Lionhearted

by Diana Palmer

  “Addiction?”

  His nose brushed hers. “Do you remember how you moaned when I put my hands inside your blouse?”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Now think how it would feel if I’d put my mouth on your breast, right over the nipple.”

  She shivered.

  He nodded slowly. “Next time,” he promised, his voice taut and hungry. “You have that to look forward to. Meanwhile, you keep your eyes and ears open, and don’t do anything at work that gives Clark a hint that you’re watching him,” he added firmly.

  “I’ll be careful,” she promised unsteadily.

  His eyes were possessive on her soft face. “If he touches you, I’ll kill him.”

  It sounded like a joke. It wasn’t. She’d never seen that look in a man’s eyes before. In fact, the way he was watching her was a little scary.

  His big hand slid under her nape and brought her mouth just under his. “You belong to me, Janie,” he whispered as his head moved down. “Your first man is going to be me. Believe it!”

  The kiss was as arousing as it was tender, but it didn’t last long. He forced himself to let her go, to move away. He started the truck again, put it in gear, and went back down the farm road. But his hand reached for hers involuntarily, his fingers curling into hers, as if he couldn’t bear to lose contact with her. She didn’t know it, but he’d reached a decision in those few seconds. There was no going back now.

  Jack Clark did show up in the bar, on the following Friday night.

  Janie hadn’t told any of the people she worked with about him, feeling that any mention of what she knew about him might jeopardize her safety.

  But she did keep a close eye on him. The man was rangy and uncouth. He sat alone at a corner table, looking around as if he expected trouble and was impatient for it to arrive.

  A cowboy from Cy Parks’s spread, one of Harley Fowler’s men, walked to the counter and sat down, ordering a beer and a pizza.

  “Hey, Miss Janie,” he said with a grin that showed a missing front tooth. “Harley said to tell you he’d be in soon to see you.”

  “That’s sweet of him,” she said with a grin. “I’ll just put your order in, Ned.”

  She scribbled the order on a slip of green paper and put it up on the long string for Nick, the teenage cook, with a clothespin.

  “Where’s my damned whiskey?” Clark shouted. “I been sitting here five minutes waiting for it!”

  Janie winced as Nick glanced at her and shrugged, indicating the pizza list he was far behind on. He’d taken the order and got busy all of a sudden. Tiny was nowhere in sight. He was probably out back having a cigarette. Nick was up to his elbows in dough and pizza sauce. Janie had to get Clark’s order, there was nobody else to do it.

  She got down a shot glass, poured whiskey into it, and put it on one of the small serving trays.

  She took it to Clark’s table and forced a smile to her lips. “Here you are, sir,” she said, placing the shot glass in front of him. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

  Clark glared up at her from watery blue eyes. “Don’t let that happen again. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “Yes, sir,” she agreed.

  She turned away, but he caught her apron strings and jerked her back. She caught her breath as his hand slid to the ones tied at her waist.

  “You’re kind of cute. Why don’t you sit on my lap and help me drink this?” he drawled.

  He was already half-lit, she surmised. She would have refused him the whiskey, if Tiny had been close by, despite the trouble he’d already caused. But now she was caught and she didn’t know how to get away. All her worst fears were coming to haunt her.

  “I have to get that man’s drink,” she pointed to Harley’s cowboy. “I’ll come right back, okay?”

  “That boy can get his drink.”

  “He’s making pizza,” she protested. “Please.”

  That was a mistake. He liked it when women begged. He smiled at her. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “I said, come here!”

  He jerked her down on his thin, bony legs and she screamed.

  In a flash, two cowboys were on their feet and heading toward Clark, both of them dangerous looking.

  “Well, looky, looky, you’ve got guardian angels in cowboy boots!” Clark chuckled. He stood up, dragging Janie with him. “Stay back,” he warned, catching her hair in its braid. “Or else.” He slapped her, hard, across the face, making her cry out, and his hand went into his pocket and came out with a knife. He flicked it and a blade appeared. He caught her around the shoulders from behind and brandished the knife. “Stay back, boys,” he said again. “Or I’ll cut her!”

  The knife pressed against her throat. She was shaking. She remembered all the nice self-defense moves she’d ever learned in her life from watching television or listening to her father talk. Now, she knew how useless they were. Clark would cut her throat if those men tried to help her. She had visions of him dragging her outside and assaulting her. He could do anything. There was nobody around to stop him. These cowboys weren’t going to rush him and risk her life. If only Leo were here!

  She was vaguely aware of Nick sliding out of sight toward the telephones. If he could just call the sheriff, the police, anybody!

  Her hands went to Clark’s wrist, trying to get him to release the press of the blade.

  “You’re hurting,” she choked.

  “Really?” He pressed harder.

  Janie felt his arm cutting off the blood to her head. Then she remembered something she’d heard of a female victim doing during an attack. If she fainted, he might turn her loose.

  “Can’t…breathe…” she gasped, and closed her eyes. He might drop her if she sagged, he might cut her throat. She could die. But they’d get him. That would almost be worth it….

  She let her body sag just as she heard a shout from the doorway. She pretended to lose consciousness. In the next few hectic seconds, Clark threw her to the floor so hard that she hit right on her elbow and her head, and groaned aloud with the pain of impact.

  At the same moment, Leo Hart and Harley Fowler exploded into the room from the front door and went right for Clark, knife and all. They’d been in the parking lot, talking about Janie’s situation, and had come running when they heard the commotion.

  Harley aimed a kick at the knife and knocked it out of Clark’s hands, but Clark was good with his feet, too. He landed a roundhouse kick in Harley’s stomach and put him over a table. Leo slugged him, but he twisted around, got Leo’s arm behind him and sent him over a table, too.

  The two cowboys held back, aware of Leo’s size and Harley’s capability, and the fact that Clark had easily put both of them down.

  There was a sudden silence. Janie dragged herself into a sitting position in time to watch Cash Grier come through the doorway and approach Clark.

  Clark dived for the knife, rolled, and got to his feet. He lunged at Grier with the blade. The assistant police chief waited patiently for the attack, and he smiled. It was the coldest, most dangerous smile Janie had ever seen in her life.

  Clark lunged confidently. Grier moved so fast that he was like a blur.

  Seconds later, the knife was in Grier’s hand. He threw it, slamming it into the wall next to the counter so deep that it would take Tiny quite some time, after the brawl, to pull it out again. He turned back to Clark even as the knife hit, fell into a relaxed stance, and waited.

  Clark rushed him, tipsy and furious at the way the older man had taken his knife away. Grier easily sidestepped the intended punch, did a spinning heel kick that would have made Chuck Norris proud, and proceeded to beat the living hell out of the man with lightning punches and kicks that quickly put him on the floor, breathless and drained of will. It was over in less than three minutes. Clark held his ribs and groaned. Grier stood over him, not even breathing hard, his hand going to the handcuffs on his belt. He didn’t even look winded.

  Leo had picked himself up and rush
ed to Janie, propping her against his chest while she nursed her elbow.

  “Is it broken?” he asked worriedly.

  She shook her head. “Just bruised. Is my mouth bleeding?” she asked, still dazed from the confrontation.

  He nodded. His face was white. He cursed his own helplessness. Between them, he and Harley should have been able to wipe the floor with Clark. He pulled out a white linen handkerchief and mopped up the bleeding lip and the cut on her cheek from Clark’s nails. A big, bad bruise was already coming out on the left side of her face.

  By now, Grier had Clark against a wall with a minimum of fuss. He spread the man’s legs with a quick movement of his booted feet and nimbly cuffed him.

  “I’ll need a willing volunteer to see the magistrate and file a complaint,” Grier asked.

  “Right here,” Harley said, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. “I expect Mr. Hart will do the same.”

  “You bet,” Leo agreed. “But I’ve got to get Janie home first.”

  “No rush,” Grier said, with Clark by the neck. “Harley, you know where magistrate Burr Wiley lives, don’t you? I’m taking Clark by there now.”

  “Yes, sir, I do, I’ll drive right over there and swear out a complaint so you can hold that…gentleman,” Harley agreed, substituting for the word he really meant to use. “Janie, you going to be okay?” he added worriedly.

  She was wobbly, but she got to her feet, with Leo’s support. “Sure,” she said. She managed a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll get you!” Clark raged at Janie and Leo. “I’ll get both of you!”

  “Not right away,” Grier said comfortably. “I’ll have the judge set bail as high as it’s possible to put it, and we’ll see how many assault charges we can press.”

  “Count on me for two of them!” Janie volunteered fearlessly, wincing as her jaw protested.

  “But not tonight,” Leo said, curling his arm around her. “Come on, honey,” he said gently. “I’ll take you home.”

  They followed Grier with his prisoner and Harley out the door and over to Leo’s big double-cabbed pickup truck.

  He put her inside gently and moved around to the driver’s seat. She noticed then, for the first time, that he was in working clothes.

  “You must have come right from work,” she commented.

  “We were moving livestock to a new pasture,” he replied. “One of the bulls got out and we had to chase him through the brush. Doesn’t it show?” he added with a nod toward his scarred batwing chaps and his muddy boots. “I meant to be here an hour ago. Harley and I arrived together. Just in the nick of time, too.”

  “Two of Cy Parks’s guys were at the counter,” she said, “but when Clark threatened to cut me, they were afraid to rush him.”

  He caught her hand in his and held it tight, his eyes going to the blood on her face, her blouse, her forearm. She was going to have a bruise on her pretty face. The sight of those marks made him furious.

  “I’ll be all right, thanks to all of you,” she managed to say.

  “We weren’t a hell of a lot of help,” he said with a rueful smile. “Even Harley didn’t fare well. Clark must have a military background of some sort. But he was no match for Grier.” He shook his head. “It was like watching a martial arts movie. I never even saw Grier move.”

  She studied him while he started the truck and put their seat belts on. “Did he hurt you?”

  “Hurt my pride,” he replied, smiling gently. “I’ve never been put across a table so fast.”

  “At least you tried,” she pointed out. “Thank you.”

  “I should never have let you stay in there,” he said. “It’s my fault.”

  “It was my choice.”

  He kissed her eyelids shut. “My poor baby,” he said softly. “I’m not taking you to your father in this condition,” he added firmly, noting the blood on her blouse and face. “I’ll take you home with me and clean you up, first. We’ll phone him and tell him there was a little trouble and you’ll be late.”

  “Okay,” she said. “But he’s no wimp.”

  “I know that.” He put the truck in gear. “Humor me. I want to make sure you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine,” she argued, but then she smiled. “You can clean me up, anyway.”

  He pursed his lips and smiled wickedly. “Best offer I’ve had all night,” he replied as he pulled out of the parking lot.

  Chapter Nine

  The house was quiet, deserted. The only light was the one in the living room. Leo led Janie down the hall to his own big bedroom, closed the door firmly, and led her into his spacious blue-tiled bathroom.

  The towels were luxurious, sea-blue and white-striped blue towels, facecloths and hand towels. There were soaps of all sorts, a huge heated towel rack, and a whirlpool bath.

  He tugged her to the medicine cabinet and turned her so that he could see her face. “You’ve got a bad scratch here,” he remarked. He tilted her chin up, and found another smaller cut on the side of her throat, thankfully not close enough to an artery to have done much damage.

  His hands went to her blouse. She caught them.

  “It’s all right,” he said gently.

  She let go.

  He unfastened the blouse and tossed it onto the floor, looking her over for other marks. He found a nasty bruise on her shoulder that was just coming out. He unfastened the bra and let it fall, too, ignoring her efforts to catch it. There was a bruise right on her breast, where Clark had held her in front of him.

  “The bastard,” he exclaimed, furious, as he touched the bruise.

  “He got a few bruises, too, from Grier,” she said, trying to comfort him. He looked devastated.

  “He’d have gotten more from me, if I hadn’t walked right into that punch,” he said with self-contempt. “I can’t remember the last time I took a stupid hit like that.”

  She reached up and touched his lean face gently. “It’s all right, Leo.”

  He looked down at her bare breasts and his eyes narrowed hotly. “I don’t like that bruise.”

  “I got a worse one when my horse threw me last month,” she told him. “It will heal.”

  “It’s in a bad place.”

  She smiled. “So was the other one.”

  He unzipped her jeans and she panicked.

  He didn’t take any notice. He bent and removed her shoes and socks and then stripped the jeans off her. She was wearing little lacy white briefs and his hands lingered on them.

  “Leo!” she screeched.

  He grimaced. “I knew it was going to be a fight all the way, and you’re in no condition for another one.” He unbraided her hair and let it tangle down her shoulders. He turned and started the shower.

  “I can do this!” she began.

  His hands were already stripping off the briefs. He stopped with his hands on her waist and looked at her with barely contained passion. “I thought you’d be in a class of your own,” he said huskily. “You’re a knockout, baby.” He lifted her and stood her up in the shower, putting a washcloth in her hand before he closed the sliding glass door. “I’ll get your things in the wash.”

  She was too shell-shocked to ask if he knew how to use a washing machine. Well, you fool, she told herself, you stood there like a statue and let him take your clothes off and stare at you! What are you complaining about?

  She bathed and used the shampoo on the shelf in the shower stall, scrubbing until she felt less tainted by Clark’s filthy touch.

  She turned off the shower and climbed out, wrapping herself in one of the sea-blue towels. It was soft and huge, big enough for Leo, who was a giant of a man. It swallowed her up whole.

  Before she could wonder what she was going to do about something to wear, he opened the door and walked right in with a black velvet robe.

  “Here,” he said, jerking the towel away from her and holding out the robe.

  She scurried into it, red-faced and embarrassed.

  He drew her ba
ck against him and she realized that she wasn’t the only one who’d just had a shower. He was wearing a robe, too. But his was open, and the only thing under it was a pair of black silk boxer shorts that left his powerful legs bare. His chest was broad and covered with thick, curling hair. He turned her until she was facing him, and his eyes were slow and curious.

  “You’ll have bruises. Right now, I want to treat those cuts with antibiotic cream. Then we’ll dry your hair and brush it out.” He smiled. “It’s long and thick and glossy. I love your hair.”

  She smiled shyly. “It takes a lot of drying.”

  “I’m not in a hurry. Neither are you. I phoned your dad and told him as little as I could get away with.”

  “Was he worried?”

  He lifted an eyebrow as he dug in the cabinet for the antibiotic cream. “About your virtue, maybe,” he teased. “He thinks I’ve got you here so I can make love to you.”

  She felt breathless. “Have you?” she asked daringly.

  He turned back to her with the cream in one big hand. His eyes went over her like hands. “If you want it, yes. But it’s up to you.”

  That was a little surprising. She stood docilely while he applied the cream to her cuts and then put it away. He hooked a hair dryer to a plug on the wall and linked his fingers through her thick light brown hair while he blew it dry. There was something very intimate about standing so close to him while he dried her hair. She thought she’d never get over the delight of it, as long as she lived. Every time she washed her hair from now on, she’d feel Leo’s big hands against her scalp. She smiled, her head back, her eyes closed blissfully.

  “Don’t go to sleep,” he teased as he put the hair dryer down.

  “I’m not.”

  She felt his lips in her hair at the same moment she felt his hands go down over her shoulders and into the gap left by the robe.

  If she’d been able to protest, that would have been the time to do it. But she hesitated, entranced by the feel of his hands so blatantly invading the robe, smoothing down over her high, taut breasts as if he had every right to touch her intimately whenever he felt like it.