A Lady of the West (28 page)

Emma kept kicking and tried to roll free. The man grabbed her foot and hauled her back, and when she kicked at him again he rolled on top of her, flattening her beneath his weight. He was cursing in a continuous if breathless stream, the words puffing out against her ear. He controlled her kicking legs with his muscled thighs and caught her flailing fists, then anchored her wrists to the ground above her head.

“Leave her alone! Get
off
of her!”

Ben lifted his head and saw the little blonde flying toward him, but Luis caught her from behind and held her, locking his hands around her wrists and then crossing his arms in front of her so that her arms were folded up and she couldn't twist or jerk free. Knowing that he didn't have to worry about her, Ben was free to give all of his attention to the squirming hellcat beneath him.

Emma rebelled completely against the heavy weight holding her down, arching and twisting, tossing her head in an effort to hit him in the face. She was too terrified to think straight, but she couldn't just surrender, it went against every instinct.

The man didn't try to hit her or hurt her in any way. He just held her and let her wear herself out struggling. But it had been a while since Ben had had a woman, and the soft, definitely female body squirming beneath him caught his attention. Blood pooled in his groin, and he began to swell and harden. Instinctively, he shifted his legs so that they were lying inside hers; when she arched again the movement thrust his erection solidly against her soft mound.

Emma shivered and went still, her brown eyes enormous in her pale, dusty face. She stared up at the hard face of the man lying on top of her, shocked at what she could feel happening to his body. She had never felt a man's weight before, and now that their
battle had abruptly changed to a sexual one, she was frightened into stillness.

Though she knew there were others standing just a few feet away, in a strange way she felt they were utterly alone. She smelled his sweat, and his quick, hard breathing feathered her face. She knew hers must be doing the same thing to him, in a subtle exchange of their very breath.

She noticed his eyes were hazel, his eyelashes and brows black. He moved again in a slight shift of position that brought him even more snugly against her.

From a great distance she heard Celia sobbing. Emma rolled her head to the side, and the sight of the girl locked in another man's arms shattered the strange sensuality that had enthralled her. Hectic color rushed to her face.

“Please,” she said in a stifled tone. “Let me up.”

Ben propped up on an elbow, still keeping her arms pinned to the dirt with his other hand. “Am I going to have to wrestle you down again?” he panted.

“No.”

He got to his feet and dragged her up until she was standing. Emma held out her arms, and with a small understanding smile Luis released Celia, who flew into her cousin's comforting embrace. The girl was terrified and sobbing in harsh, choking sounds.

Ben picked up his hat from the ground and slapped it against his pants, sending clouds of dust flying. He felt breathless, and though his erection had subsided there was still an uncomfortable tightness in his loins.

Emma stroked Celia's tangled hair and looked over her head at the men surrounding them. “What are you going to do with us?” she asked, instinctively looking at the man who had held her down as the leader.

“Take you back to the ranch,” he said.

Emma ducked her head, hiding her alarm as she continued to soothe Celia. She was exhausted and
wanted nothing more than to collapse, but pride held her erect, unable to show weakness to an enemy.

Ben looked up at the sun, estimating the time. “We'll have to rest the horses for a while before we head back. We won't make it to the ranch tonight, but we should meet up with Jake on his way back with Mrs. McLain.”

Emma's head jerked up. “Jake?” she asked, her heart beginning to pound. Had Jake Roper come to their aid after all? But she was afraid to hope, because Jake was such a common name. Until then Emma had been determined not to say anything about Victoria in the hope that she had gotten away.

“Jacob Sarratt,” Ben said. “My brother. I'm Ben Sarratt.”

She stared at him, white-faced, because Victoria had been right after all.

“The—the Major?”

Ben walked over to snare Sophie's reins and gave Emma a dismissive look over his shoulder. “Dead,” he said.

It was late in the afternoon when they saw two riders approaching. Ben grunted in satisfaction, glad that Jake had recovered the missing widow without any trouble. His plan to get legal possession of the ranch by marrying her would have been worthless if he hadn't been able to find her. Ben watched them ride up, more than a little curious about this woman Jake was willing to marry.

Emma finally recognized Victoria and stumbled forward with a cry, but she froze in her tracks when she also recognized the man riding beside her cousin. She shot a disbelieving look at Ben, then another at Jake. Jake Roper was Jake
Sarratt?
Understanding dawned. My God, he'd been playing them all for fools from the beginning!

When they reined in at the camp Victoria didn't
wait for anyone to help her down. Unhooking her leg from the pommel, she jumped and stumbled, but recovered herself before Jake could reach out to catch her.

“Emma? Celia?”

Hearing the hoarse anxiety, Emma hurried forward. “We're both all right. Celia's stiff and sore, but we haven't been hurt. Are—are you—”

“Tired,” Victoria said, her shoulders slumping. She allowed herself the weakness only for a moment. Lifting her chin, she said, “I suppose you know?”

“About the Major? Yes.”

“And about the Sarratts?” Victoria's face was expressionless.

“Yes.”

There was nothing else to say. They were all safe, at least for the moment. What lay ahead, they couldn't even guess.

Victoria sat quietly with Emma beside her. One of the men—the one they called Wylie—began preparing the evening meal. Victoria stirred enough to offer their provisions.

Jake was ominously silent, and Ben watched Victoria closely. She didn't know that he was admiring her quiet, dignified manner and the look of pride on her dusty face. He was even admiring the fact that she was obviously the cause of Jake's black mood, because no woman before had ever been able to get past Jake's wall of reserve.

They ate at sunset and turned in shortly afterward. Victoria was too tired even to argue when Jake dumped his bedroll beside her blanket, though she did wonder what the men thought. She decided that she was too tired to care and, curling up on her side, was asleep before Jake got his boots off.

When they reached the hacienda the next day, Victoria still didn't know what Jake intended to do with them. If he'd been planning to kill them, surely he would have done it and left their bodies out in the
rocks. Instead he'd brought them back, to Carmita, who came running from the hacienda with glad cries and outstretched arms.

There were signs of the recent battle everywhere, from the multitude of new faces to the chips in the adobe walls. Several windows had been broken and holes peppered the black wood of the front door. Still, there were some things that were unchanged. Carmita was still motherly in her concern, and Angelina Garcia still lounged around.

The women trooped tiredly upstairs, with Carmita fussing around them while Lola and Juana began heating the massive quantities of water needed for them all to have a bath. Celia could barely climb the stairs, she was so sore; they decided she should have the first bath for the relief the hot water would give her muscles. Carmita also addressed the problem with a liberal application of liniment, despite Celia's blushing reluctance to bare her legs and backside.

The house was teeming with activity, and if there was one thing Victoria knew how to do it was run a household. She seized on the work to keep herself from screaming out her fears and uncertainties, because she still didn't know what was going to happen and was afraid to ask. The Major's room had been cleaned out as if he'd never been; even the furniture had vanished.

It was disorienting to open the connecting door between their bedrooms and look at the emptiness of bare walls and floor. Her husband was unmourned, and every trace of him had also gone. It seemed as if no one wanted to say anything about it. She wondered if McLain had been shot down in that very room. She backed into her own room and quietly closed the door.

When it came time for her own bath, she locked both doors and lolled in the hot water for a long time, soaking out the grit that felt embedded in her skin. She washed her hair, sighing with relief at the sense of
being clean again, and leisurely brushed it dry. Eventually, however, she ran out of excuses to linger and was forced to dress and go downstairs for dinner.

The meal was a strange affair. Celia ate in her room, and the four people who sat down at the table were all silent for their own reasons. Emma, usually as self-assured as a Mother Superior, was pale and looked only at Victoria the few times she raised her eyes from her plate. Jake wasn't scowling, but his expression was dark nonetheless. He and Ben made no effort at conversation, but ate steadily. Victoria's own stomach was knotted in a mass of nerves and she only tasted a few bites.

Immediately afterward, the two men went into the library and shut the door.

Once they were gone, Emma came to life. “I'm going to my room,” she said with heartfelt relief. “I'll have to read a couple of hours before I get sleepy, but at least I'll be able to relax.”

Victoria nodded, equally relieved. “That sounds like a very sensible plan. I have some mending to do that will take an hour or so.”

Very much in accord, they ascended the stairs together. Victoria sewed on loose buttons and mended torn hems, the mundane chore giving her back a portion of her lost reality. Many things on the surface looked as they had before, but the content had changed. Uncertainty was nerve-racking, she decided as she bit off the thread the last time and packed her sewing box away. The Major and Garnet were both gone, but her life was even more tenuous than it had been before.

At least she felt calm enough to sleep. She lifted her skirt to remove her shoes and stockings, then walked barefoot to the dresser to take the pins from her hair.

Her arms were raised, removing the last pin, when the hallway door to her bedroom opened and Jake stepped inside. Victoria went white. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

For answer, he calmly turned the key in the lock and pocketed it. While she watched, horrified, he strolled to the connecting door and repeated the action. As casually as if he undressed in front of her every day, he then removed his boots and shirt. His naked torso was strongly muscled, with lean, hard bands delineating his ribs and stomach. She stared at him, mesmerized. A strange, warm sensation jolted her, and she jerked her gaze upward.

She stood frozen, her eyes huge as she searched his face. It was as expressionless as the day she'd met him, and she realized that this, then, was the final part of his revenge. She had been a complete fool about him; worse, even now she still loved him. It was a passion that twisted inside her, an ache intertwined with fear; she had never before known that a loved one could be simultaneously cherished and dreaded, but then she had never before loved someone who wanted only to wreak his vengeance on her.

“Come here,” he said calmly.

Her heart thudded and for a moment pure fear pushed her to obey. Then her back stiffened and she put up her chin. “You think I should aid you in my violation? No. I will not.”

He shrugged and a hard smile touched his lips. “It makes no difference to the outcome,” he said, approaching to stand directly in front of her. “Neither will your next decision, but I'll give you a choice anyway. Take off your clothes, or I'll take them off for you, and I don't care about buttons or seams. It's your choice,” he repeated, “but your clothes won't survive if I have to do it.”

She looked directly up into his glittering green eyes, trying to read them, but his expression was closed to her. “Is there nothing I can say that will convince you to leave me alone?”

“No. I decided to have you practically from the first time I set eyes on you, and that hasn't changed. You can try to change my mind, though, if you insist.”

She decided not to, because she was afraid she would descend to begging, and her desperate pride rebelled against that.

“You can even scream, if you want,” he pointed out. “That won't do any good, either. It'll upset Emma and Celia, but they won't be able to help you. So what's your decision? Are you going to undress?” He lifted one brow at her, and hating her own cowardice, she lifted trembling hands to the buttons on her plain white shirtwaist. It seemed there was nothing else she could do.

She had never undressed in front of a man before, never dreamed that she would have to perform such an act. She unbuttoned the front, then rumbled with the buttons to the tight cuffs until he said impatiently, “Get it off.”

The button at the waistband of her skirt eluded her, and with a muffled curse he pushed her hands away and unfastened the garment himself. It drooped around her hips, but was held up by the bulk of her petticoats. She removed the freed shirtwaist and dropped it on the chair.

“Now the skirt,” he directed.

A fine shaking seized her legs as she lifted the skirt off over her head and placed it, too, on the chair. Now she stood before him in petticoats and shift, acutely aware of her bare shoulders and arms, and the fact that her nipples were visible through the soft, thin cotton.

He was only a foot away, so close she could feel the heat of his body. She tried to back away, but came up flush against the dresser.

His hard mouth twisted in wry acknowledgment of her action. “The petticoat,” he prompted.