Samantha was beyond sanity. She knew better than to let him make love to her here, but knowing didn’t help. In a flash of understanding she realized his pain, confusion, and rage matched hers. Steve didn’t want to feel what he felt for her any more than she did. But he couldn’t stop any more than she could.
His hands were rough, and his taking her was fierce and heated. With the world spinning around her, she clung to his warm, damp back and prayed that this moment would last forever.
With a party going on, Nicholas missed Young Hawk more than ever. Amy and Chane danced together—and got a lot of attention for that—but Nicholas just sat and watched. Finally he got bored with watching others dance and walked toward the barn to see the horses. Outside, the grounds were lit with red, blue, yellow, and green hanging lanterns. Everywhere people were dancing. On two sides of the house, bands played two different kinds of music—a fast Mexican fandango and a slow waltz.
In the barn, he climbed up into the hayloft. He liked lying in the sweet dried hay, listening to the horses, chickens, and milk cows nearby and the welter of music at a distance.
Clouds covered the stars. Cool wind rattled the tied-down shutters. He and Young Hawk used to sit in the hayloft of the barn at the old house. Nicholas wondered about Young Hawk a lot, but he wished he wouldn’t, because thinking about him caused a bad feeling.
He must have dozed off. Sounds below startled him, made him look around to see where he was.
“You going to Waco with Sheridan?” a man below said.
“Naw. I’m not even finishing out the week. The wife’s begging me to quit before I catch that kid’s consumption. She heard about them Indians dying of it, and she’s been driving me crazy ever since. She’s the jumpy sort.”
“I thought they died of measles.”
“Hell, I bet you believe in Santa Claus, too, don’t ya?”
The sound of a horse stamping was followed by the barn door closing, then silence below. Lightning flashed to the north. Within seconds thunder boomed overhead. Nicholas rubbed his chest, which ached worse than it had in a long time. Steve was leaving—and Young Hawk had died with the coughing and fever.
Nicholas ran to the house to look for his mother.
Steve cradled Samantha on the narrow window seat in silence, listening to the sounds outside. The music was gay. Carefree people were laughing and dancing. He wondered if the world would ever seem that simple to him again. Samantha could take her enjoyment with him. She could tease him, flaunt her beautiful body and her bedazzling, enchanting face before him, but she reserved her love and loyalty for Lando.
He felt half crazed with the pain of knowing that in spite of what they shared, she was going to marry another man. The longer he thought about it, the worse it felt. Finally, without knowing what he was going to do, he stood and adjusted his clothing so that he was properly dressed. Then he pulled her off the window seat and helped her stand. She looked so soft and sweet and disoriented, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. But too soon, the anger came up in him again; he ended the kiss.
“Nooooo,” she moaned. “Kiss me…”
“Hush,” he whispered, his firm hands giving her a little shake to reinforce the command. While she stood in a daze of interrupted passion, he unfastened the long row of buttons that held her gown together.
Samantha started to protest but couldn’t. She wanted to be naked in his arms. It was craziness. Hundreds of her guests danced and laughed downstairs, but she waited blindly and submissively as Steve Sheridan slipped her gown off and let it drop, its wide skirt fanning her legs as it collapsed around her ankles.
Steve undid the corsets and stays and eased them down. In spite of making love to her only moments ago, his desire for her was strong. He had to clamp his jaws to keep from kissing every inch of her beautiful, pale, shimmering body. Even so, his hands could not leave her alone. They stroked the smooth curve of her waist, the soft thrust of her breasts. Her flesh, which seemed to gather all incoming light, gleamed pearlescent. Standing perfectly still beneath his hands, naked and beautiful and willing, she was the embodiment of abundant female richness.
Her lover might arrive at any moment, but she was here. And she wasn’t asking to leave. Steve sensed so much in the soft raggedness of her breathing, the mindless quality of her submission to his madness. She shivered slightly, as if trying to bring herself back from wherever she had withdrawn, and reached out to fumble with one of his buttons. Steve placed her arms firmly at her sides.
“Be still,” he whispered, his voice firm, brooking no opposition. Samantha shuddered at the feel of his warm hands and the chilled air against her bare skin. She knew this was folly. Someone could walk in at any moment. Her reputation would be ruined, but it didn’t matter. She had watched Steve dancing with other women all evening. Now nothing mattered except his holding and touching her. She wanted him to kiss her. When he wasn’t kissing her or touching her, she felt deprived.
“Steve…”
“Hush. This is the last time I’ll ever make love to you. The last time I’ll ever see you like this.”
He positioned her firmly. Trembling, her body humming with soft, muted excitement, she waited as his warm hands stroked her back and hips, then rose again to graze lightly over the sides of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. His touch cast a spell over her, causing her body to ache sweetly, darkly.
Steve’s hands, firm one moment, feather-light the next, hypnotized her, dragged her attention to whatever place he touched, seemed to magnify every sensation.
“Do his hands feel so much better than mine?”
“It isn’t like that,” she whispered.
“Then how is it?” He sounded so fierce, she shivered.
“I don’t know!” she whispered. “Don’t talk about him…”
“Does he touch you in this way? Does the bastard even know how beautiful you are?”
“Steve…”
“Hush,” he said softly, his voice heavy with its own darkness. His hands positioned her again. Her heart pounded. Her loins burned.
“Do you know why you obey my commands?” he asked softly, his hand stroking her thighs and moving very close to the place that ached so sweetly for his touch.
Mute, she shook her head no.
“Because you belong to me,” he said fiercely. “That bastard may think he’s acquiring title when he marries you, but it’ll be as useless to him as your deed to this land.”
She trembled, but could not speak. His hands touched every part of her face, head, neck. Finally he lowered his head and kissed her. It was like no other kiss he had ever given her. He kissed her until her knees wobbled, then he yielded her lips and lowered her onto the settee.
She wanted to be kissed again, but he lowered his head to kiss her breasts. His lips were warm and hungry as they burned a trail down her belly.
“Steve, no…”
He caught her face in his hands and kissed her urgently. “Let me have you tonight,” he whispered. “Don’t you understand? I’m leaving. I’ll never see you again.” His voice was low and desperate, evoking an answering pain in her.
“Oh, God,” she moaned, the pain almost insupportable.
From outside the door, a child called out, “Mama! Are you up here, Mama?”
“Nicholas,” Samantha whispered, her heart pounding with sudden fright.
Steve groaned softly. Samantha grabbed her gown and rushed to the door and held it shut, waiting to see if he was coming closer or retreating. He didn’t call out again.
“Help me get dressed,” she said, frantically pulling her gown on and backing up to him. Steve pulled her to the window, where he could see well enough to match the right buttons with the right buttonholes. When she was secured into the gown, he put on his mask and started out the door.
“Wait for me,” she whispered.
“Better if we go back separately.”
She wanted somehow to hold him there, to feel his arms ar
ound her one more time, but he was determined to leave. His broad back blocked the doorway for one moment, then it closed between them. He was gone. All she wanted to do was cry, but she had to somehow repair the damage he’d done to her and find her son.
Nicholas couldn’t find his mother among the dancers. He called for her a time or two, got a few odd looks from people, then stopped. He went into his room and laid down on his bed to get warm. His lungs ached; he felt cold and scared and jumpy inside.
At the bottom of the steps, Steve paused and leaned against the wall of the ballroom, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. He heard someone approaching and reached up and checked to be sure his mask was in place.
A woman in an old-fashioned bell-shaped skirt and dainty bonnet strode right up to him and stopped in front of him. She was wearing a mask that covered only the top half of her face. She smiled and nudged her companion, who was unmistakably Ham Russell, in spite of the mask covering his eyes. His red beard was braided and tied with clean ribbons. His red hair was tied back from his face by a matching ribbon at his neckline.
“Ah declare, isn’t that the devil?” the woman asked, sounding slightly uncomfortable. Steve recognized her now as Chila Dart.
“Sure looks like it to me,” Russell growled.
“Why, you are a fine-looking devil, young man,” she said, her voice dropping down into coyness.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Chila recognized Denny’s voice, and her heart skipped a beat in surprise and consternation.
Steve saw the reaction jolt her; he expected her to walk quickly away from him. Instead, she opened her mouth and let out an ear-shattering scream.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
The music stopped abruptly. People murmured their amazement, searching for the source of that bloodcurdling howl. Then, into that silence, Chila screamed again, louder. Every eye in the room focused on her, Ham, and Steve.
“That’s the man I told you about,” she yelled at Ham Russell. “That’s the man who killed my baby!”
A hush fell over the crowd. Peter Van Vleet left his wife’s side and strode toward Steve Sheridan, who looked like he could use a friend. As Peter approached, he saw the screaming woman and recognized her escort. Surprised at the sight of Ham Russell, whom he’d never expected to see again, he stopped short and watched as the woman began to scream again.
“Shoot him! Shoot him! He killed my baby!”
Fortunately Ham Russell was not wearing a gun. From his vantage point, Peter saw his sister order the musicians to resume playing. Chane and Chantry Two stepped forward and escorted Chila Dart and Ham Russell out of the house, talking to them in low tones, but Chila was not to be shushed. She kept screaming something to the effect that Sheridan was Denny, the devil who had killed her baby and deserted her.
Visibly shaken, Steve Sheridan stalked out the back door.
Peter thought he knew now why Samantha had lost so many cattle. Ham Russell had been one of Dallas Younger’s henchmen, privy to the inside workings of his boss’s wholesale rustling operation near Phoenix last year.
Peter scowled. It was one thing to know that—and another to prove it, though.
Rathwick shook his head in chagrin and continued his own search. Finally he found Lawson at the punch bowl chatting with the lovely young Leslie Van Vleet. He waited until she finished dipping two glasses of punch and carried them away.
“I need to speak to you, Captain,” Rathwick said grimly.
“Ex-captain,” Lawson said, following Rathwick to a deserted corner of the ballroom. “Nice greeting. I guess you haven’t missed me any more than I’ve missed you.” The musicians changed to a polka. Couples paired off and began a gay romp around the room.
Rathwick stopped and glared at Lawson. “I want to know why the sight of you scared the young lady I was with.”
“Must have been my reputation as a womanizer that just overwhelm—” Lawson saw Rathwick’s fist coming at him, but he couldn’t move away in time. The fist connected…and lights flashed in his head.
Enraged, Lawson launched his own punch. Nothing in his life had ever felt as good as hitting Rathwick.
Too soon, men pulled Rathwick off Lawson and tried to drag him outside, but he dragged them back to within three feet of Lawson, bleeding profusely from the mouth. “I want to know why the sight of you scared her!” Rathwick yelled.
“Go to hell!”
“Tell me!” shouted Rathwick.
“Screw you!” Lawson growled, turning away.
Samantha heard screaming, and then what sounded like a brawl, but she could do nothing about it. She walked to the bedroom door and peered out, hoping to figure out what was happening out there, but she could see nothing except an empty hallway.
By the time she finally succeeded in restoring herself and repairing the damage Steve had done to her, the music had resumed and the screaming had stopped. She slipped back downstairs and found the Kincaid family gathered by the musicians.
“Well, sis, you certainly know how to throw a party,” Chane said, with a drawl.
“What happened?”
“Oh, nothing much. Your builder was accosted by a woman who called him a child murderer; a captain and a civilian got into a fight; Peter recognized someone from his past; and Steve wisely left.”
Chane filled Samantha in on all the details. Chila Dart had been the one screaming. And Peter had recognized Ham Russell. No one knew why Rathwick attacked Lawson.
“Peter,” Samantha asked, “you know Ham Russell?”
Peter lifted a tawny eyebrow. The look in his clear blue eyes left no doubt. “Yes. He was one of Dallas Younger’s henchmen, highly placed in a wholesale rustling operation. When we disbanded that group, I hoped they would scatter a little farther away.”
Samantha had never thought of Peter as a threat before. She’d heard of his reputation, but he had seemed just a handsome young father to her. Now, suddenly, she sensed the steel in him. She wanted to know more about this, but looking for her son took precedence over everything else. She told them he seemed to be missing.
“Have you checked his room?” Jennie asked.
Samantha rushed upstairs and opened his bedroom door. There, on the bed, she saw him. As quietly as possible, she walked across the room and whispered, “Nicholas?”
He didn’t answer. She leaned down and pressed her lips to his forehead. It was warm, and probably explained why he had slipped up and put himself to bed. He appeared to be fully clothed. She should undress him and put him into his pajamas, but he considered himself too old to be treated that way, and she might just wake him up. It was better for him if he rested.
She slipped out of his room and back downstairs to report that the lost was found.
Nothing had worked out the way she’d wanted, not for her, not for Steve, and certainly not for Nicholas. She wished she’d never even thought of a party.
Nicholas waited until his mother left the room, then he put on his jacket and slipped down the back stairway to the outside. He avoided the dancers and took a roundabout way to the barn. Since he couldn’t saddle a horse by himself, he chose one in a stall, bridled it, and climbed aboard by standing on the top of the wooden enclosure.
He let himself out of the barn and rode slowly down the hill, not sure himself where he was going.
At last the party inside was breaking up. The one outside sounded like it might go on all night.
Chane and Jennie stopped beside Samantha. “Good night, Samantha. Lovely party,” Jennie said, resisting Chane’s gentle pressure on her waist as he herded her toward the stairs and their room.
Rathwick hung back until she was alone for a moment. Then he walked over. “I apologize for starting that fight. It was inexcusable.”
“What was it about?”
“I had taken Tristera out onto the veranda. Lawson stepped out there, and Tristera took one look at him and ran away. I don’t know why, but she took a horse from the barn and left.
Samantha knew then that Lawson must have been the officer in charge of the patrol that killed Tristera’s companions. And that she needed to tell Steve. “Thank you, Matthew. Hopefully she’ll return soon.”
Samantha burned with the desire to find Steve, but people were leaving; she had to be at the door to fulfill her duties as hostess. One by one, Samantha’s guests said good night and left to put down bedrolls outside or to climb the stairs to their rooms. In a few cases the people would drive home, but most would spend the night somewhere on the grounds.
Juana and her helpers had cleaned up even before the last guest walked out of the room.
“Excellent job,” Samantha said. “Everyone will sleep late. Don’t worry about breakfast.”
“Muchas gracias, señora.”
Samantha switched off the lights, saving for last the chandelier, too beautiful to turn off. The house grew quiet. Lights outside shone into the room. The sparkle of the crystal pendants painted the room with dancing points of light. Steve had chosen well.
Steve…His name called up feelings of grief and despair. She sat down at the piano. Steve was leaving soon. She would never see him again.
It suddenly dawned on her that she had changed. Ten years ago, with a party ending, she might have been counting beaus or remembering compliments. Tonight she cared about Tristera’s safety and welfare, Nicholas’s health, Steve’s pain about leaving her, her own pain when she thought about his leaving…
She shivered as she remembered his husky whisper, You belong to me. He may think he’s acquiring title when he marries you, but you’ll always belong to me.
She admitted the truth of his words. Even if she married Lance and bore his children, she might never get over her love and longing for Steve.
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