Love's Sweet Revenge (43 page)

Had they touched her here? He would take it back. Had fists landed into her ribs? Her small belly that bore scars from surgeries he feared she'd die from? He would take back her ribs, her belly. Her hip bones. Her thighs. Her legs. The bottoms of her feet. Her legs again. Her thighs again. That little crevice where leg met secret places. He kissed her there. He would take that back, too.

He felt no resistance. No horror. No tense withdrawal from his touch. He kissed her between her thighs then moved back to her breasts, her throat, her mouth.

She returned the kiss, crying at the same time. She hugged his neck. “Make love to me. I want to know it's my Jake making love to me in that nice way you have.”

“Randy, you have to be sure,” he said gently, kissing the bruises at her throat again. “I don't want to wake up bad memories.”

“Not with you,” she moaned. “It would never be that way with you.”

“But you're so bruised and sore.”

“Take me back, Jake.”

It was the first time in his life he'd been afraid to make love to a woman, and she was his own wife. “Are you really sure?”

“You're my Jake. I'm really sure.”

He tasted her mouth again, gently licking her. He moved a hand down to places that belonged only to him, gauging her reaction when he ran a finger inside of her, wanting to be sure she was ready for this. Slowly and carefully, he used only a little foreplay to be sure she was ready and that nothing would hurt. He watched her eyes as she met his gaze lovingly and with desire. She leaned up and grasped his face in her hands, kissing him almost wantonly. He kept up his touches until he felt the moistness that meant she really did want this. Suddenly, she started crying again. She reached down and grasped that part of him that she considered only hers. “Jake, if you want—”

“No. Never.”

“You're a beautiful man. I would do anything—”

“No. You wouldn't, and you
won't
. It's all right, Randy.”

“Maybe you need that to feel like you're the only one…”

“I don't need that.” He kissed her desperately as he moved inside her, forcing himself to be gentle but wanting to ram hard, wanting to claim her fast and deep but afraid of hurting her. She was so small, so thin, so perfect, so wounded. How sweet of her to offer the one thing that would bring back her awful ordeal. He would not do that to her.

He fought his own weaknesses, wanting to weep himself, wanting to cling to her because he'd almost lost her, wanting to tell her he'd go crazy without her. But he had to stay strong. She
needed
him to be strong.

He buried himself deep, gently grasping her bottom. And there it was—not just the exquisite pleasure, but the sharing of souls, the joy of becoming one body in a way that nothing and no one could ever change. Her heart beat in his chest and his beat in hers. Thirty years. Thirty years, and it was just as good as ever, and he needed no more than this—to be inside this woman and spill his life into her—to claim every inch of her and feel her breath against his lips, feel her heart beating against his own—this little slip of a woman who'd hid his guns and dared him to beat out of her where they were.

She knew he wouldn't. She knew it.

“Tell me you love me,” she whispered.

“
Yo te amo, mi querida.
”

“Don't let go of me.”

“I'm right here.
Lo nuestro será eterno…esta tierra es eterna…tu y yo estaremos unidos eternamente.
”

Randy recognized the words “always” and “forever.”

“Who do you belong to?” he asked again.

She closed her eyes, and Jake was surprised she was finally able to climax. “Jake Harkner,” she gasped.

“You bet.” Jake continued slow, rhythmic thrusts. “And I'm taking back every inch of you.”

She cried out his name, again begging him never to let go of her. Jake couldn't help his own release, and after the tension of the last few days, he felt completely spent as he relaxed beside her. He kept her in his arms, and she nestled into his shoulder as he pulled the blankets over them.

“You won't ever take that job, will you?”

“I told you I wouldn't. Have I ever lied to you, or broken a promise?”

“No.”

“I'm not doing one thing that means being away from you for days at a time, Randy. I already told you that.”

“Did you kill some of those men?”

“Yes.”

“But they were shooting back, right? They took me, and you had a right to go after them.”

“That's right.”

“Jake, I…I killed Brad Buckley, didn't I?”

He kissed her hair. “Yes. But you had every right. The state you were in, no one could ever blame you for that.”

“I did it for you. I was scared the law would come and take you away.”

“Randy, I would have had the right to kill him. You didn't need to do that.”

“I was scared for you. Are you sure you aren't in trouble?”

“I'm not in trouble, and no one will know. Buckley had no family left, and I doubt anyone will ever miss the drifters with him. No one who was there will ever talk. The men buried their bodies, and I told them I never want to know where. They stayed behind to burn down that cabin, and that will be the end of it. As far as I'm concerned, it never happened.” He kissed her gently, over and over. “I just want you to be able to live with this and be my Randy again.”

“I will. God knows I had a right to kill that man, doesn't He? He won't blame me, will He?”

“I can't imagine that the loving God our daughter is always talking about would ever blame you for what you did. I'm the one who has to live with the guilt of it. You should have let
me
do it, Randy.”

“I couldn't! I don't want to lose my Jake.” She snuggled closer. “Tell me we'll come back here more often.”

“As often as you want.”

“This is our special place, Jake. I'll cry this time when we leave it, because of this beautiful memory, but I know we have to go home. I miss my little girls…and those wonderful boys who fought so hard to help me. They're such good boys, Jake. And they love you so much.”

“They've reached an age where they need a lot of talking to.”

“They'll be fine. They hang on your every word.” Randy sighed deeply. “Don't let any of the men use this place, Jake.”

“I won't.”

“You can see half the ranch from up here. Our beautiful ranch where our beautiful sons and daughter and our beautiful grandchildren live—the descendants of the magnificent Jake Harkner.”

Jake had to laugh lightly. “Please stop saying that.”

She smiled through tears. “But you
are
magnificent.” She kissed his chest. “Don't let go, Jake.”

“I'm right here.” He found the sachet under a pillow and gave it to her.

Randy squeezed it into her hand and held it to her nose again, loving him more than she'd ever loved him before for remembering the roses.

* * *

Jake carefully eased away from his sleeping wife and pulled on a pair of denim pants. He took down a woolen jacket and put it on over his bare torso, buttoning it up and then grabbing a cigarette from a tin on the table. He glanced at Randy once more to make sure she was still asleep, then stepped into a pair of deerskin slippers and quietly walked outside, leaning against a porch post to light the cigarette. He shivered a little and slowly exhaled, watching the cigarette smoke drift lazily into the endless horizon. The J&L. Maybe at last the family would know true peace. Every last man who'd started all of this was dead now.

Lloyd had been right. He'd taken his revenge in the sweetest, most delicious, most gratifying way a man could enjoy revenge. All those who'd come against him had lost, and he still had his Randy…his beautiful, gentle Randy who loved him in spite of all he'd been, all he'd done, all the running, and all the times he'd tried to leave her.

The quiet almost hurt his ears, though he knew his hearing wasn't quite as good as it used to be. Too much gunfire over too many years had done that. He did hear an owl hoot, though, and something rustled in the nearby underbrush. He came instantly alert and reached for a gun that wasn't there. The guns that had brought him so much fame and so much heartache still hung inside the cabin.

A deer jumped out from the brush.

A deer.

Not an outlaw. Not a lawman. Not a drunk. Not an Indian. Not a cattle rustler. Not a prostitute. Not someone out to claim he'd killed Jake Harkner.

Just a deer.

“Jake? Get in here,” Randy called. “You'll catch your death.”

Jake grinned, tossing the cigarette into the snow and going back inside.

* * *

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost, but now I am found,

Was blind, but now I see.

Through many dangers, toils and snares

I have already come.

'Tis grace that brought me safe thus far,

And grace will lead me home…

When I finished
Love's Sweet Revenge
, it was obvious to me that I had to write a fourth book about Jake and his family. Not only does the ending to the third book beg for one more sequel, but I am also having trouble leaving Jake and his family behind. I am thoroughly attached to these characters, as I hope you, the readers, are also. Throughout the first three books, Jake has managed to grow and change, but deep inside, he is so deeply scarred by his tortured childhood that a book involving some kind of closure for Jake seemed in order. His every emotion, every decision, every powerful reaction to certain events is based on memories of his brutal father. It's time for him to come face-to-face with those dark memories.

In addition, now that you have finished
Love's Sweet Revenge
, you can see that Randy will need some time to heal. In the fourth book, she will be deeply affected by what she survived, to the point where she becomes very clingy and hates being away from Jake for any length of time. This will present a problem when something vital forces Jake to leave for Mexico to face his childhood. This parting will be a big test of Jake and Randy's marriage, to the point of almost tearing them apart…

Can Randy overcome these challenges and grow strong again? Will Jake finally put his dark past behind him? Will an ever-changing West tear them apart, or will it bring them to an even more solid and everlasting love in their golden years?

Whatever comes for the Harkner family, you will not want to miss
The Last Outla
w
!

Rosanne Bittner

Introducing the men of Texas legend by
New York Times
bestselling author Linda Broday

Men of Legend, Book One, by

LINDA BRODAY

On sale October 2016

Three brothers. One oath. No compromises.
The Ranger

Gravely injured on the trail of a notorious criminal, Texas Ranger Sam Legend boards a train bound for his family ranch to recuperate—only to find himself locked in battle to save a desperate woman on the run. Determined to rescue the beautiful Sierra, Sam recruits an unlikely ally. But can he trust the mysterious gunslinger to fight at his side?

Sam is shocked to discover his new ally is not only an outlaw, but also his half brother. Torn between loyalty to his job and love of his family, Sam goes reeling straight into Sierra's arms. Yet just as the walls around his battered heart begin to crumble, Sierra is stolen away. Sam will risk anything to save her—his life, his badge, his very soul—knowing that some bonds are stronger than the law…and some legends were born to be told.

Praise for
Forever His Texas Bride
:

“Takes me back to a west that feels true. A delightful read.” —Jodi Thomas,
New York Times
bestselling author

“Broday's Westerns always captivate.” —
RT Book Reviews
, 4 Stars

“One of the best historical western authors.” —
Fresh Fiction

“Poignant, dramatic, and packed with action and mystery.” —
Addicted to Romance

Central Texas

Early Spring 1877

Deep in the Texas Hill Country, wind sighing through the draw whispered against his face, sharpening his senses to a fine edge. A warning skittered along his spine before it settled in his chest.

Texas Ranger Sam Legend had learned to listen to his gut. Right now it said the suffocating sense of danger that crowded him had killing in mind. He brought the spyglass up to his eye and focused on the rustlers below. All fifteen had covered their faces, leaving only their eyes showing.

Every crisp sound swept up the steep incline where he crouched in a stand of cedar to the right of an old gnarled oak. He'd hidden his horse a short distance away and prayed the animal stayed put.

“Hurry up with those beeves! We've gotta get the hell out of here. Rangers are so close I can smell 'em!” a rustler yelled.

Where were the other rangers? They hadn't been separated long and should've caught up by now.

Letting the outlaws escape took everything he had. But there were too many for one man, and this bunch was far more ruthless than most.

He peered closer as they tried to drive the bawling cattle up the draw. But the ornery bovines seemed to be smarter. They broke away from the group, scattering this way and that. Sam allowed a grin. These rustlers were definitely no cattlemen.

A lawman learned to adjust quickly. His mind whirled as he searched for some kind of plan. One shot fired in the air would alert the other rangers to his position if they were near. But would they arrive before the outlaws got to him?

Or…no one would fault Sam for sitting quietly until the lawless group cleared out.

Except Sam. A Legend never ran from a fight. It wasn't in his blood. He would ride straight through hell and come out the other side whenever a situation warranted. As a Texas Ranger, he'd made that ride many times over.

From his hiding place, he could start picking off the rustlers. With luck, Sam might get a handful before they surrounded him. Still, a few beat none. Maybe the rest would bolt. Slowly, he drew his Colt and prepared for the fight.

Though winter had just given way to spring, the hot sun bore down. Sweat trickled into his eyes, making them sting. He wiped away the sweat with an impatient hand.

“Make this count,” he whispered. He had only one chance. It was all or nothing.

The first shot ripped into a man's shoulder. As the outlaw screamed, Sam quickly swung to the next target and caught the rider's thigh. A third shot grazed another's head.

Damn! The next man leaned from the saddle just as he'd squeezed the trigger.

Before he could discharge again, cold steel jabbed into his back, and a hand reached for his rifle and Colt. “Turn around real slow, mister.”

The order grated along Sam's nerve endings and settled in his clenched stomach. He listened for any sounds to indicate his fellow rangers were nearby. If not, he was dead. He heard nothing except bawling steers and men yelling.

Sam slowly turned his head. Cold, dead eyes glared over the top of the rustler's bandana.

“Well, whaddya know. Got me a bona-fide ranger.”

Though Sam couldn't see the outlaw's mouth, the words told him he wore a smile. “I'm not here alone. You won't get away with this.”

“I call your bluff. No one's firing at us but you.” The gun barrel poked harder into Sam's back. “Down the hill.”

Sam could've managed without the shove. The soles of his worn boots provided no traction. Slipping and sliding down the steep embankment, he glanced for anything to suggest help had arrived, but saw nothing.

At the bottom, riders on horseback immediately surrounded him.

“Good job, Smith.” The outlaw pushing to the front had to be the ringleader. He dressed all in black, from his hat to his boots. “Let's teach this Texas Ranger not to mess with us. I've got a special treat in mind. One of you, find his horse and get me a rope. Smith, march him back up the hill. The rest of you drive those damn cattle to the makeshift corral.”

The spit dried in Sam's mouth as the man holding him bound his hands and pushed him up the steep incline, back toward the gnarled oak high on the ridge.

Any minute, the rangers would swoop in. Just a matter of time. Sam refused to believe that his life was going to end this way. Somehow, he had to stall until help arrived.

“Smith, do you know the punishment for killing a lawman?” Sam asked.

“Stop talkin' and get movin'.”

“Are you willing to throw your life away for a man who doesn't give two cents about you?”

“You don't know nothin' about nothin', so shut up. One more word, an' I'll shoot you in the damn knee and drag you the rest of the way.”

Sam lapsed into silence. He could see Smith had closed his mind against anything he said. If he ran, he'd be lucky to make two strides before hot lead slammed into him. Even if he made it to the cover of a cedar, what then? He had no gun. No horse.

His best chance was to spin around and take Smith's weapon.

But just as he started to make a move, the ringleader rode up beside on his horse and shouted, “Hurry up. Don't have all day.”

Sharp disappointment flared, trapping Sam's breath in his chest. His fate lay at the mercy of these outlaws.

They grew closer and closer to the twisted, bent oak branches that resembled witch's fingers. Those limbs would reach for a man's soul and snatch it at the moment of death.

Thick bitter gall climbed into his throat, choking him. The devil would soon find Sam had lost his soul a long time ago.

The steep angle of the hill made his breathing harsh. The climb hurt as much as his looming fate. He'd always thought a bullet would get him one day, but to die swinging from a tree had never crossed his mind.

As they reached the top, an outlaw appeared with Sam's horse. The buckskin nickered softly, nuzzling Sam as though offering sympathy or maybe a last good-bye. He stroked the face of his faithful friend, murmuring a few quiet words of comfort. He'd raised Trooper from a foal and turned him into a lawman's mount. Would it be too much to pray these rustlers treated Trooper well? The horse deserved kindness.

“Enough,” rasped the ringleader with an impatient motion of his .45. “Put him on the horse.”

Sam noticed a crude drawing between the man's thumb and wrist—a black widow spider. Not that he could do anything with the information where he was going.

One last time, he scanned the landscape anxiously, hoping to glimpse riders, but saw only the branches of cedar, oak, and cottonwood trees swaying gently in the breeze. He strained against the ropes binding him, but they wouldn't budge.

Panic so thick he could taste it lodged in his throat as they jerked him into the saddle. His heart pounded against his ribs. He sat straight and tall, not allowing so much as an eye twitch. These outlaws who thrived on violence would never earn the right to see the turmoil and fear twisting behind his stone face.

Advice his father had once given him sounded in his ears:
When trouble comes, stand proud. You are a Legend. Inside you beats the heart of a survivor.

Sam Legend stared into the distance, a muscle working in his jaw.

The ringleader threw the rope up and over one of the gnarled branches.

Bitter regret rose. Sam had never told his father he loved him. The times they'd butted heads seemed trivial now. So did the fights with big brother Houston over things that didn't make a hill of beans.

Yes, he was going to die with a heart full of regret, broken dreams, and empty promises.

The rope scratched, digging into his tender flesh as the outlaw settled the noose around Sam's neck.

“You better find a hole and climb into it, mister,” Sam said. “Every ranger and lawman in the state of Texas will be after you.”

A chuckle filled the air. “They won't find us.”

“That wager's going to cost you.” Sam steeled himself, wondering how long it took a man to die this way. He prayed it would be quick. He wondered if his mother would be waiting in heaven to soothe the pain.

“Say hello to the devil, Ranger.”

With those words, he slapped the horse's flank. Trooper bolted, leaving Sam dangling in the air. The rope violently yanked his neck back and to the side as his body jerked.

Choking and fighting to breathe, Sam Legend counted his heartbeats until blackness claimed him. As he whirled away into nothingness, only one thing filled his mind—the vivid tattoo of a black widow spider on his killer's hand.