His frown grew deeper as she spoke. Did he not understand her? Perhaps “clandestine meetings” had not been the best choice of words.
“You need to go. Now.” She pointed toward the entrance as her hidden hand closed over the sliding bar that held the lock in place.
His scowl darkened, and all hints of charm disappeared. He lashed out and gripped her chin with biting force. She fumbled to hold onto the latch while he forced her face up.
“So, you are just like all the other gringas who swish their skirts at us like it’s some kind of game. You make us hungry for you then send us away. You cannot steal a man’s pride like that and not pay.”
His eyes glowed with fury. Fury borne from pain.
“What was her name?”
The shearer jerked her neck around, his fingers digging even harder into her jaw. He bent his head over her and placed his face so close to hers that she could smell the whiskey on his breath. Her stomach roiled, but she fought down the urge to gag.
“The woman who hurt you,” she gritted out. “What was her name?” If she could get him to focus his anger on someone else, maybe he would release her.
José smiled with an unholy delight, and all hope of release died.
“It does not matter, bonita, for today you are her.”
His lips crushed hers in a bruising kiss designed to punish. She squirmed in protest, but he held her fast. Praying for strength, Adelaide threw the latch on the stall door and stomped José’s foot with the heel of her boot. He loosened his grip for just a second, and she took full advantage. She brought both arms down hard where he held her chin and tore free. Dashing around the edge of the stall door, she slammed it forward into her attacker with all her might. He stumbled back.
Sheba bucked, nervous from all the commotion. Adelaide grabbed her mane and dragged her out. She wanted nothing more than to jump onto the mare and gallop away with her, but she’d never be able to mount bareback without her split skirt. Remembering the pitchfork, Adelaide opted for a distraction instead. She slapped Sheba’s rump and yelled, causing the already skittish mare to rear up. While José dodged Sheba’s flailing hooves, Adelaide ran for the weapon.
It didn’t take long for José to get past her horse. Adelaide faced him, brandishing the pitchfork in front of her. Sheba’s fleeing hoofbeats echoed dishearteningly through the stable.
“Put it down, bonita. You can’t hurt me.”
She feared he was right but refused to admit it. “I don’t want to, but I will if you don’t leave me alone.” She jabbed the prongs at him to accent her words, but he laughed at her efforts.
Adelaide gathered her gumption and lunged toward him, cutting off his laughter. He hopped backward and knocked the metal tines aside with his forearm. He nearly grabbed the weapon away from her, but she snatched it out of his reach at the last second. Not wanting to make that mistake again, Adelaide shifted her hold. Before he could guess her intent, she hoisted the handle up to her shoulder and with a mighty grunt, swung the pitchfork like a stickball bat. Doubting she could reach his head without his blocking her, and not wishing to kill him if he didn’t, she aimed for his knees. The handle connected with a thud, and José dropped to the ground.
Abandoning the weapon, she ran for the door. His roar of pain filled the air like a demon’s cry. Halfway to the door, she heard his pounding footsteps closing the gap behind her.
Panic surged. Her legs flew. The door drew near. Escape.
But before she could gain her freedom, he tackled her from behind. She crashed to the floor. Pain shot through her elbow and hip. She screamed and clawed for the door. He dragged her back. Her nails scraped against the wooden planks, searching for something to grasp. They found nothing.
Then he hefted her up, encircling her middle with an unforgiving arm that bent her in two. His dirty hand closed over her mouth, cutting off her screams. She kicked and hit at him with her fists, but the awkward blows had no effect. He cursed and carried her back to the depths of the stable.
“It’s time to pay, bonita.”
She fought for breath under his violent grip. He kicked open a vacant stall and threw her roughly onto a thin pile of straw. She gasped for air and found her voice.
“Let me go!”
He slapped her hard across the face.
“Not till I’m done with you.”
Her head spun from the blow, and her heart lurched at his words. She turned onto her belly and tried to crawl away from him, but there was nowhere to go. He flipped her onto her back and slapped her again, slamming her head into the floor. Tears ran down her cheeks. She begged for mercy, her pleas coming out in tiny, broken whimpers. He leered at her, grabbed the collar of her dress, and yanked. Buttons popped off and disappeared into the hay. She bucked and scratched at his face, shrieking at him to stop. But he pinned her arms to the ground and pushed his weight on top of her, once again stealing her breath.
“Ready for your lesson, teacher?”
God, save me!
He raised himself a bit in order to grab her skirts, inadvertently allowing her to inhale a lungful of air. Before he could hit her again, she concentrated all of her energy into one final scream. And this time she screamed a name.
“Gideon!”
Chapter 12
Cool water sluiced over Gideon’s head as he bent under the pump. Rivulets ran down his neck, pushing aside the dust and grime of a long day. His stomach clamored for supper and his back ached for a soak in the tub, but he welcomed the discomfort. It was a good feeling—the feeling of productivity, of knowing at the end of the day that what you chose to occupy yourself with had merit and value. His old school chums no doubt scoffed at him from across the ocean for trading his pampered, idle life for sore muscles and dirt-encrusted skin. Yet he couldn’t imagine going back. He felt more alive and authentic here than he ever had in the drawing rooms of London.
Gideon blindly reached for a strip of toweling he had hung on a nearby fencepost and began rubbing the wetness from his hair. A distant screech caught his attention. He stilled. Cocking his head, he listened but didn’t hear it again. Cougars were rare in this area, but if one were around, its cry would sound much like a woman’s scream. Perhaps he should instruct Miguel to post a guard on the sheep tonight. He resumed drying his hair at a slower pace, not wanting the towel to muffle the sound of another cry if it came.
Unease wrapped around him as he listened. He attempted to rationalize away the disquieting sensation with logical explanations of the sound—like a prowling cougar or a high-pitched shout from the shearers’ camp—but it wouldn’t abate. His shoulders grew taut with trepidation, and he scanned the darkening yard for clues to what he had heard.
“Gideon!”
The cry shot through his heart like an arrow. Adelaide.
Urgency pumped through his veins. He took off at a dead run, praying he was going in the right direction. He instinctively veered toward the house, but the sight of Sheba stamping and snorting in the middle of the yard changed his mind. The stables.
He pounded through the entrance and halted, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. Something whimpered at the back of the building.
“Miss Proctor?”
The whimper cut off. Gideon moved forward.
“Miss Proctor, are you in here?”
A masculine hiss of pain answered, followed by a short series of smothered cries and boot leather scraping against wooden floorboards.
Gideon sprinted down to Sheba’s stall. Empty.
Desperation nearly drove Gideon mad as silence once again hid her from him.
“Miss Proctor!”
He ran from one vacant stall to the next, peering over the half doors, straining to see. All he could make out were straw-covered floors and dark shadows. Then at the third gate, fading twilight glistened upon a swatch of yellow gingham. Never had he been so thankful for her choice of bright attire. He had only a second, however, to take in her hiked-up skirts, torn bodice, and unnaturally s
till form before a fist slammed into his jaw, sprawling him out on the floor.
Gideon scrambled to his feet in time to see a man rush at him. Rage like he had never known surged through him, and he lunged forward to meet Adelaide’s attacker head on. Gideon smashed his fist into his opponent’s side again and again, ignoring the blows to his own torso. Wanting to end things quickly so he could see to Adelaide, Gideon took a risk and raised his arms to grab his opponent’s head, leaving his side vulnerable to the man’s brutal punches. Gideon braced himself for the pain, and as soon as the next blow came, he jerked the man’s head down and jabbed his own knee upward to crash into his forehead. Dazed, the man staggered back and Gideon got his first good look at him.
One of the shearers. A man he had paid to come onto his land.
A vision of Adelaide’s prone form swam in Gideon’s mind. He exploded. Growling, he threw himself at the man. Blow after blow, Gideon punished him. He pummeled his midsection and head until the man could barely stand. The shearer’s open shirt waved like a flag of surrender as he fell to his knees. The brute deserved no mercy. Gideon grabbed a handful of the loose fabric and lifted the man off the ground. He drew back his fist, ready to finish it. But a soft voice reached him through the haze of his wrath.
“Enough, Gideon.”
She was clutching one of the support beams, clearly unsteady on her feet, yet he was so relieved to see her conscious he nearly dropped his opponent. Securing his grip, he slowly lowered his fist. Hooves clicking behind him turned his attention away from Adelaide and back toward the entrance. A familiar whistle accompanied the percussive hoofbeats.
“Miguel!” Gideon called out to his foreman.
“Patrón?”
Miguel approached, leading Sheba. “I found the young teacher’s horse wandering the yard. You want me to …” His words died off as he came close enough to take in the scene.
Adelaide moaned. Gideon swiveled to find her clutching at her torn bodice and trying to hide behind the post. Her undeserved shame rekindled his anger. He yanked the shearer to his feet and bent his arms behind his back. Motioning Miguel forward, he kept his voice low in an effort to save Adelaide further upset.
“I need to see to Miss Proctor. Deliver this piece of refuse to the nearest authorities.” Gideon thrust the man at his foreman, and Miguel easily took charge of him.
“Sí, patrón. I’ll take him to town to wait for the marshal. But I will also talk to Ramirez.” Miguel tightened his hold on the man until he winced. “After I tell what happened, el capitán will see that this scum is cast out of the crew. Even after the law is done with him, no one will hire him.”
“Good.”
Miguel hauled the man out of the stable, threatening him with a host of atrocities in Spanish, only half of which Gideon understood.
After Miguel exited the stable, Gideon turned to look for Adelaide. She was no longer standing behind the post where he had last seen her. Sheba was missing, too. He found them in Sheba’s stall, Adelaide’s face buried in the mare’s flank. Quiet sobs shuddered through her and tore at his heart.
No woman should endure such betrayal, and the fact that it had been Adelaide—a woman who exuded joy and sunshine—made the outcome that much darker. Gideon clenched his jaw in an attempt to suppress his lingering rage. He needed control. Anger would only frighten her. Closing his eyes for a moment, he released a quiet breath and forced his muscles to relax.
Lord, help me.
Gideon opened his eyes and stepped softly into the stall. His hand shook as he lifted it to her shoulder. Too many emotions still throbbed within him. Something had cracked the moment he saw her crumpled form lying motionless in that stall, exposing an inner depth of feeling he hadn’t known existed. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but now wasn’t the time to sort out his confusion. This tiny lady with her big smile and vivid imagination had suffered an atrocity, and for today he would set aside the boundaries of their professional relationship to bind up her soul’s wounds as best he could. Tomorrow would be soon enough to worry about propriety.
“Miss Proctor?” Gideon gently squeezed her shoulder. “Adelaide?”
She stiffened under his touch. Lifting her head, she swallowed her sobs and rubbed the tears from her cheeks with the back of one hand. She turned to face him but kept her eyes downcast, holding the collar of her dress modestly together, as if she were clinging to the last shreds of her dignity.
Compassion welled in him. He tilted her chin up. Red welts covered both sides of her face and blood oozed from a cut at the corner of her bottom lip. He wanted to roar his outrage, but he held back for her sake, allowing his features to convey nothing but concern. Her body trembled from her suppressed grief, her breath hitching each time she inhaled.
“Miguel is carting him away. He won’t bother you again.” Why did the promise sound so hollow?
Adelaide bit her lip and dropped her gaze to the small piece of straw-covered ground between them.
Gideon released Adelaide’s chin and fisted his hand behind his back until his short nails dug painfully into his palm. What did one say in a situation like this? He wanted to help her, to ease her anguish, but a simple apology or pat on the back seemed horrendously inadequate. Not knowing what else to do, he let instinct guide him and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. Her eyes rose to search his, full of doubt, fear, and a touch of hope.
Gideon opened his arms to her. She hesitated. Then with a weepy hiccup, she leaned into his embrace, her arms still folded protectively in front of her. Laying his chin upon her head, he rocked her back and forth, committed to staying with her as long as necessary.
Gradually her sobs subsided and she pulled away. He cupped her face in his hands and wiped her cheeks dry with the pads of his thumbs.
“Thank you,” she said between sniffs. “Thank you for everything.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” Gideon didn’t want to cause her more pain, but he feared if she held the poison from these events inside her, it would fester and eventually kill her joyous spirit.
Adelaide stared at him for a long moment, then gave a tentative nod.
Sheba shifted restlessly, no doubt weary of having them in her bedroom. Gideon swept Adelaide up into his arms and carried her out of the stall. He headed toward the entrance, thinking to take her back to the house, but she moaned a denial.
“No. Please. I’m not ready yet.” Her voice cracked. “The others will see … I don’t …” She buried her face in his neck. “Can’t we just stay out here for a few minutes?”
“Of course.” Her request made little sense to him, but it didn’t matter. Right now, he would grant her the moon if she asked it of him.
He set her down by the far wall and reached to the shelf above, where he could make out the shadowy outline of a barn lantern. Darkness had descended, and while his eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, the warm glow of a lamp might ease the telling of Adelaide’s tale. He lit the burner and, after lowering the globe, placed it on the floor.
“I know it sounds silly,” she said, “but when I exit this stable, I want to leave all of this behind me.” Shivers wracked her body. Whether from the chill in the air or from the aftermath of her attack, he didn’t know. “If I’m going to tell you what happened, I want to do it here. That way, when I walk through those doors, I never have to think of it again.”
Gideon knew it would be a long time before her mind completely banished thoughts of the attack, but he would do whatever he could to make the healing easier for her.
First things first, though. He needed to find something to cover her with to restore her sense of modesty and stop her shivering. All he had to offer was a sweat-stained work shirt, and it would probably scare her half to death if he took it off. He rummaged around for a horse blanket instead. Finding one, he shook out the worst of the hair and draped the thick felt square around Adelaide’s shoulders. He rubbed her arms until he could feel her shivers subsiding, then sat down with his back bra
ced against the wall.
She gathered the blanket around her like a cloak and sank to the floor next to him.
“None of this was your fault,” Gideon assured her
He waited for her to speak, but she said nothing. Accustomed to her cheerful, rambling conversations, the silence ate at him. Finally, unable to bear the quiet any longer, he gave voice to the question in the forefront of his mind.
“Did he … um … compromise you?”
“No.”
Sweet relief poured through him at her muted answer. Thank you, God!
Then, as if that single word had pulled the plug, all the details drained out of her in a gush.
“I came to the stables to feed Sheba a carrot I found in the kitchen. José snuck up behind me.”
Gideon tucked away the name.
“He moved like a coyote. I never heard him approach until he spoke. Oh, Gideon, I was so frightened. He acted like I had been toying with him all day, but I hadn’t. Truly. After he looked at me in the shed, I avoided him as much as possible.”
“I believe you.” Did she realize she had called him by his given name? Whether it was unconscious or not, he couldn’t deny the pleasure that shot through him at hearing his name on her lips. He plucked a piece of straw out of her hair and smoothed the tresses with his hand. “Go on.”
“I apologized and told him it was all a misunderstanding, but he didn’t believe me, or didn’t want to accept it, or … who knows what the crazy man thought.” She sat up straighter, a spark of indignation finally evident in her stricken eyes. “I tried to be civil, but he wouldn’t leave, so I finally demanded that he go. That set him off. He turned ugly and started ranting about how I was like all the other gringas who flirt and tease yet think they are too good for a Mexican shearer. I tried to reason with him, to tell him I wasn’t like that at all, that he had misread the situation. But he didn’t care. Some white woman in his past had spurned him, and he sought to redeem his pride by taking me.”