Montana Sky (25 page)

“I just don't want you to be disappointed.”

“The woman I love is going to lie with me. How could I be disappointed?”

Watching him, alert for every response, she slipped the
shirt off her shoulders. For a moment, she held it bunched in front of her breasts. She would remember this, Lily thought, every moment of this. Every word, every movement, every breath.

He stood, walked to her. A hand on her shoulder first, a light stroke along the curve, his eyes on hers. Gently, he took the shirt from her, let it fall. His gaze lowered, as did his hands, both skimming softly over the tops of her breasts.

She let her eyes close as his fingers trailed, dipped, traced. Then she opened them slowly to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, draw the flannel aside, then watch the pale skin of her hands glide over the smooth copper of his chest.

“I want to feel you against me.” He murmured it as he unhooked her bra, slid the straps down, let it slip to the floor between them. Gathering her close, he held her. A tremor rippled through him, a calm lake disturbed by a lazy finger. “I won't hurt you, Lily.”

“No.” Of that she could be certain. Of that she could be sure, as his lips lowered to test the skin of her shoulders, her throat. There would be no pain here, not even that of embarrassment. Here there was trust, and desire could be kind.

She didn't jump when his fingers tugged at the snap of her jeans. She shuddered, but not with fear, as he slid the denim down over her hips, murmuring to her as he helped her step free.

Her heart quaked when he stripped off his own jeans, but it quaked in delight and wonder and keen anticipation.

He was so beautiful, that golden skin taut over lean muscles, that sleek, shiny hair skimming strong shoulders. And he wanted her, wanted to belong to her. It was, to Lily, a fine, glittering miracle.

“Adam.” She sighed out his name as they lowered themselves to the bed. “Adam Wolfchild.” With the good, solid weight of him pressing her into the mattress, she wrapped her arms tight around his neck, drew his mouth down to hers. “Love me.”

“I do. I will.”

• • •

W
HILE THEY CELEBRATED LIFE IN A SHADOWY ROOM
. Another celebrated death in the daylight. Deep in the forest, alone and gleeful, he studied the trophies he'd so carefully arranged in a metal box. Prizes of the kill, he thought, stroking the long golden hair of a young girl who'd taken a wrong turn.

Her name was Traci; she'd told him when he'd offered her a ride. Traci with an
I
. She claimed to be eighteen, but he'd seen the lie in that. Her face was pudgy still with baby fat, but her body, when he took her into the hills later and stripped her, was female enough.

It had been so easy. A young girl with her thumb out along the side of the road. A purple knapsack slung over her shoulders, tight jeans showing off her short legs. And that bright gold hair, out of a bottle, of course, but it had gotten his attention, gleaming like gilded fire in the sun. Her fingernails had been painted to match the knapsack, a bright, unnatural purple.

Later, he'd seen that her toes were accented with the same color.

He'd let her ramble awhile, he remembered as he stroked the hair. Getting out of Dodge, she said, and laughed. That's where she was from—Dodge City, Kansas.

“You're not in Kansas anymore,” he told her, and nearly fell over laughing at his own wit.

He'd let her ramble awhile, he thought again, about how she was going to work her way up to Canada, and see some of the world. She took gum out of her sack, offered him some. He found four neatly rolled joints in it later, but had she offered him any of that? No, indeedy.

He knocked her unconscious, one quick fist to the cheek that had rolled her eyes back white. And he took her up into the hills, to where it was quiet, and private, and he could do whatever he liked.

He liked to do quite a lot.

He raped her first. A man had his priorities. Tied her up good and tight so she couldn't use those purple nails to scratch. She screamed herself hoarse, bucking and
squiggling on that narrow cot while he did things to her, used things on her.

Smoked her pot and did it all again.

She begged and pleaded with him to let her go. Then she begged and pleaded some more when she saw he was going to leave her there, tied up and naked.

But a man had responsibilities, and he wasn't able to stay.

When he came back, twenty-four hours later, he could have sworn she was happy to see him, the way she cried. So he did her again, and when he told her to say how much she liked it, she agreed that she had. She told him everything he wanted to hear.

Until she saw the knife.

It had taken him more than an hour to clean up the blood, but it had been worth it. Well worth it. And the best part, the very best part, had been the inspiration of dumping what was left of Traci with an
I
from Dodge City, Kansas, right at the doorstep of Mercy Ranch.

Oh, that had been sweet.

Tenderly, he kissed the bloodied hair, placed it carefully in the box.

They were all running scared now, he thought as he put the box back in its hole, rebuilt the small cairn over it. All of them trembling in their shoes. Afraid of him.

When he rose, lifted his face to the cold winter sun, he knew he was the biggest man in Montana.

I
F ANYONE HAD TOLD TESS SHE WOULD SPEND A FRIGID
January night in a horse stall kneeling in blood and birth fluid and enjoy every minute of it, she would have given them the name of her agent's psychiatrist.

But that's exactly what she had done. For the second night running. She had seen two foals born, even had a small part in it. And it thrilled her.

“Sure as hell gets your mind off your problems, doesn't it?” She stood back with Adam and Lily as the newborn struggled to gain its feet for the first time.

“You've got a nice touch with horses, Tess,” Adam told her.

“I don't know about that, but it's keeping me sane. Everybody's so jumpy. I came out of the chicken house yesterday and walked right into Billy. I don't know which of us jumped higher.”

“It's been ten days.” Lily rubbed her hands together to warm them. “It's starting to seem unreal. I know Will has talked to the police several times, but there's still nothing.”

“Look.” Adam slid an arm around her shoulders, drew
her to his side as the foal began to nurse. “That's real.”

“And so's the ache in my back.” Tess pushed a hand to it. It was as good an excuse as any to leave them alone. And she thought a hot bath and a few hours' sleep would set her up for a visit to Nate's. “I'm going in.”

“You were a big help, Tess. I appreciate it.”

Grinning, she picked up her hat, settled it on her head. “Christ. If my friends could see me now.” She chuckled over the idea as she walked out of the stables and into the wild cold of the morning.

What would they say at her favorite beauty salon if she walked in like this, with God knew what under her nails, jeans and flannel smeared with afterbirth, her hair . . . well, that didn't bear thinking of, and not a lick of makeup.

She imagined that Mr. William, her stylist, would topple over in a dead faint on his pink carpet.

Well, she thought, the entire experience was going to make for some fascinating cocktail conversation once she was back in LA. She visualized herself at some tony party in Beverly Hills, regaling her hostess with tales of shoveling manure, gathering eggs, castrating cows—that part she would embellish—and riding the range.

A far cry, Tess mused, from the fancy vanity ranches some of the Hollywood set indulged in. Then she would add that there'd also been some psychopath on the loose.

She shuddered and drew her coat closer. Put it out of your mind, she told herself. Doesn't help to think about it.

Then she saw Willa on the porch, just standing on the second step staring out at the hills. Frozen, Tess thought, like Midas's daughter at his touch. Not a clue, Tess realized, what a picture she made. Willa was the only woman in Tess's acquaintance who had no real concept of her own power as a female. For Willa it was all work, the land, the animals, the men.

She was working at perfecting a sarcastic comment when she drew up close enough to see Willa's face. Devastated. Her hat dangled at her back over that black waterfall of loose hair. Her back was straight as an arrow, her chin angled. She should have appeared confident, even arrogant.
But her eyes were haunted and blind with what might have been guilt or grief.

“What is it?”

Willa blinked, the only movement she made. She didn't turn her head, didn't shift her feet. “The police were just here.”

“Now?”

“Just a little while ago.” She'd lost track of the time already, couldn't have said how long she'd been standing there in the cold.

“You look like you need to sit down.” Tess came up one step, then two. “Let's go in.”

“They found out who she was.” Willa still didn't move, but her gaze shifted until it rested on the space at the bottom of the steps. “Her name was Traci Mannerly. She was sixteen. She lived in Dodge City with her parents and her two younger brothers. She'd run away from home, this was the second time, about six weeks ago.”

Tess shut her eyes. She hadn't wanted a name, she hadn't wanted details. It was easier to get through the day without them. “Let's go in.”

“They told me she'd been dead at least twelve hours before we found her here. She'd been tied up, at the wrists and the ankles. There were rope burns and abrasions where she'd tried to get free.”

“That's enough.”

“And she'd been raped. They said repeatedly, and sodomized. And she was . . . she was two months pregnant. She was pregnant and she was sixteen and she was from Kansas.”

“That's enough,” Tess said again. There were tears spilling out of her eyes as she wrapped her arms around Willa.

They swayed there, on the step, weeping and holding tight and hardly aware of it. A hawk screamed overhead. The clouds bundled up to block the sun and threaten snow. They stood together, clutched by the fear and grief only women fully understand.

“What are we going to do?” Tess shuddered out a breath. “Oh, God, what are we going to do?”

“I don't know. I just don't know anymore.” Willa didn't pull away. Even as she realized they were holding tight to each other in the rising wind, she stayed where she was. “I can run this place. Even with all this I can do it. But I don't know if I can stand thinking about that girl.”

“It doesn't do any good to think about it. We can think about why, why he brought her here. We can think about that. But not about her. And we can think about us.” She eased back, scrubbed the tears from her face. “We'd better start thinking about us. I think Lily and I need lessons in how to handle a gun.”

Willa stared at her a moment, began to see more than the glossy Hollywood façade. “I'll teach you.” She took a steadying breath, slipped her hat back into place. “We'll get started now,”

 

“I
T
'
S A WORRISOME THING
.”
HAM COMMENTED OVER HIS
midday bowl of chili.

Jim helped himself to a second bowl and winked at Billy. “What's that, Ham?”

The answer waited, and the sound of gunfire echoed. “A woman with a gun,” Ham said in his slow, dry voice. “More worrisome is three women with three guns.”

“Tell you the truth”—Jim dumped a biscuit into his bowl and took a hefty bite—“that Tess looks mighty sexy with a rifle on her shoulder.”

Ham eyed him pityingly. “Boy, you ain't got enough work to occupy you.”

“No amount of work ought to keep a man from looking at a pretty woman. Right, Billy?”

“Right.”

Though, for himself, Billy hadn't given women much thought since the night of the New Year's party. Bouncing on Mary Anne in the rig had been just fine and dandy. But the awful experience of finding the body with her had put a pall over the entire event.

“Scary, though,” he said with his mouth full. “They've been at it better than a week, and I ain't seen Tess hit a
target yet. Makes a man leery of going out of doors while the shooting's going on.”

“Tell you what I think.” Jim thumped a burp out of his chest and rose. “I think what they need is a man to show them how it's done. I got a few minutes.”

“Nobody needs to show Will what to do with a gun.” Quick pride peppered Ham's voice. After all, he'd been the one to teach her how to shoot. “She can outshoot you or anybody else in Montana with one eye closed. Why don't you leave those women alone?”

“I ain't going to touch.” Jim shrugged into his coat. “Unless I get the chance.”

He stepped outside, and spotted Jesse climbing out of a rig. “Hey, J C.” Grinning, he threw up a hand. “Haven't seen you for a couple weeks.”

“Been busy.” He knew he was taking a chance, a big one, coming over to Mercy in the daylight hours. He visited there as often as he could at night, in the shadows. Often enough to know that his whore-bitch of a wife was spreading her legs for Wolfchild.

But that could wait.

“I was down at Ennis picking up some parts. You had an order come in.” He tossed a package at Jim, then skimmed a finger over his moustache. He was beginning to like the feel of it. “Brought it by for you.”

“Appreciate it.” Jim set the package on the rail. “ 'Bout time for poker, I'd say.”

“I'm up for it. Why don't you and your boys come around to Three Rocks tonight?” He grinned charmingly. “I'll send you back lighter in the pocket.”

“Might just do that.” He glanced over at the sound of gunshots, chuckled. “We got us three females at target practice. I was about to give them some pointers.”

“Women ought to stay away from guns.” Jesse took out a pack of cigarettes, shook one out, offered it.

“They're spooked. You'd have heard about the trouble here.”

“Sure.” Jesse blew out smoke, wondered if he could risk
a glimpse of Lily in the daytime. “Bad business. Kid, wasn't it? From Nebraska?”

“Kansas, I hear. Runaway. Got the shit killed out of her.”

“Young girls ought to stay home where they belong.” Eyes narrowing, Jesse studied the flame of his cigarette. “Learn how to be wives. Women want to be men these days, you ask me.” This time his grin was just a little mean. “ 'Course, maybe that don't bother you, seeing as you got a woman for a boss.”

Jim's back went up, but he nodded easily enough. “Can't say I care for it much, generally. But Will knows what's what.”

“Maybe. The way I hear it, by next fall you'll have three women bosses.”

“We'll see.” His pleasant anticipation of showing off in front of the women faded. He picked up the package. “Appreciate you dropping this off.”

“No problem.” Jesse turned back to the rig. “You come on by tonight, and bring money. I'm feeling lucky.”

“Yeah.” Soured, Jim adjusted his hat, watched the rig drive off. “Asshole,” he muttered, and went back in the bunkhouse.

 

O
N THE MAKESHIFT TARGET RANGE
,
WELL BEHIND THE
pole barn, Lily shuddered.

“Getting cold?” Tess asked.

“No. Just a chill.” But she caught herself looking over her shoulder, peering against the sun at the glint of it on the chrome of a departing rig. “Someone walked over my grave,” she murmured.

“Well, that's cheery.” Resuming her stance, Tess drew a bead on the tin can with the little Smith & Wesson Ladysmith—what Willa called a pocket pistol—and fired. Missed by a mile. “Shit.”

“You can always beat him over the head with it.” Will stepped behind her again, steadied Tess's arm. “Concentrate.”

“I was concentrating. It's just a little bullet. If I had a bigger gun, like yours—”

“You'd fall on your ass every time you fired it. You'll use a girl gun until you know what you're doing. Come on, even Lily hits the mark five times out of ten.”

“I just haven't found my groove.” She fired again, scowled. “That was closer. I know that was closer.”

“Yeah, at this rate, you'll be able to hit the side of a barn in a year.” Willa drew the single-action Army Colt out of the holster riding low on her hip. The .45 was a lot of gun—weighty and mean—but she preferred it. Showing off only a little, she picked off six cans with six shots.

“Annie Fucking Oakley.” Tess sniffed and hated the surge of admiration and envy she felt. “How the hell do you do that?”

“Concentration, a steady hand, and a clear eye.” Smiling, she slid the gun back into its sheath. “Maybe you need something more. Hate anybody?”

“Besides you?”

Willa merely raised an eyebrow. “Who was the first guy to dump you and break your heart?”

“No one dumps me, champ.” Then her lips pouted. “There was Joey Columbo in sixth grade. Little son of a bitch led me on, then two-timed me with my best friend.”

“Put his face over that can standing on the fence rail there and plug one between his eyes.”

Teeth set, Tess shifted, aimed. Her finger trembled on the trigger. Then she lowered the gun with a laugh. “Christ, I can't shoot a ten-year-old.”

“He's all grown up now, living in Bel Air, and still laughing about the chubby dork he dumped in junior high.”

“Bastard.” Now her teeth bared as she took her shot. “I nipped it.” She shouted it, dancing a bit, and Willa cautiously removed the gun from her hand before Tess could shoot herself in the foot. “It moved.”

“Probably the wind.”

“Hell it was. I killed Joey Columbo.”

“Just a flesh wound.”

“He's lying on the ground, watching his life pass in front of his eyes.”

“You're starting to enjoy this too much,” Lily decided.

“I just pretend I'm in one of those arcades at the carnival and I'm trying to win the big stuffed teddy bear.” Her cheeks flushed when her sisters both turned and stared at her. “Well, it works for me.”

“What color?” Willa asked after a moment. “What color teddy bear?” she elaborated.