Wishmakers (22 page)

He chuckled. “I sure don't want that to happen. You've built up muscles carrying that big boy around.”

“Now if only Mother and Tom could forgive each other and at least be friends.” She sighed.

“Don't count on it, honey. There's too much bitterness on both sides. Let it rest. We're not responsible for their lives any more than they are for ours.”

His mouth sought hers and kissed it with gentle reassurance and then with rising passion. His hands moved over her body, touching her with sensual, intimate caresses. Her senses reeled as they always did when he made love to her. The magic had never faded. This was real. This was forever. She lifted her face and looked at him. It was all there in his eyes, and the wonder of it filled her with joy.

“Are you going to dally around here all night, Mr. Thorn, or do I have to ask you to get into that sleeping bag with me?” Her hand moved across tightly stretched denim and fumbled with a zipper. “There's another baby there just begging to be started,” she murmured in a seductive tone, and she felt his body jolt as it always did when she first touched him.

“Princess!” he groaned huskily. “You're wreaking havoc with my self-control!” When she continued to caress him he dumped her off his lap and stood up. “Little devil! I just may keep you on your back all weekend,” he threatened, and he hurried to shovel dirt onto the campfire.

Margaret jumped up, her green eyes sparkling. “Will you put that in writing?” she challenged saucily.

He reached to swat her behind. She evaded him, and with squeals of joyous laughter she dashed for the truck.

BOOK TWO

S
HE
W
ANTED
R
ED
V
ELVET

To special people—
my cousins, Norma and Ken Slane—
with special love.

CHAPTER ONE

I
T WAS LATE
afternoon. The sun made patterns of speckled brightness on the leaf-strewn ground where it filtered through the trees surrounding the clearing beside the highway. The slim blond woman closed the door to the primitive outhouse, grabbed the hand of the four-year-old boy, and urged him along the path to the parking area.

“Why are we hurryin', Mom?”

“Come on, Peter. I'll tell you later.” The woman took short running steps so the boy could keep up with her. When they reached the compact car, she quickly unlocked the door.

“Mom—”

“Get in the car,” she commanded sharply with a glance back over her shoulder. She crowded into the bucket seat beside her son, locked the door, and reached over to make sure the door on the driver's side was locked.

“What are you scared of, Mom? You're scared, aren't ya? Is it them? What'd they say?” Peter pressed his nose against the window and stared at the two men coming down the graveled path from the building set back in the woods.

“I'm not scared, Peter,” she said with far more confidence than she felt.
Dammit!
she thought.
If the car hadn't overheated, we wouldn't be sitting in this deserted rest area; we would practically be at Aunt Ethel's by now.

“I'm hot. Can I roll down the window?”

“No,” she said sharply, then moaned silently to herself.
Why didn't I think to put the hood down before we got in the car?
Aloud she said, “As soon as they leave, we'll go.”

“They've got big motorcycles, and pictures on their arms. They're funny.”

“Crawl into the backseat, honey. Come on, I'll help you.”

She boosted the child into a small space next to pillows, toys, blankets, a small overnight case, and a cardboard box containing a whining puppy. She looked out the window and wondered if she'd be able to back out of the circular drive with the U-Haul trailer attached to the car. All the way out from Cincinnati she had been careful to keep out of a situation that would require backing the car for any distance.

The men were standing in front of the car, now, out of sight behind the raised hood.

“Cisco's crying. He's got to pee-pee.”

“He'll have to wait.”

“Mom—he don't want to wait. He's got to go—bad.”

“Shhh…” She scarcely heard what Peter said. The uneasiness that had flooded her the moment she came out of the rest room with her small son and saw the two huge motorcycles parked in front of her car, and the men who then stepped from around the end of the men's building, now escalated into full-fledged fear.

They had passed her fifty miles back down the highway, slowed down to twenty miles an hour, and weaved back and forth in front of her for several miles. She had honked the horn and tried to get away from them, to no avail; then, suddenly, they had let her go, when they spotted a highway patrol car parked on an overpass ahead. She had increased her speed to get as far ahead of them as possible, and had put them out of her mind when she could no longer see them in the rearview mirror.

This part of Montana was sparsely populated, and the small towns were far apart; at times she and Peter would go for miles and miles without meeting a car. In Lewistown she had pulled into a service station and filled her gas tank to be sure she would have enough fuel to get to her Aunt Ethel's motel and trailer park.

Soon after Lewistown the state highway had begun winding around the foothills and climbing into the rugged mountainous region. The small car that had brought them so far without so much as a cough from the engine had started to send distress signals in the form of a flashing red light on the dashboard. She had been so relieved to see the rest area, because by this time Peter was complaining he had to “go.”

Now Gloria wished fervently she had taken a chance on the car's making the top of the hill; she could have coasted on the way down the other side and cooled the motor. In the middle of checking the engine she had stopped to take Peter to the bathroom. As a result the stupid hood was up. She couldn't drive away, and she couldn't see what the men were doing in front of her.

Suddenly the hood came down, and a whiskered face grinned at her. The hood was lifted, then lowered, in rapid succession.

“Peekaboo, pretty woman.”

Oh, dear God! What will they do?
The words never came out of her mouth; she didn't want to frighten Peter. She turned the key in the ignition, started the motor, and put the car in reverse, praying she would be able to back the car and trailer around the curve and onto the highway. The motor stopped. Damn! She turned the switch and pumped the accelerator. Nothing!

“What's the matter, Mom?”

“Be still, Peter…please—” Panic began to take hold, and she turned the key again and again. Grrrr…Grrrr…“Please start! Oh, start, damn you!”

The hood was slammed down so hard the car shook. “Doggy! Looky here what we found.” The man with a sleeveless shirt and brass armbands yelled triumphantly and waved several long wires in front of the windshield.

“Go away and leave us alone!” Gloria yelled. The fear that rose in her throat almost choked her. They had taken some wires out of her engine; now she and Peter were really trapped.

“C'mon out an' play, pretty thin'. Ain't ya hot in there with them windows rolled up?”

One of the men sprang up onto the hood of the car and jumped up and down. He had long, frizzy hair and a leather thong tied about his forehead. The thin metal crackled and protested, and finally gave way under the weight of the heavy man.

Peter began to cry. “Mom! What're they doin'? I'm scared!”

“They can't get in the car, honey. Someone will be along soon and they'll go away. Then we'll go on to Aunt Ethel's.” She made a great effort to speak calmly.
If anyone does come along,
she thought,
it's doubtful they'll turn in while those two despicable creatures are in sight.
“We'll just sit here and not look at them—Hey, stop that!” Gloria yelled. They were rocking the car, now, so violently that her head banged against the window.

“Who-eee! Ain't she a hot mama chick? Here, chicky, chick, chick—”

“Make 'em stop, Mom!”

The roar of a motor coming into the rest area caused her to turn hopefully, but hope turned to panic when she saw another large, black motorcycle come past the trailer and pull up ahead of the car. The rider wore boots, jeans, a sleeveless shirt, and a bright-blue helmet with a visor. He sat for a moment watching the two men rock the car before he leisurely got off the cycle and stood beside it.

“Whatta you got here?”

“What's it to ya?”

“Not friendly, huh?”

“If'n ya mean are we sharin', we ain't.” The man on the hood jumped onto the top of the car, and the roof crackled and groaned beneath his weight.

“I know most of the cycle boys around here. Where're you from?” The newcomer stood leaning against his machine with his arms folded over his chest.

“We're from Chicago, man. From the Big Windy. What's your play? You figurin' to move in?”

“Maybe.”

The man on the top of the car jumped to the ground. The two hoodlums moved to the front and stood shoulder to shoulder against the man in the blue helmet.

“Ya gonna do it all by yourself?” The frizzy-haired man took a step away from his friend.

The big shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. “Do you see anyone else?”

“Back off while ya can, big man.”

“I'll say the same to you.”

“You got no brains a-tall,” the frizzy-haired man said, then glanced toward his more heavily built companion.

“Maybe,” the newcomer said again. “Ride out. Leave her alone. You've got no business hasslin' a woman with a kid.”

“Ha! Ya hear that, Boomy? The country boy's tellin' us to ride out. He's got cow manure for brains if he thinks we'll ride out and leave the split for him. Didn't ya hear us say we're from the Big Windy, hayseed?”

“Yeah, I heard you. That makes you pretty tough, huh?” The man moved away from his motorcycle, his legs spread apart, his fists resting on his hipbones.

Gloria rolled down the window a few inches so she could hear what was being said.

“Tough enough,” Boomy said boastfully. He spit in the dirt, and it landed dangerously close to the other man's feet. “I think I'll take me a little spin on that machine of his.” He grinned at his friend.

“Don't try it,” the man said quietly.

“Haw, haw, haw—we're goin' to have to teach him some manners.”

Boomy took only two steps toward the cycle before the man in the helmet exploded into action. His hands and his feet seemed to lash out simultaneously, knocking Boomy off his feet and sending him into the dirt. The other man got a foot in the groin; he screamed and doubled up on the ground. Boomy rolled to his feet like a cat, started forward, then stopped. Holding his arms out to his side menacingly, he spread his feet and edged forward, waiting for his chance to attack.

“Don't do it, punk. I'm warning you, I can break your neck.” The voice from behind the visored helmet cautioned, “Get on your machine and clear out while you're in one piece.”

“Who in the hell's going to help you, country boy? I'll bust head, man. We was here first.”

“Okay. If you want to ride out of here with some broken bones, c'mon and get it.”

The hoodlum sprang; the other man grabbed his arm, twisted it, and threw him over his shoulder. Boomy fell out of sight in front of the car. Gloria heard a screech of pain and held her breath; Peter's arms were wound so tight about her neck she could scarcely breathe anyway. The man in the helmet stood calmly looking down at the man on the ground. Boomy got slowly to his feet, holding his elbow.

“Ya broke my arm!” he accused, his voice quivering. His face was deathly white.

“I told you what you'd get, but you wouldn't listen. You're lucky I didn't break your neck. Now, get the hell outta here and take this jerk with you before I break your leg too.”

“I can't ride,” he whined, holding his arm close to his chest.

“Ride or walk. It makes no difference to me. Go on back to Chicago and crawl into your hole. You're not fit to be among decent people.” The man's broad back was to Gloria. He stood by while the men mounted their cycles and rode slowly out of the rest area. He followed a short distance and watched them go down the highway.

It was stifling hot inside the car. Gloria rolled the window down a few more inches and held Peter's face to the breeze. The child sniffled, the puppy yelped. Gloria watched the man cautiously. He unfastened the chin strap on his helmet, lifted it from his head, and placed it on the seat of his motorcycle before he turned toward the car.

Gloria sucked in her breath and quickly rolled up the window. The man had thick, curly black hair and a full black beard; the only part of his face she could see were his eyes, beneath heavy black brows. His shirt was open to the waist, and his chest was covered with dark hair. He was big, broad shouldered, and had heavily muscled arms and a thick neck. She looked into light greenish-gray eyes.
Oh, Lord! At least there's only one of him,
she thought fearfully.

“Aren't you about to burn up in there?”

Gloria shook her head.

“You must be.” Peter began to cry again. “Look, lady, I'm not going to hurt you. Open the window before the kid has heatstroke.”

“Go away.”

“Okay.” He went to his cycle and leaned against it with his arms crossed over his chest.

Gloria waited, hoping he would ride away. When he continued to stand there, she rolled down the window, watching him carefully to see if he might make a sudden move toward the car. Peter lifted his face to the cool breeze.

“Is he goin' to hurt our car, Mom?”

“I don't know, honey. We've got to wait—”

“Can't we go? You said we was almost to Aunt Ethel's.”

“We are, but the other men pulled some wires out of our car and it won't start.”

“Why'd they do that?”

“I don't know. They were bad men.”

“Is he bad too?”

“I…don't know—”

“I'm no saint, boy. But I don't hurt women and kids.” The man flashed a smile that was almost lost behind the beard. The only way Gloria knew it was there was by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

She rolled the glass down partway. Peter stuck his head out the window, but she tried to pull him back.