No Other Man

by Shannon Drake

  There were times when Skylar could almost be glad that she had grown up in the darkened shadow of war herself. She and Sabrina moved in the proper circles and attended all the right parties. The tension of living in their house was sometimes alleviated by social functions. And though Skylar had actually met several men she had liked and enjoyed, she had been grateful that the pressure to marry young had been taken away simply because so many young men had been killed. Dillman wasn't ready for the girls to marry because his family made such an attractive political platform. Skylar and Sabrina were not ready to leave either their mother or each other.

  Jill's death, however, had changed everything.

  Skylar had been convinced that despite their loss, she and Sabrina could at last find freedom.

  She and Brad Dillman had fought on the upper landing of the stairway. It was rightfully their home, but after their mother had died and been buried, Skylar had wanted only to get away. She had stayed all those years because of her mother, even if Jill had failed to see the evil in Brad Dili- man. There were times when Skylar had hated her mother for refusing to see the truth, but then she had realized that Jill had been completely shattered when Skylar's father had been murdered. She had wanted so desperately to believe in Dillman. And Dillman had been good at his chosen role; he had made such a point of being so tender and gentle, taking care of everything for Jill in her sorrow—even dealing with a hurt young child who ignored his goodness and made terrible accusations against him. He had always pretended to be the perfect gentleman to his wife. Jill had always believed that Skylar's love for her own deceased father had allowed her to create terrible fantasies in her mind about Dillman because she simply could not accept him as a stepfather.

  It had not just been her love for her mother that had kept her home, refusing the marriage proposals that had come her way; it had been the veiled threats that Dillman had cast out over the years. Reminders that sad things could suddenly happen to people who appeared to be in the very best of health.

  But then Jill had died.

  And on the stairway that day, Skylar was finished with any attempt of pretense regarding Dillman.

  "Now there's no way for you to stop me from leaving. You can't threaten me with Mother anymore because she's dead, she's free—"

  "And she never did believe you, did she?" Brad had taunted. "She'd never have doubted me in a thousand years, Skylar, no matter what you might have tried to tell her! Because she needed me, and she wanted me. And she didn't want to believe those awful lies you tried to tell her, did she? Remember what happened, Skylar, when you tried to convince her that I killed your wonderful father?"

  Skylar knew. Everyone had been horrified that she could have accused a man such as Brad Dillman of murder. People had thought that she was distraught. Bereft, insane with grief. Because everyone believed that Brad had tried everything to save her father, everything. He had been there, such a firm, strong support for the family, there for her mother, there for them all. ..

  Her mother had been so upset, she'd left the problem of Skylar up to Dillman. As sad as it was, Skylar had to be punished for saying such terrible things. God, had Dillman laughed when they had been alone together. And enjoyed the responsibility of taking a switch to her.

  It didn't help to remember the past.

  "Dillman, you're the fool. My mother knew about your other women."

  "She knew I slept beside her every night, and she was grateful."

  "You're despicable. And what you have to say to me doesn't matter in the least anymore. I'm leaving. And I'll get lawyers to settle the estate—"

  "The estate? Skylar, you've always been a little girl, trying to play against men. Do you think that I've spent all these years here and failed to see to the estate? Let's see, your mother inherited a fine income from your father. Lord knows, I needed that money! So when your poor father died, I married your mother. I managed the money and the legal affairs. You try to leave, and you'll get nothing."

  "Maybe. I'll take my chances and fight you. Surely Mother left provisions in her will for Sabrina and me."

  "And maybe she didn't think that she needed to leave provisions for you when she was leaving you in my custody."

  "Maybe I don't care. I just need enough to get away from you. And I will somehow take Sabrina—"

  "Skylar, Skylar! Still the little fool! Did you think it could possibly be so simple? You're not going anywhere. You're going to stay right here. Sabrina is not yet twenty- one; she is legally in my custody. We're going to continue to be the proper family. I want the whole package, Miss Skylar, just as I have always wanted it, needed it. My constituents like my family image; the United States senator and his two beautiful young daughters. We're a family; we understand the difficulties of a family in this day and age. We know about God and society! You're not going to do anything to jeopardize the career I've worked so hard to build—"

  "The career you've murdered for?" she accused him.

  He hadn't been more than a few feet away. A handsome, compelling man, one whose charm had stood him well throughout the years, one whose charm masked the evil within him, a cruelty that was almost casual in its endeavors.

  He'd been a strict stepfather throughout the years, his manner sad and despairing to his associaties when he discussed discipline in the home, but he'd seemed to relish the task of finding the proper switches to use against his stepdaughters when they disobeyed. Despite the pleasure lie had always found in inflicting pain and the ease with which he doled it out, she still wasn't prepared for the force of the blow that came crashing down against the side of her head, knocking her to the floor. The pain was staggering. It robbed her of breath and of vision, and for seconds, even of consciousness. She awoke, blinking, still in pain. He was on top of her, his one hand clasped around her throat, the other moving over her cheek.

  "Your mother really was in love with me, Skylar," he told her coldly. "I was strong; she was weak. Your precious father was weak and naive—"

  "My father was loyal. And honest. And a million other fine things you'd never even recognize—"

  "Was. An important word in this conversation. He is now very dead, my dear," Dillman said matter-of-factly. "I've been enduring this petty argument with you for over a decade now, and I'm sick to death of it, Skylar. The rules have changed once again. You know me, I know you. You behave, you learn to keep your mouth shut and obey. You cause me any trouble and I can reach you; I'll kill you. You try to convince anyone that I'm a danger to you or your sister, and I can promise, you'll wind up in an asylum for the insane—you know that I can do it. You've been fighting all this time, most of your life, Skylar. And when the hell has anyone ever believed you? When have you ever managed to beat me? You can't. Give it up. Because I'll win. And I'll do whatever it takes to see that I do."

  "Murder me?"

  He shrugged. "If necessary. But it would be such a pity. You're really such a beautiful—if vicious—little creature. I always thought you were a pretty little thing, even as a child, but you know, my dear—and you should know well—that I am not a stupid man. I'd not have made advances to you or your sister while my dear wife lived, but then ... I'm in mourning right now, of course, over your mother, but a man can be eased from his sorrows by a woman like you."

  She was going to be sick. "I would die first!"

  He leaned against her, laughing. "Skylar, you continually miss the point. You have been a thorn in my side forever. You might well die an accidental death, but surely, after all these years, I deserve at least a bit of entertainment from you. You could be quite amusing. I wouldn't think of killing you until after I had discovered what charms you may or may not possess.''

  "You idiot bastard! I will get away—"

  "I'll track you down. And have you locked up."

  "I'll—"

  "Notice, Skylar, I have you by the throat. I could squeeze my fingers tightly now, and you would pass out. I could do whatever I chose to do. Ah, imagine. Were you to go making
accusations against me, I could build a case of dementia against you. Then they'd lock you up. In one of those places. Skylar, have you ever visited such a place? The insane! So pathetic. We must do our Christian duty by them! Yet how horrid to live among them. So many of them hosed down rather than bathed. Poor creatures, crying, screaming into all hours of the night! I, your loving stepparent, would visit. Why, my dear, they've not really rooms in most of those establishments; they've cages and cells. With locks and keys. I could come and we could play for hours. And no one would ever hear your screams."

  "God, you are wretched! But I will get away—"

  "Umm. If you should, well, actually, I have always preferred Sabrina. And the poor dear. It's amusing, really. I'm her legal guardian. She'd have to be very, very far away to escape me, wouldn't she, Skylar? How would you ever do it? How would you manage the resources to do it? I'll follow you to hell, girl, and so help me, I'll have it all my way. Are we understood?"

  Understood. Oh, God.

  And it had gotten worse from there. Or better. If only Sabrina would arrive here quickly now. She could see her sister, standing behind Dillman, trying to tug him away from Skylar. She could see Dillman laughing. Turning on Sabrina. Threatening, promising, touching...

  She remembered herself flying into action, She could see it all again, relive it. See Dillman falling, falling, falling, screaming. She could see his legs, twisted, and hear her sister. "Go, you have to go! If he lives, he'll have you hanged, imprisoned, put away—"

  "I can't leave you—"

  "Skylar, you've got to! You've got to get completely uway, disappear! We'd be too visible trying to escape together, and he'd get the law out after both of us. He still has a legal claim on me; he's still my guardian. But I'm safe for the moment! He can't hurt me now. Go! Find us a way out, a new life, Skylar, not a prison sentence!"

  "I can't—"

  "Then we've got to kill him!"

  "No! It would make us what he is! We can't—"

  "Then you've got to run. Can't you see, he can't hurt me now."

  "I'll get word to you as quickly as possible. Go to Pike's; Jimmy Pike is our only friend."

  "Go! My God, go! Get far away before he can send someone for you, before he can come, before—"

  Words faded, darkness swirled around her. There were hands, reaching for her, dragging her down, pulling at her. She heard his laughter, felt herself falling, unable to breathe. She saw his face, and felt his touch...

  There was a bursting sound as the door to the room swung open. She heard it dimly, far in the back of her mind. Then her name.

  "Skylar!"

  She fought the web of sleep that wrapped around her. Someone was touching her. Hands, strong hands were upon her. She screamed, her eyes flying open. Darkness seemed heavy all around her. She was being held while shadows hovered in the hallway.

  "Skylar!"

  Oh, God! She woke fully and exhaled raggedly. It was Hawk. She realized that she was shaking; a fine sheen of perspiration bathed her flesh. He was holding her. Fingers threading through her hair. He wore a crimson smoking jacket, the V top loose. He drew her against the bare flesh of his chest, stilling the trembling that seized her.

  "It's all right," he said to the shadows in the doorway. "She was dreaming."

  Shadows melted. The door was closed.

  "Oh, God!" she breathed.

  She swallowed hard, fought the emotions the vividness of the dream had brought home once again. She bit into her bottom lip, preparing for the onslaught of questions he would snap at her now.

  But amazingly, he was quiet, fingers running gently through her hair.

  "I think the entire house heard you screaming," he said softly at last.

  "I'm so sorry."

  "It's all right."

  She opened her mouth, still seeking an explanation.

  But to her amazement, he spoke first again.

  "One might have thought I was in the act of scalping you. Are you that afraid of coming with me over the hills?"

  "Afraid of the hills?" she repeated. "No, of course not, I'm not—" she broke off, realizing far too late that he had assumed she had been dreaming of an Indian attack! "I—"

  He pulled away from her, lifting her chin. The firelight was low, and it was all that illuminated the room. Still, she knew that he saw quite well in the dark, and that he was studying her now. It seemed too late to dissemble now.

  "I'm not afraid of going with you."

  "Why were you screaming?"

  She managed a smile. "I really didn't mean to convince the entire household you were scalping me."

  "Then?"

  She was startled by the warmth that filled her as his

  Ihumb moved over her cheek. She lowered her lashes, shaking her head. "Monsters," she said with a shrug. "I don't really know. It was a nightmare. Dreams are so terrible, but then they fade so quickly. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb everyone."

  "And you're not afraid? Of riding with me?"

  She shook her head again, sighed, and admitted, "No— I'm not afraid."

  "You just don't want to come."

  "I—" She paused, trying to study his features in turn. Hut he gave nothing away. His eyes seemed almost as dark us his countenance in the shadows. Yet his very austerity seemed to offer her a strange sense of security now. His force and body heat offered a strange comfort

  Her lashes swept her cheeks. "Lord Douglas, I do strive to be a good wife. If you wish company on a journey, then 1 would most obediently oblige you."

  "Ah! At least until the wire is sent, Lady Douglas?"

  She glanced up at him, but he laughed softly, drawing her against him. "You really need to sleep, Skylar. Morning will come quickly. It probably would help if you'd tell me the truth about that dream."

  "I—I told you—"

  "Monsters. Umm. It's amazing, Skylar. I seem to be able to force almost anything from you—except the truth."

  "You don't want to believe the truth."

  "Want to tell me about the dream?"

  "I told you—"

  "What? You told me what, Skylar?"

  "It's—gone. I don't remember the dream."

  There was a strange disappointment in his eyes as he looked at her then. "Never mind, Skylar. Whatever—or whoever—those monsters are, I promise, you're safe. They'll not get by me."

  He drew her closer, moving his fingers through her hair, over her cheek. "Skylar, try to sleep. I'll be here. Nothing will hurt you. No one can hurt you."

  But she sat up, looking at him in the shadows. He was a man of so many contrasts. With his ruggedly hewn, bronze features and straight ebony hair, he might have appeared strangely out of place at Mayfair. Yet he did not. He looked very much like his father as well, wore the smoking jacket with complete ease, lay upon the handsomely carved bed with natural comfort. Likewise, his temper could flare so quickly, his violence surge, yet in startling moments, he could betray a gentle touch of tenderness.

  "I swear to you, I never hurt your father," she told him. "I didn't hasten his death in any way."

  He sighed softly, reached for her, and drew her down to the covers against him once again. Her cheek lay against his bare chest. She was grateful for the warmth. Glad to lie against him.

  He stroked tendrils of hair from her forehead. She thought that he would not reply. That he did not believe her.

  "Skylar, you've got to sleep. You'll be sorry if you don't, I'm telling you."

  "Do you believe me?"

  "I'm not sure that I want to believe you now," he said softly.

  "Why not?"

  He hesitated. "Then I'd have to apologize for attacking your stagecoach, wouldn't I?"

  She smiled and closed her eyes.

  "Yes."

  "But then again, maybe not. You were out here to lay claim to my property, hmm?"

  "Have I managed to claim any?"

  "You might be surprised," he murmured. "Go to sleep, Skylar."

  She lay with
her cheek against his heart and listened to its beat.

  And slept.

  * * *

  It was early when he awakened her, ridiculously early.

  She'd fallen into a deep, restful sleep, so she was especially irritated when the covers were wrenched from her and she heard, "Up, Lady Douglas. Thirty minutes, and we're on our way."

  She grabbed the covers, dragging them back over her head.

  Once again, they were wrenched away. She still didn't bother to open her eyes. "I can't!" she murmured. "You'll have to go without me."

  Then she felt a stinging swat on her backside. Indignantly she leaped up to a sitting position, staring at her tormentor.

  Hawk was dressed in dark buff buckskin, his jacket and boots fringed. His head was bare, his black hair falling loosely to his shoulders.

  "Lady Douglas," he told her, his impatience held in check with mock gallantry, "your mule awaits."

  ' 'Mule?'' she gasped.

  ' 'Thirty minutes. I left you a mug of coffee by the water ewer. Get going."

  "If you're serious about a mule, it had best keep waiting!" she warned.

  "Thirty minutes. The mule may be patient; I am not."

  She rose and washed quickly, then dressed in what she hoped would be an appropriate outfit for a ride into wild country—cotton shift, petticoat, and calico dress—and good riding boots. The sun could be very bright by day, but the nights could be cold, so she brought her hooded wool cloak. She created a blanket roll with a second dress and underclothing and then hurried down the stairs with a few minutes to spare.

  Meggie was at the front door, shaking her head. "Riding off at the crack of the dawn, and not a decent breakfast into a one of you!" she said unhappily.

  Hawk walked in from the porch, an empty mug in his hands. Meggie glanced his way, shaking her head. "Ye've mil even fed the lass, Lord Douglas!"

  He arched a brow, looking from Meggie to Skylar. "I'm not setting out to starve my wife, Meggie; we've just got a busy morning ahead of us. We're already leaving hours later than I had intended. Besides, we've had your fine coffee, Meg, and I packed your biscuits in our bags." He handed her his empty mug and touched her cheek affectionately. ' 'I do trust you, of course, to hold down the fort in my absence. We'll be gone one to two weeks, I believe." He winked, looking at Skylar once again. "Skylar is sending for her sister today, Meggie. I can't imagine that a lone woman might come all this way west before we return, but then she is Skylar's sister, so I assume anything is possible, don't you think, my love?" he queried Skylar.