The Reward

by Beth Williamson

  He was tired of living in the shadows. Tired of being a no-name pretend bandito known as Hermano. He wanted to be Malcolm Ross again. He had thrown down the gauntlet to Damasco the night before, the first step in becoming Malcolm. In acknowledging Malcolm’s existence and reclaiming his life. Even if he had been beaten for it, he was glad he’d done it.

  “Are you planning on setting up camp here?” Leigh’s voice intruded on his startling thoughts. “Because if you are, I’ll tie up your damn horse and ride back to the Circle O.”

  She knelt next to him in the leaves and grass, looking annoyed and worried at the same time, wearing her customary shirt, vest and pants. The black hat was perched back on her head.

  Damn, that was his hat.

  He recognized it as the one he had left behind at Rancho Zarza the day he left.

  He didn’t need to ask why she’d kept it. He knew. Deep down in his heart, he knew. They had been together for the first half of their lives, a bond that went deeper than mere friendship. It crossed over into love.

  He choked on that word and she started slapping his back with enough force to steal his breath. He grabbed her arm to try to stop her, waving his other hand to catch her attention.

  “I not only look…like shit…I feel like…shit… So stop beating on me.” He took a quick breath between words, trying to ignore the pain in his ribs with each huff.

  She immediately stopped, a horrified expression in her eyes.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry Mal. I didn’t mean to—”

  He cupped the back of her neck and brought her lips to his.

  Oh, yes. That was exactly it. She was a perfect fit, in size, shape, personality, temperament, in life. God, why didn’t his heart remember sooner?

  He kissed her hard. Branding her. Marking her. She kissed back hard. Branding him. Marking him.

  When he tried to open his mouth to deepen the kiss, his lip split open with a vengeance.

  “Dammit!”

  Blood started streaming down his chin. Leigh plopped down on her ass. Her pupils dilated, a sheen of sweat sat on her upper lip, and her hat had fallen off. The breeze ruffled her light brown hair, sparkling golden in the dappled sunlight coming through the trees.

  Malcolm pressed his hand to his lip to try to staunch the bleeding while his cock rose to attention like a good soldier the second his lips touched hers. He commanded it to relax, but the damn thing didn’t want to listen though, and grew another inch when her gaze flicked down to his crotch.

  Leigh glanced back up into his eyes. He saw raw desire in them. God, how big could he get before his pants busted open?

  Dios mio.

  She rubbed her hands on her thighs, slapped the hat back on her head, and stood.

  “Can you ride?”

  It wasn’t a question of can; it was a question of must.

  ———

  Leigh was shaken. She thought she understood everything that had happened, understood how she felt about Malcolm and the incredible sex they’d shared. She was wrong.

  Finding him hurt made her own chest hurt. The depth of her feelings for Malcolm scared her. Leigh floated in a sea of confusion, arousal and love for which she was not prepared. Before she could even sort anything out, he kissed her.

  There weren’t any words she could think of to describe that kiss. It was a fierce mating of two animals, each trying to claim the other. Maybe she really was a wolf.

  Kissing him again was like being dunked in an ice-cold mountain stream. It woke her up and left her shivering. Shivering in heat for more. When she saw how his pants bulged, she had to hold herself back from ripping their clothes off and jumping on him to find out just how big he could get.

  But it went way beyond that. She was not only in heat, she was in love. What he felt was anybody’s guess. His black eyes never revealed anything other than the shine of the sun.

  Leigh was proud of the way she helped him stand and mount his horse. So what if her hand slipped on his ass and accidentally fell a little lower? He did jump a bit, so apparently he noticed but he didn’t say anything. What she really wanted to do was mount him, not the frigging horse.

  But she got on Ghost and slowly made her way to the Circle O with a bruised, bloodied man who she knew now she couldn’t live without. Her heart was going to cease beating altogether when he packed up his gear and rode away.

  Leigh decided on the ride back that no matter what happened, she was going to make love with him as much as possible until he left. It was too good…too astonishing an experience to only have one taste. She wanted more.

  Chapter Eleven

  Damasco rode his horse like there was a prairie fire behind him. It was worse, though.

  Malcolm was still alive.

  Damasco felt sick to his stomach. He just couldn’t believe it. How the hell had Malcolm come back to life after fifteen years?

  Madre de Dios!

  There was no mistaking him either. He looked exactly like their father. Or like Alejandro used to look, anyway. A painting hung in the salon of Alejandro and a two-year-old Damasco. The hair was longer, and the eyes colder. But Malcolm was the spitting image of Alejandro.

  Damasco rode into the courtyard at Rancho Zarza and headed for the house. He leapt off the stallion’s back and left him, confident one of the hands would take care of him.

  His spurs echoed on the cobblestones as he trotted up the steps and burst through the door.

  “Mama.”

  Lorena came running from the kitchen in a flurry of flour and apron.

  “Damasco. What is the matter?”

  He ignored the stupid cow and continued down the hallway.

  “Mama.”

  Damasco found her in the salon, sipping tea. She sat perched on the edge of a damask sofa, wearing a dark blue dress perfectly fitted to her form, with a hint of lace at the sleeves and neck.

  The bone china teacup was slowly lifted to her mouth. She took a sip, then replaced the cup in its saucer.

  “You will stop shouting, Damasco. It is not the mark of a gentleman.”

  “But Mama.”

  She held up a hand to silence him. “Like a gentleman, Damasco.”

  Duly chastised, he forced himself to take a deep breath. His insides still felt like a churning pit of vipers.

  “Excuse me, Mama.”

  Damasco waited for her. She indicated the velvet settee for him to sit. He sat quickly and waited some more. Mama insisted on the most particular manners. He hated them. Sometimes he nearly hated her.

  “Are you calm, Damasco?”

  Her dark eyes bored into his skull like black, buzzing insects. He had to physically restrain the urge to squirm.

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Excellent.” She took another sip of tea. “What is it you wanted to speak to me about?”

  Damasco took a deep breath and blurted, “Malcolm is still alive.”

  She dropped the tea cup and it bounced off the table to shatter on the hardwood floor. She stared at Damasco with fury sparking deep in her eyes.

  “What did you say?”

  He gulped. “It’s true, Mama. I saw him in town. He threatened me and laughed at me. He looks just like Papa.”

  She clenched her jaw so hard, he was afraid it would shatter.

  “What did he threaten you about?”

  “Leigh and the Circle O. He knows we’re behind the problems they’re having, Mama! He knows.”

  She pursed her lips so tightly he thought her teeth were going to bite through them.

  “He knows nothing. I don’t even believe he is Malcolm. Unless his bitch of a mother lied to us and they buried stones in his coffin. How do you know it was him? You were twelve years old when he died.”

  Damasco was adamant. “He looks just like Papa.” He turned and pointed at the painting over the fireplace. “In that picture. He could have stepped right out of it.”

  He had never seen such hatred in her eyes before. Damasco was suddenly very afraid of his mot
her. More afraid than he was of his big brother coming back to life.

  “We will stop him, Damasco. Malcolm Ross will not rise from the grave. I will put him back in it before I let him ruin all our plans.”

  Her voice sent shivers up Damasco’s spine. He nearly felt sorry for Malcolm. Nearly.

  ———

  Leigh rode into Rancho Zarza half an hour after forcing Malcolm to sleep in the guest room in the house. There was no need for him to be in a bunkhouse full of noisy, stinky men when he felt like a stampede victim.

  She left Ghost at the hitching post in the front of the house and stomped up to the front door. Her pounding brought Lorena to the door.

  “Where is he? Where is that son of a bitch?”

  Lorena looked flustered and tried to speak, but it came out as stutters and squeaks. Leigh pushed past her and strode into the house.

  “Never mind. I’ll find him.”

  She walked straight to the library, confident she’d find him there drinking whiskey and smoking his father’s favorite cigars. Lorena remained behind, chastising Leigh for her manners.

  She reached the door of the library, a dark wood door, almost eight feet high, and ornate like everything else in the house. Without knocking, she pushed the door open.

  Sure enough, there was Damasco sitting in his father’s chair behind his father’s desk, with a glass of something and a half-smoked cigar. Pretending to be a man like Alejandro.

  Damasco looked at her with disinterest. Taking a long puff of the cigar, he tilted his head back and blew smoke rings at the ceiling.

  “You know it doesn’t matter if you sit in that chair, Damasco. You will never be him.”

  “No, I will be better than him.”

  She laughed at his bravado. “You only wish you could be better than Alex. Or even come close to being better than Malcolm.”

  His feet hit the floor with a thump. “You are not to have anything to do with him, querida. He is a bandito, an outlaw.”

  “So are the low sons of bitches who are taking potshots at me, stealing my cattle and poisoning my water supply,” she retorted.

  That barb hit home. His cheeks grew a little ruddy as he stood and pointed at her. “You will not have such a sassy mouth when you are my wife.”

  Leigh was a bit flummoxed by that statement. She had refused him at least a dozen times. Did he honestly think she’d wake up one day and figure out she was wrong all those other times? As if she’d say to herself, “What was I thinking? Damasco is a prince. He’s shown me the light by sending my ranch to bankruptcy.”

  “Damasco, I came here to warn you.”

  He tilted the glass back and swallowed the rest of the amber liquid. That’s when she noticed he had obviously had more than one drink. In fact, he had probably had a lot more than one. His normally perfect clothes were wrinkled, untucked and half-unbuttoned. His hair was mussed as if he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times. His eyes were bloodshot and she caught a whiff of his cologne. Eau de Whiskey.

  “Warn me?” He snorted. “What you need to do is get down on your knees and suck me dry.”

  Well, that got her temper up. She wanted to knee him in the balls again.

  “You’re drunk.”

  He smiled and bowed. “Absolutely. And not as drunk as I plan on getting.”

  It took him three tries to grab the decanter of liquor on the corner of the desk. When he tried to pour it in the glass, he ended up spilling it.

  “Shit!”

  He stared sourly at the glass, then picked up the decanter and took a long pull directly from it. She needed to speak her piece and get the hell out of there.

  “Don’t use any more sneaky, underhanded shit on me or anyone from the Circle O, Damasco. Leave Malcolm alone. Leave my cows alone. Or we’ll have a war they’ll hear about all the way to Kansas.”

  Damasco threw back his head and laughed. “When you are my wife, querida, you will no longer be helping bastards. They will grovel at your feet and shovel your horseshit instead.”

  “You’re the only bastard in the Zarza family.”

  He stalked toward her so quickly she didn’t have time to react. Before she could even think about what he was going to do, he reached out and slapped her so hard her ears rang and her lip split.

  Leigh wasn’t about to let that slide. She returned the favor and slapped him back.

  “I warned you, Damasco. If it’s a war you want, just push me one more time.”

  She held up one finger in front of his face. So incredibly angry she could have pummeled him into the ground, she turned and stomped out of the room. She was furious with Malcolm for being right and furious with Damasco for being such an ass.

  ———

  Lorena waited until Isabella had gone into the bathing room for her nightly bath before she snuck in to see Alejandro. From what Diego had already told her, and from what she’d overheard today, it was time Alex found out his elder son was still alive.

  Chapter Twelve

  Leigh opened the door to the house quietly. It was dark in the kitchen, so hopefully Mrs. Hanson had gone off to whatever cave she lived in and Malcolm was asleep upstairs. He’d taken quite a beating. The extent of his bruises had shocked her. She reached above the sink and found a candle and matches kept there. She struck the match on the bottom of the candleholder and lit the wick. A warm glow suffused the room.

  “Where have you been?”

  Malcolm’s question in the silence of the room nearly made her jump clean out of her skin.

  “What the hell are you doing? Trying to scare me to death?” Her heart was beating a mile a minute.

  “You went to see him, didn’t you?”

  Leigh didn’t answer. She tried to ignore his shadowy figure sitting at the kitchen table as she set the lit candle on the shelf.

  “Don’t ignore me, amante. Answer the question.”

  She worked the pump handle until cold water splashed out. Taking a rag from the side of the sink, she let the water rush over it. Then she wrung it out and pressed it to her throbbing lip.

  “What right do you have to even ask me where I’ve been, Mal?”

  The scrape of the chair as he stood should have made her nervous. But it didn’t. She felt…excited. The hairs on her arms stood at attention and her nipples tightened like river pebbles.

  “I have every right.”

  He hovered right behind her. His warm breath rustled the small hairs on her neck, making them rise.

  “You are mine.”

  “For how long?” she couldn’t resist asking. The question burned in her mind like the Circle O branding iron—two circles going around and around, without beginning or end.

  “Amante.” He caressed her shoulders then down her spine. She arched against him like a cat in heat as her blood began to thrum through her veins. His hands… Lord, his hands were incredible.

  “We have always belonged to each other. We always will.”

  That was not the answer she was looking for and he knew it. He blew out the candle and the room sank into darkness. The sound of their breathing echoed through the room. She could smell her own arousal and Malcolm’s unique scent in the air.

  His hands slid around to cup her breasts, the long fingers reaching up to pinch and twist her nipples into aching peaks. He pressed his hardened cock against the cleft in her buttocks and rubbed in delicious circles. She pressed back, anticipating having him deep inside her. Soon.

  His nimble fingers made short work of her shirt and chemise. Then breasts were bare in his hands, his callused skin leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

  “Like fruit from the gods.”

  “More like melons from the gods,” she teased.

  He chuckled. “I love the weight of them in my hands. The softness of the skin and the puckered nipples. I want to bite them.”

  Yes, oh, yes, Leigh wanted that too.

  More.

  It was as if she’d spoken aloud. Her trousers and drawers
ended up around her ankles in moments. One hand dipped into her aching pussy, and moved back and forth slowly in her wetness. She trembled each time he stroked her clit, and moaned when his fingers fucked her.

  “Dios, you are wet. I need to have you, amante.”

  “Yesss…” she hissed, uncaring if anyone walked by or walked in. She needed him now. Her body wept with arousal and need.

  His hands left her and her body nearly screamed with wanting. He removed his pants in only a few seconds, but it seemed longer.

  “Hurry,” Leigh moaned.

  “Spread your legs. Sí, that’s it. A little more. Make room for me, carina.”

  As she braced her hands on the sink, Malcolm entered her with a slow slide that nearly made her come.

  “Oh, yes…you are like heaven.”

  His hands traveled back around to pinch and tease her breasts while he thrust into her from behind. And oh, did he ever. Steadily, in then out, in then out, to the rhythm of her pulse. Never any faster, never any slower, designed to drive her mad. If only she could touch him, kiss him, suck him. She needed more.

  “Faster.”

  He chuckled by her ear. “Anxious, mi vida?”

  One hand left her breast and ended up on her pussy, rubbing and caressing her hot button as his hard cock pushed in and out of her. His balls tickled her clit with each thrust. Her fingers clutched the sink as the sensations within her swirled and twisted. It was as incredible as the first time. The thrill of knowing they could be caught any second made it that much more intense.

  She felt the rush of blood and zinging that signaled her release.

  “I’m going to come,” she gasped.

  He put one damp hand over her mouth. “Shhhhh…”

  She smelled her scent on his hand and her tongue slipped out to lick its muskiness. Another naughty thing she knew she shouldn’t do, but couldn’t help herself. Leigh was almost out of control.

  “Amante…”

  That’s when he really started fucking her. Harder and harder. She bit down on his hand as her orgasm rolled through her like a thunder boom in a canyon. It became louder and stronger until she thought her heart would stop from the sheer pleasure pulsing through her again and again. Finally, it crashed and her body trembled with enough pleasure to nearly steal her breath.