THE RESTLESS VIRGIN

by Peggy Moreland

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  Contents:

  Prologue

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

  © 1998

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  Prologue

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  Double-Cross Heart Ranch

  1988

  Sam backed her horse trailer up to the dark barn, using her brake lights for illumination, then climbed wearily from the cab of her truck. Groaning, she pressed her hands to her lower back and stretched out the kinks placed there by the seven-hour drive from Oklahoma. With nothing but her horse and a radio for company, the trip had been long and lonely.

  But Sam was used to going it alone. When her driver's license had arrived in the mail shortly after her sixteenth birthday, designating her a legal driver, her father had handed her the keys to a truck along with the news bulletin that he wouldn't be hauling her butt—or her horse's either for that matter—across the country anymore. If she wanted to try for a national barrel-racing title, he'd told her, she'd be doing it alone. He didn't have the time.

  No surprise there. Lucas McCloud rarely had time for his daughters.

  But tonight, Sam thought wistfully, she could have used a little company on the long trip home. She had hoped that Mandy, her older sister, would make the trip to Oklahoma with her, but with the baby and all, Mandy no longer had the freedom to take off at a moment's notice. And Merideth… Sam snorted at the idea of her younger sister tagging along. Merideth wouldn't be caught dead at a rodeo. The thought of rubbing shoulders with cowboys, getting dust on her shoes, or possibly even breaking a nail was too horrifying for her.

  Sam sighed and scuffed her way wearily to the rear of the truck where she unhooked the back doors and lowered the ramp. "Come on, Skeeter," she called gently to the tall roan. "We're home." Slipping her fingers beneath his halter, she clipped the lead rope into place, then guided him down to solid ground.

  Rather than turn on the barn's overhead lights and disturb the other animals, Sam led her horse down the dark alley, relying on memory and moonlight to guide her way. At Skeeter's stall, she opened the door, then braced a hip against it as she shifted to unhook his halter. With a loving pat on his rump, she urged him inside. "'Night, Skeeter," she whispered. "See you in the morning."

  Just as she dropped the latch, locking the gate into place, a man stepped from the shadows in the next stall. A scream rose in Sam's throat, but dissolved into a frustrated hiss of air when she recognized the man as Reed Wester, one of her father's ranch hands. She pressed a hand over her thudding heart. "Reed, you nearly scared me to death," she accused him.

  He chuckled. "A little jumpy tonight, aren't you, Sam?"

  She heaved a breath, trying to slow her heart's racing.

  She didn't like Reed. He had a way of looking at her that made her skin crawl. "No, you just startled me." She started to move around him, anxious to get to the house and away from him, but Reed stepped in front of her, blocking her path. Sam snapped up her head to frown at him.

  "How'd you do in Guthrie?"

  "I ran slack, so I won't know the results until tomorrow, but I held the fastest time when I left." Wearily, she pushed a stray wisp of hair away from her eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I'm tired."

  "I'll bet you're a little stiff, too, considerin' that long drive and all." He stepped closer, putting a hand on her arm and running it from elbow to wrist. Goose bumps pebbled Sam's skin while the nauseating smell of cheap whiskey and sweat swirled beneath her nose. "I could give you a rubdown," he offered. "Ease the ache a little. What do ya say?"

  Sam jerked free of his grasp, her nostrils pinched in anger. "No thanks," she muttered, brushing past him.

  A hand at her arm stopped her, and before she could react, Reed had spun her around and slammed her up against the barn wall, his hands cuffed around her wrists above her head.

  "What's the matter, Sam?" he sneered. "You think because you're a McCloud you're too good for the likes of me?"

  Terror squeezed Sam's chest at the hatred in his eyes and she tried to press her head farther back against the wall. "N-no," she stammered, fighting hard to hide her fear. "I'm just tired, is all."

  He took a step nearer, pressing his body against hers, pinning her harder against the wall. "You won't be for long," he promised, his voice low and menacing. "Reed Wester knows how to make a woman forget most anything."

  "Let me go, Reed," she pleaded as she squirmed, trying to break free.

  "Ah, come on, Sammie girl. You know you want it. You've been twitchin' that sassy little butt of yours in my face for months, just beggin' for it."

  "No!" she cried, horrified that he'd think such a thing. "I haven't. I swear. Just let me go, Reed, please."

  He buried his nose at her neck, his breath hot and rancid against her bare skin. "I've watched you ride that horse of yours bareback, watched you squeeze your thighs against his sides. The whole time I imagined it was me those thighs were wrapped around, and me you were pressing that hot crotch against." His teeth grazed her skin. "And I know you were wishin' the same damn thing."

  Before Sam could deny his claim, he moved his mouth up her throat, the hard stubble on his jaw scraping against her sensitive skin. The stench of whiskey and sweat grew stronger, making her head swim, her stomach churn. She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat and forced herself to think. She knew she had to get away from him. But how? All the men who worked the Double-Cross would be asleep in the bunkhouse at this hour, but if she screamed loud enough…

  "Let me go, Reed," she warned as she continued to fight his grip on her hands. "Or I swear I'll scream and have every wrangler on the Double-Cross swarming in here."

  He quickly shifted her wrists to one meaty hand, then clapped the other over her mouth. "Don't even think about it," he threatened in a low voice. He dropped his hand and Sam quickly sucked in air to scream, but before she could release it, his mouth slammed against hers.

  Tears burned behind Sam's closed lids while fear turned every muscle in her body to steel. She wouldn't succumb to him, she told herself. She'd die first. Using every ounce of strength she possessed, she thrust herself hard against him, hoping to unbalance him, then lifted a boot, slamming it down hard on his instep.

  He yelped in pain, but didn't loosen his hold on her. "You bitch!" he snarled, ramming his body harder against hers to prevent her from trying the same tactic again. But Sam wasn't through fighting yet. When he dipped his face toward her again, she sank her teeth into his cheek. With a howl, Reed reared back, staring at her in surprise. Then his eyes narrowed dangerously. He closed a hand over her breast and squeezed hard, smiling as her face contorted in pain.

  "You shoulda told me you like it rough," he growled, then stabbed his tongue between her parted lips and dug his fingers deeper into her breast.

  Sam twisted her head back and forth against the rough barn wall, frantically trying to escape the suffocating pressure of his mouth, the pain his fingers inflicted on her tender flesh. But she was helpless against his greater strength.

  A sob rose in her throat. Please, God, please don't let him do this to me, she cried silently.

  The prayer had barely formed when he tore his mouth from hers. He stared at her, his eyes wild and dark, while a demonic smile twisted his lips. "I been waitin' for this for a long time." He placed a thick finger at the opening of her western blouse, then curled it until it lay in the valley between her breasts. Sam's blood ran cold at the invasion, at the heat and roughness of his calloused finger on her bare flesh.

  Chuckling, he muttered, "Let's see what you've got," then jerked the finger down. Buttons rained on the hard-packed dirt floor while Sam shrank against the wall, trying her best to melt into it.

  Knowing that this might we
ll be her last and only hope for rescue, she opened her mouth and let loose a scream that she prayed would reach the bunkhouse. Reed slapped a hand over her mouth, knocking her head hard against the wall, then yanked her away from it, twisting her arm behind her back. She managed to suck in one shocked breath before his hand closed over her mouth again.

  "You're gonna regret that," he warned her. He shoved her kicking and fighting ahead of him into an empty stall and knocked her down on the scattered straw.

  Instinctively, Sam rolled, but before she could escape, he pinned her to the stall floor. Her breath burned in her lungs as she bucked and kicked, trying to escape.

  He quickly moved to straddle her. Fumbling for his belt buckle with his free hand, he ordered roughly, "Spread your legs." When she didn't respond, he closed a hand around her throat and squeezed. "I said spread 'em!"

  Choking for air, Sam clawed at his fingers.

  "What's going on here!"

  Reed twisted at the sound of the male voice, giving Sam a view of the open stall door. Gabe Peters, her father's ranch foreman, stood in the opening, aiming a flashlight at the two of them.

  Reed tightened his fingers on her neck. "Me and Sam was just havin' us a little fun. Weren't we, Sammie girl?" he prodded, daring her to disagree with him.

  "No!" The single word scraped like a dull razor at her closed, raw throat. "Gabe, please," she begged hoarsely while she continued to fight Reed's hold on her, "help me!"

  With a feral growl, Gabe tossed the flashlight aside and grabbed Reed by the back of the collar and hauled him to his feet. Footsteps pounded in the alleyway as more wranglers appeared on the scene. Turning, Gabe thrust Reed at the first man who appeared at the stall door. "See that he packs his gear. Then I want you to personally escort him off the Double-Cross." Without questioning the order, four men quickly surrounded Reed and dragged him away.

  "And if your fists happen to connect with his face in the process," Gabe yelled after them, "so much the better."

  Once the men were out of sight, Gabe dropped to a knee beside Sam, his voice growing gentle. "Honey, are you okay?"

  Sam shrank away from his touch, clutching her torn blouse in white-knuckled hands. "I want to go home, Gabe," she said, finally giving in to the tears. "I—I just want to go h-home."

  "Just give me a minute to call your daddy and let him know we're—"

  She grabbed at his hand, her eyes wild. "No! Please, Gabe. Don't tell Daddy!"

  The fact that she didn't want her father to know about the attack didn't surprise Gabe. Lucas McCloud wasn't a man long on comfort. He shrugged out of his denim jacket. "Okay. Okay," he said soothingly. "Settle down now. I'll see you home safe." He draped the jacket across Sam's shoulders. As he started to rise, pulling her up along with him, the overhead lights popped on, their glare blinding after the moonlit darkness of a moment before.

  "What the hell is going on in here?"

  At the sound of Lucas's angry voice, Gabe turned to look at Sam. The absolute terror in her eyes had him tightening his hold on her. Lucas's temper was legendary, and the fact that his daughters caught the brunt end of it more often than not was common knowledge among the ranch hands. "It's me, Gabe. And Sam," he added, knowing there was no escape for her now.

  There was a muffled curse, followed by the sound of determined footsteps, then Lucas appeared in the opening of the stall. Sam clutched tighter at the jacket and Gabe quickly stepped in front of her, offering her more concealment.

  "What the hell is going on?" Lucas demanded again.

  Heaving a sigh, Gabe explained. "I caught Reed in the barn with Sam and he was—" He paused, searching for a gentler way, for Sam's benefit, to explain the incident. "Well, he was giving her a hard time. But everything's under control now," he assured Lucas. "The boys have taken Reed back to the bunkhouse to pack his gear, then they're going to escort him off the Double-Cross."

  Lucas's face reddened, veins throbbing to life at his temples and on his neck. His entire body trembled with barely suppressed rage as he tightened his hands into fists at his sides. "Who the hell gave you the authority to fire one of my wranglers? Reed Wester is the best damn horse trainer in the state, and you damn well know it."

  Gabe had always known Lucas's heart was made of stone, but the idea of him coming to the defense of a lowlife like Reed Wester when his own daughter had almost been raped by the man galled Gabe to no end. "He came dang close to rapin' her, Lucas. If I hadn't heard her scream, I don't—"

  Lucas snapped his gaze to Sam, his look scathing. His face turned an even darker shade of red. "So, you're the cause of all this. I should've known." He took a threatening step closer. "What did you do to provoke him?"

  Sam hadn't thought anything could hurt as much as the punishment she'd received at Reed's hands. Her father's words proved her wrong. But she'd be damned if she'd let him see how much he'd hurt her. "Nothing," she replied, lifting her chin. "Absolutely nothing."

  Lucas narrowed his eyes, sucking in air through his teeth. His mouth curled into a snarl of disgust while a muscle on his jaw flexed. "Get to the house," he ordered.

  "Now, Lucas—" Gabe began, ready to defend Sam.

  Lucas wheeled on him. "Don't you 'now, Lucas' me! It'll be your head that rolls if we lose Reed over this."

  Gabe's back stiffened at the threat, but the rising color on his boss's face made him momentarily set aside his own anger. Ever since Lucas's oldest daughter Mandy had announced that she was carrying Jesse Barrister's baby, his boss's temper—erratic at best—had taken on the volatility of a Texas twister, mowing down anything or anyone who happened to be in his path. And since Mandy's return to the ranch with the baby, things had only gotten worse. Gabe himself had persuaded Lucas to see a doctor, but the stubborn old rancher ignored the doctor's advice, refusing to change his diet or take the medication prescribed. "You need to calm down, Lucas," Gabe warned. "Gettin' upset like this ain't gonna help your blood pressure none."

  Sweat glistened on Lucas's face as he lifted a fist and shook it. "To hell with my blood pressure! I've got to find Reed and see if I can salvage this mess y'all've made. Where is he?"

  "I told you," Gabe replied patiently. "The boys took him to the bunkhouse and—"

  Before Gabe could repeat his explanation, Lucas swayed, grabbing for the stall gate with one hand while clutching at his chest with the other. Gabe made a move to help, but Lucas waved him away. "Leave me be," he growled, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Sweat poured down his face and he dipped his head into the crook of the arm braced against the stall door. As he tried to straighten, his knees buckled beneath him. Gabe lunged forward, but before he could reach him, Lucas crumpled to the floor, his fingers sliding down the gate's metal rails, each hit a loud pinging thump in the silent barn.

  "Daddy!" Sam screamed, running to drop down beside her father.

  Gabe nudged Sam aside, flattening his hand over Lucas's chest, feeling for a heartbeat. When he didn't find one, he turned to her, his expression grave. "Call for an ambulance. I'll stay here and work on him."

  Slowly, Sam pushed herself to her feet, her eyes riveted on her father's slack face. As she ran for the phone in the lab room, the memory of her father's words chased her.

  So, you're the cause of all this. I should have known. What did you do to provoke him?

  Those would be the last words that Lucas McCloud would ever say to his daughter … yet the guilt heaped on Sam's slender shoulders that night would last a lifetime.

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  One

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  Austin, Texas

  1998

  Sam frowned at the scribbled directions she held, trying her darndest to decipher her nephew's scrawled handwriting. When she got back to the Double-Cross, she promised herself, she was going to make arrangements to have a separate phone line installed for her veterinary practice and invest in a good answering machine. And this time she meant it! Unraveling the messages taken by whoever happened to pick up the phone a
t the main house on the Double-Cross Heart Ranch was a royal pain in the butt.

  She glanced up, peering through her truck's bug-splattered windshield at empty pastures thick with overgrown weeds and cedar saplings. Snapped barbed wire coiled crazily along the fence line like a home perm gone bad, while sparrows splashed in a rusted water trough.

  Above the crumbling limestone pillars flanking the gate, a faded sign swung.

  "Rivers Ranch," she said aloud. Since the name matched that on the message her nephew Jaime had taken, she figured she must have the right place.

  And if this is how Nash Rivers takes care of what's his, she added mentally, it's no wonder he's got a sick horse.

  But his abilities as a rancher weren't her concern, Sam reminded herself. Only his livestock were. Still, having been raised on a ranch, the sight of so much neglect was a hard thing for her to abide.

  Setting her jaw against her client's poor management of his land, Sam turned onto the pitted road beneath the warped and faded sign and headed for the barn she could see in the distance.

  An S-600 Mercedes sedan was parked at an odd angle to the barn, its silver-and-chrome body catching the sunlight and shooting it back, nearly blinding Sam. As she drew nearer, she saw a man pacing between the car and the barn. At the sound of her truck, he stopped and turned, watching her approach from behind a pair of dark sunglasses. Dressed in a gray pinstriped suit, he seemed at odds with the rustic setting around him … but well matched to the sleek, expensive car parked in front of him.

  The dark scowl he wore sent a shiver down Sam's spine. She quickly shoved back the dread of having to deal with him, and forced herself to focus instead on the animal that needed her care. Anxious to get to her patient, she parked and hopped down from the cab of her truck, pausing to grab her vet bag from the toolbox in back. "Nash Rivers?" she asked as she approached him.