Circle Star

by Tatiana March

  A dreamy expression drifted across Susanna’s face. “It’s wonderful. Like the rest of the world no longer exists, but at the same time you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt before. You drown in love and longing and passion and tenderness.”

  Claire suppressed a sting of envy. She couldn’t imagine feeling that way about any of her suitors. “I always knew Connor would love you in the end,” she said lightly.

  Susanna smiled. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because how could he not? You’re the most lovable person I know.”

  Susanna held out a coffee cup. “How long can you stay?”

  Through the open window, Claire could hear shouts outside. Bantering voices. Hooves clattering. Spurs jingling. Cowboys and horses. Adventure. But, like a rash from stinging nettles, the consequences of running off without permission prickled on her skin.

  “I…I don’t know…”

  A gleam entered Susanna’s eyes. “I’ve got you clothes just like mine. And a gun belt and a gun.”

  “Cowboy clothes and a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well…” Claire reached for an almond pastry, her usual good humor returning. “Now that I’m here, I might as well stay a few weeks, even if you don’t need saving from a failed marriage.” She devoured the pastry and dusted her fingers. “When I get home, I might have to pick a husband, and I’m not looking forward to the task.”

  ****

  “This is wonderful,” Claire gushed, striding up and down the room, clanking her boot heels with swaggering steps. “I adore everything.” She twisted to peer down over her shoulder and patted her rear. “The pants are a bit tight, and the shoes will need two pairs of socks, but everything else fits to perfection.”

  “The blouse strains over the bust,” Susanna pointed out.

  “That’s my curse.” Claire jutted out her chin and blew away the wisps of hair that had escaped from her upsweep. “Anything I wear is too tight over the bust.” She raised a mocking eyebrow. “My brother Julius calls them my twin honey pots. He thinks half the men who have proposed to me have done it out of desire to get their hands on my bosom.”

  Susanna tittered with scandalized laugher. “Your brother talks to you like that?”

  “You know Julius. He likes to shock.”

  “It must run in the family.”

  “You just wait!” Claire drew the gun out of the holster at her hip and took aim with a hunched pose and squinty eyes. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  “Claire!”

  Grinning, Claire returned the gun into the holster. “Don’t worry. I’ll behave.” She flopped down on the edge of Susanna’s bed. “I left my traveling gown on the chair in my room. Will someone press it and hang it up for me?”

  “Yes,” Susanna said. “You will.”

  “Oh?” Claire frowned, then gave a carefree shrug. “I’ll just hang it up. If I’m going to wear this outfit all the time, I don’t have to bother with pressing gowns.” She winked at Susanna. “I wouldn’t know how to, anyway.”

  Susanna jumped to her feet. “Let’s go. I want to introduce you to the men.”

  Outside, the fierce heat had cooled. The sun was low on the horizon, and the muted light softened the landscape. Claire surveyed the yard, trying to take in every detail. Cowboys returning from their daily chores milled about. A line of them stood by the well, cranking the pump handle to fill buckets with water. Spurs jingled and hooves thudded as another group of riders cantered up. The soar of voices died down as the men spotted Claire and Susanna walking toward them.

  The girls drew to a halt in front of the curious crowd. “This is Claire Vanderfleet, my dear friend from Philadelphia.” Susanna spoke in a loud voice. “She has come to visit. We need to choose a horse for her. The new saddle I ordered from Cedar City is for her.”

  Claire yanked the revolver out of her gun belt and waved it in her hand. The band of men shifted restlessly. Some of them settle into a pose of readiness, arms curled loosely by their sides, sharp eyes following her every move.

  “It’s not loaded,” Susanna called out.

  The men relaxed. Two of them hastily crossed themselves. “Which one of you gentlemen would like to teach me to shoot?” Claire asked.

  Like a solid wall, the ranch hands stepped forward. The small, wiry man who stood to one side tipped his hat back and rubbed his fingers over his bristly jaw. “I guess I ought to do it, Miss Claire. I’m Pete Jackson, the foreman to these heathens.”

  Claire gave him a bright smile. “I thought perhaps one of the younger ones. Like this one.” She pointed at a handsome man with dark, flashing eyes.

  The young man snatched his hat off his head. “The name is Gomez, Miss Claire. I’d be glad to teach you shoot a revolver.” A blush darkened his bronzed cheeks.

  “I’d like that very much, Mr. Gomez,” she told him.

  Pete Jackson cut in. “I reckon I can’t let you do that, Miss Claire. If I let you pick one of the younger riders, the rest of them will start a brawl.” He shook his head with an air of finality. “I’m sorry, Miss Claire, but it has to be old and wrinkled me.”

  Claire let out a stream of laughter. “Why, Mr. Jackson, you’ll do just fine. Can we start tomorrow?” She brandished her gun. “I want to load this with real bullets.”

  The men shifted back, their eyes cautious on the weapon in her hand. Claire suppressed another smile, excitement bubbling inside her. Her mission to rescue Susanna from an unhappy marriage might have failed, but she’d make the most of her Arizona adventure before she had to return home.

  ****

  Claire touched her heels to the flanks of the gray mare and picked up speed. Estrella, the horse was called. “It means a star,” Gomez had told her, his manner shy as he helped her to saddle up and mount.

  It felt strange to sit astride. The saddle curved high front and back, holding her in a secure cradle. A horn rose at the front. “To tie the reins, in case you need your hands free for shooting,” Gomez had explained, an amused glint in his chocolate eyes.

  Claire didn’t mind a joke at her expense. She’d discarded the gun, finding the bounce of it against her hip uncomfortable. Moreover, there was little point in dragging around an unloaded weapon, and after her first lesson Pete Jackson had refused to let her carry ammunition, saying it was his duty to ensure public safety.

  Susanna was still asleep, fatigued by her pregnancy. Instead of sitting around and waiting, Claire had decided to explore. She would keep to the course of the river. That way, there would be no chance of getting lost. She’d refused an escort, accepting it would cause unrest if she allowed one of the men to accompany her. Out of consideration for Pete Jackson, she kept her distance, although she itched to know more about the cowboys.

  How did they live, how did they talk? Could they read and write? Did they love their mothers, did they have sweethearts? After all the dandies in Philadelphia, every single one of the ranch hands at Circle Star seemed so alive and full of vitality.

  Enjoying a heady sense of freedom, Claire cantered along in the morning cool. It didn’t cross her mind to worry that since she was headed west, she would soon leave Circle Star property and trespass on someone else’s land.

  The horse reared up so suddenly Claire never saw what startled the animal. A rattlesnake, she thought with a shudder. She scanned hastily around her as she sprawled on the dusty ground where she had landed with a bone jarring thud. No sign of wildlife broke the quiet, not even a rabbit or a bird. One by one, Claire tried moving her arms and legs, and discovered she was bruised but otherwise unharmed.

  Scrambling up, she slapped dirt from her clothes. Her hat had fallen off, and her hair had broken free from its neat upsweep. A wild halo of curls gathered around her head, and the rest tumbled down her back. She tried to run her fingers through the tangles, but burrs had lodged everywhere. It would be a long and slow job to comb out her hair in the evening.

  She pulled off her gloves and rubbed her eyes a
gainst the blinding sun, but gave up when she realized she was smearing dirt on her face. She slipped her hands back into the gloves, picked up the hat and shoved it on her head. Then she stalked after Estrella. The horse stood a few paces away, contemplating her with a lazy interest.

  “Come here.” Claire made a beckoning gesture and reached for the reins that dangled caught in the saddle horn.

  The animal shied away, a silver flank gleaming in the sun.

  “Stop playing games,” Claire crooned. “Good horse.”

  Estrella neighed and tossed her mane. Then she swerved in a neat turn and set off at a steady lope along the river back in the direction of Circle Star.

  “Don’t go!” Claire cried, but the horse paid her no attention.

  Oh no! Claire halted her chase and glanced up at the sky. The sun had leaped high. The heat already seared her skin, even through her clothes. She unbuttoned the heavy wool coat and fought a surge of panic. It had to be miles back the way she had come.

  Shade. She had to find shade. When Estrella returned to Circle Star without a rider, someone would come and get her. She had told Gomez she was only going a little way down the river.

  Shade. Claire surveyed the landscape. Flat gravel surrounded her, interspaced with tufts of hard grass, and cacti in different shapes. The tall saguaros would offer a slim shade if she stood erect next to a thick stem. Then she realized that soon there would be no shade at all as the sun would be directly overhead.

  But was there not a tree growing some distance away? Fighting to remain calm, Claire broke into a run. She brushed too close to a trailing cactus, and the leg of her denim pants got caught. When she bent to release the fabric, the thorns snagged in her hair, and the bodice of her cotton shirt where it peeked out of the open coat.

  She pulled off her gloves and tried to untangle her hair. In her haste, she yanked herself free. The tug against her scalp brought tears to her eyes. A few golden curls were left fluttering on the cactus, and a long tear yawned in the front of her blouse. As she set off running again, she forgot to pick up her gloves.

  Relief flooded her as she hurtled along. What she had seen was indeed a tree, and behind it stood a house. A lovely white ranch house, rising all neat and tidy in the arid landscape. A hacienda one might call it, since it had that graceful Spanish look. Flowers in deep shades of purple and red bloomed around the cobbled courtyard.

  A side door stood open, and a knot of men clustered around what looked like a pair of wooden trash barrels, one of them tipped on its side. Claire slowed her steps. There were no women in sight. Then she spotted the man at the center of the group. He was tall and fair, dressed in fine clothing. A gentleman.

  With a sigh of relief, she hastened her pace once again.

  When she got closer, she heard harsh voices and the high piping cry of a child. In the middle of the crowd stood a boy and a girl, clad in rags that barely held together. A mangy dog cowered at the little girl’s feet.

  “I’m sorry, Mister,” the little girl pleaded. “Prince didn’t mean to spread your trash around the yard.”

  “Fucking fleabag,” one of the men muttered and kicked at the dog.

  “Don’t do that,” the little boy shouted, his hands clenched into fists. “Prince is Mary’s dog. Don’t hurt him.”

  “Can we go now, Mister?” the little girl begged.

  The tall blond man spoke in an icy tone. “You’re not going anywhere until you’ve cleaned up the yard.”

  “We’ll clean it up for you,” the boy promised. “But you have to move out of the way.”

  The men began to scatter, losing interest. Suddenly the dog pounced up. It gave a sharp growl and clamped its jaws around the ankle of the tall man, the only one in the group to wear polished shoes instead of dusty leather boots.

  “Son of a bitch,” the man cried. Shaking the dog loose, he swung his leg back and aimed a fierce kick at the animal.

  “Don’t.” The little girl threw herself down to protect her pet. The man’s foot crashed into her instead of the dog.

  “Stop!” Claire shouted, hurtling the last of the distance. “Don’t kick the child.”

  The blond man turned. “Well, well, what have we here?” His eyes traveled up and down her body, coming to a stop over her breasts. Claire glanced down and hastily pulled the edges of her coat cover her torn shirtwaist blouse.

  “I’m Claire Vanderfleet. I’m—”

  “He’s not interested in your name, sweetheart,” a coarse voice called out.

  Claire glanced around. These men possessed the same air of vitality as the men at Circle Star, but were heavily armed, and had a roughness to them. She wasn’t sure if it was the guns dangling at their hips, or the stubble darkening their chins, or the hard glint in their eyes. Whatever it was, she was suddenly afraid.

  “Are these two brats something to do with you?”

  Claire glanced at the children, who huddled together against the trash barrel, with the dog shielded between them. “Yes,” she replied, facing up to the blond man who had asked the question. “I’m accepting responsibility for whatever they did. Please let them go.”

  “Their fleabag of a dog scattered the goddamn trash around the yard,” called the same brutish man who’d spoken before.

  “I’ll help them clean it up,” Claire promised.

  “The hell you will,” the man shouted. “You have much better ways to pay up.” He took a step toward her. Claire tried to retreat, but the men had move to form a circle that closed behind her, preventing any chance of escape.

  Back to Contents

  Chapter Eighteen

  Claire stared at the big man who contemplated her with a lazy smile on his face. Despite his intrusive gaze, there was something steady and dependable about him. Rough and coarse, but not evil. The thought gave her a glimmer of hope.

  “What do you want?” she asked through a tightened throat.

  “Sweetheart, that shouldn’t be difficult to guess.”

  “Stop!” the voice of the blond man lashed out.

  He was so tall Claire had to crane her neck to look up at him. She drew a quick breath, preparing to thank him for his intervention, but then he spoke again. “You’ve got the right idea, Matt, but I’m afraid it’s me first. You can go after, and so can anyone else.”

  “What are you talking about?” Claire whispered, the blood draining from her face.

  “Take off your clothes,” the blond man said.

  “No.” She stood frozen, surrounded by the group of leering ruffians. A roar filled her ears, as if a storm raged inside her head. A clammy sweat rose on her palms.

  The blond man pulled a revolver from under his coat. He pointed it at her. “Undress.”

  Claire stiffened her spine and met his eyes. “No. Just shoot me.”

  “It’s not you I’m planning to shoot.” The man turned to aim another kick at the dog. The animal yelped as it was flung in the air. A gunshot echoed through the yard, and the dog crumbled into an inert heap. Blood pooled over the cobblestones. The little girl fell on her knees by the dead animal. The boy knelt too, and put his arms around the girl.

  “The next bullet goes into a kid,” the blond man warned Claire. “You can choose which of the dirty brats dies first.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Claire whimpered.

  “Try me. Now get your clothes off.” He replaced the revolver in a hidden holster under his jacket, and then he spoke in a light, conversational tone that was made all the more terrifying by its ordinariness. “Tell you what—nobody’s interested in your back. You can keep your coat on. Just undo the buttons on your shirt and take off your pants.”

  When Claire didn’t move, he took the gun out again. “Boy or girl,” he said, aiming first at one, then the other. “Make your choice.”

  “Please. Put the gun away.” Claire swallowed hard. She bent to undo the buttons on her shirtwaist blouse. Underneath, she wore nothing but a thin chemise. It was too hot for the corset she normally wore to ch
inch in her waist.

  What these men wanted was to see her bosom, Claire told herself. That was what her brother had told her most men wanted—to ogle at and perhaps even touch the large, firm breasts she was cursed with.

  “And the shift underneath?” the blond man said in a voice that had lost its smoothness.

  “There are no buttons on it,” Claire replied.

  “Matt?” The blond man motioned with his head. “Do it, but don’t touch her. Your turn will come.”

  The loudmouthed man stepped forward. He grinned as he fisted his hands at the top of her chemise and tore the garment open, exposing her breasts. Claire could hear some of the men suck in a sharp breath.

  “Now your boots and pants,” the blond man said.

  Her breasts hung heavy as she bent over to reach down to her feet. Too shaky to keep her balance, she had to sit down on the cobblestones to pull off her boots. Around her, bits of leftover food from the trash barrel that the dog had tipped over littered the yard, releasing rancid smells.

  After she had removed her boots, Claire stood up and slowly undid the buttons on her pants. She tried to keep her drawers on, but they tangled with the snugly fitting pants, and both came off together as she pushed the stiff denim down her legs.

  “Good,” the blond man said in a barely audible rasp. “Now lie down on your back.”

  Claire obeyed, tugging the hem of her coat beneath her hips to cushion her buttocks against the hard cobblestones. She knew that she would be even more frightened if she possessed a more detailed understanding of the violent act about to take place.

  The tall man crouched between her legs and fumbled at the buttons on his pants. Claire closed her eyes just before he exposed his privates. Somehow, it wouldn’t seem as bad if she didn’t look at him. That was her last thought before he stabbed himself into her, and a piercing pain tore at her insides.

  ****

  Rafael De Santis stood at the back of the group of leering men. Rage filled his heart to bursting. But he did nothing. If he stepped forward and tried to stop the violent act, there would be more than enough men to overpower him. The girl would get raped anyway. And he couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself—not when it would do her no good at all.