Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (33 page)

Pack’s arm felt as if it was about to be pulled from his shoulder, and his hand was raw from holding onto the wet rope. He was tempted to take his quirt to the stubborn young stallion but reasoned that the naturally frisky animal was scared, and the quirt would do nothing but make him more so.

When they reached the homestead, Pack took the trail to the corrals and the bunkhouse, bypassing the house. He peered through the rain but could see no light. To him it didn’t mean that there wasn’t one. He gave it no more thought. His mind was set on getting the horses into the corral, his mount and Sam’s in the barn, and himself into the house.

The rain was still coming down in a steady stream, and the wind was still strong by the time they were ready to leave the barn. They stood for a moment before going out into the night.

“Willy, there’s a good bed in the bunkhouse and the cook will fix you some vittles. Go along with Sam and get settled in. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“It’ll be a pleasure to get dry. I’m wet as a drowned rat.” Willy wiped his face with a wet sleeve.

“I’m obliged to you, Sam, for the help with the horses. I expect you wanted to ride straight to the Rivers’ place.”

Sam grinned. “It’ll keep till morning. Get along ’n see ’bout your woman. I ’spect she’s edgy ’bout the storm.”

“Yeah. I expect so.”

Pack held onto his hat and took off running toward the house. Once he slipped on the muddy path, cursed because he’d track mud on Mara Shannon’s clean floor, then leaped up on the porch.

The screen door was open and banging against the side of the house. Pack took hold of it and realized the back door was also open, and the house was pitch dark. Long years of being cautious made him pause and listen before entering. He could hear nothing but the banging of the front door as the wind sucked through the house and the pounding of the rain on the roof. A cold circle of fear was forming around Pack’s heart. Mara Shannon wouldn’t have gone to bed and left the doors open.

Pack darted inside, paused, then felt his way to the table. His groping hands found the lamp. He struck a match, lifted the chimney and held the flame to the wick. Light flooded the room and he looked around. Rain had blown in through the open door. The floor was puddled with water. His feeling of apprehension growing, Pack hurried to the parlor. The door stood open, and there, too, rain had blown in.

“Mara Shannon,” he bellowed while closing the door against the wind.

No answer.

He took the stairs two at a time. The door to her bedroom was open. He charged in and stopped. She wasn’t there. He felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach by a mule. His first thought was that she had left him. His eyes swept the room. Her comb, brush and hand mirror lay on the embroidered scarf on the bureau. Her trunk was at the end of the bed, her clothes in the bureau drawers.

Suddenly he paused and chuckled. What a fool he was. When she had seen the storm coming, she had gone down to the bunkhouse. He shook his shaggy, wet head. He had tracked mud all over the house looking for her. She would scold him, but he didn’t care; he was relieved.

Downstairs he set the lamp on the kitchen table, took a wad of cloth from beneath the wash bench, and mopped up the floor. He would go fetch Mara and carry her back, but first he had to clean up the mess he had made. When he finished, he took a slicker from his room to wrap her in and ran out into the rain again.

Sam and Willy were standing beside the potbellied stove in their underwear when Pack threw open the door. The twins, Aubrey and Steamboat sat at a table playing cards. They all looked up. Willy was the first to speak.

“Thought ya was goin’ to yore woman. She throw ya out a’ready?”

Pack’s dark eyes circled the room. “She’s not here?”

“Ya think I’d a took off my pants—”

“Mara Shannon’s not in the house. I thought she was here.”

“Not in the house?” Trellis got up. “She’s been there all day. She made a flowerbed.”

“She’s not there now! The front and back doors were open and rain was coming in. Who was here today?”

“Nobody,” Trellis said. “Did you see anybody, Trav?”

“How could we’ve seen anybody? We been sittin’ here playin’ cards.”

“She wouldn’t have just pulled foot and gone without taking her things. When was the last time you saw her? Goddamn it, Trell, I told you and Trav to stay close.” Anxiety made Pack’s voice unnecessarily loud and harsh.

“We did stay close. She was in a grouchy mood today. She didn’t want nothin’ to do with anybody. The last time I saw her she was carrying water to put on her flowerbed, and it was cloudin’ up to rain.”

Sam had already pulled on his wet pants. He dug a dry shirt and a slicker out of the bundle on his bed.

“Yo’re sure she’s not in the house?”

“I’m sure,” Pack snarled, but Sam didn’t seem to notice.

“We know she ain’t in the barn,” he said calmly. “We’ll fan out and search all the outbuildings. Steamboat, have you got any lanterns that’ll stay lit in this downpour?”

“I’m goin’,” Trellis said and pulled a poncho over his head.

“Me, too.” Travor got up so fast his chair turned over. He grabbed a slicker from the peg on the wall.

“Do ya suppose she went to the cookshack?” Steamboat opened the small door going out of the bunkhouse and into the back part of the cookshack. He was back in a minute shaking his head. “She ain’t there. I’ll get ya a lantern that’ll stay lit.”

Pack stood on the edge of the porch and waited for Steamboat to bring him the lantern. Never in his life had he felt more like praying. Never had he felt such an overpowering feeling of dread. When he closed his eyes, horrifying scenes danced behind his closed lids. Sweet little Mara Shannon could be lying out there in the rain. A tree could have fallen on her, an Indian could have whisked her away. Cullen or one of the no-good bastards who hung around here could have carried her off.

Many men had tried to knock Pack off his feet and had failed. Now, fear and worry over one small missing woman had almost brought him to his knees. If he found her, when he found her, he vowed to tell her everything. Everything.

“Take one of the boys ’n go circle the house, Pack. I’ll take the other ’n go through the shed and stock pens.”

Pack stepped off the porch into the rain, one of the boys with him. He held the lantern waist high and sloshed through the water and mud. He squinted his eyes, trying to penetrate the darkness. In the driving rain, the light from the lantern didn’t do much good.

“Mara!” he shouted. He circled the house and started off toward the well. “Mara!”

“Pack.” Trellis shook his arm. “Do ya think she could a got caught in the privy when the rain come?”

“She wouldn’t have stayed there. Mara!”

“I’m goin’ to go look anyway.” Trellis ran ahead. Soon he was back. “Pack! That board we nailed on the outhouse to keep the door closed is up! I pulled on the door and it’s latched on the inside.”

Pack’s heart leaped with hope. “Mara!” he bellowed, and ran toward the privy. The board was turned up! “Mara! Mara, are you in there?”

No sound came from within.

“Somebody’s got to be in there.” Trellis pulled on the door.

“Here.” Pack shoved the lantern at the boy. He yanked on the strap he had put there as a door handle. It came off in his hands. He cursed. “Mara, if you’re in there, open the door.” He ground his teeth in frustration when no answer came. Pack forced his fingers between the door and the frame, cursing himself for making it so tight. Using all of his great strength, he jerked on the door and felt it give. He jerked again and the nail holding the strop bent. The door opened.

The light from the lantern fell on Mara hunkered down in the corner, wet and shivering, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands over her eyes. Pack’s knees were weak with relief.

“Thank God!” he breathed. He was on his knees beside her in an instant.

“Godamighty,” Trellis said. “What’s she doin’ down there?”

“Mara Shannon . . . sweetheart?”

Pack was unprepared for what happened next. She seemed to explode with hands and feet. They flew out in all directions. She kicked out at him with her feet and beat him in the face with her fists. She tried to scratch, then bite. Screams of outrage came from her and she fought him with an amazing strength. He held her away from him by putting his hands on her upper arms. The strange look on her face frightened him, as did her unfocused eyes.

“Get away from me! I’ll not let you kill him! Bastard! Belly-crawling snake! Stinking polecat! I’ll die before I go with you!”

“Mara! Mara Shannon, stop it!”

Pack was forced to step back out into the steady rain. He dragged her with him, holding her at arm’s length. She still tried to kick him and twisted and reared until he was afraid he was going to hurt her.

“What’s the matter with her?” Trellis’ young voice was shrill with anxiety.

“She’s out of her head. I don’t think she knows me.”

“You make me want to puke! Pack’s ten times the man you are, even if he does have two whores. He’ll kill you when he comes home!”

“Stop it, sweetheart.” Pack’s voice was desperate. “Mara Shannon, it’s me, Pack.”

“He’ll be back . . . he said he’d be back and he will.” Mara’s face suddenly crumbled and she began to cry. “It’s my fault. He didn’t want to marry me. He did it because he loved Papa.”

“Ah, sweetheart. Don’t cry.” Pack pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her, and held her close.

“Has she gone looney, Pack?”

Suddenly it was as if the starch had been washed out of Mara’s back and legs. She drooped and hung in Pack’s arms. He lifted her up, cradled her against his chest, and started for the house.

“I’ve got to get her out of these wet clothes. Go tell the others we found her.”

Trellis struggled to keep up with Pack’s long strides. “What happened, Pack? What was she talkin’ ’bout?”

“She’s scared half to death. I’m thinking that goddamn Cullen’s been back here. I swear I’ll find him and kill him.”

“I don’t think he’s been here. Steamboat thinks he went to Cheyenne. He’s got a girl there.”

Pack stepped up on the back porch. “Somebody’s scared the daylights out of her. When I find out who it is, I’ll strangle him!”

“Do you want me to come back after I tell the others that we found her?”

“No, I’ll take care of her.”

Pack passed through the kitchen, turned, and angled through the bedroom door. He lowered Mara to the bed, knelt down beside her, brushed the wet hair back from her face and kissed her gently on the lips.

“Darlin’, darlin’, I thought for sure I’d lost you.”

SIXTEEN

Pack stripped Mara of her wet clothes. He didn’t know if she had swooned or fallen into an exhausted sleep. She had no injuries as far as he could tell. When he took off her shoes and stockings her feet were as cold as ice. She was as limp as a rag doll when he removed her dress. Under it she wore a chemise trimmed with white lace and tied with a pink ribbon. He wished fervently that he was undressing her under different circumstances, that she would open her eyes, hold out her arms and come to him with love in her eyes.

He dropped each piece of sodden clothing on the floor beside the bed. Her breasts were high, round and firm when he bared them to his gaze. Her pink nipples were puckered into hard buds. For a moment he gazed at them, feeling a tightness in his loins. The temptation to touch them was great but he couldn’t bring himself to take advantage of her. Relief flooded over him when he saw that the buttons on her drawers showed no signs of a man’s fumbling attempt to remove them. He pulled the knee-length garment down, exposing the growth of dark, soft hair that covered her mound. She would be furious with him for undressing her, but he couldn’t let her sleep in her wet clothes.

Her body was whiter and slimmer than he had imagined. Then it occurred to him that she had lost weight. She looked so small and helpless with her mud-streaked face and wet straggling hair. He covered her with a soft blanket and went to the kitchen to stoke up the fire and bring warm water from the cookstove reservoir.

On his knees beside the bed, Pack toweled her hair, then wrapped a dry one around it. He washed first her face and then her hands with the warm water. What he had thought at first to be dirt was a bruise on her jaw and cheek. He wiped it gently with the warm cloth. How did she come to have a bruise? It worried and angered him.

Her face was a magnet, drawing his eyes to it time and again. He sat back on his heels and looked at her. Suddenly he wished that Shannon McCall could see her. His skinny little girl with the big wistful eyes had grown up to be a beautiful, proud, spunky woman. Lord but she was something to look at with that white skin, rich auburn hair, and breasts shaped to fit a man’s hands. He lifted her limp hand and placed his lips on the blister on her palm. Something had happened to frighten her while he was gone. Thank God it wasn’t attempted rape.

The poor little thing had been scared so bad that she hadn’t even recognized him when he found her. His indrawn breath hissed roughly through his gritted teeth. Goddamn that Cullen! Who else would have told her that he had two whores in town? Pack swore aloud, his voice quiet and controlled. Explicit, obscene words fell from his lips. He would find the sneaky little weasel and choke the life out of him! He closed that avenue of thinking just before black rage consumed him.

Pack was still in his wet clothes although he’d had the presence of mind to leave his mud-covered boots beside the kitchen door. After a long look at Mara’s sleeping face, he stripped. His legs and thighs were stiff and cold. He rubbed himself with a towel before he pulled on a pair of soft doeskin britches and a cloth shirt. Barefoot, he went to the kitchen stove where the teakettle was sending out a plume of steam. Behind the curtained cupboard he found a half empty bottle of whiskey. He poured a generous amount in a cup, filled it with hot water and added a bit of sugar. He carried the cup back to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed.

His hands trembled as he raised the cup to his lips and drank deeply. His gaze moved over the perfection of Mara’s face. Lord! He had to find a way to make her want him. Did she love someone else? Had she given her heart to that Webster fellow? The thought tormented him because he knew that there was such a great difference between the life he had lived and her life at the school. He had scrounged, fought, even stolen in order to eat and had had to kill to stay alive. She had known nothing but kindness and plenty. He had known many women, but none of them had satisfied the yearning in him or moved him the way this one had, even when she was a skinny twelve-year-old schoolgirl.