by Connie Mason
“What are we going to do about it?” Zoey asked. “Wait until the judge comes through town again?”
Pierce pondered the alternatives. “There’s a newspaper in town, isn’t there?”
“Yes, the Rolling Prairie Weekly. Why?”
“Do you trust me to handle this for you?” he asked.
Zoey stared at him. “I thought you were leaving.”
“I am, but not just yet. Thought I’d stick around for a spell. There are enough steers in the pens to satisfy your commitment to the army. Bud and the hands plan to drive them to the army post in a few days. Thought I’d stay until they return with the money from the sale. Meanwhile, there are enough brood cows left to start a new herd, and funds in the bank to keep the ranch running until the money arrives.”
“You don’t have to wait around for my sake. I know how anxious you are to leave. Have you heard from your brothers about your situation at home?”
“No. I’m going to post another letter when I go into town to confront Willoughby later today.”
“I’m going with you,” Zoey insisted. “You’re not going to cheat me out of seeing Willoughby’s face when you accuse him of forgery.”
“I see no harm in that. We have sufficient evidence to force Willoughby to stop the foreclosure.” He flashed her a seductive smile. “We can leave after breakfast if you’re not feeling too much discomfort.”
“I’m fine,” Zoey assured him. She returned to the kitchen. Pierce followed. “I’ll fix breakfast. I’m anxious to see Willoughby squirm.”
Pierce reached for her as she passed by, pulling her into his arms. He placed his hands on either side of her face and lifted it to his. Then he kissed her, the taste of her mouth reminding him of the passion they had shared the night before. She tasted of sweetness and sunlight and magic. His arms tightened around her as he deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers, licking the seam of her lips, then thrusting his tongue past her teeth and into her mouth.
Zoey groaned against his mouth, caught up in the sweet splendor of his reawakened passion. When Pierce opened her robe and sought her breasts, she arched against him, bringing them into his hands.
“Last night was wonderful,” Pierce whispered raggedly. God, he shouldn’t be doing this. Once he satisfied his lust with a woman, he seldom wanted her again. With Zoey he had broken every one of his rules. He wanted her now, almost as badly as he’d wanted her last night. “I want to love you again, to taste you all over. Come back to bed with me now.”
He took her silence for acquiescence as he scooped her into his arms. Her robe fell away from her body and slipped to the floor. Pierce stepped over it and headed for the stairs.
“Is Miz Zoey all right? She’s usually up and about before now.”
“Oh, God!” Zoey hid her face against Pierce’s chest as Cully walked through the back door. Pierce turned his back to hide Zoey’s nakedness and glanced over his shoulder at Cully.
Cully saw Zoey in Pierce’s arms, spied her robe on the floor, and gave Pierce a look that would have melted ice.
“Looks like I’m intruding,” Cully said dryly. “I can see for myself that Miz Zoey is all right.” He turned and strode out the door.
Zoey clung to Pierce, her face flaming. “Put me down, Pierce. What must Cully think of me?”
“I’m not putting you down.” Pierce’s voice was hard, implacable. “It’s not Cully’s place to think anything. We’re married, remember? You were the one who insisted upon this marriage. Last night we found joy in one another.”
“What we did was to satisfy our lust,” Zoey argued.
Pierce continued up the stairs. “Long live lust. Do you want me, Zoey?”
Silence.
“Are you going to lie to me?”
Silence.
“You’re a coward, love.”
“No one ever calls me a coward. Yes, damn you, I want you. Are you happy now?”
“Supremely.” He kicked open the bedroom door and placed her on the rumpled bed. Then he unbuckled his belt, pulled off his boots, and divested himself of the rest of his clothing. By the time he was naked, he was hard as a rock. He felt like a green boy with his first woman. He hated surrendering to that kind of helplessness.
Zoey watched him through slumberous eyes. Pierce affected her in ways she couldn’t understand. Her flesh burned, her breasts tingled, and she felt embarrassing moisture gathering between her legs. When he lowered himself to the bed, she reached for him.
“Yes, touch me, love. Feel how hard I am for you. You do that to me, you know. One touch, one look, and I’m burning to have you.”
She curled her hand around him. He inhaled sharply. She tried to remove her hand but Pierce wouldn’t let her. Placing his hand over hers, he moved it up and down the length of his erection, showing her without words what he liked. Suddenly he removed her hand and rolled on top of her. Then he aroused her with slow, sensual strokes of his tongue and hands, sucking and licking her breasts, caressing between her legs, and kissing her there until she begged him to take her.
Finally taking pity on her, he lifted her atop him, placed her legs on either side of his hips, and slowly impaled her. Zoey gasped as he slid full and deep inside her.
“Ride me, love,” he urged hoarsely. Spanning her hips with his hands, he maneuvered her up and down, until she was moving of her own accord, seeking her own pleasure.
Head thrown back, lips parted, Zoey felt the pressure building inside her. Higher, tighter, until she felt her insides turning to liquid.
Pierce could wait no longer; his own climax was coming on fast, and he feared he would leave Zoey behind. His hand crept between them, locating the swollen nub of her desire with his thumb. Smiling up at her, he rotated it gently. Zoey screamed, her body jerking convulsively.
“Come, love, come to me now,” Pierce urged as he lost his last coherent thought.
A burst of fire ignited inside Zoey. Flames consumed her. Contractions rippled through her as she submitted to a pleasure so profound she blacked out Pierce gave a strangled cry and spent himself deep inside her, his hips pumping furiously.
His heart was pounding and his breath was coming fast and hard. He lay still a long time, until Zoey began to stir. Then he lifted her off of him and stared at the ceiling, wondering what in the hell was happening to him. Had he gone soft in the head? He should be rejoicing now that he was free of his debt to Zoey, free to leave and resume his former life. Instead he found himself hoping that Zoey wouldn’t be too sore to make love again tonight If he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself hog-tied for good, which was unthinkable. Marriage wasn’t for him. These intense feelings he had for Zoey were lust-driven, too hot to last.
“It’s getting late,” Zoey said languidly.
“I’ll fix breakfast while you get dressed. We’ll take the buckboard. You probably need to buy supplies while we’re in town.”
“You can cook?”
“I can do a lot of things you’re not aware of,” he said, giving her bare bottom a swat as he leapt out of bed.
“I’ll bet,” Zoey said as she watched him dress. And you won’t be around long enough for me to find out what they are.
An hour later Pierce went to the barn to hitch the horses to the wagon, leaving Zoey to clean up the kitchen. Cully was waiting for him.
“I don’t approve of what’s going on, Delaney, but I ain’t gonna blow my stack over it. Miz Zoey looked happy, but how long will she remain that way? Until you leave?”
“I didn’t set out to hurt Zoey deliberately. What happened between us just happened. I won’t lie to you, I’ve wanted to bed Zoey since … well, since before I was well enough to actually do it. Zoey is an adult, she knows what she’s doing.”
“She’s an innocent compared to you,” Cully grouched.
Pierce ignored the gibe. “We’re going to town to call on Willoughby. You can come along if you want.”
“Reckon I’ll stay here and keep an eye on the hands. Pete
rode out a few minutes ago.”
Pierce’s attention sharpened. “Pete? Did he say where he was going?”
“Said he had business in town.”
Zoey entered the barn, putting an end to the conversation. She was somewhat abashed when she saw Pierce talking to Cully. What must Cully think of her? He was as close to her as a father, and she wanted his approval.
Pierce didn’t give Cully a chance to say anything to Zoey as he lifted her into the unsprung seat of the buckboard and climbed up beside her. “We’ll be back by sundown, Cully,” he called as he drove the buckboard from the barn.
“Let me do the talking,” Pierce said as they entered the bank. They had arrived in town a few minutes ago and parked the buckboard close to the general store. “Do you have the mortgage and letters bearing your father’s signature?”
Zoey nodded, grateful for Pierce’s clear head. She was so angry with Willoughby, she didn’t think she could speak coherently.
Willoughby was in his office. When told of their desire to see him, he himself opened the door and ushered them inside his office.
“Have you come to drop off the key to the ranch house?” Willoughby asked pompously.
“No,” Pierce said succinctly. “My wife and I are here to demand that you stop the foreclosure.”
“You demand? Why would you do that? Everything is legal and aboveboard.”
“Because you forged the mortgage document!” Zoey spit out, unable to hold her tongue.
Pierce sent her a silent warning, and she clamped her lips together. “We’d like to inspect the mortgage.”
“It’s a little too late for that,” Willoughby argued. “The papers are served, the foreclosure is a done deal.”
“It’s never too late for justice,” Pierce said. The cold contempt in his voice should have warned Willoughby.
“You’ve already seen the mortgage.”
“Show it to Zoey.”
“She’s seen it.”
“Not really,” Zoey snapped. “I was so distraught when you showed it to me that I barely looked at it.”
“What is this all about, Delaney?”
Pierce extracted a packet of papers from his pocket, selected two letters, and shoved them under Willoughby’s nose. “Look carefully, Willoughby. The signature on these two letters is authentic.” Then he held the mortgage up for Willoughby’s perusal. “This signature is a blatant forgery. You thought it would be easy to cheat a grieving woman, didn’t you?”
Willoughby gave a startled gasp. He’d assumed the mortgage was safely filed with his private papers. How had they gotten into the wrong hands? “Where did you get that?”
“It doesn’t matter. I hold the upper hand right now. I can take the evidence to the newspaper office and expose you to public condemnation. Think how it will look. A respectable citizen and businessman caught bilking a poor grieving woman. Customers will take their money out of your bank and you’ll be ruined. Is that what you want? Think it over, Willoughby. I understand you have political aspirations. You may as well forget them unless you cooperate.”
Willoughby’s mouth worked noiselessly. Turning abruptly, he rushed to his file cabinet, frantically searching for the Fuller file. “You stole it!” he accused, trying to snatch the missing mortgage from Pierce’s hand.
Pierce gave him a mirthless grin as he held it just out of Willoughby’s reach. “You can’t prove that.” He took Zoey’s arm, as if to usher her out of the office. “Come, love, we have an appointment with the editor of the Rolling Prairie Weekly. This kind of news might call for a special edition.”
“Wait!” Willoughby began to sweat profusely. “There is no need to expose this to the public.”
Pierce smiled. “Isn’t there? Suppose we come to an agreement. The forged mortgage will remain safely with Zoey as insurance against this kind of thing happening again. In exchange you will alter your bank records to show that no mortgage exists on the Circle F. In addition, you will destroy the foreclosure document immediately and promise never to pester Zoey again with your unwanted attention.”
“Is that all?” Willoughby asked sarcastically.
“That about covers it Do you agree?”
“Tear up the mortgage,” Willoughby implored. “Keeping it will serve no purpose.”
“I don’t agree. By the way, who did you pay to steal it for you?”
“What makes you think it was my doing?”
“We’re not stupid, Willoughby. Time is running out. Do we go to the newspaper or—”
“I agree, damn you!”
“Oh, yes, one more thing. I want a signed statement from you verifying that no mortgage on the Circle F ranch exists now or ever existed. Be sure and date it.”
Willoughby cursed for all of five minutes before taking up pen and paper and writing the statement Pierce had demanded. Pierce read it and tucked it into his pocket. Then he asked Zoey for the foreclosure document, which he tore into tiny pieces, letting them fall to the floor.
“You got what you want, now get the hell out of here. I’ve kept my part of the bargain, and I expect you to keep yours. If word of this ever comes to light, I’ll make you very sorry you messed with Samson Willoughby.”
“You don’t scare me. Words are cheap, Willoughby,” Pierce retorted. “If you ever come sniffing around my wife again, you’re the one who’s going to regret it.”
Having said all that needed to be said on the subject, Pierce opened the door and ushered Zoey from the office. Moments later they stood outside the bank, inhaling deeply of the clean fresh air, clearing the foul scent of Willoughby’s deceit from their lungs.
“I can’t believe it’s over,” Zoey said with profound relief. She owed Pierce more than she could ever repay. The least she could do in return was to release Pierce from this marriage as quickly as possible. She had too much pride to hold on to a man who wanted to be free.
“We’re even now,” Pierce said. “I’ve repaid my debt and am free now to end his forced marriage.”
Zoey nodded solemnly. “We’re even. You’ve accomplished more than I had a right to expect. You’ve kept my property safe from Willoughby and made it impossible for him to force a marriage between us.”
Pierce flushed and looked away. “I’m going to the post office,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. The realization that he no longer had a reason to remain with Zoey gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“I’ll pick up the supplies we need and have them loaded in the buckboard.” She felt the walls building around him again, as if he was protecting himself from something he found offensive.
His cynicism stood between them and always would, she sadly lamented. Lessons he’d learned through experience, and gritty reminders of his past disappointments, had made him the kind of man he was.
Across the street, Pete leaned against the peeling exterior of the saloon and watched Pierce and Zoey walk away from the bank. He’d come to town earlier to receive instructions from Willoughby, and stopped at the saloon first to quench his thirst. He paid little heed to the man who stopped beside him, until he noticed that the man appeared as interested in the Delaneys as he was.
“Say, ain’t that Pierce Delaney?” the stranger asked.
Pete gave the man a cursory glance. “Yeah, what’s it to ya?”
“What kind of law do you have in Rolling Prairie?”
“Vigilante law. Why?”
“Ever hear of Dry Gulch?”
Pete nodded, wondering where this was leading.
“The vigilantes in Dry Gulch are looking for Pierce Delaney. He attacked a woman and left her in a bad way. He led our vigilantes on a wild chase, but they lost him. I reckon they’d be mighty pleased to know where he is now.”
Pete’s attention sharpened. “You mean Delaney isn’t from Wyoming?”
“Wyoming! He and his brothers run one of the largest spreads in Montana territory. Thought they could do almost anything and get away with it. But Pierce we
nt too far this time.”
A sly smile spread across Pete’s sharp features. Willoughby would be damn grateful for information like this. “Are you returning to Dry Gulch soon?”
“I’m just riding through on my way south to buy some property from a couple who want to go back east. Can’t say how long it’ll take. If I had more time, I’d return to Dry Gulch and put the vigilantes on Delaney’s trail. Can’t afford the delay, though. Don’t want the Gaffords to sell to anyone else.”
“Much obliged, mister,” Pete said, pushing himself away from the wall. Willoughby would be grateful for this important piece of information. He rubbed his hands gleefully, anticipating the generous reward he’d soon be spending.
Willoughby was in a foul mood when Pete entered his office. By the time Pete left, Willoughby was smiling.
Chapter 9
Delaney Ranch
Dry Gulch, Montana
Chad Delaney read Pierce’s letter for the tenth time since he’d received it. Why hadn’t Pierce written again? Chad wondered. According to the letter, Pierce had been shot. Was it a serious wound? If it was a critical wound, Pierce wouldn’t have been able to write, would he? And the letter was in Pierce’s own hand.
Just then Ryan charged into the house, slamming the door behind him.
Chad looked up from the letter. “Back from town already? Any news?”
“Nothing good,” Ryan allowed. “No word from Pierce. You reckon he’s all right?”
“The people at the Circle F would have written if something was wrong with Pierce. I reckon he’s biding his time. He should have our second letter by now. Maybe he’ll answer soon. Anything else newsworthy?”
“Riley Reed is keeping the people of Dry Gulch all riled up about Pierce. Seeing Cora Lee prancing around with a big belly doesn’t help any. Cora Lee’s drunken brother is hanging out in the saloon these days, bitterly complaining about how the vigilantes let Pierce get away. His whining is making Reed mad, and Reed is itching to get his hands on Pierce. Dammit, Chad, it’s not fair! Pierce is a better man than you or I will ever be.”
“What in God’s name can we do to help him that we haven’t already done?” Chad wondered, at his wits’ end.
