Broken Vows (17 page)

      
Rebekah tried to scream, but a hand fastened over her mouth, stopping her outcry.

      
“You little fool!”

Chapter Eight

      
Rory crushed her against him, then spun her roughly in his arms as she crumpled, clinging to him and struggling for breath.

      
“You frightened the life out of me,” she gasped.

      
“I could’ve shot the life out of you—me or one of Jenson's other hands. They're off in town for the night, thank God, or you might’ve been dragged into one of these stalls and raped.”

      
His voice was low and tight with anger. There was whiskey on his breath. She could not see his face, only feel the leashed fury in him as he swept her into his arms and carried her up the narrow, rickety stairs to his quarters. He deposited her in the center of the small, dark room, then struck a match, lighting the kerosene lamp.

      
In the dim light, he looked like a menacing stranger when he asked, “What are you doing here?”

      
She moved back, edging toward the door. “It was a mistake. I shouldn't have come.”

      
“But you did,” he said, stepping between her and the door, barring her exit.

      
“You've been drinking.”

      
“For all the good it's done me, yes.” He looked into her eyes. They were round with fear, luminous and dark as emeralds. Her lips trembled, and she flinched when he reached out his hand toward her. “Ah, God, I'm sorry, Rebekah. I've the devil's own temper, and you were crazy to risk coming here. I was afraid for you. I could've shot you for a horse thief—and that's the best of the bad things that could’ve happened.”

      
The tears choked her, welling up and overflowing as she sobbed, unable to blink back the shimmering droplets that clung to her lashes. “I had to see you, Rory. After the way we parted the other night—I couldn't let you leave thinking that I didn't love you.

      
“That you took shameless advantage of me and then cast me aside?” he whispered. A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth as he extended his hand, letting his thumb gently wipe away the trail of tears from one delicate cheekbone.

      
Suddenly, he was Rory again, not the frightening, angry stranger who smelled of whiskey and held a gun. The tight knot inside her loosened, and she met his gentle smile with a hesitant one of her own. “When you put it that way, it does sound pretty ridiculous, doesn't it?”

      
Neither of them knew who reached out first; but suddenly, they were embracing, their hands and lips soft yet hungry, seeking the warm assurance that their young bodies gave.

      
“I could never leave you, Rebekah. I love you more than life itself, but I don't like this sneaking around in the dark.”

      
“If only Amos Wells weren't so powerful—why does he want me, of all the women he could choose? I'm nobody—”

      
His lips stopped her words; then he brushed his mouth across her cheeks and eyelids, murmuring, “You're somebody very special, Rebekah darlin', beautiful and bright and brave. The love of my life.”

      
The love of my life
. When he held her, his breath warm on her as he kissed her and murmured his devotion, the world went away. Rebekah forgot Amos, even her own father and the consequences if she were found here with her love. “I can't bear for us to be apart. I haven't slept since we argued and you left me in the orchard. Don't ever leave me…”

      
His mouth swooped down to claim hers. She opened to him, tasting the alien tang of spirits on his tongue. Rather than repelling her, it seemed only to add to his forbidden allure. No man but her Rory would ever kiss her, touch her, know the intimate secrets of her body. She returned the kiss, running her hands across his shoulders, sliding her fingers inside his shirt, hungry to feel his warm, smooth flesh and the crisp, springy hair on his chest.

      
Rory feasted on her lips as he deftly unfastened her dress and began to work it from her shoulders, letting his mouth travel over her skin as he bared it, inch by inch. Rebekah responded with a boldness that surprised them both, and delighted him. She let the tip of her tongue trace small swirls around his hard male nipples, making him tremble. His little Puritan was a passionate woman who would be a warm and loving wife. He finished stripping off her simple calico gown and mended cotton undergarments, then laid her back on his narrow mattress and knelt to kiss and caress her.

      
“You're so beautiful. I only wish this were eiderdown instead of corn husks. I wish I could give you silks and jewels—”

      
“Only give me yourself, beloved,” she whispered against his lips, silencing him.

      
He tugged off his denims and climbed onto the bed, covering her slender body with his own.

      
Downstairs in the darkness, Chicken Thief Charlie Pritkin crawled into one of the stalls, watching the flickering light coming from between the rough board walls of Rory's small room. This time there was no doubt that Madigan had despoiled the preacher's daughter. He wondered how his employer would take that news as he waited patiently for them to emerge. They were young and obviously randy. He placed his greasy hat over his eyes and lay back in the straw to catch a nap. Several hours had elapsed when he awakened to the sound of muffled footfalls and whispered voices.

      
“I’ll see you safely home.” Rory walked into the stall where he kept Lobsterback and began to saddle the big bay as he and Rebekah argued heatedly.

      
“But you can't come to my house either. What if Papa awakened and came downstairs to read? He does that sometimes when he can't sleep late at night.”

      
“I should come courting in the daylight. This is no good.” He yanked the cinch tight, and the bay snorted in protest.

      
Rebekah shook her head in misery. “We've already had this argument. Please, Rory...give me time. We'll think of a way.”

      
“It's the damn money. If I could show your father that I had cash to stand on, he'd have to relent. I'll go back to the prize ring. There's big money to be made in the mining camps.”

      
“No! You'd be hurt or killed—and besides, that's money made from blood. My parents would never approve of your boxing.”

      
“What will we do, then? It's too dangerous for you to come here, but I can't be without you.” He paused as they walked the bay to the stable door; then he took her in his arms. They stood silhouetted in the moonlight, clinging together, oblivious of the rest of the world. After a moment, they broke apart and he swung onto the bay, then pulled her up in front of him and took off at a slow walk.

      
Her voice carried on the still night air. “The river. I'll come to your place by the river. It's close by my house, and no one will find us there. Since Leah's married, I'm usually left alone on Sunday afternoons; and sometimes, if we finish supper early on weeknights, I can get away for a ride with Celia without Mama fussing too much.”

      
“But what about Wells? He's been hanging around you like a bee at a honey tree. He'll give you no free time, Rebekah.”

      
“I'll talk to my father about needing more time to think about Amos' intentions. If he thinks I'm feeling pressured or rushed just because of what my mother wants, he'll relent. I know he will—just be there for me. At the river. Please?”

      
“I'll try, Rebekah, but I have to find a way out of this—a way to get some money fast.” She started to protest, but he pressed his fingers over her lips and continued, “If that means traveling some distance to win a big purse for a stake, I'll go. Your family need never know how I earned the money. I'll not hear another word about it. It fair eats my guts out to see Wells touch you.”

      
Their voices faded as they rode around the corner. Pritkin, who had slipped silently through the side door to follow them, realized he could not keep up on foot. But he had learned enough. More than enough. Maybe, there was even a bonus in this.

* * * *

      
Celia Hunt's big brown eyes nearly popped from their sockets when her friend explained about Rory Madigan. “You can't mean it! Why, he's penniless—and he's Irish, for heaven's sake.” She looked at the stubborn set of Rebekah's jaw, a sign she had learned when they were children.

 
      
“You're really involved with him, aren't you? Oh, Rebekah, you haven't let him...” Her voice trailed off and she coughed discreetly, then peeked at her friend's flushed face. Rebekah's eyes would not meet hers, and she was nervously fidgeting in the balloon-backed armchair.

      
The two young women were whispering conspiratorially in the Hunts' rear sitting room while Mrs. Hunt held her weekly mission board meeting in the main parlor. Dorcas and Leah were in attendance; but as young unmarried girls, Celia and Rebekah were excused from what they considered an odiously boring activity.

      
“You
have
let him! Ooh, Rebekah! What was it like? Did you enjoy it? Tell me everything!” Celia gushed excitedly.

      
“Shh. I can't tell you,” Rebekah whispered, praying that Celia's squeals would not bring one of the servants in to check on them. “It's very personal and private...and beautiful,” she added with a defiant lift of her chin. “But I do need your help to slip away and meet him.”

      
“I could get in so much trouble,” Celia said.

      
“Since when has that ever bothered you?”

      
“You say you don't want Amos; but if we both ruin our reputations, he won't want either of us, and I do want him.”

      
“As I said, all the more reason to help me be with Rory. If all else fails, we may have to elope once he's saved enough money. That would leave Amos for you.”

      
“Oh, fiddle, why not? If you're that desperate, even willing to run away with him against your parents' will, I suppose the least I can do is stand by you.”

      
“Celia, I knew I could count on you,” Rebekah said, throwing her arms around her friend.

* * * *

      
Over the next few weeks, Celia rode by the Sinclair place just after the supper hour and the two friends went riding. At first Dorcas fumed, but because of Rebekah's talk with Ephraim about needing time to think over Amos Wells' suit, her father allowed her the leeway.

      
On their latest excursion, the conspirators headed toward the river, but before reaching it, Rebekah reined in and said, “You needn't wait for me. I'll tell my parents you rode home at dusk the same as I.”
What a wicked liar I've become.

      
Celia grinned and kicked her new palomino filly into a brisk trot, calling back over her shoulder, “Do enjoy yourself.”

      
Rebekah slowed old Bessie Mae as she approached the trees, wondering if Rory would be there tonight. He was not always able to finish work at the racetrack in time to return to town before dusk.
Please let him be waiting for me.

      
So preoccupied was Rebekah that she did not see Bart Slocum rein in his mount just after Celia departed. He watched her dismount and make her way toward the dense willows near the bend of the river, wondering what a high-toned lady like the preacher's daughter was doing out, leaving her girlfriend to ride back to town alone. He'd always had an itch for Reverend Sinclair's pretty little blond daughters, and now one had just dropped right into his lap.

      
He left his horse close to hers and stealthily raced through the tall grass to get ahead of her. “Wal, now, little yellow bird, whatcha doin' out all by yore lonesome?” He unfolded his lanky frame from where he was leaning against the trunk of a gnarled old willow and reached out for her.

      
Rebekah gasped in surprise as she snatched her hand from his grasp. “You get away from me, Bart Slocum.”

      
“So you know my name, huh? Wouldn't think a good girl like you would—but then you ain't such a good girl 'er else you wouldn't be out here all alone, now would ya?”

      
“I'm not alone. I'm waiting for a friend—and you are not he,” she said, trying to emulate the snotty voice Leah used when she wanted to give someone a set-down.

      
But Leah's social circles did not encompass men like Bart Slocum. His arm snaked out and grabbed her, catapulting her against his chest with a sudden thud, knocking the breath from her. “Now, ain't you the unfriendly one. Who you meetin'? Cain't be nobody yer pa'd allow. I heard you was sparkin' with ole Amos Wells. He shore wouldn't have to sneak around.”

      
“Let—me—go,” she gritted out, fighting down panic.
Please, Rory, please come!

      
In response, Slocum took a fistful of her hair and yanked brutally on it, until her face was tilted up for his descending mouth. She screamed, but he quickly stopped her cries with his fetid kiss. Her struggling only increased his excitement. For such a slim young thing, she had some real curves beneath her prim clothes! He reached up and tore her blouse open, revealing one creamy shoulder and the swell of a breast above her camisole. “Gawd, you are a lush peach just ripe for pickin'!”

      
“You'll go to jail—be hanged for this,” she managed to cry out as he wrestled her to the ground.

      
“I don't think so. You tell 'n it'll go harder on you than me. You'll be ruined. Besides, you're no better 'n you ought ta be, sneakin' out here. You ain't gonna lose nothin' you ain't already lost.”