Passion's Fury (18 page)

She could feel his hot, harsh breathing in her ear, the pounding of his wildly beating heart against her breasts. He moved furiously, hammering into her body relentlessly as she opened her legs wider to receive as much of him as possible. With a strangled cry, he gave one mighty push and released his passion inside her.

They clung together, naked flesh wet with the perspiration of their almost savage consummation.

He rolled away to lie on his back, pulling her close against him so that her head lay against his shoulder. Nuzzling her soft damp hair with his chin, he whispered teasingly, “After that, my sweet, even twice won’t be enough.”

She did not speak. A terrible sadness was wrenching her because she knew that twice would have to be enough. After this night, they would never again be together.

And she cursed herself for the silent tears that flowed down her cheeks as he lay sleeping beside her though the long, long night.

Chapter Eleven

Somewhere in the woods an unknown animal screamed mournfully. April ran her fingertips up and down her arms as she sat in her bed, felt the goosebumps upon her flesh. She would not let herself be frightened, she told herself. There was nothing to be afraid of. After all, when she left the ranch, there would be only an hour or so of darkness. She knew the road, had made sure that Mulhern or Hinton took her in that direction during her daily rides. She felt she knew every curve and bend in that road, and she figured it was only a distance of about three miles to the main road that would take her south, into Sylacauga. From there, when it was daylight, she would be able to cut through the woods, out of sight.

She knew that one of the two men would be outside sleeping on the porch, following Rance’s orders. She also knew that whichever one was on post, he would be sleeping soundly, probably snoring. With their boss away, they drank as much as they pleased. They usually fell into a drunken slumber and would not awaken till the morning sun hit them full in the face.

A week. It had been a week since Rance and his men left for Georgia with the herd of horses. How she had ached to leave during that week! But she had made herself wait in order to learn the route she would be taking in darkness.

The animal screamed again. A bobcat. There were plenty of them around, she had been told. She really had no reason to fear them, except at night. They were, Edward had explained, nocturnal animals, preying on small animals, chickens, and the like. But get one mad, he had warned her, or cornered, and the cat could be quite dangerous.

That last night with Rance still made her tremble and she knew she would always remember it. If he were another kind of man, and they had met under different circumstances, perhaps they might have shared a real love. But all they had was lust, plain and simple, and she would have to forget she had ever known Rance Taggart.

Her eyes grew heavy from want of sleep, but she did not dare give way to slumber. Moving slowly from the bed, she padded over to the window that opened onto the front porch. She pushed the curtain aside slightly. A quarter moon gave enough light that she could see a man’s sleeping form on the porch floor. He turned his face just a bit. It was Mulhern. Good. He drank more than Hinton. He would be dead to the world.

How much longer till day? She dared to strike a match and allowed the flame to burn just long enough to see the clock on the wall. Five o’clock. Another half hour, and she would leave.

She returned to the bed and sat down, drawing her knees up beneath her chin. Rance was going to be livid when he returned to find her gone. But there would be nothing he could do about it.

Restless, she paced the room. Finally, she decided she could wait no longer. As long as she remained in that room, she was going to work herself into a nervous frenzy.

She knelt beside the bed, felt beneath for the bundle of clothing she had taken earlier from Rance’s room. There was a pair of trousers—much too big, but perhaps there would be a rope in the stable for tying the waist. There was also a thick woolen shirt and an old coat. When she had dressed in Rance’s clothes, she pushed her long mane of hair up into an old straw hat she had found in the barn and hidden away. She hoped she looked like a man. She stared down at her high-top pointed shoes. They would be awkward for riding. But there were no boots to be had.

Her own clothes would all have to be left behind, for it would be an unnecessary nuisance to try and lug her bags along.

It was time to leave. Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned the doorknob, holding her breath and praying there would be no sound. There was not. Gingerly, she stepped into the big room, then moved slowly, stealthily to the door that led out behind the house. Once outside, the moonlight filtered down through the pines, guiding her toward the stable. Halfway across the clearing, she turned and could barely make out the sleeping form of Mulhern. Good. He had not awakened. Hinton would be in the bunkhouse, and that was farther away still, not even in sight. There was slim chance that he would hear her.

She went to the rear of the stable, carefully opening the wide doors. Earlier, she had rubbed lard into the hinges. Inside, the smell of manure, hay, and animal sweat made her nose wrinkle. It was deathly dark, and she moved from memory. The mare was in the third stall on the left. The saddle was slung over the railing on the right, the harness right beside it. For an instant, she panicked as one of the horses whinnied, pawing the ground, and she whispered to it soothingly. They were used to her. Good. The hours she had spent here memorizing every part of the building had paid off. The horses were not frightened of her.

She reached the mare’s stall, opened the gate, and slipped inside. Running her hand down her neck, she whispered to let the horse know who she was. Then she began to move faster. The saddle was heavy, awkward…She prayed she had the cinches adjusted right or she would spill to the ground when she tried to ride. The mare did not want to take the bit, and there was momentary struggling until it was in place.

She led the mare from the stable to the woods. Twigs snapped beneath the horse’s heavy feet, and April stopped to stare through the night toward the house, silhouetted vaguely in the shadows. If Mulhern did awaken, perhaps he would think there was only a possum or raccoon out here.

She moved deeper into the woods. The trees were thick and darkness was absolute. A panicky chill danced up and down her spine as she realized she was taking a chance on getting lost.

No, she thought fiercely. She knew this path. She had to keep going and make that road. Thorns ripped at her trousers, but she jerked ahead. Nothing could stop her, nothing. She had been away from home too long. She had to go back—had to.

It has to be here somewhere, her mind churned anxiously. The rocky, red clay road, just below the bend and out of sight of the house—that was where she would leave the woods. Behind her, the mare snorted, and she jumped, startled, stood still for a moment before moving on.

A soft cry of joy escaped her lips as the moon pointed the way to the road ahead. She quickly mounted the mare, urging her forward, still keeping her to a walking gait.

Was she far enough away? Dear Lord, she prayed so. Nudging the mare with her heels, she took her into a trot. The clip-clopping sound was not too loud, she decided. It was all she could do to restrain herself, for she wanted to move, get as far away from this place as possible. Be calm, she told herself, be calm.

The scream erupted everywhere at once. She was caught in the middle of it as though sucked into a maelstrom of sound. The horse reared up on her hind legs, front legs flailing the air. Something snapped beneath her—a cinch that had not been properly tightened. She dropped the reins and clutched the horse’s mane, knotting her fingers in the silky hair as she fought to hang on, to keep from falling to the ground beneath those wildly thrashing hooves. Her grip began to slip as the mare twisted, heaved, side-dancing in frenzy. April’s fingers were slipping, and then suddenly there was nothing to hold onto anymore, and she was falling to the ground. Instinct commanded her to roll quickly away from those deadly thrashing hooves. Rocks cut through her clothing, into her flesh, scraped the soft skin of her face. Scrubby undergrowth halted her spiraling movement. A moment later, she realized that the horse had turned and was running in panic back to the ranch.

She lay there struggling to breath against the churning choking pain that squeezed her chest. Her gaze turned upward, toward the shadowed trees above, and a silent scream parted her lips. Above, staring down at her like the eyes of satan, were the eyes of a bobcat.

The bobcat’s scream ripped through the night once again.

It was as though an unseen hand had suddenly, silently, drawn back the great curtain of night. A pale grayish pink mist swept across the sky. April could see the snarling yellow-gold cat as he perched upon the limb perhaps only ten feet above where she lay. Every instinct told her to run, but something held her still. She dared not breathe. Slowly, she allowed her constricting lungs to drink of the sweet air.

The cat’s mouth opened once more, displaying shining, ominous teeth. A thin rope of saliva connected pointed fangs. The growling from his throat was deep, gnarling. She watched in horror as he sprang easily, silently, to a limb even lower and closer. With small, stalking steps, his padded paws, claws protruding, moved along the limb until he reached a position directly above her face.

Was her life to end so abruptly and horribly? Was there to be no chance to return home to save her father? Was she to die here, like a wounded bird, as that vicious beast tore open her throat? She was helpless. One leap, and he would be on her. Silent prayers formed in her tortured brain, but she was unable to put words together.

She watched in astonishment as the lithe cat lowered himself to lie down on the branch. His eyes shone with hatred, and he licked his lips, as though enjoying her torment. She was his, and he could take her any time he pleased.

Moments passed. The cat continued to lick his face, but all the while he stared down at her with those glittering yellow teeth. The sky lightened. Now she could see every hair on his body.

Suddenly, in the distance behind her, the sound of thundering hooves filled the air. The cat heard it too and raised up once again, arching his back and howling another heart-stopping screech. He was poised, ready to leap, ears up and alert, his eyes steadily on his prey. Noise meant an intruder. Would it take away his treasure?

He sprang. April screamed at the same moment she rolled to her stomach and covered her head with her arms. Let it come quickly, she prayed.

And then the shot rang out.

The cat hit the ground just beside her with a dull, heavy thud. She raised her head. Those eyes were still on her, but they were no longer menacing. A clear glaze clouded them, and blood spurted from the opened mouth, staining the sharp fangs. With one great spasm, the cat lay dead.

“April, what in tarnation are you doin’ out here?” She turned her head, her neck painful from lying so long in fear. Mulhern was coming toward her, a smoking rifle in his grasp. “Are you all right?”

He knelt down and helped her sit up. “That mare woke me up when she came running through the yard, and it’s a damn good thing she did,” he said anxiously, his eyes scanning her for some sign of injury. “I saw the harness, saw the saddle draggin’, and I knowed somethin’ was wrong. I grabbed my gun, and when I heard that cat screamin’, I could tell from the sound he had somethin’ trapped.”

He stared at her reproachfully. “You was runnin’ away, weren’t you, April? You had it all planned! Look at you! You ’bout near got yourself killed. Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I’m gonna do just what the boss said to do if you did try somethin’ foolish. I’m gonna lock you in that house, and you ain’t comin’ out again till he gets back.”

He turned to look at the dead cat. “Now that’s a nice one,” he said proudly. “Good shot, too. I ain’t never got one from that far off. On horseback, too. The boss will be plenty proud of me when he hears about this.”

He had turned his back on her. She had to act at once or lose her chance. Springing to her feet, she grabbed his rifle and brought the stock crashing down across his head. With an agonized grunt, he toppled forward onto the clay and lay motionless.

She did not wait to see if she had killed him. She could not allow it to matter. If Hinton had heard the shot, he would be right behind. She grabbed the mare’s reins and swung herself up onto the smooth bare back. Evidently Mulhern had untied the remaining saddle cinch. No matter. She had never ridden bareback before, but by God, there was no time like the present to learn.

Kicking the horse’s flanks hard, digging in her heels, she gripped the reins tightly. Leaning forward, pressing her body down for balance, she rode hard and fast. The sky was light. She could see everything clearly. Now it was all up to her.

When she reached the main road, some twenty minutes later, she immediately crossed over into the dense forest beyond and allowed the horse time to rest. By then she had decided that Hinton was not following. If Mulhern was alive, then Hinton would have to care for him.

April urged the mare back onto the road toward Sylacauga. She could be there easily by midmorning and, with luck, be halfway to Montgomery by late afternoon. A night’s sleep somewhere, and she would be fresh tomorrow morning and ready to give Vanessa the surprise of her life.

Her stomach rumbled with hunger. She had no money with which to buy food. After all her careful planning, she cursed her stupidity for not thinking to bring along something to eat. Thoughts of the corn pones she had fried for herself and the men the night before made her feel even worse. There had been a whole basketful sitting on the table when she left. Even one would quell some of the twinges she was feeling.