DangerousPassion (19 page)

Tookie’s brows pushed together in confusion. “I could sell the horse and—“

“Just do like you’ve been told!” Edgar whispered through teeth clenched in anger, his voice rising sufficiently to draw the attention of the other three gunmen in Tookie’s gang. To them, Edgar said, “Mind your own goddamned business. When I want you to know something, I’ll come out and tell you straight to your face. Until that happens, keep your eyes open and your mouths shut.”

The men all bristled at the open insults, but none dared openly confront the well-dressed banker riding the stately palomino.

“I’m going back to the bank,” Edgar told Tookie. “Make sure nobody sees you going to Sarah’s homestead. And once the fire’s going, don’t ride straight back to Deadwood. Make sure you’re not being followed. Come see me tomorrow at
noon
at Pamela’s G’s. I’ll give you and your boys a nice bonus.”

Tookie nodded his understanding. He had never eaten at Pamela G’s restaurant, though it was the most exclusive eatery in Deadwood.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Patterson,” Tookie said after a moment. “Me an’ the boys’ll do a good job for you. There won’t be a twig left standing on her homestead.”

“There’d better not be,” Edgar replied, then tapped his spurs to the palomino’s flanks.

The horse bolted into an easy trot it could maintain for hours. Edgar felt markedly better astride the palomino now that Tookie and his gang were receding in the distance. Edgar accepted as fact that Tookie and his ilk were necessary cogs in the gears of the Patterson profit-making machine
¾
he just wished that didn’t actually have to see, talk, or hear the man or his minions.

Edgar tapped his heels to the mare. He needed to get to the bank, where everyone could see him, before the smoke started filling the sky. He wanted there to be plenty of witnesses who could testify where he was and what he was doing when his fiancée’s home and barn went up in flames like a tinderbox.

* * * *

“What’s going through that brain of yours, Edgar Patterson?” Sarah asked, standing in the doorway to his office at the bank.

Edgar leaned back in his swivel chair as he laced his fingers behind his neck. The buttons of his vest nearly popped at the pressure put on them. Wealth, and a penchant for the delicious apple and blueberry pies (and always topped with a generous scoop of the vanilla ice cream she had imported from St. Louis in a refrigerated freight railcar) sold at Pamela G’s restaurant located just a mere one hundred yards from the bank, had been adding steadily to his girth for going on two years now—though he seemed oblivious to the inescapable fact that the new wardrobe he bought each year had to be a size or more larger than the previous year.

“I was just wondering when you’d finally make up your mind on a date to get married, Sarah,” Edgar replied after several seconds. In a tone less cordial, he added, “You still haven’t given me a date.”

Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. This was not the conversation she wanted to have with her fiancé. For weeks she had been avoiding the question. Now, after having had her eyes opened in a thousand different ways by an utterly enigmatic and thoroughly erotic man named Derek Jordan, Sarah most definitely didn’t want to engage in that particular topic of conversation.

“Edgar, there are a lot of things going on in my life right now that—“

“Yes, I know, you’ve told me all about your brother,” he said sharply, cutting her off. His tone suggested something less than empathy toward her financial plight. “The instant you marry me, he won’t be a financial burden to you.”

Suddenly discovering that a lie might be much more palatable to Edgar than the truth, Sarah adopted an expression of utter seriousness. She replied, “He’s my responsibility, not yours.” Edgar’s eyes focused on her, and Sarah knew she’d better make the lie one that her so-called fiancé wouldn’t want to hear. “My darling, if you married me now, you’d be burdened with my burdens. That wouldn’t be fair to you. I couldn’t look myself in the mirror if I knew that our marriage had caused you to become liable for all of my brother’s medical bills.”

Edgar cocked his head a little to one side, looking rather comically like a dog who has heard a sound it doesn’t recognize. In a low, wary tone he asked, “What do you mean by saying that his bills would become my bills?”

Sarah batted her lashes and looked away, showing in her posture and demeanor that she was searching her memory. She could feel Edgar’s eyes upon her, studying her, waiting for her next sentence—and she knew it had to be a good one! Lying didn’t come naturally to Sarah, but despite her inexperience she knew that her next one she told would have to be the most believable one of her life.

“I’m certain that I read about it in the newspaper several months ago,” Sarah said, dissembling as she went on. “The territorial governor signed the law into effect. It had to do with a husband assuming the responsibilities of his wife’s financial obligations.” Liking the way the lie sounded—and, more importantly, liking the way that Edgar had suddenly gone pale—Sarah leaned toward Edgar, and said in words barely above a whisper, “I just couldn’t hold my head up with pride if I knew that our marriage forced you to pay the bills from that sanitarium in Colorado. My brother’s getting better, but he’ll still have to be there for months and months, and there’s no real telling what that will cost.”

Unable to look Sarah directly in the eyes, Edgar turned his chair toward the windows and said, somewhat ambiguously, “I had no idea our marriage might be so…expensive.”

Sarah studied his expression—afraid that she would put a curse upon herself for thinking bad thoughts, yet desperately wanting Edgar to be the one to call off the wedding. Should she suggest, softly but with great sincerity, that she would understand if Edgar didn’t want to marry her? He might jump at the idea. But, then again, particularly when one considered how many times he’d demanded a date for their wedding—which she always ignored—her plea of understanding might well come off as being the lie that it was.

“Step into the office, Sarah,” Edgar said quietly, turning his chair to face her. “What we’re discussing shouldn’t become grist for gossip by Ellie Mae and the others.”

Sarah stepped into Edgar’s office and closed the door behind her—and did it without fear or apprehension.

“I’m so glad you’re being understanding about—“

Sarah’s words were cut off in mid-sentence when Edgar grabbed her by the shoulders, twisting and pushing her simultaneously until her back was against the oak paneled wall, and leaned into her, his fleshy lips searching for hers.

“Edgar! What are you—“

This time her sentence was cut off by Edgar’s mouth, which was fleshy and slippery with an overabundance of saliva when it sealed over hers. The kiss was painfully harsh, punishing, defiling. The hands that went rapidly from Sarah’s shoulders to her breasts were no less unpleasant, masculine fingers that had never known a callus digging painfully deep into pliant feminine mounds.

She had been kissed before by Edgar, but now that she had Derek to compare him to, the sensation of having her fiancé’s lips pressing hungrily, desperately against her own was so offensive it nearly made her retch. Twisting her head around sharply, she ended the kiss. Even more shockingly, she put her hands on Edgar’s chest and shoved with all her might. With her back to the wall, and Edgar flat-footed and self-assured, the banker went toppling backward, landing first on his fleshy backside, and then tumbling backward further until his head connected rather soundly (with a resonating thunk!) against the hardwood floor.

He immediately pushed himself to a sitting position. The look in his eyes was murderous, and Sarah saw it for precisely what it was. But then, after only a few seconds, the expression evolved into one of imperious benevolence.

“Obviously, I made a mistake,” Edgar said.

He had to roll over onto his hands and knees before he could push himself up to a standing position. Watching his laborious moves, Sarah was appalled at the coordination difference between Derek and Edgar. It was like trying to compare the sleek, effortless agility of an alpha wolf to the movements of an aging, overfed housedog. One was primal; one was a pet. Sarah, coming to this awareness, damn near laughed aloud.

“I do apologize, dear,” Edgar said conversationally, as though he hadn’t just been knocked on his ass by a woman. “Perhaps it’s best I get back to work. When the work day’s done, I’ll give you a ride back home to your homestead.” He smiled openly, without malice—and that, in itself, was enough to make Sarah suspicious. “And I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”

Sarah was trying hard to not smile victoriously. Straight-faced and pretending affront, she replied, “Thank you, Edgar. That will be appreciated.” And then she left her fiancé’s office, hoping and praying that she would never again have to be sullied by his lips touching hers, his slender fingers touching her breasts, his tongue searching for a response that he could never possibly inspire from her.

* * * *

Ellie Mae stepped up to Sarah’s elbow as she worked at her high, slanted desk. Sarah looked at her and smiled, but Ellie Mae did not smile back.

“Are you angry with me?” Sarah asked in a whisper. She had spent a lot of time thinking about the things that she had done with Ellie Mae, but no amount of cogitation seemed sufficient to bring mental clarity. “If you are, I’m very sorry. I wouldn’t ever want to do anything that would destroy our friendship.”

Ellie Mae gave her had an almost imperceptible shake. Her eyes flittered left and right to make sure that her words would only be heard by Sarah. “I was just wondering if you were mad at me.”

Sarah’s brow furrowed, and she felt an instant sense of relief. “Why would I be mad at you?”

Ellie Mae stepped even closer. “Let’s face it, Derek’s your beau, not mine. You were decent enough to let me experience”—words failed her for a moment, before the single, perfect word came once again to mind—“divine. Yes, you allow me to experience divine by loving me enough to share Derek. That’s something I’ll never be able to thank you enough for.”

Sarah made a passing move with her hand as though to physically wipe away any sense of obligation. Ellie Mae shook her head, refusing to let friend so casually diminish her indebtedness.

“It wasn’t just Derek, it was you, too,” Ellie Mae whispered as her cheeks began to color with embarrassment. “You…well, we both know what you did to me.” This brought color to Sarah’s cheeks as well. “But I didn’t…um…repay the favor. I feel like there’s an obligation to you that I haven’t fulfilled.” The tip of her tongue slipped out to moisten lips that had suddenly gone dry. “W-With Derek inside me and your tongue…” Her eyes closed, and a shiver worked its way through her slender body. With wonderment in her tone, she added, “My God, Sarah, the things that I felt. I can’t possibly find the right words to describe what I experienced.” She shivered again, then looked Sarah straight in the eyes and squared her shoulders. “So whenever you want me to repay the favor, all you have to do is ask.”

Sarah smiled, but before she could think of the right reply, Susan Murchison and Amanda Nichols, friends of hers as well as Ellie Mae’s, walked into the bank. From inside his office, Edgar called out in his annoyingly imperious voice, “Come into my office, ladies.”

“What do you suppose that’s about?” Sarah asked, quite willing to let the topic of conversation take a radical change. But in the back of her mind she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have Derek’s cock inside her pussy while Ellie Mae licked her clitoris.

Chapter Thirteen

Twenty minutes later, Sarah watched as her friends stepped out of Edgar’s office, both looking rather white-faced and shaken. Sarah noticed that Edgar hadn’t bothered to be gentlemanly enough to escort the women to his office door, much less out of the bank. In fact, he hadn’t even shown them the respect of rising out of his chair.

To Ellie Mae, Sarah whispered, “Go after them. Find out what Edgar did that’s got them both looking white as ghosts.”

“I can’t leave my desk! Mr. Patterson would—“

“You just let me worry about Edgar,” Sarah replied sharply.

Ellie Mae hurried out of the bank, her departure unnoticed by Edgar. Sarah eased out of her chair and was halfway to Edgar’s door when Jerome Patterson stepped into the bank. Striding purposefully, he stepped into his son’s office.

“We’ll have that chicken ranch soon,” Edgar said, smiling. “And at a price you’ll like.”

Jerome’s back was to Sarah as he nodded. “Good. But just to be on the safe side, send a couple boys to their house ‘round midnight. Let them know that the price keeps going down the longer they hold out.” He chuckled, and the sound of his soft laughter made Sarah feel hollow inside. There was no joy in the sound that Jerome emitted. Just heartless greed and kingly ambition. “And send some riders over to that other place by the chicken ranch. Scare the hell out of them.”

“Sure,” Edgar replied. “I know the place you’re talking about. A father and some of his boys.”

Sarah went back to her desk, her head spinning. She had known that Edgar and Jerome were evil, but nothing her imagination had concocted could prepare her for the truth—that the Pattersons were prepared to use violence to get property they wanted. Even worse, they were prepared to use violence against women.

She heard Edgar say, “Come on in and close the door. It’s been one hell of a good day.”

Sarah went back to her desk, her heart beating furiously, her breath coming in desperate little gulps. She had to warn Amanda Nichols and Susan Murchison that bad men were coming. And who had property near their poultry farm? Someone else was going to have a very bad night, as well. Sarah wished she knew who to warn.

* * * *

The tears rolled silently down Sarah’s cheeks. She sat speechless with sorrow in Edgar’s lavish carriage, staring at the smoldering remains of what had been her house and barn. The unmistakable stench of burning flesh and hair told her that her mare had died in the barn.

“This wasn’t an accident,” Sarah whispered, then sobbed. She had lost everything. Everything.

“Had it been just your house or just your barn, it might have been an accident. Both burning tells me that this fire was intentionally set,” Edgar replied.

Edgar put his arm around Sarah’s shoulders. She flinched at his touch and pushed his arm away. “Please don’t,” she said.

“I’m only trying to comfort you.”

There was no doubt in Sarah’s mind as to who was responsible for the fire. Edgar. He wasn’t the one who actually set the blaze, but he was surely the one who gave the orders. Though she wanted to curse and scream and shout of her hatred for the man—for now the only real emotion in Sarah toward Edgar was one of utter contempt—she also new that she couldn’t allow him to either be aware of her real emotions, or let him know that she could see through his false businessman’s facade to the unspeakably vile monster that was so carefully hidden.

“Come home with me,” Edgar said quietly. “There are plenty of rooms. You’ll have everything you could ever wish for. Come home with me, Sarah. You’ll live like a queen.”

Sarah dabbed at her eyes with a white handkerchief already damp with tears. “No, that wouldn’t look right. Will you please take me back to town? I…I can stay with Ellie Mae until I can figure out what to do next.”

“I don’t give a damn about appearances or about what anyone in Deadwood thinks,” Edgar continued. “Come home with me. You can have a room to yourself. Hell, you can have a whole wing to yourself. And don’t worry about appearances because if somebody starts talking, I’ll make sure they shut up quick. Real damned quick.”

By having your hired gunmen beat them up or kill them?
Sarah knew that she could never put such thoughts to words.

“Please, just take me to Ellie Mae’s.”

Edgar slapped the reins to his carriage horse, muttering, “You can be the most stubborn woman Deadwood’s ever seen…”

* * * *

Derek and Sarah arrived at the poultry farm shortly after
eight o’clock
. Since Sarah had lost everything in the fire except the clothes she had worn that morning, Derek had paid for the rented fifteen-year-old gelding from the livery stable, along with a saddle that looked every bit as old as the animal. But the horse, to its credit, was gentle, well-trained, and sure-footed—necessary requirements, since Sarah had ridden in a saddle less than a dozen times in her life.

“Jerome told Edgar to send some men here around midnight,” Sarah explained, inside the house but still standing near the front door. “We’ve still got hours to prepare.”

Susan, younger than her friend and feisty enough to have refused marriage repeatedly, said through clenched teeth, “That bastard told us that if we didn’t sell out to him within a week that we could expect accidents to start happening. Amanda and I have worked hard building up this place. We’ve got nearly two dozen brooding hens, and three times that many butchering and stew-pot chickens. In a year, maybe two, we’ll have twenty times that number.” She looked to Amanda for confirmation. “Folks in Deadwood like their eggs and chickens fresh, and we can deliver.”

Derek, standing behind Sarah, said, “But you can’t make a profit if you’re dead. And it’s damned hard to earn a living when everything you’ve got burns to the ground. What happened to Sarah’s homestead could happen here, too. Tonight is most likely just going to be a show of force, a little something to scare you. Later on, Edgar won’t play around. If he wants this property, he’ll just burn everything to the ground—most likely with you two in it. He’s a man who takes what he wants.” He put his hands on Sarah’s shoulders, and sighed softly, tired of dangerous, vile men foisting their grandiose schemes on an unsuspecting world. “I hope you’ve got some guns around this place.”

The nearest ranch belonged to friends of Susan’s and Amanda’s, a man in his fifties with his two sons in their late teens. They had been trying for years to scratch out a living selling beef and leather to merchants in Deadwood while at the same time prospecting in the hills for gold. At best, the man and his sons had been moderately successful in both business ventures.

“You can’t miss their place,” Susan said to Derek. “Follow the road maybe three-quarters of a mile. It’s just over the hill. You’ll see it on your right.”

Sarah said, “Go warn them, then hurry back. Please? I’ll stay here.”

“I’ll hot-foot it both ways,” Derek promised. He started for the door.

“Wait,” Sarah said quickly. She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed his mouth lightly. For several seconds their gazes held, then Derek eased his long arms around Sarah’s waist, pulled her voluptuous body in tight against his own, and slanted his mouth firmly over Sarah’s. She trembled, opening her mouth to receive his questing tongue. By the time the kiss finally ended, Sarah’s face was flushed and her heart was pounding.

“Any of you know how to use a
Winchester
?” Derek asked as he gently but firmly pushed Sarah to arm’s length.

“I do,” Susan said quickly.

“I’ll leave my rifle with you then. Anybody shows up that’s not me, shoot first and ask questions later.” He flashed a charming rogue’s smile. “But do make sure it’s not me.”

* * * *

Derek was back at the poultry ranch in just over thirty minutes. The neighbors were at first suspicious of Derek, but it didn’t take long to convince the father and his sons that the real threat was Edgar Patterson and his repellent father, Jerome. Assuming the worst of the Pattersons was an easy thing to do.

After tying up his horse behind the brooder house beside Sarah’s rented gelding, Derek approached the front door while holding his hands up at shoulder height, fingers splayed to prove he wasn’t holding a weapon. The sun was setting, and it would only be a couple minutes before complete darkness enveloped Dakota. Derek didn’t want to get shot in a case of mistaken identity.

“Hail the house! It’s me. I’m back,” he called out.

The front door opened immediately. Sarah stood there, her face in shadows with her body outlined in candlelight. Derek was nearly to the door when he noticed Sarah’s inscrutable smile.

“What’s going on?” Derek asked, keeping his voice low so that only Sarah could hear. There was something in her smile that he didn’t understand.

“Come on in. We need to talk to you.”

Sarah turned sideways to allow Derek to enter the house, but as he passed her, she leaned forward just enough so that his arm brushed across the tips of her breasts. Derek looked into Sarah’s eyes, and in those emerald green depths he saw a glittering amusement that hadn’t been there earlier.

“I’ll ask again. What’s going on?”

Sarah grinned and avoided his eyes. Derek put his hands on his hips and turned so that he faced Sarah directly, looking down at her from a twelve-inch height advantage. Sarah stepped close and placed her palms lightly on his chest. When she turned her gaze up to his, her jewel-like eyes were glimmering.

“Susan and Amanda have been my good friends for a couple years now,” Sarah said, her voice low, intimate. Susan’s thirty-one years old and she’s never been married. Amanda’s thirty-four and already she’s a widow. Her husband died four years ago of pneumonia.”

Derek’s gaze warmed as it went up and down over his lover’s curvaceous figure before settling on her face. He said, “I get the feeling someone’s been talking.”

Sarah nodded. Her fingertips toyed with the buttons of Derek’s black cotton shirt. “But it wasn’t me, darling. It was Ellie Mae.” Derek made a growling sound of annoyance deep in his chest, and Sarah chuckled, a sound that never failed to please him enormously. “Don’t be angry with her, darling.”

Derek decided he liked Sarah’s new habit of calling him ‘darling.’ Glancing around the small home, he couldn’t see either of the homeowners. “So Ellie Mae did a little kissing and telling?”

Sarah nodded. “She kept things pretty vague, so I don’t know if Susan and Amanda know what exactly it is I did with Ellie Mae, but they’ve got a pretty good idea that you’re something special.” Sarah’s right hand drifted from Derek’s chest down to his stomach, her touch feather-soft and yet shockingly evocative. “To be specific, Ellie Mae said that being with you was—and this is the word she apparently used with some frequency—‘divine.’ And, darling, since Ellie Mae has already made you nearly a demi-god in the eyes of Susan and Amanda, they were wondering if you wouldn’t mind too terribly much if you could introduce them to what ‘divine’ feels like. Is that possible?”

“How many friends do you have that need whatever divinity I can provide?”

“These are the last. I promise.” Sarah’s eyes narrowed slightly. The fingers of her right hand drifted to Derek’s belt buckle. “I’m getting possessive of you, darling. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am. I want to keep you all to myself. If only there were more men like you, then I wouldn’t have to share you. But there isn’t anyone else like you, Derek Jordan. You’re a one-of-a-kind. So I guess I have to share.”