Heartbreak Ranch: Amy's StoryJosie's StoryHarmony's StoryArabella's Story

by Chelley Kitzmiller

  Harmony shook her head at the silly notion. A painting winking? Preposterous. Crazy. Impossible.

  Rising to her feet, she closed the trunk but kept the journal. She went to the door and paused there. On impulse, she turned back to the painting...and winked back.

  * * *

  THE SURREY BUMPED and bounced over every rut and hole in the road. Harmony much preferred to ride horseback, but she decided she might want extra room for the items she needed in town.

  Caliente consisted of a short row of wood buildings in a rough but wide dirt street. The railroad, which connected at Bakersfield, was built at one end, and a lumberyard sprawled at the other, infusing the air with the smell of wood shavings. Large roof overhangs kept the weather off folks as they did their business at the bank and the few shops.

  Once there, she made quick work of visiting Smith’s General Mercantile and then the healer’s hut. She was vastly relieved to find the ingredients she needed. She said polite hellos to the townspeople and escaped as soon as she could. She placed the precious bundle of herbs, essential oils and powders on the leather seat of the surrey and headed home.

  * * *

  BEN TOILED steadily in the corrals with a half-broke colt. He glanced up from his work and watched Harmony drive in. In a way, he understood better now how the loss of a woman’s love could nearly kill a man.

  Or at least drive him to drink.

  His father was drinking his life away, looking to the bottom of a whiskey bottle for relief from his sorrows.

  Ben knew the story. His mother had been a fine lady from Chicago, a female of breeding and family. She’d impulsively married James Panau, and just as quickly regretted it. White society no longer accepted her, and the Kawaiisu were put off by her superior airs.

  Discovering herself pregnant, she’d waited only long enough to deliver the baby, telling James that she was leaving him—but that she wasn’t taking a half-breed brat with her.

  Now, when Ben looked at Harmony’s lovely face, he hurt. He could see she was suffering, too. But he was the cause of her pain, he must not forget that. If he selfishly pursued her, she would be disgraced, dishonored, even in marriage, by his Indian heritage. Her parents would never approve.

  He forced himself to enter the barn and help Harmony unhitch the horse. She smiled at him and he felt a weakening and returning pain. Fists clenched, he knew one truth was certain: if he truly loved her, and every fiber of his being shouted it, he would care enough to leave her alone.

  “We’ve news of the rustlers,” he forced himself to say. “I’ve spoken with the McCandles, Bennetts and Furleys.” They were all local people.

  She was curiously uninterested. “That’s good, Ben.”

  “The rustlers aren’t Indian. They’re white men who’ve been stealing cattle from all over the valley.” He thought she’d be glad to know that. “It turns out the other ranchers have lost stock mysteriously, too. They’re cooperating with me to set a trap. We’ll get them.”

  Smiling halfheartedly, she thanked him and turned away, a bundle of something in her arms. At her lack of enthusiasm, he scratched his head.

  * * *

  SO BEN WOULD SET a trap? Well, she would be setting one of her own. A snare against which she hoped he would have no defense, from which he’d have no escape. She smiled. Tomorrow, it would be well and truly sprung.

  * * *

  IMPATIENTLY Harmony waited for the men to complain. Morning hours turned into noon, and then afternoon before Ben informed her of the broken waterline leading to the bunkhouse. “The men can’t clean up until we get a new pipe from town. It’s busted clear through—almost like with an ax.” He shrugged, perplexed. “Anyway, I’ll send a man to Caliente tomorrow for the pipe.”

  “So, in the meantime you’ll have to bathe in the creek,” she said eagerly. Then, hoping her tone hadn’t given her away, she tried to look bored. “I guess you’ll all live.”

  “Yeah.”

  She left him then, making sure he saw her go into the house. On the veranda, she took up her vigil upon the edge of a chair, toe nervously tapping, the moon-colored potion she’d carefully concocted warming in her palms. The bottle was one she’d found in her mother’s trunk. An iridescent green, its smooth sides sloped to an elaborate silver stopper, shaped in the silhouette of a woman.

  It was a vessel worthy of a love potion.

  Late in the afternoon, her patience was rewarded when she saw Ben come out of the bunkhouse, a rough towel slung over one shoulder. She shrank into the shadows so he wouldn’t see her. He went to the corrals and mounted his still-saddled gelding, then reined the horse through the meadow.

  It was time.

  When he had been gone less than a minute, she flew down the stairs and ran to the back of the barn where she’d hidden her mare. Apache blinked mildly as Harmony threw up a saddle and cinched it tight. She’d wrapped the vial in a cloth and now tied it into a saddlebag. Flinging herself upon Apache’s back, she kicked her mare, who lurched into a surprised gallop.

  Going the long way around, Harmony thanked the gods when she reached the creek ahead of Ben. Her mare was lathered and blowing, so she picketed her some distance away on a long line, hoping Ben wouldn’t notice that the horse had been run hard.

  She flung off her clothing, leaving only her sheer cotton drawers, loosened her hair until it hung heavily to her hips and charged into the water. Halfway to the middle, she remembered the vial and had to hurry back to Apache to collect it from the saddlebag.

  Back in the hip-deep water, Harmony heard the whinny of an approaching horse and Apache’s answer. Forcing her breathing to calm, she patted her shoulders and cheeks with water, took up a casual stance and widened her eyes as if surprised by Ben’s appearance.

  When he came into the clearing, she gave a soft little cry. “Oh, Ben, you’re here.” She feigned a maidenly blush, lowered her gaze and covered her breasts with her hands—careful to leave a good deal exposed. As she’d hoped, the sight of her partial nudity captured his attention.

  Rigidly, he sat on his horse, staring. Water eddied around her hips and she allowed at least one pink nipple to peek out.

  Why wasn’t he dismounting, coming to her? Blast it, she thought, fearing his damnable pride would compel him to leave. She must act.

  It took courage for her to lower her arms and untie the drawstring of her drawers, but she kept a vision of Bella’s wanton painting firmly fixed in her mind.

  If Great-grandmother could do it, then so can I.

  “Were you going to bathe, Ben? I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” She lowered the drawers, drawing them off her feet beneath the surface. “It’s all right. We can share the creek.” She took a few steps into shallower water until the water lapped at the tops of her legs. His gaze dropped to the junction of her thighs. She beckoned him forward. “Come closer.”

  “Harmony,” he said in a strangled voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Let’s not fight,” she coaxed, sensing a chink in the armor of his resolve. “Let’s get along.” Casually, though she was shaking, she tossed her wet undergarment onto the bank. “Did you bring soap? Wash my back, won’t you?”

  Gathering her hair to one side, she presented him with a view of her curving derriere, then peeked at him over her water-beaded shoulder. She still held the small vial.

  When he made no move, she uncorked the vial and faced him again, desperately trying to assume

  Bella’s mysterious smile. She tilted her head and took a drink, then accidentally-on-purpose dribbled some on her naked breasts.

  The cool green-colored liquid trailed down to her nipples. As casually as a practiced demimondaine, she giggled so that her breasts bounced.

  It was the last straw.

  Ben slid from the saddle, forgetting his horse, which wandered over to Apache. Never taking his eyes off Harmony, he stripped off his boots and socks, and then, still fully clothed, plowed into the water.

  He reache
d her, unable to stop himself. “God, Harmony, I’m a man, not a saint.” He bent to sip the liquid from her skin, his lips laving her nipples of the sweet concoction. She thrust her hands into his hair and threw back her head. As she’d fervently hoped, he broke down and began to make wild and stormy love to her. It was fitting, she decided dreamily, that they make love here in this place; it had always been and would always remain special to her.

  “Tell me to stop,” he ground out, his lips stilling against her breast. “Tell me now.”

  Harmony responded by clinging to him with a strength that surprised him. Through his shirt, her nails raked his back. She arched into him, offering her breasts. A shudder passed through her body like a woman already lost in pleasure. Ben groaned in agony. Too late, he moaned inwardly, it was far too late to stop the impulses thundering through his veins to take her and make her his.

  Today, he would have her, even if tomorrow she regretted everything.

  The sight of her nude body mesmerized him. Her shoulders were smooth, her breasts rounded and high, her waist small. The line of her gently flared hips curved to straight, shapely legs. At the juncture of her thighs curls of dark blond hid the secrets he was desperate to know. Through half-closed eyes she gazed at him. Her mouth curved in a soft tempting smile he was completely powerless to resist. She was exquisitely fashioned, a creature of emotion, reaction and sheer wanton passion.

  “Ben,” she whispered, “love me.”

  Locked in her gaze, he tore at his shirt, spraying buttons into the creek as he ripped it off. It floated to the creekside. She was already working at his jeans, but with the fabric sopping wet, she struggled futilely.

  He laughed aloud, and a great euphoria filled him.

  Sweeping her up high against his chest, he kissed her. She locked her slim arms tightly about his neck as if afraid he would let her go. Striding from the water, he somehow made it to the bank and reverently laid her down on the long sweet grasses.

  Beside them, the creek gurgled serenely.

  For a timeless moment he hovered over her. How long, his spirit cried out, how long had he waited for this moment when Harmony would surrender to him? She was sweetly giving him her body, her heart, her soul. He could clearly read the messages of love and devotion in her lovely eyes, perhaps because they were all the things he gave so eagerly to her.

  He couldn’t believe this was real.

  Lying beside her, he ran a worshiping palm from her collarbone to her breast, then bent to suckle her rosy nipple. With his hands, he stroked her waist, her belly, and then skimmed the curls shielding her womanhood. Gently he slipped his fingers past her tender petals to caress the growing bud of her passion. Her breath soughed over his shoulder and with wonder he felt the damp proof of her desire.

  A moan wrenched from her throat and he lifted his head to see violet flames shimmering in her eyes. An answering conflagration roared through him. He was lost in the taste and scent and feel of her. In a futile effort to slow down he had to gulp in breaths of air, take time so that this first experience for her would be good.

  He wanted nothing more than to tear off his jeans and ravage her, take her with him into the very heart of the inferno. It was so difficult to go slow when she shivered in his arms, her eyes wide with shocked pleasure at each new caress.

  Waning sunlight filtered through the willow leaves and dappled her skin ever-changing hues of gold. She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him with all the passion he could ever want.

  He could wait no longer.

  Getting his wet jeans off took some pulling, but she helped, delighting him as her slim fingers clawed at the fabric. Her eyes glittered, wild, and the sheer power of her hunger elated him. At last he was as nude as she, and she reached for his straining manhood with greedy hands. As her fingers closed around him, he felt himself expand, impossibly, even larger. Unable to wait another second, he lowered his body to hers and groaned in utter pleasure. Her legs shifted, opened for him and he was stunned at her generosity.

  The musky, indescribably feminine scent of aroused woman tantalized him, taunted him. He breathed her in deeply, intoxicated by her.

  Fitting himself to her felt like the most glorious homecoming, the most welcoming haven. At the barrier of her sheath, he probed gently, aching with effort, then as carefully as he could, slid inside. Though it almost killed him, he paused. She was tight, Lord, so wonderfully tight and wet. Sweat broke out on his forehead and gathered just above his taut buttocks.

  “You okay?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  She responded by lifting her thighs higher, pulling him closer, her arms and hands mindlessly clutching him to her. Her small teeth nipped his neck. Beneath him, she moved, bucking against him like a wild mare, taking his turgid flesh, dear God, ever deeper inside.

  He was lost. He rocked her, gently at first, but with her feminine strength, she asked for harder, faster, demanded more of him and he was thrilled to give in to her.

  When the first delicate shudders began rippling from her deepest core she threw her head back and groaned, guttural and deep. He cried out, surged against her, and he felt his body spinning uncontrollably into the heat of the blaze.

  * * *

  IT WAS ONLY in the aftermath that Harmony was able to convince Ben she truly loved him. They lay together in the darkening meadow, splendidly unclothed, Ben’s magnificent body stretched, satiated, beside hers. His palm rested possessively on her naked thigh.

  She got up on one elbow and toyed with a strand of his ebony hair. “I’m willing to face them all, Ben. Even my parents. They’ll—they’ll accept my wishes.” Had he heard her hesitation?

  “Even if they disagree? Even if they hate the choice you’ve made?”

  She smiled tenderly, the sensations of his passionate lovemaking still flowing over every surface of her skin. “Even so.” Please, God, let it be all right, she prayed. But she let him see none of her gnawing doubts.

  He said, “I...I have nothing to give you except my mother’s earrings. I don’t know, but I think they might be valuable—the only thing she left behind when she went back East. But to see the diamonds and little bells on you would make me proud.”

  “They sound perfect,” Harmony replied.

  Sparks of hope lit Ben’s dark eyes, and the welling of happiness in her breast made her want to weep. On the grass beside her lay the empty green bottle. He hadn’t asked about the sweet liquid and she’d wisely refrained from mentioning it. She tucked the bottle beneath her shirt, and to Bella sent up a fervent prayer of thanks.

  * * *

  IT WAS ALMOST DARK before they made their leisurely way back to ranch headquarters. Unable to bear being apart for even the short ride, they decided to lead Apache and ride double on Ben’s sturdy bay. So engrossed in each other, neither noticed the two saddled horses standing at the hitch rail.

  Ben saw them first, and Harmony, arms looped around his waist from her seat behind his saddle, felt him stiffen. Puzzled at his sudden change, she peered around his broad shoulder.

  “Mother?” she gasped. “Papa?” Her parents had come home.

  At the foot of the great house’s stairs, William and Josie were evidently holding a conference with Old Clay, who stood before them supported by a cane.

  Peering through the gloom of dusk, Josie recognized her daughter. “Harmony?” She looked at Ben. William came forward, arms outstretched.

  Sliding off the horse’s rump, Harmony ran to her mother and father, embracing them. “I’m so glad you’re home!” she cried. “How is Grandma Nani? And the ship—was the crossing smooth?”

  “Yes, Harmony,” Josie said, smiling, arms linked around her daughter’s waist. “Grandma is fine—she just wanted us to visit, the old phony. And the ocean trip was marvelous.”

  William touched Harmony’s arm. “A lot has happened since we’ve been gone—Old Clay’s been telling us.”

  Harmony thought of the fire, of the rustling and of Ben. Yes, a lot had hap
pened. She glanced back at Ben, who had dismounted and was waiting behind her, quiet and diligently controlled. Waves of restless tension emanated from him. She said, “I think we handled things fairly well.”

  “Very well,” William corrected. “Clay’s just said a bunch of rustlers—the ones who set the fire—were caught today in a trap Ben had set up.”

  “They were caught?” Ben stepped forward. He nodded solemnly. “Good.”

  “Clay told us how you took over as foreman while he was recovering from his injuries,” William went on. “In fact, when Josie and I got off the train in Caliente, we ran into Ralph Furley and the Bennett family. They had a lot of good things to say about your management, Ben.”

  “Did they?” Ben’s expression remained neutral. He didn’t appear to believe it.

  “And when we started our ride up the hill, the McCandles were going down to Bakersfield. We had a real nice visit with them.”

  Josie nodded. “They raved about you, Ben. They said you ran the roundup better than ever. They said you’re a natural leader, with a good head for business. They even recommended having you continue helping Old Clay.”

  “Oh, no,” Clay protested. “I’m of retirement age, finally, you know. And Ben’s done a great job—with Harmony’s help, of course.” He winked at her. “I think he should carry on.”

  “You’re retiring, Clay?” William asked in surprise.

  The old cowhand shrugged. “I’m eighty.”

  They all gasped. “No one knew,” Harmony breathed. “You’ve certainly earned a good retirement.”

  William faced Ben. “Well, what about it? Want the job?”

  Ben looked poleaxed.

  Harmony smiled. “Of course he does.” She took his arm. It was as inflexible and unresponsive as a tree branch. “He’s an excellent foreman...with my help.”

  At last Ben cleared his throat. “There is a job I’d like to apply for, sir.” His eyes narrowed with conviction. “I warn you, I won’t take no for an answer.”