A Lady of the West (21 page)

A shiver racked Celia's slender body. “He was calling me,” she whispered. “Like you'd call a cat. It scared me and I hid in the loft. I watched him through a crack in the floor, sneaking around, looking in all the stalls and calling my name. I hate him. I wish the Sarratts would kill him.”

Victoria's throat was tight with fear. “Who?” she asked. “Garnet?”

Celia looked up at her, dark blue eyes fierce with mingled fear and hatred. “No. The Major.”

Victoria lay awake that night, too tense to sleep. She simply couldn't keep her eyes closed. She stared at the ceiling, wondering if she was making the right decision in staying, if she had any right to subject Emma and Celia to such danger. But did she have any choice? Lying there sleepless, she swore an oath: if the Major touched Celia or hurt her in any way, she'd kill him herself.

The connecting door opened, and her entire body went cold. She turned her head to look at the thick-set figure swaying in the doorway. Dear God, no …

“Is he in here?” McLain asked, slurring the words. The stench of whiskey emanated from him.

She wet her lips and eased into a sitting position. What did he mean? Had someone seen Jake kissing her? She stared at him, tensing her muscles to jump up and run if he came any closer. “Who?”

“Sarratt. That damn basserd. Is he in here?”

She could barely understand his words. “No.” Her throat was tight. “No one is in here. You can see.”

“He's trying to kill me, an' he'll kill you, too, jus' to get even with me. Nothin' a Sarratt would like better than to get his hands on my woman.” He sounded almost boastful as he swayed back and forth, a willow in an invisible wind.

“The Sarratts are all dead. You said so.”

He laughed, a strange, cackling laugh. “Yeah, but mebbe not. Mebbe not. Never could find the boys' bodies. Did you know that? Never did find their bodies. If Sarratt's back, he'll kill us all in our beds, especially you. That's jus' where he'd like to find you. Yep, in a bed. He'd enjoy plowin' you and listenin' to you scream, just the way his mama screamed…. You sure he's not in here?”

Her throat was dry; she had to swallow before answering. “I'm certain.”

“He won't be able to sneak up on me,” McLain muttered as he backed into his own room. “I'm keeping a sharp eye out for him, and the lamps lit. Yeah, lots of lamps … no shadows.” The door closed on his mutterings.

He had gone mad. Victoria stared at the door. She couldn't believe that he had a conscience, but his murderous past was coming back to him, twisting his mind. Even knowing he was insane she couldn't stop a chill; if it were true that one of the Sarratt sons had survived, she could understand that he would stop at nothing to wreak his vengeance on McLain, to destroy him and his family as he had destroyed the Sarratt family.

Someone had shot at her today. If it hadn't been for
Jake … if Sophie hadn't acted up at just that moment…

Was someone trying to kill her as vengeance against McLain? She could easily imagine him having enemies.

He'd never found the boys' bodies.

If one of the Sarratts had survived, would he hate McLain enough to destroy an entire family, as McLain had done? Hate enough to deliberately set out to kill McLain's wife?

She shivered, because she knew the answer was
yes.

The next morning Jake put Rubio in the pen with Sophie. The big red stallion squealed as he caught the mare's scent, and shoved his nose at her hind quarters. His erection was already jutting out from his body. Sophie danced nervously away, though she had stood still not half an hour ago while another stallion sniffed at her. Jake cussed her contrariness, but in a rueful, accepting tone. He'd already hobbled her front feet, so she wasn't going anywhere.

Rubio squealed again, this time angrily, and nipped the recalcitrant mare to teach her who was boss. Sophie's head whipped around and she nipped back, enraged. Rubio tried to mount her and she jerked away, neighing with fright. Had she been a wild horse she'd have been running across the hills in an effort to save her maidenhead, and the stallion would have run her down. Hobbled in the pen, though, Sophie didn't have much chance.

Rubio reared again and caught her arched neck with his teeth as he penetrated. Sophie screamed, shuddering under the stallion's weight and impact, but now she stood still for him as her instincts dictated.

Victoria heard the mare scream and concern puckered her brow. She put aside her sewing and walked to a window, but the angle was wrong and she wasn't
able to see anything. Curious as to what was causing the uproar, wondering if Sophie was getting the best of Jake again, she went out on the patio and looked toward the barn.

Rubio was out of his stall and was attacking Sophie. Sheer panic shot through her and without thinking she began running toward the pen. She had always known that horse was a killer; something inside her went cold every time she saw him—

Then she saw Jake watching calmly, and a few of the other hands standing around. She saw Rubio biting Sophie's neck, saw the lunging thrusts of his hindquarters, and stopped as if she had hit a wall. Dear God! They were mating! Her beautiful, spirited mare was being mated to that vicious killer. It revolted her as much as the thought of McLain climbing into her own bed.

“Stop it!” She hadn't meant to yell, but the words burst out of her.

Jake turned his head. Victoria was standing halfway between the house and the stable, her eyes wide with horror. She began running toward him.

Some of the men were standing around to lend aid if needed, and he scowled as he realized he didn't want Victoria watching the horses mate, with the men watching her. He left the pen and strode toward her, catching her arms when she tried to bolt past.

“Stop him!” she gasped, trying to pull free of his grip. “Get him off her!”

He shook her a little, swinging her around so his body blocked her view of the horses. “I can't stop it. What's wrong with you?”

Her face was white, her eyes huge as she stared up at him. “I didn't want her bred,” she said in a strangled tone. “You
knew
that. Not now. Especially not to
him!”

Her missishness irritated him; it was common sense to put the best stallion on the best mare to get the best
foals. His hands were rough as he turned her around and began forcing her back toward the house. “Did you think we'd breed her to some scrub?”

His fingers were biting into her arms; he was almost dragging her in his haste to get her inside, out of the sight of the other men. Some deeply possessive instinct was outraged that they had seen her witnessing a sexual act, even one between two animals. He didn't stop until they were on the patio. “Get back in the house. You shouldn't have come out here.”

His total lack of understanding was like a slap in the face. She didn't expect sympathy, but she did expect at least an acknowledgment that she had a right to feel as she did. She pulled away from him and turned her head from the sights and sounds of the two horses mating. “I thought she was
my
horse,” she said in a small, clear voice. “I didn't give permission for her to be bred.”

“I suggested breeding her to Rubio before the Major ever bought her,” Jake said impatiently. “That's the only reason he bought her, not to give you a pleasure mount. I talked him into letting me train her for you; otherwise you'd be riding something like Emma's gelding. We decided yesterday to put Rubio in with her. This isn't hurting her, and you'll have a fine foal out of her.”

“No, I won't.” Her eyes were clear and stark as she stared at him. “The
Major
will have a fine foal from her.” Her back was rigid as she turned away from him to go into the house.

He clamped his hand on her shoulder and jerked her back around to face him, angered by the way she'd turned her back on him. “Stop acting like a fool. This isn't your precious South; we can't afford to let a good animal go to waste. Did you really think she was bought only for you to ride?”

Victoria lifted her chin, pride keeping her hurt from her face. She wouldn't have been so upset if it had been any stallion other than Rubio, but he'd scoffed at
her objections to the horse. Her voice expressionless, she said, “I suppose I did. After all, Emma's gelding hasn't been used for ranch work, nor has Celia's mare.”

“They aren't the same quality as Sophie.” He tamped down his impatience and tried to get her to see reason. There was just no sense in this kind of behavior. “Like I said, this isn't hurting her. When I've found whoever shot at you yesterday and it's safe again, we can go riding just like before.”

Her expression didn't flicker. “I'm afraid not, Mr. Roper,” she said, and once again turned to enter the house. “I don't have a horse.”

So it was Mr. Roper again, was it? Anger burned in his gut as he stalked back to the corral. The horses were finished, but none of the men would approach Rubio and Sophie was acting up whenever one of them got close to her. The unfamiliar situation had made her nervous, and a nervous Sophie was a biting Sophie.

Still fuming, he put Rubio back in his stall, patting the muscled red neck and telling the stallion what a good job he'd done. Rubio snorted, his ears back a little. Jake didn't turn his back on the horse as he left the stall and shut the door. If the foal's temperament was a mixture of sire and dam, he thought dourly, they might as well shoot it when it was born because no one would ever be able to ride it.

Sophie moved awkwardly away from him, lifting her hobbled feet high as if trying to step out of the rope. She had blood on her neck where Rubio had bitten her; it was black against her dark chestnut coat. Damn him, the stallion was always rough on a mare. Jake murmured soothingly to Sophie until she finally stood still and let him approach. He patted and stroked her, watching the wild look fade from her eyes. When he bent down to remove the hobble, she butted him affectionately with her head.

Damn it, was everything female just naturally contrary?
He wanted to give Victoria a good shaking. She'd acted as if she would never be able to ride Sophie again and had taken it out on him.

Patience. He just had to have patience. But it was hard, and getting harder.

During the days that followed, Victoria didn't leave the house. Neither did Celia nor Emma. The three women passed the time with the mundane chores of everyday life, giving each other strained, silent looks but carrying on with an outward air of calm. What else could they do? Hysteria wouldn't solve anything.

Celia remained close to her sister and cousin, instinctively seeking the safety of their company. She could barely remain in the same room with the Major long enough to take her meals.

McLain looked increasingly awful as the days passed. His eyes seemed permanently red and swollen, his face haggard and unshaven. Victoria doubted that he was bathing, because a persistent sour smell clung to him. She could hear him at night, pacing on the other side of the door and muttering to himself, and the sound made her shiver. He was mad. She couldn't manage to feel any pity for him; this punishment seemed all too fitting to his crimes. But she did fear what could happen when he made the final descent and reality no longer had any meaning for him. He could convince himself that one of the Sarratt boys was in a room with them, and start shooting. Or, even worse, he might decide that she was the Sarratt woman, the one he had raped and murdered, and reenact his deed. She would rather be killed outright than endure his touch.

She didn't know how much longer she could bear it. The days were spent close to the house, making certain Celia was always watched, unable to ride out as she longed to do. The nights were also spent watching the connecting door, listening to the Major's increasingly crazy mutters and bursts of laughter. The
very air was full of menace and she was helpless to escape it, because it was outside as well as in. No matter which way she turned, there was danger.

Narrow-eyed, Garnet watched McLain. The damn fool was going crazy, talking to himself about the Sarratts coming back to kill them all. Things hadn't worked out as he'd planned. He'd missed his shot with the woman, and since then she hadn't been riding at all. Damn Roper, too, while he was at it. Garnet had sweated until he'd been able to reshod his horse, knowing Roper had looked real good at the hoofprints leading away from the failed ambush. Now he couldn't get a shot at the woman, and McLain was getting the men all stirred up with his howling about Sarratts coming back from the grave to get them.

Maybe he should do what he'd originally planned and just kill the Major. At least it would shut him up. Only problem was he couldn't do that until he'd found some way to get rid of Roper. Garnet never allowed himself to think that he was actually afraid of Roper, he thought of it as caution, because the man was cat-quick with a gun and as mean as a wounded grizzly. Will Garnet prided himself on not being afraid of no man walking, but he also prided himself on being smart enough to know there were some people you just didn't mess with. Roper was one of them.

Jake Quinzy halted beside him, also watching the Major reel back toward the house. Quinzy spat in the dust before he spoke. “Major's gettin' spooky. I been here a long time, but I been thinkin' maybe it's time to be movin' on.”

Garnet sneered. “That crazy talk about the Sarratts scare you?”

Quinzy spat again. “Don't reckon.” His eyes were cold slits. “Don't reckon I like workin' for no crazy man, neither.”

Garnet didn't like telling anyone his plans, but he
needed Quinzy's gun. “The Major might not be around much longer.”

Quinzy grunted and rolled that around in his mind. “You thinkin' of takin' over?”

“Don't see why not, do you?”

“No skin off me.” He paused. “Unless you plannin' on hurtin' Miz McLain. Guess I'd have to part with you on that.”