The Rogue Read online

  “Not this time. I’m getting too old to be sleeping on hard ground,” he informed her. “But that isn’t the point. I don’t want you to grow up to be a rough-talking, hard-riding Calamity Jane. I want you to be a lady and not quite so much a tomboy. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Major.” She surrendered to his wishes.

  “Good.” He looked satisfied with the outcome. “I’ll be driving out every day in the Jeep™,” the Major continued. “It will be relatively quiet around here for you. Why don’t you arrange to have Sophie take you on a shopping expedition for some new clothes— something a bit more feminine than those Levi’s?”

  “All right,” Diana agreed.

  If it was a lady her father wanted, she was willing to comply. From that morning, Diana began the transformation. She went shopping and bought new clothes designed to accent her femininity without going overboard with a lot of ruffles and bows. She began to take an interest in what she believed were womanly things, learning to cook and sew. However, she didn’t go to extremes. She continued to ride frequently and do less arduous chores around the ranch.

  As a rule, only single men made use of the accommodations afforded by the ranch. The small handful of married ranch hands lived off the ranch, generally on small holdings of their own. It was rare, if ever, that Diana came in contact with their wives.

  However, that winter, their closest neighbor, Alan Thornton, who owned the ranch ten miles away, was married. It was only natural that Diana became acquainted with his young schoolteacher wife, Peggy. It was her first real association with an adult female. It was Peggy who persuaded Diana to let the black silk cap of her hair grow to a more complimentary length and made suggestions as to the type and amount of makeup she should use.

  Diana listened to Peggy’s dreams, trying to comprehend the older woman’s romantic imaginings. The Thornton ranch was considerably smaller, thus considerably poorer than the Major’s massive holdings. When Peggy spoke of her plans to remodel the small ranch house, Diana would try to be enthusiastic, but she knew there would never be the money to spare to do a third of the things Peggy envisioned. It was impossible for her to understand the woman’s bubbling contentment.

  It was equally difficult for Diana to understand her female classmates in school. Their preoccupation with pop stars and pimply faced boys and titillating gossip seemed silly. As always, Diana excelled in her schoolwork and was a favorite of the teachers. The combination of shining black hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a slim and increasingly shapely figure made her even more popular with the boys. Diana was more comfortable with them, having been raised in an almost solely male environment, but they seemed very juvenile much of the time.

  Her attitude toward Holt Mallory didn’t change. She continued to regard him as her enemy. And she waged open warfare whenever she could, trying to undermine his steadily growing influence on the Major. Antagonistic, Diana took every opportunity to issue orders to him, assuming on her position as the boss’s daughter. She sought to constantly remind Holt that he was only hired help, paid to do the Major’s bidding— and hers. Whenever he was around the stable, Diana never saddled her own horse, but demanded that he do it. She used any means she could to get at him, secretly hoping she would push him to the point of quitting.

  Guy was still her puppydog, trailing after her whenever he could. It didn’t seem to matter how Diana treated him. He was grateful for any scrap of attention from her. And Diana gave him just enough to be certain the wedge between Guy and Holt remained firmly in place. If he liked her, he couldn’t like the man who was his father.

  Chapter II

  At the beginning of the summer that would bring her seventeenth birthday, Diana had her first intimation of what it was like to have a crush on someone. A new man had been hired, skilled in horse showmanship, to train the Major’s prize Arabians. His name was Curly Lathrop.

  Tall and muscular with curling dark hair and flashing brown eyes, he had an easy charm and a ready smile. To Diana he was a Greek god come to life. A boss’s daughter was never ignored, but she set out to make Curly Lathrop regard her as much more than that. She flirted with him, and he flirted back, but always with an indulgent air, as if he thought of her as a mere child. It frustrated her that he wouldn’t see her as the woman she felt she was.

  Her birthday came on a hot day late in July. It was little different from others she had celebrated. Sophie had dutifully baked her favorite cake and decorated it for the evening meal. Guy had painstakingly made her a hand-tooled leather key case with her initials on it.

  Peggy had stopped by in the afternoon to give her a present of a silk scarf and to relay the news that she was expecting their first child. And Diana listened to the plans Peggy had for the spare bedroom. The money it had taken two years to save to remodel and modernize the kitchen was now being set aside for baby things, doctor bills, and the hospital costs that would come. Diana voiced the expected congratulations, but wondered to herself why Alan and Peggy hadn’t waited a few more years before starting a family. She didn’t see how they could afford one yet.

  At dinner that evening, the Major presented her with the usual lavish assortment of birthday gifts. Diana wore her newest party dress for the occasion and exclaimed over the presents with the right degree of happiness. With just the two of them at the table, ignoring Sophie, who merely occupied a chair, Diana wasn’t in a party mood.

  Afterward, she wandered onto the front porch and leaned against the railing to gaze at the stars overhead, taking care not to let a wood splinter catch on the white eyelet lace of her dress. Diana fingered the buttons down the front and wished Curly was standing with her.

  Her gaze swung wistfully to his quarters. No light shone in the unit he occupied, but his truck was parked outside. Then Diana spied a light in the tack room at the stables. The sudden sparking of an idea caught at her breath.

  Before discretion or pride could blow it out, she hurried into the house. Her father was in the study doing paperwork, and Sophia had already secluded herself in the privacy of her small room at the rear of the house. Diana walked into the kitchen and cut a slice of birthday cake.

  Wrapping it in a napkin, she took it down to the stable. Diana pretended surprise when she entered the tack room and saw Curly cleaning the equipment.

  “Oh, it’s you. I saw the light and thought Holt was here,” she added in explanation.

  “Really?” He eyed her with mocking skepticism.

  “Yes, really.” Her gaze flashed him a look of provocative challenge.

  “What do you have there in your hand?” Curly glanced at the napkin.

  “A slice of my brithday cake. As I said, I saw the light and thought it was Holt. I was bringing him this piece of cake to give to Guy.” Diana walked farther into the small room shrugging her shoulders. “But since he isn’t here and you are, you can have it, instead.”

  His smile said that he still didn’t believe her story but he would go along with it. “I wouldn’t want to deprive Guy of his treat.”

  “You won’t be.” She offered him the napkin-wrapped cake. “I’ll take Guy his tomorrow. Sophie baked a big cake. It will go stale before the Major and I can eat it all.”

  “I do have a taste for sweet things,” admitted Curly with a glint in his eyes that made her pulse beat faster. A faint tremor of excitement went through her as his fingers touched her hand when he took the cake from her. “So it’s your birthday today, is it?”

  “Uh-huh.” She watched him unwrap the napkin and take a bite.

  “How old are you?” he asked between mouthfuls.

  Diana wished she could lie, but he probably already knew how old she was. “Seventeen.”

  After several minutes, he finished it. “That’s good cake.” He brushed the crumbs from his hands. “I wish I’d known it was your birthday today.”

  “Why?” she murmured a shade breathlessly.

  “I would have bought you a present.”

  “I wouldn’t have expe
cted you to do that.” But wouldn’t it have been wonderful if he had? Diana dreamed silently.

  “What did your boyfriend give you?”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Come on. As beautiful as you are, all the guys at school must be crazy about you.”

  Her heart skipped a beat when he said she was beautiful, especially when the same sentiment was echoed by his look. “They all seem so immature.” Diana tried to sound very adult when she answered. At his low chuckle, she turned away, hurt that he should find her amusing.

  “That’s a pretty dress,” he commented. “I suppose the Major threw a big party for you up at the house.”

  “No. We just had a quiet dinner.” Her indifferent tone indicated she hadn’t expected anything else.

  “Birthdays should be celebrated with more than just dinner, a cake, and some gifts,” Curly said in a reproving manner.

  “Oh?” She gave him an over-the-shoulder look. “And how do you celebrate your birthdays?”

  “With a few drinks and some dancing, and, hopefully, the right company.” He held her gaze. “It isn’t much of a birthday without those three items.”

  “Mine hasn’t been much of a birthday, then,” Diana sighed, because it hadn’t.

  “Since I didn’t buy you a present, I’ll see if I can’t supply the necessary ingredients for a celebration.” Curly winked and walked to the near corner where several footlockers were stacked. Briefly touching a finger to his mouth in a gesture of secrecy, he reached behind them and brought out a bottle of whiskey. “I keep it here for strictly medicinal purposes—to keep me warm on cold nights,” he explained, knowing the Major was death about drinking on the job. “Tonight we’ll put it to its proper use.” He took two small paper cups from a stack inside a wood cupboard and poured liquor into one. He hesitated before pouring the second, glancing to Diana. “Do you drink hard stuff? I wouldn’t want to be accused of corrupting a minor.”

  “I’ve drunk liquor before.” Once in her whole life, but she wasn’t about to admit it to him. Maybe if he thought she was a little more worldly than she actually was, he might treat her like a woman instead of a child.

  He added liquor to the second cup and handed it to her, lifting his in a toast. “To a young and very beautiful lady. Happy birthday, Diana.”

  When he downed his drink, she did the same. Fire burned her throat, stealing the breath from her lungs. Diana tried not to cough and succeeded in keeping her reaction to a choking gasp.

  “It does make you warm, doesn’t it?” she laughed, her voice husky.

  “It does,” Curly agreed and refilled her cup. “And it helps you relax, too.”

  After a couple of sips, Diana discovered he was right about that, too. It still burned going down, but not nearly as much as the first time. And it made her feel pleasantly relaxed, giving everything around her a rosy glow. They talked about trivial things. He refilled her cup again. She was beginning to feel delightfully lightheaded when Curly snapped his fingers.

  “I promised you dancing, didn’t I? Come on.” He reached for her hand and led her out of the tack room.

  In the wide stable corridor that ran lengthwise to divide the stalls, Curly turned on the radio her father had installed there to soothe the horses. A dreamy instrumental ballad played from the speakers. Only the light from the tack room provided illumination.

  He turned, flashing her that bewitching and seductive smile. “Will you dance with me?” he asked, as if they were at a nightclub instead of in a stable.

  “Yes.” Diana seemed to float into his arms.

  He was strong. She could feel his powerful muscles as he held her close. They swayed with the slow tempo of the music. Diana had never danced this way before; she could feel the pressure of his thighs against her hips and the hand spread near the small of her back.

  “How do you like this birthday celebration?” His handsome face seemed only inches away. “Drinking, dancing—”

  “—and the right company,” Diana said, supplying the last ingredient.

  “And the right company,” Curly agreed. His gaze roamed over her upturned face. “It’s a pity I wasn’t here last year for your birthday. Sweet sixteen. I don’t suppose you have reached your seventeenth birthday without being kissed?”

  “I’ve been kissed a few times,” she said, making it sound like an understatement. She studied the dark, springing curls of his hair, wanting to touch them and run her fingers through them.

  “Today?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “No birthday is complete without a birthday kiss,” Curly said.

  She had been kissed before, but when his mouth moved onto hers, his kiss didn’t resemble the awkward exchanges that had come previously. He claimed her lips with practiced ease. The relaxing effect of the liquor she had consumed permitted Diana to let instinct direct her response.

  “Not bad for an amateur,” he commented when it ended.

  “My teachers haven’t exactly been professionals.” She tried to sound as calm as he had, but his kiss had been as wonderful as her romantic imaginings had dreamt it would be.

  “Let me give you some free lessons.”

  “Okay.”

  Any pretense of dancing was abandoned. Her arms circled his neck, fingers sliding into the thickly springing curls at the back of his head. She smelled the whiskey on his breath and knew hers carried the same odor. The driving pressure of his mouth forced her head back.

  Diana wasn’t certain whether it was the liquor or the long, drugging kiss that was making her feel so faint. She decided it was a combination of both when he began nibbling at her neck and starting a whole new flurry of sensations. She moaned in reaction and clung even more tightly to him. He came back to her mouth and kissed her again with devastating expertise.

  “Come on.” He moved away, taking her by the hand and dragging her behind him as he walked to the far end of the stable corridor. Her head was swimming, not quite aware of what was happening or why. Loose straw was piled against the wall. “We’ll be more comfortable here.” He knelt down and pulled her with him.

  “My dress,” Diana managed to say in a brief protest.

  “Don’t worry about it, baby.” They were lying in the straw, his mouth again just above hers.

  Something told Diana this was wrong. “But—”

  “You said I was the right company,” Curly reminded her, a hand caressing the length of her arm.

  “Yes,” she admitted in a whisper, and her gaze slid to his mouth, so close to her own. “Please, kiss me again, Curly.”

  And he obliged the request thoroughly, over and over again, each kiss more passionate than the last. His tongue parted her lips and probed at her teeth. She resisted, drawing away from its penetration, a confused fear splintering through her.

  “Come on, baby,” he partially taunted her. “Hasn’t anyone ever showed you how to French-kiss?”

  “N . . . no.”

  “It’s easy.” He kissed the corner of her lips, a teasing sensation. “I’ll show you.” She didn’t seem to have any will except to learn whatever he wanted to teach her. “Just open your mouth.”

  Diana did so, slowly, and his lips settled moistly over it, his tongue sliding between her teeth to explore the inner hollows of her mouth. For a second, she merely submitted. Then, gradually, there was a desire to respond. Tentatively, she let her tongue move against his, finally returning the erotic intimacy of the kiss.

  “Oh, God, baby.” He was breathing heavily as his lips moved lightly over her cheek to the curve of her neck. “You’re something else.”

  He moved to her ear, licking at it with his tongue. Diana shuddered at the delicious shivers that danced over her skin. His hand slid over her hip, drawing her more closely to his side, then gliding up to the swell of her breast. Diana tried to push his cupping hand away, but she didn’t seem to have any strength. His caresses were becoming too intimate. Her mind gave orders to stop them, but her muscles could
n’t coordinate to offer more than a token resistance.

  Curly was back kissing her lips again and his hand had stopped rubbing her breast and had moved to the scooped neckline. Everything seemed all right again until Diana realized he was unbuttoning the front of her dress. She twisted away from his kiss.

  “Don’t!” she gasped in angry protest and reached to draw the material together when he pushed it aside, but her efforts were completely ineffectual.

  “Don’t fight me, baby.”

  His breath was hot and moist on her cheek, his mouth seeking her evading lips. Her head was swimming dizzily. The kissing was all right. She liked it, but this petting was further than Diana wanted to go. Her fingers circled his hairy wrist, but she couldn’t stop the hand that slid inside her brassiere and lifted her breast free of the lacy cup. He wasn’t content until the other was free, uncaring that the bra was binding her painfully.

  “You got great tits, baby,” he muttered thickly. “Just look at them staring up at me, so young and firm.”

  Before Diana could guess his intention, his head was lowering to kiss their bunched roundness, licking and biting at the nipples. Desperately, she tried to push him away. Fear was beginning to pierce the alcohol mist that was fogging her mind. But a part of her felt a certain sensual stimulation for the erotic attention.

  “Curly, I don’t want you to do this.” A thread of anger ran through her panicked whisper.

  “Sure, baby, sure.” But he paid no attention to her protest.

  Diana felt his hand touch her knee and glide under the hem of her skirt. All unconscious pleasure she was deriving from his touch vanished at this new and dangerous intimacy. She tried to twist away, hammering at his head and shoulders with her fists, kicking as he lifted up her skirt.

  “Stop it! Let me go!”

  “You damned little tease,” he growled and rolled on top of her to hold her down with his weight.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but he covered it with his, muffling the sound. He grabbed a handful of hair, pulling at the roots to hold her head still. Animal sounds of fear came from her throat, only to be smothered by his brutal kiss. Her skirt was up around her waist and he was forcing his legs between hers, unphased by her glancing blows. A raging anger was quickly taking the place of her fear, an anger that he should dare to violate her. His fingers were clawing at her panties, the pressure of his swollen manhood hard against her bare thigh.