Wyoming Strong

by Diana Palmer

  She drew in a breath and sat down on the leather sofa beside the desk. “Want to tell me about it?”

  He laughed coldly. “No. But I’ll have to. She was assaulted, almost raped, by her stepfather. All this time, I thought she’d tried to take him away from her mother, that it was a rivalry, he got hot, and she got scared.” He ran a hand over his lean, hard face. “She was thirteen, Madra.” His eyes closed, and he shuddered. “Thirteen years old.”

  “Dear God, what monsters men can be,” she replied.

  “Yes.” He perched himself on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “I could talk to her,” he confessed. “About Ysera. She listened. She wasn’t judgmental. I thought the coy act was just that, an act. Some women think it’s a way to get a man’s attention, pretending innocence. I didn’t really even believe her about the...physical issue.” He stared at the floor. “I was a fool. I’ve damaged her, when she was already damaged enough. Her brother said we could hurt each other badly, because neither of us had faced the past. He was right. Oh, God, I wish I’d listened!”

  She shook her head. “She should have had therapy. So should you,” she added, “as I’ve been saying for years.”

  “I can’t talk to a total stranger about Ysera,” he said through his teeth. “And she—” he nodded toward the hall “—couldn’t even talk to her own brother about her stepfather. He went to prison on her testimony. I knew that, and I didn’t trust her. I didn’t realize how young she was when it happened...” He closed his eyes. “God, Madra, what am I going to do? I can’t let her go home alone. Her brother’s overseas. She has no family. But making her stay here...she’ll hate me even more.”

  “Bring another woman here to stay with her, until she’s able to go home,” Madra suggested.

  He glanced at her. After a minute, he nodded. “I’ll call Barbara Ferguson. She runs a café in town. Her son is a police lieutenant. She’d do it for me.” He grimaced. “Everyone will find out. That will hurt her more...”

  “I know Barbara,” she said. “She isn’t a gossip. She won’t tell anyone the real reason. But you have to get a grip on yourself, Wofford,” she added gently. “This is no way to live.”

  He lifted his head and ran a hand through his thick hair. “Her brother will mop the floor with me,” he mused. He laughed coldly. “I’ll let him. It might help us both.”

  “Therapy is what will help.”

  He hesitated, but only for a moment. “I know a female psychologist in D.C., a therapist,” he said after a minute. “She was Colby Lane’s therapist. She keeps snakes,” he added on a laugh. “Maybe Sara would talk to her, if I agreed to talk to her, as well. If she doesn’t load one of my guns and shoot me with it in the meantime.”

  “Take it one day at a time,” Madra said gently.

  He got up and hugged her warmly. “Thank you for coming down here.”

  “Mark would never forgive me if I hadn’t,” she said with a smile. “The three of us have been friends since grammar school.”

  “He cut me out or I’d have married you first,” he teased.

  She just laughed. They’d been like brother and sister all those years. “Sure you would.” She glanced toward the whiskey bottle. “That is a very bad idea,” she reminded him.

  He shrugged. “A pistol is a worse one.”

  She grimaced. “We all make mistakes.”

  “This one is the worst of my life, and I’m not the one paying for it,” he said sadly. “Will you stay until I call Barbara and see if she’ll come?”

  “Of course,” she replied.

  “I’ll make coffee,” he said, and smiled.

  * * *

  BARBARA CAME WITH an overnight bag. She winced when she saw Wolf’s face. The big man with the Arctic-blue eyes had spent a lot of time at her place of business. She’d grown fond of him. He’d been reticent on the phone, but when she arrived and got a look at him, she began to understand what had probably happened. Sara was so innocent, so unworldly. And she’d heard things about Wolf from her son, San Antonio police lieutenant Rick Marquez, who was friends with Rourke, a mercenary who spent time in Jacobsville on covert ops. Rourke knew Wolf.

  “I’ve done something unforgiveable,” he told Barbara quietly. “Thank you for coming. I can’t let her go home. She’d be alone, and I’ve...rekindled some terrible memories for her.”

  Barbara nodded. “It’s okay. I have people who can take care of the café while I’m here,” she said softly.

  “Okay.”

  “I have to go home. Thank you for sending the car,” Madra told Wolf. “You call that psychologist. I’m going to hound you until you do.”

  He nodded. He hugged her. “Tell Mark I appreciate him letting you come.”

  “You know he’d do anything for you,” she said. “Besides, you’re godfather to our sons. How would it look if I’d refused?”

  “She’ll be all right?” he added worriedly.

  “She’s traumatized,” Madra said. “But it’s mental, not physical. You haven’t hurt her.”

  “That’s what you think,” he said miserably.

  She patted his shoulder. “Get some sleep. In the morning, you can apologize.”

  “In the morning, she’ll be looking for the key to the gun cabinet,” he said heavily.

  Madra said goodbye to Barbara and went to the limo waiting to take her home.

  * * *

  BARBARA WENT INTO the guest bedroom and looked at the pale, quiet young woman asleep under the covers of the big bed. He glanced at the chair where he’d draped her dress and shoes while Barbara checked on Sara.

  “She’ll never forgive me,” Wolf said through his teeth. “And Gabe’s going to beat the ever-loving hell out of me when he finds out.”

  “How will he find out?” she asked.

  “Because I’m going to tell him,” he said shortly. “I deserve every damned thing I get.” His face drew up in a pained expression. “She listened to me. I poured out my heart, and she listened. Then I repaid her with...this.” He turned away.

  “Madra’s right. You can apologize tomorrow. Sara isn’t vindictive,” she added gently. “Give it time.”

  He shook his head. “It won’t help.”

  “Try to get some sleep. I’ll turn in, too.”

  “Thanks for coming,” he said.

  She smiled. “I like Sara.”

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Sara woke with a faint hangover and memories of the night before. She was still in her slip, and she almost gasped when she saw a head on the pillow beside her.

  But it was Barbara, who rolled over and gave her a sleepy smile.

  “Good morning,” the older woman said softly. “How do you feel?”

  “Terrible.” Sara colored. She looked around. “I don’t remember...”

  “Madra Collins came down to examine you,” Barbara said. “She gave you an injection and put you to bed. Wolf asked me to come and stay while you were here. He said he couldn’t let you go home alone, in the condition you were in.” She hesitated. “He’s in pretty bad shape. He says your brother’s going to beat the hell out of him, and he’s going to let him do it.”

  Sara lowered her eyes. Her memories of the night before were vivid and embarrassing. She was ashamed that she’d let things go so far. But what she remembered most was Wolf’s expression when he knelt beside her and pleaded with her to let him take her back inside. He’d been sickened when she told him the truth about what had been done to her. Sickened and ashamed and guilt-ridden.

  It wasn’t really all his fault. She’d wanted what had happened, until she realized that he was paying Ysera back with Sara’s body. She wondered if he remembered that. Of course he remembered. She felt bitter. Sick.

  She sat up and pushed her legs off the side of the bed. She realized suddenly that her dress and shoes were still in the living room, where he’d stripped them off her...

  “I don’t have any clothes,” she whispered. “My dress...�
�

  “Isn’t that it?” Barbara asked curiously, nodding toward the chair against the wall. Her dress was draped over it, her shoes on the floor beside it.

  “Oh. Yes. Can you drive me up to my apartment?” Sara asked in a ghostly whisper.

  “You can’t go home yet.”

  “But I...”

  “I’m going to stay here with you,” Barbara said. “But none of us are willing to leave you alone. You’ve been traumatized, Sara.”

  She colored and her great black eyes were tragic. “He...told you?”

  “He just said that things got out of hand, that’s all. Honest.”

  That made it a little easier. She brushed back her tangled hair. “One of his women came to look after me,” she said with a bitter laugh.

  “She’s married to his best friend,” Barbara returned. “And he’s godfather to their sons.”

  “Oh.”

  “Our Mr. Patterson doesn’t have women,” Barbara mused, and her blue eyes twinkled when Sara flushed. “Gossip gets around. Apparently, he takes gorgeous blonde women to the theater and the opera and the ballet, and then deposits them at their front doors and goes home. Some of them are frustrated enough to talk about it.”

  For some odd reason, that made last night more bearable. But Sara still felt the stress of what had happened. “Where is he?” she asked uneasily, glancing at the door as if she was afraid he might come through it.

  “I’ll go and see. I’ll make breakfast for all of us, then I’ll go up to San Antonio and get you some things from your apartment if you’ll trust me with the key.”

  “I want to go home,” Sara said with a stifled sob.

  Barbara put her arms around her and hugged her tight. “You just need a little time,” she said gently. “You haven’t let a man touch you since it happened, have you?”

  She pulled back. “He told you...?”

  “No. I’ve seen the symptoms before,” Barbara replied gently. “Rick brought me a young woman once who’d been raped. She stayed with me until he had her assailant in custody. I went with her to the trial and sat with her.”

  She felt hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Barbara added.

  Sara drew in a breath. “My stepfather tried to rape me when I was thirteen,” she confessed. “My brother got to him just in time. He was arrested. There was a trial.” Her eyes closed. “I had to testify. He went to prison, and my mother threw me out of the house, along with Gabriel. We were brought up by a relative of one of the public defenders, at the second trial.”

  She didn’t mention what the second trial involved. She smiled sadly. “She was the family we never had.”

  “At least you had someone to love you,” Barbara said.

  “Yes.”

  “The trial was the worst part, I imagine.”

  Sara shuddered.

  “Defense attorneys can be brutal,” Barbara recalled. “I didn’t believe it, until I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “He said I tempted my stepfather until he went crazy, that it was all my fault.”

  “Bull excrement,” Barbara said.

  Sara let a tiny laugh escape her. She wiped at the tears. “Sorry. I’m a watering pot this morning.”

  “Could you eat something?”

  “I’d love coffee, at least. If he’s...not in there,” she added, shivering as she thought about facing Wolf again with the memories of the night before between them.

  “I’ll go and see.”

  Barbara got her clothes on and walked into the kitchen. It was deserted. She recalled that Wolf didn’t have a housekeeper. It was a joke locally that he wouldn’t let any woman into his house, much less his kitchen. He was an immaculate housekeeper and, gossip also said, a gourmet chef.

  She couldn’t find him anywhere. Then, noticing a cracked door down the hall, she pushed it open. And there he was. Wolf Patterson. Sprawled across his desk with an overturned glass and half a bottle of whiskey at his elbow.

  So he wasn’t as cold as Sara thought, after all.

  Barbara went to the desk and shook him gently.

  “My fault,” he said, half asleep. “My fault. She’ll hate me forever. Oh, God, I hate myself!”

  A sound broke from his throat, and his broad shoulders shook.

  Barbara winced. “Mr. Patterson, you need to go to bed.”

  “No. No, I need a gun...”

  “You stop that!” She half dragged him to his feet. But he was heavy. She could only get him as far as the sofa. She grimaced as she eased him down onto it.

  “Damn me,” he groaned. “Damn me, for what I did to that poor, tormented little soul!”

  He put his arm across his eyes.

  Barbara got an afghan that was draped over an easy chair. She covered him with it and pushed back his black hair, as if he’d been her adopted son, Rick, when he was hurting.

  “It will be all right,” she said softly. “Try to sleep.”

  “She was afraid of me,” he said in a tortured voice. “She was shaking all over...!”

  She smoothed his hair. “Go to sleep.”

  “Damn...me,” he breathed. Seconds later, he was snoring.

  Barbara went out and closed the door gently behind her. As she started back toward the guest room, she saw a cowboy standing at the front door.

  She opened it. She had to be very discreet. She smiled. “Hi. Are you looking for the boss?”

  “Uh, yes,” he began. “The boys are ready to go, our foreman just needs to know if he’s got anything else planned for today besides rounding up strays.”

  “He’s pretty sick,” Barbara said, thinking up nice lies. “He went out with Miss Brandon last night. She brought him home. Miss Brandon couldn’t leave him, but she didn’t want to stay here alone. Gossip, you know, so she called me.” She smiled. “We’re just going to be here until he’s better.”

  The cowboy relaxed. “I hope he’s better soon. If you need something, you just tell us, okay?”

  “I will. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

  “You’re Mrs. Ferguson. You run that café in town,” the man said suddenly. “Gosh, ma’am, the boss is going to be one lucky guy to have you doing the cooking.” He chuckled. “Your steak and potatoes is just the best on earth.”

  “I hear your boss cooks even better than I do,” she mused.

  “Yes, ma’am, but he likes all those fancy sauces and spices,” he said, shrugging. “Me and the boys don’t mind it once in a while, but a man gets hungry for biscuits. Sure was a happy day for us when we got that new cook for the bunkhouse.” He grinned.

  She laughed.

  He tipped his hat. “Tell the boss we’ll be working hard, and we hope he gets better soon.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  She closed the door back. She’d have to remember to prompt not only Sara, but the boss, as well, once he woke up. He was going to have a king of a hangover when he did.

  * * *

  BARBARA MADE BISCUITS and country ham with gravy and an omelet with the window tray of herbs that Wolf grew in the kitchen.

  “Where is he?” Sara asked, because her friend hadn’t said.

  Barbara buttered biscuits with a sigh. “Passed out on his desk.”

  “Passed...out?”

  Barbara nodded. She scooped eggs onto a platter. “With half a bottle of whiskey beside him.”

  “But he doesn’t drink,” she stammered. “My brother said he wouldn’t even touch hard liquor.”

  “I think he probably felt the need for it last night,” came the quiet reply. “I got him onto the sofa, and he went out like a light.”

  “Did he say anything?” Sara probed.

  “Just that he wished he had a gun...”

  Sara moaned out loud. “I should have told him the truth,” she said huskily. “I should have made him understand. It’s my fault!”

  “You’re both carrying scars,” Barbara replied. She put the
food on the table and poured coffee into two cups.

  “Yes, and even more of them because of last night.” She put her face in her hands. “I didn’t know, didn’t dream, that it would be so hard to stop...” She flushed.

  “I was married, you know,” Barbara said with a kind smile. “I know all about passion, believe it or not.”

  “I don’t know anything,” Sara confessed. “Or, I didn’t.” She bit her lip. “I never even dated after it happened. Well, I did once,” she confessed. “He was a nice boy. I was in my senior year. He was too impatient and I just...lost it and started crying. He thought I was nuts. So word got around, and nobody else asked me out. I wouldn’t have gone anyway, after that,” she said heavily, sipping coffee. “I thought I’d never be able to feel anything with a man.”

  “But that isn’t quite true, is it?”

  She shook her head. “He’s...a very masculine sort of man,” she said, keeping her eyes down. “He’s handsome and sensuous, and...” She looked up. “I thought, maybe, just maybe...” She looked down at her coffee cup. “So I tried, and now both of us are paying for it.” She sipped more coffee. “He’ll never forgive me.”

  “It’s himself he’s having trouble forgiving, I think,” Barbara replied. “It just needs a little time,” she added. “Things will get better. For now, don’t let those eggs get cold. They turn to rubber when you have to heat them up again.” She laughed.

  Sara managed a smile as she lifted a forkful to her mouth.

  * * *

  WOLF STILL HADN’T shown up when Barbara drove up to San Antonio to fetch Sara’s clothes. Sara had tried to go with her, but Barbara was firm. The younger woman couldn’t see the anguish in her own face, but the older one did, and was afraid that once she got into her apartment, she wouldn’t leave. Barbara didn’t want to let her be alone.

  She didn’t add that she knew things Sara didn’t about Wolf’s past and the woman whom Rick said was now hunting him. Sara would be in danger anywhere except here until her brother was home again. Barbara prevaricated and said that someone was targeting Gabriel, that Rick knew and had told her, and that it would be dangerous for Sara to be alone.

  Which meant that Sara couldn’t even confide in Michelle or ask her to leave her college dorm to stay in Sara’s apartment. That wouldn’t have been fair, anyway. The young woman was doing very well in her journalism class, but she was having some problems with one of her core courses. Sara didn’t want to be the cause of having her fail it.