Distant Thunder

by Lisa Bingham

  Susan let out a low groan. The four men fairly reeked of the sour smell of whiskey. There was no one else in the house but the children. If she screamed and one of them came down to see this … She swallowed back the horror.

  “That’s better. Much, much better.” The man nodded approvingly. With a slashing gesture, he motioned for his friends to move forward on either side, encircling her in a frighteningly male ring.

  The pockmarked man’s eyes glittered in the lamplight. “Now,” he slurred, “I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to. Crocker has perfected the art of interfering in family business. I intend to return the favor.”

  He edged nearer, his thighs pressing into hers, his breath heavy with the stench of whiskey and some other, sickly odor that smelled very much like laudanum or opium. He cupped her chin, his fingers digging into her skin. Susan felt the sting of frustration and anger.

  “I’m going to have you, Susan,” he taunted. “You know that, don’t you? I’m going to show you what it’s like to be in the arms of a man.” His breath was hot on her cheek. “The arms of a real man. When I’ve finished you’ll beg for more. And when I can’t give it to you, my brothers will take their turns.”

  Susan tried to block out the swirling blackness as ghosts from the past tumbled forward full force. Dear heaven! Wasn’t there some way she could prevent this from happening? Daniel. What would Daniel have her do?

  She sank her teeth into the hand of the man who held her, and he swore, releasing her. Suddenly she was free and running toward the doors leading into the hall.

  The pockmarked man caught her wrists, whirled her to face him, then pinned her arms to her sides and savagely hauled her close to his chest.

  His lips became hard. “Such eagerness. I like that in a woman.”

  Susan opened her mouth to scream, then remembered the children.

  “That’s right.” He chuckled. “Remember those damned brats.” He grasped the neck of her nightgown and pulled down, rending the garment in two. Crying out, Susan clutched at the torn halves, vainly trying to shield herself from her captors’ lewd stares.

  The clatter of hooves split the morning air.

  The youngest man whirled toward the window. “Crocker,” he muttered fiercely.

  The leader snatched Susan closer to his body. When she tenaciously gripped the fabric over her breasts, he ripped a long tear down the back of her nightgown.

  “So what?” he crowed. “There’s four of us. He’s not about to help her now.”

  “Damn it, Grant, the man’s a Pinkerton,” Nate warned.

  “So what?” Grant took hold of Susan’s shoulder and spun her around to face the other men. “What can he do?” He pulled her roughly against his hips. “Look at her. Do you want to give all this up simply because Crocker has made an untimely arrival?”

  His brothers lost some of their alcohol-induced bravery and edged toward the window. “Now’s not the time, Grant.” The sound of hooves grew louder.

  Nate parted the curtains and peered out into the darkness. “Damn it, he knows we’re here! He’s seen our horses. He’s got the law on his side, Grant. No one’s ever going to refute the word of a Pinkerton.”

  Grant turned her to face him and bent Susan’s head back over his arm, grinding his lips to her own, crushing her mouth against her teeth. Susan sobbed, tasting her own blood. But when his tongue probed at her lips, she kept her jaw tightly clenched to prevent his savage invasion. Horror shuddered through her body. She felt herself losing control.

  “Grant! Come on!”

  Grant pushed her away, then backhanded her across the face, splitting her lip. Susan fell to the floor as he stumbled to the window. Behind her she heard the heavy footfalls of the man who had first held her. Warily she lifted her head, fear and anger filling her breast. The man stood above her, feet planted apart, his face filled with a burning, violent emotion as he stared at her battered face. The oddly flattened shape of his face caused the dim light to give him an evil cast, like some medieval dragon.

  “Marvin!”

  Executing a mocking bow, the man backed toward the window and escaped into the darkness as Grant gripped the sash.

  “Don’t think this is the end. I’ll be back to collect,” he rasped. “Go ahead and bed your Pinkerton. Crocker owes me for what he’s done. I’ll use you to make him pay. Again and again … and again.” He climbed out the window and closed it with a sharp crash.

  Susan lay on the floor, shivering violently amid the torn remnants of her nightgown. Dark, stagnant sobs lay trapped in her throat, burning her with their searing pressure. Through a haze of misery she heard Daniel’s boots pounding up the walk even as Grant and his men disappeared into the darkness.

  The front door flew open. Daniel stood sharply etched in the doorway.

  Susan cringed, shrinking into herself, attempting to disappear into the braided rug and polished pine boards. When Daniel stepped into the room, she leapt to her feet. An animal-like hiss escaped from her clenched teeth. “Don’t touch me!”

  Daniel’s heart lurched. He stopped, his arms held wide as if to prove he wouldn’t harm her. Very slowly he eased forward, but she retreated, pressing herself against the flocked wallpaper.

  He fought to contain the fury raging through him. He couldn’t let her see his anger, his thirst for vengeance. It would only scare her more. He noted the jagged edges of her gown and the rumpled fabric clutched to her waist. What had happened in those hours he’d been gone?

  Cautiously, as if he were approaching a wild animal, Daniel drew the coat from his shoulders. When Susan flinched, he paused, his heart pounding. Then he held the jacket out toward her. Wordlessly she bunched her gaping gown with one fist while the other took the proffered garment and slipped it over her shoulders.

  “Hell and damnation!” Daniel said. Her skin was covered with bruises. Her head reared and she shot a terrified glance in his direction. Knowing no way to allay her pain, he muttered harshly, “Damn them all to hell for hurting you.”

  At his outburst, some of her courage returned to stiffen her resolve.

  “How did they get in?” Daniel rasped.

  Her lashes trembled with the diamondlike glint of tears. She pointed to the window of the parlor. “Th-the back of the house.”

  Daniel silently berated himself for his own stupidity. He never should have left her alone. In his impatience to see Kutter, he’d left her without protection—something he knew better than to do. Then, instead of coming home immediately, he’d ridden to his spread of land.

  “How badly did they … touch you?”

  He longed to soothe her and fold her in his arms, but he knew that would be the worst thing he could do right now.

  Susan’s chin wobbled with her attempt at control. “He threatened to … to …”

  Her words faltered into silence. In the dim lamplight her features were sharp and pinched, her skin ashen. Then her chest shook with a ragged breath.

  “He hurt me, Daniel,” she whispered. “He hurt me.”

  To Daniel’s surprise, she moved toward him then, stopping inches away. As if unsure how her actions would be greeted, she lifted her arms and rested them lightly on his chest.

  “He hurt me,” she whispered again, slipping her hands up to his shoulders and circling his neck. “I’ve seen one of the men before. He stopped me a few days ago on my way to Ashton, but I didn’t tell you. I should have told you. I didn’t know who he was, but he was asking about the Pinkertons. I should have told you.”

  “Shh.” Daniel pulled her into a gentle embrace. “Never again,” he vowed. “Never again will anyone harm you.”

  She laid her head on his shoulder, her fingers digging into his back. But there was a difference in their embrace. In the past Daniel had always comforted her, shielding her from her own fears. This time her body trembled with an unmasked fury. A fury directed at the men who had been so cruel.

  “I hat
e them, Daniel!” she whispered into his ear. “I hate them all for making me feel helpless and weak.”

  He traced the line of her spine disguised by the bulky fur of his coat. “I know, Susan. I know.”

  “I’ll show them. I’ll show them what it’s like to be … afraid! And to want and to need and never be able to have.”

  “Shh.”

  “They’ll be sorry, Daniel. They’ll be sorry they ever tangled with me. I’ll show them they can’t hurt me. I’ll show them I can be normal and … and loving. Just like any other woman.” She drew back, and her eyes glittered in the dim light like bits of green glass. “They said they would come back. But if they do, they’ll be sorry!”

  Daniel sensed that Susan was right. The Dooleys would return. If not tonight, then tomorrow, or the next day. Once again they had been cheated of their pleasures. They weren’t about to forget it or to let things rest.

  His arms tightened around Susan, and he valiantly strove to keep his own fury at bay. The Dooleys would never hurt another hair on Susan’s head. Daniel would see to that.

  Chapter 20

  Esther closed the door to Mr. Gibby’s bedroom and tiptoed into the sitting room beyond. “Donovan?” she coaxed, gently shaking her husband’s shoulder.

  Donovan awoke with a start. “What? What do you need?”

  She rubbed his chest in a soothing manner. “Nothing. Why don’t you go home? I’ll need to stay here until this evening at the very least. Go get some sleep in a real bed.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “I can stay. I don’t mind.”

  “Donovan, go home,” she insisted. “Susan will need your help once the children wake up. Go.”

  Yawning, he pushed himself to his feet. “Nag, nag, nag,” he teased, bending to kiss her. “I’ll be back after breakfast.”

  Essie’s face took on a distracted air. A frown settled between her brows.

  “Essie?”

  “Hmm?”

  Donovan lifted her chin. “Is something wrong?”

  She sighed. “Mr. Gibby is … not well.”

  He waited, sensing she had not said all she planned to.

  “Donovan, before his wife’s death, Mr. Gibby had been married for forty years. He has eight beautiful daughters scattered all over Wyoming and yet the name he calls out in his delirium is Daniel’s.”

  “Not our Daniel.”

  “He calls out for Daniel,” she insisted. “The Pinkerton.”

  Donovan froze in the act of lifting his hat. The couple exchanged a telling glance. No words needed to be said. They had been married too many years and had weathered too many storms together to have to speak their mind. Donovan knew Essie was concerned about Mr. Gibby’s behavior. He didn’t need to be told that she wanted him to investigate the pharmacist’s strange remarks and try to make some sense of them.

  “I don’t think the fire was an accident, Donovan. Could Daniel have been involved somehow?”

  “I’ll take a lantern with me and swing by Mr. Gibby’s store. It shouldn’t take me long to look around a bit before I head home.”

  She stopped him and pulled him close. “Be careful. Please, please, be careful.”

  Daniel dipped a square of soft cotton into a basin of warm water and lifted it to the blood that trickled from the split in Susan’s lip. When he touched the gaping skin, she recoiled.

  “Which man did this to you?”

  “Grant. They called him Grant.”

  “Bastard!” A white-hot fury blazed in his eyes when he realized that the Dooleys’ assault on Susan had been a personal attack against him. He’d unwittingly put her in danger.

  She grasped his wrist. Their gazes locked, and she stared at him with such fiery intensity that Daniel felt the anger fading from his body to be replaced by an unexpected wonder. What should have been a horrible scare had only intensified her determination to put the past behind her.

  “Daniel?” He focused on the fullness of her lower lip. In the lamplight it was plunged in shadow, making it appear softer than velvet, smoother than satin. “Where have you been? I thought you would come home hours ago.”

  Still dressed in his shaggy coat, Susan looked tiny and defenseless … and inexplicably desirable.

  “What?” he muttered abstractedly.

  “Where have you been?”

  Her eyes were so dark, so full of life, so vibrant.

  “Out. I’ve been out.”

  Her grip became urgent. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you? You still want me to … go with you?”

  With that question, she relayed the extent of her fears and the breadth of her trust. He knew that if he told her to accompany him, remain his friend but never his lover, she would. The power she unwittingly offered him was both thrilling and terrifying.

  Her skin was pale compared to his own, her hands soft and slender. “No, I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  Her voice was husky, and like a shot of whiskey it burned its way over his nerve endings, spreading a trail of fire. Earlier he had accused Susan of wanting more out of life than what she had. Now he realized the comment applied to him as well. He not only wanted more, he wanted it all.

  “Daniel?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I met with my superior and told him about leaving the Pinkertons.” He dropped the cloth into the pan of warm water. “I think it’s time I settled down.”

  Susan held her breath. “What did he say?”

  “I can leave after I help with one last assignment.”

  “What kind of assignment?”

  He brushed the tangled auburn hair away from her face. “It’s not important. I’ll be done by the end of the week.”

  “Then you’ll resign and leave Ashton?”

  Daniel tore his eyes away from the vulnerability in her face. When he didn’t immediately speak, Susan released him.

  Since her nearness threatened to weaken his control, Daniel jumped to his feet and strode across the room. He pulled the curtain aside and stared out into the blackness. “I want … I’d like …” Why were the words so hard to say? Why were they dammed up in his throat like a lump of clay?

  Daniel turned to face her, noting her earnest expression. But there was more than that. He saw steely determination as well. He paused, undecided. Was he being unfair? Would she be happier with another man?

  She followed him and placed her small hand on his arm. Daniel nearly flinched. She had so much to give a man, if only he’d take the time to unlock her pain, to understand her needs and heal the wounds.

  His fingers curled. Then, unable to stop himself, he stroked her cheek. She was so soft, so young—and so damned beautiful. Could he resist her vibrant beauty day after day, night after night, and give her the time she needed?

  “I won’t be a bother to you, Daniel. I can cook and clean.”

  “I want more.”

  She drew back, her lower lip slipping beneath her teeth. “Then you don’t want me?”

  “Oh, sweetheart, yes, I want you. All of you, everything you can give me.” His voice was heavy with emotion. Yet he still hesitated, knowing once he’d spoken, the die would be cast and he could never withdraw the words. By even issuing his proposition, Daniel was abandoning every code he’d lived by since he’d left the orphanage fourteen years ago. He was putting himself in a position where someone would need him. Not just now, but for the rest of his life. In the past, whenever someone needed him, tragedy had struck. Annie had died because he’d loved her. And Mama. He’d even endangered Miss Essie long ago, when he’d tried to defend her and had killed a boy in a brawl. Daniel had begun to believe that bad luck followed him like a hungry shadow.

  But he couldn’t let Susan go.

  His hand dropped to his side, and he watched her carefully, studying the tilt of her head, the taut line of her jaw. “Marry me.”

  Silence reigned in the room, marked only by the echo of Daniel
’s words as he waited and watched her reaction, seeing her shift from incredulity to wonder to doubt.

  “Why, Daniel?”

  The question startled him. He hadn’t expected her to jump and squeal, exactly, but he hadn’t anticipated this, either.

  Why? What could he say? That he’d grown soft in the head and needy? That she’d wound herself like a morning glory around his heart?

  Uncomfortable with revealing the truth, he said instead, “Because I always took care of you when you were little and now …” Hurt flared in her eyes. He broke off and cursed under his breath. “No. That’s not the reason.”

  “Then why?”

  He felt something akin to pain slice through him when the coat slipped, exposing Susan’s creamy shoulder. A shoulder that was soft and feminine and mottled with new bruises.

  Daniel tenderly lifted the jacket back into place. With that single touch, his loins burned with the urgency of a schoolboy.

  “Daniel?” There was no fear in her voice, only confusion.

  As she stared at him with huge, startled eyes, Daniel knew that—more than anything else—he longed to see the moment when Susan awakened to passion and discovered life had much more to offer than the fear of the unknown.

  He could not deny the overwhelming greed he felt to have her in his life, to be the man to free her. He knew that one day he would be punished for his greed. In the past he had always been punished for wanting.

  But things are different now, a little voice inside him argued. He was older, wiser. He knew how to protect himself. And he could protect Susan, too. His streak of bad luck had ended when he followed Susan to Ashton. If something happened to him for wanting her, then he was willing to pay the price for a few sweet hours in her company. He’d been alone for so long. Surely, by helping to release her fears, he would satisfy any debt of happiness he might incur in heaven.

  “Daniel, why would you want me to marry you?”

  Her soft hand rested on his chest, and Daniel’s stomach tightened. He had a sudden taste of the agony he would endure in the future. Susan might never know the passion of a woman. The fears locked deep inside her mind would not simply vanish because he willed them to. But that was a chance he was ready to take.