They rode in silence for several minutes. Hank turned his horse then and trotted back to ride beside her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I let myself get carried away, and I put you in a bad spot. I guess I would have been surprised if I hadn’t met with some resistance. You’re a good woman, Irene. I just think you’re married to a stinking cad of a husband who doesn’t appreciate you, and I can’t stand it. I love you, and that’s the hell of it. I’m not going to beat around the bush about it.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she answered, blinking back tears. “I have so much to think about, Hank. I feel like my heart has been cut to little pieces. I should love my husband, but he makes it almost impossible. Then there is Ramon—” She looked over at him. “Now you. Sometimes I don’t know my own mind anymore.”
“And you won’t until you leave Chad Jacobs. I meant it, Irene, when I said I would understand if you turned to Ramon. All I want is for you to be happy—to get rid of Chad Jacobs.”
She looked ahead again. “You’re a good man, Hank. I don’t take lightly the fact that you love me. I guess we’ve both known how the other felt for a long time. We probably shouldn’t have let ourselves be alone together.” She quickly wiped at her eyes. “I need time to think. I can’t just…just act on a moment of passion. I’m still a married woman.”
You’re just afraid, he wanted to tell her, afraid to be a woman. You don’t even know what it feels like. Passion is exactly what you should act on, for once in your life! “I’ll give you all the time you need,” he told her. “I’ll be leaving in a few days for Denver. You’ll have time to think while I’m gone.”
She swallowed back a lump in her throat, her heart torn. “I’m sorry, Hank.”
“Don’t be sorry for anything. You worry too much about hurting others, while you let yourself be hurt over and over again, Irene. You’ve got to stop it and start thinking about your own needs.” He pulled closer, reaching out and grasping her shoulder to squeeze it. “I want you to think about the things I said. When I get back from Denver, we’ll talk again.”
She reached up and put a hand over his. There was nothing left to say for the moment.
“Let’s work out the horses,” she told him, kicking Sunrise into a harder run. They raced over the plains, sod flying from under horses’ hooves, until reaching the last rise before coming to Irene’s house. Irene slowed her Palomino and trotted to the top of the hill, drawing the horse to a halt when she saw a buggy sitting in front of the house. Hank halted his horse beside her.
“What is it?”
“That’s Chad’s buggy,” she told him. “He’s never come home in the middle of the week before. I wonder if something is wrong.”
Hank frowned, feeling uneasy. “You think it’s all right for me to ride in with you?”
She smiled bitterly. “After the things Chad has done? I think I have a right to go riding with a friend if I want. Besides, he knows we have been working together.”
“Maybe you had better untie the picnic basket and leave it here,” Hank suggested. “I’ll pick it up when I leave. The basket makes it look a little personal.”
She turned and looked at the basket, untying the leather cord that held it. “This seems a bit ridiculous, but maybe you’re right, for now.” She remembered the look in Chad’s eyes when he had asked her at the hospital about Ramon, his remark about whores. She had never seen that look in his eyes before, and it had frightened her. She dropped the basket and rode forward.
Hank followed, and Chad came out to greet them when they approached the house. He called out to them, putting out his hand to Hank when they came close. Hank reached down and took his hand, thinking how he would much rather kill the man. For Irene’s sake, he kept a smile on his face. He tried to read Chad’s eyes and saw no anger there. Still, he felt uneasy.
“Out exercising the horses, I see,” Chad told him.
“Yes,” Hank answered. “Just a little ride to celebrate finishing the roundup. I’ll be taking some cattle to Denver soon. Be glad when the Kansas Pacific makes it into Colorado. It will make my job easier.”
“The Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe is expected to connect at Pueblo within a couple of years,” Chad replied. “That will be even closer for you. The KP is going to veer north into Denver.”
“Either way, the railroad is a godsend to the cattle industry. You can tell Bea that this has been an exceptional year—a lot of new calves were born. Irene will be able to give her a firsthand report.”
Chad glanced at Irene, who was petting Sunrise. “Yes,” he answered, a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I’m sure she will.” He looked at Hank and grinned. “Well, nice seeing you again, Hank. I have some things to talk over with Irene. That’s why I came home early.”
Hank nodded, tipping his hat to Irene. “You’ve done a good job, Irene. I’ll be in touch after I get back from Denver.”
Their eyes held, and she knew he wanted to say much more. “Fine,” she answered, giving him a smile. Hank nodded to Chad before turning his horse and riding off.
Chad watched him, saying nothing at first. He went inside and waited for Irene to take Sunrise to her stable. Irene could not help an odd, wary feeling that something was not quite right. She wondered what Chad needed to talk about. She asked one of the hired help to take care of Sunrise and headed back to the house. She had no more got inside and closed the door than a strong arm came around her from behind under her chin, cutting off her air.
“You goddamn whore,” Chad growled. “You’re just like her, aren’t you—just like my mother!”
Her mind swam with confusion as she struggled against his grip, but without enough air, she quickly lost her strength. Black spots swam before her eyes as she felt herself being dragged into another room.
“How many times has Hank Loring fucked you?” Chad snarled. “You’ve been sleeping with him behind my back, haven’t you? You probably let Ramon Vallejo under your skirts, too!”
She felt herself released, sensed they were in the bedroom. Her body was tossed, and she landed on the bed, gasping. Before she could gather her thoughts she felt her blouse being ripped away from her bosom, her skirt and bloomers being yanked away. “Chad,” she groaned. “I haven’t—”
A hard blow came across the side of her face, and she tasted blood. She was vaguely aware of being naked, except for her boots. A heavy body was on top of her then, pulling painfully at her hair at both sides of her head. “I thought I married a woman I could trust,” he snarled. “I’ve never hurt a woman before, because I never gave a damn how much of a slut they were! They’re all like my mother—bitches and whores—all of them! But you, I thought you were different! You’re my wife! I’ll not have my wife spreading herself for other men…not like her! Not like my mother!”
There came more stinging blows, before she had a chance to answer him or fight back. It had all happened too suddenly. Her head swam with his words. His mother! Now she knew why he had never talked about his childhood. What else didn’t she know about him? She never dreamed Chad Jacobs was capable of this kind of violence. She felt strong hands deliberately squeezing her thighs, painfully shoving them apart. She knew instinctively that to try to fight him now would only bring more painful blows, and she was already choking on blood.
“I’ll tell you something else, Irene Jacobs,” he snarled. “I’m a man, understand? I’m a man! No woman turns me away, especially my own wife! I’m tired of you holding out on me, rejecting me! I’m the best. There’s nothing wrong with me, you hear? I’m good with women. They love it, and you should love it, but not with Hank Loring or Ramon Vallejo, you hear? With me—Chad Jacobs!”
She felt him ramming himself inside her then with violent thrusts, his hands gripping her hips painfully. Everything became a blurred darkness after that. She was vaguely aware of his mouth biting at her breasts, bringing her pain, and a second violent intercourse. Finally his weight moved off her. The room was quiet, and she heard shuffling sounds as he stra
ightened his pants and shirt. Then suddenly came the sound of someone sobbing.
“It’s his fault,” he wept. “He made me do it…him and my mother. She shouldn’t have let him hurt me.” Someone touched her hair. “Now you know who you belong to, Irene. Don’t do this to me again. I can’t…let any other man…be better…take you away from me. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but…I can’t let you be like her.”
She felt a blanket come over her. “I’ve got to get back now. There’s nothing left to talk about. It’s settled now. We’ll go back to Denver pretty soon. We’ll have another baby, and everything will be all right.”
She couldn’t move or speak. Everything was a blur, and her whole body screamed with pain. She thought she heard a door close, vaguely remembered hearing a buggy clatter away.
Chapter Thirty
Hank slowed his horse. He was nearly home, but feelings of uneasiness continued to plague him. He kept seeing Chad Jacobs’s smile, almost too friendly. He thought again about the way Chad had looked at Irene when he had told Chad that Irene could give a firsthand report on the ranch. Something about the tone of his voice then was what alarmed Hank and kept eating at him now.
He turned his horse. He figured he was probably going to look like a fool going back, but something told him Irene might need him. He kicked at the sides of his big stallion. “Sorry to do this to you, boy.” The horse galloped off at a hard run, its mane and tail flying, Hank’s hat blowing off his head and hanging around his neck by its cord.
Because of its run earlier in the day, Hank had taken it easy on the animal going home, taking nearly an hour to get there. Now he suddenly feared time was important, and in less than thirty minutes he was back at Irene’s house. He noticed Chad’s buggy was gone. He rode to the barn, where one of his best hands was feeding Sunrise.
“Tim, have you seen Irene?” Hank called out.
The man looked up at him. “No, sir. She brought her horse in here to be brushed down a couple of hours ago, maybe less than that. Her husband was here, but he left.”
“Already? Was Irene with him?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Is the old Mexican woman in the house with her?”
“Flor is at her cabin, cooking our supper. Something wrong?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to the house.” Hank dismounted. “Unsaddle my horse and cool him down, will you? I ran him awfully hard.”
“Sure thing.” Tim Barnes took the stallion from Hank, wondering at the look of deep concern on his boss’s face. He had worked for Hank Loring a long time, knew how deeply the man had grieved over his wife and daughter. He and most of the other men were aware of their boss’s feelings for Irene Jacobs, and they feared Hank was headed for trouble.
Hank hurried to the house, getting no reply when he knocked at the door. He called out Irene’s name, then tried the door, which was not locked. He stepped inside the house, calling for her again. A sick feeling began to move into his gut, a premonition that he was going to regret having left Irene alone with her husband today. He searched through the main rooms, and with a racing heart he headed for her bedroom. He cautiously entered and saw Irene lying on the bed, a blanket tossed over her bottom half. Her bare legs were partially exposed, her boots still on. Her clothes lay in a torn heap on the floor. She lay face down, and Hank could see she was naked to the waist.
“Dear God,” he groaned. He slowly approached her. “Irene?” He saw a bruised arm now, touched her shoulder. She let out a groan of protest as she turned, then began hitting at him.
Hank grasped her wrists, appalled by her bruised face and a cut lip. Her arms were also covered with bruises, her breasts showing purple marks. “Jesus,” he swore, pushing her arms to the bed. “Irene, it’s me—Hank. It’s all right now. He’s gone. He’s not here. He won’t hurt you anymore.”
She gasped, gritting her teeth, and he could see blood in her mouth. “It’s me, Irene,” he repeated. “It’s Hank. Your husband left, Irene.”
She just stared at him a moment, her eyes widening then as she began to tremble. “Go away,” she squeaked. “Don’t…look at me.” She curled away from him, and his eyes teared. He pulled the blanket over her shoulders, leaning over her and kissing her hair. “Let me hold you, Irene. Let me help you. I’m so goddamn sorry I left. I should have known.”
She put a hand over her face, breaking into trembling sobs, and he moved up onto the bed, lying down beside her. He pulled her into his arms, and at first she remained stiff and resistant, then began to realize it really was Hank, that Chad was gone. If he came back, Hank was here. He wouldn’t let Chad near her again.
It didn’t seem possible Chad could be capable of such violence. What had triggered it? What had he meant about his mother? She felt dirty and humiliated, and to have Hank see her this way only made the shame worse. She buried her face against his chest, sobs of near hysteria engulfing her. In spite of her embarrassment, she needed him right now, was glad he had come. She curled into his arms, feeling safe there, loved, protected.
“I’ll get Flor. She can help you,” he was saying.
“Don’t let him come back,” she sobbed.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll not leave you alone with him again, Irene.” Inside Hank raged at what Chad had done to her. Other men might say a man couldn’t rape his own wife, but there was no other description for what had happened here. He was glad the man had left. If he saw him right now, he knew he’d kill him without an ounce of hesitation.
For three days Irene lay between pain and fitful bouts of sleep, during which the nightmare would return. Every time she woke up from the horror, strong arms came around her, a steady, loving voice spoke to her. Hank was there almost constantly, feeding her, sometimes just sitting with her. At night he slept with her, and she thought how strange and wonderful it was that she could just lie in a man’s arms, knowing he loved her but knowing he expected nothing in return. He was not her husband, yet it seemed perfectly right and natural to lie with him. She had not been able to bring herself to talk about what had happened, and Hank seemed to understand that. She just needed to be held and loved.
It was five days after her attack when she finally got up and got dressed, with Flor’s help. She walked on shaky legs to the main room of the house, where Hank sat at the huge mahogany, Spanish-style dining table, going over some paperwork. He looked up at her with concern, getting up right away and going to her side. “You sure you should be up?”
She put a hand on his strong arm. “I’m sure. I want to make breakfast for us.”
“Flor can do that.”
“No. I want to do it. Please let me, Hank. I’ve got to stop lying around thinking about it.”
Hank glanced at the old Mexican woman who had cared for Irene as if she were her own child the past few days. “I tried to reason with her, señor,” the woman told Hank. “But then I think—maybe it would be good for her after all. I will go and get some of my work done, and then I will come back here and clean, ? If she needs me, you come right away.”
Hank sighed, taking Irene’s arm. “All right. I don’t know what we would have done without you, Flor. Gracias.”
“Por nada, señor. I have grown to love her like my own. That husband of hers, he is a bad hombre.” The woman patted Irene’s back. “I will be back soon. Do not do too much, Señora Jacobs.”
The woman left, and Hank grasped Irene’s arms. “It’s time we talked.”
She met his soft, green eyes. “I know.” She reddened slightly, realizing he had seen her naked, finding it incredible that she had allowed this man to lie beside her every night. How could one man, her own husband, be so dreadful? Yet she realized she wasn’t sure she could have made it through the last few nights alone without this man, who was not her legal husband at all. How sweet and kind and patient he was. “I’ll never forgive myself—”
She put her fingers to his lips. “You’ve said that too many times, Hank. It wasn’t your fault, and I don�
��t want to hear you blame yourself again. Let me make some breakfast. Then we’ll talk.”
They both heard the sound of a buggy, and he felt her stiffen with fear. “Stay right here,” he told her, gently leading her to a chair. “If that’s your husband, he’s not getting inside the house.”
She sensed his rage, and she feared for both of them. “Hank, don’t do anything stupid, please,” she begged.
He walked to the door, where his rifle sat propped against the wall. “You sure as hell don’t want to see him, do you?”
“No. Not for a while yet.” She thought of Chad’s words about his mother. What was it she didn’t know about him? She put a hand to her eyes. “My God, Hank, he’s my husband. Don’t hurt him.”
“Kill him is what I’d like to do!” He opened the door, and Irene sat frozen as he stepped out onto the porch. She saw the buggy just before Hank closed the door, recognized Chad. The horror of his beating returned, and she was glad the door closed so that she did not have to look at him.
“Stay right in that rig,” she heard Hank tell him, as soon as the buggy came to a halt.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Chad answered. Just the sound of his voice made her feel sick again.
“I could ask you that question, after what you did to Irene,” Hank answered. “She doesn’t want to see you, Jacobs, so you can go back to Colorado Springs and stay there until Irene decides what she wants to do.” She heard the click of Hank’s rifle being cocked. There was a moment of silence.
“You can’t order me away from my own wife and my own house,” Chad growled.
“I’m doing it,” Hank answered. “You were wrong about Irene and me, Jacobs. Even if you had been right, you wouldn’t have had any reason to go blaming her for anything she does. Whatever happens, you drove her to it, you stinking bastard! Any man who rapes his own wife is the worst kind of coward!”
“You get out of my way, Loring, or I’ll see to it Bea Kirkland fires you and you lose your own ranch as well. I can ruin you!”
In the Shadow of the Mountains Page 53
