The Reward

by Beth Williamson

  Malcolm was impressed; the boy knew horses.

  “Como se llama?”

  “I don’t speak no Spanish.”

  Malcolm suppressed the smile that wanted to rise.

  “You do not speak English either, eh?”

  The boy’s expression was disgusted and guarded. He didn’t get the joke.

  “What is your name? How did you come to work here at Rancho Zarza?”

  The boy stalked off to another stall, pitchfork in hand. Malcolm’s fear and apprehension over being in the hated stable was replaced by curiosity over the boy, so he followed him. He found the boy working in the fourth stall, the biggest in the stable, filling a wheelbarrow with manure-encrusted straw.

  “There was a huge black stallion named Rey that used to be in this stall. He was a big, arrogant horse who used to try to step on my foot every time I had to curry him.”

  The boy turned his head and looked at him suspiciously. “You worked here when Rey was here?”

  “Worked? Yes, I suppose it was work. I didn’t get paid though.”

  The boy stopped and leaned an arm on the pitchfork again, his expression still guarded.

  “Was you a slave?”

  Malcolm shook his head. “No, chico, just the son of a servant. My pay was food and a bed.”

  “Me, too.”

  Now he was really intrigued. “Who is your mama?”

  The blue eyes finally showed emotion. Anger.

  “The cook. She’s the cook.”

  Turning, the boy went back to work. Malcolm grabbed the stall door to keep from falling down. The boy was not him, but how was it possible? It was like twenty years had melted away in an instant. He had to know.

  “Who is your papa?”

  He almost hoped the boy would not answer.

  “You ain’t been around in a while, have you? My pa ain’t married to my ma, y’know. So’s I’m a bastard.”

  Bastard. The slur hit him in the head like a rock. God, how he hated the sound of it.

  “Don’t use that word.”

  “Why not? It’s what I am.”

  He snagged the boy’s arm and swung him around. The young arm was as brittle as a twig, easily broken.

  “No. It’s not what you are. Or who you are. Only you decide that. It does not matter if your parents did not marry. You do not have to pay for that for the rest of your life.”

  He’d give the boy marks for bravery. He tried to wrestle his arm free, but Malcolm held firm.

  “Let go, you son of a bitch.”

  “Nice mouth. Does your mama hear you talk like that?”

  “Leave her outta this.” He twisted harder, squirming to get out of Malcolm’s grip.

  “I would never disrespect your mama, boy. My mama was the cook, too.”

  The boy ceased his struggles and stared up at Malcolm. “Who was your papa?”

  “Alejandro.” Malcolm nearly choked on the name.

  All the fight went out of the boy. He slumped his shoulders and simply stared, confusion evident in his eyes.

  “You’re my uncle?”

  Uncle? This was Damasco’s boy? Dirty, skinny and working in the stable barefoot? Like father, like son. Malcolm tried his damnedest to hide his anger, but something must have shown in his eyes because the boy backed up a step.

  “Malcolm?” came Leigh’s voice.

  “Yes?” Both he and the boy answered.

  It was worse than he thought. Damasco was using his own child to exact some kind of twisted revenge on Malcolm.

  Leigh appeared in the stable with the now empty basket. When she spotted the boy, she smiled.

  “I see you met Hermano, Malcolm,” she said to the boy.

  The boy’s hard expression softened a bit. “Is he really my uncle?”

  Leigh’s gaze snapped to Malcolm’s. “Who told you that?”

  The boy jerked a thumb at Malcolm.

  “You are mistaken, chico. I said my papa was Alejandro. I never said Zarza.”

  The boy eyed him suspiciously but didn’t argue.

  “Are you ready to go?” Leigh asked Malcolm. She looked like a spring wound too tightly, ready to snap.

  “Sí. Vamanos.”

  While Leigh thanked the boy for taking care of Ghost, Malcolm led Demon out of the barn. His hands shook with anger. He was absolutely furious.

  And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  ———

  They rode home in near silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Malcolm asked.

  “Tell you what?”

  “About that boy.”

  She turned toward him, confused. “He’s the stable boy, Mal. Most big ranches have at least one.”

  Malcolm yanked back on Demon’s reins. She reeled Ghost around to face him.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about!” he shouted angrily.

  “Malcolm, what are you talking about?”

  He stared at her, black eyes glittering with what she thought was fury. “Damasco made that boy. Made a bastard then named him Malcolm.”

  Leigh was shocked. Damasco was the boy’s father? She had always chalked up his name to coincidence.

  “How do you know?”

  “He told me he was a bastard. Madre de Dios, Leigh, his mother is the fucking cook.”

  Suddenly she understood Damasco’s game. Only it wasn’t a game. It was a boy, an innocent child, created to live out some twisted desire.

  “You did not know.” Malcolm’s tone made it clear he wasn’t asking a question.

  “No, Mal, I didn’t. I got married when Louise was pregnant. She and I were friends. But I…I never asked her who the father was. I didn’t know. How could he?”

  Malcolm’s face was now an emotionless mask. But his eyes still shone like fiery coals.

  “Maybe if I talk to Alex.”

  “No. He already knows, I’m sure.” His lips curled into a sneer. “Throwaways are something he’s familiar with.”

  Leigh was upset to see such hatred from a son to a father. From one friend to another. She dangled between them, caught in the web woven so long ago.

  “Did you ask?”

  “About your mother? Yes, I asked Lorena, but that bitch Isabella yanked me around like a lost calf.”

  “Did Lorena say anything? Know anything?”

  Leigh shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Malcolm gazed into the horizon toward Rancho Zarza.

  “Someone knows. I need to find out who.”

  ———

  When they reached the Circle O, Malcolm was a little calmer, but not much. He didn’t want to Leigh to bear the brunt of his anger, but it was hard to keep it in since it festered and screeched to be let loose.

  “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

  She looked surprised. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You were pissed. I understand that feeling.”

  “Things are getting deeper and deeper, Leigh. Are you sure you want to be next to me?”

  She grinned. “No other place I’d rather be.”

  “Even if Sean were alive?”

  The smile fell off her face. “I told you before. That’s not your business. Leave it the hell alone.”

  She galloped ahead to the barn, dismounted and grabbed Ghost’s reins. Malcolm quickly followed.

  “I think it is my business,” he said when he’d caught up to her in the barn.

  She glared at him and walked Ghost into his stall. He put Demon in a stall and unsaddled him. After a brief rubdown, he made sure the biting beast had water and oats. He returned to Ghost’s stall in time to see Leigh shove a piece of paper in her pocket.

  “Amante.”

  She put the empty basket on a nail in the post by the door, then started rubbing Ghost down as the big gelding noisily slurped from a water bucket.

  “When I was eighteen, my father died from a horse kick to the head.” Pain echoed in her voice.

  “I�
��m sorry.”

  She waved her hand to brush away his sympathy. “It’s okay. You knew my father. We were from two different places in our hearts. After he died, Damasco started sniffing after me. Caught me alone once or twice. I packed my saddlebags and left one night. I walked to the Circle O.”

  She grabbed a curry brush and stroked the Appaloosa, who seemed to sigh with pleasure.

  Malcolm wondered what Damasco had done when he had caught her alone.

  “Sean’s wife had died a few years back from consumption. He offered to marry me for protection and for a companion. He needed someone to play checkers with.”

  “What? You married a man because he wanted to play checkers with you? Are you loca?”

  She threw the curry brush at him. It bounced painfully on his shoulder then continued rolling behind him.

  “I was alone, goddammit! You’d been gone three years and certainly didn’t give a shit. Don’t you dare judge me.”

  Malcolm made a grab for her hands, but she snatched them back and bumped into Ghost. The horse whinnied his displeasure.

  “Don’t pull away from me. I would never hurt you,” he said in a low voice.

  Her hands clenched into fists. “Sean was my friend. Just when I needed one most. Don’t you understand? I was alone. I had no one.”

  She stalked away, grabbing the basket as she went by.

  Malcolm let her go, filled with self-loathing. He’d only been concerned about himself as usual. He left behind his best friend, his first love, all without a backward glance. The first girl he’d kissed, hugged, held hands with, dreamed with.

  And then he’d thrown her away.

  Like father, like son.

  Chapter Eight

  When Leigh got to the house, she’d already been stopped four times. Andy wanted to show her how the well pump was fixed and didn’t stick anymore. Earl let her know three dozen head were missing. Jerry wanted her opinion on a mustang they’d caught. And Mrs. Hanson gave her a list of supplies they needed.

  After all that had happened already, Leigh was exhausted. She folded the list and went to put it in her pocket. Something else was already there. It was the paper that had been stuck in the bottom of the basket. She unfolded it. It simply read “MacAdams Farm, Leslie” in Lorena’s handwriting.

  Leigh’s heart picked up its pace.

  Lorena knew where Leslie Ross was. She had no idea where the MacAdams Farm was, but next time she was in town, she’d ask Burt Green to look into it. Burt was the only attorney in Millerton, and strangely enough, also the undertaker. But he’d help her find out what he could. He was a good sleuth.

  Leigh tucked the papers in her hand and climbed the stairs. It was only just after five, but she needed a bath. Time to be by herself and think. Fortunately Sean had had a fancy tub with running water installed five years ago. Hot water was stored in a cistern outside. Somehow it all came together with cold well water and filled her tub.

  Leigh stopped in her room to grab clean clothes, then headed straight for the bathing room.

  ———

  Malcolm couldn’t find Leigh. She wasn’t outside anywhere, nor was she in the kitchen or the office. When he’d come inside, Mrs. Hanson gave him a dirty look, mumbled something about stew on the stove, then slammed out the door.

  He didn’t trust that woman as far as he could throw her. Truth be told, not far at all.

  After looking downstairs, he figured Leigh must be upstairs. As he climbed the staircase, he heard humming that sounded more like a screeching bird than a human. She always was as tone deaf as a cast iron skillet. There were four doors upstairs and two were closed. One was a guest room, the other empty. That left the two closed doors. He followed the humming, biting back a grin at how awful she sounded.

  She was behind the last door. He raised his hand and knocked lightly.

  “Is that you, Mrs. Hanson? Come in.” Her voice rang out.

  And so he did, even if he wasn’t Mrs. Hanson.

  Then he forgot what his name was as his dick rose hard and fast.

  She was naked. Not only naked, but wet. Just stepping out of the tub. He absorbed every inch of her like a dry sponge long without water.

  Poised with one leg on the floor and one leg still in the tub, her legs were slightly parted. Her wet hair slowly dripped sparkles of moisture that snaked down her perfect honey-toned skin.

  Her breasts were incredible. Large round globes with dark nipples puckered tightly, rose buds in the first blush of spring. Her nest of curls, mahogany brown kinky hair, glistened with bath water. He saw a hint of pink flesh between those curls and had to hold the door to remain upright.

  She was sleek and muscled like a thoroughbred mare, but round in all the right places.

  Madre de Dios. She was a goddess.

  Her hazel eyes widened with shock. After a few moments of resembling a surprised rabbit, she made a quick dive for the towel on the floor next to the tub. She clumsily covered herself then began to blush the same color as her incredible nipples.

  “I…I thought you were Mrs. Hanson.”

  He spread his left arm out. “As you can see, I’m not.”

  Her gaze fastened on the tree growing in his very tight trousers, which caused it to grow a few more inches.

  “Amante, I don’t have enough words to tell you how beautiful you are.”

  Leigh screwed up her face and snorted. “Don’t even try to wiggle your way out of this one. Just hightail it back downstairs.”

  He closed and locked the door and took a step toward her. She frowned.

  Malcolm took two more steps, then another, stopping mere inches from her. The smell of her freshly scrubbed skin caressed his senses. He ran his hand down her wet shoulder.

  “I would not lie to you. Just looking at you and I am as hard as a stone.”

  He placed both hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently.

  “Let me love you.”

  ———

  Sweet Jesus.

  Malcolm caught her naked. Not only that, but he was still there. Watching her. Those black eyes had an intensity that shook her to her core. As his gaze touched her skin, it raised goose bumps and sent shivers skipping all over her. Her pulse thumped in her veins as arousal crept in on all fours.

  “You want me?”

  He closed his eyes and Leigh would swear she felt him shudder.

  “Want is not a strong enough word.”

  “Not strong enough?” Damn, she wished she had at least something witty to say. She felt like a mare penned in with a stud—a stud who made her heart race and her entire body hum.

  “Burn.” The word burst from his mouth.

  “Burn?” She hated the fact that she squeaked the word.

  “We must be back in the canyon again. The echo is strong in here.”

  She tried to smile but all she could concentrate on were his hands—strong and callused, caressing her skin. His thumbs were dangerously close to her breasts. That thought made her clench deep inside.

  “I burn for you, amante.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her. His lips were gentle, making little sucks on her lips. Slowly traveling back and forth across. Kiss. Suck. Kiss. Suck.

  More.

  She dropped the towel, wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her body up against him. Lord, Jesus, the man was as hard as granite. Everywhere. His cock felt like a hammer knocking on her door. Come on in.

  She kissed him back, pushing her tongue into his mouth and lapping at him slowly, deliberately. His mouth felt like a fire and his tongue, a branding iron. Hissing, steaming heat. Like a big cat, he licked her mouth, her teeth, her tongue. Leigh moaned when he tickled the roof of her mouth. Her nipples scraped against his shirt, screaming for attention.

  “Touch me,” she whispered against his lips.

  Malcolm’s hands danced across her skin. Those long fingers ran up and down her spine, then caressed her round derriere, dipping lower to tantalize, tease and stroke. One finge
r made lazy circles near her other hole. If she got any hotter, she might explode before he even took his clothes off.

  “I need to touch you.” She started yanking on his shirt and buttons flew every which way, pinging on the floor, tub and walls. “Jesus, Malcolm. Help me. I need you.”

  As he slipped his shirt off, he bent down and sucked one pebbled nipple into his hot mouth. Oh, damn, that tongue. It swirled, licked and nudged her nipple until she thought she’d go mad. Then he bit it. She yelped and grabbed his now naked shoulder. The iron muscles bunched under her hand and she had the crazy notion to nibble on them.

  “My God, you are so hard,” she blurted.

  Malcolm chuckled and straightened. Leigh realized he had somehow slipped his pants off and was as naked as she was.

  She stared at his incredible body. It was bronze toned, with tufts of black hair on his chest that made her palms itch to feel. Like an arrow, a line of hair led straight down past a sexy navel to his cock. The huge member jutted out from a nest of curls cupping his large balls. He was thick and throbbing, with a moist tip that signaled his readiness and begged for her tongue.

  “It won’t fit.” Leigh blurted. She’d never seen a member so large before, not that her experience was extensive. He was magnificently made.

  “Sí, amante, it will fit. You will be so wet and so ready for me, it will slide right in.”

  Malcolm’s hands cupped her breast and her mound. His finger slipped into her pussy and slid back and forth, rubbing and stroking. He lapped at her nipple with a grin on his wicked mouth.

  More.

  He tweaked and pinched her nipple to a peak it had never reached before, while he nibbled on the other. The sensations were about to drive her over the edge. An orgasm built inside her and her breath was short and choppy. She didn’t want it to be over before she had a chance to have him nestled inside her.

  “Malcolm.” She sounded husky, and dammit, needy.

  “Miz O’Reilly?”

  Mrs. Hanson’s voice outside the bathing room door was not a welcome sound. The throbbing in Leigh’s pussy matched the stroking of his fingers and tongue. Blood pulsed through her like a river of lava she was helpless to stop. Dammit, she was going to come.