Diana Palmer - Wyoming Brave

“All right,” she said in her soft, quiet voice.

He glared at her. He hated her beauty. He hated the way she knuckled under. He wanted a fight, and he couldn’t start one.

He turned away from the table and pulled off his belt. It was a new one and he’d cinched it too tight. He doubled it, pulled it together and snapped it.

Merrie gasped and ran into the kitchen, hiding behind Delsey and shaking all over.

“What the hell...?” Ren exclaimed.

He walked into the kitchen with the belt still in his hand, and Merrie screamed.

“Put that thing down!” Delsey said quickly. She pulled Merrie into her arms and held her close, rocking her while she sobbed.

Belatedly, Ren realized that the belt had upset her when he snapped it. Frowning, he took it back into the living room and tossed it into his chair. He went back into the kitchen.

“She thought you were going to hit her with it,” Delsey said.

Merrie was still shaking, sobbing. It brought back horrible memories of her father and his uncontrollable temper. He’d hit her and hit her...

“I’ve never hit a woman in my life,” he said in the softest tone she’d heard from him. “Not even under provocation. I would never raise my hand to you. Never.”

She bit her lower lip. She couldn’t quite look at him. “O-okay,” she stammered.

He looked torn. Her reaction to the belt was unsettling. Someone had used one on her. He began to understand why the damaged horse had responded to her. She was damaged, too.

“Get her something to eat,” he told Delsey gently. “Anything she wants.”

“Yes, Mr. Ren,” she replied. She smiled at him.

Merrie didn’t speak. She was still shaking.

He left the two women alone and went into his study. It had been years since he’d had even a drink of the scotch whiskey he kept in the cabinet. But he poured a small measure and downed it. It troubled him, seeing Merrie’s reaction to the belt. Despite his unwelcoming attitude, he didn’t like seeing her frightened. He liked even less knowing that he’d frightened her.

* * *

“HE’D NEVER STRIKE YOU,” Delsey assured Merrie as she put ham and bread and mayonnaise on the table. “Here. Let me make you a sandwich. You’ll feel better.”

“My father...always snapped the belt like that, just before he used it on us.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “He’s gone, now. My sister and I should feel sorrow, but all we can feel is relief. It was like being freed from prison.” She looked at Delsey. “He wouldn’t even buy us clothes unless he picked them out. We couldn’t date, we couldn’t have friends over, we couldn’t go to anyone else’s home...” She lowered her eyes. “He was so paranoid that he had us followed everywhere we went.”

“You poor child,” Delsey said, touching her hair. “You’re safe here. Mr. Ren may sound like a lion, but he would never hurt you.”

She swallowed. “Okay.”

“Now sit down here. Would you like some milk?”

“Oh, yes. Please.”

Delsey made her a sandwich and a glass of milk, and busied herself with the dinner dishes while she ate.

“Thanks,” she said when she finished. She took her plate and glass to the sink.

Delsey hugged her. “Don’t worry. Things work out, even when you don’t think they will.”

She smiled and hugged the older woman back. “I’ll try. Thanks.”

“No problem. You go to bed and sleep. You’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Good night.”

“You, too.”

* * *

BUT IT WASN’T a good night, and she wasn’t fine. She woke up screaming in the middle of the night. Her father was standing over her with his belt. It had blood all over it. He was yelling as he brought it down on her back with all his strength behind it...

“Wake up, damn it!”

She felt hard hands on her arms, pulling her up, felt whiskey-scented breath on her face. But the hands weren’t hurting her. They were warm and they felt good on the bare skin. She opened her eyes.

Ren was sitting on the bed, wearing flannel pajama bottoms and nothing else. His broad chest, hair-roughened, was beautiful. She thought how she’d love to paint him like that. He was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. But she didn’t dare let it show, how she felt. She lifted her eyes to his and winced.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I had a nightmare.”

His big hands smoothed down her arms. “About what?”

“Something in the past,” she said evasively. “Long ago,” she lied.

He drew in a long breath. “It was the belt, wasn’t it?”

She hesitated, but finally she nodded. “I can’t stand to hear a belt snapped like that. Daddy always...” She stopped.

“Your father hit you with a belt?”

She nodded.

“So did mine, when I was a kid. I used to have welts on the backs of my legs. I was a reckless boy, always into something I shouldn’t be. Dad got impatient.”

She didn’t want to tell him the truth, about the scars on her poor back. She didn’t want him to see them. She always wore nightgowns with a high neckline, so that no part of her back showed.

He touched her cheek, pushed back the disheveled platinum hair that had come loose from the braid she wore it in. “Don’t you take it down at night?” he asked curiously.

The feel of his hand on her face made her feel odd things. She felt trembly all over when he brushed her cheek like that. Her heart kicked into gear, unsettling her.

“No, I have to put it up when I sleep,” she said. “It gets in my face. I really should cut it. But it’s been long all my life.”

“It would be a crime to cut hair this beautiful,” he said quietly.

She looked up into his eyes and couldn’t look away. Neither could he. His breath came quickly. He brushed his fingers along her cheek, down to the bow shape of her pretty mouth. They lingered there, teasing the soft flesh, making her feel liquid, melting. She wanted to push close to him, feel him hold her. She wanted to tempt his mouth down to hers and see what a kiss felt like. She was hungry for something...

Incredibly, his head started to bend. She felt his whiskey-scented breath in her mouth. She drew in her own breath as she looked at his sensuous lips and wondered how they were going to feel grinding hungrily into hers.

His hand slid to the back of her neck and began to pull, ever so gently. She felt her lips parting, her body throbbing, as his mouth came closer, closer, closer...

“What happened?” Delsey asked from the doorway.

Ren drew back from Merrie, glaring at her as if he was angry. He got to his feet quickly. “She had a nightmare,” he said shortly. He turned away, grateful that his pajamas were loose. “She’s all right. I’m going back to bed.”

“Are you all right, dear?” Delsey asked. She was wearing a cotton nightgown and a long cotton robe. She looked like an angel.

“I’m fine...now,” Merrie said breathlessly. “Just a nightmare. I’m so sorry I woke everybody up.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Delsey confessed. “I was watching a movie on my iPad.”

“You can do that?” Merrie asked excitedly. “How?” Ren left them talking and went back to his bedroom. As an afterthought, he slammed the door. That woman was really a witch. He was reeling just from touching her mouth. He wasn’t going to be led into that sweet trap a second time. If she was in the market for a rich husband, Randall could have her. She was Randall’s girl, anyway, wasn’t she?

He turned off the lights and climbed into bed, surprised at his own vulnerability.

* * *

MERRIE DELIBERATELY SLEPT LATE so that she wouldn’t have to sit at the table with Ren at breakfast. It was cowardly, but she worried that he’d be out for blood. He’d almost kissed her the night before. But he was going to hate himself for that weakness, and it would be open season on Merrie if she gave him the opportunity.