Hope kept on fixing her dinner even though the churning of her stomach told her she wouldn’t be eating anything for a while.
“You looked better than ever when you came back, but you wouldn’t give me the time of day.” Turner shrugged massively. “Hey, fine. I had lots of time and lots of women to play with. I could wait.” He smiled widely. “You know, I kind of liked waiting. Most women bore me after I fuck them. But with you I could lie in bed and think of how many ways I’d do it to you. I never got bored.”
The shudder of revulsion that went through Hope didn’t escape Turner. He smiled, misreading her now as he had always misunderstood her in the past.
“Turns you on, huh?” he said, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. “Yeah, me, too. Come here, baby doll. I’ve got something in my pants for you.”
“No.”
“Hey.” He smiled hugely and held up his hands as though she had a gun on him. “My intentions are strictly honorable. I won’t touch you until we’re married, if that’s the way you want it.”
“That’s the way I want it,” she said instantly.
“Then move your ass, baby doll. There’s a man in town who’ll have us married before you can say—”
“No,” she cut in.
“What do you mean?” he said, exasperated.
“Just that. N. O. No.” Hope looked at Turner and spoke calmly despite the fear prowling through her, shaking her as the wind shook the house, howling. “Don’t you understand yet?” she asked with a calmness that was balanced on the brittle edge of desperation. “You only want me because you can’t have me. You said it yourself. Women bore you. I’ll bore you, too.”
“No, you won’t. You’re the only woman who ever said no to me and made it stick. C’mon,” he said impatiently, holding out his thick hand to her. “Let’s go to town.”
“No.”
The hand became a big fist. “Listen, I’m getting real goddamn tired of hearing no from you. The game is over. Rio’s sniffing around, and he’s got too damn many women hot for him. He’ll get you to spread your legs, too. I’ve thought it over real careful. I was going to come here and beat that son of a bitch until he can’t ever get it up again. Then I saw him in town and decided to settle some things with you first. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t even think of saying no anymore. Got that, baby doll?”
Hope looked from Turner’s flushed face to the fist he had unconsciously made of the hand he had held out to her. She wondered if he had been drinking, then decided it didn’t matter. He hadn’t had enough alcohol to slow him down, which was all that mattered to her.
For an instant she thought longingly of the rifle in the water truck. No one had guessed that she would be cornered by a snake in her own kitchen. But then, no one had guessed that she would be so alone, so vulnerable.
The back door had never looked farther away. All that was left was to go along with Turner’s “offer” of marriage until they got to town, where she would run for the first open door she saw.
Then Hope measured the flat light in Turner’s eyes and realized that he wouldn’t wait until town to rape her. He had been content with his coarse fantasies as long as he knew that she wasn’t interested in any man. But now Rio was around.
Turner wasn’t going to let her get away. Not tonight.
Hope’s hazel glance flickered again to the back door.
“You start running and you aren’t going to like it when I catch you,” Turner said, following her glance. “I’ll like it, though. I’ll like it a whole lot.”
The chill wind moaned and blew over the land, buffeting the house.
Hope wanted nothing more than to be as wild and free as that wind. And as safe.
Mentally she went over the drop from her bedroom window to the sloping roof of the back porch and from there to the ground. The wind would cover any sounds she made. She could be in the pasture, up on Aces, and over the back fence before Turner caught on.
“I’ll need to change my clothes before we get married in town,” she said calmly.
Turner cocked his head as though listening to the wind. His opaque eyes looked her over, seeing through the soft caftan to the curving, softer flesh beneath.
“Sure thing, babe. I’ll just come along and watch. Sort of an appetizer, see? I’ll even get in a bite or two,” he added, surging forward and reaching for the slit in her caftan. “Right about here.”
She twisted away to keep her legs beyond the reach of his clutching hand, but she wasn’t quite fast enough. His fingers grabbed the caftan below her waist. The lush green material bunched in his fist.
Hands braced on the counter behind her, Hope stood very still. If she moved, she would arouse his predatory instincts even more. He liked women to fight him. They were so easy to defeat, so soft, and their smooth skin showed every mark of his victory.
“Is this what your word is worth?” she asked with a calm that went no deeper than her cold skin. “You said you wouldn’t touch me until we were married.”
“Does that mean you finally decided to marry me?” he asked carelessly.
Slowly, as though in a nightmare, Hope felt the handle of the boning knife pressing against the edge of her palm.
“It’s about time,” Turner continued. Almost absently his huge fist crushed the velvet fabric, pulling on it, playing with her. He was strong enough to have her in an instant, but then the game would be over. “I’m tired of jumping through hoops for you. First the mortgage, then the water, and you still keep saying no.”
She spoke carefully, trying to bring reason to a situation that was unraveling into terror. “I borrowed the money from Cottonwood Savings and Trust. One year, interest only, the land and buildings as collateral. Nothing was said about you.”
“The bank is owned by my aunt, and I’m her favorite nephew. If it hadn’t been for me, you’d have been turned down flat.” The big fist twisted very slowly, wrapping the green velvet more tightly around his fingers, dragging Hope closer. “I didn’t figure you’d make more than one or two payments before you went belly-up. I was going to step in and buy your ranch. Then you were going to earn it back one trick at a time, like any other whore.”
“I’ve made every payment.” Her voice was so controlled that it was almost toneless.
“Yeah,” he said in disgust. His fist twisted harder, tightening more fabric around his fingers, pulling her closer. “You sure as hell did. Bill Worth says you’ve got money saved up for the balloon, too.”
Unable to force sound past the fear closing her throat, Hope let the wind speak for her in a low, endless cry of despair.
“Well, shit, baby doll,” he said in exasperation. “You don’t leave a man enough room to swing his cock, do you? You won’t even spread your legs for the water you’ve been taking. So I’m going to collect what’s coming to me, starting now.”
Turner yanked the fabric, throwing Hope off-balance, jerking her away from the counter before she could grab the knife. His thick arms pinned hers against her sides while his teeth ground against her lips. He backed up, dragging her with him, until the kitchen table pressed against his thighs. Then he lifted his head and grinned, humping his hips against her fast and hard.
“How about right here, baby doll. Just you and me and the big hard table.”
Nausea turned over in Hope’s stomach and clogged her throat. Her mind raced with frantic speed. She wanted nothing but to be free of Turner’s touch, his smell, his obscene strength. With an effort of will that left her shaking, she smiled and lowered her eyelashes to keep him from seeing her revulsion. Deliberately she kicked off her fragile mules, getting ready to run at her first chance.
“How about in my bed?” she asked, her voice hoarse with fear rather than husky with desire. She doubted he would tell the difference. “I’d hate to get your fancy jeans all greasy.”
He hesitated, surprised and disappointed by her unexpected surrender. On the other hand, it was what he had been waiting for. His arms loos
ened. “Well, if—”
She threw herself away from him with a strength that came from desperation. He staggered against the table, off-balance. Her right hand closed over the boning knife as she sprinted between the counter and the table, heading for the back door.
Turner moved with surprising speed for such a big man. He didn’t manage to catch her, but he did cut off her escape.
She backed up rapidly, retreating from him. He didn’t bother to follow. He simply stood with his legs braced far apart, admiring her flushed face and dark hair. He smiled with cruel anticipation.
“That’s more like it, baby doll. I like a good run for my money.” Then he saw the boning knife glittering in her hand. “Put it down. Fun’s fun, but I’m not into knives.”
“Then get the hell out of my kitchen.”
Hope’s voice was cold and empty, like the wind wrapping around the house in a sustained wail.
Turner hesitated before he smiled again, an ugly smile. With small movements of his body, he began closing the distance between them. “You won’t do it.”
She simply waited, knife in hand. She would do whatever she had to.
The expression on his face said that he was finally figuring that out.
“Last chance,” he snapped. “Put it down.”
She waited, watching. She knew just where she was going to put the knife.
So did he.
“Bitch. When I catch you, you’ll wish to God you’d never even thought of it!”
The cry of the wind masked the heavy sound of Turner’s boots against the floor as he closed in on Hope.
Seventeen
“I’M TEMPTED TO watch her castrate you.”
Rio’s voice was as cold and empty as the wind, as cold as his eyes watching Turner from just beyond the kitchen doorway.
The interruption was so unexpected that the big rancher simply stood and stared for a moment. Then he shook his head like a dog coming out of an icy rain.
Relief surged through Hope with a power that made her light-headed.
“But Hope isn’t used to drawing blood,” Rio drawled. “I am. I’m going to see what color yours is, Turner. I’m betting it’s yellow.”
With a smooth, predatory stride, Rio walked toward Turner, nakedly stalking him. There was strength and control in each clean movement of Rio’s body.
And violence.
It radiated from the coiled perfection of each stride.
Hope backed away from Turner in a rush that took her beyond Rio to the living room.
“Go outside,” Rio said calmly, not looking at her, watching Turner with eyes that were both savage and utterly controlled. “This won’t take but a minute.”
Before she could answer, Turner charged into the living room with his arms spread wide to drag everyone down. She threw herself to the side even as Rio gave her a hard shove, removing her from Turner’s reach. Her knees hit the couch and she fell on it in a sprawl that sent the knife flying out of her hand. The blade slid hilt-deep into a cushion.
The instant it had taken to push Hope to safety left Rio at Turner’s mercy. He was knocked off-balance by the rancher’s massive tackle. They crashed to the floor with a force that shook the room.
As Turner had in so many bar brawls with smaller men, he used his superior weight and muscle to flatten his opponent. Straddling Rio, he smiled and cocked a huge fist, preparing to beat the man beneath him into a bloody rag.
Hope struggled upright and looked frantically around for the knife. She spotted the handle, grabbed it, and turned around just in time to see Turner’s fist start down.
It never reached Rio.
With an upward sweep of his left arm, Rio knocked aside the blow. His right hand made an unusual fist, middle knuckle extended. With a deadly, twisting movement at the moment of impact, he rammed a shot straight to Turner’s heart.
Before the rancher went white at the pain exploding through his chest, the callused edge of Rio’s open left hand connected with Turner’s thick neck in a short, brutal chopping motion. With a low sound, the big man slipped sideways and flopped facedown on the living room floor.
Rio came to his feet in a flowing, catlike movement. “Hope? Are you all right?”
“I—Rio?” she asked, disbelief in her wide eyes.
The violence had happened so fast that she was having trouble understanding that it was over. Rio had moved so quickly, so lethally, no more than a handful of seconds from the moment Turner tackled them. Even with what Mason had told her, she hadn’t expected Rio to be so deadly against the much bigger rancher. Turner had earned his reputation as a brutal, boots-and-bare-knuckle brawler.
Rio took the knife from Hope’s slack fingers and set it on the lamp table. He knelt in front of her, searching her face with blue eyes so dark they were almost black.
“Are you all right?” he asked urgently. “He didn’t have time to hurt you, did he? I saw him drive out of town. He turned toward the Valley of the Sun, not his own ranch. I got here as fast as I could.”
Abruptly reaction hit Hope. She began to tremble violently. Tears spilled out of her eyes. Her skin went pale. Her breath came in short gasps that couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs.
Rio saw blood welling from a cut on her lip and knew that Turner had caused it.
Hope saw the change in Rio’s eyes, the blackness of violence wholly unleashed. With a guttural sound he turned toward the man lying unconscious on the floor.
“No,” she said quickly. Her cold fingers closed over Rio’s arm. The bunched hardness of his muscles shocked her. It was like grabbing a steel fence post. “He didn’t—do anything.”
Rio searched her face, hearing both the truth and the desperation in her broken words. He looked away from the tiny drops of blood on her pale lips. A fierce emotion went through him, cutting him, making him bleed even as she bled.
“Hope,” he said softly.
He ached to touch her and knew he shouldn’t. If he touched her, he would make love to her, kissing away even the memory of brutality, caressing her with his lips and his tongue and his body until she trembled and wept with ecstasy instead of fear.
Turner’s low groan echoed the sound of the wind, rough and empty of meaning.
Rio slanted the man a single feral look. Then he closed his eyes and fought to keep himself from curling his long fingers around Turner’s throat and squeezing until there was nothing left of the rancher but a mound of cooling meat.
Violence had never tempted Rio so much.
Flexing his fingers, fighting a savage need to destroy, he turned away from the man who would have raped Hope. For a few terrible moments, Rio wasn’t sure he could let Turner live.
Self-control had never been so hard before, not even when he was young and as wild as a winter storm.
Hope whispered his name.
“It’s all right.” Rio forced calm into his voice instead of the violence that coiled within him, straining to be free. “I won’t kill him.”
Yet, Rio added silently.
Hope looked at him and heard what he hadn’t said aloud. “No, Rio. Don’t. Turner’s not worth going to jail for.”
“You are.”
Before she could say anything more, Turner groaned again.
Rio moved with shocking speed. His fingers clamped around a thick arm. With an impatient jerk he rolled Turner over onto his back.
“Can you hear me?” Rio asked indifferently.
The other man’s groan didn’t tell Rio anything new. His palm smacked the bigger man’s face with measured force.
Turner’s eyes flew open. The instant his vision cleared enough to make out Rio, he lunged upward at him.
Rio wrapped his hands around the rancher’s arms just above the elbows and used the bigger man’s momentum to yank him to his feet. Steel fingers flexed and dug in like talons.
Waves of pain slammed up Turner’s arms. He sagged and almost blacked out. The next time he looked at Rio, it was with dawning fear instead o
f rage.
Rio saw the change and nodded. “We’re going to reach an understanding, you and me,” he drawled, his voice mild and his eyes promising hell everlasting. His fingers dug deeply into Turner’s muscular flesh, grinding nerve against bone in a gesture that was punishment, warning, and promise in one. “You touch Hope again and I’ll hurt you. Hear me?”
“All I hear is the wind, drifter,” Turner said hoarsely.
He didn’t say any more. He didn’t have to. The knowledge that Rio wouldn’t always be around to protect Hope was there in Turner’s eyes.
It was there in Hope’s, too, raw fear and regret.
“That’s right,” Rio said softly. “I’m the wind. I’m everywhere. I see everything. I hear everything. Nothing happens that I don’t know. You touch Hope just once and you better start looking over your shoulder, living in your rearview mirror, locking your doors at night, and checking the locks again before you go to sleep. You better start going to church every Sunday and praying to God that you never see me again.”
Turner’s eyes widened. He stared at Rio through waves of pain and began to understand more than mere words could say. Rio’s smile was as much a warning as the agonizing grip that was making the world go gray around the edges.
“But if you touch her, no locks and no God will save you,” Rio said almost gently. “One day you’ll hear the wind and you’ll turn around and I’ll be there. That’s the day you die.”
The unlatched front door banged open, pushed by a cold shout of wind.
Pivoting, Rio released Turner with a hard motion that sent the rancher smashing into the doorframe. He pulled himself upright, took one look at Rio’s face, and stumbled down the front steps and into his Jeep.
Cold fingers of wind raked through Rio’s hair. He didn’t feel it. He stood in the doorway, watching while the Jeep’s headlights made a sweep of the yard and sped down the road until there was nothing left but a pinpoint of brightness.
Beautiful Dreamer with Bonus Material Page 17
