Passions Wild And Free Page 16

  She stood and looked down at him, delighted to have that beast helpless at her feet. She could not stop herself from kicking him in the ribs several times; she wanted him to suffer as she had suffered. Heavens, how she wanted to slay him with her bare hands! But she couldn’t. If anything happened to Payton Slade, her mother would face his men’s wrath after Randee’s escape. She couldn’t even leave this evidence behind for her mother to suspect attempted rape; that, too, would endanger Dee’s life and the baby’s. She had no choice but to protect Payton’s guilt, and that infuriated her. At least she could punish him slightly! And one day she might find a way to return and destroy him!

  Randee quickly re-dressed the despicable man and roughly rolled him to the cellar door. She gave his limp body a kick and sent it tumbling down the stairs, uncontrollably enjoying every thud it made against the wooden steps and hard dirt floor. She silently prayed that his body would have countless bruises and scratches when he awakened. She went down into the dim area, which she had prepared earlier. The lantern was aglow and everything was as she had left it. She bound the man securely to one of the support beams, then gagged him.

  Randee glared at him and refused to bind his wound, which was still bleeding. She checked it and knew it wasn’t a fatal injury, only a painful one. She smiled as she envisioned the headache and predicament to which Payton Slade would awaken in a few hours. She wished she could linger to witness it, but she dared not waste precious time -just as she dared not leave him naked to freeze or to catch a deadly cold. The lantern would burn until sometime tomorrow, then he would be in the dark, a nighttime inkiness that matched the blackness of his mind! He would be cold, but it wouldn’t kill him or harm him in three days. Nor would going without food and water for that long. If it was that long. She had missed one point. When smoke failed to come from the chimney for a while, his men would come to check on him. She would leave the cellar door open to make sure they located the vile bastard, but only to protect her mother!

  Randee cleaned up the broken glass and straightened the house, in case any dangerous clue had been overlooked. She placed the food on the table to keep it from burning and sending out an alarm. After making certain that all doors and windows were locked and curtained, she piled her possessions on the kitchen floor. She changed into warm and sturdy trail clothes, and strapped on her Colt. Quickly she looked around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten or missed something.

  Randee entered the cellar to check on Payton Slade, to get her last view of him and his predicament. He was still unconscious. She stared at him, her anger and hatred surfacing again. She had the urge to tear out his hair, to scream at him, to cut him into tiny pieces, to pulverize his wicked head with her gun butt, to slap his face over and over. She despised these feelings of violence which this man had created within her, made worse by the fact she could not seek justice for his vile deeds and thwarted intentions. She had to let him go free, unpunished, unmasked. She had to let him go on duping her mother and others. If only she dared to challenge his men and risk their obedience to a dead man. But she must not, as they would probably obey Payton, because they were just like him and would enjoy such dark deeds. A bitter mixture of anguish and helplessness consumed her. She realized that if she didn’t get away from him quickly, she might kill him anyway! “I’m not your little golden honey bee; I have a terrible sting which you’ll feel one day. Just wait and see! This isn’t over between us!”

  At midnight, she stoked fires in every hearth, hoping that one of them would burn just a little longer than the others and allow her more time to escape. Considering Payton’s orders to his foreman, she had no idea how much time she would have before the search was on for her. With snow and ice on the ground, it would be slow traveling until she got further south. Too, she had to take the time to conceal her trail and time to be wary of perils along her journey to freedom.

  Suddenly, the true episode began to fuse with a nightmare about the way it might have taken place months ago: Somehow Payton got free before she could leave the house, and captured her. She saw herself bound to her mother’s bed, and the man was laughing wildly as he ripped off her clothes. She saw his grinning cohorts standing nearby, eagerly awaiting their turn with her as punishment for her treachery. She watched Payton strip off his garments and fall atop her… .

  Randee thrashed and whimpered until Marsh went to her side and tried to awaken her. When he succeeded, she flung herself into his arms and trembled violently. Marsh comforted her with his strong embrace and gentle words, his lips finding hers along the path to solace. Randee responded feverishly as she clung to him. Their mouths feasted greedily and they savored their snug contact. Caresses and soft words were exchanged, and more urgent kisses. Moans of desire were heard in the peaceful area, and passion’s flames burned brighter.

  Suddenly, Randee began to struggle with Marsh, as she was not completely awakened from her slumber and, in her confusion, the handsome Texan had become her evil stepfather who was lying atop her and preparing to ravish her brutally. She clawed at him and screamed, “Get off me, you filthy bastard! I hate you! Touch me again and I’ll kill you. I swear it, threat or none! I won’t let you do this to me!”

  Marsh realized what was taking place and he withdrew from her, despite the height of his rampant desire, which cooled quickly as the beautiful blonde became a fierce wildcat. They struggled for a time before he pinned her to the ground. “Randee! Wake up! It’s only a bad dream!” he shouted at her as he shook her arms.

  At last, the nightmare loosened its vicious grip and released her. She sat up quickly and breathlessly. She looked around, rapidly regaining her senses. She met Marsh’s probing gaze, but did not smile or blush. Finally she said, “I’m sorry if I disturbed your sleep and alarmed you. I haven’t had a night … bad dream in a long. time. Next time, leave me alone and I won’t get violent with you.” With Payton Slade so fresh on her mind, Randee could not allow herself to turn to Marsh or to any man just to escape the nightmarish evil of her stepfather. If, or when, she yielded to Marsh Logan, it had to be for the right reason, the only reason: loving desire.

  When Randee lay down and curled onto her side away from him, Marsh eyed her with intrigue. She had called his name and briefly surrendered herself to him, until some dark shadow had terrified her. He considered her words —earlier and tonight—and wondered at their meanings, as she had not been speaking to him or battling him. This ravishing vixen had a frightening secret, one that had chased her from Kansas and had driven her from his arms tonight.

  From her wild rantings, someone had tried to take advantage of her, someone she hated and wanted to slay. Twice she had mentioned “a nasty situation.” Had she been forced to defend her honor by killing a man? Had she perhaps been married to some cruel man whom she had fled? Had her home been stolen from her through deceit or force? After her father’s death, had she been left homeless and helpless? Had her mother been compelled to marry some awful man to escape the few options open to widows and orphans: a schoolmarm, a seamstress, a second marriage, a cook, a prostitute? Had this female faced such choices? Or perhaps her mother and stepfather hadn’t wanted her around after their marriage. If, as she had once claimed, revenge was the only thing in her life at this point, where did that leave Brody Wade? Was the sheriff nothing more than the lesser of many evils? How could Marsh help her, or have her, without dealing with her troubled past? Unintentionally, he spoke aloud, “Randee, don’t you think you should tell me about this problem which haunts you?”

  Chapter Eight

  Randee arose the next morning and made coffee before Marsh began stirring. She had no way of knowing that he had been awake a long time, but had remained still and silent to allow her more sleep after her restless night. Without putting on his shirt and boots, Marsh vanished into the trees and bushes to her right. Randee sipped the dark liquid as she watched his departure. He had glanced at her, then left camp without speaking. Perhaps he was still annoyed with her about last night, a
nd he had every right to feel that way. She had been hateful and rude to him when he was only being kind and … passionate. She had refused to answer his question and explain her crazy behavior. Overwrought and muddle-headed at the time, she had told him, “We’re both loners, Durango, so let’s keep our noses out of each other’s private affairs. I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need a manly shoulder to cry on or a strong arm to protect me. I can take care of myself; if not, then it’s time I learn how. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. Unless you want to begin mutual revelations by telling me all about the mysterious Marsh Logan alias the Durango Kid. But frankly, I don’t think strangers should trade secrets.”

  Randee sighed heavily and berated herself for her silly conduct. They had been getting along so well; now, she had probably ruined their budding friendship. Ranting like a wild woman was no way to open up a quiet man! She had nearly had him convinced that she made a perfect partner; then, she had behaved like a spoiled child or shrewish female! Her turbulent mind flashed back to last night. Stars above, how that man could kiss! She got all hot and tingly just recalling their amorous bout, one cut too short because of Payton’s memory and intrusion. She had left Kansas and that beast behind, but he still journeyed within her. Since she could not forget him or deal with him at this time, she had to come to terms with his lingering spirit. He had almost ruined her life in Kansas; she could not allow him to do the same here in Texas.

  Dee’s baby was due in mid-August, and today was May twenty-fifth. She knew her mother was safe and well, because the Carsons had received two recent letters from Dee: one shortly after Randee’s arrival, which the Carsons had answered without betraying Randee’s presence, and one just before the Carsons’ deaths— which, fortunately for Randee, had been answered immediately. Hopefully, since Payton hadn’t appeared at the ranch, he and her mother believed she was elsewhere. For a while, no correspondence would be expected or missed. That should give her time to seek justice for the Carsons and to find another place to begin the new life she wanted.

  Randee was relieved that her assumption about her mother’s safety had been correct, and that her reluctant silence had paid off. It distressed her to know that her mother was lying every night next to a husband who was so evil and deceitful. Yet, self-sacrifice could extend only so far, even for loved ones.

  Randee fretted over what Marsh was thinking and feeling today after her contradictory actions last night. She had reached out to him, then angrily rejected him. He had responded ardently, but for what reason? Because she was Randee? Or because she was an available woman who was tempting him? If they became lovers, how would she feel when she watched him ride out of her life after this task was ended? Was a brief blaze of passion with him worth what it would cost her later?

  Randee squirmed nervously. She knew she would feel better if she washed the dirt and oil from her hair, so she grabbed a strip of drying cloth and headed to the river with her soap and clean clothing. Since it was daylight and cool at this early hour, she kept on her gown as she waded into the narrow river. It was chilly, but she adjusted gradually to the water temperature. She ducked and wet her long flaxen hair, then lathered it. She washed it twice and bathed before climbing onto the grassy bank, refreshed and calmed.

  Marsh saw her from their camp and observed her. He knew she hadn’t been after his life history last night; she had simply wanted him to back off from his curiosity and painful questions. He hadn’t spoken upon arising this morning, to give her time to clear her sleep-fogged mind and to break the silent strain herself. For certain, some ghost was riding her back and she didn’t know how to get it off. There had to be clues in his words to her last night, because she had reacted strangely to them and they had triggered a nightmare. Whatever was haunting her caused her to resist his touch, perhaps any man’s touch. Yet, she had responded passionately to him. Yes, to him. She had murmured his name several times, not Brody Wade’s or another man’s. That fact pleased and warmed him, more than he found comfortable, because it meant he was as drawn to her as she was to him. How long could he master his emotions, when she was experiencing the same ones?

  The realization that some foe had, or had had, a grip on this woman annoyed him. If it was possible, maybe she would let him help her get free of that trouble after they completed their mission. But unless he won her trust, she would never expose her problem to him, and it could also intrude on their task if left unresolved. That thought warned him not to allow this breach between them to continue.’ Perhaps he should take the first step toward peace in case she was too proud or afraid to do so. He headed for where Randee was standing, a wet gown clinging most provocatively to her shapely body. She was bent forward drying her hair when Marsh joined her to ask playfully, “What are you doing, woman? You bathed last night.”

  Randee wrapped the cloth around her hair and straightened. She smiled and replied, “I couldn’t wash my hair last night because I don’t like to go to bed with it wet on such a chilly night. I figured it could dry while we’re riding today. Am I messing up our schedule?”

  “Nope,” he answered just as pleasantly. “I’ll get breakfast ready while you dress.”

  Randee glanced down and noticed how the soaked garment was stuck to her flesh, outlining it perfectly and immodestly. She blushed, a reaction that was unusual for her. She hastily picked at the material to loosen its grip. When Marsh chuckled, she looked up at him.

  “Sorry, Miss Hollis, but you look most appealing in that garb. I’ll get back to camp before I forget we’re practically strangers.”

  Randee watched him turn and leave, grinning broadly. She couldn’t help but smile. He could be such a gentleman, and such an enticing rogue. This was a man of many traits and, so far, she liked them all. She surmised why he had approached her and was delighted by his generous overture, They had been alone for days and under most stimulating circumstances; yet, he had not. pressed his advantage. She liked his self-control, and she liked him, very much.

  She slipped into the bushes to dry off and dress. Removing as much water as possible from her hair, she let it hang free to dry. Then she gathered her belongings and joined Marsh at the fire. After tossing her wet gown over a lowhanging branch, she sat down opposite him. He handed her a cup of coffee and smiled again as his gaze lazily traveled over her from head to foot. He was still shirtless and barefoot, and he looked so at ease with her. His uncombed ebony hair was mussed sexily, with wisps of it teasing over his forehead. Her tension and troubles faded from mind and body. She felt good. She felt alive. And she realized it was this man’s effect on her.

  Heavens, his eyes looked so blue and compelling against his dark skin. They were expressive eyes, which often talked louder and more often than he did. Her gaze followed the furry black hair that covered his chest, narrowed over his ribs, then widened again around his navel. He was lean and muscular, and his body was “well-toned. Her appreciative gaze returned to his handsome face. As he absently stroked his jawline while he cooked their meal, she suddenly realized he hadn’t, shaved the night before.

  “Do you want me to fetch you some water to heat for shaving?” she offered politely.

  His gaze came up to meet hers. He grinned as he rubbed his whisker-rough jawline. “I’ll skip it until we camp tonight, but thanks.”

  Randee grasped a handful of her hair and squeezed it tightly, holding it for a moment before repeating the action on another area. Marsh’s brow lifted inquisitively, and she laughed, “It keeps my hair from being so straight,” she explained without his asking.

  He watched the areas wave and curl beneath her artful touch. She took sections along the edges and rolled them over and over, and her tawny locks hardly moved when she released them. Using her fingers, she fluffed her shorter bangs and made them feather across her forehead. As he handed her a plate of food, he jested, “I’ve never seen anything like this before. You women use all kinds of beauty tricks to ensnare us men. Mighty interesting, partner.”

&nb
sp; Randee laughed before retorting, “I can see you’ve never had a sister or a sweetheart, Durango, or you’d know that bunch-curling is quick and easy.”

  “Especially on the trail,” he added mirthfully. As he ate his meal, his amused gaze remained on her. She looked so lovely and calm this morning. No trace of her troublesome night lingered in her mood or appearance. He hoped it was his companionship, as hers had a wonderful effect on him. He had never found being around another person so easy and enjoyable, and he wasn’t ready for this feeling to leave any time soon. His mother would have liked Randee, and he was sorry those two could never meet.

  Twenty minutes later they broke camp and packed up their possessions. Marsh walked around her before she could mount the chestnut mare, eyeing and touching her hair. “I have to see if this worked,” he informed her as she twisted to follow his movements.

  He halted on her right and studied the two-inch scar before her ear. He estimated it to be around four or five years old. It was wider than a knife wound, but hadn’t cut deeply enough to cause permanent damage to her facial muscles. Nor was it an ugly or repulsive scar.

  Aware of his intense scrutiny, she related the story of how she had gotten the scar, “Since you’re too nice or afraid to ask, Marsh, I’ll volunteer the information. In happened in ’67 while I was making and setting traps for ground squirrels that were pestering us. My father didn’t like to kill anything if it wasn’t necessary, so we trapped them and took them miles away before releasing them to find new homes. I was concentrating so hard on my task that I didn’t realize trouble was approaching; at least I thought it was trouble,” she remarked with a laugh. “I heard something strange and looked up to see this huge furry beast running toward me. I’d only seen pictures of wolves and knew they were dangerous creatures. When he leaped at me, I panicked and fell backward, and the hatchet in my hand caught me here,” she said, running her finger over the white line.