Wild Is the Night

by Colleen Quinn

  “‘All things that are, are with more spirit chased than enjoyed.’ Shakespeare.”

  “Amanda,” Luke said in an awful voice. “Look at me. I dare you to tell me that you didn’t enjoy last night. That it meant nothing to you.”

  Amanda choked, emotion flooding through her like a sickening weakness. She removed her glasses, fighting back the stinging tears that threatened. But she’d already cried too much over him, too much over a man that had meant everything to her. Now, she had nothing left but her pride, and she would fight to the end to salvage it.

  “Last night…was a mistake.” Now, she amended in her mind. “I am an author, and I need time alone to do my work, and write. I don’t need anyone else…”

  That worked on his most basic fears. He struggled not to show it, but Amanda had cut him to the quick. Even now she stared at him with all the warmth of a scientist ready to drop a frog into chloroform.

  “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But we made a deal and you’re not backing out. I got you here in once piece, had my hide shot at, and for what?” He laughed dryly. “Half a ranch, and a marriage to you? A woman who doesn’t know the meaning of the word? This hasn’t exactly been a pleasure trip for me, either. But I was stupid enough to think you’d grown beyond all that, beyond your need to mentally fence with someone in spite of how you hurt them. That somehow, I’d helped you reach out to another human being and not be afraid of the result. I’ve put up with more from you in the last few months than most men would in a lifetime.”

  “Yes, but I think my money had something to do with that,” Amanda said, hurt beyond endurance. “That and the ranch.”

  “Ah yes, the ranch.” Luke gestured to the window outside. “All three thousand acres of it. The house is beautiful, the land rich, but I didn’t even know that when I made this deal, and neither did you. Is that what you think your life is worth?”

  “You agreed to protect me,” Amanda protested.

  “And you agreed to behave as my wife,” Luke pointed out. “I wouldn’t say you’ve kept up your part.”

  “It’s no use discussing this any further. And I would appreciate it if you acted with some civility. I’ve treated you fairly, and have no intention of cutting you out of your part of the ranch. However, I wish to make you a business proposition.”

  “What?” Luke had to fight to keep from throttling her, and his brows lifted as he reluctantly admired her courage. She was shaking like a leaf, her glorious eyes were misted with unshed tears, but she still had the guts to face up to him and dare to fence with him. “This should be good. If it’s anything like the last one, forget it.”

  “I want to buy you out,” Amanda continued earnestly. “I have the money, and can wire for the funds in the morning. I will pay whatever you think fair, to own the Triple Bar. Name the sum.”

  His mouth opened incredulously. If it were anyone else, he would question her sanity. But Amanda was certainly sane, if not exactly wise.

  “Ah. Now that you’ve seen the ranch, you want it for yourself.” Luke didn’t try to keep the cold amusement from his voice. “Do you have any idea of what this ranch is worth now, in gold? Land values have gone up considerably since the war, and no matter how much you’ve made writing, I guarantee you can’t afford it.”

  “Is it worth that much?” Amanda asked softly. “I thought to have an appraisal done…”

  “Save your money,” Luke said darkly. “You can’t afford to buy me out, unless you write a national bestseller. And even at that, I won’t sell. Not for any price.”

  Amanda flushed, furious at his calm voice. “Then you mean to stay on, just to torment me? Why won’t you leave me alone? I don’t want any part of this marriage, don’t you understand? I don’t want any part of—”

  “Amanda, stop it.” Luke crossed the ten feet that separated them, ten feet of carpet littered with papers and books. “I won’t let you do this again. Not to you, or to me.” Before she could say anything else, his mouth took hers in a kiss that was purposefully devastating and achingly delicious. Unlike his other kisses, this was not only sexually persuasive, but emotionally scorching. It was as if he purposefully meant it so—that he would not let her return to the cold formality that had reigned between them for far too long. When his mouth finally eased from hers, Amanda fought to keep from clutching his arms just for balance. It took everything she had not to respond to the kiss, for fear that she’d be swept up forever into his embrace, and the heady desire that followed.

  “Kiss me, Mandy. Just once, kiss me back.”

  His endearment made her heart ache and she was forced to remember the times when he was kind. She cried out when his mouth took hers again, but this time she didn’t even struggle, nor did she try to push him away. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted to feel his arms around her again. Slowly her arms crept up around his neck, and she melted into his embrace, wanting the warmth of his body against hers and the feel of his heart beating beneath her.

  This time, when he kissed her she let him. Her lips parted under his gentle insistence, and his tongue took possession of mouth, tasting her warm sweetness while she instinctively pressed closer to him. A shudder passed through Luke as his arm tightened around her. His free hand rose to cup her breast, his thumb brushing the hardening nipple through her dress while his tongue plunged into her mouth in a wildly sexual rhythm that made her entire body tremble. Amanda made a soft gasping sound, letting him kiss her, touch her, love her.

  It took every effort to break the embrace, but Amanda had no choice. She physically pushed him away, even though her body cried out in protest as his warmth was replaced by cool emptiness. Reality came shrieking back, and with it, awareness. He was so handsome, his eyes a melting blue like the flame of a candle, his mouth warm and sensual, softened now by their kiss and promising wonderful, erotic things to come. It was hard to believe that he was simply using her, that he had risked her life by dangling her in front of Haskwell like a particularly enticing worm on a hook. That he was capable of such treachery struck her heart with an ache that made her want to clasp herself to him and beg him to tell her it just wasn’t true.

  “Amanda, what is it? What’s wrong?” He smoothed her hair out of her face like one would a child’s, his hand rough and warm against her skin. “The last night we were on the trail, you brought me your notebook. You showed me that I meant something to you. I read some of it once. ‘I see the flowers of the plains, the red geranium, the crimson lupine, and the rippling blue green grass, and I see beauty. He has given that to me, in the moments when he is kind.’ I wasn’t wrong, was I?”

  She winced, humiliated beyond words that he’d read her work. She’d never meant anything to him. This was only a ploy to keep her property, and to keep her until Luke could make his fortune and get his revenge. And he obviously didn’t care who got hurt in the process.

  “I’m sorry that you placed so much importance on such a simple offering.” Amanda turned her face away as she spoke, unable to look into his eyes. “I only wanted a second opinion on the work, before I sent it up. You see, I was writing about a man I had once loved and lost. I never thought you would interpret it as anything else.”

  That much was the truth. Amanda dared to steal a glance at him, then immediately dropped her eyes. He looked like she’d struck him. His face had turned ghastly pale, and his jaw tightened perceptibly. When he spoke, his voice was like ice.

  “I see. I apologize for my foolishness in thinking that you meant something deeper. I should have known better. Stay up here, alone with your books. You deserve it.” He turned and walked swiftly from the room, as if he couldn’t bear being in her presence another moment. He slammed the door, and the papers fluttered into the air, then slowly drifted back down to the carpet.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks, then her body was wracked with sobs and she collapsed down to the rug amid her books and pencils. She suddenly understood all those things she’d read about the pain of being in love.
r />   And she fervently hoped that it would never happen to her again.

  “Get me a drink, darlin. And now.”

  Sam Haskwell grinned as Honey jumped to do his bidding. Slump-shouldered and thin, she looked more like an old woman than the sweet young girl he’d taken from the stage just a few short months ago. It pleased him to see the way she leaped when he spoke to her, and the way her eyes shifted when she dared to look up. Her body never seemed entirely at rest, but twitched constantly in a nervous tremor as if she was afraid he would hit her.

  He hadn’t done that, yet. Actually, he hadn’t needed to. Sam had learned the value of intimidation a long time ago, and Honey was a prime example. Fingering his empty whiskey glass, he thought of the previous night, and grinned with satisfaction.

  He’d meant to punish her for that stunt she pulled in singing “My Old Kentucky Home,” but wanted to make sure his impression was lasting. So he turned up every light in her room, watching her expression as she sat on the edge of the bed, licking her lips, looking as nervous as a cat on the brink of a river. When the room was as bright as daylight, he ordered her to remove her clothes, delighting in the blush that still came to her cheeks and the hatred that arose in her face.

  Yet, she was helpless to do anything but obey, she was so terrified of him. When she was suitably unclothed, her lovely, alabaster body clearly visible in the stark light, he ordered her into their bed, her nakedness a warm pale contrast to the dark sheets. Shaking and miserable, she pleaded with him, but Sam found her terror appallingly arousing. He secured her facedown to the bedpost, then slowly, teasingly, traced her feathers all over her body. The black ostrich plume looked wonderful contrasted with the pearl-like incandescence of her skin, and he tickled her back, the slender curve of her leg, then drew them slowly upward. Horribly ashamed of herself, she arched her back, letting the pleasure wash over her even as he mounted her in the most humilating way possible and brought himself to a gut wrenching climax.

  She hated him even more after that. Yet even as he untied her, gratified at the look of intense despair in her eyes, he knew he had her. She was his, to do with as he wished, until he could finish what he’d set out to do….

  She returned with the drink, pathetically eager to please. Haskwell grinned, then downed the whiskey in one full drink. Replacing the glass, he tamped his cigar and sat back, letting his gaze wander over the beaten showgirl.

  “We’ll be finished this job soon, darlin’,” Haskwell said, delighted to see her startle like a cornered deer. “We’re close to Dallas, and I’ll have my work completed.”

  Honey lifted tear-drenched eyes to his. “And then, Sam?” she whispered brokenly. “What will happen, then?”

  “I’ve just been thinking about that,” Sam said cruelly, his mouth widening into a smile. “You’re looking old, darlin. Real old. I swear I can see a few grey hairs at your temples, and you’ve certainly lost your figure. You cannot make me money, except for a few miserly pence should I toss you to the cowboys. But then you would hardly pleasure me in bed, after being used by a dozen rowdy cowhands. No, darlin, I’ve got quite a dilemma on my hands.”

  She got even whiter, her skin like milk. “I’ll sing, Sam. I promise. Please don’t kill me.”

  “They don’t want you anymore, pet,” Sam replied thoughtfully. “Ever since that barroom job. I can’t get you a booking at any respectable saloon, and those that aren’t don’t want some scrawny songbird parading before them with a voice that would send a sinner to church. You just don’t have it any more, my dear.”

  “I’ll find a way,” Honey promised. “Please. I can cook, sew, wash dishes—”

  “You’ll not be a burden to me,” Sam sighed, his cigar almost out. He tossed the stub to the floor, then watched as she picked it up and put it into the spittoon for him. “Yes, darlin’, you might as well start to say your prayers. In death, you’ll be grateful I spared you this miserable existence. And you know far too much for me to let you go.” He chuckled, pleased at the abject fear in her expression. “Yes, darlin’, say your prayers.”

  Unbeknownst to him, Honey did.

  Chapter

  23

  “Amanda, you can’t keep moping around here. Look at these cards! Everyone wants you, and it’s time you started getting out.” Aileen sifted through the stack of invitations and envelopes that lined Pedro’s tray. She turned toward her friend with obvious concern, noting the dusty dress Amanda wore, the ink stains on her fingers, and the air of distress that clung to her like a heavy cloak. Something was wrong, Aileen knew that as sure as she knew that the sun shone in Killarney. Gone was the vibrant woman on the prairie who plotted endlessly to rid herself of the one man she cared about. In spite of their differences, Amanda had bloomed in Luke’s company, and even he seemed to enjoy their mental fencing.

  Until now. Something had changed. Aileen had passed Luke coming in, and he barely gave her a nod. And Amanda, who seemed as if she had disappeared from the face of the earth, was found sequestered in this library with her books, the gaslight, and her owl.

  “I don’t feel like getting out.” Amanda pushed back a lock of chestnut hair into her prim knot and sighed tiredly. “Aileen, I know you mean well. But I do have a book to finish, and I’ve wasted entirely too much time as it is. ‘Life gives nothing to mortals except with great labor.’ Horace.”

  Aileen frowned. “Well then, I can’t argue with that. But what of research? Is it no longer necessary for you to see what you’re writing about? We’ve been here for over a week, and you know less about this town than you do China.”

  “I suppose you have a point.” Without realizing it, Amanda’s eyes wandered to the envelope that bulged out of her carpetbag—the letter from her editor. She had discovered it just this morning while rifling through the bag for her notes, and had reread the missive thoughtfully. She’d experienced much more of life in the last few months than she’d ever dreamed possible, and she had to admit that it gave her work a richness she’d never approached before.

  “Sure I do.” Aileen wasn’t quite certain why, but she sensed a victory at hand. If Amanda had to think fun was work to get out and enjoy herself, so be it. “The Woman’s Committee has been dying to get you out for their meeting. Why don’t we go today, and then to one of the parties later tonight?” Aileen held out the ream of invitations with a grin. “You’ve got enough to choose from. Everyone wants Fess Tyson at their affair.”

  Amanda nodded, looking at the cards with the first interest she’d shown in days. Even if her life with Luke was over, she’d have to go on. And her work was the best place to start.

  The afternoon sun beat down as Luke wrestled with the barbed wire, wrapping it around a wooden fence post and hammering the glinting metal into place to secure the ranch. He had removed his shirt, and his body gleamed a soft bronze, his muscles flexed with exertion. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he collapsed into the grass, taking a moment to catch his breath and survey the fruits of his efforts.

  It would all be worth it. The fence work was grueling, but once it was done, he would have saved thousands of dollars in pay to the cowboys for roundup. Within months, he could control what his cattle ate, where they wandered and their mating practices, all of which would contribute to an outstanding breed. Within years he would have the best damned ranch this side of Waco, and within a decade, the best in the state. It was all happening, and yet…

  The wind stirred the fields. The grass bent like ruffled silk, and the wildflowers swayed like graceful ballerinas. The sun bathed the grass in a sheen of gold, the dazzling mist rising up to the clouds in a froth of humidity, only to disappear like white vapor ghosts into an endless rim of blue. Insects hummed. A dragonfly paused beside a clover blossom like a living match, anticipating the sweetness behind the soft white mound, then landed delicately on a petal to drink in the nectar. It was beautiful, restless, and wild. And it reminded him of Amanda.

  She hadn’t spoken to him in days. When she looked at
him, there was a shadow of pain in her ocean eyes—and a new disillusionment. Luke had left her alone, thinking that whatever was wrong, Amanda would come to him when she was ready, but it didn’t seem to be working out that way. Daily, she became more immersed in her work, shutting out him, her friends, and her new neighbors. He understood what her work meant to her, but even to his inexperienced eyes this was unhealthy.

  The wind blew once more and the bluebonnets danced. I see the flowers of the plains, and I see beauty. He has given that to me, in the moments when he is kind…

  Damn! Luke pounded his fist into his palm, and only then did he notice that he had cut himself on the barbed wire. Blood oozed from several lacerations, and crept into the crevices of his fingers like tiny determined rivers. He didn’t even feel the physical pain, for what was happening inside of him was so overwhelmingly terrible. It was worse than when he discovered Suzette dead and his mother gone, for he couldn’t control that nor could he have prevented it.

  But this, this was within his power, and it was dying, as surely as his sister and mother died. One day he would wake up and be alone again, the way he was before he met Amanda Edison, with nothing inside of him but hate.

  The fury within him waned, and determination was reborn. He wouldn’t let this happen, not while he had a breath in his body. Amanda meant too much to him. It was time he admitted that to her, as well as to himself.

  Amanda nodded sleepily at the Woman’s Committee meeting, trying hard to hide behind the rotund Mrs. Meade and not reveal her boredom. Today’s meeting was being held in the town hall, and not a breeze or a breath of fresh air came through the large open windows. The women’s voices were soft and gentle, addressing topics such as the new spring plantings and the upcoming Christmas party. That was the event of the year, and all of the women discussed their gowns in detail, as well as the decorations and festivities.