Fifteen
Crack!
Pain exploded in the back of Brig’s head. His head snapped. He fell off his motorcycle. His face slammed against sharp gravel. The Harley, engine still thrumming, skidded across the drive to land against a fence. He tasted blood and he couldn’t see.
“Where is she?” Jed Baker’s voice registered somewhere beyond the pain throbbing through his brain.
Brig fought the urge to pass out. Groggily, he looked up. Jed stood above Brig, silhouetted by the feeble light shining from the trailer’s windows. Breathing hard, his face a mask of loathing, he snarled down at Brig. His teeth gleamed in the poor light, and he gripped a baseball bat in one meaty hand. “Angie. Where is she?”
“What’s it to ya?”
“You half-breed cocksucker, tell me. Where is she?”
Brig tried to get his feet under him, but he was still woozy. “None of your business.”
“You mean none of yours. You leave her alone. Y’hear me, boy?” Jed swung the bat hard. Brig rolled onto his side. The weapon grazed his shoulder, then smashed into the ground. “You just don’t get it, do you? She’s mine!”
“Maybe you’d better tell her.” Brig rocked into a crouch, but the bat hit him full in the back, popping against his spine. Pain ricocheted up his backbone, erupting in his brain. He fell to his knees. Gravel cut through his jeans.
Jed laughed and sucked a breath through his teeth. “You just stay away, you bastard.”
On his feet in a heartbeat, Brig saw red. He spun quickly, wrapping steely fingers around the bat’s handle, kicking out with his feet and nailing Jed in his groin.
With a wail Jed dropped to the ground. Brig wrenched the bat from him and started swinging. “Hey—watch out!”
Thud! The bat shuddered in Brig’s hands as he smashed it hard against Jed’s shoulder. Jed screamed like a cat hit by buckshot, then staggered backward. Crack! The bat found Jed’s ribs, splintering a couple. Another hideous wail. “Shit, McKenzie. I’ll have you up on charges!” Brig didn’t care. Crunch! Jed’s nose flattened. With a yowl he sank to the ground, hands splayed over his mouth and nose, crying like a baby, begging Brig to stop as blood spurted through the beefy fingers trying to hold his nose in place.
“You deserve this, you arrogant son of a bitch!” Breathing hard, sweat running down his face, Brig swung the bat over his head, intent on shutting Jed up forever.
“Stop!” Sunny’s voice rang through the darkness. “Brig,” she commanded. “Stop it, now!”
The first drops of rain fell from the sky.
Brig’s fingers tightened over the slick wood.
Jed cowered and babbled, “You can’t do this, you can’t.” He was crying, sobbing hysterically. He’d wet his pants and blood ran from his nose and mouth. “You fuckin’ bastard. Fuckin’ Injun bastard.”
Brig let the bat slide from his hands. “Get out of here.”
“I’ll get you for this.”
“Get the hell out!”
Sunny hurried down the steps and glared at both boys. Her long hair, black shot with gray, fell past her shoulders, and her long robe billowed around her in the wind. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
“No!” Jed staggered to his feet, nearly fell, but somehow managed to stay upright.
“You’re hurt. You’re both hurt.”
“I don’t need your kind of help—none of that witch doctor bullshit. It’s all fake anyway,” he sneered, tears trailing from eyes that were already turning black. “I’m gonna talk to the sheriff and I’ll have you up on charges, McKenzie. You can’t go around assaulting people.”
“Try it,” Brig suggested.
“Yes, do,” Sunny said and before Jed could react, she grabbed his hand and held on fiercely.
“Let me go—” Jed tried to wrench free.
A strange light came into her eyes. “Yes, go and tell the authorities and they will find out the truth. About Brig. About you. About Angie Buchanan…This blood”—she wiped a drop from his chin—“will prove that you’re a liar.” Her voice faltered a bit, then took on a high pitch and she started chanting in a language that Brig suspected was Cherokee, but he wasn’t certain as her eyes closed and she began to sway to the repetitious litany.
Jed shuddered and his eyes rolled back in fear.
The chanting continued and he seemed to snap to attention.
“Let go of me, you witch!” Jed screamed, his eyes nearly bulging from his head. “What’s she doin’ to me?”
“Don’t know, but it sounds like a curse,” Brig answered, enjoying the game. Ma was playing with Jed, and the boy deserved it.
“Leave me alone!”
The chanting continued, keening high over the rising wind that blew the first dry leaves around their feet and whistled over the rumble of the motorcycle’s engine as it lay, wheel spinning on the gravel.
Jed tore himself free, fell into a pothole Chase had missed while filling the driveway. He scrambled to his feet. “Go to hell,” he yelled in a voice strangled by terror. “You all go to hell!”
A cat howled in the darkness and Jed took off running. A few seconds later the sound of a huge engine—that of Jed’s Corvette—gave forth a mighty roar and tires spun on loose gravel. The noise of the engine faded and gears ground, whining and disappearing in the night.
“And good riddance,” Sunny said.
“What was all that about?” Brig asked his mother. She reached up, touched him on the forehead, and he winced.
“You have to learn to beat your enemies with your head, Brig, not with your fists.”
“You’re a fake, Ma.”
“Only when I have to be.” Her eyes were calm and dark. “But I do see danger for you, Brig. More danger than this unimportant boy.”
“Watch out, Ma. You’re starting to believe your own press.”
“I do believe.”
“Bull,” he said as rain peppered the ground.
“Just because I put on a show for the Baker boy doesn’t mean I don’t believe. Jed needed the pee scared out of him. But what I see for you. For Chase. It’s real.”
“I think you scared more than the pee out of him.”
“I intended to.” She glanced down the lane and her smooth brow wrinkled. “He won’t bully anyone again.”
“Look, I’m not worried about Chase and me,” Brig lied, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead and felt a dozen raindrops hit his scalp.
“You should be.”
“I gotta go—”
“Not yet.” She glanced at the sky and frowned at the clouds moving restlessly over the moon. “You have to tell me about the Caldwells’ party. You’re back early.”
“It was a bore.”
“And there was some altercation.”
“You guessin’ or you have one of your visions?”
She crossed her arms under her breasts and frowned. “Next time I’ll curse you,” she teased but there wasn’t any laughter in her voice, and she rolled her bottom lip over her teeth as she stared at the bloodied bat.
“Okay, there was a little trouble, but nothing serious,” he lied. “No one even bothered calling the police.” He dusted off his jacket and reached for his Harley. There was trouble, all right, big trouble, and it went far beyond a few insults whispered about Sunny or a couple of knocks with a damned baseball bat. He thought of Cassidy and felt a sweeping sense of guilt. Hell, that girl had somehow managed to get under his skin. Then there was her sister. Angie. She’d acted strange tonight. Instead of seductive most of the evening, she’d almost seemed morose, alternately clinging to him sadly, or flirting and dancing with the boys that seemed to follow after her in a pack. Then, when Brig had had enough of the lavish party and small-minded guests, he’d tried to get her to leave. She’d agreed and they’d walked up a path between the trees at the side of the house. Suddenly she’d started to cry and drawn him into a private little spot behind the greenhouse away from the party.
“What’s wrong?” he’d asked warily, not trusting her.
“Everything.”
He didn’t believe her. Angie Buchanan had the world by its tail. But tears tracked down her pretty face, and in the darkness he’d sensed that she was in some kind of trouble. Trouble he didn’t need.
“Help me, Brig.”
“How?”
“Just hold me.”
“Angie—I think it’s time to go home.”
“Not yet.” Seeming almost desperate, she’d lowered the front of her frothy pink dress, baring one of her beautiful breasts, and offered herself to him.
“For Christ’s sake, put that back on—”
“Please, Brig,” she’d said, taking his hand and laying it on the firm flesh of her body, letting him watch as her nipple stiffened in anticipation, allowing him to touch the heat and fire burning under her skin. He was nineteen and it had been a while and she was so tempting. “Let me make you feel good,” she whispered. “I have before…remember?”
Desire pounded at his temples. Her skin felt like smooth silk beneath his rough fingers and it had taken all his will power to draw his hand away, but she’d been insistent, brought his fingers back to the other side of the dress, helping him tug the fabric downward so that both of those glorious globes swung free in the feeble moonlight. “You like me. I know you like me. I remember…”
Shame burned through his brain, and yet his heart knocked in anxious anticipation. His manhood betrayed him and sprang to attention as she moved closer and kissed him full on the lips, her naked breasts brushing against his shirt, teasing, enticing. Heat fired his blood and he was blind to everything save losing himself in her. He’d already been valiant and noble, telling Cassidy that he’d never see her again, so why not take what Angie so willingly offered? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been tempted before…as if he hadn’t touched her intimately the first time she’d been foolish enough to let him see her naked.
Oh God, he’d acted like a randy stallion that time. But that was before he knew that Cassidy was hung up on him. Since then he’d thought of Cassidy, and his sick fantasies had been with a girl barely sixteen. She was too young for him, too naïve, deserved better, no matter how he felt about her—and Angie…oh, hell, she felt so damned good. Gritting his teeth, he shoved Angie backward—away from him. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Sure it is.”
“Get dressed. I’ll take you home.” He closed his eyes, trying to think, forcing his mind from the lust burning through his blood. He heard the welcome hiss of a zipper sliding on its track. “Don’t—” A few seconds later when he opened his eyes he saw that her dress had fallen to the grass in a pool of rosy chiffon and she was standing before him wearing only silky panties that rode low on her hips, exposing her tan line. A single lacy rose barely covered curling hair at the apex of her legs. “Get dressed,” he repeated, but his voice was rough and lacked conviction.
She came to him then, her wet mouth full and open. Standing on tiptoes, she wound her arms around his neck, and stretching, letting her breasts rub up against him, she kissed him.
“Marry me, Brig,” she’d whispered into his open mouth as she’d rubbed her chest against his shirt and snuggled against him, the front of her panties sliding seductively over the bulge in his jeans. She wrapped one leg around his and moved slowly up and down his thigh, leaving a moist, hot trail on the denim—a trail he could still smell. “Marry me and I’ll be yours forever.”
Now, as he walked away from his mother and righted the still-idling motorcycle, he knew what he had to do.
“Brig! Don’t—”
“Later, Ma.” Ignoring the raindrops splashing on the ground, he climbed astride the Harley and headed back to the road leading into town. He had a couple of scores to settle.
“I swear I’ll kill him with my bare hands!” Derrick, drunker than Cassidy had ever seen him, staggered through the den and into a private room where glass-faced gun cases lined the walls.
“Who?” she asked, her heart fluttering wildly as she followed him through the house. He’d roared into the driveway a few minutes before and made so much noise that she’d hurried downstairs, only to discover him in the foyer, swearing and ranting, in a blind fury.
“McKenzie, that’s who.” He tried to open a case but it was locked. “Son of a bitch,” he growled, then walked back to the den where he yanked open a drawer and threw out pens and papers until he found a ring of keys. He stalked back to the gun room.
Cassidy was frantic. No one else was home. She’d pleaded a headache and had gotten a ride home with Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. She’d just changed her clothes when she’d heard Derrick storm into the house, stumbling and cursing and swearing about revenge.
Against Brig. Or Chase.
He shoved a key into the lock. It wouldn’t turn. “Fuck!”
“I’ll call Dad,” she warned.
“Go ahead. When he finds out that Brig McKenzie’s been screwing Angie, he’ll want a piece of him, too.”
Cassidy’s stomach turned over and she nearly retched. She steadied herself on the doorframe. “You don’t know that—”
“Don’t I?” He jammed another key into the lock and nothing happened. “God damn it!” The third and fourth key wouldn’t even slide through the keyhole. “You know what, Angie told me herself. She and Brig have been carrying on ever since he first set foot here, maybe even earlier, I don’t know. That’s probably why he applied for the job anyway, to get close to her.”
“No—”
“Christ, Cassidy, grow up! You know what a big man it would make him feel like to be getting it on with Rex Buchanan’s daughter? McKenzie would love it. After years of groveling at the old man’s feet, he’d get one up on him. Well, it backfired ’cause Angie thinks she’s going to marry him.” Teeth bared, a vein throbbing furiously near his hairline, he kicked at the door. Glass shattered. Reaching past the dangerous shards, he yanked out his shotgun.
Terror gripped her throat. “Don’t—”
“He’s not marrying her. He’s never going to touch her again and I’m going to make sure of it.” His eyes glittered with hate. “This time he fucked the wrong woman!”
Cassidy grabbed his arm, throwing herself on him. Her weight pulled his hand down and she managed to loosen his fingers. The shotgun clattered to the floor.
Quick as a rattler striking, Cassidy snatched up the huge gun and pointed both barrels at her brother’s chest. Her knees were shaking, but she managed to hoist the stock of the shotgun upward, steady against her shoulder. “Go upstairs, Derrick. You’re drunk and you’re ranting and raving and not making any sense. Sleep it off.”
“What? Now you’re going to shoot me when all I’m trying to do is save our sister’s honor. Give me a break!”
“Let Angie save herself.”
“Jesus, Cassidy, you cry when I shoot a squirrel or a raccoon or even a damned bird. You’re not going to put a bullet through me.”
“I will! I swear it, Derrick.” Her heart drummed in her chest. Sweat soaked her palms. Her fingers tightened over the trigger. “I will if you think you’re going to take after Brig with this shotgun and—ooh!”
He grabbed the barrel of the gun and wrenched it from her unwilling fingers. “You’re as bad as she is,” he growled. “Always sticking up for that low-life half-breed bastard. Now, just leave me alone.”
“You can’t—”
“Watch me!” He stalked out of the room and down the hall, but Cassidy was right on his heels. “The way I figure it, getting rid of McKenzie should make me some kind of hero around here. I’m doing you, me, Angie and the whole damned town a favor!”
“I’ll call Mom and Dad.”
“Go ahead.”
“And the police. If anything happens to Brig, I swear I’ll turn you in and—”
He whirled around and glared down at her with furious, red-rimmed eyes. His breath was a sour mixture of stale liquor and smoke. “You don’t seem to understand, do you? Brig Buchanan raped Angie.”
“Raped?” she said.
“You bet. You think she would want it with him?” Derrick’s face twisted in disgust.
“But she—”
“She flirted with him. She flirts with everybody. But she didn’t want to make it with Brig. He forced the issue.”
“I—I think it was the other way around,” Cassidy said. “I heard her and Felicity talking, and Angie told Felicity she planned on seducing Brig.”
“You’re lying,” he snarled, towering over her in all his fury.
“No, I’m not. If you don’t believe me ask Felicity.”
Derrick’s eyes thinned to angry slits. “She’s the last person I’d ask.”
“Then talk to Angie! She’d tell you.”
His nostrils trembled in rage. “She’d lie to protect him, too. But it’s too late. It’s time Brig McKenzie paid his dues!” He hitched the shotgun upward and unlocked the door.
Leaving Cassidy sagging against the wall, he strode into the night. Her legs threatened to crumple. Her threats were useless; neither her parents nor the police would take her seriously. Brig had a history of being in trouble with the law, and Derrick was just considered a boy who hadn’t quite grown up. So he drank a little. So he wrecked a few cars. So he was in a brawl or two. So he slept with everyone he could—nobody had ever been hurt except Felicity Caldwell, who had made the mistake of loving him forever. And there was never any real damage because Rex Buchanan had willingly paid off anyone who made claims against his son.
But Brig McKenzie drew trouble like a lightning rod enticed jagged streaks of electricity. The authorities would take Brig’s story and turn it around.
She heard the roar of Derrick’s truck. “Oh, God,” she whispered and silently prayed that her brother didn’t find Brig and Angie together.
Cassidy’s stomach knotted painfully. She’d witnessed Derrick’s cruel streak all too often, and it seemed that in the past few years, it had grown worse. He’d whipped horses until they’d bled, shot squirrels and stray cats for target practice and burned Willie with cigarettes in some kind of sick game. Willie had never said a word, but Cassidy had guessed the truth and had confronted her brother, claiming that if he ever did it again, she’d tell their father.
Derrick had laughed.
“Are you kiddin’?” he’d thrown back at her when she’d threatened him. “It’ll be your word against mine. Even the idiot won’t back you up.”
“Of course he will. He knows what you’ve done to him.”
Derrick’s slow-spreading grin had been positively evil. “He knows, but he won’t say.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause he’s a pervert, that’s why. And if he rats on me, I’ll rat on him and he doesn’t want our sweet, trusting daddy to know how sick he really is. Otherwise he might end up in a mental institution weaving baskets where he belongs.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“One of my finer qualities.”
“Willie’s not a pervert!”
“No?” Derrick had asked, his eyebrows rising. “Well, if I were you, little sister, I’d keep my blinds closed and my windows shut. You never know when Willie might quit staring and start acting. He watches, you know. Sees everything that goes on here. He’s seen you wearing nothin’ but your birthday suit and that St. Christopher’s medal, and he’s seen Angie, too. I think he likes that red bra she parades around in. I’ve caught him watching.”
Cassidy had recoiled. The thought of anyone, including Derrick, observing her made her skin crawl.
“So Willie won’t be divulging any secrets anytime soon unless he wants to end up in the loony bin.”
“You threatened him, didn’t you?” she said, seeing the depths of her brother’s perfidy for the first time.
“Just pointed out a few facts to him. But he’s not as dumb as he looks. He figured out right away that he has to keep his mouth shut to keep livin’ here, and believe you me, he wants to stay, seems to think that a mental hospital is some kind of twentieth-century torture chamber. He believes he might end up with a lobotomy or electric shock treatments with a cattle prod. It could be painful. Real painful. Scares the piss right out of him.”
“That’s what you told him,” she guessed.
“Just pointed his options out to the boy.”
“But that’s all a lie! They don’t do lobotomies or any of that stuff anymore! So help me, Derrick, if you ever do anything to Willie again…If you tease him, taunt him or hurt him in any way, I’ll let Dad know about it and he’ll believe me.”
“Dad doesn’t even know you’re alive, Cassidy. I hate to hurt your feelings, but Dad only really cares about Angie—because she reminds him of Mom. Talk about sick. You know, sometimes the way he looks at her worries me. You don’t think he wants to get it on with his own daughter, do you?”
“No!” Cassidy cried, covering her ears.
“I hope not, because the idea’s pretty damned ugly.” Beneath Derrick’s cocky need to shock, there was another emotion, something murky and dangerous and evil. “But if he touches her, I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”
And now he was after Brig. For the love of God, she couldn’t let him get away with it. She ran to the phone in the den and dialed Brig’s number. The telephone rang and rang. Ten times. Twelve. Fifteen. Twenty. In desperation she slammed the receiver into the cradle and started searching through the drawers for an extra set of keys. There were trucks parked near the stable, and if she found the right key…she didn’t have her license yet, but she knew how to drive…come on, come on. Her fingers slid over pencils, pens, staples and rubber bands. No keys. Then she remembered. Derrick still had the key ring.
Desperate, she ran outside, felt the rising wind, searched in each truck but found no extra key, no way to start the damned rigs. She couldn’t let Brig down; she had to warn him. Where the hell was he?
With Angie.
Her heart settled like lead, but she couldn’t let her own feelings stop her from trying to alert him. But how? She couldn’t get very far on foot. Teeth sinking into her lip, she scanned the parking lot and garages before landing on the stable and the answer to her prayers. Remmington. She could get anywhere on the colt. But how could she possibly find Brig?
With no answers, she started running, her legs moving swiftly, her heart drumming in fear. She had no idea where she was going, but she knew that she had to get there fast.
She didn’t bother with the lights, just yanked a bridle from the peg near Remmington’s stall. No one, not even Willie, could know that she’d left. Several horses snorted and rustled the straw of their boxes. “It’s all right,” she whispered.
A hand from out of the darkness shot over her mouth.
A scream died in her throat and she knew in that instant she was doomed.