The Reward

by Beth Williamson

  “Amante.”

  She stopped. That was the second time he’d called her sweetheart.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “Trust is a valuable thing, no? Once I give it to you, you cannot give it back.”

  Chapter Six

  Malcolm lowered himself into the kitchen chair carefully. He dropped his head into his hands.

  Jesu Cristo.

  What the hell had just happened? When Damasco grabbed her, Malcolm’s pistol jumped into his hand like a snarling dog. He wanted to put a bullet between his brother’s eyes for even thinking of touching Leigh. He wasn’t prepared for the surge of pure jealousy that roared through him.

  Damasco had treated Leigh like a servant’s daughter growing up. Now he wanted to marry her? Malcolm couldn’t contain the bark of laughter. What Damasco wanted was the Circle O. Malcolm was certain of that, but he didn’t know why. Yet.

  Malcolm avoided thinking about that kiss, but he couldn’t avoid the throbbing hard-on in his pants. Just the memory of her breasts rubbing his chest and the feel of her petal soft lips kept the erection howling. God, who knew?

  One thought kept pounding through his head.

  Mine.

  It was all he could think.

  Mine.

  But why? He hadn’t seen her in fifteen years. He had known the girl, but the woman, ah, she was a mystery.

  Mine.

  He was driven, consumed by one thought. Brand her. She is mine.

  ———

  Saturday dawned clear with the barest hint of heat in the air. Malcolm heard the other hands rising and talking. He had barely gotten any sleep between the smells, the snores, the farts and the talking.

  Ah, but today he was a new hombre. The first paying job he’d ever had. Very ironic. At thirty-three, he finally had a job that paid honest money. If you could call forty dollars a month honest.

  “Mornin’, Hermano.”

  Chipper Andy was on again today. Malcolm resisted the urge to grab the man’s bad leg and throw him under a pillow.

  “Earl sent me to fetch ya. He wants you to replace fence posts out in the north pasture.”

  Malcolm bit his tongue. He had expected Earl did not like him. He hadn’t known how much, though.

  Fence posts. Madre de Dios.

  ———

  After a filling, though somewhat tasteless breakfast served by an ancient-looking black man named Moses—quite possibly the original—Malcolm went in search of the wagon to load supplies.

  Earl came out of the barn with a post digger and a smirk. Malcolm wanted to shove the post digger up Earl’s ass.

  “Hey there, Mex. The wagon is around the side by the wood pile yonder.”

  He shoved the post digger into Malcolm’s hands, trying to knock him off-balance. Unfortunately for Earl, he underestimated Malcolm’s strength. Malcolm didn’t move a blessed inch.

  A grunt of surprise popped out of Earl’s mouth. “Ah’ll just follow ya out to where you’ll be working today.”

  More likely stand over him with a big stick and a smile of malice.

  “Sí.” Malcolm turned to go toward “yonder” when Earl grabbed his arm. Dropping the post digger, Malcolm forced Earl into a headlock. The satisfaction tasted tangy on his tongue.

  “Do not ever touch me, old man.”

  Earl sputtered and squeaked until Malcolm released him.

  Earl touched his throat gently and massaged the bruised, wrinkly skin. His muddy eyes spoke of retribution. His hat had fallen off and wisps of steel-gray hair fluttered in the morning breeze.

  Malcolm stood, hands at his sides, eyeing the old bastard, waiting for him to go for the ancient-looking pistol on his hip. No doubt left over from the war. Earl likely fought for his cause on the losing side.

  “You’re fired, Mex.”

  Malcolm grinned. “You need to talk to the patrona before you fire me, viejo.”

  Earl spit at Malcolm’s feet. “I don’t need a pair of tits to tell me what to do.”

  The contempt in his voice for Leigh made the hackles on the back of Malcolm’s neck rise. He leaned toward the other man, pleased to see him back up a step.

  “You are wrong. Not only did she hire me, but Leigh is my friend. Mi amiga. I stay.”

  Malcolm picked up the post digger and left Earl standing there. After a moment, Malcolm heard him start after him. Digging fence post holes with Earl standing over him, it was sure to be a shitty day.

  ———

  Leigh hadn’t seen Malcolm all day. She entered the kitchen that evening to find Mrs. Hanson emptying a pan of biscuits into a ceramic bowl. A pot of stew bubbled on the stove. Leigh tried to be friendly to the sour old witch.

  “Smells good.” A compliment couldn’t hurt.

  Mrs. Hanson slammed the empty pan down on the stove and turned to glare at her.

  “What is this I hear about you turning down a marriage proposal from Damasco Zarza?”

  Her vehemence was surprising. How did she know about it? And why would she be angry?

  “That’s not your business.”

  “Oh, yes it is, Miss High and Mighty. You need a man. A good man. Damasco is a good, rich man. You can’t do any better than him.”

  Leigh sat and stared.

  “What do you mean?”

  Mrs. Hanson ladled stew into a bowl, plopped two biscuits on top and dropped it in front of Leigh.

  “I’m not telling you something you don’t already know. You’re too old for babies, not much to look at, and your ranch is about to go under. What would possess you to turn him down?”

  Her beady colorless eyes danced with indignation and the waddle on her neck quivered.

  Leigh shook with anger.

  “Get out of my sight, Mrs. Hanson, before I knock you into next week.”

  Her blood thrummed through her veins, hot with anger, hurt, and sadness. Mrs. Hanson might be correct about her, but she had no goddamn right to throw it in Leigh’s face.

  “What?”

  Leigh stood, towering over her, and felt as if she could truly do this awful woman harm. Her hands were tight fists, snapping to connect with this crazy woman’s jaw.

  “Now.”

  “Well, I never,” said Mrs. Hanson as she scurried out of the room.

  Blowing out a breath and unclenching her fists, Leigh looked down at the steaming bowl of stew, then at the empty chair across from it. She needed Malcolm here.

  How or why she came to that conclusion, she didn’t even care. She only knew she needed him. Turning, she strode out the back door to look for him.

  ———

  Malcolm was unloading broken and worn fence posts from the back of the wagon behind the barn. He was dirty, sweaty, and the sight of him made her heart skip a beat.

  He’d taken his shirt off and that chest was enough to make her knees turn to jam. Covered in tan skin with ribbons of muscle and whorls of curly black hair. Drops of sweat traveled down those nooks and crannies, meandering a path she wanted to follow with her hands. Or perhaps her tongue.

  What a beautiful specimen of a man. Damn, Malcolm sure had filled out since he was eighteen. Leigh resisted the urge to reach out and touch.

  Then he turned to face the wagon and she saw his back. She must have gasped or croaked or something because he whirled to face her. Gloved hands fisted, sweat streaming down his face, black eyes snapping. When he saw Leigh, he relaxed.

  “Amante, my wolf, you should not sneak up on me like that.”

  Her mouth was as dry as the Texas wind. His back. Oh, Jesus help me.

  “I am not fit for a lady’s company yet. After I finish, I need to go down to the creek and wash.”

  She nodded. “I…I…okay sure.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Are you okay, amiga?”

  “I, uh, came to tell you… That is, to ask you. See, there’s plenty of stew and biscuits…”

  He smiled. A brilliant white slash in the dark, beautiful face.

  “Ah
, sí, a supper invitation. Bueno. I will be there in fifteen minutes.”

  He turned and grabbed another load of wood from the wagon, presenting her with his back again.

  Stomach churning, she fled back to the house. She almost fell into the kitchen and ended up smacking her head on the doorjamb.

  Leigh pulled off her glasses and slammed them in her shirt pocket. After furiously pumping the handle in the kitchen sink, she grabbed a wash rag and held it under the stream, soaking it in cool water. Great, gasping breaths jumped out of her like grasshoppers in a brush fire. Out of control and frantic.

  She wrung out the excess water and pressed the wet cloth to her face, then slumped to the floor.

  Get a hold of yourself.

  It wasn’t working. Lord, it was not working.

  Leigh knew something had happened between Malcolm and Damasco, and Malcolm had been punished. It was the reason he left. Now she knew what his punishment had been. And she wished she didn’t.

  Malcolm’s back was covered with scars from a whip from his shoulders to his waist. Every square inch of skin had been flayed from his young back. The sheer brutality of anyone doing that to another human being made her heart hurt. To think it was done to her dear Malcolm made her heart weep.

  She didn’t know how long she sat there, with the cloth pressed to her face.

  “Amante.”

  He was there, crouched on the floor next to her, and she hadn’t even heard him come in. He pulled the cloth away from her face and cupped her cheek with tender fingers. His black eyes were full of concern, his wavy hair sprinkled with drops of water. The tips brushed his shoulders leaving what looked like tears on his clean brown shirt. Lord, she had never stopped loving him.

  “What is wrong?”

  Leigh had never been one to mince words. “Your back. I’d never seen it before.”

  His eyes hardened. “It’s not pretty, sí? Ah, well, the señoritas in the cantina don’t mind.”

  Behind his flippant words, she heard ancient pain. Oh, Malcolm.

  “I’m not usually such a sissy,” she said wearily, clambering to her feet. He rose from a crouch like a panther with a fluid grace.

  “You are no sissy, amiga.”

  She shook her head. “Sissy.”

  He smiled. A real smile so blinding, she nearly wept.

  Sissy.

  “No sissy. A woman.”

  With that pronouncement, he cupped her other cheek and lowered his lips to hers. At the first touch, she nearly jumped out of her skin. After a few gentle, nibbling kisses that made even her feet jitter, he let go and stepped back.

  “Let us eat, amante.”

  ———

  Leigh hadn’t put her spectacles back on. Malcolm was having trouble eating his stew when all he wanted to do was study those beautiful hazel eyes. He hadn’t realized what lurked behind the glass—a deep pond of woman he was drawn to. There was so much about Leigh he didn’t know, but he found himself wanting to know more. Wanting to be with her, to touch her, to spend as much time as he could finding out all he could.

  Dios, ayúdame.

  They had been close. Very close. Children of servants. A bond that remained strong. Misfits who saw in each other what no one else bothered to see. A person.

  They were seated across from each other again. Malcolm leaned back in his chair, one booted foot resting on the opposite knee. He tried to keep a bit of space between them without getting too far away from her. The urge to be near her was as strong as the urge to run.

  Leigh used her spoon to toy with a bit of potato. She hadn’t eaten much, which was very unlike her. That was something he had always liked about her. She had an appetite and wasn’t afraid to show it. Not like Isabella who would have died of starvation long ago if she only ate what she picked at during meals.

  “What’s wrong?” Malcolm asked.

  Startled, her hand jerked on the spoon and the potato soared through the air, landing on his lap. He jumped up and brushed it off with a napkin. Good thing he was wearing brown pants.

  He glanced at her face. She looked resigned.

  “Sorry, Mal. My middle name sure isn’t Grace.”

  Malcolm smiled. “And mine is surely not Saint. So we are even.”

  She smiled back. This he was glad to see. The smiling Leigh of his childhood had turned into a somber, serious Leigh. She needed to smile more often.

  “So what troubles you?” He reached out and laid his hand on hers. She hesitated, then relaxed her hand in his.

  “You.”

  Malcolm couldn’t say he was surprised. He waited for her to continue.

  “You were gone for so long and now you’re here. Everything is so topsy turvy. I’m confused and frustrated and at the same time…” She stopped and swallowed hard. “At the same time, I keep hoping you’ll kiss me again. Or more.”

  She met his gaze square on. Leigh, his fearless wolf. Howling at the moon for the world to hear. He hadn’t let himself imagine more, but now she’d opened that particular door. He couldn’t help but walk in.

  Malcolm raised her hand to his lips. Her hands weren’t soft or dainty, but rather strong with long, slender fingers that knew what work was.

  He briefly imagined them wrapped around his cock and nearly forgot where he was.

  Focusing on her hand again, he kissed each fingertip, then gently sucked each one, whirling his tongue over and under, finishing with a soft bite. When he looked up at her face, she was aroused. Her pupils were wide, her breathing shallow, her cheeks slightly flushed. And, much to his delight, her nipples were hard, straining against her shirt. Calling him. Shouting his name.

  “That is what I want to do to your whole body.”

  A shudder rocked through her. She snatched her hand away and stood, knocking the chair over with a bang. She turned and stumbled to the doorway that led to the stairs. Disappointment whipped through him until she looked back at him.

  “Coming?”

  Malcolm launched out of his chair before his next breath. He took her hand in his again and kissed the back of it.

  “Amante.”

  Her wide eyes held some fear along with a tantalizing dose of excitement, curiosity and determination. Qualities he would always associate with Leigh.

  She pulled him into the darkened hallway toward the stairs.

  ———

  Leigh was ready, or at least that’s what she told herself. Malcolm grabbed her arm and stopped her.

  “Malcolm?”

  “I want to so badly my teeth are erect,” he said tightly. His hand trembled slightly on her arm. “I want you to trust me before I make love to you.”

  “Make love? I never asked for that. I just wanted a good fuck.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” His breath was warm on her cheek in the semi-darkness.

  Her body screamed for her to climb him like a tree and to hell with his conscience. Her heart was beating so fast, her pulse thundered in her ears. But her head, the ever-practical noggin, slammed the door on her lust with a thud.

  Damn, why couldn’t they talk after they tussled in the sheets?

  Malcolm let go of her arm and returned to the kitchen. Leigh bent down and put her hands on her knees. Taking a few deep breaths, she sought to regain her composure before facing him again.

  “Okay, he’s noble as well as sexy,” she groused under her breath as she straightened and followed him.

  ———

  Malcolm sat on the front porch steps, smoking a thin cigarillo. The sounds of the night—crickets, a horse’s whinny and the soft low of cows—greeted her ears. Night had nearly fallen—it was twilight time. As he puffed on the cigarillo, the tip illuminated his eyes in an orange glow. Deep, enticing, bottomless eyes. A shudder made its way from her head to her toes.

  “I came back for two reasons,” he began.

  Leigh sat heavily next to him, jarring her back and smacking her ankle on the step below her. She knew she was acting like a child denied a lemon drop,
but dammit, she wanted the candy. Now.

  “What are the two reasons?” she asked when he remained silent, waiting for her tantrum to pass.

  “I made one good friend since I left here. Nicky reminded me what family was. What you would do for the people you love. I had forgotten what that even meant.”

  “Where is he now?”

  He chuckled softly. “She’s in Wyoming.”

  Nicky was a woman? A dark rip of jealousy grabbed her stomach.

  “In love with her husband, newborn twins and an adopted son.”

  A rain of relief washed through her. She allowed herself a grin. His teeth flashed white in the blue darkness.

  “She made me realize how I missed family. My mother, Diego, Lorena…and you.”

  Her heart certainly did not pitty-pat.

  “I am ashamed to admit it had been fifteen years since I’d been gone. And not once,” his voice caught, “not once did I contact my mother. Not once.”

  Leigh reached out and took his hand. He puffed on his cigarillo then flicked it into the yard.

  “What kind of son does that?”

  Leigh didn’t answer him. He already knew the answer. One who was running from a painful past by never thinking of anything but the here and now. One who shut himself and his emotions off.

  “What’s the second reason?” she asked.

  He chuckled but there was no humor in it. “I ran into a bandejo named Alejandro.”

  His hand tightened on hers. She stifled a wince of pain.

  “My past was suddenly there in my ear. Whispering, grasping at me. I knew it would only haunt me until I came back. Here. Home. I didn’t expect my mother not to be here.”

  He rose and looked up at the stars, twinkling like tiny lanterns in a black sky.

  “I need your help, Leigh. I need to find her but I don’t know if I can go over there…face him…face them.” His voice was hoarse as if forcing out the unfamiliar words.

  Leigh stood and turned to face him.

  “I’ll help. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

  He drew her into his arms. This time there was no pulse-jumping, stomach-clenching lust. It was the old Malcolm. The boy who held her when she broke her leg. The boy who shared her secrets and dreams. He was right. The past was whispering in her ear, too.