Carter, Beth D. - Lawless Hearts (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 2

  “Who’s there?” she called out.

  The feet outside paused.

  “We’re looking for Scharlie Thorn,” a man replied.

  “It’s awfully late at night for a visit,” she answered, deliberately not answering his unasked question.

  “Yes, ma’am,” agreed the voice. “But we’ve come with news of her brother.”

  Cautiousness evaporated as all other thoughts left her mind. Scharlie hurried to the door and threw back the bolt. As it opened, two tall silhouettes graced the doorway like specters hanging in the shadows. She blinked at the spooky image and then leaned over to light the lamp that rested nearby.

  The fire threw both men into sharp contrast. The only impression she got was shadowed faces and tired eyes. They both wore hats tipped back. Long dusters fell to brush the porch, and in the dim light, she could see gun belts hugging their waists, the handles of their guns within easy reach. Dark clothes, boots, and spurs rounded out their outfits. Shivers ran down her back, causing her to wonder if she’d been too rash opening the door in the dead of night.

  “What about my brother?”

  “You’re Scharlie?”

  She nodded, her chin lifting. “I won’t let you in until you tell me about Harlow.”

  The man in front sighed, closed his eyes briefly, then reached up to remove his hat. The man behind him followed suit. A burning started in Scharlie’s belly, and she suddenly didn’t want to hear what these men had to say.

  “Can we come in, Scharlie? I don’t want to say what I have to say out here on the porch.”

  Just like that, she knew what they were going to tell her. Her shoulders slumping, she stood back from the door to let both men in. Once they were inside, she closed the door and marched toward the fireplace, placing the gun on the mantel. Part of her wanted to put off their words. Another part hoped by making a fire that the cold that had settled into her heart would thaw. She stacked kindling and lit a match, teasing the dry twigs and leaves until they caught, and then placed a couple of small pieces of wood to make sure the fire would grow bright.

  When she finally turned around, she saw that the men watched her intently. Her heart jumped into her throat when she realized how good-looking they were. The first one, the one who had addressed her at the door, had wheat-colored hair, wavy, even though it was presently all mashed down from the hat. His blue eyes regarded her solemnly. The other one was the complete opposite. Asian features dominated the grim face that stared at her. She saw his eyes flicker over the left side of her face, and she turned her head, out of habit, to hide the scar as much as possible.

  “My name is Cassidy Brooks,” said the blond. “This here’s Garrett Webb. You’re Scharlie.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “Harlow’s dead, isn’t he?” Scharlie asked in a tired, deflated voice.

  They took a long time to answer, but finally, Cassidy Brooks stepped forward and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he replied softly.

  She held stiff for a moment, letting that confirmation wash over her. The word gathered speed until it became a bullet through her resistance, and then she crumbled. Cassidy caught her as she fell forward. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her face crumbled into the misery pulling at her.

  He had left because he had defended her. Now he lay dead somewhere unknown. He had once been the light of her world, her protector, but evil had taken him away. Scharlie felt herself being lifted, but she didn’t care. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore. For years, she had existed on when Harlow would come back home, but now he never would, and the pain was almost unbearable.

  Cassidy sat down in a chair with her still wrapped in his arms, rocking her. Gradually, the tears trickled down, and she grew quiet, staring at nothing, her gaze slightly unfocused.

  “How?” she finally asked, her voice husky.

  She heard another chair placed in front of where she sat, and a hand wiped away the damp hair curling around her face. Her eyes flickered over to see the dark man, Garrett, who ran his thumb up and down her cheek.

  “A man by the name of Breaux Cox shot him in the back,” Garrett told her softly.

  “Why?”

  Garrett swallowed. She could see his Adam’s apple move as he cleared his throat. “Cox is a dangerous man. He and Harlow got into a disagreement, and when Harlow tried to walk away, Cox shot him.”

  “A disagreement,” Scharlie repeated. “He was killed over something petty?” Garrett didn’t answer, but he didn’t really need to. She saw the answer on his face.

  Scharlie sat up, pulling away from the warmth of Cassidy’s broad chest. Her eyes wandered around the cabin while memories of Harlow as a young boy played over and over in her mind. What was she supposed to do now?

  She got off Cassidy’s knees and walked aimlessly around the little room, touching things as she passed, things that reminded her of Harlow, one of his wooden animals from his childhood and a photograph sitting in a tintype frame. She picked up the photograph of the smiling young man and collapsed upon her knees, hugging the picture to her chest. She started crying great, heaving sobs.

  She was unaware of being lifted in strong arms. Her heart broke for her lost brother, the one unable to come home and the man unable to find peace, all because of a man who had dared to touch her. All of it, all of his pain and suffering and his death, was her fault.

  She wept until she passed out from exhaustion.

  Chapter Three

  Consciousness floated over gently, forcing her to wake.

  Scharlie blinked as the room came into focus. There were shadows in the room, and humidity caused her hair to stick to her forehead. She didn’t have to look outside to know that a storm was brewing. She was quite used to Missouri summers.

  Had it all been a nightmare? She fervently hoped so. She pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing from the headache thundering through her brain. Her eyes felt scratchy, and she wondered if she was coming down with a fever.

  The sound of chopping wood came from outside, causing Scharlie to tense. Immediately, images of the two mercenary-looking men from last night flooded her mind, and she realized Harlow’s death hadn’t been a dream.

  Her brother was dead.

  It had been ten years since she’d last seen him, though he often sent letters. She had received one only a few months ago letting her know he was okay and doing well living up north in Montana territory. Obviously, that hadn’t been the whole truth.

  She had been twelve and Harlow had been sixteen when their mother had remarried. From the start Scharlie had hated the way her stepfather had looked at her, and Harlow had also noticed that the man had an unhealthy interest in her. But their mother had worked her fingers to the bone trying to keep hold of the ranch, and finally, she had just given up. Two years later Scharlie had been attacked by the man who had moved into their home, but by that time the situation had been a tinderbox ready to explode. And when it had, Scharlie had been disfigured, their stepfather lay dead, and Harlow had run away.

  She sighed and rose, wrapping her robe around her body before she made her way to the front room. On the stove top, coffee warmed in a kettle, scenting the air with a tantalizing aroma too good to ignore. Scharlie poured herself a mug before walking to the window. She deliberately did not look at Harlow’s things.

  She slipped a finger at the edge of the curtain to take a peek at the men in her yard. The day was indeed overcast, dreary. The first person she saw was Garrett. He chopped wood, minus his shirt. His golden skin gleamed in the sun, reminding her of polished bronze. His long hair glistened almost blue in the sun. He lined up the logs on a stump and then swung the ax overhead, cutting the piece in half with one swing. She watched the play of muscles over his arms and back, seeing the sweat track its way down his smooth skin to disappear in the low ride of his pants.

  Just then, Cassidy came from around the side of the house. Like Garrett, he was shirtless as well, his muscles more streamlined
than his partner, but just as compelling. Blond, curly hair covered Cassidy’s chest, spiraling down to a line that disappeared at the top of his trousers.

  An air of danger surrounded them. She had sensed it last night, even through her grief, and she wondered at the relationship these two men had with Harlow. Her brother had never mentioned them in his letters, but then again, he had never really gone into too much depth about his life. Harlow had kept his words light, almost meaningless, though she valued and treasured every bit of news he shared.

  She turned from the window and went back to her room. She dressed in a dark walking dress with a half jacket buttoned up the front that allowed her white blouse to peek over the top and around her wrists. She was thin enough that she didn’t need to wear a corset with it, and the skirts were heavy enough that she could go without petticoats. She put on her boots and tied up the laces before squaring her shoulders and leaving her sanctuary behind.

  The men were still outside, still working, by the sounds of it, so she knew they had to be hungry. Etiquette demanded that she at least provided refreshments and food before they left, a way of thanking them for letting her know about Harlow, as well as cleaning up some of the yard.

  Scharlie had to admit that she had let the property become neglected recently, but only because her students demanded much of her attention. She was dedicated in helping the children, and a lot of them stayed after school for her extra tutoring sessions in reading and arithmetic. She knew that the majority of her students would never leave the small community of Rock Ridge, Missouri. They would follow in their parents’ shoes of being farmers and small ranchers. Many parents thought it a waste of time to learn how to read, but Scharlie had held firm and had finally convinced the majority of the townsfolk that earning an education was essential.

  Living on the large farm wasn’t really practical for Scharlie, and she knew that. But something wouldn’t let her sell the place where she had been born and raised, even if most of the fields were overrun with weeds. She had her little chicken coop for eggs, her cow for milk and cream, and she had her horse to get her where she needed to go.

  Breakfast didn’t take long to cook. She already had biscuits in the pantry, so she fried some eggs and heated up some beans before calling Garrett and Cassidy in.

  As she set the table, the men ambled in. Scharlie noted with a great degree of relief that they had put their shirts back on.

  “You didn’t have to cook for us,” Garrett said.

  Scharlie shrugged. “The least I could do. You tracked me down to tell me of Harlow when you could have easily sent a telegram.”

  “He was like a brother to us,” Cassidy replied. “He would have wanted us to take care of you.”

  Tears sprung unexpectedly into her eyes, so Scharlie hurried and sat to hide from having to look at the two men. She cleared her throat. “He talked about me?”

  Cassidy and Garrett sat as well.

  “Yes,” Cassidy said.

  “All the time,” Garrett added.

  “Did he…did he ever talk harshly about me?”

  “What do you mean?” Cassidy asked.

  Scharlie looked at him. Deliberately she ran a hand down the scar of her face. “I was the one that forced him to leave Missouri, leave his home. Did he hate me for what happened?”

  Garrett immediately shook his head. “Absolutely not!”

  Cassidy snatched the hand. His thumb rubbed soothingly over her skin. “Garrett’s right, Scharlie. Harlow only talked lovingly about you.”

  The sincerity shining in their eyes was honest. Scharlie’s shoulders relaxed. A weight she hadn’t thought she carried eased from her chest, and for the first time in years, her scarred face didn’t hurt so much.

  When Cassidy didn’t let go of her hand, she looked questioningly at him. His gaze met hers, and the moment abruptly changed from loving and warm to charged and electric. Tingles shot up her arm that caused her heart to thump heavily.

  The air between them grew thick as sexual tension crackled. Unbidden, thoughts of her book rose in her mind, and she snuck a quick glance, first at Cassidy and then at Garrett. Both men watched her closely, and though she wasn’t worldly or wise, the hunger shining brightly was unmistakable.

  Scharlie cleared her throat and pulled her hand from Cassidy’s. Immediately, she felt bereft without the warmth of his touch and strived to find her footing again. “What, um, what nationality are you, Garrett?”

  Garrett gave her a slow, sexy smile. She could tell from the predatory glint in his eyes that he recognized her arousal. “My mother was Chinese. My father was a miner she took care of. Even though it wasn’t the thing to do, he married her. Unfortunately I didn’t really know him. He died in a mining accident a month after I was born.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely.

  He shrugged. “It happened a long time ago.”

  “And how did you both meet Harlow?”

  She saw Garrett throw a questioning look at Cassidy, and when she looked at Cassidy, she saw him give a minute shake of his head.

  “We met up on a ranch,” Garrett replied.

  Scharlie stiffened because she instinctively knew he’d lied. His eyes had shifted away, and his voice had fallen flat. Why did they not trust her enough to tell the truth? Or maybe Harlow’s relationship wasn’t exactly how they described it. She only had their word on it, in fact. What did she really know of these men?

  They finished the meal in silence. When they were done, Garrett and Cassidy went back outside to finish their work before the rains started, leaving Scharlie to clean up, as well as wonder how long they planned to stay.

  Chapter Four

  The promised storm broke late in the day, coating the land prematurely in darkness. Hail suddenly pounded the land, producing sharp staccato blasts against the roof. One window shutter slammed against the pane, producing a brittle cracking sound. Scharlie jumped.

  She swore and raced outside to secure the rest of the shutters before any glass broke. Cassidy helped her then grabbed her hand to bring her inside the house.

  “The storm’s coming in fast,” Garrett said as he followed them in.

  Just then, the hail and wind abruptly died, and an eerie silence descended. The room felt charged, electric, and a flash of light suddenly ignited the dark. Cassidy opened the door again with Garrett and Scharlie on his heels.

  Outside, Scharlie saw the sky was a greenish-black color, the clouds hanging thick but moving rapidly. More bright flashes of light struck the ground not too far in the distance. And then, suddenly, the wind picked up so quickly Scharlie had to grab hold of Garrett to maintain her balance.

  “Scharlie, do you have a cellar?” Cassidy urgently asked.

  “In the kitchen, under the rug,” she answered and watched as he ran to uncover it.

  If possible, the wind outside picked up speed, slamming into the house with monstrous force. She realized that this wasn’t just a drill, that a tornado was bearing down on them and she’d done nothing to secure the livestock she had.

  “My animals!” Scharlie cried and ran for the door.

  “Scharlie!” Cassidy called out.

  But his warning came a little late. The wind caught hold of the door and ripped it from her hands. The wind whipped mercilessly at her hair and skirts, pulling her forward into the whirling nightmare. She frantically reached for the doorframe and screamed just as Garrett grabbed her around the waist and managed to slam the door shut.

  “Move!” Cassidy yelled.

  She saw Garrett grab his and Cassidy’s gear, as well as a Winchester rifle. They all hurried down the cellar steps and had just managed to secure the door when a ferocious sound blasted over them. Garrett still held on to her waist and dragged her back from the stairs until he bumped into the wall. The cellar was pitch black and smelled of rich earth. Scharlie shivered a little despite being wrapped in Garrett’s warm arms.

  The storm raged overhead, terrible and terrifying. Cassidy lit
one of the many lamps stored in the cellar to give them some light to open up the blankets and set all of them up for the night. Tears ran down Scharlie’s face as she contemplated the idea that her house was gone.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Cassidy assured her.

  “I didn’t get a chance to grab Harlow’s photo,” she whispered.

  Garrett tightened his arms around her, a silent offering of support.

  After a few hours, all sounds of the storm had ceased. Garrett sat upon the blanket, his back to the wall, with Scharlie’s head in his lap. He rhythmically fanned his fingers through her long hair, and the soothing gesture helped keep her calm through the more terrifying hours.

  Cassidy had his hands on his hips, staring at the bolted cellar door. “Scharlie, is there another way out of here that I’ve somehow overlooked?”

  Scharlie pushed into a sitting position, her long hair tumbling over her shoulders in waves. “No, that door is the only way.”

  Cassidy sighed, ran a hand through his tousled curls. Then he braced his right shoulder against the door and pushed, a grunt seeping through his clenched teeth as he strained. Garrett jumped to his feet to help him.

  “One, two,” Cassidy counted. “Push!”

  Both men strained, but as hard as they tried, the door remained immobile.

  “Shit!” Cassidy hissed as they gave up pushing. He rubbed his shoulder.

  “You think the house came down?” Garrett asked. This time it was he who stood with his hands on his hips and stared at the door.

  “Well, something’s blocking our exit.” He walked over to the shelves on the far wall. “At least there’s enough food down here to last us for a few days. And we can drink the juices.”

  “I preserve a lot in the spring,” Scharlie mumbled inanely. She drew her knees up and encircled them with her arms. “For the winter.”

  Cassidy kicked the dirt floor. “We can set up a latrine in that far corner.”

  “Excuse me?” Scharlie gasped.