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Synopsis
MASTER OF HER BODY When fiery-tempered Cimarron escaped Fandango, Texas, in the pouring rain, all she could think of was how no one would believe she had killed her uncle in self-defense. Then, on a lonely stretch of cattle country, she ran smack into an arrogant, black-haired cowboy. . . and the innocent blonde realized she was in more trouble than she could handle. His ebony eyes glowed with curiosity and desire; his sinewy body stalked her with animal intent. As her breathing quickened and her pulse raced, the half-Indian beauty was terrified of being captured—and yearning to be caught! MISTRESS OF HIS HEART Having learned never to trust a woman, the virile vaquero Trace didn't buy the gorgeous dame's story about getting lost in the dark. She had something to hide—and the hard-muscled ranchhand was determined to find out what it was no matter what. He easily trapped her in his experienced hands, skillfully explored her silken curves. . . but when she surprised him with the intensity of her response, Trace decided his investigation of her lies could wait. Now was the time to unleash the hidden sensuality of this spirited filly, and forever make her his she-cat, his hot-blooded CHEYENNE PRINCESS.
Release date: May 16, 2014
Publisher: Heartfire
Print pages: 510
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Cheyenne Princess
Georgina Gentry
September, 1864
Cimarron staggered from the bedroom. She closed her eyes to keep from seeing the blood on her bare breasts ... on her hands.
But shutting her eyes didn’t work. She could still feel the sticky warmth, smell the sweetness as she stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed the back of a chair. The horror of what she’d just done swept over her. Only sheer willpower was keeping back the sour nausea. Wave after wave of panic and revulsion shook her as she gripped the chair with white knuckles.
“Oh, no,” she moaned, “Oh, dear God, no!”
Get hold of yourself, Cimarron, she commanded. You have no time for the luxury of hysterics. In a panic, she ran to the kitchen door, flung it open to stare out at the rainstorm outside. She must go for the doctor....
No, it was too late for that. There was so much blood, Ransford must be dead. The echoing thunder outside might have been the pounding of her own heart as she gazed unseeing at the pouring rain, the dismal day.
The sheriff. Of course she must go for the sheriff. But even as she started out the door, she changed her mind. A Texas sheriff would never take the word of a half-breed girl on anything, especially when the dead man had been a respected pillar of the community. In a small, prejudiced town like Fandango, she probably wouldn’t even get a fair trial. These people, who had never forgiven her mother’s love for a Cheyenne chief, might be eager to take revenge on the daughter.
Think, she ordered herself. What are you going to do now? You’ve got to get out of here. Slowly, her eyes focused on her trembling hands. She staggered over to the wash basin. She poured a bowl of water, plunged her hands in, mopped at the blood on her bare breasts. She stopped; stared at the white porcelain bowl, the scarlet ripples spreading to turn the water pale pink.
Closing her eyes with a shudder, she turned away, wiped her hands on her faded calico dress. There was only one thing she could do. Cimarron had to escape before Aunt Carolina and her two fat, homely daughters returned from the dressmaker’s and found the body.
What was that noise? She stiffened and strained to hear. Did it come from the bedroom? She couldn’t stand to go back in there. Maybe it was only the thunderstorm outside. The torrent seemed to be easing off, though. Could it be a delivery wagon with things for tonight’s party?
There wouldn’t be any party now. Not unless it was her own lynching party. With shaking hands, she pulled together the torn bodice. Her bruised body protested in pain as she limped to the pantry. She had been so naive and innocent, not realizing what he’d intended.... But she hadn’t meant to....
If she thought about it anymore, she’d fall apart and start screaming. Trying to force the images from her mind, she searched behind the cornmeal for the few coins she’d been saving to run away when the war finally ended.
Grabbing a hunk of leftover lunch cornbread off the kitchen table, and an old shawl, Cimarron stumbled through the ornate parlor. She had cleaned it so carefully this morning that the scent of furniture polish still hung on the air. Still, she imagined she smelled fresh blood.
If only she could go back and change the happenings of the last hour. If only . . . no time for regrets, she thought, it wasn’t your fault. You acted in blind panic.
Cautiously, Cimarron opened the front door and peered up and down the deserted street. Ransford Longworth’s bay gelding stood wet and forlorn, its California rein looped over the white picket fence. The rain had eased off to a fine mist.
She tried to look casual as she draped the shawl over her dark blond hair, closed the door and walked toward the horse. But inside, her heart hammered with fear. Pink Seven Sisters roses climbed the white pickets, their fragrance muted as they drooped in the sultry rain.
Oh, dear God, I didn’t mean to do it! Cimarron sighed as she mounted up and her skirt slid up her long legs. She tried to pull it back down, wishing she had a sidesaddle as she looked back at the grand Victorian-style house. Where would she go? What would she do? She’d lived in Fandango all her life, but she had few friends. Life wasn’t easy for a half-breed girl in a prejudiced Texas hill country town.
Señora Rodriguez would help her....
No. Cimarron shook her head stubbornly as she rode out, tears spilling down her bronze cheeks. She couldn’t involve others in this; they would be in trouble with the townspeople. Mrs. Rodriguez would surely help, but Cimarron wouldn’t ask. She wouldn’t endanger the kindly widow. Cimarron was on her own.
Just what did a naive, parsonage-raised girl do at this point? The rain fell in a fine mist on her face as she reined the horse around to the south. Cimarron had no idea where to go, but she couldn’t ride north. That would take her through the town square, and she mustn’t be seen. Her tense fingers gripped the one-piece rein as she kept her mount to a slow walk, thankful the sudden storm had driven everyone indoors for an afternoon siesta. If it hadn’t been lightning and thundering, a neighbor might have heard Ransford’s scream....
It took all her willpower to ride out of town at a slow walk in case someone might happen to look out the window and see her. But her soul cried out to quirt the horse and gallop away as though the hounds of hell were nipping at the gelding’s heels.
For at least a half mile, she walked the bay, listening intently for sounds of pursuit. All her ears heard was the echoing thunder of the fading storm, the gelding’s hooves, and her own pounding heart. Finally she kicked the horse into a slow, casual lope. Only when Fandango was several miles behind did she quirt her mount with the Romal, the ends of the braided California rein. As she rode south at a gallop, she tried not to remember the terrible events of the past two hours. It had seemed so innocent. All she’d wanted was to go to the party....
It had been almost noon when Cimarron took a deep breath for courage, smoothed her faded calico dress, and marched into the parlor of the elegant Victorian-style home.
Aunt Carolina stood surveying the ornate furnishings and gave her a curt, disapproving frown. “Oh, there you are, Cimarron. Did you get the windows washed? There’s so much still to be done, with the guests coming at seven o‘clock. I do hope it won’t rain and—”
“I’ve finished the windows and beaten the carpets.” Cimarron brushed back her tawny dark blonde hair, determined to keep her fiery temperament under control. “Everything’s clean and most of the food’s ready. If the girls would help me instead of sleeping late—”
“Are you criticizing your cousins?” Aunt Carolina’s eyes expressed exasperation. “It’s important they look their best tonight. After all, it’s their coming out party, and while most of the eligible men are off at war, there’s enough important, wealthy ones left that I thought it worthwhile....”
Her petulant voice trailed off and her pout gave her pale features the look of a small, ill-tempered bulldog.
How like Carolina Longworth to think of the war only as an inconvenience, preventing her having eligible men come court her two quarrelsome, homely daughters, Cimarron thought, summoning up her courage to plunge in. “Aunt Carolina,” she drew her tall, slender frame up to its full height, “About the party—”
“I don’t suppose the Durango heir will come clear across the county, it’s such a long way,” her aunt mused, ignoring Cimarron. “But if he were to marry one of my girls, certainly his father wouldn’t call our note next year when it comes due....”
“Aunt Carolina,” she began again, trying to sound properly humble and grateful. How many times in the last two months had she been lectured about being properly thankful for the Longworths’ generosity? “About the party—”
“What about it?” Aunt Carolina snapped, busily moving the knickknacks around on an ornate marbletop table.
Cimarron took a deep breath of apprehension, caught between her eagerness and the conflict she knew was coming. “I wondered if I might attend?”
“Of course, you’ll attend,” Aunt Carolina nodded, glaring out the window at gathering clouds. “Someone has to serve the sandwiches, and you and the other maid will have a lot to do to keep things tidied up tonight.”
“No, I didn’t mean as a servant.” She hesitated and summoned all the courage of her twenty-two years. “Señora Rodriguez says she can handle the serving alone. I—I want to be a guest.”
“A guest? To mix socially with Prudence and Patience’s friends?” For a moment, Aunt Carolina’s eyes widened. Then she assumed a pious expression and patted Cimarron’s shoulder. “Dear, you wouldn’t quite fit in, and you’d end up being miserable. You know how most Texans feel about Indians—”
“My father was a Cheyenne chief.” Cimarron tried to hold her temper, but she could feel her dark eyes flashing.
“Don’t remind me of my sister’s scandal.” The other woman’s blue eyes flashed back. “To think Texanna would choose to go with him—”
“Is that what’s really bothering you?” Cimarron let her temper and her stubborn independence run away with her. “Or was it that War Bonnet took her instead of you?”
Aunt Carolina slapped Cimarron’s face. “I remind you that I was a respectable married woman!”
Instantly, Cimarron both hated her aunt and regretted her own thoughtless retort. As she rubbed her stinging flesh, two spots of bright red came to Carolina’s pouty cheeks. Abruptly Cimarron saw the jealousy and unfulfilled passion in the woman’s expression.
Her aunt sighed, turned away, and when she spoke, her voice was a whisper, as if she were thinking aloud. “No man ever noticed any other woman when Texanna was around. She could have had her choice of them, even . . .”
She sounded bitter as she stood looking out the window. “Pastor Schmidt and his wife did their Christian duty by you all these years, raising you until they died, and now, Cimarron, I am trying to do mine. What goes around comes around, as I always say, and surely I will be rewarded, if not on this earth, at least in heaven, for my good deeds.”
Her voice had a decided edge as she whirled to look triumphantly into Cimarron’s eyes. “I’m only thinking of you, my dear, not wanting you to be hurt and humiliated tonight by being rejected socially by Fandango’s best families. You really should learn your place; be more humble. Besides,” she gave her skirts a triumphant flounce as she turned to leave, “you don’t even know how to dance!”
“But I can!” Cimarron’s dark eyes flashed in her bronzed, high-cheekboned face. “I watched the dancing teacher from the kitchen as he gave the girls lessons, and I can waltz and polka as well as either of them.”
She’d started to say “better,” but her sharp mind gained control of her spirited retort. It wouldn’t help to point out the clumsiness of her two plump cousins.
Aunt Carolina shook her head. “I’m afraid people would hurt you with their remarks.” She smiled benevolently, but Cimarron saw the hard gleam in the ice-blue eyes. “Besides, you have nothing to wear.”
“I do, too!” Cimarron tried to keep the spirited ring of triumph out of her voice. “I took Prudence’s old green gown, took it in at the waist, let it out in the bust, and added some old lace around the bottom flounce to make it long enough.”
“So you think you can just show up; a half-breed, a poor relative, in a faded, secondhand gown, and expect to mix with my daughters’ friends?” Aunt Carolina’s pallid skin went livid. Her dainty hands shook as she brushed her gray-streaked hair back.
Cimarron lost the last remnants of her temper. “I’m not ashamed of my heritage, but I know you are! And people shouldn’t be judged by lack of money and clothes. But for the two months I’ve been here, I’ve been treated like an unpaid servant, and—”
“What a thoughtless niece!” Aunt Carolina looked toward heaven, as if beseeching divine help. “‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth is an ungrateful child.’ And to think I was kind enough to take you in when the Schmidts died. All the ladies tell me I’ve done more than my share, gone the second mile for my poor, misguided sister—”
“You took me in as a free servant,” Cimarron said hotly, past caring and caution now as they faced each other like combatants. “And because you were afraid your snooty friends would talk about you if you didn’t!”
“Of all the nerve!” Aunt Carolina blinked as she looked up into Cimarron’s eyes. “This conversation is ended.” She bit off each word. “I want to hear no more of your impudence. Now tonight, you and your Mex friend will be in the kitchen where you both belong—”
“Don’t call Señora Rodriguez a ‘Mex.’” Cimarron’s loyalty to her friend made her lose all caution. “She’s a respectable widow who can’t find a decent job in this town.”
She heard a noise in the doorway and her two homely cousins entered, still in their nightgowns and yawning.
“What is all the noise about?” Patience rubbed her pale blue watery eyes. “You woke us up.”
“Sorry about that,” Cimarron answered sarcastically. “I’ve been up since five.”
“But you’re supposed to be up then.” Prudence brushed back her thin, pale hair. “Is there any coffee left?”
“Of course, we have coffee.” Cimarron put her hands on her hips. “Even though it’s scarce and costs a fortune, the Longworths don’t do without luxuries.”
“So?” Patience shrugged. “Why should we? If sister and I manage to marry rich, we’ll be able to pay all our debts. We’re used to living well and don’t see why we shouldn’t.” She scratched her fat waist indelicately. “What’s the noise about, anyway?”
Aunt Carolina smirked. “Well, you’re not going to believe this, but Cimarron wants to come to the party.”
“So?” Prudence’s prominent teeth stuck out over her lip. “Of course, she’ll be there. Someone has to serve.”
“I mean as a guest,” Aunt Carolina said.
Prudence’s mouth dropped open and the other girl looked horrified. “For pity’s sake, Cimarron, you can’t do that! Why, I would be humiliated to death, especially if that rich Durango fellow does show up. What would he think about us letting an Injun girl, even a poor cousin—”
Cimarron grabbed her then, even though she knew they’d make her regret it. She gave the thin hair a good pulling while Prudence howled and the other two stared in amazement at the plump girl’s pathetic efforts to defend herself.
“Double damnation! Two months of this is long enough!” Cimarron declared as she attacked her other cousin.
Prudence set up a wail that could be heard probably down on Main Street.
Her aunt pulled Cimarron away and got right up in her face. “How dare you, after all I’ve done for you—?”
The front door opened and pompous Uncle Ransford came in, his florid face perspiring. “What in the name of Goshen is all that noise? Prudence, shut up! You sound like a sick coyote caught in a trap!”
“She pulled my hair and pushed me!” Prudence sobbed. “And I wasn’t doing anything to her! For pity’s sake! Not one thing!”
“That’s right, Ransford,” Aunt Carolina agreed smugly. “Poor Pru wasn’t doing anything at all and my ungrateful niece attacked her.”
Cimarron started to come to her own defense, then decided she was fighting a losing battle she would not dignify with an answer. If the Civil War would just end, she thought with angry frustration, she could run away and leave this hateful family and town forever.
The pompous storekeeper patted his sobbing daughter on the arm. “Now, now, my dear, I’m sure Cimarron didn’t mean anything by it. Now aren’t my two darlings due at the dressmaker’s to pick up your new gowns for tonight’s party? I see the buggy waiting out front.”
Prudence nodded glumly, her round face tear-streaked. “I told her we’d be over about noon,” she gulped.
“Well, it’s almost noon now and it’s sprinkling rain.” Uncle Ransford sucked his teeth thoughtfully as he pulled out his big gold watch and chain that hung across his paunch. “Now you girls run along and Carolina, my dear, perhaps you should go with them. After all, you are the one with a sense of style and taste in this hick town.”
“That’s true,” Aunt Carolina smiled in smug satisfaction. “But what about Cimarron? She has the nerve to want to attend the girls’ party.”
“Of course she’ll attend,” Ransford said mildly, “if she has a decent dress to wear—”
“Oh, I do,” Cimarron’s hopes rose. “It’s one of Prudence’s old ones, but it’s nice enough.”
“Ransford,” Aunt Carolina’s eyes flashed sparks, “you surely don’t intend—”
“Well, of course she can wear the dress and be there at the party,” he soothed. “After all, she and Señora Rodriguez are serving the cake and sandwiches. What’s the fuss about?”
Cimarron’s heart sank while the other two girls tittered with malicious delight. “That’s not fair,” she whispered, trying to fight back the tears of anger and frustration that came to her eyes and threatened to overflow those dark pools.
Uncle Ransford sucked his teeth. “We’ll discuss this, Cimarron, while you fix me a bite of lunch and the girls go on over to the dressmaker.” He smiled at his three women. “After we talk it over, I’m sure Cimarron will see the error of her ways and be ready to apologize when you return.”
The two plump cousins smirked with triumph while Cimarron quivered and tried to hold her temper. What was she going to do, after all, if the Longworth family threw her out? She only had a few small coins saved and hidden away. No one else in town would hire her if the uppity Longworth family passed the word around. She had few skills that she might use if she should get through the Yankee lines to try to start another life. There were almost no respectable jobs for women, although she wasn’t afraid of hard work. And certainly she couldn’t cross Texas and Colorado looking for her older half-Cheyenne brother, whom she hadn’t seen since she was five.
More than anything, she wanted to attend tonight’s party. She had spent her whole life looking after the invalid wife of Pastor Schmidt, and they had left their little horse ranch to the church. Even the congregation had not been overly warm or friendly to the half-breed girl and had been only too eager to evict her from the ranch on the Schmidts’ death. In all her life, Cimarron had never attended a real party, the kind the Longworths were having tonight, and she wanted to desperately.
She decided to try and convince Uncle Ransford of that as she watched the three women get in the buggy and drive away. Then she fixed his lunch.
Uncle Ransford finished a bowl of her delicious homemade stew and belched loudly. “I don’t know why such a long face,” he grumbled. “After all, you will be at the party. What difference does it make which side of the serving table you stand on?”
“If you don’t know, I can’t make you understand it.” She tossed her honey-colored head as she cleaned away the dishes. “I’d like to talk to you about it before you go back to the store.”
He yawned. “So few goods to sell these days makes business slow. Damned war! Had to pay big bribes to get that fine cloth for the girls’ party dresses and the food and wine. I told the clerk I might stay home all afternoon and help my wife get ready for tonight’s party. Got to put away my horse, though, looks like a real toad-strangler coming.” He scratched his jowls as he looked out the window at the growing clouds, the gray gathering storm.
“Uncle Ransford, about Aunt Carolina—”
“Poor Carolina, she’d give anything if we were one of old man Austin’s ‘Three Hundred.’ Those first three hundred settler families are the nearest thing to blueblood Texas has. Even more, she’d like to marry into one of the rich old Spanish families like the Durangos.”
“Uncle Ransford,” she gave him her most beguiling smile, “I have a really nice dress, and Señora Rodriguez says she can handle the serving alone. Aunt Carolina would let me attend the party if you asked her.”
He looked at her as if really seeing her for the first time. “It’s amazing how much you remind me of your mother,” he said softly, as if remembering. “Texanna’s hair was lighter, more red gold. But she was tall and slim like you.”
He studied her for a long moment, and for some reason, the way he looked at her made her feel ill at ease and uncomfortable. To avoid his eyes, she busied herself with putting away the leftover stew.
He stood up and hooked his fingers in his vest. “Your hair reminds me of a tawny, honey-gold mountain lion I saw once lying on a big rock in the sun. That’s what you remind me of, with your dark eyes and tawny hair, a lioness.”
“My mother was white,” she reminded him, clearing away the dirty dishes. “She couldn’t have looked much like me.”
“Well, she had fair skin and eyes the color of bluebonnets, all right. But the fire of her, the pride, her fine features,” he answered softly, remembering. “Yes, I see that much of her in you.”
His voice trailed off and she saw the sadness in his face and realized suddenly that Uncle Ransford had been in love with her mother. She wondered if Aunt Carolina knew it? Of course, she did, Cimarron thought, remembering the scene in the parlor. No wonder her aunt hated Texanna.
He must have seen the expression on her face, for he stood up and nodded. “Yes, I would have left Carolina for your mother,” he said softly, as if speaking to himself. “But your mother wouldn’t have me. Me, Ransford Longworth, one of the most important men in the Texas hill country.”
“She loved my father,” Cimarron whispered.
“Yes, damn her!” His eyes seemed to fill with pain and suppressed fury. “I offered to run away with her. Half the men in town wanted Texanna, but she would have none of us. She waited faithfully for that savage to come back for her. When he did, all the gold in Texas couldn’t keep her from leaving with him.”
“Aunt Carolina says she didn’t care about me, so she left me behind.”
“That’s not true,” the gray-haired man said sharply. “No one could have loved her children like Texanna did, but she loved that Cheyenne chief more than life itself. You were a sick baby, too sick to go anywhere. Moreover, the mob that was trying to lynch your brother was between them and you at the preacher’s house. If she has never come back for you she must be dead; that’s all that would stop her.”
Cimarron bit her lip and clenched her fists at the idea. What a rotten choice, to think she was either abandoned or her mother was dead. Now she looked at the paunchy shopkeeper and tried to read his thoughts.
“Yes, all the fire of Texanna, but dark eyes and skin like War Bonnet’s,” the man said dreamily. “And you’re not much younger than she was the first time I ever saw her. I suppose I owe her something for the way I treated her; the way this rotten town treated her.”
He seemed to turn something over in his mind. “Is the dress you’ve got presentable enough that your aunt wouldn’t die of embarrassment? Why don’t you show it to me?”
Hope rose in her heart again. There was so little fun and excitement in her life. “It’s really not too bad. Not as nice as the ones the girls are having made, but I’m handy with a needle.”
There was something in his expression that she didn’t understand, didn’t like. “Yes, let’s see the dress. I can probably talk your aunt around, convince her it’s a generous, commendable thing to do. She cares a lot about what other people think of her.”
“Uncle Ransford, you’re wonderful!” she said happily, following him to the small, cramped room at the back of the big house. Ransford Longworth ruled the roost here like an old-fashioned dictator. If he said she could attend the party, she’d get to go no matter how angry her aunt and her two spoiled cousins became.
The paunchy man looked around at the small, dingy quarters and she saw the distaste in his face. “Land o’ Goshen! I haven’t been back here for years, I guess. Carolina ought to be ashamed when our two have so much....”
His voice trailed off and Cimarron pulled the faded dress from the tall walnut wardrobe and held it up in front of her. “See? It’s not too bad.” She nodded to the pincushion, thread, and scissors on the table by the bed. “I’ve been repairing it at night when I finish the housework.”
He frowned. “It’s terrible. But even so, with your beauty, you’ll put both our clumsy daughters in the shade and outshine every other girl in town. I have to admit that’s probably the real reason your aunt and her friends might be upset if you attend. Their homely daughters can’t stand the competition.”
She smiled and felt herself blush. “Do you know you’re the first person besides Señora Rodriguez who has ever said anything nice to me like that? The Schmidts preached against vanity.”
“Now I haven’t yet given permission.” He shook his head hastily, and she felt his eyes sweep over her in a way that made her uneasy. “You know, you need to be able to dance—”
“I can dance!” she laughed, holding the dress up before her and whirling around. “I learned by watching the dancing master teach Prudence and Patience.”
Uncle Ransford chuckled. “I saw some of those lessons myself. Both of them are as graceful as hogs on ice. But their mother is hoping she can marry them off to someone who has plenty of money, although we wouldn’t need it if they weren’t all so extravagant.”
He held out his arms. “Let’s see how well you dance, Cimarron, so I can tell your aunt you won’t embarrass us.”
“Well ...” She laid the dress across the foot of the bed and went into his arms hesitantly, never having been held by a man before. Some of the boys at the small country school had tried to sneak a kiss, but she had pushed them away. Like her mother, there could be only one man for her, and she hadn’t met him yet.
“Now,” Uncle Ransford said, and he seemed to be breathing more heavily. “We’ll just dance a little and see how well you do.”
Cimarron complied, letting him whirl her around the small room. He was holding her too tightly and she could feel her nipples pressed against his checkered silk vest. The smell of his bay rum hair tonic was almost overpowering. His hand seemed very hot and moist holding hers, as did the one pressing into the small of her back.
Tense, she tried to pull back, but he pulled her closer as he danced her around. “I hadn’t noticed how you’ve grown up since you moved in here.” His face was so close to hers she could see the sweat on his florid jowls.
Outside, the sky seemed to break open, and lightning crashed as rain poured down.
“Uncle Ransford, your horse should be put away.” She stopped dancing and looked up at him. The strange look on his face told her he hadn’t heard her. “Uncle Ransford,” she put her hands against his chest and tried to push him away, “I—I don’t think—”
But he held her tightly and looked down at her. “You’re almost as beautiful as your mother,” he whispered, and his lips trembled. “You know, Cimarron, if you’d be nice to me, I could talk to your aunt; make things a lot easier for you around here.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” she began, feeling her heart beginning to thud a warning.
“Yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes, just like I see suppressed passion there. You’re like a banked fire, Cimarron, hot coals glowing, waiting to burst into flames; waiting for a man’s first touch....” One of his beefy hands went up to stroke her long hair, and before she realized his intent, his moist mouth came down on hers.
She tried to protest, but her arms were pinned to her sides by one of his long arms wrapped around her. The hand that stroked her hair caught the back of her head so she couldn’t escape from him.
Angry, but frightened, she tried to protest, but his tongue was invading her mouth now as his greedy lips forced hers apart. She could taste the strong cigars he favored, feel his body straining against hers and the hardness between his legs rubbing her body.
As she struggled to break free, she stumbled back against the bed. It hit the bend of the back of her knees, catching her off balance. She fell across the bed with the heavy man atop her.
“Uncle Ransford, no!” she managed to gasp. “Have you lost your mind?”
But he was like a man possessed, holding her down by throwing himself half across her while his free hand pulled at the front of her dress. His mouth claimed hers as his hot, moist fingers fumbled with her breasts, jerking the bodice down. She could feel his sweat dripping on her bare skin and the reek of bay rum nauseated her.
“Cimarron,” he gasped against her mouth as his hands pawed her ripe breasts, “be nice to me and I’ll talk to your aunt and things will be better for you. You’ll see! You’ll go to that party tonight and be the belle of the ball.”
“No!” she exclaimed, struggling to break free, more furious than frightened. If she could get one hand up to claw his face, he’d think tawny mountain lion!
“Oh, yes, Cimarron!” His wet mo
Cimarron staggered from the bedroom. She closed her eyes to keep from seeing the blood on her bare breasts ... on her hands.
But shutting her eyes didn’t work. She could still feel the sticky warmth, smell the sweetness as she stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed the back of a chair. The horror of what she’d just done swept over her. Only sheer willpower was keeping back the sour nausea. Wave after wave of panic and revulsion shook her as she gripped the chair with white knuckles.
“Oh, no,” she moaned, “Oh, dear God, no!”
Get hold of yourself, Cimarron, she commanded. You have no time for the luxury of hysterics. In a panic, she ran to the kitchen door, flung it open to stare out at the rainstorm outside. She must go for the doctor....
No, it was too late for that. There was so much blood, Ransford must be dead. The echoing thunder outside might have been the pounding of her own heart as she gazed unseeing at the pouring rain, the dismal day.
The sheriff. Of course she must go for the sheriff. But even as she started out the door, she changed her mind. A Texas sheriff would never take the word of a half-breed girl on anything, especially when the dead man had been a respected pillar of the community. In a small, prejudiced town like Fandango, she probably wouldn’t even get a fair trial. These people, who had never forgiven her mother’s love for a Cheyenne chief, might be eager to take revenge on the daughter.
Think, she ordered herself. What are you going to do now? You’ve got to get out of here. Slowly, her eyes focused on her trembling hands. She staggered over to the wash basin. She poured a bowl of water, plunged her hands in, mopped at the blood on her bare breasts. She stopped; stared at the white porcelain bowl, the scarlet ripples spreading to turn the water pale pink.
Closing her eyes with a shudder, she turned away, wiped her hands on her faded calico dress. There was only one thing she could do. Cimarron had to escape before Aunt Carolina and her two fat, homely daughters returned from the dressmaker’s and found the body.
What was that noise? She stiffened and strained to hear. Did it come from the bedroom? She couldn’t stand to go back in there. Maybe it was only the thunderstorm outside. The torrent seemed to be easing off, though. Could it be a delivery wagon with things for tonight’s party?
There wouldn’t be any party now. Not unless it was her own lynching party. With shaking hands, she pulled together the torn bodice. Her bruised body protested in pain as she limped to the pantry. She had been so naive and innocent, not realizing what he’d intended.... But she hadn’t meant to....
If she thought about it anymore, she’d fall apart and start screaming. Trying to force the images from her mind, she searched behind the cornmeal for the few coins she’d been saving to run away when the war finally ended.
Grabbing a hunk of leftover lunch cornbread off the kitchen table, and an old shawl, Cimarron stumbled through the ornate parlor. She had cleaned it so carefully this morning that the scent of furniture polish still hung on the air. Still, she imagined she smelled fresh blood.
If only she could go back and change the happenings of the last hour. If only . . . no time for regrets, she thought, it wasn’t your fault. You acted in blind panic.
Cautiously, Cimarron opened the front door and peered up and down the deserted street. Ransford Longworth’s bay gelding stood wet and forlorn, its California rein looped over the white picket fence. The rain had eased off to a fine mist.
She tried to look casual as she draped the shawl over her dark blond hair, closed the door and walked toward the horse. But inside, her heart hammered with fear. Pink Seven Sisters roses climbed the white pickets, their fragrance muted as they drooped in the sultry rain.
Oh, dear God, I didn’t mean to do it! Cimarron sighed as she mounted up and her skirt slid up her long legs. She tried to pull it back down, wishing she had a sidesaddle as she looked back at the grand Victorian-style house. Where would she go? What would she do? She’d lived in Fandango all her life, but she had few friends. Life wasn’t easy for a half-breed girl in a prejudiced Texas hill country town.
Señora Rodriguez would help her....
No. Cimarron shook her head stubbornly as she rode out, tears spilling down her bronze cheeks. She couldn’t involve others in this; they would be in trouble with the townspeople. Mrs. Rodriguez would surely help, but Cimarron wouldn’t ask. She wouldn’t endanger the kindly widow. Cimarron was on her own.
Just what did a naive, parsonage-raised girl do at this point? The rain fell in a fine mist on her face as she reined the horse around to the south. Cimarron had no idea where to go, but she couldn’t ride north. That would take her through the town square, and she mustn’t be seen. Her tense fingers gripped the one-piece rein as she kept her mount to a slow walk, thankful the sudden storm had driven everyone indoors for an afternoon siesta. If it hadn’t been lightning and thundering, a neighbor might have heard Ransford’s scream....
It took all her willpower to ride out of town at a slow walk in case someone might happen to look out the window and see her. But her soul cried out to quirt the horse and gallop away as though the hounds of hell were nipping at the gelding’s heels.
For at least a half mile, she walked the bay, listening intently for sounds of pursuit. All her ears heard was the echoing thunder of the fading storm, the gelding’s hooves, and her own pounding heart. Finally she kicked the horse into a slow, casual lope. Only when Fandango was several miles behind did she quirt her mount with the Romal, the ends of the braided California rein. As she rode south at a gallop, she tried not to remember the terrible events of the past two hours. It had seemed so innocent. All she’d wanted was to go to the party....
It had been almost noon when Cimarron took a deep breath for courage, smoothed her faded calico dress, and marched into the parlor of the elegant Victorian-style home.
Aunt Carolina stood surveying the ornate furnishings and gave her a curt, disapproving frown. “Oh, there you are, Cimarron. Did you get the windows washed? There’s so much still to be done, with the guests coming at seven o‘clock. I do hope it won’t rain and—”
“I’ve finished the windows and beaten the carpets.” Cimarron brushed back her tawny dark blonde hair, determined to keep her fiery temperament under control. “Everything’s clean and most of the food’s ready. If the girls would help me instead of sleeping late—”
“Are you criticizing your cousins?” Aunt Carolina’s eyes expressed exasperation. “It’s important they look their best tonight. After all, it’s their coming out party, and while most of the eligible men are off at war, there’s enough important, wealthy ones left that I thought it worthwhile....”
Her petulant voice trailed off and her pout gave her pale features the look of a small, ill-tempered bulldog.
How like Carolina Longworth to think of the war only as an inconvenience, preventing her having eligible men come court her two quarrelsome, homely daughters, Cimarron thought, summoning up her courage to plunge in. “Aunt Carolina,” she drew her tall, slender frame up to its full height, “About the party—”
“I don’t suppose the Durango heir will come clear across the county, it’s such a long way,” her aunt mused, ignoring Cimarron. “But if he were to marry one of my girls, certainly his father wouldn’t call our note next year when it comes due....”
“Aunt Carolina,” she began again, trying to sound properly humble and grateful. How many times in the last two months had she been lectured about being properly thankful for the Longworths’ generosity? “About the party—”
“What about it?” Aunt Carolina snapped, busily moving the knickknacks around on an ornate marbletop table.
Cimarron took a deep breath of apprehension, caught between her eagerness and the conflict she knew was coming. “I wondered if I might attend?”
“Of course, you’ll attend,” Aunt Carolina nodded, glaring out the window at gathering clouds. “Someone has to serve the sandwiches, and you and the other maid will have a lot to do to keep things tidied up tonight.”
“No, I didn’t mean as a servant.” She hesitated and summoned all the courage of her twenty-two years. “Señora Rodriguez says she can handle the serving alone. I—I want to be a guest.”
“A guest? To mix socially with Prudence and Patience’s friends?” For a moment, Aunt Carolina’s eyes widened. Then she assumed a pious expression and patted Cimarron’s shoulder. “Dear, you wouldn’t quite fit in, and you’d end up being miserable. You know how most Texans feel about Indians—”
“My father was a Cheyenne chief.” Cimarron tried to hold her temper, but she could feel her dark eyes flashing.
“Don’t remind me of my sister’s scandal.” The other woman’s blue eyes flashed back. “To think Texanna would choose to go with him—”
“Is that what’s really bothering you?” Cimarron let her temper and her stubborn independence run away with her. “Or was it that War Bonnet took her instead of you?”
Aunt Carolina slapped Cimarron’s face. “I remind you that I was a respectable married woman!”
Instantly, Cimarron both hated her aunt and regretted her own thoughtless retort. As she rubbed her stinging flesh, two spots of bright red came to Carolina’s pouty cheeks. Abruptly Cimarron saw the jealousy and unfulfilled passion in the woman’s expression.
Her aunt sighed, turned away, and when she spoke, her voice was a whisper, as if she were thinking aloud. “No man ever noticed any other woman when Texanna was around. She could have had her choice of them, even . . .”
She sounded bitter as she stood looking out the window. “Pastor Schmidt and his wife did their Christian duty by you all these years, raising you until they died, and now, Cimarron, I am trying to do mine. What goes around comes around, as I always say, and surely I will be rewarded, if not on this earth, at least in heaven, for my good deeds.”
Her voice had a decided edge as she whirled to look triumphantly into Cimarron’s eyes. “I’m only thinking of you, my dear, not wanting you to be hurt and humiliated tonight by being rejected socially by Fandango’s best families. You really should learn your place; be more humble. Besides,” she gave her skirts a triumphant flounce as she turned to leave, “you don’t even know how to dance!”
“But I can!” Cimarron’s dark eyes flashed in her bronzed, high-cheekboned face. “I watched the dancing teacher from the kitchen as he gave the girls lessons, and I can waltz and polka as well as either of them.”
She’d started to say “better,” but her sharp mind gained control of her spirited retort. It wouldn’t help to point out the clumsiness of her two plump cousins.
Aunt Carolina shook her head. “I’m afraid people would hurt you with their remarks.” She smiled benevolently, but Cimarron saw the hard gleam in the ice-blue eyes. “Besides, you have nothing to wear.”
“I do, too!” Cimarron tried to keep the spirited ring of triumph out of her voice. “I took Prudence’s old green gown, took it in at the waist, let it out in the bust, and added some old lace around the bottom flounce to make it long enough.”
“So you think you can just show up; a half-breed, a poor relative, in a faded, secondhand gown, and expect to mix with my daughters’ friends?” Aunt Carolina’s pallid skin went livid. Her dainty hands shook as she brushed her gray-streaked hair back.
Cimarron lost the last remnants of her temper. “I’m not ashamed of my heritage, but I know you are! And people shouldn’t be judged by lack of money and clothes. But for the two months I’ve been here, I’ve been treated like an unpaid servant, and—”
“What a thoughtless niece!” Aunt Carolina looked toward heaven, as if beseeching divine help. “‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth is an ungrateful child.’ And to think I was kind enough to take you in when the Schmidts died. All the ladies tell me I’ve done more than my share, gone the second mile for my poor, misguided sister—”
“You took me in as a free servant,” Cimarron said hotly, past caring and caution now as they faced each other like combatants. “And because you were afraid your snooty friends would talk about you if you didn’t!”
“Of all the nerve!” Aunt Carolina blinked as she looked up into Cimarron’s eyes. “This conversation is ended.” She bit off each word. “I want to hear no more of your impudence. Now tonight, you and your Mex friend will be in the kitchen where you both belong—”
“Don’t call Señora Rodriguez a ‘Mex.’” Cimarron’s loyalty to her friend made her lose all caution. “She’s a respectable widow who can’t find a decent job in this town.”
She heard a noise in the doorway and her two homely cousins entered, still in their nightgowns and yawning.
“What is all the noise about?” Patience rubbed her pale blue watery eyes. “You woke us up.”
“Sorry about that,” Cimarron answered sarcastically. “I’ve been up since five.”
“But you’re supposed to be up then.” Prudence brushed back her thin, pale hair. “Is there any coffee left?”
“Of course, we have coffee.” Cimarron put her hands on her hips. “Even though it’s scarce and costs a fortune, the Longworths don’t do without luxuries.”
“So?” Patience shrugged. “Why should we? If sister and I manage to marry rich, we’ll be able to pay all our debts. We’re used to living well and don’t see why we shouldn’t.” She scratched her fat waist indelicately. “What’s the noise about, anyway?”
Aunt Carolina smirked. “Well, you’re not going to believe this, but Cimarron wants to come to the party.”
“So?” Prudence’s prominent teeth stuck out over her lip. “Of course, she’ll be there. Someone has to serve.”
“I mean as a guest,” Aunt Carolina said.
Prudence’s mouth dropped open and the other girl looked horrified. “For pity’s sake, Cimarron, you can’t do that! Why, I would be humiliated to death, especially if that rich Durango fellow does show up. What would he think about us letting an Injun girl, even a poor cousin—”
Cimarron grabbed her then, even though she knew they’d make her regret it. She gave the thin hair a good pulling while Prudence howled and the other two stared in amazement at the plump girl’s pathetic efforts to defend herself.
“Double damnation! Two months of this is long enough!” Cimarron declared as she attacked her other cousin.
Prudence set up a wail that could be heard probably down on Main Street.
Her aunt pulled Cimarron away and got right up in her face. “How dare you, after all I’ve done for you—?”
The front door opened and pompous Uncle Ransford came in, his florid face perspiring. “What in the name of Goshen is all that noise? Prudence, shut up! You sound like a sick coyote caught in a trap!”
“She pulled my hair and pushed me!” Prudence sobbed. “And I wasn’t doing anything to her! For pity’s sake! Not one thing!”
“That’s right, Ransford,” Aunt Carolina agreed smugly. “Poor Pru wasn’t doing anything at all and my ungrateful niece attacked her.”
Cimarron started to come to her own defense, then decided she was fighting a losing battle she would not dignify with an answer. If the Civil War would just end, she thought with angry frustration, she could run away and leave this hateful family and town forever.
The pompous storekeeper patted his sobbing daughter on the arm. “Now, now, my dear, I’m sure Cimarron didn’t mean anything by it. Now aren’t my two darlings due at the dressmaker’s to pick up your new gowns for tonight’s party? I see the buggy waiting out front.”
Prudence nodded glumly, her round face tear-streaked. “I told her we’d be over about noon,” she gulped.
“Well, it’s almost noon now and it’s sprinkling rain.” Uncle Ransford sucked his teeth thoughtfully as he pulled out his big gold watch and chain that hung across his paunch. “Now you girls run along and Carolina, my dear, perhaps you should go with them. After all, you are the one with a sense of style and taste in this hick town.”
“That’s true,” Aunt Carolina smiled in smug satisfaction. “But what about Cimarron? She has the nerve to want to attend the girls’ party.”
“Of course she’ll attend,” Ransford said mildly, “if she has a decent dress to wear—”
“Oh, I do,” Cimarron’s hopes rose. “It’s one of Prudence’s old ones, but it’s nice enough.”
“Ransford,” Aunt Carolina’s eyes flashed sparks, “you surely don’t intend—”
“Well, of course she can wear the dress and be there at the party,” he soothed. “After all, she and Señora Rodriguez are serving the cake and sandwiches. What’s the fuss about?”
Cimarron’s heart sank while the other two girls tittered with malicious delight. “That’s not fair,” she whispered, trying to fight back the tears of anger and frustration that came to her eyes and threatened to overflow those dark pools.
Uncle Ransford sucked his teeth. “We’ll discuss this, Cimarron, while you fix me a bite of lunch and the girls go on over to the dressmaker.” He smiled at his three women. “After we talk it over, I’m sure Cimarron will see the error of her ways and be ready to apologize when you return.”
The two plump cousins smirked with triumph while Cimarron quivered and tried to hold her temper. What was she going to do, after all, if the Longworth family threw her out? She only had a few small coins saved and hidden away. No one else in town would hire her if the uppity Longworth family passed the word around. She had few skills that she might use if she should get through the Yankee lines to try to start another life. There were almost no respectable jobs for women, although she wasn’t afraid of hard work. And certainly she couldn’t cross Texas and Colorado looking for her older half-Cheyenne brother, whom she hadn’t seen since she was five.
More than anything, she wanted to attend tonight’s party. She had spent her whole life looking after the invalid wife of Pastor Schmidt, and they had left their little horse ranch to the church. Even the congregation had not been overly warm or friendly to the half-breed girl and had been only too eager to evict her from the ranch on the Schmidts’ death. In all her life, Cimarron had never attended a real party, the kind the Longworths were having tonight, and she wanted to desperately.
She decided to try and convince Uncle Ransford of that as she watched the three women get in the buggy and drive away. Then she fixed his lunch.
Uncle Ransford finished a bowl of her delicious homemade stew and belched loudly. “I don’t know why such a long face,” he grumbled. “After all, you will be at the party. What difference does it make which side of the serving table you stand on?”
“If you don’t know, I can’t make you understand it.” She tossed her honey-colored head as she cleaned away the dishes. “I’d like to talk to you about it before you go back to the store.”
He yawned. “So few goods to sell these days makes business slow. Damned war! Had to pay big bribes to get that fine cloth for the girls’ party dresses and the food and wine. I told the clerk I might stay home all afternoon and help my wife get ready for tonight’s party. Got to put away my horse, though, looks like a real toad-strangler coming.” He scratched his jowls as he looked out the window at the growing clouds, the gray gathering storm.
“Uncle Ransford, about Aunt Carolina—”
“Poor Carolina, she’d give anything if we were one of old man Austin’s ‘Three Hundred.’ Those first three hundred settler families are the nearest thing to blueblood Texas has. Even more, she’d like to marry into one of the rich old Spanish families like the Durangos.”
“Uncle Ransford,” she gave him her most beguiling smile, “I have a really nice dress, and Señora Rodriguez says she can handle the serving alone. Aunt Carolina would let me attend the party if you asked her.”
He looked at her as if really seeing her for the first time. “It’s amazing how much you remind me of your mother,” he said softly, as if remembering. “Texanna’s hair was lighter, more red gold. But she was tall and slim like you.”
He studied her for a long moment, and for some reason, the way he looked at her made her feel ill at ease and uncomfortable. To avoid his eyes, she busied herself with putting away the leftover stew.
He stood up and hooked his fingers in his vest. “Your hair reminds me of a tawny, honey-gold mountain lion I saw once lying on a big rock in the sun. That’s what you remind me of, with your dark eyes and tawny hair, a lioness.”
“My mother was white,” she reminded him, clearing away the dirty dishes. “She couldn’t have looked much like me.”
“Well, she had fair skin and eyes the color of bluebonnets, all right. But the fire of her, the pride, her fine features,” he answered softly, remembering. “Yes, I see that much of her in you.”
His voice trailed off and she saw the sadness in his face and realized suddenly that Uncle Ransford had been in love with her mother. She wondered if Aunt Carolina knew it? Of course, she did, Cimarron thought, remembering the scene in the parlor. No wonder her aunt hated Texanna.
He must have seen the expression on her face, for he stood up and nodded. “Yes, I would have left Carolina for your mother,” he said softly, as if speaking to himself. “But your mother wouldn’t have me. Me, Ransford Longworth, one of the most important men in the Texas hill country.”
“She loved my father,” Cimarron whispered.
“Yes, damn her!” His eyes seemed to fill with pain and suppressed fury. “I offered to run away with her. Half the men in town wanted Texanna, but she would have none of us. She waited faithfully for that savage to come back for her. When he did, all the gold in Texas couldn’t keep her from leaving with him.”
“Aunt Carolina says she didn’t care about me, so she left me behind.”
“That’s not true,” the gray-haired man said sharply. “No one could have loved her children like Texanna did, but she loved that Cheyenne chief more than life itself. You were a sick baby, too sick to go anywhere. Moreover, the mob that was trying to lynch your brother was between them and you at the preacher’s house. If she has never come back for you she must be dead; that’s all that would stop her.”
Cimarron bit her lip and clenched her fists at the idea. What a rotten choice, to think she was either abandoned or her mother was dead. Now she looked at the paunchy shopkeeper and tried to read his thoughts.
“Yes, all the fire of Texanna, but dark eyes and skin like War Bonnet’s,” the man said dreamily. “And you’re not much younger than she was the first time I ever saw her. I suppose I owe her something for the way I treated her; the way this rotten town treated her.”
He seemed to turn something over in his mind. “Is the dress you’ve got presentable enough that your aunt wouldn’t die of embarrassment? Why don’t you show it to me?”
Hope rose in her heart again. There was so little fun and excitement in her life. “It’s really not too bad. Not as nice as the ones the girls are having made, but I’m handy with a needle.”
There was something in his expression that she didn’t understand, didn’t like. “Yes, let’s see the dress. I can probably talk your aunt around, convince her it’s a generous, commendable thing to do. She cares a lot about what other people think of her.”
“Uncle Ransford, you’re wonderful!” she said happily, following him to the small, cramped room at the back of the big house. Ransford Longworth ruled the roost here like an old-fashioned dictator. If he said she could attend the party, she’d get to go no matter how angry her aunt and her two spoiled cousins became.
The paunchy man looked around at the small, dingy quarters and she saw the distaste in his face. “Land o’ Goshen! I haven’t been back here for years, I guess. Carolina ought to be ashamed when our two have so much....”
His voice trailed off and Cimarron pulled the faded dress from the tall walnut wardrobe and held it up in front of her. “See? It’s not too bad.” She nodded to the pincushion, thread, and scissors on the table by the bed. “I’ve been repairing it at night when I finish the housework.”
He frowned. “It’s terrible. But even so, with your beauty, you’ll put both our clumsy daughters in the shade and outshine every other girl in town. I have to admit that’s probably the real reason your aunt and her friends might be upset if you attend. Their homely daughters can’t stand the competition.”
She smiled and felt herself blush. “Do you know you’re the first person besides Señora Rodriguez who has ever said anything nice to me like that? The Schmidts preached against vanity.”
“Now I haven’t yet given permission.” He shook his head hastily, and she felt his eyes sweep over her in a way that made her uneasy. “You know, you need to be able to dance—”
“I can dance!” she laughed, holding the dress up before her and whirling around. “I learned by watching the dancing master teach Prudence and Patience.”
Uncle Ransford chuckled. “I saw some of those lessons myself. Both of them are as graceful as hogs on ice. But their mother is hoping she can marry them off to someone who has plenty of money, although we wouldn’t need it if they weren’t all so extravagant.”
He held out his arms. “Let’s see how well you dance, Cimarron, so I can tell your aunt you won’t embarrass us.”
“Well ...” She laid the dress across the foot of the bed and went into his arms hesitantly, never having been held by a man before. Some of the boys at the small country school had tried to sneak a kiss, but she had pushed them away. Like her mother, there could be only one man for her, and she hadn’t met him yet.
“Now,” Uncle Ransford said, and he seemed to be breathing more heavily. “We’ll just dance a little and see how well you do.”
Cimarron complied, letting him whirl her around the small room. He was holding her too tightly and she could feel her nipples pressed against his checkered silk vest. The smell of his bay rum hair tonic was almost overpowering. His hand seemed very hot and moist holding hers, as did the one pressing into the small of her back.
Tense, she tried to pull back, but he pulled her closer as he danced her around. “I hadn’t noticed how you’ve grown up since you moved in here.” His face was so close to hers she could see the sweat on his florid jowls.
Outside, the sky seemed to break open, and lightning crashed as rain poured down.
“Uncle Ransford, your horse should be put away.” She stopped dancing and looked up at him. The strange look on his face told her he hadn’t heard her. “Uncle Ransford,” she put her hands against his chest and tried to push him away, “I—I don’t think—”
But he held her tightly and looked down at her. “You’re almost as beautiful as your mother,” he whispered, and his lips trembled. “You know, Cimarron, if you’d be nice to me, I could talk to your aunt; make things a lot easier for you around here.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” she began, feeling her heart beginning to thud a warning.
“Yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes, just like I see suppressed passion there. You’re like a banked fire, Cimarron, hot coals glowing, waiting to burst into flames; waiting for a man’s first touch....” One of his beefy hands went up to stroke her long hair, and before she realized his intent, his moist mouth came down on hers.
She tried to protest, but her arms were pinned to her sides by one of his long arms wrapped around her. The hand that stroked her hair caught the back of her head so she couldn’t escape from him.
Angry, but frightened, she tried to protest, but his tongue was invading her mouth now as his greedy lips forced hers apart. She could taste the strong cigars he favored, feel his body straining against hers and the hardness between his legs rubbing her body.
As she struggled to break free, she stumbled back against the bed. It hit the bend of the back of her knees, catching her off balance. She fell across the bed with the heavy man atop her.
“Uncle Ransford, no!” she managed to gasp. “Have you lost your mind?”
But he was like a man possessed, holding her down by throwing himself half across her while his free hand pulled at the front of her dress. His mouth claimed hers as his hot, moist fingers fumbled with her breasts, jerking the bodice down. She could feel his sweat dripping on her bare skin and the reek of bay rum nauseated her.
“Cimarron,” he gasped against her mouth as his hands pawed her ripe breasts, “be nice to me and I’ll talk to your aunt and things will be better for you. You’ll see! You’ll go to that party tonight and be the belle of the ball.”
“No!” she exclaimed, struggling to break free, more furious than frightened. If she could get one hand up to claw his face, he’d think tawny mountain lion!
“Oh, yes, Cimarron!” His wet mo
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Cheyenne Princess
Georgina Gentry
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