Windstar (6 page)

“Whoa!” he heard the driver shout as he began sawing on the reins to stop the coach’s horse, saw the man riding shotgun start to lift his weapon. Harper fired again and the shotgun went flying out of the other man’s hands which then immediately went up in the air in surrender.

“Throw down your side arms!” Harper ordered, his rifle trained on the driver, and the two men promptly obeyed. “Now, climb down.”

Getting to the ground, the two men held their hands above their head as they stepped away from the coach at Harper’s command. “On the ground,” he told them and with alacrity the driver and his companion dropped to the dirt.

Keeping an eye on the driver and the other man, Harper walked to the stage’s door and flung the door open. “Out!” he barked, stepping back.

The first one out of the stage was a peddler, his jowls wobbling as he hurried off to one side, his hands up. The only other occupant remained in the coach for a moment longer, then an older woman stepped down the dusty steps, her reticule clutched tightly in her trembling hand. She gave Harper a worried look then joined the peddler.

“You Dalton’s daughter?” Harper demanded, sweeping an insulting glance down her portly frame.

The woman nodded, face pale, lips trembling.

“You,” Harper snapped, switching his gaze to the peddler. “Back inside.”

The overweight man hesitated. “What of the lady?” he asked.

“You didn’t help her out,” Harper replied. “You aren’t helping her back in.” The rifle lifted a bit. “Now, get!”

Scrambling to climb back inside the coach, the peddler spared his traveling companion an apologetic look before settling down on the seat.

“You two,” Harper called out to the driver and his assistant. “Back on the stage.”

The two men pushed up from the ground. The driver cast the woman a worried look. “What about the lady? We can’t just leave her here.”

“You can and you will,” Harper told them.

“W … what are you gonna do with her?” the driver asked.

Harper didn’t answer. His eyes narrowed dangerously, his finger tensed on the rifle’s trigger, and the driver made haste to climb back up to his seat, his companion scurrying up the other side. He stood where he was until the stage was set into motion and the horses were picking up speed before he shifted his stony glower to the woman.

“Come here,” he ordered.

She lifted her chin, finding a bit of backbone as she stood there shaking from head to toe. “What are your intentions, sir?” she asked, her voice trembling almost as violently as her body.

A cold, hateful smile pulled Harper’s taut lips. He was staring at her with such hatred, such venom the air around them was snapping with tension.

“Don’t make me tell you twice, woman,” he said in that lethally low voice that bore just a trace of an accent.

Her ample bosom heaving with fright, she shuffled toward him, the hem of her expensive gown dragging in the sand. Knuckles white as she gripped her reticule, she couldn’t take her eyes from his shadowed face beneath the brim of the Stetson, for she’d seen the ravage of a wavering scar that bisected his lean right jaw. When she was within striking range, he shot out a hand and gripped her pudgy arm, yanking her with him as he started behind the boulder from which he’d appeared.

“You’re hurting me,” she protested as he tugged her along.

“Good,” he snapped.

She spied his horse but saw no other means of travel. She knew she’d be riding with him and horses frightened her. Her stomach did a funny little plummet and she dug in her heels, making him stagger.

Harper twisted around, his lips skinned back from his teeth. “Woman, you don’t want to piss me off.” He jerked her arm and she nearly lost her balance as she stumbled behind him.

“I don’t ride,” she said. “I ….”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish for he spun her around, grabbed her around the waist, and hoisted her into the saddle, half-laughing when she fumbled to grip the saddle horn for dear life, striving not to tumble off the other side of the saddle.

“Oh, Lord!” she whispered. “Oh, Lord!”

She was perched there with her skirt hiked up to her knees, her prim little white stockings looking odd against the darkness of the saddle’s fender. She was a good foot shorter than him and her feet didn’t reach the stirrups and when he swung up behind her, lacing her into the fortress of his arms, he had to nudge her legs out of the way to thrust his boots into the stirrups.

“How the hell much do you weigh, woman?” he snorted as he leaned forward to take the reins.

He felt her stiffen in his arms and sit forward so her back wasn’t touching his chest, but when he kicked his mount into motion, she was thrown against him, and when he tightened his hold, she had no choice but to rest against him. The rocking motion of the horse brought her rump into contact with the spread V of his legs and he wasn’t expecting the reaction his body gave to the situation.

Dalton’s old maid daughter, the rancher’s most treasured possession, the apple of her father’s eye, he thought as he let the stallion run full-out back the way the stage had come, backtracking, leading anyone who might try to track him far off course. He had plans for this woman and those plans would take them deep across the border and into the Mexican hills where a posse would never find them.

Her hair was flying free of the ridiculous little bonnet that she was trying desperately to keep atop her head. He got tired of the loose ribbons slashing at his chin and pushed her hand aside to snatch off the stupid thing, letting it flutter behind them.

“Oh!” he heard her gasp and she actually had the nerve to punch him on the forearm in protest. He chuckled, not in the least perturbed by her little show of bravery. When she did it again, he made up his mind to show her who was in charge and bent his left arm so it snaked around her midriff, just under her breasts, and he jerked her against him, fingers digging into her ribcage, and lowered his head so his lips were at her ear.

“Hit me again and I’ll strip you naked and you’ll ride that way all the way to Mexico,” he warned, his warm breath harsh in her ear, but he gained the satisfaction of having her go as still as death in his arms. He didn’t know if it was his threat or her finding out where he was taking her that made her turn motionless.

They rode for over an hour--cutting back and forth across the Rio Grande several times before he finally took the trail he had planned. It was hot as hell with the wind having died down to a heavy press of air against them but in the distance lightning forked and dark clouds were building.

He stopped at a little village for food and water, warning her if she spoke, if she called attention to herself, he’d make her pay for it in ways she might find humiliating. She took him at his word and stood meekly by the horse, waiting for him to finish his business. When he tossed her casually upon his horse once more, she winced.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he growled, stuffing the food into his saddlebags.

“My posterior is bruised from the riding and I have a stitch in my right side that makes it hard for me to draw a decent breath,” she said, surprising him.

“We’ll be at the cabin in an hour or so,” he mumbled and swung up behind her once more.

“An hour?” she said and groaned. “I don’t think I can take another hour of riding.”

“Would you prefer I sling you over the saddle like a sack of salt and let you ride like that?” he countered.

“I’d rather you drop dead of a heart attack and the horse stomp you to a bloody mush,” she replied as they left the sanctuary of the poor little village.

“Won’t happen,” he told her. He moved so his cock pressed into her backside.

“Stop that!” she said, leaning forward.

Harper grinned down at her, for he planned to do far more than just push his clothed rod against her. He intended to send her back to her father a little worse for wear and if luck was allowed, with a reminder of the man who had disgraced his precious offspring.

The rain overtook them about ten miles from the cabin he’d provisioned for them. Lightning spewed forth dangerously and he had no choice but to find shelter in a large cave, hoping there weren’t already denizens lurking inside it even more dangerous than he knew himself to be. Dismounting, he led his horse into the semi-darkness and found a place to tether him as thunder rumbled, spooking the beast.

Soaked to the skin, her gown plastered to her chubby body, her hair a sodden mess streaking down her back and into her face, the woman had stumbled along in Harper’s wake as rain pelted the entrance to the cave, coming down in solid sheets with the wind blowing the rain sideways. She looked a sorry sight and one that shouldn’t have aroused anything in him other than disgust but as she stood there trembling with her arms wrapped around her while he gathered sticks and brush to make a fire to warm them, he found his gaze straying to her more than it should have.

He tossed their saddlebags down

“Sit down,” he said, nudging his chin toward a flat rock that had obviously been used for just that purpose at some point in time. The cave was dry with a good draft coming through the opening which told him there was a crevice somewhere farther back in the rocky expanse that allowed for drawing in fresh air. There were also the remnants of older fires that bespoke humans had used the cave for shelter in the past.

She perched on the edge of the rock and looked around her, arming a wet strand of her fine hair back from her damp face. “My father will pay a good price for you to return me to him,” she said.

He was hunkered down in profile to her and didn’t reply as flames leapt in the center of the brush he had managed to fire to life. He fanned it with his hat until it was going good and a low light lit the dark walls.

“Did you hear me, Mister …?”

“I heard you,” he muttered then got to his feet to fetch the saddlebags.

He saw her looking longingly at the fire and told her to move closer to dry her clothing. He didn’t have to make the offer twice for she came to squat down with her hands out to the heat.

“That is why you abducted me, isn’t it?” she asked, turning her head to watch him as he doled out the food he’d purchased at the little cantina into the two tin plates he’d fished out of his things. When he didn’t answer her, she looked back at the fire, staring into the flames. She flinched when he stuck the plate of beans and rice and tamales in front of her.

“It’s cold but it’ll have to do,” he said as he sat down across from her, his legs crossed tailor style as he began scooping the food into his mouth, chewing methodically, his eyes never leaving her face.

She acted as though she’d never had such plain, peasant fare before but seemed to enjoy it as she ate gracefully, chewing delicately, and occasionally taking a sip of the canteen he had placed between them.

At one point, he caught her staring intently at him and realized her attention was on the vicious scar that ran down his right cheek from temple to chin. His mouth twitched. “Compliments of your father,” he informed her.

She flinched but didn’t deny the charge, didn’t accuse him of lying. No doubt she knew her father well enough to know he was a brutal man not above marking another man’s face in such a cruel way.

“Stop looking at me!” he snapped and when her eyes lowered as though he’d struck her, he felt like a real bastard and that irritated the hell out of him.

In a voice he barely heard, she asked him point blank if he was going to kill her. When he did not answer, she timidly raised her gaze and looked him in the eye. “Are you?” she whispered.

He leaned toward her, his face hateful, his eyes narrowed. “No, bitch,” he replied. “I’m going to fuck you.”

The moment his words registered, he saw her eyes flare and she dropped the plate in her lap, sprang to her feet, and ran for the entrance to the cave as fast as her pudgy legs could carry her. She was just barely out in the pouring rain when he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Though she lashed out at him with her fists--hitting him harder than he would have thought possible for a woman her size, getting in one solid slap to his face--and kicking him with her hard little shoes, he bent down, planted his hard shoulder in her midsection and hoisted her from the ground with his arm restraining her legs, ignoring her screams and flailing fists as she pounded at his back, scratching him with her nails as she dug at the small of his back.

He carried her to a flat section of the cave and dropped to his knee, letting her fall backward onto the loose rocks. Before she could kick out at him, he was shoving the hem of her gown up, wedging himself between her thighs, pinning her wrists above her head with one strong hand and he used his other hand to rip her bodice and chemise downward, exposing her breasts. He reached down to tear her drawers from her lower body, his palm brushing across her wiry curls.

“No!” she shrieked and fought him like a wildcat, though her strength was nothing compared to his. He easily restrained her, grunting at her struggling but his intent clear in the hard glint of his green eyes.

He fumbled at the closure of his pants, striving to free his cock, intending to take her with as much savage force as he could but the erection that throbbed, that pushed with need to be free, that ached to thrust inside her was doing something to her he had not expected. She was panting but her eyes were glazed and she kept sweeping her tongue over her lips, her body quivering as he pressed his weight atop her, holding her down, his hand trapped between his crotch and hers.

He looked down into her face and as one brutal roll of thunder shook the cave walls around them and lightning flared beyond the entrance, he saw hunger and need building in her. Her lush breasts heaved upward with each harsh breath, but it seemed to him they pressed toward him, offered themselves for his tasting and he lowered his head, drawing on hard little bud deep into his mouth.

“No,” she whispered, but it seemed to him not so much a protest of what he was doing to her as what her own body was doing to her.

Suckling her, sweeping his hot tongue over her straining nipple, nibbling gently, he realized he was drawing from her a response neither could have imagined and his hold on her wrists eased.