Sam looked as though he’d like to spit to rid himself of a foul taste. “The things he said to her . . . if a man said ‘em to me, he’d be worm food inside of a minute. But that isn’t the worst of it. It was the way he said ‘em. Like she didn’t matter; like she was nothing, less than a dog.”
Sam’s bright eyes were suddenly wet. “And she didn’t do anything! How could she hear him talking like that and not do anything? She just took it, like it was his right to do it.” He jerked around to grasp Edith by the wrist. “They’re not . . . tell me she wasn’t crazy enough to marry that devil?”
“Careful, Dad,” Jeff said, freeing Edith’s numb hand from Sam’s grasp.
“No.” Edith rubbed her wrist, already forgiving Sam for his severity. “She said she didn’t marry him, although they eloped.”
“All right then. She’s not his, not permanently. I’d sure hate to make a widow of her. At least, not his widow.”
Jeff wondered at his father’s agitation. Though there had been times in the past when his father had thrown himself bodily into battles that were not his, the heart for fighting seemed to have gone out of him when his wife had died. Since then, he’d been content to poke about the ranch and to care for the girls. Jeff was willing to butter Sullivan all over Richey, just to see the fire in his father’s eyes again.
He noticed that Edith was looking at his father very strangely. It was the look he’d seen before, as though she were staring so deeply at a person that she could see inside. Her eyes seemed unfocused, but intense enough to burn a hole. Then she blinked and shook her head slightly as though puzzled by something inexplicable. Maybe she was tired. He wouldn’t be surprised, he thought with a guilty smile.
“It’s late, Edith,” he said. “Shouldn’t you . . . ?”
She waved off the suggestion. “You mustn’t shoot Victor,” she said to Sam. He started to protest. “Or strangle him, stab him or in any other method end his life.”
“What about drowning?”
“No. You must think of Dulcie too, you know. If you murder him, she might never recover. And if he is as unworthy as I believe him to be . . ,”
“You can count on it.”
“Then it would be a waste for her to mourn him for any length of time whatsoever. No, we must think of a way to be rid of Mr. Sullivan without resorting to murder.”
“What if the body were never found?” Sam asked. “Then it would look like he just skipped town.”
Jeff said, “It’s not like you to be so bloodthirsty, Dad. Is there something else you’re not telling us?”
“Nothing. ‘Cept that he’s only interested in marrying Dulcie because of her hundred-fifty-dollar inheritance. He told Vera Albans that he’s broke.”
He never would tell a soul about the slap he’d overheard. As it rang in the air, he’d gripped the newel post at the bottom of the inside stair so hard he still bore the imprint of the leaves carved around the support. More than that, it was as if his own cheek burned from the impact.
It had taken every ounce of his self-control to keep from running up those stairs and pitching Sullivan down them. But, he wanted to keep Vera from knowing he was aware of her abuse. That was one injury he could spare her.
Jeff said, “If he’s broke, we can pay him to leave town. If a hundred fifty dollars is enough to make him face the altar, then two hundred ought to see him clear into Kansas.”
“And Dulcie?”
“She wouldn’t care a thing about him then, Edith. Her pride would be so hurt ... oh, I see what you mean.”
“What?” Sam asked, returning to the present.
Edith explained. “If he leaves her, she’ll be terribly hurt. The one man who has overlooked her so-called imperfections only did it for money.”
“We can keep it a secret,” Sam said.
“In Richey?” his son replied. “No, Edith’s right. We’ve got to get rid of Sullivan in such a way that Dulcie’s not hurt and Vera’s not exposed.”
“That’s a tough one, all right.” Sam eyed his rifle lovingly. “I still say . . . no, you’re right. I won’t do it, but it’d sure make me feel a hell of a lot better. I beg your pardon, Edith.”
She didn’t answer. She stared out the parlor window, but she could not see anything but her own reflection. Jeff stepped beside her. He’d taken off his coat and vest. He wore only his white shirt and tan trousers. Edith couldn’t but admire his strong shoulders and trim waist, but it was not his attractiveness that was in doubt. With him beside her, she took another look at herself, trying to see herself through his eyes.
He found her pretty enough to kiss. That had done more for her morale than he would ever know. Moreover, she supposed her hair had reasonably attractive reddish gleams, and it was just barely possible that her figure was alluring enough to make her story believable.
“Are you okay?” Jeff asked, putting his hand on her shoulder. As though his touch had set off a firecracker, Edith gaped for a moment at an illuminating flash. He’d kissed her in the buggy on the way home. How could she have overlooked it? Was she so abandoned now that embraces meant nothing to her?
She stammered, “Yes, I’m . . . I’m fine. I think I’ve come up with a plan.”
Shortly afterward, Jeff roared, “No! Absolutely not!”
“Hush.” Edith put her forefinger to her lips. “Don’t wake the girls.”
“Edith, it’s out of the question.”
“But why? It solves both our problems in one ... er ... fell swoop. And furthermore, it means Miss Albans will have no stain on her character. You’ll be free to court her without everyone imagining the worst.”
Sam said dryly, “No plan is that good.”
“And as for Dulcie, if she’s the sort of girl I believe her to be, she’ll send Sullivan packing immediately.”
“What about her money?”
“I won’t say anything about that motive—merely that I recognized him yesterday in church as the libertine who soiled me in ... where should I say he soiled me?”
“How ‘bout Saratoga Springs?” Sam suggested.
“Dad! You can’t let her . . . damn it, talk her out of it!”
“It would solve our problems.”
“And ruin her life. This kind of thing gets around. Do you want to go through the rest of your life being pointed at?” He glared at Edith.
“It won’t matter. I’ll only be staying in Richey for a very short while after this.”
“I thought you were thinking about settling down here.”
She admitted, “I did think about it after you’d mentioned it. Though I am tempted ... I’d like to continue getting to know Louise and Maribel, as well as Mrs. Green and the others. . . .”
“Well then. Don’t do this. Stay.”
Edith realized that if he’d only ask in his own name, she’d be rooted here in an instant. But she was not what he wanted in a wife. She remembered his requirements well. Sassy, smart, experienced with children. She could perhaps be thought intelligent, except where he was concerned. But sassy? And her experience with children extended only to the few hours she’d spent with Maribel and Louise, and they’d enjoyed it so little that they had locked her in a cellar.
“No, I can’t,” she said calmly, though her heart cracked. “Besides, once I tell Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong about Mr. Sullivan, I won’t be able to stay.”
Sam said, “Wait a minute. Won’t Sullivan just say he never met you before?”
“Naturally, he’ll deny everything. But I’ll have enough details to convince the Armstrongs. The great danger is that Mr. Sullivan will get so angry that he’ll say it wasn’t me, but Miss Albans he ran off with. However, if he says that, then . . .”
“He’s convicted himself!” Sam said, rubbing his hands. “It’s a real risk to Miss Albans, though. I think we ought to get her permission before we go to the Armstrongs.”
“That’s only right,” Edith agreed.
“Yes, we will,” Jeff added. “Maybe she’ll be able
to talk sense and stop you two lunatics!”
Chapter 20
Jeff didn’t sleep that night. He wanted Edith too much to rest in any bed that didn’t have her warm body curled up against his. After he changed out of his fancy clothes, he dragged out the books and began to bring the records up to date, hoping to dispel the heated images that filled his thoughts. It worked until he reached the stud records. Then he had to put them down and go for a walk in the night air.
Edith saw him from her window, as he headed toward the barns. She knew he wasn’t convinced that her plan was the best way to be rid of the troublesome Mr. Sullivan. Hustling into her pretty gingham wrapper and shoes, she hurried down the stairs.
Reaching the barn, she stood still, peering into the darkness. The moon was very low to the west, but still gave off enough light to see by. Edith thought she’d lost Jeff until she heard a splash.
All her instincts urging caution, she tiptoed around the barn. At first she didn’t see him. Then, surprisingly, a seal-slick head emerged from the large wooden watering trough. Jeff came up for air, gasping, shaking glittering droplets from his thick hair. He wiped his face with his hand and sank back into the water with a contented sigh.
“Much better,” he said, floating.
Edith watched him, delighted by a chance to watch him unseen. It seemed a strange hour to be taking a bath, however. And surely the water must be unpleasantly cool. Sam told her that all the water on the ranch came from an underground spring.
Her musings fled when Jeff stood up.
She stared in openmouthed wonder as he arose from the water, like Neptune coming on land to ravish a maiden. She didn’t have to wonder any more if his whole body was as muscular as his back and chest. His firm torso ended in a carved V between his lean legs. A thicket of hair grew low. Edith squinted. Then she had to lick her dry lips. Men were very different from women. Wonderfully different.
As she watched, his body seemed to change. Perhaps it was the night air, slipping over his skin as it did over hers, like a warm caress. Then, before she could be sure, Jeff turned his back to pull on his jeans. She sighed in frustration as he drew them up over his taut buttocks.
Jeff froze and turned his head as though looking or listening for something. Edith shrank back into the shadows beside the barn. If he knew she was there spying on him, she’d be so mortified she’d just die where she stood.
“You might as well come on out, Edith.”
She considered running. There was something exhilarating in the thought of fleeing across the night, while he, with his powerful stride, pursued her. But what good would it do? He’d only catch her. That was an even more exhilarating thought.
Then Jeff said something intriguing. He said, “Aw hell. Quit fooling yourself, Dane. What you got in the buggy’s all you’re going to get. So cool down. Just cool down.”
He sat on a concrete block to pull on his boots. The moonlight danced over the sinews and hollows of his back. A memory of his madly arousing touch flooded Edith’s mind. At once, she knew exactly what had happened in the buggy. How he’d touched her, how utterly abandoned she’d become.
She felt driven to walk out there to him, wanting to complete what had begun between them. But shame held her back. How could she face him? She’d reached a wild ecstasy in his arms and probably made a total idiot of herself by crying his name and moaning. She admitted that she’d enjoyed every instant, perhaps too much. Surely such utterly selfish pleasure had to be wrong and dangerous. Edith knew her aunt would say it was.
Jeff stood up, his shoulders slumping. Astonished by the force of her need to go to him, Edith still hesitated, balanced on the thin edge of a blade. She longed to soothe his disappointment by wholeheartedly surrendering her body and soul. Yet she was frightened by the irrevocability of such a step.
He picked up his shirt. As he drove his arms through the sleeves, he began to whistle a spritely tune. Edith raised her eyebrows. Maybe he wasn’t dejected after all.
Humiliation overwhelmed her, followed quickly by anger. He should be frustrated, not whistling cheerfully as though he’d been granted all his desires. Maybe putting his hand up her skirt had been all he wanted. Next, no doubt, he’d be boasting in the local den of iniquity about how he’d had her writhing.
Edith now wanted to go out and slap his face. She mastered that impulse by the only alternative. She spun around and ran for the house, as she’d not run in years.
She was careless over the cobblestoned runway. Jeff spun around as the sound of pounding footsteps echoed around the barnyard. Instantly, he followed.
When Edith became aware that he was pursuing, she tried putting on a burst of speed. But her heart was already hammering, her throat already dry and tight. Then she tripped, over nothing more than her own feet, and went sprawling on the ground. She grunted as she fell headlong into the sweet grass.
Instantly, she rolled over, only to see him above her, his hands resting on his hips. Jeff’s face was stern, but she could see it was the severity of implacable virility, rather than anger. He wasn’t even breathing hard, until he looked at her. She felt very small and helplessly feminine, a harem slave at the feet of her master.
That thought was intolerable. Even in her stories, she’d never relished that setting. She might be obedient; she’d never be submissive. “Don’t just stand there,” she said, thrusting out a hand irritably. “Help me up.”
It seemed as if he’d never take her hand. When he did, his strength was machinelike, hauling her upright. She tried to free her hand when she was upright, but he pulled her closer.
“No,” she said, twisting. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely not . . . what?”
“I’m not letting you kiss me again.”
“I don’t want to kiss you.”
“You don’t . . . ?” She looked at him with suspicious eyes.
“No. I’m just going to hold you . . . like this.”
She was wrapped around by his warmth, her cheek against his bare skin. The scent of clean male filled her breathing. The sprinkle of damp hair over his chest tickled her chin, a madly arousing sensation. His fingertips massaged her back lightly, right up to the sensitive nape of her neck. Edith discovered she was pressing more tightly against his body than the strength of his arms alone could explain. She was aware of his every breath, almost his every thought.
Her hands slipped around his taut waist. She grasped the distinct columns of his back either side of his spine. Looking dreamily up into his eyes, she murmured, “I’m not giving in, Jeff. I’m not. . . .”
“Hush.”
He didn’t kiss her lips, the fiend. He kissed her cheek, her fluttering eyelids, the tip of her nose. He nibbled his way, with light, fleeting nips along the soft, sensitive edge of her jaw and down to the tender cord in the side of her neck. There he bit harder, with a suddenness that had Edith shivering. Calling his name, she demanded that he kiss her.
The throbbing note in her voice and the rigidity of her nipples against his chest told Jeff how ready she was. Her defenses were down. She was so ripe for the taking. And the grass around them was soft and thick.
He had no sanity where Edith was concerned. None. Gwen had never made his head spin like this. He’d never once considered making love to his wife out-of-doors, no matter how bright the moonlight. But then Gwen had never clung to him like this, never called his name so hotly, so urgently.
Edith reached up and caught his face between her hands. He instantly answered her kiss with his own, as she strained up against his body. She moved her hips against him, mindlessly aware of the hardness behind his jeans.
“And you won’t talk to the Armstrongs,” he said, as he filled his hands with her breasts.
“Wh-what?” Couldn’t he see there were buttons down her front? Why hadn’t he undone them yet? She guided his hand to the small buttons. A tension began to coil in her mid-section, and she knew he could release it.
He drew his tongue from her
mouth to say, “You won’t talk to the Armstrongs. You won’t tell them that ridiculous story about you and Sullivan.”
Edith slapped her hand down flat over his, stopping him from pushing the buttons through their holes. The sexual haze still dimmed her thoughts but an alarm had rung in her head. “Are you trying to ... Oh, you are despicable! Lower than . . . lower than ... I can’t even think how low . . . how contemptible!”
“Hey!” he protested as she shoved him.
“You can’t win this argument with seduction, my friend.” That her knees had melted was unimportant. “I’ll do . . .”
The sound of a window sash sliding up cut her off. “Hey,” said a very sleepy little girl. “Who’s yelling?”
The adults exchanged a guilty glance that asked, How much do you think she heard?
“Nobody, Louise,” Jeff said looking up. “Go to sleep, baby.”
Louise gazed blearily down. “I had a bad dream. Daddy.”
“I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in, okay?”
She nodded. Propping her elbows on the windowsill, she cradled her chin in her hands. Edith saw that the girl was nearly asleep sitting there. She dared to venture a last word.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Mister Dane.” She spun about sharply and marched away.
Try as she might, however, she couldn’t sleep. Even the weight of the sheet over her was unbearable. She stared up at the plain white ceiling and demanded to know how she wound up so deranged. It was all Jeff’s fault, of course. He would have to be amazingly good-looking, impossibly likable and overwhelmingly lovable. Who taught him how to go from arousing her right down to her soul and then, just like that, be able tenderly to comfort his daughter’s wakefulness?
It’s just not fair! she complained, raising up to punch her hapless pillow once again. She should have picked someone ordinary to fall in love with, someone easy to leave. If she’d been smart, she would have fallen for Mr. Maginn. She would have looked forward to forgetting him!
Edith feared that her restless night showed on her face the next morning. She said down to a breakfast she didn’t want.
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