Desperate Hearts (14 page)

Jace was beginning to realize that anytime
she felt threatened, or criticized, or hurt, she retreated behind
Kyle for protection.

“
Kyle Springer can have an
even haircut, can’t he?” he asked more kindly.

She nodded slightly. “Yes, I guess so . .
.”

“
All right, then.” He
retrieved the scissors from the parlor and stood behind her to
inspect the damage she’d done. “Have you ever seen scissors like
this?” He held them out for her to see. “What could a person cut
with these little short blades? They’re like a toy.”

She reached for them with a tentative hand.
“No,” she said finally, her voice growing softer. “They aren’t a
toy. They’re embroidery scissors. They’re used to cut thread so the
blades don’t need to be long. My mother had a pair like this.” She
gripped them briefly before handing them back.

“
Well, they’re hair-cutting
scissors now. What did you use to do this the first time? An
ax?”

“
No, a razor. I was in a
hurry the night I did it. In a hurry to get away from Hardesty. I
was afraid he’d kill me after I slashed his face.”

Jace came around to stand in front of her
while he trimmed the sides of her hair.

She sat just low enough in the chair that he
was forced to lean forward and look into her face as he worked. He
was suddenly very aware of her, the turquoise eyes, the smell of
her washed hair, the light scent of sage that clung to her even
now. And with her hair combed back he realized that her face was
more than pretty. He glanced down at her mouth, full and close, and
knew he wouldn’t have to lean in much closer to touch it with his
own . . .

She looked up at him. “I’m hoping I’ll get
to grow it back someday. You won’t cut it too short, will you?”

The plaintive question went straight to his
heart. “No, we’re just going to trim it up.” He wanted to know what
had happened to this woman, why she’d given up the person she
really was. Keeping his eyes on his work and his face screwed up
with the effort of this unfamiliar task, he said casually, “I think
you’ve practiced being Kyle for a long time.”

She sighed slightly. “Sort of.”

“
Because of Tom Hardesty?”
He combed the wet hair that just brushed her collarbone and trimmed
a tendril that hung by itself.

Snip
.

“
Partly”

Snip
.

“
Pestered you a lot, did
he?”

“
I thought that dressing
like a tomboy would keep him away.”

“
You’re pretty convincing.
It must have worked.”

Snip
snip
.

Reaching out, she stopped his hand holding
the scissors and stared straight ahead into his shirtfront. She
took two deep breaths, then spoke with a flat, hard voice.

“
It didn’t. He raped me in
the barn last fall.”

CHAPTER SIX

“
What the hell do you mean
you lost her?” Tom Hardesty was working up to a fine white-hot
rage. “You were in the same goddamned room with her, and Rankin
too!”

Hobie McIntyre faced him on the back porch
at the Springer ranch house. His red, shifting eyes betrayed
uneasiness. “But like I said, I didn’t know it was her straight
off. Not until just afore the shootin’ started.” He held up his
right hand to prove his point. It was wrapped in a dirty
bandanna.

“
You said you could find
her, and that’s what I’m paying you to do.”

“
But she was wearin’ a
disguise—she looked like a draggle-tailed plowboy, not the way you
talked about her. And she had on a hat.” That last, apparently, was
meant to explain everything.

“
I showed you her picture
before you left, McIntyre. And I told you she might be wearin’
men’s clothes. What more did you need?”

“
Mebbe you mentioned them
boys’ duds, but you got all hot and bothered talkin’ about what a
fine-lookin’ woman she is. So round and soft and pleasin’,
inside and out
, I
b’lieve you said. And with a long red mane and smooth skin. I
figgered her to look like her pitcher ‘cept with pants, so that’s
what I was lookin’ for. I wasn’t lookin’ for no short-haired
hellcat who spits and curses and can fire a gun. Shee-it, I didn’t
see nothin’ about her that was worth gettin’ hard for, much less
cut up with a knife”—he gestured at the scar on Tom’s face—“or shot
in the hand.” He took off his battered hat and beat it against his
thigh to shake out the dust. "Why, I bet she can even piss standin’
up."

Tom grabbed McIntyre by the front of his
shirt and slammed him against an upright. “I didn’t ask for your
opinion, and I’m not paying for it. If she and Rankin are in the
eastern section, why did you come back here? Why aren’t you looking
for them?”

“
Their trail just dried up
after that,” he protested. “Me and Lem, we searched for days. I
thought they’d be easy to find, with her hurt and all, but Rankin’s
too slippery.”

Tom released him. “Hurt—what happened to
her?”

“
I dunno, exactly,”
McIntyre hedged. “There was a lot of shots fired. She shot at me, I
fired a couple of times, Rankin was shootin’.”

“
Is she dead? Is that why
you aren’t looking for her?” he demanded.

McIntyre shook his head. “No, no! She just
got winged somehow.”

So, now she would have a scar, too, Tom
thought with satisfaction. He wished he could have been the one to
inflict it. “You get out there and you find them again. If you
don’t, you’d better not come back here or I’ll shoot you myself. I
might just do that anyway if you’re still here in five minutes. I
want her here and I want Rankin dead. Do whatever it takes, use as
many men as you need. Now get out of here before I change my mind
about using you for target practice.” He gave McIntyre a push off
the porch to get him started, then spun on his heel and thundered
back into the kitchen.

At the stove, Mayella
jumped and stared at him with wide eyes. She looked like she must
have heard all the shouting outside. Well, good, he thought. He
didn’t want anyone, not
anyone
to think that Tom Hardesty was a man to be
trifled with. Not for one damned minute.

“
Y-your supper is almost
ready, Mr. Hardesty,” she said, a spoon in her hand.

He didn’t want to eat. He wanted to smash
his fist through something. That proud bitch was still out there
because Hobie McIntyre had just walked away from her! It was really
Kyla’s fault, though. If she hadn’t run off, if she’d done as she
was told—

The fury raging in him needed a release, the
kind that he’d found with Kyla squirming under him that night in
the barn. She’d fought like a wildcat, but in the end he’d
overpowered her, humbled her. He wished she was here now, by God.
He would have her on her knees and teach her a lesson in respect
she wouldn’t forget.

She wasn’t here, though, damn it. She was
off running around the countryside with that bastard Jace
Rankin.

He glanced at the girl at the stove.

But Mayella was here . . . soft, timid
Mayella.

He smiled and took two steps toward her.
“I’m not hungry for supper, Mayella. I’m hankering for a taste of
something else.”

She backed up, shaking her head, alert as a
doe. “N-now, Mr. Hardesty, this stew is all there is.” She knew
what he wanted. He could see it in her wide eyes, hear it in her
quavering voice. Her fear both annoyed him and aroused him. He shot
out a hand and grabbed her by the back of the neck. She shrieked
and pulled against his grip, stiff with terror, her hands in two
fists pressed side by side to the base of her throat.

“
Come on now, Mayella,” he
crooned, smiling again. He could feel sweat popping out on his
scalp and down his back. “You’re supposed to help out when you’re
here. There’s no woman around to do the little things a man
needs.”

Her eyes were huge and her whole body shook.
“I—I’m only here to cook and c-clean. Th-that’s all. My pa is
coming—“

“
Abel won’t be here for
another half hour. And tonight we’re going to do something besides
cook and clean.” Suddenly, he pulled her to him and pressed a hard
kiss on her mouth, muffling her protest. He could feel her lips
mashed against her teeth, and he ran his tongue over them trying to
loosen her up. Groping for her small, firm breast, he pinched her
nipple.

She broke free then, screaming, and ran
toward the door. But he was too fast for her. Grabbing the back of
her dress he jerked her back. The light fabric gave way and tore
open to reveal her plain white camisole and a hint of bare skin.
The sight of it was like kerosene on Tom’s open fire.

Gripping her arm, he yanked her out of the
way and kicked the door shut. “Don’t you make me mad, Mayella,
honey,” he warned, grinning and breathing hard. “And you don’t need
to bother with yelling—there’s no one to hear you for miles
around.”

“
P-please, Mr. Hardesty,
let me go,” she begged in a whisper choked with sobs. “I want to go
h-home.”

“
You’ll go home,” he said,
reaching for his belt buckle, when you’re finished.”

* * *

“
Hardesty had been gone for
three years, and I hoped gone for good. I even let my hair grow
long, and sometimes I wore dresses, especially after Pa died . . .
But then Hardesty came back to Blakely. As soon as he realized Pa
wasn’t around, he started riding out to the ranch and trying to run
things, acting like it was his right.”

Kyla kept her eyes on the worn tabletop and
spoke into the cup of coffee that Jace had put in front of her. He
sat on the other side of the table; she could feel his gaze resting
on the top of her wet, bowed head. A slash of sunlight cut a path
between them.

“
I was sitting up that
night in the barn with a mare that was ready to foal. When he
walked in, I had a sense of—doom, I guess. There was no one around.
Hank and the others were in the bunkhouse on the far side of the
yard. His eyes had a wild look. Even though he pretended to be nice
at first, I knew better. A skunk can’t change its
stripes.”

Kyla paused. Talking about this was like
reliving it. But not talking about it was almost worse. Only Hank
knew what had happened that night, and he was dead now. Maybe if
Jace understood how cruel and depraved Hardesty was, he would be
willing to kill him instead of taking him to jail.

When she continued, her voice shook with the
words. “I did everything I could to get away, but it was no use. He
was so much bigger than me, so full of lust and hate, I couldn’t
stop him. It wasn’t like he just—well—” She faltered and glanced up
at face before plunging her gaze to the coffee again. “He didn’t
just—want me. He wanted to break me, I guess.”

He had nearly succeeded, too. She could
still smell him, still feel his weight crushing her into the straw.
All of it, every detail, was burned into her memory as if it had
happened just last night. Her hands were tight fists in her lap,
and hot tears scorched her eyes. She brushed at them angrily.

She had washed and then washed again until
her skin was raw—she lost count of the number of baths she took.
None of them helped; she still felt dirty, contaminated. Nothing
took away the humiliation and pain. She didn’t sleep, she didn’t
eat, she didn’t work. She could barely leave the house.

And it was
her
dirty little secret.
She told no one what had happened, or why she crept around like a
stricken animal, jumping at every noise, refusing to go to the barn
to see the new filly. How could she talk about it? And to whom? But
Hank was suspicious, and when at last she admitted what had
happened, he strapped on his revolver to gun down Hardesty. Kyla
stopped him, though, believing at the time that killing her rapist
would be a breach of basic humanity.

She took a sip of the now-cold coffee, and
finally looked up at Jace. She could see the muscles working in his
jaw. “I have regretted that every day since. I should have let Hank
go after him. Then he said that short of killing him, if I were
married I’d have some kind of legal protection for me and my land,
especially with Luke Jory and the Vigilance Union running things.
Tom Hardesty is just the kind of man Jory would like. I knew Hank
was right, so we got married. And if we hadn’t he’d still be alive.
I might as well have pointed the gun at Hank’s chest myself and
pulled the trigger.”

Imagining the scene in the barn—this small,
scrappy woman overpowered by that son of a bitch Hardesty—Jace felt
a familiar icy knot form in his stomach. He’d known men like that;
he’d hunted men like that.

He studied Kyla. Her eyes were as flat and
hard as the colored stone they resembled. “You know you aren’t
responsible for Hank’s murder. Nobody made him marry you—he wanted
to.”

She laced her fingers together on the table
and clenched them until her knuckles turned white. “I’ve told
myself that, but the truth of the matter is that being my husband
got him killed. When I married Hank, I gave Tom a reason to shoot
him: I made sure that he would never be able to claim half the
ranch as his. And Hank got nothing from me for himself. What should
have been his was stolen by Hardesty, and I couldn’t let
him—couldn’t bear— He married me for nothing.” This last came out
in a hoarse, angry whisper.

Her meaning was clear enough. Frightened,
trying to recover from a brutal assault, faced with a marriage of
convenience—he understood why she shied away from being touched.
But she didn’t need to shoulder the guilt for Hank’s murder.