telling how many other girls might have suffered.
Her guilt over leaving Hattie Mae wavered—by killing Hodges, she had freed the woman of her worst nightmare and given her peace.
If she read farther, would she learn what had happened to the other girls when the center had closed?
DEKE PACED the wood-paneled den, hoping Elsie might come back downstairs and talk to him, but finally gave up and checked his computer. Brack had e-mailed him a message saying he was still trying to track down Elsie’s father, then sent an attachment. Deke opened it up and scanned the information.
Elsie’s father had accumulated three aliases while he’d traipsed Elsie around the States. He also had a rap sheet, which included charges of assault and battery, robbery and gambling.
Elsie, also, had been arrested. Twice, each time under a pseudonym before her father dumped her, and three times after she’d left Wildcat Manor.
Damn. The juvenile records were sealed, but three arrests included charges of trespassing on private property and public disorderly conduct. Her last arrest was for possession of a f
irearm, but it had been pleaded down by a court-appointed attorney, who claimed she had grabbed the gun from a street thug who had attacked her. She’d been living on the streets.
He dropped his head into his hands with a growl. He’d thought he’d had a tough life growing up without a father, but Elsie had had no one. She’d been vulnerable, defenseless, all alone in the world. Yet she’d turned out to be a beautiful, sensitive woman who wanted to help others now.
He had to help her.
A noise cut into his thoughts, and he heard thrashing around upstairs. Something hit the floor and crashed. Then a shrill scream pierced the air.
Deke grabbed his gun and took off running.
HE HAD HER NOW. His hands clutched her neck as he dragged her along. He would punish her for ruining his night. For trying to protect the little girls.
He was a monster.
He drugged them and made them do despicable things. And then he took the infants….
The shrill cry of the newborn tore at her insides, and she ran toward the garden to hide. Bugs crawled up her skin as she buried herself in the thicket of brush. Leaves and twigs snapped beneath his feet as he searched for her. His loud growl pierced the air.
“I’m going to find you, and when I do, you’ll be sorry.” His boots crunched the frozen ground, ice cracking beneath his weight. She peed through the blades of dead greenery, trying to be invisible. She wanted to run and run and never come back.
But she couldn’t. She had to stay here. Protect the younger ones.
He leaned closer, raking his hands through the weeds. He was close now, so close. She shrank back, burying herself so deeply, the weeds choked her. Her stomach heaved as the scent of his breath whirled through the frigid air near her face. Then his eyes pierced the tiny opening in the bushes.
Her heart stopped as she held her breath and waited.
But his hand snaked through the foliage and he wound his fingers around her arm. She screamed. She had to escape….