Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (32 page)

“Unacceptable, huh? I’m one of the most respected men in the territory, yet you chose to marry up with a mule skinner, an ignoramus who knows nothing but whoring, brawling and bareknuckle fighting. You chose him over me! I’d of given you anything you wanted if you’d just waited awhile longer.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her words were strong, not at all a reflection of her apprehension.

“I’m talking about you and me. You and me! The first time I saw you you looked me in my eyes, then down at my crotch. I got the message. You wanted me!” His hands moved to her upper arms and shook her to emphasize his words.

Mara’s face flamed. “I did no such thing! I never even thought of you as a . . . as a suitor.”

“The next time I was here, here in this kitchen, you switched your tail at me. Lady, I know when a woman wants me.” His hard mouth made a thin line, his eyes blazed, and there was white-hot anger in his voice. His hands were hard and cruel on her arms. “I want to know if he’s been between your legs. Answer me!”

“No!” The word exploded from her.

“If you’re lying I’ll kill you!”

Mara darted a look out the door and saw lightning flash. She desperately wished the twins would come, and then she hoped they wouldn’t. The marshal was out of his mind, and there was no telling what he would do.

“You’re crazy to talk to me like this!” She wanted to add that Pack would kill him for saying these things to her, but she didn’t dare mention Pack’s name for fear of infuriating him even more.

“Crazy? Mad? Insane? Maybe. I’ve done nothing but think about you since I met you. I had plans for us. Still have them. Why did you do it? The preacher said you didn’t want to marry, so I figured you’d not let him in your bed. He said Pack threatened him if he told it. Did he force you to marry him so he could get his hands on this ranch? Is that what he did?”

“No! He . . . didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do.”

“I was going to take you to Denver or San Francisco. I was going to take you anywhere you wanted to go and buy you anything you wanted.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere. This is my home, this is where I want to be.”

“You don’t know what you want. All women want pretty dresses and furs and perfume—”

“I don’t! Let go of me and get out!”

“Shut up!” He slammed her against him. “Whether you know it or not, this is what you want, and when I get you away from here you’ll get plenty of it.”

He put his mouth to hers, hard, hot and wet. The shock of it numbed her to her toes. She silently shrieked a bitter protest and resisted with all her strength. The harder she pushed against his chest the tighter he held her. He cupped the back of her head with his hand, holding it in a viselike grip. His mouth ground into hers, his rough and wet tongue laved her tightly pressed lips, his hard nose pressed into her cheek, his mustache brushed against her nostrils. Mara couldn’t breathe. She felt as if she were being drawn down into a horrendous black pit. Wildly she struggled to break free, but her efforts were useless against his strength. Finally he released her mouth.

“Open your mouth . . . damn you!”

“No!”

He cupped her chin and pressed his thumb and forefinger into her cheeks. His mouth, open and hot, seemed to devour her. His tongue found the break in her lips and thrust against her tightly clenched teeth. His body pinned hers flat against the wall while his hand squeezed and cupped her breast. He spread his feet to lower the long hardness that had pressed her stomach and ground it against her mound. He thrust his hips against her with quick jerky movements. She fought against black panic as she fought him. She kicked and turned her head from side to side until his mouth was dislodged from hers.

Suddenly his body was no longer pressing hers to the wall, but he held her there with one hand on her upper arm, the other on her breast, cupped about its fullness. She choked back sobs and tears of humiliation.

“Dear God!” he murmured. “I’ve done it now. I’m sorry, Mara. I never meant to do that. But you have driven me half out of my mind.”

Mara was relieved to hear the remorse in his voice, but his hand was still on her breast, stroking and squeezing. He looked into her eyes as if he didn’t know it was there, as if his hand belonged to someone else.

“I want you to . . . leave.” Her heart was racing beneath the breast he was holding.

“I’m just so goddamn mad and hurt, Mara. I’m hurt that you would go behind my back—”

“I’ll forget what you’ve just done . . . if you’ll go.”

“Something must have pushed you into marrying Pack, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay married to him. I’ll make Piedmont tear up the wedding paper. That son of a bitch hasn’t got the guts to go against me.”

“What are you saying?” She pushed on his chest. His hand dropped from her breast after a gentle squeeze, and he backed away from her.

“I’m saying I want you. Old Piedmont will do what I tell him. He’ll get your marriage to Gallagher off the record. We’ll leave here and no one will know.”

Mara moved to put the table between them. It was almost dark in the room. She could hear the wind swooping down the chimney, and the low rumble of continuous thunder.

“You’d better leave. Pack will be back soon.”

“He won’t be back tonight.”

“He will. He told me he’d be back.”

Ace’s mood changed almost instantly from remorse to anger and resentment.

“You’re going to have to learn not to contradict me, Mara. I know what I’m talking about. I said Pack won’t be back tonight. He’s with his whores.” The malice in his face and the venom in his voice were terrifying. “Pack’s as horny as a rutting moose. He’s got two whores in town that spread their legs every time he crooks a finger.”

His words ravaged her. She could feel the blood leave her face. But not a sign of the pain showed when she met his eyes. He was insane. She had to get away from him. But where could she go? If she went to the bunkhouse he would follow, and someone might get killed.

“You’d better go. It’s going to storm.”

“Pack Gallagher is not fit to lick your feet. Don’t you know that?” To her utter disappointment, he shrugged out of his duster. He hung it and his hat on a peg beside the door just as if he lived there.

“Please go, Mr. January.”

He rounded the table and backed her against the wash bench. Mara cringed away from his caressing fingers on her cheek.

“Don’t be scared of me, little sweetheart. I just lost control there for a minute. Didn’t you like what I did? I liked it . . . a lot.”

“No! Please, Mr. January—”

“Don’t call me Mr. January again. Call me Ace, or darling, or lover. And don’t act so scared.”

“Why should I be scared of you? You’re the marshal. Your job is to protect people.”

His hand went to her throat. Mara stood quietly, refusing to humiliate herself by struggling. He looked down into her face and gently brushed the strands of hair from her cheeks. Then, to her relief, he stepped away from her.

“I’ve got to think about what I’m going to do. The easiest way to solve the problem would be to kill the Irish bastard.”

The hatred on his face caused Mara to almost choke on the lump of fear in her throat. “You can’t do that! That would be murder.”

“Yeah? What do you think he’s done to me? He murdered my dreams.”

“But he didn’t know—”

“Light the lamp and fix me some supper, pretty woman. We’ve got plans to make.”

Mara felt as if the breath had been kicked out of her. Oh sweet Jesus, she prayed, don’t let him kill Pack. She had been the one to throw out the challenge. Pack had married her because she had goaded him into it. He couldn’t die because of her stubbornness.

Aloud she said, “The lamp is in the parlor. I’ll get it.”

Mara sighed as if in resignation and walked around the table. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ace go to the window and look toward the bunkhouse. She went into the darkened parlor, then through it. Without a plan in mind she went swiftly to the door and out onto the porch. The wind tore at her hair and whipped her skirts up and around her thighs. She hurried to the end of the porch and jumped down, then hesitated. If she ran to the bunkhouse he would be sure to see her. Her eyes sought a hiding place. In the gloom she could make out the outline of the privy. It was the only place she could go and not be seen from the kitchen window.

A sharp crack of lightning sizzled across the sky overhead, followed by a deafening blast of thunder that shook the rain from the heavy dark clouds. It came down as if a cold river poured from the sky. Fear set Mara’s feet in motion, and she ran through the rain, crying soundlessly. Running against the wind and the rain was like a bad dream. It seemed to take forever to get to the outhouse. The bursts of lightning outlined the privy. The ground beneath her feet became slippery. She staggered and slid against the door when she reached it. The board that swiveled on the nail to hold the door shut was tight. Mara clawed at it frantically, turned it, and pulled open the door.

Inside the small dark enclosure she fumbled for the latch which was nothing more than the end of a razor strop nailed to the door. A slit in the end of the strop looped over a nail on the doorframe. A man, not even a strong man, pulling on the door could break it loose. Knowing this, Mara leaned against the wall, her heart beating like a hammer.

For long moments she was too frightened even to wonder if she had done right by hiding. Then questions flooded her mind. Would he go down to the bunkhouse and hurt the boys? Would he wait for Pack? She hoped he was right about Pack staying in town. Oh, it cut her to the quick to think he was with that woman, but if it meant his life, she didn’t care. Maybe she should have stayed in the house. Ace wasn’t going to
kill
her.

The wind buffeted the small building. From between the cracks in the walls, Mara could see flashes of lightning followed by ear-splitting cracks of thunder. Pack and the twins had pounded stakes into the ground on each side of the outhouse, but the boards in the building creaked and groaned against the pressure of the wind.

Huddled in the corner, Mara began to tremble both from fear and the cold. She was wet to the skin. Her hair was plastered to her head, her wet skirts to her legs. Ace would have gone through the rooms looking for her when she didn’t return to the kitchen. By now he knew she was not in the house.
Would he come out into the storm looking for her?
She strained her ears for any sound above the roar of the storm. Surely, she told herself, she would hear a gunshot.

A heavy gust of wind struck the outhouse and rocked it precariously before settling down. Mara cried out and held onto the heavy timbers. The stench from the cesspit which had been so repulsive to her earlier was unnoticed now. Her head whirled, her stomach churned. Into her dulled mind drifted the thought that Ace January, the marshal of Laramie, was utterly ruthless, insane, or both. He must be to be able to talk so calmly of murdering a man to get him out of the way.

The storm raged on. It seemed to Mara that hours had passed. Finally she got up the nerve to open the door a crack. It was as dark outside as it was inside except for the flashes of lightning. An exceptionally bright flash knifed the dark sky. The clap of thunder caused her to whimper with fear, close the door and fumble with the strop to hold it. Thunder rolled and the rain beat down on the tin roof. Mara hung onto the timbers, leaned her forehead against the rough wood and waited for Ace to pound on the outhouse door. She had never felt so alone, so abandoned. Dazed with fear, she was almost unaware of the cold that sank into her very bones and the ache on the side of her face where Ace had struck her.

Sometime later, between the claps of thunder and over the roar of the rain on the tin roof, she heard someone shout her name. Sobbing with terror, she slid down on the floor and covered her face with her hands.

*  *  *

It took Pack and Sam an hour to load the wagon, catch the horses, put on halters and attach lead ropes. Pack debated about going to the mercantile. He had wanted to take something home to Mara. Flashes of lightning convinced him that he didn’t have the time. He tied two mares behind the wagon and told Willy to head out. Sam led three docile geldings and Pack the young, frisky stallion. They followed the wagon through the town. When they reached the outer edge Pack moved up close behind the wagon. The young stallion had rutting on his mind and followed along behind the mares, sniffing the air and occasionally releasing a trumpeting call.

Already the wind had picked up. In the darkened sky lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. Willy pressed his hat down on his head and whipped the team into a trot. He shouted mixed curses and warnings back over his shoulder at Pack, some of which were lost in the wind. Pack didn’t even try to understand what the old man was saying. He had been with Willy long enough to know that he was going to grumble until the day he died and then would complain to Saint Peter, if and when he reached the Pearly Gates, that they weren’t open wide enough.

Pack, Willy and Sam were only a few miles from home when the heavens opened and the rain poured down on them. The young stallion tried to rear. It took all of Pack’s strength to hold him. The mares became frightened, and their fear was passed on to the other horses. Willy pulled the team to a halt and Pack came alongside, dragging the protesting young stallion.

Willy shouted that they should find shelter, but Pack waved him on. The old man cursed and sputtered and spit. But he snaked the whip out over the backs of the team and they moved on. The storm worsened. Overhead lightning cracked. Pack knew that it was dangerous for them to be on the road, but he had an overpowering urge to get home.

“What do you think?” he shouted to Sam.

“Might as well keep goin’. There ain’t nowhere to hole up here nohow.”

Pack nodded and moved out ahead of the wagon, setting a faster pace. He wondered if Mara Shannon had missed him, if she still had her back up because he hadn’t taken her to town. He wondered if she was afraid of the storm, if she had a hot supper ready for him. Tonight he would tell her about his trouble with Ballard and Wilson. He’d tell her about Nan, and try to make her understand about his friendship with Candy. Just thinking about his wife warmed him. She
was
his wife, and soon he hoped she would be his wife in all the ways a woman belonged to a man.