Charles watched her leave. His features relaxed, the facade dropped. His eyes glazed over with hatred and his mouth curled into a snarl. The bitch. She’d almost pulled it off. Deception undoubtedly came easy to a woman like her—a lying breed. A damned beautiful one, but a lying bitch just the same.
Fury knotted his gut. He crossed to the desk and kicked his chair, sending it clattering against the wall. Oh, the times he’d kept his hands off her, wanting to wait until it was legal to press himself between those lush white thighs. Fool. He’d put the bitch on a pedestal, for god’s sake, treated her like a goddamned queen, bragged about her beauty to his friends. And, dammit to hell, he’d panted after her to bear his children. His white children! And all along, he thought, tasting the bile in his mouth, all along she was just a filthy, deceitful breed.
He went to the window again and stared outside, seeing nothing. His jaw was so tight his neck ached. Hell, while she was gone, she’d probably slept with every dirty Mexican in the state. Who did she think she was, playing the modest virgin with him the night before? Oh, he still wanted her, all right. He wasn’t going to let her go without giving her a great deal of what she deserved. No one. No one pulled something like this on Charles Campion and got away with it.
An evil grin cracked his mouth. He’d get into her bed one way or another. And now, since she wouldn’t have the benefit of being his wife, she’d get what he liked to give best.
The angrier he got, the more his loins itched, aching for release. At that moment, the door opened, and the little Mex maid, Maria, poked her head in.
“Oh, senor, I’m sorry,” she said, quaking deliciously. “I was going to clean. I didn’t know anyone was in here.”
He gave her a lavish, lusty smile. “Come in, Maria. Come in and close the door.”
The timorous little mouse did as he asked and walked toward him, her face downcast, hidden by the long black fall of her hair.
Charles reached into his desk drawer and pulled out his special leather thongs. “Come here, whore.” His voice was soft, seductive.
Maria’s expression told him she remembered the last time he’d used the thongs, and she hadn’t liked it. But she wisely said nothing.
“Are you wearing drawers, Maria?” he asked silkily.
She shook her head, still looking frightened. “No. You … you tell me not to, so I don’t.”
“Good girl.” He pulled her to him and reached beneath her skirt to fondle her. Her crispy Mex hairs were already wet, in spite of her fear. He shivered with anticipation. “Now,” he said, “get out of your clothes, then clean off the top of the desk. You know what to do after that, don’t you, whore?”
She nodded, but tears streamed down her cheeks. Good, he thought, his root swelling. So good. Fighting was better, but it was also satisfying when they cried and whimpered.
Molly changed her clothes and left the house. She wanted to be alone in a place that didn’t have the look, smell and feel of Charles Campion. On one of her earlier wanderings, she’d discovered a copse of cottonwood trees hidden behind a rocky knoll. It was an unlikely thicket of greenery tucked away in a landscape of dust and colored walls of sand, and for some reason it always made Molly feel safe.
She sat beneath the trees, her chin resting on her knees and her arms wrapped around them, and listened to the wind music. Suddenly, after her revealing meeting with Charles, she saw her life with such clarity. What a fool she’d been to think she could stand to live a lie. She couldn’t even imagine why she’d wanted to try.
Charles had wanted to marry her—until he discovered her Indian blood. Now he still wanted her, but as a prize. Something to add to his collection of beautiful “things.” After what had happened earlier, all she wanted was to be gone. To leave Texas and never come back. If she had any sense, she’d do it now, before she thought too much about it. But she’d committed herself to helping Buck, even though he hadn’t asked for it. And truthfully, she wanted to know if Charles was a crook. And if he was, she wanted to help put him away. It would give her such satisfaction.
Lifting her face to the breeze, she closed her eyes, amazed at how quickly her feelings for Charles had changed. All it had taken was for her to see him as he really was—behind the handsome facade. She’d known all along that she hadn’t loved him, but in the beginning, she’d thought she could learn to care. She’d even foolishly dreamed of falling in love with him.
She shuddered, once again wanting to leave and never have to look at him again. But she knew she couldn’t. There was Nicolette to consider. She couldn’t just leave without setting things right with the girl. She would have to tell her why she wouldn’t be marrying her brother. Unless, of course, Charles got to her first. Poor Nicolette. All the girl really wanted was a family, people to love her, to be there for her. It wasn’t fair that she couldn’t have such simple, honest pleasures.
Letting her mind wander back a few weeks, she thought about Nicolette and Cody. She winced, recalling the terrible beating he’d gotten from Mr. Poteet. She gazed up at the leaves, studying the variety of colors and shapes, allowing herself to wonder what had happened to the boy. Charles hadn’t mentioned him, which was a good sign. But she hadn’t seen Cody leave the kitchen after breakfast with the other hands either.
She tamped down her fear. He was probably just out mending fences or windmills. The men were often gone weeks at a time doing those lonely chores.
She glanced down at her splinted wrist and made a few weak fists. At least she could move her fingers. She’d have to continue to exercise that hand, or she’d never play the piano again. A harsh ache spread through her when she thought of not being able to play. It had always been such a strong force in her life. Although she’d never expected to play at the concert level, she’d fully intended to use her skills teaching. Hopefully, she still could. She’d neither had the discipline nor the talent to become a concert star. Nicolette had the talent. But so far, she had no discipline.
Molly continued to press her fingers into a fist, ignoring the constant ache in her wrist.
“How is it?”
She jumped, pressing her hand over her heart as Buck stepped in front of her. “I thought you were in Cedarville,” she groused.
“I was, now I’m back.” He hunkered down beside her and examined her wrist. “Nice job. How is it?” he repeated.
“It will be fine once it’s healed,” she answered abruptly. She looked up at him, assuming she’d see that his visit to his whore had given him some relief. Oddly, he looked more tired than before.
“Well, how is she? Did she miss you?” Again, she sounded like a jealous fishwife. But that wasn’t it entirely. Just the fact that he was still sleeping around in brothels told her he hadn’t changed completely. No matter how much she might love him, she didn’t want a man who, at nearly thirty years of age, hadn’t embraced his responsibilities and settled down.
He sat down beside her. “I’m assuming, by the tone of your voice, that you really don’t want to know.”
“Oh, please,” she begged dramatically, “please tell me how eager she was to have you back in her bed. Please tell me that she wore that whorish red robe, flicking it open to show you her naked body the minute you walked through the damn door.” Tears clogged her throat, and she turned away, hating herself for letting her jealousy get the best of her.
He said nothing in his defense. “You’re in my secret place.”
She turned and glared at him. “Is that all you have to say?”
He gave her a careless shrug. “You seem to have it all neat and tidy in your little pea brain. I suppose it wouldn’t matter if I told you it was a mercy visit.”
She snorted a tear filled laugh. “Oh, please.”
“Just as I thought,” he said, leaning back against a tree.
They sat side by side, listening to the wind hiss through the trees.
Finally, he asked, “What brings you out here? You look lonely. Your first day back with
your wonderful fiancé not what you expected it to be?”
She didn’t want to play any more word games. “I told him about my mother this morning.”
There was a harsh intake of breath, on which he uttered a curse. “I won’t say ‘I told you so.’ ”
She managed a wan smile. “You already did.”
“I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I suppose you’ll be leaving, then.”
“Oh, that would suit you just fine, wouldn’t it?” She felt her anger flare and couldn’t rein it in.
“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She shook her head, hating the tears that threatened. “Never mind.”
“No,” he insisted. “Tell me what’s on your mind, brat.”
Oh, wonderful, she thought miserably. So he was back to calling her that. Suddenly, now that they were back at the ranch, everything that had happened between them the past week was forgotten. Even though she’d known nothing would come of their lovemaking, it still hurt to think he could so easily forget what they had shared. Now she had no one. Nothing. She didn’t have Charles. Of course, she didn’t want him, anyway. But she didn’t have Buck, either, and the secret part of her soul wanted him more than he would ever know.
“There’s nothing on my mind, honest. I’m … I’m just upset, that’s all. But you weren’t right about everything. Charles still wants me. Oh, yes,” she said vehemently. “He definitely wants me.” She sucked in a breath. “As his mistress,” she finished, the word tasting like bile in her mouth.
He pulled her to him. “Ah, Molly. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry this didn’t work out for you.”
She knew it was foolish, but she pressed herself against him, reveling in the comfort, knowing it was a transitory thing. Suddenly his scent awakened memories of their night together, and her body began to respond, swelling and throbbing with need. She pulled away briefly and looked up at him.
“Buck?” It was a question that needed no verbal answer. His mouth came down on hers, hard and explosive. She responded with pent-up longing, accepting the brutal kiss. His tongue pressed against her teeth, and she opened for him. For a brief, palpable moment, with their mouths open, their lips merely touched. Anticipation made her quake with desire. Slowly, deliberately, his tongue entered her mouth, and she drew him in with greedy force.
As their tongues made love, his hands moved along her ribs until they reached her breasts. His thumbs circled her aching nipples, causing heat to explode in her belly. He pulled her onto his lap, and she ground against him; he was already hard beneath her. She twisted, bringing one leg around so that she sat astride, her knees on the grass.
She rose slightly, then settled herself over him, rocking against the long, firm ridge beneath his fly. Pleasure flooded her as potent desire radiated up from her core. She continued to move, pressing hard, drawing back slightly, only to return to press against him again. The heated delta between her thighs was engorged, swelling with hunger and melting her bones, leaving her weak with pleasure.
She rocked against him, shuddering with a desire so strong, she thought she might burst into an explosion of hot sparks. She pulled her mouth away and pressed her nose against his neck, then back to his mouth, where they kissed again. She moaned, losing focus as shards of pleasure shot through her, bringing her to release.
She slumped against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
He smoothed her hair and patted the back of her head. “Well,” he said lightly, “a little dry humping never hurt anybody.”
Shame and humiliation made her flare with anger. She pulled back and punched him hard in the chest with her good fist, then rolled to her feet. “You pig!” She stood and glared at him. “You really are a bastard, aren’t you?”
Without a backward glance, she ran toward the house, not stopping until she knew he couldn’t see her anymore.
Buck collapsed against the tree and rubbed his face, cursing his lack of self-control. But hell, he couldn’t let her think what they’d had together meant anything. It was far better that she think he was an unfeeling pig, than a man who might care for her. Every damned time he saw her, he wanted her. He’d known having her for one night wouldn’t be enough. If only she’d leave now that Campion had rejected her. If she would, everything would be fine. She’d be safe from Campion … and from him.
As it was, he thought, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, Campion had no reason to wait to get into her bloomers now. If he knew the bastard as well as he thought he did, he was already plotting to do just that. Buck had meant to warn her about it, but … hell. She’d given him that look. The one that had made him want to rip off her clothes and make love to her on the grass. Just one time … Just once he’d like to love her in the daytime, so he could watch her face, kissing the flush that would sprout on her chest as she reached her climax…. He wanted to touch her everywhere and see just exactly what he was touching.
Instead, he had to act like she meant nothing to him. He had to make her hate him, because loving him would hurt both of them and get her nowhere. Now, when she probably needed him the most because of Campion’s rejection, he had to make sure she didn’t want him at all.
As he lit his cigarette, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs, he forced himself to think of something else. Nita. Ah, hell, he thought, his stomach twisting into knots. Thinking of her didn’t do any good, either.
Fourteen
Molly had stumbled to her room after the fiasco with Buck and spent the rest of the day there by herself. For hours she tried to sift through her feelings. She thought back to their escape and how caring and considerate Buck had been throughout the entire episode. Without complaint he’d come to her aid, nursed her broken wrist and her cut and scraped feet. He’d confided his miseries to her, using her to help ease his own personal demons about Honey’s death. He’d been gentle, tender and vulnerable. He’d needed to talk to someone, and he’d chosen her. She’d been a most willing and compassionate listener. After all, she loved him.
She had no idea what had changed him once they returned to the ranch. It amazed her that she could still love him so much, considering the crass way he treated her. She should have known he’d never change. A person couldn’t go from a drunken, whoring bastard to a kind, caring lover—not in a lifetime.
She closed her eyes briefly, remembering her frantic response to his touch. Likewise, she thought, a person couldn’t go from loving one man all of her life to simply not loving him at all, in spite of what he was. It hurt that he could cast her aside so easily, but she’d be damned if she’d let him know it.
The next morning, she rose early to help Angelita prepare breakfast for the ranch hands. Dallas, the toothless old man with the feed bag whiskers, had come in early and was regaling the women with stories about his youth.
“Yep, yep,” he said, nodding slowly. “Well, back’n them days I was workin’ way south to the border. One of the best things I ever et was called s.o.b.”
Molly couldn’t help laughing. “Sounds pretty nasty, Dallas. What was it?”
“Well, ya take a yearling—that’s a small calf, missy—and kill it, o’course. Ya take the small intestines,” he added, pronouncing the second i long, “marrow, gut, heart and liver, chop it into pieces, add tallow and a little beef and cook the devil out of it.” He smacked his gums. “Top it off with chili powder, enuf ta set yer mouth ablaze, and chow down.”
Molly made a face. Angelita just shook her head, obviously having heard the recipe before.
Dallas cackled with delight. “I burned the insides of my mouth raw the first couple ’a times I et it.”
Molly was glad she hadn’t been hungry when she came down to help. If she had been, she wouldn’t have been after that story. But the old geezer was such a sweetheart. His escapades always lifted her sagging spirits.
She was busy cutting corn bread into large, square pieces and heaping them onto a platter when one shiver chased
another along her spine. Without turning toward the door, she knew Buck had entered the kitchen.
Gathering her poise, she shifted the platter onto her forearm and tried to lift it off the counter.
Sage saw her dilemma and was at her side immediately. “Here, now, ma’am,” he said, taking the platter and putting it on the table. “That broken wrist is sure an inconvenience, isn’t it?”
She gave him a grateful smile. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, Mr. Reno.” Except Buck, she thought, narrowing her eyes in his direction. He ignored her as he heaped scrambled eggs and beef sausage onto his plate.
Dallas split a biscuit and slathered it with butter. When he chewed, his toothless gums smacked together, drawing his chin nearly up to his nose. “Hey, Buck. Who ya gonna git to haul freight now’t the kid’s gone?”
“Why not Saul?” one of the other men interjected. “Hell, the last time he did it, he did a fine job.” All the men laughed.
Dallas snorted. “Yeah, after he got the lead mule in the right spot. ’Afore that, the ornery critters ripped off the wagon yard gate and tore up the side of the poultry house.” He cackled, his eyes watering. “Last time I seen so many damned chickens screechin’ and squawkin’ was when there was a fox in the henhouse.”
Another hand nodded, laughing. “Never saw that much hay fly off’n the back of a wagon, neither.”
Saul, a quiet boy who blushed easily, continued to eat, obviously trying to ignore the jibes.
“Ain’t got nothin’ to say fer yerself, Sauly?” Dallas always enjoyed teasing the younger men. Early on, Molly had noticed that he didn’t do much work himself. She was surprised that Mr. Poteet hadn’t sent him packing.
Saul skidded two more pieces of corn bread onto his plate and smothered them with syrup. “I ain’t much for haulin’ freight, I admit that, but I can heap a pile of cow chips higher’n anyone here, I reckon,” he answered, poking a little fun at himself.
Dallas laughed again and slapped the kid on the back. “That you can, boy. That you can.”
Forbidden Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Three Page 20