Final Scream (10 page)

Cassidy doubted that Brig McKenzie would be any different. Didn’t he already have a reputation as a ladies’ man, and didn’t Angie always get what she wanted? She liked driving men to the point of distraction—Jed Baker and Bobby Alonzo were proof of her innate ability.

Glancing at the bed, Cassidy frowned. She couldn’t sleep. It was too hot in her room, the bedsheets were cloying, her mind spinning with images of Brig and Angie. She had to do something, get out, away from the house.

Then she knew. It had been over three weeks since she’d been thrown from Remmington and her shoulder was nearly back to normal. Brig had no intention of ever letting her ride her horse again, so she’d just have to do it behind his back. Served him right, anyway. The way he looked at Angie!

And why should she stay and be lookout for her sister? Let her get caught for once. It was time their father, who worshipped the ground Angie walked on, knew the real story. If Rex caught her with Brig, maybe Angie wouldn’t be such a goddess in his eyes. Not that it mattered. Cassidy would never have wanted the kind of attention her father lavished on Angie. She was content being who she was, doing what she did. She’d never once been jealous of Angie’s position of princess—with the title came too much pressure. No, Cassidy was comfortable with her relationship with her father, though she wished her mother, who was always pushing her to be more like her older sister, would back off.

She threw on a pair of old jeans and a sweatshirt, snapped a rubber band around her wild, uncombed hair and, carrying an old pair of sneakers, slipped quietly from her room and down the back stairs. As Angie had predicted, no one was up.

Creeping softly through the back door, Cassidy cringed as the screen’s hinges squeaked loudly, and Bones, her father’s old border collie, lifted his head and gave one low, gruff bark.

“Shh. It’s only me.”

The dog wagged his tail, thumping it on the floorboards of the back porch. She thought of going directly to the stable, but paused in the shadows of a rhododendron.

She wondered if Angie was bluffing. Crossing her fingers, she crept around the corner of the house and silently along a flagstone path that weaved through the rose garden still fragrant with heavy blossoms. After ducking under the arbor and down a few terraced steps, she was near the pool.

The soft sound of a giggle rippled over the water, and as Cassidy’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw Angie swimming gracefully and completely naked. Her tanned body was white where her suit usually covered her, and her clothes had been left carelessly on the edge of the pool.

Cassidy’s heart seemed to fall to the ground as Angie swam through the water, sleek and feminine, her nipples dark disks against the white skin of her breasts, a thatch of black hair visible at the apex of her legs. So feminine. So seductive.

Bile climbed up Cassidy’s throat.

The scratch of a match being struck sizzled through the air, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

The acrid scent of sparking phosphorous wafted on a slow-moving breeze, and she knew with sickening certainty that Brig hadn’t been able to ignore Angie’s attempts at seduction. He’d come and was here, watching her display.

She scanned the patio surrounding the pool and found him, standing near the diving board, the toes of his cowboy boots jutting over the water. The angles of his face were illuminated in gold as he bent down, cupped the end of his cigarette and lit up. Inhaling deeply, he waved out the match, and that tiny flame of light disappeared.

Angie broke the surface just beneath his feet. She tried to cover herself while treading water but it was impossible. Sexy glimpses of her rump and breasts escaped.

“I…I didn’t expect you so early,” she said, her voice a whisper.

He checked his watch but didn’t say a word. Just smoked.

“Just give me a minute to get into my clothes.” She swam to the side of the pool, hoisted herself out of the water, shook her hair and stepped quickly into her suit and cover-up, as if she were truly embarrassed.

Heart pounding, Cassidy watched as Angie walked back up to Brig and threw out a hip.

“What is it you want?” he asked.

Angie grinned up at him. “Lots of things.” Bold enough to touch him on the forearm, she sighed.

He grabbed her quickly, holding her at arm’s length as he glowered at her. “Maybe you’d better quit playing games. You said you wanted to meet me, that it was important.”

“I need a date,” she blurted out.

He snorted. “A date? You? You’ve got more dates than your old man has mill workers.”

“I know, but this is special and I don’t want to go with just anyone.” Tossing her damp hair off her face, she stared up at him, her face nearly luminescent in the moonlight. “I want you to take me to the Caldwells’ barbecue.” She wound her arms around his neck and sighed. “It’s a big deal and I can’t stand the thought of going with one of the
boys
.” She stood on her tiptoes, grabbed the cigarette from his lips and tossed it onto the wet cement surrounding the pool. The ashes sizzled before dying. Brushing her lips slowly over his, she said, “Come on, Brig. Wouldn’t you love it? It would kind of be like crashing a party, and not just any party. This is a major social event.”

“Except I’d be with you,” he said warily.

Her smile flashed in the night. “Would that be so bad? You’d be the envy of every boy in town.”

“Maybe I don’t give a damn about that.”

“And maybe you do,” she whispered before kissing him again. This time he didn’t resist. The arms that had held her at bay surrounded her, yanking her willing body close to his. He let out a low, deep growl that caused Cassidy’s blood to tingle as he kissed Angie with an angry ferocity that was pure animal lust.

Cassidy had to bite back the little squeak of protest that rose in her throat as Angie wrapped a calf around his leg. Unable to watch another second, Cassidy turned too quickly. Her foot caught on a root and she stumbled, her injured shoulder slamming against a tree. Pain jolted up her arm, but she kept running, trying to ignore the dampness on her cheeks. Foolishly, she’d begun to cry.

Over Brig McKenzie.

Who thought of her as a pesky little kid.

Rage and impotence swept through her, and she knew what she had to do. Let Brig and Angie make out and do whatever they wanted; it didn’t matter. But Cassidy was done waiting around and spying on her older sister. She raced through the shadows to the stable. Though her shoulder still ached a little, she was certain she could handle Remmington, and she was going to ride that colt so fast the images of Brig and Angie would be forced out of her mind.

From this minute on, she didn’t care what they did. Yet as she opened the door to the stable, she wished that she was the woman in Brig’s arms, that she was kissing him, that she was feeling the hard weight of his body pinning her to the ground. Because, unlike Angie, Cassidy, at sixteen, was certain she was in love with Brig McKenzie and she hated herself for it.

Felicity wiggled into her bra. It was no use trying to seduce Derrick when he was in one of his moods. He didn’t seem to notice her anymore. Oh, sure, he’d drive her all the way to Portland on the pretext of taking her to a movie, then he’d pay for a room in this dump of a motel and he’d make love to her, but he wasn’t really with her; not like he used to be. And he didn’t even know the truth.

Black hair mussed, he was lying on the bed, and smoking a cigarette. A reporter was going on about the heat wave, how long it was going to last, how bad it was for the crops, how people shouldn’t water their lawns.

Who cared?

Rolling off the bed, she walked to the window and peered through the blinds. Across the street a restaurant claiming to serve authentic Northern Chinese cuisine was bustling with activity. Under the streetlights, men and women flocked to the front doors, laughing and talking. Holding hands. Falling in love.

How long had it been since Derrick held her hand? Or took her out? She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. It didn’t work to cry with him; it only served to make him angry, and Derrick’s temper was worse than her own. Fingering the blinds, she tried to imagine what life would be without Derrick Buchanan. The thought was terrifying, and yet she felt a gnawing deep inside her, a fear that she was losing him.

Felicity’s heart tore a little. Once upon a time she and Derrick had been in love. He would have walked through heaven and hell to be with her, but now…she glanced at the bed where he lay, his eyes at half-mast, a neglected cigarette growing ash between his fingers. Tall and lean, well-muscled and tanned, he was the firstborn son of Rex and Lucretia Buchanan, as strapping as his father, as good-looking as his mother.

He was arrogant and knew that as the son of the richest man in Prosperity, any number of girls would climb willingly into his bed. As she had. The daughter of a judge, no less. But she hadn’t slept with him because he was rich; she’d made love to him that first time in the backseat of his Jaguar because she loved him with a passion that wouldn’t die.

He hadn’t even had to take her out.

She felt more than a little shame, because, before Derrick, she hadn’t let a boy touch her. Several had tried to get their sweaty paws into her bra, but she’d been selective because of Derrick. She’d known she was in love with him when she was only eleven years old and had confided in Angie that someday she was going to marry him.

Angie had laughed. Who would want her brother, who, at sixteen, was gawky, all arms and legs with a bad complexion?

But Felicity had known. Even then. And she’d saved her virginity for him. She planned to marry him and the subject had come up more than once, usually at her suggestion, but lately, Derrick didn’t have much time to give her.

Tonight, while the air-conditioning wheezed and the television was muted, they’d made love. Once. And it had been a lot of work. Almost a duty.

At first Derrick hadn’t been all that interested—his mind was on other things—but eventually she’d teased him into putting aside his problems back home in Prosperity and he’d responded to her new black bra and garters. Now, though, as he stared at the television and it reflected in blue shadows across his face, she could have been bare-ass naked and he wouldn’t have cared. Something was bothering him, and not for the first time, he was shutting her out.

She tried again. Moving sensuously and catlike to the bed, she crawled up the mussed covers, between his legs, letting her breasts, which he used to love, hang down into the tight little cups of her push-up bra. She licked her lips. “Maybe we should go out,” she cooed, her voice low and sexy, her breath whispering across his abdomen.

He flicked a glance at her. “Later.”

“Why not now?” She kissed his navel, but beneath his shorts she saw no erection springing to life.

“I just want to watch the news. Okay?” He didn’t bother hiding his irritation as he jabbed out his cigarette.

“You can watch it tomorrow. Right now, we could have some fun…” She trailed her tongue up his sternum and teased at a nipple nestled in curling dark chest hair.

“Are you really that horny?”

“With you?” She lifted an eyebrow and tossed her elegant mane of thick red hair. “Always.”

Derrick’s lips moved slightly. “Then prove it.”

“What?”

His eyes narrowed into wicked slits. “Prove it, Felicity,” he said, lifting her up so that she had to straddle his chest. “Put on your best show.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“Sure you do.
Make
me want you. So that I never think of another woman. Show me what you’ve got that makes you so special.” He snapped a garter against her thigh and she jumped. Then his finger hooked under the front clasp of her bra and he dragged her closer to him, so that his breath fanned her nipples beneath the black lace. “Show me how I make you feel; get down and dirty.”

“I—I love you,” she said, her voice quivering a little. He scared her when he got like this, when he seemed so desperate for something…something more than she could give him. And beneath the fear, she felt anger. Just a tiny spark, but anger nonetheless.

Oblivious to her warring emotions, he leaned back against the pillows, stacking his arms behind his head, staring up at her. “Good. Then prove it,” he said with a cruel glance. “C’mon, baby. Do me.”

With moonlight for her guide, Cassidy hunched low over Remmington’s shoulders and dug her heels into his ribs. She hadn’t bothered with a saddle and rode him bareback, clamping her legs firmly around his sleek sides. The game colt took the bit in his teeth and raced across the dry grass, his hooves thundering as he kicked up dust. Wind screamed against Cassidy’s face, tangling her hair and bringing fresh tears to her eyes.

She knew running the horse flat out through the fields was dangerous, but she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was erase the image of Angie and Brig kissing and making love, an image that seemed burned into her brain.

She rode through the connecting fields until she could feel the horse breathing hard, then pulled up and let him walk in the shadow of a copse of oak and maple trees. Away from the lights of the ranch, she gazed into the dark heavens to the millions of stars that winked against a sea of black.

Remmington yanked on the bit, shaking his head and rattling his bridle, trying to communicate to her that he was still the boss, but Cassidy was having none of it. The colt had become more docile since Brig had been working with him but he was still headstrong and Cassidy didn’t let him get too close to the overhanging branches of the trees for fear that he would try and scrape her off. Her shoulder was still a little tender, and she didn’t want to risk another injury.

“Come on,” she said, clicking her tongue and riding along an overgrown trail where the scents of honeysuckle and skunkweed mingled with dust in the dry air. Cassidy spit to clear her throat and guided the horse up a small rise where remnants of an abandoned sawmill camp still stood. The buildings were weathered and rotting, windows broken long ago, roofs collapsing on the old sheds where men had once cut timber into peeled logs and two by fours. That was a long time ago, before loggers had chased the stands of old growth farther into the hills and before the old man-made pond had dried up. The empty pond, flat as a fritter and stretching for half a mile, was her destination. A horse could gallop across the smooth surface without fear of stumbling in a mole hole or tripping over a log hidden in the tall grass.

“Let’s go,” Cassidy said, once again digging her heels into Remmington’s sides. The colt responded, lunging forward with enough speed to steal Cassidy’s breath. Wind whistled past her ears as his long legs stretched and bunched, reaching farther, hooves thudding in sharp counterpoint to the rapid beating of her heart. “That’s it,” she said as the horse streaked across the old pond. At the far side a grass-covered dike kept the swift water of the river from leaking into the dry pond bed. She pulled on the reins and caught her breath as Remmington turned. Yelling at the top of her lungs, she urged him forward. The colt bolted, hurtling over the flat surface again.

Exhilaration swept through her blood as she squinted against the moonlight-drenched fields. Tears blurred her vision, and she forgot about everything except the powerful animal beneath her, feeling his muscles strain as he raced against the wind, faster and faster. “Run! Run, you devil!” she cried as the ground swept beneath them. Heart pounding, she felt his sweat lather against her legs and heard him breathing hard. Finally, she pulled up at the edge of the pond and, gasping, let him walk over the weed-covered dune to stop near the dilapidated old sheds of the sawmill.

“Good boy,” she said, patting his wet hide. “You’re the best.” She slid to the ground. The stubble of thistle and grass tickled her legs, but she barely noticed. As soon as she was off his back, Remmington snorted and half-reared. The colt tossed his head, stripping the reins from her fingers, sending fire through her injured shoulder. “Hey, wait! Whoa—” she commanded, ignoring the pain screaming down her arm as she lunged to catch hold of the leather straps.

Remmington let out a triumphant neigh and twisted as she reached for the damned reins. “Hey—Remmington—” He bolted forward, his hooves pounding out a sharp tattoo against the hard ground as he disappeared over the grassy dike.

“Damn it all to hell!” Cassidy yelled in frustration, kicking at the ground with the toe of her worn Adidas running shoe. Now she was in for it. But good. She couldn’t possibly track down the mule-headed horse in the middle of the night. The ranch stretched for thousands of acres, and though each portion was fenced off from the others, Remmington could roam through the connecting fields or the foothills, some of which were thick with scrub oak and brush. She’d have enough trouble finding him in the full light of day.

At dawn, when Mac made his rounds, he would discover Remmington missing and there would be hell to pay. Cassidy cringed at the thought. As things stood now, if she made it back to the house undetected and kept her mouth shut, Brig would probably be blamed for the missing horse. Brig attracted trouble as easily as a magnet drew iron filings. And it would serve him right for letting Angie lead him around by his…well, his nose.

She swore under her breath, already knowing that she wouldn’t let him take the fall. He’d lose his job for sure, and it wouldn’t be fair. Although it warmed a cold, vengeful part of her heart to think that he and Angie would be thwarted and wouldn’t be able to see each other as easily as they could while he worked for Rex Buchanan, she couldn’t blame him for her own idiotic mistake.

“Son of a—” She heard it then, the unlikely huff of air—almost a snort. The warning hairs on the back of her neck lifted one by one, and she squinted into the darkness, wondering what she could use for a weapon. Sometimes bums wandered through the hills and spent a night or two in whatever shelter they could find at the old sawmill. Her throat turned to sand.

“Lose something?”

Brig’s voice was a dark whisper that sent her already-pounding heart into a sharp double-time. Whipping around, she found him leaning against a beam holding up the sagging porch of the old cook shed.

“What’re you doing out here?”

“I think that’s what I should ask you.”

Shoving her hair from her face, she tried to hold on to some shred of her dignity. “I thought I’d go for a ride.”

“Is that what you were doing?”

“Yes! Since no one will let me ride
my
horse—”

“Because you can’t handle him.”

“I can!”

“Didn’t look like it to me,” he drawled, his grin flashing white and infuriating her.

“You probably spooked him,” she argued, though she knew in her heart that he was right. She’d lost control of the mean-spirited colt.

“Yeah, right.” He barked out a laugh and she heard the jangle of a bridle. For a foolish second she thought Remmington had returned until she noticed the dun-colored gelding tethered to a post near the old pump house.

“How’d you know where I was?”

“Followed you.”

“You what—?” she asked, her heart knocking painfully as he pushed himself away from the post and strode slowly over to her.

“Serves you right. You were spying, Cass,” he said, his voice familiar as he said her name. He stopped just in front of her and she felt suddenly young and small.

Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t spy—”

“Sure you do. And you saw me with Angie at the pool, and you jumped to all sorts of conclusions.”

Good Lord, couldn’t he hear her heart drumming wildly?
She wanted to deny it, to tell him that he was mistaken, but the words seemed frozen on her tongue.

“I…don’t—”

“Don’t lie, Cass. It’s not your style.”

A breeze, blowing hot over the hills, stirred the grass and somewhere off in the thicket of trees an owl hooted softly, only to be answered by a horse’s nicker. Remmington! She should go and try to catch him, but right now she was mesmerized by the moonlit fields, the dark shadows of the night and Brig McKenzie.

She let out a tremulous sigh. “Okay, so I saw you.”

“And you got mad—”

“I did not—”

“Shh.” He pressed a callused finger to her lips and shook his head. “You’re doing it again,” he warned in a voice so low she could barely hear his words.

“But how did you—?”

He stared at her long and hard. “That’s the strange thing. I felt that someone was watching, which isn’t something new. I’ve felt it before. I thought it might be Willie—you know how he sneaks around—or maybe your old man checking out his daughter, but there was something different in the air. Oh, hell, what do I know? But I heard you run off, trip and swear under your breath.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“Didn’t you?” he asked and his finger moved slowly, tracing the edge of her lips in a slow motion that caused a swirling sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Involuntarily she licked her lips and touched the pad of his finger, tasting salt and tobacco. For a moment he didn’t move, just stared down at her, his eyes narrowing to slits in the moonlight. “What do you care if I’m with your sister?”