Wild West Wife. Susan Mallery
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would probably be able to duck underneath them, but they would hit her in the center of her chest.
She screamed low in her throat as she began to saw on the reins. Her horse didn’t slow. If anything, the animal went faster. The branches seemed to rush forward. She screamed louder and tried to sit up. Behind her, the sound of hoofbeats got louder but she knew Jesse wasn’t going to reach her in time.
At the last possible second, her horse dug in and stopped. She felt powerful muscles bunch with the effort and then found herself sailing through the air. Twigs and new leaves clawed at her arms and face, then the ground rushed up to meet her.
She landed on a patch of snow. The impact knocked the breath from her body, leaving her stunned, aching and unable to breathe. She tried to sit up, tried to inhale, anything to relieve the hideous pressure in her chest. At last she drew in a shaky mouthful of air, then another.
Every part of her hurt. Her back, her arms and legs, her shoulders, even her hair. The cold, damp snow soaked her dress, but she didn’t have the strength to move. She just wanted to lie here until Lucas found her and took her to town.
But the man looming over her wasn’t her fiancé. He was big and as cold and unyielding as the ground beneath her. Without saying a word, he crouched beside her and began touching her.
Haley was too stunned from the fall to protest. Her eyes burned and she fought tears as large, male hands moved over her arms, then her legs. She flinched against the invasion, wondering why she’d been spared attack for so many years in the city, only to find herself at some man’s mercy out here.
She told herself to fight him, to scratch and kick until she drove him off. But there was nothing left inside. The failed escape attempt had used up her last reserves.
“Nothing feels broken,” he said, sitting back on his heels. “Can you stand?”
She blinked several times. “Wh-what?”
“I asked if you can stand up. Are you hurt?”
She rolled until she was kneeling, then slowly pushed herself to her feet. Once there, she staggered a step or two until she regained her balance. Straightening her shoulders, she stared at her captor. “I’m not hurt.”
“Good. Hold out your hands.”
When the meaning of his words sank in, she thought about running. But where was there to go? If she hadn’t been able to escape on horseback, she wouldn’t make it on foot. There would be another chance tomorrow, she told herself as she brought her arms up and held them stiffly in front of her.
As he wrapped a length of rope around her wrists, she studied his lean face. The stubble darkening his jaw, the set of his firm mouth. “You’ll be punished for this,” she said defiantly. “You’ll be caught and punished.”
He finished his task, then shrugged. “You’re probably right. But it will be worth it.”
* * *
Daisy Newcastle lifted the cover off the china serving dish and smiled. “More soup, Lucas?”
The tall man sitting across from her at the small table shook his head and tossed his napkin on the table. “I don’t know how you do it, Daisy. I’ve paid three dollars for a meal like this in the city and never tasted anything so delicious.” He leaned forward and cupped her chin. “You’re a treasure.”
The feel of his fingers against her skin made her want to shiver, but instead she smiled winningly and lowered her gaze as if embarrassed by the compliment. “You’re so sweet to me,” she said. “I don’t deserve you.”
He squeezed once, then released her. The light from the lamps around the room caught his profile. As she stared at the left side of his face, she acknowledged that Lucas Stoner was a handsome man, with strong features and thick, dark hair. But when he heard a noise outside and turned toward it, she saw the other side. A thin scar cut down his right cheek, the line marring the flesh from his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. The two sides of his face were much like the man himself. Viewed one way, he was handsome, successful and charming. But the other side of him, the scarred side, was ruthless and forbidding. He was a cruel man for whom life held no meaning, save perhaps his own. She played a dangerous game, teasing a lethal opponent. Yet she didn’t have a choice. She would risk everything for the man she’d once loved. She couldn’t bring him back from the grave, but she could try to make his murderer pay.
That thought was as close as she came to allowing herself to think about Michael Kincaid, Jesse’s father. About his senseless murder and the destruction of his ranch. She dropped her hands to her lap and clutched her fingers tightly together in an effort to control the rage and helplessness that swept through her. It had been nearly six months, but the pain lingered. In some ways it wasn’t as fresh as when she’d first learned the news, but she’d loved him too much to let him go easily.
So for Michael, and for Jesse, too, she invited Lucas Stoner to her small house and into her bed in the hope of learning enough to get him arrested. For justice’s sake she played the whore and made him believe he was all she’d ever wanted.
Sometimes when she wondered how she could stand it another minute, she reminded herself she wanted to see Stoner in prison, then she wanted to watch him hang. With any luck his death would be slow and painful. At least that was what she prayed for each and every night.
“Did I smell pie?” he asked and raised the left corner of his mouth in a mocking imitation of a smile.
“Yes. I know it’s your favorite dessert and I couldn’t help myself.”
He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. The feel of his hot lips and the scent of his body made her stomach turn. She forced herself to stay completely still until he’d straightened back in his seat.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“Anything for you.” She rose to her feet and began clearing the table. As always, she refused to think about what would happen in the next few hours...what always happened. The idle chatter about his day and how brilliant he was. How he sipped coffee from the delicate cups that had been brought to this country by her English grandmother. The way he would set the cup on the table in front of the sofa, place his hands on his thighs and leer at her.
“I think it’s time, Daisy dear,” he always said, then waited for her to lead the way to her bedroom.
She hated it all. Especially his calling her “Daisy dear.” But at least he was quick. Sometimes he didn’t bother undressing all the way. He simply unbuttoned his trousers and thrust himself inside of her. Sometimes, if she ignored the burning pain and telltale wetness he left behind, she could convince herself nothing had really happened.
As she took a step toward the kitchen, someone knocked on her front door. Daisy frowned and glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway. It was already dark and after seven. Who would be calling at this time of evening... especially when Stoner left his carriage carelessly in front of her house for everyone in town to see?
She set the dishes back on the table and brushed her hands against her skirt. “I’ll just get that,” she said.
“Perhaps I’ll come with you.” Stoner pushed back his chair and stood.
Daisy crossed to the door and pulled it open. An older man stood on her small porch, his hat in his hand. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t put a name to his face. Stoner moved close behind her and supplied the information.
“Charlie, what are you doing here?” he asked.
“Mr. Stoner, I’ve brung you a message.”
Daisy frowned at the man, realizing he drove the stage. “Were you expecting a package?” she asked, glancing at Stoner over her shoulder.
“In a manner of speaking,” he answered. “What message? Was there a problem?”
Charlie turned his hat in his hands, spinning it faster and faster. He swallowed twice and a muscle twitched in his