A Tradition of Pride (17 page)

"Come back here!" Trevor snarled, moving across the seat to follow her.

She tried to slam the door in his face, but his arm reached out to stop it. Wildly she glanced around for help, but the road was completely deserted.

Trevor was stepping out of the car, the moonlight illuminating the claw marks disfiguring his cheek. "I'll get even with you for this," he threatened. "Now get back in the car."

There was a brief, negative shake of her head, then Lara bolted, running down the road. She could hear the crunch of gravel behind her and realized Trevor was chasing her. The high heels of her shoes slowed her down. It was only a matter of seconds before he caught up with her.

Turning abruptly, she stumbled down the ditch alongside the road and raced, into the pinewoods. The towering trunks closed around her protectively, hiding her, within seconds from his sight. She was making too much noise of her own to tell if he was still following her, but Lara could hear him angrily yelling her name. It made her run faster.

Chapter Nine

AHEAD, A LIGHT SHONE through the trees. Winded and sobbing between gulps for air, Lara staggered toward it, her heels sinking in the soft mulch of pine needles. She had no idea where she was or which direction to go to reach her home, but the light promised safety.

As she drew nearer, a small house took shape, standing alone in a thin stand of pines. A dirt road stretched in front of it. The light she had seen gleaming through a window beckoned her toward the porch.

Out of the darkness, a hand grabbed her, then a second. A gasping scream ripped from her throat. Lara struggled wildly like a frightened animal trapped in a snare, but the iron hands easily overcame her attempt, giving her a hard shake that rattled her teeth.

"Lara, stop it!" a voice commanded harshly.

Her gaze focused on the bronzed features of Rans MacQuade and she collapsed weakly against him, winding her arms around his neck and sobbing her relief into his shirt.

"Rans, help me." The breathless plea released a torrent of tears.

The hands at her waist denied her the support of his body, holding her away from him. His piercing gaze swept over her in rapid inspection noting the torn material at the shoulder of her dress.

"What happened?" Rans snapped.

"Oh, please," Lara swayed toward him and he gathered her against his chest. "You've got to help me," she sobbed as his hand gently smoothed the hair away from her face. "He—he—" Convulsive shudders wracked her body, making her words incoherent jibberish.

"Who?" His fingers closed punishingly around her throat, tilting her head back. "Who did this to you?" he demanded savagely.

At first Lara could only shake her head mutely, not wanting to talk. She only wanted to be held in his arms and feel his warmth while she tried to forget the horrible memory of Trevor's repulsive touch.

"Answer me!" Rans glowered, giving her another hard shake. "Who did this?"

Her trembling lips finally moved. "Tr-Trevor," she answered through her choking sobs. "He…he tried to m-make love to m-me I … I—" Lara shuddered uncontrollably again.

Violently Rans thrust her away from him, scornful contempt carved in his rugged features. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it?" he jeered. "You wanted to make him jealous and take notice of you."

"No." Her head moved disbelievingly to the side.

"Come on, Mrs. Cochran. I was there," he laughed harshly.

"I never wanted him to touch me," Lara breathed, tears drenching her face.

"He's your husband. He has a right to his connubial pleasures."

"No." Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the tremors of revulsion that quaked through her. "He makes me feel…dirty." Salty tears blurred her vision when she look at Rans. "No one…no one understands. No one."

Tiredness engulfed, the tiredness of defeat. It was no good explaining. Rans wasn't listening to her. Nothing she said made the slightest impression. Blindly she turned away, silent sobs of wretched misery shaking her shoulders.

Behind her, Rans swore softly, then his hands were turning her into his arms. Lara resisted briefly then buried her head in the inviting expanse of his chest and wept. His hand stroked her hair in a soothing caress.

Finally there were only hiccuping sobs left. She had cried out all her pain and torment and degradation until she felt hollow and completely empty inside. She was numb to any emotion.

Wearily Lara lifted her head from his chest. A crisp white handkerchief touched her cheek, wiping the dampness from her skin. She glanced up gratefully to see a faint smile of gentleness touching the corners of his mouth.

"Your mascara is running all over the place," Rans murmured.

He stood silently, inches from her as she took the handkerchief and scrubbed her face. A few minutes later she handed it back, her breathing still shaky and uneven.

"Come on." His hand closed firmly on her elbow. "I'll drive you home."

The pickup truck was parked on the opposite side of the house. In the cab, Lara leaned weakly against the seat, too tired to care where she was going or what might be waiting for her when she reached her destination. Rans was sitting beside her and temporarily at least, she felt safe.

When the truck stopped in the cul de sac drive, Lara stared woodenly at the light streaming from the long windows flanking the front door. Her door was opened and Rans reached forward to help her out. She fumbled through her purse for the door key and placed it in his hand. It was several seconds before his fingers closed around it in acceptance.

Once the door was unlocked, he followed her into the entry hall, glancing around the silent house. There was no sign or sound of anyone else in the house. Returning the key, Rans studied the dispirited lines etched in her pale features.

"You're tired," he said quietly. "Sleep will help you forget what happened."

Instantly an image of Trevor flashed in her minds eye. The murderous rage that had been in his expression sent a shiver down her spine. Her widened green eyes swung to the staircase. Was he upstairs waiting for her? The thought chilled her to the bone. Mutely Lara appealed to Rans, like a child wanting the last of its fears to be laid to rest.

An impatient sigh broke from the grim line of his mouth. "Come on."

A guiding hand rested lightly on the small of her back as he turned her toward the stairs. Their footsteps echoed hollowly through the empty house.

Without a word, Rans checked her room and the locked adjoining door to Trevor's room. There was no one upstairs, either. Lara hovered near the foot of her bed, feeling awkward and foolish. Her gaze skittered away when he glanced at her.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about. Your father will probably be home shortly," he said.

"Yes," she agreed with a self-conscious nod. He walked to the door. "Thank you," Lara offered hesitantly. Rans nodded curtly, stepping into the second-floor hallway and closing her bedroom door.

For several seconds she listened to his departing footsteps. Her throat ached as she walked to the closet for her nightgown. Sighing, she realized that Rans was right and there wasn't anything more to worry about.

Trevor wouldn't bother her. He probably would not even come home tonight if he reverted to his usual custom that had followed their previous, bitterly angry arguments. No doubt his injured pride would seek solace in some other woman's arms tonight.

Slowly Lara undressed and slipped on the mint-green nightgown, the lightweight material falling loosely around her ankles. Sitting in front of the vanity mirror, she began to brush her hair, prolonging the moment when she had to crawl into the empty bed. She was tired, wearily so, but she was afraid that once in bed she would start thinking.

There were only two things to think about, and she didn't want to face the truth of either of them. She didn't want to admit there was anything to face. Neither could she spend the rest of the night brushing her hair.

Resolutely, Lara set the brush down and walked to the table lamp at her bedside, twisting the knob on. As she turned to walk to the overhead light switch on the wall, her bedroom door was opened. Lara halted in surprise when Rans stood in the opening.

Behind her, the light from the bedside lamp made the thin fabric of her nightgown appear transparent, revealing the nakedness it was meant to conceal. Tension gripped both of them, electric and sensual.

"I thought you had gone," Lara whispered at last. Her pulse skipped rapidly with joy that he had not.

"I—" Rans breathed in deeply, seeming to gather his control. His gaze swerved to the cup in his hand, its expression hard and impassive when it returned to her. "I took the liberty of fixing you some cocoa. You looked in need of something to relax you."

Abruptly he set the cup and saucer on the dresser near the door and turned as if to leave. Lara stepped quickly forward, desperately wanting him to stay.

"Don't go!" she called to him, and hesitated when he pivoted sharply toward her, the chiseled lines of his face drawn into a forbidding mask. "Can't you stay and…and talk to me? I don't want to be alone."

"Talk?" His short laugh was harsh. His gaze raked her insolently. "With you dressed like that, do you think if I stayed we would talk? My God, what do you think I am?"

Her hands crossed defensively over the bodice of her gown. Lara reached quickly for the robe lying across the bed, holding it in front of her, but not putting it on.

"I don't want you to leave," she protested weakly.

A smile, cold with amusement, cynically twisted his mouth. "Good night, Mrs. Cochran." His sardonic voice underlined the marital term of address.

"Don't call me that!" she flared.

Lara crossed the room on wings of hurt anger only to have it fade to nothing when she reached him. Her green eyes searched his impassive face for some sign that would give her hope. Her chin quivered at his unrelenting hardness.

"Don't you want to stay?" Lara's whispered plea throbbed with the aching need she felt.

His fingers bit savagely into her shoulders, while a muscle twitched uncontrollably along his jaw. Languidly, Lara melted against his body, masculine and strong.

"Do you think I don't want to stay?" The smoldering light of desire glittered in his brown eyes. Her heart rocketed at the sight of it as his gaze swept possessively over her face and the lacy neckline of her nightgown. "Damn, but you're a witch, Lara," Rans muttered thickly.

"I—"

Her fingertips touched his lips, checking their flow of words. She felt all feminine and enticing, no longer struggling against the waywardness of her emotions.

"You said my name," she murmured. "You used it earlier tonight, but I was too frightened and I wanted to hear you say it again … Rans." Lovingly she let his name roll from her tongue.

He turned his head away, breaking free from the touch of her fingertips. "You are making it impossible," Rans breathed heavily.

"Why?" Lara smiled, knowing she was disturbing him as he had disturbed her so often.

"I have only one rule as far as women are concerned," he said flatly. "I stay away from the ones who are married. And like it or not, Mrs. Cochran —" his voice lashed silently as his hands firmly pushed her away from him "—you are married."

"Rans." Pain choked off the rest of her protest. Instead she asked breathlessly, "If I wasn't married?"

An eyebrow slashed upward with arrogant cynicism. "Is there any likelihood of that?" Rans taunted. Lara hesitated, unable to answer him immediately. "That's what I thought. Good night, Mrs. Cochran."

"Rans, no!" she called out to him as he spun away to stride into the hall.

His step didn't slacken as if he was determined to get as far away from her as possible in the shortest amount of time. On shaking legs, Lara followed him. She reached the top of the stairs as he opened the front door on the ground floor.

"Rans, wait." The door was slammed shut. "I love you." The admission was out in the open, her voice trailing forlornly into a whisper when Lara realized she was the only one who had heard it.

The pickup truck roared out of the driveway. Slowly Lara retraced her steps to the bedroom, ignoring the cup of cocoa on her dresser to curl into a tight ball of pain and misery beneath the covers of her bed.

The next morning Lara slept late, mentally and physically exhausted from the turmoil. She had just dressed and was walking toward the stairs when she heard voices in the hall below. One was her father's and the second belonged to Rans. Lara hurried to catch him, wanting to speak to him even if it was too soon, but the front door was closing as she reached the landing.

"Was that Rans?" she questioned her father, taking the last few steps with skipping feet, "Is he leaving?"

A puzzled frown creased his forehead when he turned to her. "How did you know?"

"I heard his voice. I have to talk to him." Lara raced toward the door in time to see the rear of the pickup driving down the lane. "Did he say where he was going?"

"No." Martin Alexander shook his head, running his fingers through the sides of salted auburn hair. "Where's Trevor? I've got to talk to him about this." Lara noticed the paper her father had clutched in his hand. "I imagine if Rans told you, he told Trevor, too. I just don't understand," he sighed.