Page 87 of Inventions of the Heart

Defeated, he said, “Go to the bunkhouse and get Neb. You need someone searching with you.”

“You go on in. I’ll get Neb.”

Hurry, hurry, hurry.

Rick staggered toward the door, dazed enough to accept that she would do as he asked.

After one terrified moment when all she could think of was to get to Michelle, Jilly forced common sense to rule. She spun toward the bunkhouse.

MICHELLE CRIED OUT,and Horace slapped a hand over her mouth and cut off the sound. He’d moved too quickly. She hadn’t made enough noise.

As she twisted against the strong grip, he shoved her against the table, where she’d been working. The edge of the table cut into her back. The noise of the spinning waterwheel sounded behind her. The pressure of his hand bent her backward until she could feel the breeze created by the waterwheel.

And that’s when she smelled him.

Benteen, a wealthy, influential man. When she’d seen him in society in San Francisco, he’d always been exquisitely dressed, clean-shaven. His hair neatly trimmed.

Now he was filthy. His eyes bloodshot. Hair greasy and overlong. His face thick with gray bristles. The collar of his white silk shirt was brown with grit and sweat. His coat was worn and tattered. He must’ve been wearing it day and night for weeks.

Striking out, she clawed at the hand over her mouth.

The coat tore at the shoulder as she gripped it, until the sleeve dangled around his wrist.

This wasn’t the kind of filth that came from falling in mud or working with animals. It was built-up, ground-in filth thatonly came with time and neglect. And his sweat wasn’t the clean, healthy smell of a hardworking man, it was the sweat of fear, anger, and desperation.

She could picture this well-dressed man stepping out of some board meeting and realizing he had to run.

She knew without his saying a word that he was ruined. The US Marshals were after him, and he couldn’t go where he usually went. The fine restaurants. The elite clubs. His high-priced tailor.

He couldn’t even go home to his ranch.

Benteen shook her hard, like a wolf shakes a rat to kill it. His grip hadn’t loosened one whit on her shoulder or her mouth.

She wouldn’t win like this. The fight went out of her. Or at least the fight of her hands. She still had her mind.

Benteen leaned close enough that his nose almost touched hers over his smothering hand. She smelled his foul breath. But under all of the filth and stench, she saw fury.

“Are you going to be quiet?” His voice was little more than a growl. He had her head pushed back until her neck was bowed and her spine twisted.

She nodded to the extent his painfully tight grip on her mouth would allow.

She didn’t mean it. She’d scream her head off given a chance, but the man seemed to think she’d keep her word, even while he was attacking her. Or maybe he just thought he had her in his power and could keep her quiet even with this small amount of freedom.

Maybe he was right.

He slowly lessened the pressure on her mouth. She remained silent. He watched too closely. She’d get one chanceto scream, maybe a chance to fight or run. She had to pick the right moment and make it count.

Her voice broke in her bone-dry throat, and her words were little more than a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re mine.” His voice was little more than a growl. He seemed more animal than man. “I paid good money for you.”

She swallowed to wet her throat, then said, “Whatever deal you made with Edgar has nothing to do with me.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. It has everything to do with you. You’re coming with me.”

The very thought wrenched her stomach until she feared she’d lose the food in her belly. “I’m a married woman. Taking me gains you nothing.”

He grabbed the front of her dark blue shirtwaist and dragged her onto her toes. He was a big man, tall and good-looking when hate wasn’t warping him from the soul out. He tightened his fist on her dress until she could hardly breathe. It silenced her as effectively as his hand over her mouth.

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