Read Online Comanche Moon by Catherine Anderson - Free Book Online Page A

used that same syrupy-sweet voice trying to catch a chicken for supper. Loretta had watched him do it a hundred times, tiptoeing around in the pen and wriggling his fingers as if he were dropping seed. When an unsuspecting chicken ran up to peck the ground at his feet, he grabbed it by the head and wrung its poor fool neck. Loretta shrank back. Whatever it was he had in mind, it was sure as rain going to be ornery.
    His gaze swept slowly down her body, then returned to her face. ‘‘You’re ripe for pickin’, and that’s a fact,’’ he said in that same chicken-killing voice. ‘‘Have been for a good long spell. Yesterday when those Injuns came, all’s I could think about was that I should’ve had you whilst I could. Tom callin’ you his promised last night cinched it. I’ll be damned. I didn’t bust my ass raisin’ you so somebody else could reap the crop. The only reason I let him come around was so you’d see how good you got it here.’’
    Even in the dusky light, Loretta could see the wicked gleam in his eye. She threw a frantic glance in the direction of the house. The barn loomed in the way. Even if Aunt Rachel looked out a window, she couldn’t see them. Henry took advantage of her distraction to snake out an arm and catch her around the waist.
    Jerking her full length against him, he crooned, ‘‘Ain’t no call to worry. I told Rachel we found a section of fence down and that we’d be an hour or so fixin’ it.’’
    Loretta felt as though someone had shoved a pillow down her windpipe. He laughed hoarsely and clamped his free hand on her rib cage right below her breast, his palm and fingers inching upward for softer purchase.
    ‘‘I’m right glad that you can’t talk, you know it? You won’t start squallin’ and bring Rachel runnin’ to see what’s wrong. Gives me time to enjoy you like you ought to be enjoyed. Oh, yeah, Loretta, anytime I want you, for as long as I want you.’’
    Laughing again, he pressed his hips forward, grinding a strange hardness against her. Images flashed in her mind of the Indian men who had violated her mother, and she knew exactly what that hardness was.

Chapter 4
    LORETTA THREW BACK HER HEAD. FOR A moment she felt as if she might be able to scream. Then Henry’s mouth clamped down on hers, and what sound she might have made was smothered by his grasping lips. Nausea clutched her stomach, and she wrenched herself from his embrace only to lose her footing. As she sprawled backward, he grabbed her wrists and followed her down, his thighs clamped around her hips. She overshot the straw and landed on her back on the wagon floor with him astraddle her.
    He chuckled, inching forward. Then, with an ease that horrified her, he pinned her arms to the floor with his legs. Pain shot to her shoulders as the sharp ridges of his shins dug into her wristbones. Jackknifing her legs, she kneed his back, but he made a game of the blows, rocking to and fro, landing on her stomach so hard that her spine nearly snapped. Her throat strained, but with all her air gone, she couldn’t have screamed if she’d had a voice. He continued to bounce on her even after she ceased struggling. Her tongue swelled, gagging her. Black dots swam before her eyes.
    When she lay limp, he sat back on her belly and smiled, reaching for the row of tiny buttons on her bodice. She twisted her face aside and gulped for air, her windpipe whistling.
    ‘‘I been eyein’ these here sweet bosoms for a long spell,’’ he whispered, slowly peeling her dress apart.
    She could feel his calloused hands fumbling with the ribbons on her chemise as cool air seeped through the thin fabric. Oh, God, help me. Somebody—please, help me.
    Suddenly a dark hand appeared and partially obstructed her view of Henry. She studied the hand, wondering where it had come from and to whom it belonged. Not to Henry. It was too square and brown. The hand turned slightly, and she saw a knife held to Henry’s chin. Henry threw