Part 2 (1/2)

”Who's what?”

”Henry. Who is he?”

”Henry is-” He broke off and started to laugh again. When he caught his breath, he said, ”Dear G.o.d, you are sweet. Honest to goodness, pure as an angel, genuine sweet. It's been so long, I'd forgotten girls like you exist.”

Rachel couldn't see what her disposition had to do with anything. ”Thank you,” she said distractedly. ”But you didn't answer my question. Who is Henry? You didn't mention that he was going to come.”

His shoulders jerked with mirth again. ”He isn't. That the whole d.a.m.ned problem. Ain't that a h.e.l.l of a note?”

Growing impatient with his nonsensical responses, Rachel steered him toward the steps. ”We shall do quite well without him, I a.s.sure you.”

”Lord, help me.”

A chance for revenge beckoning sweetly, she endeavored to help him up the flight of steps. So what if Matt Rafferty seemed kind of nice? She knew he wasn't, that he couldn't possibly be. If he were, he wouldn't have done something so reprehensible to her sister. Why should she show him any mercy when he'd shown Molly none?

All of a sudden, Matt reeled backward. Taken off guard, Rachel tumbled with him. Luckily, they had scaled only a few levels. Dust mushrooming around them, they landed in an ungainly heap at the bottom of the steps, Rachel's skirts and petticoats around her waist, Matt's long legs crisscrossing hers.

”d.a.m.n.” After taking one look at her, he sat up and brushed at her clothing. ”I apologize. There seems to be a slight hitch in my get along. Are you all right?”

With her skirts tossed up as they were, Rachel was too fl.u.s.tered to feel any pain, if indeed she was injured somewhere. He flashed one of those disarming grins at her. ”Lucky for you, no one but me is here to see.”

She shoved at his shoulder. ”I'd prefer that no one see, you included.”

”I'm gonna see more'n that before all is said and done.”

He attempted to get up, but only made it as far as his knees before losing his balance again. He waved away another plume of dust. ”Well, h.e.l.l.”

Rachel read the defeat in his expression and was determined to have none of it. She would get him inside that church, she vowed, even if she had to carry him every inch of the way. ”You can do it,” she said in an encouraging voice.

”It doesn't look like it to me.”

”Yes, well, you're drunk and therefore no judge.” She pushed to her feet, grabbed him under the arms, and strained to lift him. ”Get up, Mr. Rafferty.”

”I'm tryin'.”

”Try harder!” Her throat burning from the dirt particles she had inhaled, Rachel groaned with frustration when, after utilizing nearly all her strength, he still hadn't gained his feet. ”You have to make it. After getting you this far, I can't quit now.”

He jerked his arms from her grasp. ”Stop strainin' to lift me,” he ordered gruffly. ”You're gonna keep on until you hurt yourself.”

After making that a.s.sessment, he just sat there. Rachel bent over him, hands braced on her knees. ”Well, then? Are you going to try or not?”

He smiled blearily up at her. ”You know, darlin', I don't believe I've ever run across such an eager little swatch of calico.”

Rachel felt like jerking him up by his ears. ”Please, Mr. Rafferty, at least try.”

”Mr. Rafferty? If we're gonna get cozy”-he rose to his knees again-”then you oughta at least call me by my first name.” With a great heave, he stood and started up the steps again, this time with no a.s.sistance, calling back over his shoulder, ”You better get your little f.a.n.n.y up here and make hay while the sun's s.h.i.+nin'. I feel a little sick.”

Rachel hurried after him. Once at the landing, she caught his arm so he wouldn't fall again. Drawing him toward the doors, she said, ”Just a few more steps.”

”I hate to tell you this, but gettin' there may prove to be the easy part.” He chuckled as though he'd said something hysterically funny.

She wrenched one of the double doors open and entered the church rump first, his hands clasped in hers so she could tug him along after her. When the door swung shut, an intense blackness swooped over them. The smell of varnish and beeswax a.s.sailed her nostrils. Groping blindly, she located the last row of seats and maneuvered Matt around until she could prop him up against the back of the pew.

Now all she had to do was wait for him to pa.s.s out.

That thought no sooner crossed Rachel's mind than his hands settled at her waist. With a gentle strength that, given his condition, surprised her, he drew her toward him. Even in the darkness, she had no difficulty determining that he'd parted his booted feet to pull her between his legs. No more than a black outline, he seemed to loom over her, a threatening wall of masculinity. The brim of his Stetson b.u.mped her forehead. The next instant, his hot, oh-so-soft mouth had taken command of hers and his hands were busily unfastening her bodice.

Rachel tried to scream, but her breath was stolen by his kisses and any sound she might have made was m.u.f.fled by his mouth. Grabbing his wrists, she arched away from him. Panic welled within her when she felt cool air touch her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Just that quickly, he had opened her bodice. Now only the thin cloth of her chemise s.h.i.+elded her nipples from his searching fingers. His hard palms cupped her fullness, the contact s.n.a.t.c.hing the oxygen from her lungs in a whining rush. A heartbeat later, he firmly captured the peaks of her nipples between thumb and forefinger. Rivulets of fire ran through Rachel, warming her deep within, making her pulse escalate, kindling a need for something indefinable that soon grew to an ache.

Dimly she realized she had completely lost control, that Matt had taken over. He knew his way around a woman's body, that much was clear, and he was pummeling her senses with an onslaught of feelings she'd never dreamed existed.

Struggling to clear her head, Rachel knew she had to get away from him. For some reason, he hadn't pa.s.sed out on schedule, and now it was anybody's guess when he might. Even so, she had no intention of abandoning her plan, not after having gone through so much to get him here.

Before she left, she had to get his trousers off him.

Trying not to feel what he was doing to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s-and failing-she fumbled with his gun belt. When the buckle finally came loose, one holster swung free and the b.u.t.t of the revolver smacked the pew. She winced and bent at the knees to lower the weapons to the floor before turning her attention to his trouser belt. Luckily, it was easier to unfasten. She groped for the bra.s.s b.u.t.tons of his fly. At her touch in so private a place, he stiffened and sucked in his breath.

”Jesus...” he whispered raggedly. ”Slow down, sweetheart; you're gettin' ahead of me here.”

There was no way that Rachel intended to slow down. She jerked frenziedly at his trousers, her face beading with sweat, her heart thudding wildly, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s electrified with unfamiliar sensations where his masterful fingers toyed with her.

To her relief, he finally abandoned her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. A heartbeat later, however, she felt his hands at the fastenings of her skirt. She jerked more urgently at his pants, determined to see this through. Once she got away from him, she could refasten her own lothing. He was so sozzled, he wouldn't remember anything that was happening. It would be her guilty secret that he'd touched her so intimately.

Suddenly he leaned forward to press his fore head against her shoulder. ”Whoa,” he said in a slurred, rather faint voice. ”I don't feel so good.”

Still intent on getting his trousers down, Rachel strained to bear his weight.

”Oh, Christ,” he whispered raggedly.

With that, he slumped toward her. Before Rachel could react, the breadth of his shoulders struck her squarely, the full force of his considerable weight knocking her backward. She screamed, the sound echoing in the darkness as she fell. Pain exploded at the base of her skull, and a brilliant white light flashed inside her head. Then, as though severed by a sharp knife, all sensation stopped and she spun away into nothingness.

3.

Beeswax and varnish. Sun-dried cotton and leather. As she came awake, Rachel only vaguely registered the scents. When she started to stretch and yawn, however, she realized something was wrong. A ma.s.sive weight was pressing upon her body. Not only was she unable to move, but she found it difficult to breathe.

Confused and disoriented, she fluttered her lashes, becoming more aware with each pa.s.sing second that her head ached. Not just a teeny-weeny ache, but a giant, skull-crus.h.i.+ng pain that radiated up from the back of her neck.

”For shame!” a woman whispered from somewhere close by. The unexpected sound made Rachel jerk. Before she could move or get her eyes open, another feminine voice said, ”I'm telling you, Clara, the young people today have no respect.”

Still trapped in a sleepy fog, Rachel frowned in total bewilderment. She didn't recognize the voices as belonging to her sister Molly or to Mrs. Radcliff, the housekeeper. What on earth were strange people doing in her bedroom?

She pa.s.sed a hand over her face. A blur of multicolored light swam before her eyes. Without her spectacles, she was pretty much accustomed to everything beyond the end of her nose being indistinct, but for some reason, this morning it seemed worse than usual. Determined to clear away the cobwebs, she blinked, but her brain refused to cooperate. Objects around her went in and out of focus, rus.h.i.+ng at her as they took on clarity, then receding a bit. Gleaming oak pews? People's faces and stained gla.s.s windows? She wasn't in her bedroom at home, that was a certainty.

”This is an abomination,” some other woman cried.

”A sin against all that is holy, that's what it is!” another exclaimed.