by Diana Palmer
He stopped the question with his mouth. His arms lifted her against him. He kissed her slowly, with exquisite tenderness, and he felt as if he could fly. She tasted of coffee, and his head spun as he drew her even closer and parted her lips under the pressure of his warm, questing mouth.
Trilby resisted, but only for an instant. The feel of his warm strength, the intimacy of his mouth on hers relaxed her until her bones seemed to melt in her body. She gave in all at once and slid her arms around him, shaky and trembling with sensations that made her body throb. It was impossible to resist the pleasure he offered. She closed her mind to all the reasons she should protest and simply gave herself to his ardent skill.
The kiss lengthened. Her body began to pulse with heat as she lifted closer to him, thrilling to the powerful chest so close that she could feel it flattening her breasts. But she was enthralled, helpless to resist. She could only move closer, seeking to prolong the delight, the hunger that grew even as she fed it.
Her reaction quickly went to his head. He’d been without a woman since his wife’s death, and she made magic in his starved body. He groaned, and she felt his hand suddenly shift to her breast, the thumb rubbing softly over her nipple, making it hard. This wasn’t decent, she thought hysterically. She should make him stop!
But she was drowning in the new experience. The dark, forbidden pleasure he was giving her was exquisite. She felt him turn her slightly, just enough to give that maddening hand better access to the soft swell of her body.
“Sweet,” he whispered unsteadily into her mouth. “You’re…the sweetest honey I’ve ever had, Trilby.” He groaned, shifting. “Let me touch you under your bodice.”
His hand worked at fastenings. And he’d said that he no longer thought badly of her. The stark intimacy of what he was doing suddenly penetrated the fever in her mind and body. She pushed at his chest frantically, shocked at what she was doing. She jerked away from him, her face furiously red as she panted for breath.
“What is it?” he asked, a little dazed.
“You said that you didn’t believe what your wife said about me, but you do! You must, to insult me so!” she whispered in shaken anguish. “Oh, let me go!” she cried, pushing at him when he tried to restrain her.
His face contorted. “It wasn’t an insult. Trilby, be still and listen to me!” he groaned, tightening his grip.
But she tore loose with sudden determination, running back to the music and the dancing. Tears stung her eyes. He still thought she was a loose woman. He’d touched her in that indecent way. And she’d let him! She’d…encouraged him!
He caught her arm just as she reached the milling dancers and pulled her gently into the dance.
“It wasn’t an insult,” he said doggedly, looking into her anguished eyes. “Damn it, you’re a woman, aren’t you? Hasn’t your mother told you anything about how it is between a man and a woman?”
“Decent men don’t touch decent women the way you just touched me,” she whispered tearfully.
He drew in a slow breath and rested his eyes on her soft blond hair. And he’d thought her experienced! He didn’t quite know how to handle this latest emotional crisis.
“Will you listen, at least, and let me try to explain?”
“I want to go home,” she said in a choked whisper. Her eyes bit into his. “I hate you!”
Sally had said the same thing to him so many times. After she’d found herself pregnant with Samantha, she’d said it almost daily. Trilby had the same contemptuous look in her eyes that his wife had once had, and it made him sick to his stomach. His temper overcame his compassion.
He let go of her abruptly. “By all means, Miss Lang. We’ll leave as soon as your people are ready. Perhaps you’re not woman enough for me after all!”
With that cold insult, he left her.
She watched him stalk away with wounded pride. She didn’t want to ruin the fun for the rest of them, but she couldn’t bear to stay after what had happened. She didn’t know why she’d allowed him to drag her off like that, why she’d allowed him to touch her in such an indecent manner.
Her face flamed as she had to ask herself if she really was a woman without morals, and if it showed to an experienced man. Perhaps Thorn had only seen what she really was. She fought tears as she rushed back to her parents.
“You’re so flushed, Trilby,” Mary exclaimed, laughing. “Are you all right?”
“I feel sick,” Trilby said, without preamble, pressing a thin hand to her stomach. “I’m sorry, but could we leave?”
“Darling, certainly we may.” Mary put a protective arm around her and went to find Jack. Minutes later they were on their way down the long dirt road that eventually led to Blackwater Springs.
Trilby sat in back with Mary and Teddy. Her little brother kept up a nonstop flow of excited chatter about the piñatas, while Jack Lang shouted comments about the fiesta to Thorn over the roar of the engine.
She was glad that it was over. She could go home and try to get her scattered nerves back together before Richard came. She had to remember that she loved Richard. She might be vulnerable to that savage in the front seat, but Richard was her whole heart. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. What if Richard guessed that she was a loose woman? What if it showed? Even worse, how could she have allowed Thorn to touch her in such a way when she loved Richard—if she wasn’t a woman of easy morals?
She worried herself with that question long after a taciturn Thorn had left them at their door and wound on toward home with his little daughter beside him.
LISA MORRIS HEARD the door to the officers’ quarters slam shut. She turned as her husband took off his hat and jacket, tossing them idly onto a chair. Without thinking, she picked them up and brushed them off. The dust was so thick that she never seemed able to keep clothes clean.
A long black hair caught her attention, and the scent of perfume. Cheap perfume. She stiffened. Her hair was blond, not black, and she never wore perfume.
She didn’t look at him as she put the jacket back down with concealed distaste. “You’ve been away from the post.”
“Yes. Scouting around for lost Mexicans,” he said, and yawned. “I’m tired.”
“Down near the border?” she asked pleasantly.
“Around Douglas,” he said, glancing at her curiously. “Why?”
“I wondered if you’d seen anything of the insurrectos,” she asked, hedging.
He laughed. And he’d thought she was suspicious of him! How could she know about Selina, anyway?
“I never see them. They’re ghosts. Fox fire. Smoke in the wind. Ask anyone.”
“Yes, I see.” She was sick all over. She knew about his kept woman in Douglas. Another officer’s catty, spoiled wife had taken great delight in telling her about Selina. She couldn’t know that Lisa had long since stopped caring whose bed her husband warmed. She was tired of him, tired of life itself.
Her straying husband didn’t know that she’d secretly filed for divorce. The papers were soon to be served, and she had no idea how he was going to react. She was afraid of his temper, but she couldn’t stomach any more humiliation. She just wanted her freedom.
“David,” she began quietly, “I should like to go back East.”
He whirled, shocked. “What?”
She folded her hands in front of her, pale but composed, her plain face giving away nothing of her inner turmoil. She looked at him with soft blue eyes that were haunted and hurt.
“I said I should like to go back to Baltimore,” she replied. “I have a cousin there who would let me live with her.”
“Cousin Hetty,” he spat out, “who would make a slave of you!”
She lifted her face proudly. “Am I more than that here?” she asked huskily. “Keeping house for you while you visit your kept woman and come to my arms reeking of cheap perfume?”
If she’d raged at him, or screamed, or acted in any way haughty, he could have dealt with the accusation. But she did none of t
hose things. She spoke calmly and almost indifferently, her eyes devoid of emotion.
His cheekbones went ruddy with shame as he looked at her. “You turned me out of your bed when you lost the baby, madam,” he reminded her tersely. “A man gets hungry.”
“But you never wanted me, David. Not really,” she said, with lowered eyes.
That was true, and it hurt. “Perhaps I grew tired of making love to a wax effigy!”
She didn’t flinch. She had no nerves left. She’d worn them out on this harsh country years ago. It had taken her youth and her baby. She didn’t want David, but she had wanted the child.
“You married me because my father was your commanding officer,” she said accusingly. “We both know it. You didn’t love me. You pretended to, until your promotion came through. You kept pretending while you rose in rank. After my father died, you no longer needed to pretend. But an officer doesn’t desert his wife, does he, David? Not if he wants to continue to rise in rank. You see,” she said, with faint amusement, when he flushed, “I know you very well. My father did, too, but I wouldn’t listen to him.”
He couldn’t deny what she was saying. It was the truth. He hadn’t loved her. She’d been cold and unwelcoming in bed, and even her pregnancy hadn’t prompted any tender feelings in him. He didn’t love her. He had been guilty of pretending to, because he was poor and ambitious. Her father was rich and high in rank. He’d seen marriage to Lisa as a quick way to climb the military ladder. But after a while, the misery of being married to a woman he didn’t love overshadowed the triumph of his military success.
“You didn’t have to marry me,” he said.
“I realize that.” She studied his handsome face with more wistfulness than she knew. “I knew no man would ever marry me for myself,” she said, shocking him. “My father’s rank was the only asset I had. It’s all right,” she said. “I haven’t been completely unhappy. In fact, there were—there were times when I thought I cared for you. But it’s best that we part. I can’t live with you anymore, David, knowing about—about her.”
He took a long, slow breath. “You won’t leave,” he said coldly. “I’ll be damned if you’ll leave! You belong to me,” he added.
“I’m not property.”
“You are if I say you are,” he replied. “You have no money of your own, and I won’t give you any. How do you expect to get passage back to Maryland?”
“Why won’t you let me go?” she cried. “You don’t want me!”
“You’re my wife,” he said stiffly. “And I am commanding officer of this post. I won’t have the men gossiping about me.”
“So that’s it. You don’t mind if I run away, so long as it doesn’t reflect on you!”
His jaw tautened. “You have nothing to complain about. You have a roof over your head, a fine reputation, and nice dresses to wear.”
“I suppose you think those things will make my life bearable while you carouse with your loose woman.”
Her wounded expression irritated him. “If you want another child, I’ll give you one,” he said shortly.
“David, how very generous of you,” she said, with the first hauteur he’d ever known from her. “And what an ordeal it would be, I’m sure.”
Her antagonism was surprising. He looked at her and realized suddenly that he’d never taken the time to get to know her in the two years they’d been married. She was like a shadow, keeping house, cooking, cleaning. They never spoke. He’d made love to her when he needed to, and she’d become pregnant and lost the baby.
Afterward, there had been Selina. His interest in his wife had never been more than curiosity. He hadn’t given her any of the tender passion he’d shown Selina today. He’d never made an attempt to arouse Lisa. Now he wondered why. She had small breasts, but she was sweetly made, and her body had a pretty curve to it. He’d kissed her once or twice, finding it not at all unpleasant. But it was Selina who made him wild, who fired his blood. He loved Selina.
“I don’t want to stay here, David,” Lisa persisted.
He moved closer to her, his hand tilting her chin. “I’d like some coffee.” She flushed with resentment and anger as his fingers caressed her. He mistook her color for shyness and he smiled with faint conceit as he bent and started to kiss her.
But at the first touch of his lips, she twisted away from him, her eyes blazing. “Don’t you touch me!” she spat unsteadily. “Don’t you dare come hotfoot from that woman’s bed and try to manhandle me!”
She wiped her hand over her mouth as if the touch of him had made her sick, as if he disgusted her.
“You flatter yourself,” he said tautly, deeply insulted. “Selina is twice the woman you are.”
“Save your caresses for her, then,” she replied proudly. “You may force me to stay here, sir, but you will never force me to enjoy it.”
She went into the kitchen, and he stared after her with mingled surprise and shock.
THORN VANCE WAS kneeling at a water hole when his vaquero on horseback came to a halt beside him. Nearby, two cows lay dead in the sun.
“It is poisoned, señor, yes?” Jorge asked him.
Thorn cursed. “Yes, it’s poisoned. Alkali, damn the luck!” He got to his feet. “I thought it might be arsenic. I do own land in Mexico.”
“It is known that you allow the Maderistas to water their horses here, señor, that you are sympathetic to the cause,” the smaller man said solemnly, and with a smile. “No true revolutionary would harm you.”
“They won’t have to, it seems. This was the last good water I had,” Thorn said roughly. He stared at the water hole furiously. “Thirsty cattle who can’t get water will die in droves. They drilled for water in the San Bernardino Valley and found underground springs,” he said almost to himself. “I may be forced to do the same.”
“There is water in the river.”
“Sure, but it’s on Blackwater Springs Ranch, and Lang won’t sell to me. He won’t even lease me water.”
“In the old days, señor, your father would have used the water even without permission,” Jorge reminded him grimly.
“I’m not my father.” He swung back onto the saddle gracefully. He didn’t want his cowhand to know that if it hadn’t been for Trilby, he might have gone that route. She already thought he was an uncivilized savage. He couldn’t bear to have her think worse of him than she already did.
He hated the way she’d run from him the night of the fiesta. He’d wanted to tell her that it was passion, not an insult, that had prompted him to touch her that way. He’d wanted her badly, and he had lost control. But he hadn’t meant to upset her.
It was his own fault, and he owned it. If he hadn’t entertained such stupid misconceptions about her, he’d never have given her reason to doubt his intentions. He’d lost all the ground he could have gained, and this Richard was coming to the ranch soon to see her.
The thought of the man made him gag. He knew the Easterner was his total opposite, and Trilby fancied herself in love with the prissy dude.
Jack Lang had mentioned Trilby’s suitor only once, and not in a disparaging way. The unknown Richard came from their world, from parlor manners and easy living. He wouldn’t smell of cattle and smoke, he wouldn’t be covered with dust in old clothes, he wouldn’t know one end of a gun from the other. Trilby would see those as advantages. Thorn saw them as competition.
“We’ll try further afield,” Thorn said, easing his mount into motion.
“The Apache can find water, señor,” the Mexican told him. “You know the truth of this. Naki has the gift.”
“I may let him try. I have enormous respect for the talents of these desert-bred Apaches, Jorge. They have knowledge the white men have never gained.”
“Ah, señor, you are not like these newcomer gringos who look down their oh-so-straight noses at the dark-skinned people,” he said wistfully. “You are like the patrõn, your father. You know the way of things, señor.”
“I respect knowledge, in a
ll its various forms,” Thorn replied. He laughed bitterly. “Which makes me a savage to certain Easterners.”
Jorge knew of whom he spoke, but it would not be politic to mention it. “Many say the same of Madero. But whatever he may be, he is the liberator of an oppressed people.”
“You sound like a fight promoter.”
“Señor!”
He chuckled at Jorge’s outrage. “I know how your people feel about Madero, and why.”
“Sí, señor,” Jorge agreed, a little less ruffled. “He is a saint to my people—he and the others who fight for our freedom.”
“I’ll cheer him on, but I won’t fight for him,” he told the smaller man, his dark eyes glittering. “Mexico’s internal affairs are no concern of mine, unless Madero or any of his men make them so. In which case,” he added softly, “he will wish he had not.”
The Mexican sensed the tall man’s anger. “Should oppression not be the business of every free man, señor?” he asked, with quiet pride.
Thorn glanced at him. “Oh, hell, maybe so,” he said angrily. “But I’ve got enough problems of my own without adding yours to them. Come on. Water, Jorge, not civil war. Not today, at any rate.”
Jorge chuckled. “If you say so, patrón. Certainly, the insurrectos mean no harm to you. It is with Díaz that they quarrel. These foreigners who mine our land, they have so much,” Jorge remarked thoughtfully. “And yet, in Mexico, little children go hungry. It is the way of the world, and yet, it should not be, patrón.”
“Are you showing signs of becoming a socialist, compadre?” he asked the small man.
Jorge laughed, his white teeth flashing in a face like polished bronze. “Not I, señor. A Maderista, perhaps?”
Thorn swept off his hat and made a long swipe at the Mexican with it. Jorge laughed and spurred his mount ahead.
LATER, AT THE RANCH, Thorn considered what Jorge had said about water. Perhaps it was a last-ditch stand, but it might be worth some conversation.
He approached Naki. His name consisted of two Apache words, but Naki was the only one most people could pronounce, so around Los Santos, the Apache became known as Naki. In his polite fashion, he answered to the name as if it had been given to him at birth.
