by Sandra Brown
Lauren kept her eyes lowered. She was still no part of them, and they cared nothing for her feelings.
“You can stay at Keypoint for as long as you like. We’ll pass that off as your honeymoon. Not very glamorous, but if anyone inquires, we’ll say that Lauren was eager to see the ranch,” Olivia remarked, stifling a yawn.
“Good,” Jared said. “I can’t wait to get back. When I left—”
“We know your unwarranted enthusiasm for the ranch, Jared. Please don’t bore us with it now,” Olivia said curtly. Her laziness of the moment before was gone.
Jared’s lips pressed together in a hard line before he said brusquely, “Lauren, we’ll leave first thing in the morning. And I mean first thing. You can ride, can’t you?” The question sounded almost like a dare.
“Yes, I can ride, Jared,” she said. He scowled at her. Had he wished she couldn’t? Would he have liked to find another flaw to ridicule?
“Then we’ll go on horseback,” he said impatiently. “Pepe’ll bring our bags in a flatbed.” Then, looking at her, he said sharply, “We’re traveling light, so don’t pack everything you own.”
“I hadn’t intended to,” she shot back, her own ire rising under his imperiousness. She continued in spite of his dark look, “Since we are to leave early, I think I’ll go upstairs. Goodnight, Carson. Goodnight, Olivia.” Her head was held high and her back was straight as she crossed the room. At the doorway, she paused and looked at her mother-in-law. She found it difficult to say what she knew she should. “I know you went to tremendous effort and expense, Olivia. Though it wasn’t for my sake, I appreciate your doing it just the same. The flowers, the food, the clothes, everything was lovely. Thank you.”
The other three didn’t say anything for several moments after Lauren left them.
Then Carson coughed uneasily and said quietly, “Jared, treat her kindly. We have our ulterior motives, but she is an innocent party in all this. Be gentle with her.”
Jared resented being instructed on how to treat a woman. Intending to make a retort to that effect, he turned away from the liquor cabinet where he was getting a large bottle of whiskey. Carson’s face was guileless. He hadn’t issued a directive; he had made a plea. Jared stifled the rejoinder already on his lips, mumbled his goodnights, and plodded up the stairs.
* * *
For an hour, he had been in his room drinking steadily and listening to the light taps that small slippers made on the floor next door.
“To my wedding night,” he scornfully saluted himself in the mirror over his dresser. He was shocked by the reflection. He didn’t remember discarding his vest and coat, but a swift glance over his shoulder revealed them to be carelessly draped over the back of a chair. When had he taken out his cuff links and unbuttoned his shirt? In a characteristic gesture, he raked his fingers through his hair.
His bride was undoubtedly just as immaculate and cool as she had been when she met him at the altar. Or maybe she was already dressed for bed. What did she sleep in? Nothing provocative, he scoffed silently. Something chaste and…
Why not? Why not see for himself? Why should he be the only one to suffer through this hellish night? He was her husband after all and, by God, he had some rights!
He didn’t consciously decide to disturb her but, propelled by some mystical and obsessive force, he found himself before the door that connected their rooms through the bathroom.
He knocked sharply. No answer, but the movements in the adjoining room halted abruptly. He knocked again, this time saying her name. It came out as a tremulous sigh. He cleared his throat, shook his head, and repeated it with more force. Silence.
“Yes?” Apprehensive. Tentative.
“Open the door.” It was a command. He hoped.
Long pause.
Finally, calmly, “What do you want, Jared?”
He laughed mirthlessly, muttered a few unintelligible obscenities, and raised his voice another decibel. “Open this door!”
He heard her footsteps and the rustle of her clothing coming closer until he knew she was in the bathroom just beyond the door.
“We can talk from here, Jared.”
“If you don’t open this goddam door,” he growled, “I’ll kick it down. Do you want a ruckus? It won’t embarrass me, because I don’t give a damn.”
There was a momentary hesitation, then the key was turning in the lock made rusty by disuse. The knob rattled as she pulled the door open.
Her hair was down, framing her face in a black cloud and cascading down her back in heavy waves to her waist. She wore a rose-colored dressing gown cut in a deep V in the front and buttoning from her breast to her knees. Lace spilled over her delicate hands at the end of the wide sleeves. Her trembling lips were parted to allow agitated, quick breaths to escape. She tried unsuccessfully to mask her fear.
The sight of her stupefied him, and her flowery scent filled his head with a greater vertigo than had the vast amount of alcohol he had consumed. He longed to taste the smooth skin at the base of her throat, which fluttered with the frantic beating of her pulse. He wanted to investigate what treasures lay beyond that first button of her dressing gown.
By an act of will, he regained his self-control and said thickly, “You needn’t look so frightened, Mrs. Lockett. I have no intention of forcing you to give me my conjugal rights.”
Her only response was to moisten her lips with a dainty pink tongue. Jared swallowed hard, stifling an animal groan, and said, “I demand only one thing. There will be no locked doors. Separate bedrooms are not that uncommon, but a locked door invites speculation. Maids gossip, you know. One locked door between us and this whole farce is shot to hell. So no locked doors. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Jared,” she answered levelly.
Dammit! Why didn’t she scream or swoon or something? She was so damned composed, while he stood here like an adolescent idiot with his sweating palms and pounding heart and aching loins.
Not trusting himself any longer, he reached for the door and closed it quickly. He didn’t hear the key turn in the lock before her footsteps receded into the bedroom beyond, but he lacked the nerve to turn the knob and test her obedience.
“I guess I showed her who’s boss,” he boasted as he flung himself upon the bed, wondering why he felt no satisfaction in his victory. All he felt was a deep longing which he tried to obliterate with sleep.
Chapter 9
Elena gently shook Lauren’s shoulder and whispered, “Señora Lockett, wake up. It’s time to get ready for your trip.”
Lauren opened her eyes. She was greeted by a dark room and mumbled a protest into her pillow. She didn’t want to give up the sleep that had been so long in coming. Elena’s persistent needling finally penetrated her slumberousness, and with sudden clarity she remembered where she was going today. She threw back the covers and rolled out of bed. Soon she was wide awake and, in spite of her misgivings toward Jared, was excited about seeing Keypoint for the first time.
As she performed her toilette, Elena chattered about how lovely the wedding had been, how beautiful Lauren looked in her bride’s dress, how handsome Jared was, and how lucky Lauren was to have such a husband.
The maid had been surprised only minutes earlier when she had knocked on Jared’s door to awaken him.
“Señor Jared, are you awake? Time to get ready for your trip. Señora Lauren, do you hear me?”
Only silence greeted her until Jared mumbled a sleepy, “I’m awake.”
“Señora Lauren, do you want me to help you?” Elena twittered, thinking that the new husband would probably take over some of her former duties.
There was a rustle of bedcovers, a muttered curse, and then Jared said, “She’s in her room. Go wake her up.”
Elena had stood outside the door staring at it in a puzzled fashion. “But, señor—”
“She’s in her room,” he growled.
Now, as she packed last-minute additions to Lauren’s bags, Elena shrugged. Why wasn’t
Lauren sleeping with her new husband? The ways of the gringos had always been a mystery to her.
The one possession that Lauren had that kept her from coming to Jared as a pauper bride was her riding habit. It had been a gift to her from the Prathers, who had insisted that she attend a riding academy. The blue velvet habit with its long, trailing skirt and tightly tailored jacket fit her figure to perfection. It had taken up an exorbitant amount of space in one of her valises, but she couldn’t bear to part with the finest garment she owned when she left North Carolina.
Elena eyed the riding habit dubiously and asked Lauren tentatively if she wouldn’t prefer wearing one of the split skirts that Mrs. Gibbons had made for her.
“No,” Lauren adamantly refused as she thrust long pins into the smart matching hat with its decorative veil. “I want Jared to see me in something of my own. Something his mother didn’t buy for me.”
The two young women were snapping shut the fastenings of her bags when Pepe tapped lightly on the door. Elena opened it and he bowed swiftly and said, “Señor Jared, he is waiting.” Pepe picked up Lauren’s bags and preceded the women down the stairs. He looked at her attire skeptically and muttered to himself in Spanish, shaking his head in bewilderment.
He carried her valises through the large front door. Stubbornly Lauren detoured into Rosa’s kitchen for a quick cup of tea. The morning was chilly, and the tea warmed her body, but nothing could warm the chill in her heart. She had not yet seen Jared, and after their confrontation at the bathroom door, she dreaded facing him again. What would his mood be today?
Rosa was bustling around the kitchen even at this early hour. As Lauren was eating fresh, hot tortillas dripping with butter, Rose saw the sadness on the young gringa’s face. Rosa knew everything that went on in the house, and she wasn’t fooled into thinking this sudden marriage was based on love. Maternally she reached out and patted Lauren’s arm. “Señora Lockett, everything will be all right. Señor Jared, he… he hurt inside. Here.” She placed a plump hand over her enormous breasts. “But he is a good man. He like you very much.” Lauren moved to protest, but Rosa went on quickly, “Rosa knows the boy since he is born. I can tell.” She smiled radiantly, reassuringly, and squeezed Lauren’s hand. “Vaya con Dios,” she whispered.
Pepe poked his head through the kitchen door, cleared his throat, and said apologetically, “Señor Jared, he…” and indicated with his head that Lauren should follow him without delay.
Before she left the kitchen, Lauren turned to Rosa and hugged her, her arms barely encompassing the woman’s girth. Elena was standing by the front door, tears glistening in her eyes. Lauren hugged her as close as her protuberant stomach would allow.
“I’ll be upset if the baby comes while I’m away. Can you send word to me? I hope you’ll be all right.”
“I will let you know, but don’t concern yourself. The niño, he will be born fine.” Elena laughed.
“Goodbye, Elena.” The two women clung to each other for a few seconds, then Lauren stepped through the door
Jared was sitting on the large palomino that had been tied to the back of the wagon the day Lauren arrived. He was a vaquero again. He wore tall black boots, the customary tight black pants tucked into the tops of them. A leather jacket protected him against the coolness of the October morning. A blue shirt was under that, and a red bandana had been tied negligently around his throat. The black hat was pulled down low over his brows, and he was casually smoking one of his thin cigars.
Jared looked her up and down, only his eyes moving, and in the early-morning darkness his expression was inscrutable. Pepe held the reins of a saddled mare. Both the mare and Jared’s stallion pranced skittishly when Jared’s deep laugh roared through the still morning.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going in that getup?”
Lauren was stunned. She thought she looked quite fetching in the riding habit with its rich fabric and matching bonnet. “Th-this is a riding habit,” she stuttered lamely.
“I know what it is,” Jared said witheringly. “It’s just going to be entertaining as hell to see how you get up on that horse in it, that’s all.” He chuckled.
Lauren looked at the beautiful sorrel mare. She seemed to be placid enough. Then she saw the saddle and swallowed convulsively.
“I would prefer a sidesaddle, Jared,” she said with all the poise she could muster.
“You would?” he drawled, securing the cheroot in the corner of his lips. “Well, that’s too bad, because all we have are western saddles. Can’t you ride astride?”
Again the gauntlet was thrown down. “Of course I can,” she retorted.
“Then go change into some of those new clothes you have and get your… rear… out here quick. We’re wasting time.” As she turned back to the front door, he added, “And do something with your hair. You can’t wear a proper hat over that…” He made a descriptive motion with his hands around his own head. “And if you don’t wear a hat, you’ll scorch that buttermilk complexion of yours,” he said scathingly.
Lauren lifted her heavy skirt and stumbled back into the house. Elena, who had been standing inside the door and had heard everything, sympathetically took Lauren’s arm and led her back upstairs.
Silently the Mexican girl divested Lauren of her habit and redressed her in a brown split skirt which Lauren thought disgracefully tight across her hips and much too short. A white cotton shirt that buttoned down the front much like a man’s went on next. Elena ignored the tears Lauren sniffed back and the quivering shoulders over which she slipped a soft leather jacket. Brown kid boots molded to Lauren’s calves, and she was modestly grateful that they covered her legs to just below the knee where they met the bottom of the culottes.
The tears began to roll down her cheeks as Lauren thought of the humiliation Jared had subjected her to. He had stripped her of all dignity in front of the servants, her friends, and he had enjoyed it.
In silent sympathy, Elena removed Lauren’s hat, took the pins out of the heavy black hair, and brushed it hurriedly. She braided the ebony tresses into one long plait that hung to Lauren’s waist like a silken rope. Then she handed Lauren a brown, flat-crowned hat that looked like the one Jared wore, and Lauren placed it on her head, securing the thin leather cord under her chin. Finally Elena handed her a pair of brown kid gloves.
They had been in the room no more than ten minutes, but the transformation was astounding.
As they went down the broad stairs, Elena whispered, “Lauren, can you ride astride?” In the crisis, all formality was dropped.
Lauren swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried.” Elena looked at her compassionately, but saw only determination on Lauren’s face. The tears had vanished.
Lauren strode out the front door without so much as a glance in Jared’s direction. Expectantly she stood beside the sorrel mare. She placed one small, booted foot in the stirrup and grasped the pommel. Pepe cupped his hands and boosted her up by her other foot. She landed in the saddle with a plop, almost crying out in shock as her tender thighs slapped against the leather. She immediately composed her face and took the reins Pepe offered up to her.
Jared watched her with interest and smiled a sardonic, knowing smile. This was going to be some ride!
They didn’t speak as they rode out the lane to the house and followed a road leading west out of town. Lauren scanned the countryside.
The sun was only now rising behind them, and its rays gradually illuminated the breathtaking scenery. Tall cypress trees lined the bends of the Rio Caballo, which paralleled the road on the right. On the left were gently rolling hills glistening with frost, which sparkled like a mantle of diamonds as the sun reflected off of it. Oak and elm trees were tinged with the russet tones of fall, and the cedars provided a dark evergreen contrast. White limestone formations jutting out of the hillside caught the morning sun and dazzled the eye.
They rode side by side, Lauren guiding her horse away from Jared’s any time it came wi
thin a few feet of the larger animal. Her hat fell back against her shoulders, and Jared looked at the top of her head as the sun crowned it with highlights.
In spite of her declaration to the contrary, he knew she had never ridden astride before. She’s got some spunk, he conceded silently. She was riding well, but God, she was going to hurt later on.
He broke the silence. “You don’t look quite so comical now. Isn’t that outfit more comfortable than that contraption you had on before?” he goaded.
“I’m fine, thank you, Jared.”
Damn! Always so cool. I’ll just bet she’s comfortable, he thought snidely. That cute little butt he’d noticed as she mounted the horse was probably screaming in pain. Why didn’t she complain?
He deliberately spurred his horse and increased their pace.
Lauren did likewise in order to keep up with him, and the throbbing in her thighs and bottom was almost unbearable. But she would rather die than reveal her discomfort to that superior, arrogant, hateful man!
In spite of her mounting anger, she couldn’t keep her eyes away from Jared. She wanted to hate him, but that was hard in light of his handsomeness. No picture she had ever seen of the dashing western men depicted anyone as exciting as Jared Lockett.
Try as she might, she couldn’t forget how the sight of him last night with his chest bare and his hair mussed had caused her heart to pound. She had been terrified of opening that door, but it wasn’t only his threat to break it down and rouse the house that had constrained her to obey. She had to admit that she was curious about what would happen when she did. Tremors had coursed through her body, setting up strange sensations as the topaz eyes traveled over her. Lauren almost imagined that Jared had been unnerved himself, but that would be out of character for him.
Objectively she studied horse and rider now. They moved together as one being. The stallion’s honey-gold coat was almost the same color as the sun-gilded hair that covered Jared’s chest.
