Hannah Howell (46 page)

“A very pretty dress. The little flowers in the print match your eyes.” He touched her shoulder and felt her tremble.

“Maria and I made it. Well, Maria mostly. She is trying to teach me how to sew."

“How're you doing?"

“Not too well.” She laughed and shook her head. “I can mend a little and stitch a wound, but dresses? No, I think not."

“Well, you don't really need to."

“I will keep trying. It is a good thing to know, I think."

“I've got the money to buy you dresses, to have them made for you."

"Sí.
Now."

“Always, I hope."

“I hope, too, but?” she shrugged. “It is good to know how to do things if the money is not there. Money is fickle. You do not even have to do anything wrong for it to leave your hands. From what I have heard, you are lucky to have escaped the war with some money."

“And then came Marilyn. I see your point.” He refilled her glass with wine. “Is that why you're learning to cook, too?"

“I could cook, but not Anglo food. That is what I learn."

“You're becoming very domesticated,” he teased, moving closer to her and starting to take down her hair.

She began to feel a little breathless. “It is not as I thought. There is always something to do. There is a lot of doing the same thing over and over, but that is there in every job, eh? Even in ranching."

“Oh, yes. Raise them, round them up, and sell them. Year after year. Antonie,” he murmured and then gave into the overwhelming urge to kiss her wine-dampened lips.

With a soft sound of delight, she tossed aside her glass and wrapped her arms around his neck. She met his kiss with a hunger that equalled his. There was not an ounce of resistance in her body when he urged her down onto her back, but then he suddenly pulled away. She stared at him in confusion as he propped himself up on one elbow and ran a hand over his face as he fought to regain control. It was clear that he wanted her as badly as she did him, but he held back. It did not make any sense to her, and she was sure that her utter confusion showed clearly on her face.

“Antonie, we have to talk first,” he finally said quietly.

“Talk about what? I am all better. O'Neill said so. I have felt better for a while now. Why do you wish to wait longer? I didn't understand last night and I understand less now."

“I know. I don't want to wait. You should be able to tell when I'm aching for you by now."

“I thought I could."

“Well, you can and I am. Last night I hesitated, even though it was killing me, because I wanted our reunion, shall we say, to be a little special. Right now, I'm hesitating because we need to talk about having babies, or, rather, not having babies."

“Oh,” she breathed in sudden understanding.

“I talked to O'Neill."

"Sí.
So did I."

“You did?"

“In a way. He started it. Told me about growing up a good Catholic boy who believed implicitly in the Lord's order to go forth and multiply, that you didn't fool around with that but had as many babies as you could. His mother seemed to be constantly pregnant and, when he left, his sisters were doing the same."

“But that's just what I don't want for you."

“Neither does O'Neill. He said I am strong and can have many babies, but that many babies can be five as easily as it can be ten. When he went into doctoring he began to learn a few things, things that changed his mind. He saw that maybe his mother didn't have to die before she was forty, that maybe there need not have been any dead babies. He said he was glad that you had seen that it wasn't really good for a woman to birth every spring like some bit of farm stock."

“And he told you what you can do? What we can do?” Royal wondered if there was a method he did not know of.

"Sí.
He said I have many years to have babies. I can rest between births so my body will be strong, which is good for me and good for the baby. You do not need to do anything. I will do it."

“I'm willing to do my share,” he said quietly. “Hell, you wouldn't have to worry about it at all if it weren't for me."

“True. It would be very hard to make babies by myself,” she said with a gentle laugh as she began to undo his shirt. “I do not want you to leave me quickly, and I do not want something between you and me when we join. So, I will do it. As O'Neill says, the sponge is the least disruptive. Only a little less—how did he say it?—spontaneity."

Shivering slightly when she smoothed her hand over his chest, he asked, “Hadn't you better get ready then?"

“I am. I did not go to the bushes a little while ago to answer nature's call."

He smiled slowly as he began to undo her dress. “Taking a lot for granted, weren't you?"

As she eased his shirt off his broad shoulders, she asked huskily, “Was I?"

“No,” he whispered against her mouth as he gently cupped her breast in his hand. “God, how I want you."

Antonie was left in no doubt of that. She let him know that the need was fully returned. Later, as she lay sprawled beneath him, their breathing still not back to normal, she had to smile. They were going to have to do something about the way they could lose control when they had been apart for a while. The romantic interlude had turned into a frantic scramble to sate pent-up desire. They had not even finished disrobing.

“So much for a slow, easy session of lovemaking,” Royal said with a laugh.

“I was just thinking about that."

“We-ell,” he said as he rolled off her and adjusted his pants, then looked at his watch, “we still have about two hours."

Sitting up, she hastily pulled on her pantaloons and then did up a few buttons on her camisole. “Greedy. I have to wash up."

She blushed slightly and ignored his grin as she hurried to a spot by the swimming hole where she could tend to herself without him seeing her. Grimacing a little, she decided that contraception had its drawbacks. After a few times of watching Camden and Ram at the same time, however, she knew that insuring that she did not have one baby right after another was not only for the good of her body. It was for her sanity, too, she thought with a grin, recalling how harassed she had felt.

Still smiling as she recalled one of those frantic times, she started back to Royal, then froze, unable to believe her eyes. A filthy, ragged Marilyn stood before Royal, a gun pointed at his heart.

Don't panic, chica,
a well-remembered voice said in her head.
Time is important. Use it well. Think, chica. Plan.

Her gaze went to her knife. It still lay where Royal had tossed it after he had untied the sheath from her thigh. If she moved carefully, she could get it without being seen. Slipping back into the full concealment of the bushes she had almost left, she started toward the knife and tried not to think of how she might not get there in time.

“So, you married the little bitch,” Marilyn said.

Royal gaped at the woman before him, a woman who should have been miles away and securely locked up. She did not look anything like the Marilyn he had known. The dull prison dress she wore had probably not been very flattering even when it had been clean and new. Her hair was a dirty tangle. Her eyes held a wild, vicious look that chilled his blood. He fought his fear and tried to speak calmly. There was always the small chance that he could talk her out of what she so clearly planned to do. Marilyn had been responsible for a lot of deaths and had planned to see a lot more people die, but she had hired men to do it. There was a very small chance that she could not kill anyone herself.

“How did you get free?” he asked quietly as he hoped that Antonie would not try anything foolish.

“My dear stupid Royal, I learned long ago that most men think with what dangles between their legs. I also learned how to use it. To put it quite simply, darling, I humped my way out of prison. I was clean and I was new and of a better class than the trash they usually get in that place. I played coy for a while until I saw what route to take out of that sty. After that it was easy."

Thinking to use her obvious pride in that accomplishment to buy himself time, even if he wasn't sure how he would use that gain, he said, “It was hardly easy to come this far."

“Easy enough. Men think they're so strong, so smart, but all I have to do is open my legs or my mouth and I have them. And that's what I did all the way here. Guards, drifters, cowhands. It was only after I got within the last fifty miles of this place that I had any trouble. I didn't want to be seen, of course. I wanted to be sure to get here and make you pay. I could not believe my luck when I came here for water and saw you."

“You'll never get away with it, Marilyn. This time they will hang you for sure."

“Oh, no. They'll never catch me this time. I've learned quite a lot about how to hide and survive. I've also learned how easy it is to kill a man. Oh, I knew you bastards were weak once a woman got hold of your sex, but not how weak, not until I killed that drifter.” She smiled. “It added something you know, to cut his throat just as he was spilling his seed into me. Of course, I won't bother to give you any pleasure. I'm going to simply shoot you. But, first, you will tell me where that little blond slut is."

“No.” Royal tensed, ready to move in the faint hope of avoiding her shot.

Marilyn shrugged. “I'll find her, you know. I know she was here with you. She's probably just hiding. This might bring her out.” Marilyn smiled as she fired her gun.

Antonie cried out when Royal's attempt to move out of the way failed. She stilled what horror she felt when he cried out, his hand going to his head as he collapsed. Even as she grabbed her knife and started to move, Marilyn fired again and Royal's body jerked. With a scream of fury, Antonie threw her knife.

A surprised look came over Marilyn's face as the knife buried itself in her chest. To Antonie's horror, the woman pulled it out and then looked at her. Blood poured from the wound, but Marilyn did not fall, simply aimed her gun. As the shot rang out, Antonie threw herself to the ground, rolling toward Marilyn, hitting the woman's legs, and bringing her down. Instantly, she leapt on her and fought to get the gun Marilyn still gripped.

As they wrestled in the dirt, Antonie was amazed at the strength Marilyn still had. She had to be bleeding to death, yet Marilyn fought like a tigress. When Antonie finally managed to turn the barrel of the gun away from herself and toward Marilyn, she did not hesitate to fire. The force of the bullet's contact sent Marilyn flying backward. Unsteadily, Antonie stood up and knew that the woman was really dead this time. The bullet had entered right in the middle of Marilyn's forehead. After wrestling with the urge to empty the chamber into her, Antonie tossed away the gun and raced to Royal's side.

Forcing herself to be calm, even though her heart threatened to beat its way through her chest, she did what she could to clean and bind his wounds. The head wound was only a graze, but the wound in his chest made her blood run cold. The bullet was still in there and she feared it would be difficult to remove.

She briefly wondered about racing home and getting someone to come after him, but she could not think of leaving him alone. Grasping him under the arms, she dragged him to the buggy, then balked. Although she was strong, she did not think she could lift the weight of a full-grown man.

Using the side of the buggy she propped him against it. Then she got him upright and pushed the top half of his body in. Whispering heartfelt apologies for her rough handling, she got in on the other side and dragged him into the buggy. Then, using the blanket they had so recently made love on, she tied his body to hers to insure that he would not slide or fall out while she drove.

Even as she started toward the ranch at a gallop, she realized that she had on only her bloodstained undergarments. “To hell with it. Forgive me for the roughness,
querido."

Careening to a stop before the house, she untied Royal, and leapt down as people appeared from the house and the yard. “Help me with him, please.
Por favor,
he is bad hurt."

Hands gently moved her aside and reached for Royal, as a gruff voice demanded, “What's happened?"

“Sheriff? What are you doing here?” she asked absently, her eyes only flicking his way once before her gaze returned to Royal.

“I came to tell you that Miss Collins has escaped."

"Sí.
She has. She is dead now. By the swimming hole. Is O'Neill here?"

“I'll get him,
chica,"
Tomás said as he looked her over. “Are you hurt? There is a lot of blood."

“Marilyn's. Maybe Royal's.
Por favor,
get O'Neill quickly, Tomás.” She hurried into the house after the men who were carrying Royal up to his room. “Someone must take the sheriff to the swimming hole,” she called over her shoulder.

Maria caught up with her at the door of her room. Between her urgings and those of Jed and Tom who were tending to Royal, Antonie went to her old room to clean up. Once she got a good look at herself, she was glad she had let them persuade her to change her clothes. O'Neill would never have let her near Royal with the dirt and blood she had on her.

As she cleaned herself, she struggled to keep her fears for Royal under control. She knew she would not do anybody any good if she gave in to the hysteria she could feel struggling within her. Screaming and wailing would change little. She would upset people, distract them from Royal, who desperately needed all the help he could get, and probably do herself little good as well. Antonie just wished that she did not feel so afraid.

Just as she came out of her old room, she saw O'Neill going into Royal's but Antonie was held back yet again. Ram did not understand how badly his father was hurt. He only understood that he was hungry. Taking her son from a pale Patricia's arms, she hurried back into her room.

Sitting in the chair and nursing her son helped her gain a little calm. It was an action so removed from the violence she had just endured that she was able to distance herself somewhat from the event. That newly gained control slipped a little when, just as she finished and was ready to go to Royal, the sheriff asked to see her.