by Nora Roberts
It still stung, a little, but he shrugged his shoulders. The two of them had whittled away the rest of the competitors until they’d gone head to head in the final round. Then head to head in two tie-breaking rounds. And there she’d squeaked past him.
“By a lousy half an inch, tops.”
“Doesn’t matter by how much.” She looked over, up at him, and grinned. “Matters who won. You’re a good shot.” She wiggled her brows. “I’m better.”
“Today you were better. Anyway, I cost you twenty when I beat out Jim. Serves you right.”
Laughing, she turned in his arms. “I made back the fifty I put on you.” When his brow lowered, she laughed again. “Do I look like a fool?”
“No.” He tipped her face up. “You look like a smart woman who knows how to hedge her bets.”
“Speaking of bets.” Despite the crowd that gasped and cheered at every burst of light, she wrapped herself around him, pressed her mouth warm and firm to his. “Let’s go inside and see if we live till morning.”
“You going to let me stay till morning?”
“Why not? It’s a holiday.”
L ATER, WHEN THE FIREWORKS WERE DONE, THE CROWDS gone, and the night quiet, they turned to each other again. Her dreams hadn’t been full of blood and death and fear this time. Finding him there, warm, solid, ready to hold her, she knew there’d be no shaking dreams that night.
S OMEONE ELSE DREAMED OF A REDHEADED WHORE AND shivered, thrilled with the memory. It had been so easy, so smooth, and every detail played back so clearly.
He’d watched her come back to consciousness, the glassy eyes, the muffled whimper. He’d driven her far from Bozeman, into the sheltering dark of trees.
Not on Mercy land. Not this time, and never again. He was done with punishing Mercy. But he couldn’t be done with killing.
He’d tied her hands behind her back, and he’d gagged her. He wouldn’t have minded hearing her scream, but he didn’t want her to be able to use her teeth on him. He’d cut her clothes away but had been careful, very careful, not to cut her flesh.
He was very, very good with a knife.
While she’d slept, he had taken his money back, and the rest of hers, which had been pathetically little. He’d bided his time, toying with her little pistol, her tube of red lipstick.
Now that she was awake, now that her eyes were wide and she was struggling in the dirt, making noises like a trapped animal, he took the tube back out of her cheap purse.
“A whore should be painted up proper,” he told her, and aroused himself by stroking the lipstick over her nipples until they were bright, blood red. “I like that. Yes, indeed.” Since her cheeks were pale, he colored them as well, in round circles like a doll’s happy blush.
“Were you going to shoot me with this toy of yours, sweetheart?” He pointed the pistol playfully at her heart and watched her eyes roll white. “Guess a woman in your line a work’s gotta protect herself in more ways than one. Told you I’d wear a rubber.”
He set the pistol aside, then tore open the foil package. “Love to have you suck me off again, Suzy Q. I do believe that was the finest blow job I ever paid for. But you might bite this time.” He pinched her red nipples painfully. “We can’t have that, can we?”
He was already hard, throbbing hard, but made himself slide the condom on slowly. “I’m going to fuck you now. You can’t rape a whore, but since I ain’t going to pay for it, I guess technically we could call it that. So we’ll say I’m going to rape you now.” He levered himself over her, smiling as she tried to draw her legs up to protect herself. “Now, honey, don’t be shy. You’re going to like it.”
In two rough jerks, he pulled her legs straight, spread them, locked them. “You’re damn well going to like it. And you’re going to tell me how much you love it. You can’t say much with that rag stuffed in your whore-sucking mouth, but you’re going to moan and groan for me. I want you to groan now. Like you can’t wait for it. Now.”
When she didn’t respond, he released one of her legs and slapped her. Not hard, he thought, just enough to let her know who was boss. “Now,” he repeated.
She managed a sob, and he settled for it. “You make noise for me, plenty of noise. I like plenty of noise with my sex.”
He rammed himself into her. She was dry as dust and as unwelcoming as a tomb, but he pumped furiously, working up a sheen of sweat that gleamed on his back under the scatter of stars. Her eyes rolled in pain and fear, the way a horse’s did when you dug in spurs and drew blood.
When he was finished, he rolled off her, panting. “That was good. That was good. Yeah, I’m going to do that again in just a minute or two.”
She was curled into a ball and, weeping, tried to crawl. Lazily, he picked up the gun, fired a shot at the sky. It stopped her cold. “You just rest there, Suzy Q. I’m going to see if I can work up the gumption for another round.”
He sodomized her this time, but it wasn’t as good. It took him too long to get hard, and the orgasm was small and unsatisfying. “Guess that’s it for me.” He gave her a friendly slap on the rump. “And for you.”
He thought it was a shame he couldn’t keep her a couple days like he had little Traci with an I. But that kind of game was too risky now.
And there would always be another whore.
He opened his pack, and there it was, waiting. Lovingly he slipped the knife from its oiled-leather sheath, admired the way the starlight caught the metal and glimmered.
“My daddy gave me this. Only thing he ever gave me. Pretty, ain’t it?” After shoving her onto her back, he held it in front of her face so that she could see it. He wanted her to see it.
And smiling, he straddled her.
And smiling, he went to work on her.
Now there was a trophy of red hair in his box of secrets. He doubted anyone would find her where he’d left her. Or if they did, if they would be able to identify what was left of her once the predators had done with what he’d left behind for them.
He didn’t need the fear and the fame any longer. It was enough that he knew.
TWENTY-NINE
S UMMERS IN MONTANA WERE SHORT AND FIERCE. AND August could be cruel. Sun baked the dirt and dried the trees to kindling and made men pray for rain.
A match flicked the wrong way or a well-aimed bolt of lightning would turn pasture into fire, crops into tears.
Willa sweated through her shirt as she surveyed a field of barley. “Hottest summer I remember.”
Wood merely grunted. He spent most of his time scowling at the sky or worrying over his grain. His boys should have been there worrying with him, but he’d gotten tired of their spatting and sent them off to bother their mother.
“Irrigation’s helping some.” He spat, as if that drop of moisture would make a difference. Mercy was both joy and worry to him, and had been for too many years to count. “Water table’s dead low. Couple more weeks of this, we’ll be in trouble.”
“Don’t sugarcoat it for me,” she said wearily, and remounted. “We’ll get through it.”
He grunted again, shook his head at her as she rode off.
The ground bounced heat back at her relentlessly. The cattle she passed stood slack-legged, with barely enough energy to swish tails. Not even the stingiest breeze stirred the grass.
She saw a rig well out along a fence line, and the two men unrolling wire. Changing directions, she galloped out.
“Ham, Billy.” She dismounted, walked over to the two-gallon jug in the bed of the rig, and poured herself a cup of icy water.
“Ham says this ain’t hot, Will.” Sweating cheerfully, Billy strung wire. “He says he recollects when it was so hot it fried eggs still in their shells.”
She smiled at that. “I expect he does. You get as old as Ham here, you’ve seen everything twice.” She took off her hat, wiped an arm over her brow. She didn’t like Ham’s color. The red flush that stained his face looked hot enough to explode. But she knew to tread carefully.
> Pouring two cups, she walked over, held them out. “Hot work. Take a break.”
“Be done soon,” Ham said, but his breath was puffing.
“You got to keep the fluid in. You told me that often enough that I have to take it as truth.” She all but shoved the cup into his hand. “You boys take your salt tablets?”
“Sure we did.” Billy gulped the water down, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Ham, I’m going to finish here with Billy. You take Moon back for me.”
“What the hell for?” His eyes were running from squinting into the sun. Under his soaked shirt, his heart pounded like a hammer on an anvil. But he finished any job he started. “I said we’re about done here.”
“That’s fine, then. I need you to take Moon back and get me those stock reports. I’m falling behind, and I want to catch up on them tonight.”
“You know where the damn reports are.”
“And I need them.” Casually, she took her gloves out of her saddlebags. “And see if you can sweet-talk Bess into making some peach ice cream. She’ll do it for you, and I’ve got a yen for some.”
He wasn’t a fool, knew just what she was doing. “I’m stringing wire here, girl.”
“No.” She hefted the roll as Billy watched, wide-eyed and fascinated. “I’m stringing wire here. You’re going to take Moon back in, get those stock reports in my office, and see about peach ice cream.”
He tossed his cup on the ground, planted his feet. “The hell with that. Take her back yourself.”
She set the roll down. “I run Mercy, Ham, and I’m telling you what I want you to do. You got a problem with that, we’ll take it up later. But now, you ride back and do what I’m telling you.”
His face was redder now, making her pulse skittish, but she kept her eyes cool and level with his. After ten humming seconds, with the heat crippling both of them, he turned stiffly away and mounted.
“You think I can’t do the job this half-assed boy can do, then you get my paycheck ready.” He kicked the horse, sent Moon into a surprised rear, then galloped off.
“Jeez” was all Billy could think of.
“Damn it, I should have handled that better.” She rubbed her hands over her face.
“He’ll be all right, Will. He doesn’t mean it. Ham’d never leave you or Mercy.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” She blew out a breath. “Let’s get this damn wire strung.”
S HE WAITED UNTIL NIGHTFALL. CANCELED A DATE WITH Ben, and sat out on the front porch. She heard the thunder, watched lightning flash, but the sky was too clear for rain.
Despite the heat she had no taste for the ice cream Bess had churned. Even when Tess came out with a bowl heaped full of it, Willa shook her head.
“You’ve been sulking since you came in today.” Tess leaned against the porch rail and tried to imagine cool ocean breezes. “Want to talk about it?”
“No. It’s a personal problem.”
“They’re the most interesting.” Philosophically, Tess spooned up some ice cream and sampled it. “Ben?”
“No.” Willa gave an irritated shrug. “Why is it people think every personal thought in my head revolves around Ben McKinnon?”
“Because women usually do their best sulking over a man. You didn’t have a fight with him?”
“I’m always fighting with him.”
“I mean a real fight.”
“No.”
“Then why did you cancel your date?”
“Jesus Christ, can’t I choose to stay home on my own porch one night without answering a bunch of questions?”
“Guess not.” Tess dug out another spoonful. “This is great stuff.” Licked the spoon clean. “Come on, try it.”
“If it’ll get you off my back.” With little grace, Willa grabbed the bowl and scooped some up. It was sheer heaven. “Bess makes the best peach ice cream in the civilized world.”
“I tend to agree with you. Want to eat ice cream, get drunk, and take a swim? Sounds like a great way to cool off.”
Willa’s eyes slitted with suspicion. “Why are you so friendly?”
“You look really bummed. I guess I’m feeling sorry for you.”
It should have annoyed her. Instead it touched her. “I had words with Ham today. He was out stringing wire and I got spooked. He looked so old all of a sudden, and it was so blasted hot. I thought he’d have a stroke or something. A heart attack. I made him come back in, and that slapped his pride flat. I just can’t lose anybody else,” she said quietly. “Not right now. Not yet.”
“His pride will bounce back. Maybe you dented it a little, but he’s too devoted to you to stay mad for long.”
“I’m counting on it.” Soothed, she handed the bowl back to Tess. “Maybe I’ll come in shortly and take that swim.”
“All right.” Tess opened the screen, shot back a grin. “But I’m not wearing a suit.”
Chuckling, Willa eased back in the rocker, let it creak. Thunder rumbled, a little closer now. And she heard the crunch of boots on stone. She sat up, one hand going under the chair where her rifle rested. She brought it back up, laid it in her lap when Ham stepped into the light.
“Evening,” she said.
“Evening. You got my check?”
Stubborn old goat, she thought, and gestured to the chair beside her. “Would you sit down a minute?”
“I got packing to do.”
“Please.”
Bandy legs stiff as a week-old wishbone, he climbed the steps, lowered himself into the next rocker. “You took me down in front of that boy today.”
“I’m sorry.” She folded her hands in her lap, stared down at him. It was the sound of his voice, raw with hurt and wounded pride, that scraped at her. “I tried to make it simple.”
“Make what simple? You think I need some girl I used to paddle coming out and telling me I’m too old to do my job?”
“I never said—”
“Hell you didn’t. Plain as day to me.”
“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” She kicked at the porch rail out of sheer frustration. “Why do you have to be so hardheaded?”
“Me? Never in my life did I see a more rock-headed female than the one I’m sitting beside right now. You think you know it all, girl? You think you got all the answers? That every blessed thing you do is right?”
“No!” She exploded with it, leaped up. “No, I don’t. I don’t know half the time if it’s right, but I have to do it anyway. And I did what I had to do today, and it was right. Goddamn you, Ham, you were going to have heatstroke in another ten minutes, and then where the hell would I be? How the hell could I run this place without you?”
“You’re already doing just that. You took me off the job today.”
“I took you off the fences. I don’t want you riding fence in this heat. I’m telling you I’m not having it.”
“You’re not having it.” He rose too, went nose to nose with her. “Who the hell do you think you are, telling me you’re not having it? I’ve been riding fence in every kind of weather since before you were born. And you nor nobody’s telling me I can’t do it until I say I’m done.”
“I’m telling you.”
“Then cut me my last check.”
“Fine.” She swung to the door, pushed by temper. Her hand fisted on the edge, then whipped it back in a slam that shook the wood under her feet. “I was scared! Why can’t I be allowed to be scared?”
“What in hell are you scared of?”
“Losing you, you mule-headed son of a bitch. You were all
