Final Scream (3 page)

She yelped. Her heart nearly stopped. Spinning around, she started to scream before she recognized Brig McKenzie. Her father’s latest acquisition. That thought bothered her. She’d heard stories about Brig and had admired his irreverent streak, never once believing that he, like everyone else in town, would eventually become a Buchanan possession.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with tanned skin and a nose that had been broken more than once, he glared down at her as if
she’d
done something wrong.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, trying to yank back her arm and failing.

“You know, that’s exactly what I was gonna ask you.” Furious blue eyes assessed her. Thin, nearly cruel lips drew flat over his teeth. She knew in a split second why so many girls in town found him dangerously sexy.

“I came here to get my horse and ride—”

“No way.”

“You think you can stop me?” she scoffed, unsettled by the way he was holding her, furious that he would try to tell her what to do. Truth to tell, she was more than a little embarrassed that he’d sneaked up on her without her hearing him, but she wasn’t going to let that side of her show.

“It’s my job.”

“Remmington’s
your
job? Since when?”

“Yesterday.” His voice was rough and close, his breath much too warm as it whispered across her face. “Your dad hired me to train your horse.”

“My dad hired you to work in the fields.”

“And with this colt.”

“I don’t need any help.”

“That’s not the way I heard it.”

“Then you heard wrong.” She wrenched her arm away and winced as pain burned through her shoulder. “This is my horse and I’ll do what I please with him.”

A derisive snort. “The way I heard it, he does what he pleases with you.”

“Get out of my way—” she warned, and to her mortification he laughed, low and sexy and without much real emotion. But he didn’t move, just stood between her and the animal, looking for all the world like a range-tough cowboy, determined to have his way. His chin was hard and set, his eyes narrowed obstinately. He smelled of sweat, horses and leather along with the faint undercurrent of smoke.

Her heartbeat quickened a bit and she saw his gaze shift to her throat, where she felt her pulse throb angrily. For some reason it seemed as if the stable was fading away, that suddenly she and he were the only two people in the universe. Aware that her chest was rising and falling much too quickly, she wished it wasn’t so damned hot. Hot enough for perspiration to soak the back of her shirt.

“Why are you here so late?” Time to put him on the defensive.

“Just puttin’ things away.” He unbuckled the bridle with ease, as if he’d done it a thousand times. The bit jangled as he slipped the leather straps off the colt, and Remmington tossed his great head.

“Then you’ll be leaving soon.”

Again that humorless laugh. “Don’t count on it.” He walked through the gate and held it open for Cassidy. She had no choice but to follow him through. “I might just spend the night here,” he said, ramming the bolt into place.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” His voice was challenging. Firm. She would have liked nothing better than to get the best of him right then and there, but she didn’t know how. If, as he said, he’d been hired by her father, he had every right to be in the stable. If he was lying…well, he wasn’t. No one could be that stupid. She’d heard a lot of stories about Brig McKenzie. Some wild, others downright nasty, but no one had ever accused him of being a fool. Oh, he’d done some stupid things, but only when he was drunk or involved with a woman.

The thought of him lying with a woman, making love to her with his tough, sinewy body, did strange things to Cassidy’s insides, caused her stomach to flutter and a rush of warm blood to invade her face. She closed her mind to those kinds of thoughts.

Lately, ever since Rusty Calhoun had kissed her behind the football stadium, pressing her back against the rough cement wall, she’d been thinking too much about men and women and the kinds of things they did behind closed doors. Rusty had even reached up and opened her blouse, clumsily sticking his hand into her bra and trying to fondle her before she’d torn away from him. Kissing him hadn’t been all that unpleasant, even if they’d both been bumbling teenagers, but doing anything else was a little frightening. Tempting but scary. Rusty had called every night since, but she hadn’t gone out with him again. She wasn’t ready for the kind of fun he expected of her. And she suspected he was just using her to get closer to Angie.

All the boys wanted Angie.

So why was she thinking such forbidden thoughts about Brig McKenzie?

He was a hired hand. He couldn’t tell her what to do, but she was all too aware of his eyes following her as she marched rigidly back to the house.

Once on the back porch, she kicked off her boots and sneaked up the back stairs to her room. She heard music drifting from the radio in the kitchen, and the smooth voice of a news anchorman blared from the television in the den. Somehow she’d find a way to get around Brig McKenzie. He couldn’t stand guard over Remmington day and night. Or could he?

Heart pumping more wildly than it should have been, she locked her door, then stole across her room without bothering with the light. At the open window she paused and looked over the stable yard. Dusk had colored the fields with deep purple shadows, and only a few dark shapes, the horses allowed to stay out at night, spotted the dry, sun-dried fields. But Brig was there. Leaning against the fence, staring up at her window. He struck a match and his face was illuminated in the twilight for just a second. Chiseled, rugged features, all sharp angles and planes, thick black eyebrows and eyes a mystical shade of blue didn’t waver as he stared up at her and lit his cigarette, then deliberately waved out his match.

Her throat went dry and she held on to the window casing with rigid fingers. Biting her lip, she stared outside where the lone figure leaned against the white boards. The tip of his cigarette glowed red, and the thin, acrid smell of smoke wafted upward, past the aromas of freshly mown grass, dry roses and dust. Insects hummed in the warm night, and Brig silently smoked, a dark sentinel intent on having his way. As stubborn as the colt she intended to break.

Well, he couldn’t stay here forever. She’d just have to outwait and outwit him. Turning from the window, she heard his laughter again, low and mocking, seeming to ricochet off the distant hills.

Jed Baker rapped his fingers on the hot steering wheel of his new Corvette. Parked at the Burger Shed, he left the keys in the ignition and let the radio play as he sipped his Coke and gazed past the small restaurant to the picnic area where a few tables were clustered in the shade of three giant fir trees. Angie Buchanan and her best friend, Felicity Caldwell, were seated there, sucking the catsup off fries and lazily drinking soda, as if they didn’t know he and Bobby were in the convertible, staring at them. “Hotel California” by the Eagles was playing, the familiar notes rolling out of the Corvette’s speakers, but he barely heard. Squinting against the sun, he said, “She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m gonna be the one to bust Angie Buchanan’s cherry.” His eyes slit in delicious consideration as he swirled the shaved ice in his Coke.

“Yeah, and I’m the pope,” Bobby Alonzo replied with a sneer. He finished his chocolate shake in one swallow and stared through the windshield, his gaze never moving from Angie.

Angie and Felicity. What a pair. The older daughter of the richest man in town and the only child of one of the most prominent judges in the county. The girls laughed and talked together, whispering secrets, giggling in naughty-girl sniggers and placing their pink lips lovingly around the straws of their drinks.

Jed got hard just looking at Angie, and he could almost taste her. Bobby might not believe him, but he wasn’t lying. Before the end of the summer, Jed planned to make it with Angie.

“If you ask me, she’s already done it,” Bobby said, tossing his cup out the window and hitting the trash can. Syrup ran down the sides of the plastic container and bees and flies swarmed over the remnants of food.

Jed’s fingers clamped over the steering wheel. “With who?”

“I dunno, but she just looks…so hot.” Bobby licked the remnants of his milk shake from his lips. “She can’t be a virgin.”

“A lot you know about it.” Jed couldn’t hide his irritation. The thought of anyone else touching her made him see red. She was everything he wanted in a woman. Good looks, sexy smile, big tits and lots and lots of money. The favorite of Rex Buchanan’s children, she was sure to inherit a fortune when the old man kicked off, and even if she didn’t, she was one helluva woman.

A napkin caught in the breeze, floating off her table, and Angie bent over to pick it up. Her short pink skirt shimmied up thighs that were meant to squeeze a man’s ribs to the breaking point. The pink fabric stretched beguilingly over her rump, and Jed caught just a glimpse of lace—either her slip or panties, and that one flash of heaven made him groan. “She’s mine,” he muttered under his breath. His throat was suddenly parched, and he swilled back the final gulp of his drink. He was so horny he thought he would bust, but he didn’t want anyone but Angie. There were other girls—plenty of ’em—who would do it with him, but they weren’t good enough. Easy lays. Willing bodies.

As he turned on the ignition, and the engine of his powerful car roared to life, he imagined what it would be like to press Angie back against a bed, her black hair fanned out like a cloud of dark silk, her eyes slumberous and blue, her pink lips whispering his name in anxious abandon. He fantasized about how she would writhe beneath him, begging for more, offering to do things to him he’d only dreamed about.

The tires squealed as he pulled out of the lot, and he caught her looking at him when he checked his rearview mirror. Yeah, she was interested all right. And he couldn’t wait to give it to her.

“You’re dreaming,” Bobby told him as Jed ground through the gears and sped through town.

“Wanna bet?”

Old stores with the false fronts of the 1800s swept by. A light turned yellow and Jed tromped on the accelerator. The car lurched forward, passing through the intersection as amber switched to red. The old gristmill, a relic that was owned by the Buchanans, passed by in a blur.

Bobby laughed. “You’re a maniac, but I’ll take that bet.” He grinned, showing off straight white teeth. “You’re on. How much?”

“Twenty bucks.”

“Fifty.”

Jed didn’t miss a beat. “Sure.”

“But I have to have proof.”

“Like what?”

“A picture of her naked.”

“Aw, come on—”

“Or she could tell me herself.” Bobby grinned wickedly, and Jed had the sinking sensation that his best friend wanted Angie, too.

Glancing down at the gearshift, Jed let his eyes wander to Bobby’s crotch. Sure enough, Bobby had a hard-on that pressed against his jeans. Hell. They passed the sign welcoming tourists to the town.

“Maybe we could make this a little more interesting,” Bobby suggested with a leer that had set many a coed’s heart soaring. “How about whoever makes it with her first, wins the bet?”

Jed stood on the brakes. The car shuddered. Expensive tires screamed as the Corvette slid to the gravel shoulder of the county road.

A pickup that had been tailgating the faster car swerved into the oncoming lane. The truck’s horn blared. The red-faced driver swore from his open window as the truck skidded back into the right lane, avoiding oncoming traffic, but Jed barely heard the oath. His head was still pounding with Bobby’s lewd suggestion. “Don’t mess with me on this,” Jed warned, his jaw so tight it ached as he scowled at his friend. He felt the edges of his nostrils flare and quiver in rage. “She’s mine. This is no joke.” Jed grabbed the front of Bobby’s T-shirt. The soft cotton crumpled in his meaty fingers. “You got it? No one else touches her. No one! I’m not only gonna score with her, but I’m gonna make her my wife.”

Bobby had the audacity to laugh. “Oh shit, man, you
are
crazy.”

Jed shook him hard, but Bobby wasn’t scared. Even though Jed was bigger, Bobby was an athlete, the star running back for last year’s football team and the best wrestler in his weight in the district. Jed’s extra thirty pounds wouldn’t help him because Bobby was so damned agile—got himself a wrestling scholarship to Washington State. If it came to blows, Bobby would have an edge, but Jed didn’t care. He’d give as good as he got. “She’s mine,” Jed declared again. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“When you plannin’ on givin’ her the news? Before or after you pop her cherry?” Bobby’s dark eyes turned up at the corners. He was laughing, but this was no joke.

For once, Jed was dead serious. He’d spent the last two months considering what he wanted from Angela Marie Buchanan. The answer was, everything. He loved her. “Soon. I’m gonna tell her soon.” Jed let go of Bobby’s shirt, and his rage dissipated in the sweltering heat that seemed to pound down from the sun.

Bobby snorted. “Ever think she might laugh in your face? That she might move on? I hear she’s goin’ to some fancy Ivy League school back East. What was the name of that school in the movie out a few years ago—
Love Story
—wasn’t it Radcliffe or some such shit? She might have other plans.”

Jed’s smile was slow and wicked. “Then she’ll just have to change them, won’t she?”

“Jed’s got the hots for you,” Felicity drawled as Angie parked her sporty Datsun near the garage.

“So what else is new?”

Lifting her heavy mane of straight red hair off her nape, Felicity shook her head and glanced at her friend. “He’s so horny he can’t stand it.”

Angie wasn’t interested. Jed Baker was an oaf. A big, overgrown ox of a boy.

They climbed out of the air-conditioned interior of the silver car, and Angie felt the late afternoon heat sear her skin. God, it was hot. Her blouse was sticking to her, her hair was wet where it met her scalp, and she didn’t care one way or the other about Jed Baker. He was just a kid. Nineteen. Same as her.

“I think he’s in love with you,” Felicity continued as she slammed the Datsun’s passenger door shut and scanned the parking area near the garage.

Felicity was obviously looking for Derrick’s truck, but his black pickup wasn’t in sight and the corners of Felicity’s mouth tightened a bit. For a second she looked desperate. It was an emotion Angie understood all too well. She recognized it each time she looked in the mirror. But she didn’t want to think about it—not now.

“Jed Baker loves poker. He loves booze. But he doesn’t love me,” Angie said, trying to keep her mind on the conversation. “Besides I don’t want a boy.” She glanced around the stable yard, searching until her gaze settled on the bare back of Brig McKenzie. He was working with one of the horses and the animal was fighting him. The colt’s eyes were blazing, his massive head pulling hard at the lead, trying to free himself of the stubborn man. Brig’s boot heels were dug into the dust, and the more the horse resisted, the more he worked the lead rope, his shoulder muscles gleaming with sweat, his face set in determination. It was as if he didn’t notice anyone or anything but the animal, and Angie felt a fluttering in her stomach. She wondered what it would be like if Brig looked at her like that, with that same gleam of reckless stamina that he forced on the wayward animal. Though he wasn’t much older than she, Brig McKenzie seemed to have years of experience on the other boys in town. He could give her what she wanted. What she needed.

Tossing her hair away from her face, she crossed the hot asphalt and leaned against the fence, content to watch the play of sinew and muscle in his shoulders and forearms.

The horse tried to back up and Brig talked to him, low and soft, a rough whisper that caused Angie’s scalp to tingle.

“What’s he doing here?” Felicity asked, catching up with her.

“Dad hired him last week.”

“Why?”

“Ranch work.” Angie was irritated by Felicity’s questions and the snooty tone of her voice. There was a lot that bothered her about Felicity these days, but then, Angie hadn’t been her usually lighthearted self the past few weeks. “He’s supposed to be the best horseman in the county.”

“Yeah, when he’s not in jail,” Felicity said under her breath. “Or sleeping with someone’s wife.”

“He’s never been booked,” Angie whispered hotly, surprised at how much she knew of Brig McKenzie and disturbed by the fact that she felt compelled to defend him. “And that womanizing bit…it’s probably exaggerated.” She let her gaze wander down the cleft of his spine, past the smooth curve of his waist. His belt was thick rough leather that rested low on his hips. The denim was thin and pale across his butt, and one frayed hole showed off an inch of muscular thigh. Her insides trembled then twisted into a knot, and she found it suddenly hard to breathe. “You know,” she said under her breath, so that only Felicity could hear, “he’s not half bad.”

“If you’re into slumming.”

As if he’d heard her, Brig turned, and his eyes, a lazy shade of blue, seemed to burn right into her. “Somethin’ I can do for you?” he asked. His voice, so steady with the colt, was now impatient.

“We’re just watching you,” Angie said with a smile that usually melted boys’ hearts.

“Like what you see?”

She couldn’t help but lick her lips. “It’s all right. I’ve seen better.”

One black dark brow arched, and he slanted her a knowing, cocksure grin that silently called her a liar. “Then you don’t need to be starin’ now, do ya?” With that he turned back to the horse, and Angie felt a slow-growing burn climb up the back of her neck.

Felicity couldn’t swallow her grin fast enough, and Angie turned on her heel, stalking across the pavement, her heart throbbing in her flushed cheeks. “Insolent bastard,” she spat as she ran up the sweeping flagstone path that curved toward the wide front porch. Mortified, she threw open the front door and stormed through the foyer. How
dare
he insult her! He was a nobody. Rumored to be illegitimate. Oh God, she was beginning to sound as snobbish as Felicity.

She stopped in the bathroom, splashed water on her face, then joined Felicity in the kitchen. Her best friend’s green eyes were glinting with humor at Angie’s expense, but she had the good sense not to tease Angie right now.

“You want somethin’ to drink?” Mary asked. A heavy woman who liked her own fare, Mary had cooked for the Buchanan family for years and had been hired long before Angie’s mother had died and her father had married Dena. Angie frowned at the thought of her stepmother—so pale and lifeless compared to the first Mrs. Rex Buchanan. “I’ve got iced tea. Or lemonade.” Mary was already reaching into the refrigerator, pulling out two chilled pitchers.

“Tea,” Felicity said.

“Sounds good,” Angie agreed as she glanced out the bay window and looked to the side of the house. She caught a glimpse of the stable and the paddock where Brig was still working with the stubborn horse. His black hair gleamed in the sunlight and his skin still shone with sweat. From a purely sensual and animal point of view, he was perfect. Toned, firm muscles, tight butt, square jaw and eyes that seemed to look right through her. A challenge. With a bad reputation already firmly established. The natural choice. A man unafraid to call her bluff. Someone her father, despite all his ridiculous philanthropy, could hate.

Mary, intent on pounding every ounce of toughness out of a huge piece of flank steak, left two iced glasses on the counter and turned back to her cutting board. Her spiked wooden hammer started slapping against the raw meat as Angie grabbed her glass and stepped outside.

“When will Derrick be back?” Felicity asked casually though there was a hint of worry in her voice. They followed a brick and stone path past Dena’s flower gardens and through the rose arbor to the pool.

Angie shrugged and felt a twinge of sadness for her friend. Derrick had lost interest in Felicity months ago. He only saw her to keep her strung along. She was, after all, the judge’s daughter and she was willing to sleep with him despite the way he treated her.

“Who knows?” Slipping a pair of sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose, Angie settled into a lounge chair near a large terra-cotta planter filled with fuchsias. Purple and pink blossoms dripped from leafy stems. She sipped thoughtfully from her drink and watched the ice cubes melt around a single slice of lemon. “If I were you and I wanted Derrick,” she said, sensing her friend bristle a little, “I’d play hard to get.”