Forbidden Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Three

  Forbidden Moon

  Jane Bonander

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1004

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 1993 by Jane Bonander

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email info@diversionbooks.com

  First Diversion Books edition December 2013

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-187-4

  More from Jane Bonander

  Heat of a Savage Moon

  Secrets of a Midnight Moon

  Fires of Innocence

  Dancing on Snowflakes

  Wild Heart

  Warrior Heart

  Winter Heart

  To my two favorite Olivias: Harper and Hall

  Exemplary writers, tough critics and stellar friends

  Experience teaches us that love does not consist of two people looking at each other, but of looking together in the same direction.

  Antoine de Saint-Exupery

  Prologue

  Northern California

  Autumn—1879

  He could almost smell the whiskey. With a dark curse, he swallowed the saliva that pooled in the folds of his tongue and around his teeth. No time for that now. Later … maybe later. He swore again. This time it was aimed at the little bitch who was the cause of his present discomfort.

  Buck Randall heard the raucous laughter and loud voices of the drunken youths half a mile away. Kicking his horse into a gallop, he sped to the vacant line shack where he suspected Molly Lindquist was drinking with her wild friends. Not that he gave a damn about the hellion, but he cared a great deal for her mother, June.

  Arriving at the cabin, he flung himself off his mount, strode to the door and kicked it open. He was too angry to pay any mind to the sound of dried wood as it splintered beneath his boots. He stepped boldly inside, letting his gaze slide over the small group.

  “Hey, Bucko, wanna swig?”

  With difficulty, Buck pushed the bottle away with the back of his hand and studied the girl in the corner. She was pressed tightly against a drunken youth whose arm hung around her shoulders, his fingers dangerously close to her breast. Her wild tawny hair picked up the light from the lamp, making the white-gold highlights shimmer.

  “Molly.” His voice was harsh, deadly. She didn’t respond. “Molly, dammit, I’m taking you home.”

  Turning away from her scrawny boyfriend, she gave Buck a lazy, slightly fuzzy look. “Whatsa matter, Bucky? Honey kick you out again, tonight?” She jabbed her elbow into her partner’s ribs. “You know what they used to call ol’ Buck here? Cub.” She giggled. “Sweet little chubby cubby bubby.” She stroked her partner’s chest and tossed Buck a defiant grin.

  Fury knotted his gut. She could rile him easier than anyone he’d ever known. Crossing the room in two strides, he grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the boy’s embrace.

  Molly struggled against him, no longer sweet-tempered from the drink. “Let me go, you bastard,” she said on a hiss of breath.

  “Shut up.” He gripped her, pinning her arms against her body. “You’re coming with me. Now.”

  Molly continued to struggle. “You and what army is gonna make me?” She turned her head to the side and tried to bite the arm that held her.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Buck’s free hand came around and pinched her jaw. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

  She kicked at him with her heel, but he quickly wrapped one of his legs around hers, holding her off balance. “Everything was fine until you showed up.”

  “Say good-bye to your drunken friends, Molly.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he pulled her toward the door.

  “Well, it takes one to know one,” she retorted, squirming against him.

  “What, a friend?” he baited.

  “No, you fool, a drunk.”

  “I know what I am.” He squeezed her chest so tightly she gasped. He had to get her out of there. Having her end up a drunk was something he couldn’t live with, in spite of how much he wanted to spank her senseless. “Your smart mouth only makes me want to break your neck rather than just your arm.”

  She grunted. “I wanna stay here. You can’t make me go with you.”

  He dragged her outside. “Your mother is worried sick about you.”

  “So, what’s that to you? You’re not my father,” she flung at him. “Why don’t you just go home to your sweet little wife and leave me be? I don’t need you sniffing around after me.”

  Another mention of his wife, Honey, only fueled his anger. Their marital problems had escalated over the past two months, and she was the last person he wanted to think about right now.

  “Hell, someone has to, and no one else has the patience, you bi—” He caught himself before he spat out the word. Struggling with her defiant efforts to get free, he moved toward his mount.

  Molly suddenly went limp in his arms.

  Buck let out a humorless chuckle. “Oh, no. You don’t expect me to fall for that one, do you?”

  She didn’t move. Her head hung to her chest; her arms were loose at her sides and her knees buckled.

  He gave her a violent shake. Still nothing. “All right,” he said, “we’ll sling you over the horse.”

  As he hoisted her up, she jabbed her elbows into his chest, briefly making him lose his grip. She tore across the ground.

  Buck swore and raced off after her. When he finally caught up with her, he nudged the backs of her knees, sending her sprawling.

  “You sack of shit!” she howled, trying desperately to kick his hand as it gripped her ankle.

  Buck fell on top of her, pinning her to the ground. “Someone ought to wash your mouth out with soap. When will you learn that ladies don’t talk that way?”

  “I’m … not a lady,” she gasped beneath him.

  As much as he wanted to take her over his knee, he was too angry. He’d hurt her, and he wouldn’t care—at least not while he was doing it. But he’d regret it later, only because her mother had begged him to go easy on her. The brat didn’t deserve such a sweet, loving parent.

  “Youch! I … can’t breathe, you … pig brained lummox!”

  “Will you behave?”

  “I’ll … do what I damn well please!”

  He allowed more of his weight to press on her. She squirmed beneath him, unaware that she was shoving her butt against his crotch. He swore under his breath and moved to the side, still maintaining a tight grip on her wrists.

  She winced but didn’t say anything.

  “Will you behave?”

  Sucking in a big breath, she nodded. Yet when he pulled her to her feet, she tried to run again.

  He jerked her back toward the cabin. “Settle down, you selfish little hellcat, or I’ll tie you up and throw you into the creek.”

  Squirming harder, she sputtered, “You wouldn’t dare. You’re just a big fat turd who doesn’t want me to have any fun. A big fat turd, Buck. That’s what you are.”

  His hold on her was so tight, he heard her inhale sharply. “We can do this my way, or the hard way.” He squeezed her lungs again, forcing her to gasp for breath. “Which will it be?”
/>
  Suddenly she was calm. “All right. Your way.”

  Suspicious at the sudden change, he released her only slightly and helped her onto the back of his mount. By the time he’d joined her, she’d deftly turned around and was facing him.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” As long as he didn’t have to look at her, he was fine. But he couldn’t handle that beautiful, wild face so close to his.

  She smiled slyly, her full, pouty lips beckoning. Her tawny mane curled recklessly around her face and down past her shoulders. Suddenly she threw her legs across his and slid closer. So close her crotch settled over the bulge in his jeans.

  “Dammit, Molly.” He came alive under the pressure of her body, desire pumping thickly through his veins. “Stop this right now!”

  She slung her arms across his shoulders, locking her fingers behind his head. “Ummm, I feel so good, Bucky.” She nestled closer, nuzzled his neck with her nose, and bit his earlobe.

  He swore and pulled away, trying to avoid her. “For Christ’s sake, Molly, you’re drunk as a skunk. Behave yourself or I’ll smack your butt black-and-blue.”

  She giggled and pressed her budding breasts against his shirt. “Promises, promises.”

  He cursed again. Suddenly her mouth was on his and she pulled him closer, kissing him deeply. Taken by surprise, he sat stiffly, not wanting to respond. But … ah, dammit. She tasted sweet even with the whiskey on her breath. Briefly he allowed himself to enjoy it. He even responded a little. Then reality hit him square in the gut. He pulled her away.

  “Dammit, hellion!” He noticed the gravelly sound of his voice. Grabbing her waist, he lifted her and turned her around. “Now, don’t move or I’ll tie you to the saddle.”

  She sighed, giving him no fight. “I think you can kiss better than that, Bucky. We’ll try it again before we get home.”

  “You’re drunk, brat. It would serve you right if you remembered all of this in gritty detail in the morning.”

  He cursed himself a thousand times over. Hell, he’d let a mere girl kiss him on the mouth … and a damned good kisser she is, too. Scowling, he wondered who she’d been practicing on and tried to shake off the surprising bite of jealousy the thought invoked.

  Suddenly she relaxed against him completely, and he knew she was asleep. Or had passed out. Either way, he had to hold her tightly, or she’d have fallen to the ground in a heap.

  Nudging his mount toward the ranch, he thought about what Anna Gaspard had told him the day before. If Molly didn’t settle down, she’d be sent to the strict girls’ school in San Francisco the Gaspard daughters attended. No one could handle Molly. Everyone had tried.

  They passed Buck’s mother and stepfather’s house, where he and Honey lived with Dusty, their little boy. A grim smile cracked his mouth. Honey was probably waiting for him, anxious to nag at him again. He’d rather sleep in the barn than go through another night of her complaining. At least the barn was quiet. Lately he’d slept there more often than he’d slept in his own bed.

  Molly’s head lolled against his shoulder, and he pressed his cheek into her hair. A shiver of pleasure shook him as her fragrance invaded his senses. He allowed the scent to coat his nostrils, then he dragged it into his lungs. The heady sensation was followed by a wash of guilt. He jerked his head away. An image of Honey’s face exploded before him. What in the hell was he thinking? He was a married man. Not happily at the moment, but married just the same.

  Another wave of guilt smacked him. That he was married should have been his first thought when Molly had kissed him. But it hadn’t been. It had been that Molly, bless her wild little heart, was only fourteen years old, and her kiss had stirred him. Deeply.

  God, he thought, running his hand over his face, he needed a drink.

  One

  Mrs. Paul’s School for Young Ladies, San Francisco

  February 1886

  The strained melodies of Vivaldi floated valiantly through the reception area. The musicians, all girls ages fourteen and fifteen, often looked up from their music, longing stamped on their sweet faces as their more fortunate classmates mingled with their families.

  Molly Lindquist caught the violinist’s eye, smiled and winked. The girl grinned back, but there was pleading in the response.

  “And just who is the recipient of that beautiful smile?”

  Molly’s smile widened. “Why, Charles Campion, would you believe you are?” She looked up at her handsome fiancé. Fiancé. How long she’d waited to hear that word, and how ecstatic she’d been when he’d proposed.

  Charles took her arm and steered her toward the back of the room. “I’d believe that if you’d let me announce to the world that we’re engaged.”

  She squeezed his arm, feeling a tiny bite of apprehension. “Oh, Charles, I … I just want to wait a little while. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

  Snorting softly, he answered, “What could possibly go wrong?”

  “Just humor me for a while, please?” She looked up at him, letting her gaze slide over his tanned face. He had little crinkles in the corners of his brilliant blue eyes from squinting into the harsh Texas sun.

  Putting his arm around her waist, he edged toward the punch bowl. “How long will you make me wait before I shout it to the world?”

  “Perhaps after I’ve been to visit you and Nicolette in Texas. Perhaps then.” He had a tense look about him, and she knew he was trying hard to keep the conversation light. Brushing her gloved fingers over the shoulder of his dove gray dress coat, she said, “Have I told you how handsome you look tonight?”

  He relaxed, gave her a wicked smile and handed her a cup of deep red punch. “Don’t think flattery will always work on me, Margaret.”

  “But it did this time, didn’t it?” She accepted the drink, smiling at him over the rim of the cup.

  His smile changed as he glanced around the room. “The staff will miss you when you leave.”

  “ ‘When you leave.’ That sounds so final.”

  “It is final. You will marry me.” It sounded like an order, but a soft smile played over his sensual lips.

  “Yes, master,” she teased. “But I won’t be missed for long. There are many excellent music teachers in San Francisco. They’ll have no trouble finding a replacement.”

  “You won’t miss it?” He stared down at her intently.

  Miss it? No, she didn’t think so. She’d worked too long and too hard to find a man like Charles. A young, rich, handsome man who owned more land in Texas than she could even imagine. He adored her beyond measure. His sister, Nicolette, her pupil, had already told her she wanted her as a sister-in-law. He was everything she’d ever dreamed of having. And much, much more: He was white.

  “You will, won’t you?”

  “What?” she asked, startled out of her reverie.

  He waved an arm around the splendid surroundings. “Miss this.”

  The room was indeed splendid, enhanced by the glittering candlelit chandelier. Mirrors surrounded them, maximizing the size of the room. Jewels flashed on most of the women as they laughed and moved about, their arms linked with their husbands. It seemed a room without worries or regrets. Or grief. Or shame. Or need. This was how life should be. She’d worked so very hard to become part of it.

  “Perhaps I’ll miss San Francisco a little,” she answered. But only because it had been her home for nearly the past seven years. And it had been here that she’d decided never to go back to that other life again.

  He took the punch cup from her and put it on the table. “Come on,” he urged. “Let’s find Nicolette, say our good nights and get out of here.”

  “Really, Charles, we’ve hardly been here fifteen minutes,” she scolded softly.

  His heated gaze swept over her silvery gray and light green crepe gown. “We will have magnificent children, you know.”

  Her heart leaped, but not with yearning. “Charles, that’s hardly proper,”
she said on a shaky breath. She knew he desired her; it had been blatant the moment they’d been introduced over a year ago. She hadn’t felt the same burning urgency, but she knew why.

  Long ago, when she’d been in the bloom of youth, her urges had nearly gotten her into trouble. So she’d carefully and methodically killed them. Buried them. They belonged with her past. They belonged with … with the man she would forever try to forget. But try as she might, now and then thoughts of him snaked into her finely tuned routine, stirring up old memories that brought her nothing but feelings of shame. And regret. And desire. Feelings that couldn’t be trusted.

  Charles squeezed her fingers. “But it’s true,” he whispered close to her ear.

  Pulling her hands from his, she frantically searched the room for Nicolette. She found her by the door. The girl waved, and weaved through the crowd toward them.

  “There you two are!” She kissed her brother’s cheek, then hugged Molly tightly. “So, are you coming to visit us?”

  Molly looked at the blond teenager, who was as beautiful as her brother was handsome. They both adored her. She wondered if she deserved such happiness. After a brief inner struggle, she decided she did. It hadn’t just fallen into her lap. She’d worked for it. “How can I say no?”

  Cedarville, Texas

  April

  Six years. His miseries had started six years ago, but it had only been three years since he’d had a drink. Three years since he’d had the shakes so bad, he couldn’t pull on his own boots. Three years since he’d awakened, his head lying in a puddle of his own vomit. And three years since he’d used whiskey to dull the pain of his wife’s death…. Three damned, long years, and temptation had eaten at him every one of those one thousand ninety-odd days.

  Buck Randall sat in a Cedarville whorehouse and stared at the whiskey. It caught the light, beckoning him like diamonds to a jewel thief. He circled the short, thick glass with his forefinger, then brought the glass to his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His mouth watered. Chilly bumps of anticipation raced over his skin. Hell, he still wanted the stuff; he knew he always would.