Authors: Marcia Lynn McClure
Fallon took his hand from its place at her face. Clasping it tightly between both of her own, she kissed it quickly as tears of relief fell from her eyes. He pulled his hand away almost instantly, suddenly seeming uncomfortable. She realized it was the first time she had moved to touch him in such a familiar manner. It had obviously startled him, for he immediately turned from her for a moment as if confused.
“
I…I think I’ll sit up awhile. Read perhaps. Will the lamp disturb your sleep?” he stammered, going to his desk and sitting in the chair before it as he lit the lamp.
“
No. I’m so tired I can hardly see straight,” Fallon assured him as she lay down, comforted in the knowledge he would not be a target for her uncle tonight.
Sometime late in the darkness, Fallon was awakened by a tickling sensation on the back of her neck. Opening her eyes slowly, she lay very still as she tried to discern what might be causing the faint sensation. Her eyes widened as her first thought was that a spider had decided to investigate their bed and settled on her neck. As she lay completely still, she realized the feeling must be caused by a piece of hair, for it was a very regular, reoccurring movement. Lifting her head, she reached under it to her neck and pulled her hair forward, spreading it out on the pillow beneath her. As she relaxed again, her flesh tingled when she realized what had caused the tiny hair to tickle her neck was Trader’s breath. She could now feel the warmth of it there. Her body tensed with delirium as she thought of how close he must be lying to her in order for her to be able to feel his breath. Oddly, it wasn’t until that very moment she also realized his arm lay limply over her waist as she lay on her side, her back to him. He had stayed! He hadn’t broken his promise and gone out to patrol the pasture and look over the herd. He had stayed as she had asked him to.
Though she lay beneath the blankets and he above, she reveled in a feeling of security and warmth she had never known. Carefully she let her hand travel from the elbow of the arm resting on her, caressing his muscular forearm before laying her hand on top of his resting on the bed at her waist. No other part of his body moved, and the rhythm of his breathing remained unbroken as his hand turned over beneath hers, lacing his fingers with her own.
“
Trader?” she whispered. But he did not answer, nor did he move to indicate he was even slightly aware of her.
When Fallon awoke the next morning, Trader had already gone.
More cattle were mutilated over the next several days. Then the attacks ceased, and everyone in the Donavon household was more uneasy than before. Trader insisted Fallon still stay close to the house. He had gone on as if nothing had changed between them, even after he had kept his promise and stayed in that dreadful first night after the mutilations began.
Three days after the cattle mutilations stopped, Trader returned from town one evening at dusk and asked Fallon to wait for him in the parlor. Immediately Fallon was overwhelmed with a feeling of dread. She had not missed the ominous tone of his voice when he asked her to wait for him in the parlor while he spoke to Patty.
She stood before the fireplace, wringing her hands as she waited. He entered several minutes later and closed the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, he walked to her, and she gazed up into the blackness of his hood as he stood before her.
“
I’ve received a telegram,” he said. He took another deep breath and continued, “Your…your mother has…has gone.”
Fallon turned from him instantly, her mind searching for a way to accept the knowledge. She felt her lower lip begin to tremble as the tears of grievous loss filled her eyes. “I…I suppose I should feel happy for her. Her suffering is ended now. And…and she’s with my father,” she stammered as she began to wring her hands again. As the first stinging tears of sorrow trickled down her face, Fallon turned to Trader, her hands clutching her throat. “I’ve lost my mother, Trader!” she cried as horrible sobbing wracked her body. Fallon found it hard to catch her breath.
Reaching out and grasping both her wrists firmly, Trader whispered, “I know,” as he pulled her against him, holding her tightly in his sheltering embrace. “I’m so sorry, Fallon,” he whispered into her hair, and she felt him kiss the top of her head.
As strength and comfort flowed from his mighty body, Fallon let her arms encircle his waist, returning his embrace as her sobbing turned to mournful weeping.
After some time, when the weeping began to subside, Trader took her face gently in his hands and directed her gaze upward. Wiping the moisture from her cheeks with his thumbs, he said, “What can I do, Fallon? I’m helpless. How can I comfort you?” His voice was full of sincere compassion and true understanding. Fallon’s heart swelled once more with the boundless and absolute adoration and love she harbored for him.
“
Just stay with me,” she whispered. Throwing her body against his again and resting her face on his broad chest, she pleaded, “Don’t leave me, Trader.”
He took her face in his hands once more and turned it upward toward his. Tenderly, he placed soft, comforting kisses on her wet cheeks, and immediately Fallon knew his kiss would serve to soothe and succor her. He held her tighter against his body as his lips abandoned her tear-stained cheek and played tenderly with her mouth. With each benevolent kiss, Trader bestowed on her trembling lips, Fallon drew strength from him, and soon the exchange flared into passionate, flaming offerings of immeasurable emotion. His kiss was relentless, firm, and she was lost in the pleasure of it for a time. When he held her face away once more, she only wanted to be lost in it forever.
“
You need to rest,” he said, easily scooping her up in his arms.
She let him carry her to their bedroom, for she felt she hadn’t the strength to walk. The short relief she had drawn from his awesome strength had left her more weakened than before. He left her only for a moment, long enough for her to change from the dress she had worn to a comfortable nightgown.
As Trader took her hands in his own and led her gently to the bed, he said, “Rest awhile, Fallon. Loss never seems as dark in the daylight.”
She did rest through that first horrible night of loss. It was a fitful, frightening time of rest from which her body and mind received little respite. But each time Fallon woke in anguish and pain of loss, Trader was there to bestow upon her forehead, cheeks, or lips serene or sometimes impassioned kisses. He held her as she wept, soothed her with his deep voice and comforting words, and never left her side.
When the first rays of the morning sun flooded the room, Fallon woke. The pain that had plagued her mind and body during the night had indeed been lightened, if only a little. She sat up and looked to Trader, who lay on his stomach, his face turned from her, sleeping peacefully. No doubt he had slept even less than she had.
Rising from the bed, she wandered into the kitchen and filled a glass with cool, refreshing water from the pump. It was a bright summer day, and as Fallon gazed out the kitchen window into its brilliance, she knew her mother was at peace. The beauty of the day beckoned her, and she walked out onto the front porch, inhaling deeply of the clean, warm air. Closing her eyes, she savored the fresh smell of meadow grasses and honeysuckle floating on the tranquil morning breezes and thought of her mother, wondering if Heaven welcomed her with such a lovely sight. But suddenly the air was tainted with a foul and very familiar odor.
Fallon’s eyes burst open, and she turned, dropping the glass she had been holding in her hand. Her Uncle Charles, breath putrid with the stench of liquor, leaped forward and took hold of her arm, brutally clamping a dirty, sticky hand over her mouth. Instantly, two of the men who had approached her in the store months ago proceeded to bind her hands and tie a handkerchief tightly over her mouth.
Frantically she struggled, like a rabbit whose foot had been clamped between the teeth of a deadly trap from which escape was impossible.
Laughing triumphantly, Charles Ashby picked Fallon up, throwing her over his shoulder and growling, “Settle down, girl. Just now it’s only you that’s in danger. Ya keep puttin’ up a fight, and that ol’ hag that keeps ya company won’t live to see the light of day.”
Tears of defeat began to soak the handkerchief binding her mouth as Fallon thought of Patty’s safety and ceased to attempt to free herself.
“
Sit that horse, girl,” her uncle ordered as he mercilessly threw her into a saddle. It was awkward to straddle the back of the animal in her nightdress, but Fallon righted herself as her uncle mounted behind her. “Hang on to that horn. I don’t want ya fallin’ off and slowin’ us down,” he growled. He slapped the mare on her hindquarters, instantly sending her forward.
The men rode around to the side of the house, stopping before the window of the room where Trader still slept. “Wake that ugly dog up, Simmons,” Charles ordered.
Fallon winced when the glass shattered as a large rock was thrown into the window. Fallon shook her head helplessly when Trader appeared at the window.
“
Fallon!” he shouted.
She noticed one of his hands beginning to bleed when he planted it firmly on the windowsill covered with broken glass. Hoisting his imposing body upward, Trader leaped through the glassless opening and instinctively lunged forward.
Charles drew a knife from its sheath at his belt. Pushing the tip of the blade firmly against the softness of Fallon’s cheek, he warned, “Not another step, Donavon. I got yer sweet, ripe peach here. Ya make a move to stop me, I’ll slit her throat!”
Trader stopped abruptly. Fallon watched as his chest rose and fell with heavy, frustrated breaths.
“
Let her down, Ashby,” Trader growled.
Charles chuckled and looked to each of his men in turn. “Ya hear that, boys? He still thinks he’s givin’ the orders ’round here!” The men made scoffing sounds. Charles looked back to Trader. “I’ll send one of my men with instructions, Donavon. Ya do what they say—to the letter, ya hear? My boys liked the way this sweet peach tasted when they got hold of her before. And if ya don’t do what I say, I’ll turn Mrs. Donavon here right over to them. And if ya try to follow us, I’ll kill her. So ya stand right there, ya hooded monster. And ya wait. Ya hear me? Ya wait!”
“
You’ll die, Ashby. In pain the like you’ve never imagined,” Trader shouted as Charles and his henchmen turned and rode away. Fallon looked at her husband, desperate to form a perfect picture of him in her mind. He stood helpless to act. She knew he wouldn’t. Ever her protector, he would do whatever they ordered. Again Charles slapped his mare. Fallon felt greater fear and anxiety than she had ever known erupting within her.
After having ridden for some time, the riders stopped, and Charles shoved Fallon violently from the horse. The painful impact of hitting the ground stole the breath from her lungs for several long moments.
As she lay there gasping for breath, one of the vile men who had dared to touch her in the store walked over to her. Fallon recognized him instantly as the loathsome leader of the men and felt an odd satisfaction rise within her as she noted his nose, misshapen from Trader’s beating. He reached down and took Fallon’s chin tightly in one hand, forcing her to look up at him. Smiling grossly, he chuckled, “Ya ready yourself, peach. I reckon I’ll enjoy havin’ another taste of ya!”
Although her hands were bound, Fallon managed to grab hold of the man’s ankle and pull hard to send him falling backwards, landing solidly on his rear-end.
The other men laughed. Charles ordered, “Leave her be, Simmons. She’s my bait. Ya can have her when I’ve taken care of Donavon.”
Glaring hatefully at Fallon, the man called Simmons stood and dusted off the seat of his pants. “Ya’ll pay for that, girl. Mark my words! Ya’ll pay dearly for that.”
“
Shut up, Simmons, and get me them papers,” Ashby ordered as he dismounted. Fallon sat up as her uncle pulled the handkerchief from her face. Immediately Fallon spit at his feet. Even though the sting of his slap was meant to reprimand her, she glared at him defiantly.
“
You can’t win,” she said, smiling. “Nobody beats him.”
Charles slapped her again and then said, “Oh, I’ll win, Fallon. ’Cause I’ve found his only weakness, his Achilles’ heel, as they say. And that would be you.”
“
You’re wrong,” she spat.
“
No. I’m not. That little incident in the store before—that was just a test. I suspected he wanted you all along. It don’t make no sense for a man like that—rich, powerful—to be bullied into marryin’ with a nobody. A worthless orphan. It weren’t no bit of fear of scandal that made him agree to marry ya. No, sir. He wanted ya all along. Once I figured that out, well, I got him right where I want him.”
“
How? How could my father have loved you so much?” Fallon asked bluntly.
Charles Ashby was silent for a moment, and Fallon did not miss the expression of regret apparent in his eyes, if only for a moment. “Bind your tongue, girl. Bind your tongue. Else I’ll shove that hanky down your purty little throat!”
Going to his saddlebag, Simmons produced several folded papers and handed them to Charles. Charles proceeded to inspect the papers, mumbling his approval when he had finished.
“
All right. Let’s prove to the man that we mean business,” Charles bellowed, drawing his knife from its sheath once more. Going to Fallon, he hunkered down before her and said, “Don’t ya move.” Using the knife, he cut the rope binding her wrists. Glaring at him defiantly, she rubbed the chafed flesh on her wrists. “He’s gonna know I’m serious now,” Charles said, and with no evidence of regret in his eyes, the villain took hold of Fallon’s left wrist and squeezed it painfully. “Move an inch and I might miss my mark and slit your throat instead, girl,” he warned. And then, as Fallon watched in unbelieving horror, her own uncle cut the palm of her hand with his knife. She cried out at the pain of it and then could only stare at the blood pooling in her palm as her uncle slightly loosened his grasp on her wrist.
“
Let it bleed for a minute,” Charles commanded her. “Don’t look so worried, Fallon. That cut ain’t more than an inch long and just deep enough for a good bleedin’.”
Looking up at him in complete astonishment, Fallon whispered, “You’re an animal. How could you do this to me? I’m your own niece!”
“
Ya cost me my farm, Fallon. Now, ya make a fist there and make sure your hand and fingers is covered complete with that blood,” he said, wiping beads of perspiration from his forehead with his arm.
Fallon looked at her wounded hand, in which a large, red puddle of blood was pooling. She looked to her uncle, who held the paper before her. “I won’t do it. I won’t,” she said and began struggling wildly.
Slapping her hard across the cheek again, Charles shouted, “Do it! Ya do it, or I’ll hand ya over to Simmons right now!”
Clenching her teeth tightly with determination, Fallon repeated, “I won’t. I won’t help you to lure him here.”
The back of her uncle’s hand met with her face violently. “You’ll do it!”
Glaring hatefully at her vile relative, Fallon squeezed her fingers into a fist, wincing at the further pain the action inflicted to her hand. As the blood seeped between her fingers and began dripping onto the skirt of her nightdress, she shook her head, unable to fathom a man could treat anyone so brutally.
“
Now open that hand up and put your print on this here paper,” Charles ordered, holding a blank sheet of paper out to her.
Angrily, Fallon snatched the paper from his grasp and tossed it aside. Retrieving the paper, Charles took hold of Fallon’s wrist and squeezed it so tightly that Fallon gasped at the pain. The intense pressure caused Fallon’s hand to open. Her uncle forced her hand firmly against the paper, leaving a gruesome impression. Then as he released her wrist, Fallon violently slapped his face, leaving the blood-inked handprint across his features as well.
“
You won’t live to see another day, Uncle Charles,” she spat at him.