The Master Fiddler Part 6

He must have felt or sensed the betraying response of her flesh, for his mouth returned to her lips with a demanding expertise that parted them with consummate ease. Suddenly his virility and her s.e.xual attraction to him became more than Jacquie could resist. With a shuddering moan, she surrendered to the savage pleasure of his embrace.

With a sweeping motion, she was lifted off her feet and cradled effortlessly in his arms.

Automatically her hands wrapped themselves around his neck as his hard male lips maintained their ownership of hers. Lost in a world of sensual abandonment, Jacquie felt as if she was floating on a cloud, seeing wondrous, unknown horizons.

Then, beneath her, was the firmness of a mattress and the white crispness of a bed sheet. And Choya's mouth, which had let her see unseen sights, left hers and didn't return. Her arms were still around his neck, her fingers locked.

The shadowy bronze veil of her lashes lifted to gaze into the masculine features so close to her own with a vague sense of awe. The glittering gold light of his eyes was licking over the tousled silver blond of her hair against the pillow, the bemused desire in the turquoise green brilliance of her eyes, and the invitation written on her moist, parted lips.

"Unwilling?" A taunting smile spread across the mouth that had seconds ago destroyed her resistance.

Reality came back with a rush. Scorching heat flamed through her face and neck. His hand slid familiarly along her thigh as he straightened away from the bed. To deny completely the devastation he had caused would not have been believed.

Sliding awkwardly from the bed, Jacquie struggled to find the smallest measure of poise. "I was only playing along to see how far you would go," she declared tightly, sarcasm trembling on the edge of her voice. "I'm surprised you stopped so soon."

"Antic.i.p.ation is sweet, like dessert at the end of a meal," Choya responded evenly, watching her harried movements away from him. "There's plenty of time."

There was an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach that bespoke her unsatisfied state. Her flesh still yearned for the exquisite roughness of his caress.

"That's where you're wrong," Jacquie snapped, "because I have no intention of agreeing to your insulting proposition."

His gaze narrowed. "What's your alternative?"

"Oh, don't worry," she breathed in with savage anger. "I'll pay you for the repair bill on my car. I'll go to Tucson I'll find a job there."

He studied her with lazy amus.e.m.e.nt. "If you step one foot outside of

the town limits of Tombstone without me, I'll notify the author The Master Fiddler ities that you're deliberately leaving without paying your bills."

"Are you threatening me?" Jacquie lifted her head in open defiance.

"I'm promising you. Unlike you, I keep my word. You pay me one way or another, or else you don't leave town."

Her tactics weren't working, so she tried another. "You're supposedly a respected and upstanding member of the community. How are you going to explain me away?" she challenged.

"My father is getting old, and it's becoming difficult for him to get around any more. It's common knowledge that I've been considering hiring a housekeeper. No one will be surprised by your presence in my home," Choya replied without any hesitation. "In fact, it's only a matter of time before your misfortune of losing your wallet will circulate. A lot of people will probably consider that I'm doing a good turn by hiring you."

A bitter laugh slipped out of her throat. "You don't honestly think people are going to believe that I'm only your housekeeper?"

"It doesn't matter to me what they think." The line of his mouth curved in sardonic amus.e.m.e.nt. "It certainly won't affect my reputation If anything, people in general like a man to be a bit of a rogue."

"It doesn't matter what they think of me, does it?" Jacquie accused.

"They'll think you're a young girl who's taken a job as my housekeeper to earn some money. If they suspect more than that, they won't say anything," Choya countered.

Jacquie was all out of arguments. He had blocked her at every turn until the only way out of this miserable situation seemed to be his way. Silently panicking, she couldn't believe the mess that she had got herself into this time.

"I simply can't do it." She shook her head hopelessly.

"You don't have any choice," he returned with certainty. "It won't really be so bad and it definitely won't last forever."

Jacquie turned away, hugging her arms around her waist. She would think of something. Her mind raced wildly in search of an answer.

"What about Robbie?" she offered. "Remember, you didn't want him to become too attached to me. It's bound to happen if I'm in the same house with him."

"It might do the boy some good," Choya answered as if he, too, had considered that as The Master Fiddler pect of the situation. "He'll find out what you're really like and end this childish infatuation. I'm willing to take the risk where he's concerned."

She caught back the sob of desperation before it escaped her lips. Was there nothing she could say or do to make him change his mind? If only she could take back the words that she could handle any man! She had certainly never met a man like Choya Barnett before or she never would have uttered such a foolish remark.

"Wait here," he ordered. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Since her mind was still juggling alternative solutions, his words didn't immediately register. Not until she heard the motel-room door open and close did she realize what he had said. Spinning toward the closed door, she stared at it.

Where was he going? What was he doing? Why had he left her? In a flash, she flew to the window and looked out. The jeep was still parked in front, but Choya wasn't near it. Wildly, she searched for a sign of him, then saw him walking toward the motel lobby.

He must have interpreted her silence as an agreement to his proposal and was going to settle the bill for her lodging. Her gaze swerved back to the jeep, a dangerous plan forming in her mind.

Impetuously, she gathered up her handbag and suitcase and glanced out of the window again. Choya was disappearing into the lobby. She darted out of the room, tossed her belongings in the back of the jeep and slid behind the wheel.

It was a more than even trade her car for his jeep. She reached for the ignition key. It wasn't there. Frantically, she checked to see if he had left it under the floor mat. Nothing. She flipped down the visor, but it wasn't there, either.

Nibbling at her lower lip, she wondered if it was possible to hot-wire a jeep and said a silent prayer that she would remember what one of her boyfriends had told her about the way it was done. She leaned to the side, ducking her head beneath the steering column. Her long hair nearly brushed the sandy floor.

"Grand theft auto," Choya said with mocking reproof.

Jacquie sat up with a start, knocking the back of her head against the steering wheel. She glanced at him angrily as she rubbed the The Master Fiddler injured spot. He reached in his pocket and took out the keys.

"Move over," he ordered.

Mutinously Jacquie stayed where she was. His expression hardened, the line of his mouth thinning with his patience. Choya leaned down, scooped her into his arms, dodging her swinging hand as he shoveled her into the pa.s.senger seat. She would have dashed out the open side, but his hand clamped down on her wrist to keep her in the jeep.

"This is kidnapping!" she accused with a hiss.

Her hair swung forward as she whirled to face him, a rippling curtain of the palest spun gold. Strong fingers continued biting into the bone of her wrist, cutting off the circulation with bruising force.

Choya studied her coldly, an almost mesmerizing quality to his tawny eyes. "Is it?"

"You know it is!" she retorted, fighting back the angry tears. "I don't want to go with you. You're taking me against my will! And if that isn't kidnapping, I don't know what is. I could send you to jail for life for this!"

"Could you?" The cruel line of his mouth quirked crookedly.

"If you don't let go of my wrist, I'll scream. I'll scream so loud the whole town will hear me," Jacquie threatened. "I'll tell them what you're doing."

"No one will believe you," Choya taunted. "Not after I've already paid for the repairs to your car and for your motel room because of your misfortune in losing your wallet. They'll simply be astounded that you could be so ungrateful for all I've done."

"They'll believe me," she returned, "when I tell them the way you want me to pay you back."

"Idle words," he jeered, "with no proof to back them up. You can't cry rape because I haven't touched you. You could say that's what I planned, but it would be your word against mine. Who do you think they would believe?"

Jacquie flipped the hair away from her face, her hand trembling. He was right. She was a stranger and Choya was a member of the community, well known and respected from what she had seen.

"You won't get away with this entirely," she declared slowly.

"Afterward " a tight lump entered her throat at what would happen before the "afterward." "Afterward, I won't The Master Fiddler slink away. I'll tell everyone how you raped me and kept me prisoner. They'll believe me then."

"I can't argue with that," he agreed complacently. "Of course, then you'll have to prove that you were an unwilling partic.i.p.ant. A lot of people have seen you playing up to my son before you lost your money. I can always call Bob as a witness concerning the way you all but propositioned him. The judge would take one look at you and know that you're not a shy, retiring little flower. Besides, you know you won't be unwilling."

Paling, Jacquie turned away from the wicked glitter in his eyes, biting into her trembling lower lip. Silently she swore at him, but she didn't say any of the expletives aloud. Choya would only laugh at the impotency of her anger.

Retaining his grip on her wrist, he started the jeep with his left hand and reversed out of the parking lot. Not until they had turned off the highway onto a dusty gravel road winding into the mountains did he release his hold.

Ma.s.saging her throbbing wrist and hand, Jacquie stared at the desolate scenery through the dust cloud kicked up by the jeep. None of this could be happening to her. It was only a nightmare, if she could just wake up.

The jeep bounced over the little-traveled road. The bone-jarring ride would have wakened her if she had been asleep. The road twisted and curved along the foot of the mountains. Here and there along a mountain slope was the telltale scar of an abandoned mine.

Occasionally Jacquie glimpsed a derelict building, long deserted, or a rutted track leading away from the main road. Sometimes there was a small sign on a fence post, giving the name of a ranch. Mainly it was an endless landscape of sage and cactus and sunbaked rocks.

And dust. Swirling dust entered the open sides of the jeep to deposit a floury film on everything. The gritty particles powdered her face and skin and covered her clothes. Jacquie longed to ask how far they still had to go, certain the dust would suffocate her if she had to endure the ride much longer. But the silence was not one that she wanted to break.

When she had viewed the Dragoon Mountains from Boothill Cemetery, the deceiving distances of the desert had made them seem so close. Now Jacquie realized that Choya's ranch The Master Fiddler was miles from civilization. Any hope of escaping on foot was nullified by the undulating land which promised that a novice would be lost within minutes.

The jeep bounced off the road onto a rutted track seemingly leading to nowhere. Jacquie knew Choya was taking her to a prison where iron bars were not needed, nor locks and keys. For the first time in her life, she cursed her c.o.c.kiness and the impetuous, wild streak that had got her into a situation that neither guile nor intelligence could get her out of.

When there seemed to be nothing on the horizon but desert scrub, unexpectedly large, light shapes took form. One was a house, low and sprawling with a wide, overhanging roof and stuccoed walls. The other was a similarly constructed building with a fenced enclosure extending from it.

Two large cottonwood trees shaded the west side of the house. Varieties of cacti instead of evergreen shrubs decorated the front yard. It couldn't be called a lawn since there was no gra.s.s, only more desert sand and rock.

Strangely Jacquie discovered she liked the ascetic purity and usage of desert growth to landscape the yard. Green gra.s.s and flowering shrubs would have been incongruous against the barren backdrop. Then she realized she was admiring the place that was to be her prison until Choya decided that her debt to him was paid.

As the jeep was braked to a silent stop in front of the house, the dust cloud caught up with it and rolled thickly in the open sides. Jacquie choked and began coughing. The strangling dust made it easy to summon bitterness to her voice.

"How can you live in such a G.o.dforsaken hole!" she exclaimed hoa.r.s.ely.

Other than a sliding glance in her direction, Choya didn't acknowledge her remark at all. Stepping out of the jeep, he reached in back for her suitcase and handbag, tossing the latter to Jacquie. She barely caught it before the contents spilled.

"Get out," he ordered crisply.

"No." She wasn't going to walk into that house like a meek, sacrificial lamb.

Malicious laughter glinted in his eyes. "Do you expect me to carry you over the threshold like a virginal bride?"

"No," Jacquie retaliated. "I expected you to throw me over your shoulder and carry me inside like the barbaric savage that you are!" Her fingers had a death grip on her bag, the The Master Fiddler only weapon she seemed to have outside of a venomous tongue.

"I can do that." Choya glanced pointedly at the discoloring marks beginning to appear on her wrist. "But I wouldn't like to damage the goods any more than I have to before I use them."

An inferno of heat rushed through her body at his innuendo. "You're revolting!" she spat as she scrambled from the jeep, well aware that he would resort to physical force if he had to. The time to fight him was later, not now. He met her at the front of the jeep, blocking her path to the house. Steel fingers clamped onto her chin, twisting her face upward. Her turquoise eyes blazed with an inner fire.

"Revolting, am I?" he mocked harshly, then crushed her mouth with his.

Before Jacquie could attempt to struggle, he was setting her free. Furious, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, glaring at him even as her senses flamed to life.

Choya watched the conflicting reaction and smiled in satisfaction.

The front door of the house opened, and Jacquie eyed the tall, gaunt man standing in the shadow of the building's overhang. His angular features had a rough look, sharp edges that not even the weight of years on his shoulders had blunted. The leathered skin on his face was crisscrossed with wrinkles and his eyes were a piercing pale blue.

Choya had half turned at the sound of the door. Now his hand was gripping Jacquie's elbow and propelling her forward. The man's gaze sliced to him after making a thorough study of Jacquie. Choya stopped near the cement slab in front of the door.

"Sam, this is Jacqueline Grey," Choya spoke clearly and distinctly. "She's going to keep house for us for a while." His tawny eyes shifted to her wary expression. "Miss Grey, this is my father, Sam Barnett."

Except for his ruggedness, there was nothing about the older man that reminded Jacquie of his autocratic son. With a rush, she remembered the service-station mechanic explaining that Sam Barnett had found Choya as a day-old baby abandoned in a cactus patch, had reared him and later legally adopted him. There was something forthright about the older man that brought a glimmer of hope to Jacquie. Her lips relaxed their tight line as she searched the lined face.

"That isn't exactly true, Mr. Barnett," she a.s.serted. "Your son wants me here for a reason other than what he's given."

Sam Barnett looked her up and down, a roguish light suddenly brightening his blue eyes. "Dammit, he wouldn't be a man if he didn't!" he grinned. "If I was forty years younger h.e.l.l, if I was twenty years younger, I'd be chasin' you around the house right now." The smile lessened at Jacquie's wince. "You'll have to excuse my language, miss. I'm used to havin' men around. I do try to watch my language around the boy, though." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You aren't from around here, are you?"

"No." She shook her head, feeling truly defeated.

"Miss Grey is from Texas," Choya inserted. "She was in Tombstone having some repairs done to her car when her wallet with all her money was lost. She's here temporarily until she's earned enough for her bills and traveling money."

It all sounded so pat, so easily believed. If she tried to denounce what Choya was saying, it would sound like a wild tale. No one would believe her until it was too late.

"Well," Sam Barnett breathed in deeply, "I suppose I better start sweepin' out that room behind the kitchen. Got some clean sheets in the linen closet. Have to take a pillow from Robbie's bed."

The last statements were mumbled to himself as he made a verbal list of the things that needed to be done. He pivoted with difficulty, leaning heavily on a cane that Jacquie just noticed in his right hand. Awkwardly he hobbled into the house, depending on the cane for support.

Choya's hand pushed her forward into the house. Jacquie walked into an austerely furnished living room. A blackened fireplace was on the far outside wall. The long sofa was covered with a Navajo patterned blanket, the only vivid color in the room. Two large chairs sat opposite it, one with a footstool and reading lamp beside it. A rolltop desk was against one wall where rows of shelves were lined with books. Oak floors gleamed satin smooth. For a male household, everything was surprisingly clean and tidy.

A white-walled hallway branched off to the left from the living room, but Choya indicated that Jacquie should follow the rusty gray The Master Fiddler head of his father. The short hallway he took led into the kitchen.

The room was dominated by a large, painted wood table in the center with a red-checked oilcloth on its top. The wood cupboards were old and painted white and a large porcelain sink gaped in a yellowing countertop. The refrigerator was modern, but the gas stove had to be an antique. The floor was linoleum covered and continued in a short stretch to an outside door.

In between the back of the kitchen and the outside door was a second door. It was this door that was Sam Barnett's destination. Leaning on his cane, he pushed it open and waited for Jacquie.

"It isn't much," he said, "but it gives you some privacy from the rest of the house."

By that, Jacquie guessed that he meant the bedrooms were at the opposite end of the house. She darted a sideways glance at Choya, thinking for an instant that his plans might be foiled.

Nothing in his bronze mask revealed any displeasure at the location of her room. With a sinking heart, she realized that he considered its distance from the others an advantage.

It was unlikely that a struggle would be heard.

The room was small. A double bed sat in one corner, taking up most of the floor s.p.a.ce not occupied by a chest of drawers, a metal closet and a straight-backed chair. A plain, gold throw rug was on the floor in front of the bed. It was a starkly simple room, serving its purpose without any attempt to please the eye.

Choya walked into the room and laid her suitcase on the bed. "You can unpack," he said. "I'll bring the rest of your things this afternoon when I pick up your car." Then turning to the tall, gaunt man looking in, he said, "I won't be home for lunch, Sam."