by Thea Devine
"—and because your luscious body wants to," he finished, ignoring her, his lips that close to hers, his head tilting slightly and his eyes darkening in anticipation.
Her body heaved in denial. "No! Never!" she spat, her hands slithering under his torso to push against his chest. It was like a wall, immovable and immutable. Nothing she could say would make a dent in it. His lips touched hers, and she hissed, "You bastard,. You—" And then her words were cut off by his mouth on hers. My body will betray me every time, she thought wildly, as the nectarlike taste of his kiss seeped and flowered through her veins like a thick, sweet sap.
She could call him anything she wanted, she thought, but she would always be subject to the whim of her treacherous sex. And when her desire" became full-blown, her resolutions deflated; and when he pulled away for the barest second and his eyes reflected that chest-thumping male triumph, it came back in full force. And she knew she had to force him away somehow, or she would lose this round, this moment.
"Let me tell you what I wanted," she whispered in a suggestive way, and she was gratified to see his head angle
closer to hear her more distinctly. She wondered just for an instant what he might have expected her to say. "I wanted Sweetland for Papa," she went on, her voice taking on a faintly vindictive tone. He reared back as she continued. "I wanted Papa to have the shares he coveted for so long, and that's all I wanted. And it's obvious you just loved effectively taking that away from him. Just because of that damned stupid fire. Just because . . . you're . . . you ..."
The last word strangled in her throat as his large hand came up and covered her mouth. "You bitch. You rotten stinking brazen bitch, to say that—that's all you wanted," he growled. "All you wanted. All. And I took it away— forget his debts and his ruined house, and the loss of every personal possession he and you owned. / took it away. . . ." The sheer bravado of this statement totally left him speechless. "Goddamn, I must be so powerful that mere words can invoke my bidding. I told the gods to torch the house, and by heaven, it was done; is that it? That's what you envision? Goddamn hell. It's awesome, Kalida. Soon you'll tell me I got you with child, and I won't even have had the pleasure of that either. Damn you. Damn you . . ."
His fury was fearsome. He levered himself upward suddenly and sat back on his haunches. "Unbelievable," he muttered, pulling her to sit upright. "That's all you wanted—goddamn Sweetland. Fine. Fine. The bastard can have his damned shares, Kalida—next year, provided he can buy them."
She stared at him. "Why?"
He glared at her. Trust her for omitting the gratitude, the common courtesy. In her mind, obviously, everything he did had an ulterior motive. Which it did, but that was no concern of hers. "I'm willing to bet he won't be able to afford them. And that doesn't let you off the hook either, Kalida." 116 117
"I'll survive," she said sourly. "I'll abide by your agreement with Papa. I'll marry you."
"How delightfully condescending of you," Deuce murmured, his fury still at a high edge, his desire to strike back at her smoldering in a dark place where she could not begin to comprehend it. "But you may have noticed, my lovely Kalida, that since the unfortunate disaster, I haven't asked."
She was utterly thunderstruck. That was the bargain, that was what she had agreed to. Her heart sank as she realized he was out to punish her well and truly now. He told her to dress herself, speaking in that flat, impersonal tone that made her want to strike out at him, and he motioned her to start walking to the edge of the grove on the far side where he had tethered his horse.
They proceeded back to the house in a rare silence. Her bare feet began to hurt from all the prickles of unseen scabrous plant life that lay hidden in the green velvet swath of the field they crossed.
Her embarrassment was acute at having to be retrieved like some runaway field hand. She couldn't even begin to assess her humiliation at Deuce's hands. She wanted only to run and hide rather than face anyone upon their return. She had nothing to say. Nothing. Everything was plain and clear. The new bargain was that now she would remain at Sweetland in exchange for what Deuce could do for her father. The terms to be set- were his now; her father would get Sweetland shares. And she had nothing more to say.
Even when her father came running from the house, babbling about her wondrous recovery with such sincerity that it was almost comic, all she could do was nod and make little noises of agreement until he asked her, sotto voce, "Have you decided?"
She looked up at Deuce, who had overheard Ryland's bald question, and she said, "I will do what Deuce wants," in a toneless voice that squarely put the burden on Deuce to define what he did want. She was suddenly not so sure he wanted her along with his power over her father.
Ardelle bustled in just then, murmuring reassuringly, nodding at Deuce's directions to put Kalida to bed instantly, since she should not overtax herself until they knew whether she was fully recovered or not. Kalida found it strange that he was acting as though everything were for real and nothing untoward had happened.
She allowed Ardelle to push her upstairs once again but was dismayed when she was shown to Deuce's room. "Why?" she demanded, wheeling on Ardelle, whose face registered bewilderment.
"My dear Kalida, we've a houseful of guests, with the men going out on patrol all this week. I don't think you realize it, but Deuce has lost half a dozen head of Santa Linaria this month; that's disastrous, and the syndicate leaders are eager to help rout out the rustler. But with you, your Papa, Ellie, and the rest of them here, there's not an extra room in the house. Deuce will be out all night anyway, so it's perfectly acceptable to me for you to use his room"—her sherry eyes pinioned Kalida—"as you will be doing soon enough," she added gently. "You must rest, of course; your body may well feel shocked at having the use of its legs again. I will come to see you later. We must talk about the provision of a wardrobe for you. But"—she raised her hand as Kalida started to protest — "that's for later. Be a good girl now and take your rest."
Kalida did not have the heart to argue with this kindness, nor the assumption that her presence in Deuce's room—in his life—was to be permanent. No, her argument was with Deuce, and she would have it out with him eventually, oh yes, she would.
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* * *
Still later, Ellie Dean bustled into Deuce's room armed with a measuring tape. "Come; we make a trip to town tomorrow so that your father and Deuce can execute the necessary papers. So I need your measurements, Kalida. And don't stand on ceremony with this; your father specifically asked me to tell you that. You are not allowed to object, protest, or refuse, you hear?"
"I hear," Kalida said, astounded at the Ellie Dean who was fluttering around her bed, commanding her to sit and lift her arms and turn her torso. This Ellie's face looked younger for some reason, perhaps because her hair was streaming down her back, the first time Kalida had ever seen it unconfined. Little curly tendrils danced around her unusually animated face, and she was dressed in a pinafore, a grown-up version of the kind little girls wore, which Prestina had remade from the remnants of her one remaining dress and scraps of material she had hoarded away.
"I'm to shop for the necessities for both of us," she said when she had finally finished measuring and sat perched at the foot of the bed still making notes. "And Deuce has agreed that I can hire a dressmaker—Rosalie Dupuis, do you think?—to come out for a week and attend solely to us!" Her voice, calm though it seemed, still held an undertone of repressed excitement. She was perfectly willing to have Deuce pay to outfit her in a style befitting what she considered her status. And the prospect of a day in town alone with both Deuce and Hal was not an unpleasant prospect either.
"Deuce is very generous," Kalida murmured noncomit-tally. Ellie need not know the details of any new arrangement. Ellie seemed very happy to be at Sweetland and have the run of Deuce's money. Well, fine with her. The less attention Deuce Cavender paid to her the better. Ellie
could monopolize every moment of his a
ttention for all she cared.
"When do you leave?" she asked, trying to summon up some show of interest.
"First thing in the morning." Ellie jumped off the bed as she said that, tucking her mysteriously annotated paper into one of the skirt pockets. "Deuce said it would be too much to ask Prestina to sew for us, you know. I think it's lovely he's offered to provide us with the dressmaker and whatever we want."
"Lovely," Kalida echoed as Ellie wafted to the door.
"I'll see you tomorrow evening, Kalida dear. Trust me, will you, to do the best for you?"
"With my life," Kalida said ironically. She stared brood-ingly at the closed door. She was getting in deeper and deeper. She could be bought for the price of a dress. And so, she thought meanly, could Ellie.
Ellie, who jounced along willingly and cheerfully in the uncomfortable buckboard seated next to Deuce at sunrise the next morning. Ellie, who chattered endlessly with a bright gaiety that did nothing to improve Deuce's humor as the miles wore on and on across the flat, rolling plains.
He himself was tired from the night's patrol and the loss of yet another bull from the Santa Linaria herd. And he was exasperated to the point of active dislike with Hal Ryland. Overriding all of these feelings was his intense desire to get his hands around Kalida's lovely throat, to shake her within an inch of her life, to make her admit everything she denied.
The sun burned down with an unconscionable morning heat that seemed to make steam rise from the very earth. Ellie's voice buzzed around him like a fly he wanted desperately to swat. Ryland continually wiped his forehead and complained of the temperature.
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And Deuce resigned himself to the fact that it was going to be an excruciatingly long day.
Which was what Kalida was thinking when Ardelle and Prestina entered her room later on that morning with a breakfast tray. Prestina set it down at the foot of the bed, waving away her protestations and silently disappearing and closing the door behind her.
Ardelle laboriously pulled forward a chair and settled herself into it. "They've gone," she said, an unnecessary statement since the noise of the departure had awakened Kalida earlier than she would have liked.
"Yes." Kalida could find nothing to say to that. "How did it go with them last night?"
"We lost another bull, my dear, but really, that shouldn't concern you. That's Deuce's business."
"Of course, you're right." Kalida reached across the counterpane for the coffee cup, inhaling its aroma like it was a lifeline. She had no idea what to say to Ardelle, no idea what Ardelle knew or did not know about any arrangement between Deuce and herself. She sipped her coffee thoughtfully as she regarded Ardelle's handsome face over the rim of the cup. "I don't suppose," she said suddenly, "you could ferret out a shirt and a small pair of pants for me? I'd love to — " She stopped short at Ardelle's horrified expression.
"Kalida, really, you are not some calicoed eastern settler who has no other choices. You are going to be Deuce's wife. . . ."
"That's up for debate," Kalida muttered, reaching for a hot muffin from the tray.
"My dear, I don't care what kind of verbal scuffling you and Deuce are having between you. The point in fact is he will marry, and insofar as I know, he wants to marry you."
"Well, I don't know that," Kalida retorted, biting viciously into the muffin. "I don't know what stupid ar-
rangement he and Papa have come to now."
Ardelle pulled in an impatient breath. "My dear, none of this matters. Whatever your status is to be here, you must become the kind of woman he wishes to come home to."
"Indeed?" Kalida paused, utterly beguiled at what that statement implied. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean, Ardelle." There, that put the burden of plain speaking on he'r.
Ardelle punctuated the air. with her endlessly moving hands. "You cannot be a—a cowgirl, Kalida, if you live on Sweetland. You're a beautiful young woman, and Deuce is one of the wealthiest men in Montana. You can't go gallivanting into the barnyard whenever you want. Or on roundup, or into the branding pen. Or jump fences, or hunting game, or whatever it was you did when you were living with your father. Deuce wouldn't expect it anyway. You'll — you'll take over the running of Sweetland from me; I'll teach you everything. And I — I finally will be able to go home again," she finished wistfully.
"That's crazy," Kalida objected. "Deuce would never ask anyone to make that radical a change."
"Yes, well," Ardelle said disparagingly, "what Deuce says he wants and what he really does want are two different things. I promised myself that I would welcome whomever he chose with opened arms, and I would guide her with all the wisdom I've acquired over the years I've lived here. So you see, I know."
"Yes," Kalida admitted reluctantly, "you must know." She put down her cup and the remains of her muffin, and shook her head almost as though she were denying without words the vision of the future that Ardelle was conjuring up for her. Ardelle did not know that Deuce was on the verge of retracting all offers of marriage. And Ardelle would never countenance being replaced by a—a mistress. Yes, that was what Deuce was implying: Kalida
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was to stay at Sweetland, all right, but the only capacity he possibly could have meant was as his bed companion, bought and paid for.
"Oh really, Kalida," Ardelle's kindly voice interrupted her musing with just the faintest touch of irritation in it. "You know married women have certain responsibilities, certain duties beyond those of running the housheold, and God knows, there's enough attendant to that! I'm sure you could even enumerate them for me. But then there are those . . . undefined obligations —you know what I'm talking about, Kalida. You bear his children, you behave like a lady, you dress like a lady, and you perform your marital duties with some degree of willingness, if not affection."
"Lovely," Kalida muttered sardonically. She was going to have no part of that, but Ardelle did not need to know it —yet.
"And in return, you'll have whatever luxury Deuce can provide: He'll pamper and care for you, you will live in this beautiful house—unusually beautiful house, yes, for the wilds of Montana? — and he will provide the servants when you need them and money for anything you could possibly want. And, you will have Deuce."
Kalida's stormy blue eyes meet Ardelle's. "Yes," she whispered. "And Deuce."
"And that is what he will want," Ardelle concluded, lifting herself out of her chair with the help of her cane, which as always was nearby. "Trust me, that is what he will expect."
Kalida watched her limp out. God, everything Ardelle had told her fit the picture perfectly. Deuce was king, and it was inconceivable that he would want anything other than cool royalty to grace Sweetland.
And the king was lavish with his gifts now that he had
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gotten what he wanted. Kalida watched the wagon arrive back from town after sunset, laden with supplies, boxes, bags, suitcases, and an imperious-looking middle-aged woman whom she did not recognize but assumed was Rosalie Dupuis, the dressmaker.
Her father, she perceived, looked relieved, and Ellie looked excited as she gazed adoringly down at Deuce who had lifted his arms to assist her from the wagon. Her still unbound hair fell forward, almost into his face, and as he set her down she made especially certain not to drag the crisp cotton hem of her new ready-made dress in the dirt of the drive. Oh, didn't Ellie look just wonderful, Kalida thought, turning away in disgust. She must have had a fine old time spending Deuce's money. She had the very sensibility that knew exactly what to do with it.
She wrapped her gossamer robe more tightly around her at that thought. Her body stiffened with a kind of fine excitement that sent a riotous tremor along her veins. Ellie was exactly the kind of woman Deuce needed. Ellie. Ellie was ambitious, and she would bet that Ellie was tired of being the poor widow who ran the rooming house in town. And Ellie was still young, though Kalida had never realized it until she had seen her with her hair undone and that galvanizing im
petus of money shearing years from her face, her body. Yes, Ellie. Ellie was smart enough to know how to distract someone like Deuce. If she could be persuaded to do it.
But why shouldn't she want it? Hadn't she counted on captivating Kalida's father once again? Wasn't Deuce Cavender a better alternative to being the stepmother of someone who was almost her own age?
Oh, glory, it was perfect. Perfect! Kalida hugged herself. Deuce didn't need her; he needed a woman to manage his home and give him children. And Ellie would revel in every last detail, she was sure of it. Ellie would love it. With no competition, not even from Ardelle.
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And she herself could be gone the moment she had a skirt and blouse and a horse to carry her away from Sweetland. She couldn't wait. She couldn't wait.
But after the first euphoria of this perfect idea, Kalida felt a letdown that had her pacing the room agitatedly. Deuce was coming. She didn't think it, she didn't sense it; it was just the thought pulsating through her consciousness. Deuce would come, and he wouldn't be turned away by any discussion of the desirability of focusing his attention on Ellie Dean.
She didn't want to see him. She wanted nothing to do with him.
She froze at the knock on the door, and then her body tensed. Deuce would never knock. "Come," she called, and her father flung himself into the room and she ran into his outstretched arms.
"It's done," he murmured into her ear. "We're solvent again." His voice was buoyant with hope and just the faintest tinge of satisfaction. "We'll be back on our feet in months," he promised, holding her away from him so she could see his jubilant face. "I'm going to hire a crew to clear away the charred timber and get a builder to work on plans for the new house. As soon as that's in place, I'm heading south, Kalida, and I'm going to lease the pasture and bring up a new herd, and we're going to start again."
