Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WayWard Wind (7 page)

She frowned at his words. Surely hurt was not a good thing for a man when he was making love, but how was she to know? Perhaps hurt made the act more enjoyable.

He turned his head so he was looking at her. “Wench, you are doing things to me no woman ever has.” His gaze slid over her face as though he was trying to understand how that could be.

“Is that a good thing, then?” she asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” he said. “I don’t want to think about it.” He rubbed at his temple. “I don’t want to know how I could possibly have fucked you with all that laudanum roiling around inside me but I did.” He shrugged. “I shouldn’t have been able to get the damned thing up but I did.”

She moved so she was laying on her side facing him, looking into his handsome face that looked so young and vulnerable at that moment, his eyes shadowed with some emotion she could not discern.

“Is your headache better?” she asked.

“One of them is,” he replied and his eyelids slid down over those remarkable eyes.

“Sleep, Sloan,” she said with a smile and when he moved so his head was upon her shoulder, she tilted her head to his and closed her eyes, feeling his fingers threading through hers.

For the first time in her life, she went to sleep knowing what it truly was to be a woman.

Chapter Three

Jacob Dalton could not remember ever being as infuriated as he was at that moment. From the moment he had learned his daughter, his heir, had been abducted, he had been awaiting a ransom note, a demand of some kind from her kidnapper. Now--two days after her disappearance, he stared down at the missive that had sent to him from the stage driver. Dalton was shuddering with suppressed rage as he read the careful handwriting.

“You took what was mine. I took what was yours. At this very moment I have your daughter spread beneath me. Her body is mine, her maidenhead pierced, her soul corrupted. I will send her back to you when I have had my fill.”

“Sloan Harper!” Dalton shouted the signature. “Some bastard named Sloan Harper has my little girl!”

“I’ll notify the federal marshal, sir,” Jim Kitterling, Dalton’s foreman informed him. “They’ll find him, sir. He can’t have gotten far and ....”

“Do you really think that bastard is still in Texas?” Dalton yelled. “He will have taken Peyton across the border into Mexico by now, knowing full well the law can’t reach him there!”

“The Texas Rangers won’t let the border stop them, Mr. Dalton, not with it being your daughter,” Kitterling said. “They will ....”

“You’ll keep the law out of this, Kitterling! I want my
own
men to go after Harper,” Dalton said. “Men who won’t have to worry about upholding laws or adhering to them.”

Kitterling nodded slowly. “I’ll see to it, sir. Who from the ranch do you ...?”

“There ain’t a man on my payroll I’d trust to do this! You get me the best goddamned hired guns you can find. I want the deadliest shots, the men other gunfighters fear,” Dalton snapped. “I don’t give a shit what you have to pay them. Ride into Brownsville and get me some mean sons-of-bitches! You make sure they bring Harper back here alive, you hear me? I want that bastard alive! By the time I’m through with him that little peckerwood will know he fucked with the wrong man!”

Kitterling turned to go then memory whirled him around and he snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute, sir! Sloan Harper. Isn’t that the name of the man you paid Judge Harvey to send to prison? The one whose family was burned out over on the north ridge? He shot Guthrie in a throw down, but you had the judge declare it wasn’t a fair fight.”

Dalton’s eyes flared. “Son of a bitch if it ain’t!” He slammed his fist down on the desk. “That’s the prick who has my daughter? I’ll strip the skin from him layer by layer!”

“We’ll get him, sir,” Kitterling stated. “He’s as good as dead.” He made a move toward the door again but stopped to assure his boss that Dalton’s daughter would be handled with respect on the ride back.

“No,” Dalton said, a muscle working in his cheek.

Kitterling blinked, obviously confused by the denial. “Excuse me?”

“Leave her where you find her,” Dalton said. He lifted his chin. “She’s damaged goods and I’ve no need for her now.”

Dalton’s underling had to carefully school his face not to show his shock. “You are sure about this, sir?”

“Yes,” Dalton said, teeth grinding. “I don’t want her back.”

Forcing his parted lips together, Kitterling frowned at the statement. When he spoke, he could not look at his boss. “I understand, sir, but what if she wishes to return?”

Dalton turned his back on Kitterling. “Explain to her that she will not be welcome in my home again.”

Despite his loyalty to Dalton, Kitterling thought the man’s reaction was bizarre under the circumstances, but he knew better than to question what Jacob Dalton did. He simply nodded and left, his hands clenched into fists to keep from snarling with disappointment.

* * * *

Peyton woke to the sound of rain drumming on the tin roof. She would have stretched but Harper’s head was still on her shoulder. She doubted he’d moved all night for her hand was still cupped in his and one of his long legs was laying atop hers.

“Morning,” he mumbled, but didn’t open his eyes, fully aware she was awake beside him.

“How’s your head this morning?” she asked and surprised herself by reaching up to push a lock of dark hair from his forehead.

“The laudanum did the trick,” he said. “Must have slept like a baby.”

He turned to his back and wedged his eyes open. “Sounds like the bottom has fallen out.”

“Miss Coronella won’t be out in that, will she?” she asked.

He snorted. “No, wench. She’s in the shed out back. She sleeps there most of the time.”

She turned her head to look at him. “Why?”

He shrugged. “She says it’s because I snore, but actually it’s the other way around. The woman could rival a sawmill buzz saw.” He let go of her hand and swung his legs from the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress to plow a hand through his hair.

“Do we have any eggs?” she asked.

“I can get some,” he said. “You like milk?”

“We have a cow?”

Harper looked around at her, smiling slightly at her including herself. “Aye, wench, and a pig. Had a goat, but it ran off.” He stood and went behind the screen to relieve himself. “Snake has a nice garden out back, as well.”

“Do we have tomatoes, peppers and onions?”

“We should,” he said. “Look in the larder.”

“Would you like an omelet for breakfast?” she asked as she got up and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

“I’ll eat whatever you set before me,” he told her.

“Me, too,” Snake said as she came through the front door. “Ain’t partial to tripe but anything else will suit. Rain’s stopped by the way.”

“Then I’m going down to the pond,” Harper said as he came from behind the screen carrying his razor, shaving cup and brush and a small mirror. He went to a chest and took out a clean checked shirt and jeans, a pair of socks, then picked up his boots and headed for the door.

“Here, boy!” Snake snapped and pulled a towel out of a wicker basket and tossed it to him.

Harper nodded his thanks as he went out. “I’ll be back with the eggs, wench.”

“Why doesn’t he use the tub to bathe?” Peyton asked after Harper had gone. She set about lighting the burner on the stove.

“Ain’t used it yet to my knowledge,” Snake said, fixing herself a fresh pipe while she rocked in her chair. “Why he prefers that goddamned cold water in the pond is a mystery though it could be that’s what he got used to at the prison.”

“Was it bad for him?” Peyton inquired.

The door opened and Harper came in with a wire basket of eggs. He put them on the table then left again without a word.

“You seen his back?” Snake inquired.

“Yes,” Peyton said with a wince. She had set the coffee to brewing.

“That was just one of the delightful little things they did to the boy,” Snake said as she puffed away. “Reckon he won’t ever tell you so I guess I should so’s you know why he’s done what he’s done with you.”

Peyton took a bowl and began cracking the eggs into it. She said nothing, knowing the old woman would continue.

“One of the things they do to men who don’t tow the line up there is putting them in a dark cell by themselves. Ain’t got no windows in that cell so in the summer it’s hotter than blazes and in the winter it’s colder than a witch’s tit. Those john bulls put them men in there for weeks at a time with nothing but one meal a day of bread and water. Sure ain’t healthy for them.”

“I would imagine not,” Peyton agreed. “Did they do that to Sloan?”

“Many a time as he tells it,” Snake replied. “And then they have the other punishments like the cat and the water hose.”

Peyton looked around. “The water hose?”

“Aye,” Snake said with a grimace. “You ever seen one of them wagon hoses pumping onto a raging fire, girl?” At Peyton’s slow nod, Snake glanced at her. “Just you imagine having the force of that water turned on you with you hanging helpless on a post as nekkid as the day you was born. Hurts something fierce, I’d imagine--especially so on a man’s privates.”

Peyton flinched. “Yes, I suppose it would.”

“You’ll see him doing his thumbs like this now and again ....” Snake held up her thumb and flexed it up and down. “They used to hang him up by them and they still pain him sometimes. Reckon they got dislocated a few times too many.”

Tears had gathered in Peyton’s eyes. Her heart bled for Sloan Harper and it wasn’t just because he’d been treated so inhumanely, but because her father had been the cause of it.

“Don’t let on to him I told you all this,” Snake said. “He wouldn’t like it none.”

Peyton whisked chopped tomatoes, green peppers, and onions into the beaten eggs, added salt and pepper and then poured it into a greased cast iron skillet. “Why doesn’t he like to be stared at?” she asked and when the old woman didn’t answer, she looked over at her. “Can you tell me?”

Snake held Peyton’s gaze. “Didn’t do to have men looking at you in that place, girl. Not a boy what looks as good as he does.” She sucked on the stem of her pipe for a moment then blew out a cloud of smoke. “Men looking at you usually ended up with men touching you.” She narrowed her eyes. “You understand what I’m saying?”

“I guess so,” Peyton said. “You mean they beat him up.”

The old woman gave her a strange look. “Ain’t what I meant at all. They fucked him, girl,” Snake stated.

Peyton blinked. “But how could they ...?” She stopped as understanding hit, her face going pale then she looked quickly away, her cheeks bright red. “Oh.”

“He don’t like to be stared at so don’t be doing it,” Snake said softly.

Stunned at Snake’s revelation, Peyton kept her head down, her eyes on the omelet. “Breakfast is almost ready,” she said in a strained voice.

“Guess I’ll go tell him to get his fanny in here, then,” Snake said, pushing up from the rocker.

Alone in the cabin, Peyton divided the omelet and dished up two plates before setting about making another one. She was unaware of the tears sliding down her face and dripping from her chin. As one hit the counter, she put a hand up to wipe at them, feeling her lower lip trembling.

No wonder Sloan had decided to exact his revenge in the way he’d gone about it. It had been an eye for an eye, she thought, a body for a body. He had been brutalized and he had decided doing the same to her would be a fitting vengeance against her father.

But he had not brutalized her, had not hurt her as he’d no doubt been hurt. He had tempered his vengeance in such a way that it had given her intense pleasure and she doubted he had experienced that at the hands of his fellow prisoners.

“That smells great.”

Peyton looked around as he came in behind his grandmother. He had shaved the stubble from his cheeks and his dark hair was wet, curling around his face and his shirt was hanging unbuttoned on his broad chest. When he saw where she was looking, he quickly ran the buttons closed, tucking the tail of the shirt into his jeans.

“Hope you’re making more than one of them, girl,” Snake said as she sat down before her plate and automatically reached for the salt.

“I’ll make as many as I have eggs for,” Peyton said quietly. She was aware of Sloan staring intently at her.

“Have you been crying?” he asked as she poured cups of coffee for the three of them.

Out of the corner of her eye, Peyton saw Snake’s head snap up. “The onions,” Peyton said. “I never could peel them without crying.”

He continued to stare at her for a long moment then slowly turned his head toward his grandmother. Whatever he saw on the old woman’s face made him clench his jaw. He put out a hand and gripped Snake’s wrist as she started to put a fork of omelet in her mouth. “Be careful what you say to her, old woman,” he told her.

“Ain’t said nothing but the truth,” Snake shot back and snatched her hand away. “Girl has a right to know why you ....”

“Just shut up,” Harper snapped. “You talk too much.”

Peyton brought the second omelet over and divided it between them.

“When are you going to eat?” Harper asked her.

“I’m making mine now,” she said. “I like my eggs scrambled.”

He chewed thoughtfully for a moment then took up his cup to take a sip of the coffee. When he set the cup down, he told her they’d be leaving for the closest village right after breakfast.

Peyton had been about to sit down and her gaze fell on her dirty dress. He saw her lips purse.

“You don’t have to worry about that, wench. I’ll get you something decent to wear before we go see the priest,” he said.

Reminded of her upcoming nuptial, Peyton felt her heart speed up. The eggs no longer looked palatable. She wasn’t sure she could force them down. She took up her fork and scooped up some egg then just pushed it around on her plate.

“You get her some clothes for wearing around here, too, boy,” Snake said. “You got money or you need some?”