LoverforRansom

by Debra Glass

  A sob tore from her throat. She could have said yes. She almost had. But the truth had inundated her—devastated her. He would only be marrying her out of his sense of honor, of guilt.

  As much as she loved him, she couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t awaken in his bed and watch as resentment grew. He, himself, was a self-avowed philanderer. How would she feel when he took a lover? When he returned to the bed of that harridan, the Widow Bostick?

  She’d tried to distance herself, to stop this thing they shared, but one kiss, one command, had her bent and spread to take his cock.

  She couldn’t continue this. Her heart couldn’t stand it.

  Her gaze fell on the pamphlets she’d brought. That was it. She’d devote all her free time to teaching those former slaves. They needed her. It’d keep her busy and keep her mind off Ransom Byrne—at least until he left to go out west.

  Resolved, she shrugged off his frock coat. Before she laid it on the bed, she brought it to her face where she breathed in the masculine scent of him. She closed her eyes, recalling every kiss, every caress, the way his body molded to hers—claimed hers.

  She’d never dreamed her body was capable of experiencing such pleasure.

  What if he could grow to love me? What if…

  No! That sort of thinking had reduced her to becoming one of those sniveling lovesick fools she so detested. She just had to keep her wits about her. That’s all there was to it.

  * * * * *

  Ransom checked the time on his pocket watch. “By God, there’s none can beat Vandal in the state!” His smile stretched so wide it hurt. He’d forgotten the thrill of a fast horse.

  Father clapped him on the back. “Morris has done a fine job with him.”

  Ransom leaned on the railing surrounding their practice track and watched the muscular thoroughbred slow to a canter. “I think he may be a more formidable racer than Asteroid.”

  Father nodded. “You chose well when you bought that foal sired by Glencoe. She’s produced many a fine horse here at Byrne’s End. You have a good eye for horseflesh, son.”

  Ransom tamped down the self-reproach eating at him. His father wouldn’t approve of his plan to leave. Who would run the farm? Morris? That was all good and well, but what would happen when Father was too old? Morris was a fine trainer, but he didn’t possess the intuitive eye for a promising trotter that Ransom had.

  “I’m a little surprised that Aunt Chloe has taken to that Yankee schoolteacher the way she has,” Father said, his gaze trained over his shoulder.

  Ransom peered in the same direction to discover Aunt Chloe walking into the woods along with Cathleen.

  “Where on earth—”

  “Excuse me,” Ransom said, intent on chasing them down and demanding to know where they were headed. And why.

  Cathleen would refuse to tell him, especially with Aunt Chloe to back her. Besides, he knew exactly where they were going—to that shanty town.

  He shook his head. That wily Yankee had somehow persuaded Aunt Chloe to help her teach those freedmen and their families.

  Ransom strode along the fence toward where their hand, Jeff, helped Morris wheel a sulky with a broken wheel back toward the barn for repair.

  He had another job in mind for Jeff.

  Chapter Ten

  Cathleen and Aunt Chloe had been teaching the freedmen families once a week for the better part of two months. Cathleen had hoped staying busy would keep her mind off Ransom. She’d expected time to lessen the heartache she felt every time she was in his presence.

  It hadn’t.

  Since the ball at Rippavilla, though, he’d changed. He seemed tense. Harder than before. Sulkier than before.

  No one else, it seemed, had noticed. Jenny spent most of her free time with Andy. He accompanied her to all the church meetings and came nearly every day to sit with her or walk with her.

  Sally had begun setting a place for him at the table and Cathleen had included him in the instruction of anticipating the special needs of a sightless person.

  All her nights were spent with Ransom and even though they never discussed the idea of marriage again, the concept loomed in the room like a ghost. He took great care not to spill his seed inside her but in truth, Cathleen would not have been disappointed if she’d found herself with child. In fact, she would have been delighted and had begun imagining what it would be like to have a family—a family with Ransom.

  Summer’s oppressive heat had given way to autumn’s chill and Cathleen enjoyed spending her Sunday afternoons walking amidst the brightly colored trees.

  Jenny’s dog trotted past her and headed for the stable.

  “Come back here, you!” she called, but the mongrel paid her no heed. Morris Hunt was worse than Aunt Chloe about the dog being in his stable, upsetting the horses.

  Gathering her skirts, she trudged up the hill to the stable and stopped in the doorway to whistle for the dog. “Come out of there, you rascal!”

  “Rascal is it?” Ransom’s voice came from the shadows.

  Cathleen’s stomach tightened when he stepped into view. “I…I was looking for Jenny’s dog. I thought you’d gone to Spring Hill with the others.”

  He shook his head. The look in his eyes sparked indecent sensations between Cathleen’s thighs.

  A horse let out a high-pitched whinny that startled her. She gasped and her hand flew to her chest. Ransom chuckled. “Your old friend String Bean seems happy to see you.”

  Cathleen smiled. “I doubt that.”

  “You’ve never been in here before, have you?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, wondering why she’d never ventured into this place. Now she understood why Ransom smelled like leather and horses. The stable practically swirled with his essence. It was as much a part of him as his drawl, his black wavy hair and his silver eyes.

  She took two steps toward him.

  “Come in,” he coaxed, motioning for her. “Let me show you around.”

  Her shoes crunched the hay strewn over the cobblestone floor. At least eight horses eyed her over the tops of their shiny black doors. She’d never dreamed a horse stable would be so neat. “I must say, these horses seem quite pampered.”

  Ransom chuckled. “These are some of the finest horses in the South. In the world, for that matter. And since so many breeders’ animals were pressed into service, people will come from all over to buy, breed and trade.” He rubbed the nose of a black horse with a white star between its big round eyes.

  Cathleen clasped her hands behind her back. “With business so promising, why ever would you leave?”

  Ransom eyed her.

  She shouldn’t have brought it up. But now that she had… “The Widow Bostick told me of your plans to move west.”

  His expression turned grim. “I see. Have you mentioned this to Sissy or Jenny?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t.”

  Cathleen bit her bottom lip. She wanted to beg him not to go, but her sanity depended on him leaving. She certainly wasn’t going to leave Jenny—or the school she’d started for the freedmen families.

  “So it’s true, then? You’re leaving?”

  He nodded.

  “When?”

  He shrugged and looked at the horse, which lifted its head to nuzzle Ransom’s face.

  “Are you leaving because of me?” she asked.

  His gaze flicked to hers. “No.”

  She stepped closer and put her hand on his arm. “Because of what happened to Jenny?”

  “I can never forgive myself,” he muttered.

  Cathleen’s heart twisted. “I’m sorry I said anything. It’s none of my concern.”

  He pinned her with a hard look. “Isn’t it?”

  She searched his eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  He raked his hand through his hair. “Dammit, Cathleen.” He drew her into an embrace. “One word from you and I’ll stay here forever.”

  Her heart ran wild. She couldn’t swallow
. “Y-you’re con-confusing me,” she stammered.

  His fingers burrowed in the bun at the nape of her neck. Hairpins scattered and her locks tumbled loose. “I want to confuse you,” he murmured. “I want to touch you and taste you until you die in my arms.”

  Heat raced up her spine. If she stayed here like this with him any longer, she’d consent to anything he suggested. Panic blossomed and she struggled to free herself.

  It was no use.

  His hold on her was too tight. Too demanding. He dragged her into a tack room and began working the buttons of his fly with one hand.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her gaze darting around as if someone might see them.

  “I want you.”

  “Here? Now?”

  His cock sprang free as he pinned her against the wall.

  “Ransom, we can’t—” she began, even as he wrenched up the front of her skirt. Her resolve wavered when his fingers searched between her legs.

  “God, you’re wet,” he whispered in her ear. “So wet for me, darlin’…”

  She felt as if she were on a slippery slope, and instead of helping her to safety, Ransom was careening over the edge with her.

  She clung to him as he plunged into her. Why couldn’t she deny him? And why on earth couldn’t she consent to his pleas to marry her? She wanted it more than anything in the world.

  And yet…

  Ransom was bound by honor. By duty. He would always do what he felt was right and proper—even at the expense of his own happiness. Cathleen knew. Because she was cut from the same cloth.

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the hot tears that seeped through her lashes and streamed down her cheeks as a physical pleasure every bit as intense as her emotional turmoil consumed her.

  * * * * *

  “What are you plannin’ on doin’ about Mistuh Ransom?” Aunt Chloe asked, waddling alongside Cathleen toward the shanty town.

  Heat flourished in her cheeks at the mention of Ransom’s name. “What do you mean?”

  Chloe let out a laugh. “I think you is more blind than you lets on.”

  Cathleen gulped.

  Chloe cut her gaze sideways at Cathleen and grinned. “I know you two has been skulkin’ around at night.”

  Cathleen’s lips parted. She started to protest, but knew it’d be no use. Nothing escaped Chloe.

  “How come you two ain’t gone to see the parson?”

  Cathleen cleared her throat and hugged her books closer. “I…I’m not sure I want to marry. Besides…Mr. Byrne is not the sort of man who wants to settle down with one woman.”

  “You’re wrong about that. He just ain’t found the right woman. Until now.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Aunt Chloe, but—”

  “Ain’t no buts,” Chloe interjected. “He’s in love with you. It’s plain to see. Do the right thing and marry that boy.”

  “Lookie there.” A familiar male voice startled Cathleen. “I didn’t know Yankee gals went walkin’ with their mammies.”

  Cathleen recognized his gaunt face at once. He was one of the night riders who’d come to Byrne’s End. Greasy brown hair seemed to slither from beneath his slouch hat. The strands clung to his forehead. Her insides jellied at the sight of the whip coiled at his side.

  Aunt Chloe took a step backward, but a second man stepped from the woods, effectively preventing their escape.

  Armed with a plank, the man behind them looked no more friendly than the other. A black, grizzled beard dominated his weathered face. He sneered, revealing a set of rotted, yellowed teeth.

  “Where do y’all think you’re goin’?” he asked.

  “You trash go on back down to Columbia. You ain’t got no business around here,” Chloe blustered.

  “See? That’s where you’re wrong,” the one with the whip said, coming closer.

  Cathleen’s nose crinkled when she caught a whiff of his unwashed body and filthy clothes.

  “What you got there?” he demanded, snatching the books and slate from Cathleen’s hands.

  Her heart began to pound with a mixture of terror and anger as he flipped through her things and then dashed them to the ground. She might could make a run for it, but Chloe was so old and slow; she’d never get away and Cathleen wasn’t about to leave her behind. Neither was it in her nature to kowtow to ruffians. Straightening, she started to step past him to collect her books.

  She didn’t expect to be slammed face first into the leaves.

  Everything seemed to happen at once. Pain shot through her hands and knees. Chloe protested and the man with the black beard swung the plank. Wood and Chloe’s knee made sickening cracking sounds.

  “Stop!” Cathleen yelled, seizing one of her books and hurling it at the one with the whip.

  It caught him on the side of the head and rather than stop him, it only infuriated him further.

  White-hot pain shot through one shoulder when he grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet.

  “We gon’ show you what happens to them that thinks…”

  The man continued his heap of insults, using the foulest language Cathleen had ever heard. But his words landed on deaf ears. As he dragged her forcibly toward the shanty town, she struggled and called out to Chloe, who’d fallen and didn’t appear to be moving.

  Cathleen’s throat burned from her screams. Adrenaline pumped furiously, overriding her own pain, until she realized there were more riders at the clearing. She was no match for their strength as two of them pushed her face-first against the wooden post of the clothesline and bound her wrists.

  The one with the whip pressed against her back and Cathleen felt something cold against her cheek. She shook as she realized he’d drawn a knife.

  “If you’uz a mite prettier, I’d cut that face up for ye,” he threatened.

  Cathleen gritted her teeth to keep from arguing. Reason would not work with these outlaws. Bile rose in her throat and she suppressed a gag. The men and women she and Chloe had been teaching stood helplessly by. One of the men she’d come to know as Wilbur already had horrible bruising around one eye and blood caked on his bottom lip.

  The riders had beaten him. For wanting to learn. Outrage flared and Cathleen kicked at the man behind her. The ropes they’d used to tie her wrists burned as she struggled.

  “Quit yer tusslin’, hellcat, or we’ll drag you back to that big fancy house by the neck,” he said and put the knife at her back.

  She expected to feel the cold blade sink between her ribs, but instead, she heard ripping and realized he’d cut open her dress and her petticoat to bare her back.

  They were going to beat her like an animal!

  The rider ran his hand up and down her spine. “Just like silk.”

  Cathleen shrugged away. “Get on with it, you son of a bitch!” She flashed him the most spiteful look she could muster. “But you won’t stop me, nor those like me.”

  He snorted and spat before he uncoiled the whip and stepped back.

  Cathleen braced herself. She’d never been hit before, save the times Ransom had spanked her.

  This was nothing like that. Nothing.

  One of the townswomen began praying aloud. Others joined in, but Cathleen could not derive strength from it.

  The man cracked the whip on the ground. Cathleen flinched as she heard the leather whistling through the air—and then felt the searing bite tear through her skin.

  She’d resolved not to make a sound but she couldn’t keep from releasing a wail that sounded like a wounded animal.

  “You still think you want to learn these shitasses to read?” the man taunted.

  Yes. “Yes…”

  The whip sailed through the air again…

  But this time, the crack Cathleen heard was a shot.

  Through her tears, she lifted her gaze and the last thing she saw before she collapsed was Ransom, leading a charge of horsemen up the trail.

  * * * * *

  Cathleen opened her eyes. She c
ouldn’t remember how she’d gotten here, back in her bed at Byrne’s End. She tried to move but pain prevented it. Her back. Something had burned her.

  She moaned.

  A hand swept her hair away from her face. “She’s awake. Merry, give me that laudanum. Drink this.”

  “Ransom…”

  “Drink.”

  The mouth of a bottle touched her lips and then some of the bitterest liquid she’d ever tasted trickled onto her tongue. She tried to pull away, but the hand held her head in place and she had little choice but to swallow the medicine.

  “Aunt Ch—”

  “Hush, love,” Ransom whispered. “Hush and try to rest.”

  Heaviness replaced the pain in her back. She tried to remain cognizant but she wanted to sleep. Just a little longer…

  * * * * *

  She lingered in that drugged haze for two days before she felt well enough to refuse the laudanum. Every time she’d opened her eyes, Ransom had been at her side.

  This time was no exception.

  Light spilled into the room and she guessed it was morning. Ransom sat in the rocker beside the bed, his head lolled back, his mouth open as he slept. Cathleen studied him, trying to recall the events of the past few days.

  The night riders had raided the shanty town. They’d hurt Aunt Chloe and then Ransom had sailed on the town with riders of his own. The knuckles of his right hand had been bandaged. His clothes showed signs of a fight. Had he not changed? Had he been here all this time?

  She tried to push herself up but her arms were too weak.

  His eyes snapped open and at once, he was by her side with the bottle of opiates. She shook her head and covered his hand with her own. “I’ll be all right.”

  “Are you in pain?” he asked.

  “Not too badly,” she said. “I’ll manage.” Her eyes widened. “Aunt Chloe? Is she—”

  “A bruised knee. She’ll recover.”

  Relief washed through Cathleen. “Was anyone else hurt?”

  “A couple of the night riders.”

  “They won’t—”

  His expression turned grave. “They’re dead, Cathleen. Dead and buried in the woods behind the shanty town.”

  “How’d you know to—”