Passion's Fury

by Patricia Hagan

  “Posie is preparing some nice gruel and sausages for you,” she continued. “Once you have packed and eaten, you will be on your way.”

  “I don’t feel well,” April said quickly, panicking. She couldn’t leave yet. Not today. Not for several days. She had to be there when Uncle James arrived. She rushed on to explain that the trip, the hardships she had endured even before leaving the ranch, had all combined to make her ill. “Surely, it isn’t imperative that I leave right away, today—” she said pleadingly.

  “I don’t want anyone to know you are here. So far, you haven’t been seen. The servants know better than to gossip, but I want to get you out of here as quickly as possible, and this time, Zeke won’t fail me. He has learned”—she smiled as though thinking of some wicked secret—“that it does not pay to go against me. I expressed my disappointment earlier this morning.”

  Miserably, she faced Vanessa and whispered brokenly, “My God, why do you hate me so? I’ve told you over and over how I pleaded with Poppa not to mistreat you. Why do you want to hurt me?”

  “I just want you out of the way. You’ve been a thorn in my side all my life.” She laughed softly. “Funny, isn’t it? I mean, when you think about it, it could have been the other way around. Suppose I had been the one to leave Mother’s womb first? You would have been the one Poppa blamed for her death, and I would have been his darling princess.”

  April shook her head in defeat. “At least tell me what is to become of me. I have the right to know that much.”

  “You have no rights, but I will satisfy your curiosity by telling you that you are going to be taken somewhere far away. All the way to New Orleans.”

  “New Orleans?” She was bewildered.

  “Zeke knows of a madam there who runs a house of pleasure with such iron control that there will be absolutely no chance of your escaping. Should you even try, she will have you taken to the Bayou, tied to a tree, and left for alligator bait,” she continued with glittering eyes. “She makes every one of her girls witness what happens to anyone who tries to leave without her permission. If you behave yourself, you should get along nicely. It will be up to you, dear sister.”

  Sheer terror rippled up and down April’s spine as she cried, “Send me to the monastery. Don’t do this to me, Vanessa.”

  “I must. You see, I thought you were such a spineless ninny that you didn’t have it in you to escape. But Zeke tells me that if you escaped Rance Taggart, then you must be quite cunning. I agree. I cannot afford to risk having you come back. I’m fortunate no one saw you, so there won’t be any questions. Everyone thinks you ran away, shamed and brokenhearted because your own father raped you. That’s the way I want it.

  “Now get up and get dressed,” she snapped, weary of the conversation. “I want you out of here as soon as possible. And let me warn you against putting up a fuss. Either you do as I say, or I’ll send Zeke in here to dress you. He would enjoy that, but I don’t think you would.”

  She was almost through the door when April asked, “Is Whit Brandon going to take me to New Orleans?”

  Vanessa shook her head. “No. Whit may be a good-hand in some ways, but he has some traits I find annoying. He doesn’t mind killing or stealing, but he refuses to mistreat women. When he heard about Zeke wagering you in that stupid horse race, he was almost as angry as I was. He would never take you to a whorehouse.”

  “But what about Zeke?” April asked desperately. “He threatened me last night. He wants me. Do you honestly think he will take me all the way to New Orleans without having me? Does he mean so little to you that you would share him with me?”

  Vanessa’s face contorted with rage. “Zeke learned this morning what happens when he displeases me. I’ve already told you that. You have nothing to fear from him now.”

  April stood, eyes imploring wildly. “He isn’t afraid of you, Vanessa. He never was and he never will be. The man is a savage!”

  “Get dressed!” she screamed, taking a menacing step forward. “You have five minutes, and then I’m sending in Zeke. Don’t push your luck with me, April.”

  She walked out and slammed the door. The key clicked once more.

  With shaking hands, April began gathering the few clothes left to her, but when Mandy came in with the hot water, she all but threw herself at her. “You’ve got to help me. You’re my only hope.”

  She told her of Vanessa’s plans, and with each word, Mandy looked even more frightened. Her body began to shake, and the water she carried sloshed against the pail. “All I’m asking of you,” April rushed on, “is that you tell anyone who comes looking for me where I have gone. Can you do that much?”

  “I…I don’t know, Miz April.” Mandy would not meet her gaze, and she twisted from her grasp and set the pail on the floor. She tried to turn away, but April grabbed her once again.

  “Mandy, you can do it. You can whisper through a door if you have to, not let anyone know it’s you doing the talking. Just tell them I’ve been taken to a whorehouse in New Orleans. Dear God, girl, you’ve caused me enough hell. Can’t you do something to cleanse your soul?”

  “It ain’t…”—Mandy swallowed hard and rubbed at her large, flat nose with the back of her hand—“…like you thinks. I can’t say no mo’, Miz April. I heard somethin’, and I…I just can’t say no, mo’. Now I’s gettin’ outta here, ’cause you gonna get me killed.”

  She ran from the room before April could make a move to stop her, and she had no sooner disappeared from sight when Zeke walked in. April gasped at the sight of the crude, blood-soaked bandage covering one side of his face.

  “This is your sister’s idea of teaching me a lesson,” he said in a voice so ominous that her heart wrenched. “The bitch cut me with a knife. She says if I lay one hand on you, she’ll cut off my cock.”

  April was too shocked to speak and continued to stare in horror at the bloody bandage. To think her own sister had cut the man! She shook herself, for a loud ringing had begun in her ears. Was Vanessa insane?

  Zeke’s effort to grin threateningly became a grimace of pain as he jerked a thumb toward his wounded face and said, “The only thing this means is that your sister don’t find out nothing from now on. Now you hurry up and get ready, ’cause me and you is goin’ on a little trip.”

  After Zeke stalked from the room, she dressed and searched for some answer, but she couldn’t think of anything. Finally, she went to the door and called to Zeke, knowing he would be right outside. He bulled his way in, shoving her aside roughly as he maneuvered her tapestry bags through the door.

  April saw a chance to speak to her father as she realized that Zeke had his hands full. She turned and ran down the hall, with him yelling and cursing after her. She heard him drop the bags to come after her, but by then she had reached the door to her father’s room. She flung the door open, bosom heaving with the tension that was winding through her.

  “Poppa! Poppa!” she screamed hysterically as she felt Zeke’s arms wrapping about her. She struggled against him, fleetingly remembering his wound and moving to strike her fist to his face. With a cry of pain, he released her. She rushed to the bedside, clutching her father.

  “Poppa, it’s me, April. Don’t you know me? Oh, Poppa—” Dry sobs escaped her throat as she shook him.

  Slowly he turned confused eyes on her. She looked into their depths, saw the silent, inward struggle to return to the living. He was emaciated. His face was gray and skeletal, the flesh clinging to the bones. There were black hollows beneath his eyes, and his too-long hair was dirty and greasy as it fanned out on the pillow.

  “Poppa, please listen to me—” she begged.

  “You little fool!” Vanessa’s irate voice sliced across the room. “Zeke, get her out of here.”

  “Hell, she hit me in the face. It’s bleedin’ again,” he whined. “You shouldn’t have cut me, Vanessa—”

  “I’ll do worse than that if you don’t get her out of here. You can hear her screaming all over the house
. Do something, damn you!”

  April was still clutching her father, shaking him, as Zeke grabbed her and dragged her away. Suddenly she realized that her father’s lips were moving. He was trying to speak her name. She knew he was. And if Zeke had not been yelling she knew she would have heard him. He knew her! He wasn’t completely lost! He just needed help.

  Zeke threw her over his shoulder and started out of the room. April beat his back with her fists and her legs kicked wildly. “Vanessa, he knows me!” she cried. “He does. He isn’t hopeless. He needs help!”

  As Zeke carried her down the hall toward the stairway, she could see Vanessa standing in the doorway of her father’s room, gloating. Had it been dark, April knew those evil, glittering eyes would have shone through the blackness. Dear Lord in heaven, she was powerless to do anything to save her poor father from that she-devil. She had known her sister was bitter, but was she actually insane? She had asked herself this question twice in the last hour.

  “I ain’t carrying you outta here screamin’ like a banshee,” Zeke yelled. He took her back to her room and threw her on her bed, then began ripping a sheet apart. Her struggles were in vain as he bound her wrists and ankles, then stifled her cries with a gag. Yanking the coverlet from the bed, he wrapped her in it, then hoisted her over his shoulder once more. She heard him talking to Vanessa as he walked with her. Vanessa snapped icily, “You get back here as quick as you can, Zeke. There’s work to be done. And you see that she gets to New Orleans. I don’t ever want to see her face back here again.”

  “What if she runs away?” he growled.

  “You got a gun, haven’t you? I’d rather see her dead than back here, Zeke. Don’t you forget it.”

  April felt herself being placed in the back of a wagon. She knew Posie and Mandy were watching, because she heard Vanessa yelling at them. “And send Buford up to the old man,” she ordered. “He’s crying and carrying on, and I want him calmed down.”

  Oh, Poppa, April thought. What will happen to you? If only I could help.

  It seemed hours before the wagon finally lumbered to a stop. She heard footsteps coming toward her, and then the coverlet was yanked away. She blinked her eyes at the sudden brightness of day and looked into the ugly face of Zeke Hartley.

  “Welcome home, April,” he displayed his yellow, chipped teeth in a menacing grin.

  She looked around. The terrain was familiar. Then, slowly, it came to her. They were perhaps five miles from the house, at the farthest southern point of Jennings property. It was low here, and marshy, and had never been cultivated for crops. This was actually a small valley, shielded by high hills.

  Zeke was not going to bother with taking her to New Orleans. He was going to kill her and leave her body for the buzzards to pick.

  He climbed up in the wagon beside her and began to jerk the strips of torn sheeting from her feet and ankles, then removed her gag. He motioned for her to get out of the wagon. Stiff, sore, paralyzed with fear, she could only look at him in silence.

  “Come on, April. Don’t make me get rough. I want to show you your new home.” He got out of the wagon and stood waiting.

  She made herself move. If I must die, she thought with a sudden calm, then I won’t beg this bastard for mercy. I will face death and pray that my father soon faces his so he, too, will be out of his misery.

  Zeke wrapped a beefy hand about her arm and started walking. He led her toward a crude shack that looked as though it had either been hastily put together or had stood so long it was falling apart. Nestled among trees, it was hidden from view by a large red clay hill. There were no windows. The shack was about twelve feet square.

  “I built this,” Zeke said proudly, kicking the door open. Sunlight spilled through to show the only furnishings, a crudely constructed bed with sagging mattress, a table, and two chairs. “It’s where I come when I want to get away from that bitch sister of yours. I can bring my women friends from town here, too. She don’t know it exists. I ain’t even told Whit.”

  He gave her a rough shove. “Now get in there. This is your new home.”

  April looked around, then back at Zeke’s grinning face.

  “I’m going to bring your things in from the wagon, and then I gotta go into town and get some supplies. You’ll be needin’ food every once in a while, I guess.”

  He laughed with real pleasure as she stared at him with increasing understanding. Here? She was to stay here?

  “But…what about New Orleans?” she cried, her voice trembling.

  “Vanessa’ll never know the difference. She’ll think you’re there. But I’ll have you where I can get you. This is where you’ll be stayin’,” he chortled, gleeful over his newfound prize and his own cleverness.

  Without another word, he reached under the bed and came up with a six-foot length of chain. She turned to run, but he caught her at the door and held her tightly, wrapping one end of the chain around her ankle and fastening it with a steel clip. The other end was double-bolted to the wall. He walked from the shack and quickly returned with her bags. Giving her chain a significant tug, he winked hideously at her and said, “I’II be back in a few hours, and then me and you will start gettin’ along real cozy-like.”

  After he was gone, she stood staring out the door, not moving and barely breathing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  With each plodding beat of Virtus’s hooves, Rance felt a synchronizing pain stabbing though his temples. They should have started back the day before, as planned, instead of sitting around drinking with Stuart’s men, but one thing had led to another, and while he did not often get drunk, he had really tied one on this time. Now he was paying for it.

  Several yards behind, Edward Clark was slumped in the saddle, chin drooping to his chest. He had given his horse the reins as he dozed.

  Rance had not intended to go all the way up to Franklin, Tennessee. But when General J. E. B. “Jeb” Stuart, himself, had sent for him, he had wasted no time getting there. Rance had a hell of a lot of respect for Stuart, the best horseman in the Confederate cavalry, some said, and already a legend. He was busting proud that Stuart had heard of his horses. He had sat opposite Stuart before a roaring campfire up on that big mountain in Franklin and reveled in the knowledge that the general shared his ideas about the importance of horses to the Confederacy.

  Rance intended to supply them, even if he had to steal from the Yankees. General Stuart had slapped his knee and laughed and said if Rance ever got tired of horse trading, he would be proud, by God, to have a man with his grit ride with him.

  Rance smiled. He liked the man.

  Stuart and his men were headed for Virginia now, and Rance had promised to round up horses and try to keep a good supply available. He had discussed with Edward a plan to send out scouts regularly to locate horses for either buying or stealing.

  Now, Rance had a need to get back home. He hadn’t meant to be gone so long. He had done a lot of thinking about that last night with April, wondering why she had suddenly warmed to him.

  He did not consider himself arrogant to suppose that she would eventually come around. It had been good between them, so why should she remain aloof?

  Thoughts of April brought back memories of another woman, the gentle, doe-eyed, dark-haired Juanita, and Rance tried to shield himself from those memories, which were both tender and raw. Juanita. Good Lord, had it really been three years?

  He had never been able to truthfully admit that he loved the beautiful Mexican girl, but who could say that he had not? He only knew that now she was gone from him forever, and he would never know what might have been.

  They met when he went to Mexico to buy horses for a man he had been working for in Kentucky. They had shared hot, sweet passion unlike any he had ever known. When it was time for him to leave, she had begged him to take her along. He refused, preferring his freedom, while promising to return to her one day.

  But that day did not come until a year later, and when he did return to the sq
ualid little village on the border, Juanita’s mother had tearfully told him that her daughter had died in childbirth. Was it his child? Who could say? The baby, a boy, had also died.

  He swam in Tequila for a month, finally fighting his way back from hell by telling himself that fate was responsible. Fate, not him. And he sure as hell couldn’t spend the rest of his life hating himself for something he could not help now.

  But on a lonely night, with the wind in the pines and the sound of a bobcat calling lustily to his mate, he thought of those doe eyes and knew that he had loved her in his way. And if he had not left her, she might still be alive. He lived with that, every day.

  Rance shook his head to clear it. The past was just that—past. No need to torture himself. Juanita was dead. His son, if it was his son, was also dead. There had been women before and after. And now, there was April.

  April Jennings was a beautiful woman. Long, silky hair the color of gold. Eyes as blue as the sky beyond a rainbow. Her body was sculptured to perfection—large firm breasts like honeydew melons with nipples as succulent and sweet as wild mountain berries.

  He reflected, briefly, on her twin. Damn, but Vanessa was a cunning bitch. He had sent a scout to check out April’s story. It was all true. Vanessa was running things, and the old man was said to be tetched. The fool he had beat in the horse race was still around, along with his partner, another low-life.

  Rance figured he was doing April a favor by keeping her. She was better off away from Pinehurst. There was no telling what a she-devil like Vanessa might do if April got in her way.

  And he planned to make April like staying with him. It was going to be good for both of them. He had been sure of it since their last night together.