Amelia Read online

  "I could go back East"

  "You'll go nowhere, except to the church on Sunday," he said, his voice deep and cutting.

  He moved around to the other side of the carriage, lighting a cigar as he went.

  Quinn had mounted and rode up beside Amelia, who was smoldering quietly in the buggy.

  "I do not wish to marry him. You must save me," she told her brother firmly.

  He pulled his hat low over his eyes, commented that he thought it was King who needed saving, and rode on ahead of them.

  Amelia took one last look at her father's sad, lonely grave, and turned her attention toward Latigo.

  The announcement of King's marriage to Amelia had predictable results at Latigo.

  "I couldn't be happier," Enid said with tender enthusiasm as she hugged Amelia. "I saw it coming, you know," she added teasingly, while the others eavesdropped. "All those long, slow looks that passed between you, the nervousness and shyness. Imagine, my King, shy!"

  "You exaggerate," King said lazily.

  "I thought he hated me," Amelia said.

  "That could hardly be the case, since he has asked you to become his wife," a blissfully ignorant Brant noted.

  Amelia didn't look at King. She glanced toward her brother. "Did you catch Rodriguez?" she asked suddenly.

  Quinn looked uncomfortable. "I trailed him down into Sonora," he said.

  "And ?"

  Quinn took a sip of his coffee. "And nothing. I lost his trail," he lied.

  "That's too bad," King said curtly. "I hope to live long enough to see that cutthroat swing at the end of a short rope!"

  "The Mexicans love him," Quinn pointed out. "To them, he's a saint."

  "No saint cuts people up and leaves them for the vultures," King said bluntly. "Which is what he did to my fiancée."

  Amelia started. She hadn't known about any fiancée, or that the woman had been killed. She stared at King without breathing, waiting for him to elaborate. So that was why he was cold-bloodedly thinking of marrying Darcy, because his only love had been lost. And now he was cold-bloodedly going to marry Amelia, because he might have made her pregnant. It made her heart ache to realize just what a hollow marriage it would be.

  "He waylaid a carriage which contained my fiancée and a friend of hers," he said. "He robbed them, stripped them, and hacked them to pieces. Forgive me," he added when his mother went pale. "But it is the truth. No one who saw them would hesitate to hang Rodriguez on sight."

  "Are they certain it was Rodriguez?" Quinn asked, surprised by this latest admission, because he knew King had been engaged but nothing more. He'd assumed the engagement had simply been broken.

  "There was an eyewitness," King said. "A Mexican named Manolito Lopez."

  Quinn's heart jumped. He almost burst out what he knew about Manolito, who had just been killed by Rodriguez for leaving a drugged Maria in a brothel. But he couldn't defend Rodriguez without admitting he'd seen him. Brant Culhane had friends among the Texas Rangers, and he, like most of the ranchers who'd had cattle stolen, also hated Rodriguez.

  Amelia saw the torment on King's face and had to look away. There was little doubt that he still mourned the woman he'd lost. She sighed, glancing at her brother. Oddly, he looked worse than King. "Are you troubled?" Amelia asked.

  He forced a smile. "It is Father," he said, and partially it was. He grieved for the man. "I shall miss him. As you said, Amelia, there were wonderful times when we were younger. He was a caring and kind father, then."

  "Let us remember him as he was," she said softly.

  King was staring down at his plate, quiet and brooding. Memories of Alice as he'd last seen her made him ill. He could almost picture it, but now it was Amelia he saw there, and his head jerked up. He looked at her with faint terror, as he began to realize how he would feel if it had been Amelia instead of Alice. It was only then that he came to the true depths of his situation; now, when he knew that life without Amelia would be no life at all.

  He didn't want to face that unpalatable fact, so he pushed it to the back of his mind and concentrated on his almost cold coffee.

  "Can you stay the night, Quinn?" Enid asked.

  He shook his head. "I'm very grateful for the sandwiches and coffee," he said, indicating the full tray that he'd all but emptied while they sat drinking coffee and talking in the front room. "But I have to report back. Then, I'll have to make arrangements about Father's things."

  Amelia's face fell as he discussed that business. It was a sad thing to realize that the precious bits and pieces of her father's whole life had to be liquidated.

  "I thought his pocket watch should go to you, as I have his pistol," Quinn told Amelia. He handed it over to her, watching her eyes water as she took it, opened the back of the gold case, and saw her father's initials there.

  "There is so little of him left," she said quietly. "A sad collection of bits and pieces that contain a man's entire life."

  "You will always have the memories of him," Enid said comfortingly. "The good memories, Amelia."

  She smiled at her hostess. "Yes, I will have those."

  Later, after Quinn rode back to town, Amelia sat on the porch step and looked at the stars. Far away, she heard the sounds of cattle and horses making soft noises. In the distance, a wolf howled. The dark silhouette of trees on the horizon made her think of happier times.

  "It's too cool for you out here," came a stiff voice from behind her. "Come inside."

  She had her arms wrapped around herself against the chill, but his cold concern made them unfold. She glared at his shadowy figure. "I shall sit outside if I please," she said formally.

  There was faint laughter. "And I thought you were biddable."

  "What do you want?"

  He moved into the light, a smoking cigar in his hand. "I might ask you the same question. Are you regretting the fact that you didn't let Quinn shoot me? He wanted to."

  "Killing you would hardly solve any problems. And you are friends," she added.

  "Perhaps not as much as before," he replied. "He will not forget. Nor will I."

  "Time heals many wounds." She got slowly to her feet. The night air was chilly.

  "Wait."

  His voice stopped her. He pulled her around to face him with his free hand gently but firmly, holding her upper arm. His knuckles were against the soft swell of her breast under her arm, and she felt an unwanted thrill of pleasure. She tugged against his hand.

  He let her go at once, and she stepped back. His face was in the shadows, but his deep voice sounded strained. "You may withdraw from me all you like. I intend to marry you."

  "I'm doing it only because I have no choice. I should sooner marry one of your cowboys!"

  "Take care," he warned curtly. "A woman in your position should be grateful for an offer of marriage."

  "A man in your position should be ashamed of himself!"

  "I am," he said soberly. "Ashamed and disgusted. But all the regret in the world will not undo what has happened. We have to look to the future."

  "Yes. You must tell Miss Valverde that your fortune will soon be out of her reach!"

  "You have a stinging tongue," he accused. "Miss Valverde is my business, not yours."

  "She will be, if you think to carouse with her while you are my husband!"

  He stared at her curiously. "No such thought would ever occur to me. A vow is a solemn matter."

  "Then make sure that Miss Valverde knows that, please."

  His bold eyes slid up and down her lazily. They narrowed. "Then make sure that Alan knows it, as well."

  "Alan is afraid of me, remember?" she chided.

  "He does well to feel that way," he retorted. "He needs a house sparrow, not a vicious little ruffled wren."

  "How dare you!"

  She drew back her hand, but he caught it, jerking her against him, where he held her until she stopped struggling and stood panting for breath. His hand was steely from long hours of ranch work, his hold impossible
to break. He didn't hurt her, but he held her securely.

  "I am not vicious," she said through her teeth.

  "Not to the others," he agreed. "Only to me. You fight me at every turn, Amelia. Why?"

  "Because you hate me," she said unsteadily. "You've always hated me. Everything you've said and done since I've been in Texas has been to make me understand how much you hate me. Even even what happened at Latigo that day. You wanted nothing more than to shame me, so that Alan wouldn't want me. I was afraid of father, hopelessly alone !"

  He pulled her head against his chest and held her, smoothing her hair, whispering soothing things against her temple, her cheek, her nose, and then, her mouth.

  The unexpected contact was so soft and brief that she didn't feel threatened by it. She relaxed, until his mouth began to part her lips in a prelude to the hard, insistent passion she remembered from before. His arms swallowed her up, and his mouth became demanding. She began to tremble as the need worked its way into her body and made it throb with the desire that only he could kindle. Her nails bit into his hard arms, and she heard him groan against her lips.

  The harsh sound penetrated her whirling mind. His hands were on her hips now, pulling her closer. He was aroused and not hiding it, and his mouth was frighteningly expert.

  "No. No!" she began to fight and twisted harshly out of his arms to back against a post and hang there, her lips swollen and trembling, her body slumped with the weakness he'd invoked.

  He looked wild. His eyes were glittering in that hard, dark face on which not one expression was discernable. Only his eyes were alive in it.

  "You want me," he said roughly.

  "Want," she choked, fighting tears. "That's all you know, all you understand. You hate me, but you want to make love to me just the same. It's disgusting! It's degrading to make me feel like this and take advantage of it!"

  His lips parted on a harsh breath. He glared at her. "What do you expect oar marriage to be, a union that allows hand-holding and nothing more?"

  "That's exactly what I expect!" she raged. "I have no intention of sharing a room with you! Or do you think I could love my father's murderer?"

  She hadn't meant to say that. She didn't think it. She'd been searching for a weapon, something to save her from him. But this weapon had cutting force. She saw his face go white, the light in his eyes go out. He ran a rough hand through his dark hair and took a hard breath.

  "That's that, then," he said gruffly. "I'll relieve you of my presence."

  He turned on his heel and stalked off down toward the barn. The cigar he'd discarded earlier lay in the dirt, its orange tip barely glowing in the darkness.

  Amelia went back inside. She shouldn't have said that. She'd hurt him. She'd only wanted to keep him from discovering how she felt about him, to prevent him from having a weapon to use against her. Now she'd destroyed any small feeling there might have eventually been.

  She went into her room and locked the door. Then she sat down and cried until she thought her heart would break. She heard a horse riding away into the night and wondered if she'd sent King back into the arms of Darcy Valverde. That would have been stupid, especially considering the circumstance in which they found themselves. They had to marry for the sake of her reputation, and his. But it could have been ever so much more pleasant if she'd just managed to be less abrasive to him.

  It was knowing how he felt about her that drove her, she knew. She loved him. But he had no feelings to give her. How could she marry him when there was no love on his side to make the relationship work?

  She brushed her long hair and put on her gown and robe, laying down and pulling the soft cover over her. He was going to hate her even more now, and she had no one to blame except herself.

  If only she'd put her arms around him and kissed him back, who knew what might have come of it? But she'd missed her chance. The thought of his fiancée hurt her, because it was obvious from his face that afternoon that he'd loved Alice deeply. He might not be able to love anyone else ever again, but it was also obvious that he wanted Darcy even if he didn't love her.

  Darcy wanted him for his wealth and position. Amelia wanted him only because she loved him. She closed her eyes and finally slept.

  Chapter Seventeen

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  It had been a long time since King had gotten drunk. He kept remembering Amelia's harsh words, though, and his conscience was already giving him hell. He went into El Paso and drank himself half insensible at the bar. Then, quietly, without even throwing a punch at anyone, he climbed on his horse and teetered back to Latigo in the wee hours.

  He got angrier and more sober as the wind cut into his face and the sun began to rise. Amelia had no right to make him hate himself, he thought. No she hadn't, and he was damned well going to tell her so. Who did she think she was? He was marrying her to save her reputation, after all, not because he wanted her.

  When he reached Latigo, he staggered off the horse and let it run free as he bumped and banged his way into the house and down the hall to Amelia's room. Her door was locked, but he carried a skeleton key, and it fit all the doors. He unlocked her room, after the third try, and let himself in.

  He almost started a fire lighting the kerosene lamp, but he finally managed it. Light spilled out into the large, high-ceilinged bedroom, outlining Amelia's slender body under the cover, her long blond hair fanned out on the white pillow, her rosy cheeks vivid under closed eyes. Long, dark eyelashes rested against her soft skin, and her pretty pink mouth was slightly parted as she breathed.

  "Amy," he called. "Amy, wake up!"

  He shook her gently. Her eyes opened slowly, and then starkly, to find King standing by the bed, weaving a little.

  "King?" she faltered.

  He put the lamp down on the bedside table clumsily and sat down heavily on the bed beside her. She moved just in time to prevent him from sitting on her!

  "Now, listen here, Amy," he began slowly, "I did not murder your father. I never meant for that to happen."

  "Why, King, you've been drinking!" she exclaimed, because he smelled blatantly of whiskey.

  "I only had a little, Amy," he persisted. He frowned. "Where was I? Oh, yes, about your father, I wanted to tell you that I never said you'd gone to bed with me. I said you probably would have if I asked you, only to make him stop pushing you at Alan. But I never thought he was going to hurt you." His face contorted. "The belt had blood on it. You had blood all over your back" He closed his eyes, shivering. "I see it every time I close my eyes. All my fault."

  And she'd thought it hadn't bothered him, that her accusations were just bouncing off him. She was shocked to see how deeply he did feel things. "Oh, King," she moaned.

  He sat up, dragging in air. He ran his hands through his hair and lifted his face, as if trying to clear his head. "I don't know why I did it. It was just that I had to keep Alan from marrying you."

  "You look very tired," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

  "Sleep." He sighed heavily. "I don't sleep, Amy. I just lie in the bed and remember how you looked, lying on the floor."

  He fascinated her. She saw through all the camouflage to the man underneath and was touched to find that he wasn't steel right through. "I'm all right now," she stressed softly.

  His head turned. He looked at her through bloodshot eyes. "You don't want to get married."

  She toyed with the cover, grimacing.

  "Listen," he said wearily, "it comes down to this. I've dishonored you and, in turn, my family. Neither of us have much choice, I'm afraid. Even if you decide to go to Florida and stay with your cousin, Amy, you might get a baby from what happened. How would you live with that? Wouldn't your cousin be outraged?"

  "Yes," she confessed, lowering her eyes. "I guess she would."

  He sat staring at his dusty boots for a long time before he spoke again. "I like kids," he said suddenly. "It tickled me what Alan said that time, about seeing you out in the
backyard playing cowboys and Indians with your little brothers. I didn't believe it, of course."

  She smiled, reminiscing. "They were sweet boys. I was mostly responsible for them from the time they were born." The smile faded. "It was very hard losing them."

  He looked at her quietly. "You haven't had it easy, have you?" he asked softly. "All that responsibility and then your father in a terminal condition with violence at every turn. I figured that was why Alan appealed to you, because he was gentle."

  She nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right."

  "What you haven't discovered," he added, "is that Alan's temper is just like mine. Except it's worse, because he loses it so seldom. I get mad, and I'm over it. Alan gets mad and stays mad, sometimes for days."

  "Yes, I noticed he hasn't spoken to you since I came out here."

  "Neither he nor Quinn," he replied. He sighed heavily and gave her a rueful smile. "They all hate me. You have plenty of company."

  "I don't hate you," she said.

  "Shouldn't you?" he replied.

  Her slender shoulders rose and fell. "Perhaps I should, but I don't. I suppose all of us have done impulsive things that we've regretted after a time. My father would have died anyway, King. He would have suffered much more, perhaps. I regret many things, myself."

  "Well, that's the worst of it for me," he said, catching her eyes. "You see, I don't regret what happened earlier that day."

  She went scarlet, but she couldn't quite manage to look away from those glittery silver eyes.

  "I still want you," he said deliberately. "Even more, because now I know what it's like." He searched her eyes and nodded. "You're shocked. You shouldn't be. I'm as much a slave to my passions as any other man."

  "Passion is degrading," she choked.

  "Unaccompanied by any finer feelings, it certainly is," he said. "But you and I aren't indifferent to each other, mentally or physically. I daresay we'll find things that we have in common, now that I'm getting to know the real you, the one who's been in hiding for four years."

  "You might not like what you find."

  He laughed softly. "I like spirit," he said. "You're welcome to throw anything you like at me. But," he added, his voice deep and thrilling, "next time, there will be consequences."