Leather and Lace by DiAnn Mills Page B

girl.”
    He hurt her, bruised her in places no one would ever see, and when he was done, he threw her clothes at her.
    “There you are. And this won’t be the last time you and me get together.”
    “I’ll tell Tim.”
    His eye twitched, and he grabbed her face. “One word and that no-count brother of yours is dead. Understand?”
    When she didn’t answer, he squeezed her face. “Keep your mouth shut, and don’t try to leave. You understand?”
    She nodded.
    “And from now on you ride with us, Casey girl.” He ran his fingers through her damp hair. “I like this.” He bent to kiss her, but she spit in his face.
    A mistake.
    “What happened to your face?” Tim later demanded.
    “I fell when a snake was after me.” That wasn’t far from the truth.
    The vile smell of Jenkins’s breath, his hands on her bruised flesh, and all the sounds of nature disappeared. Some things could never be forgotten. Some women might have given in to Jenkins and his way of life, but she refused. Call it stubborn. Call it uppity. Call it remembering her ma’s kind nature. She hated every moment of those seven years. And the only reason she stayed was fear.
    Casey dug her heels into Stampede’s sides and let the stallion fly.
    Warm nights gave way to warmer mornings, and by afternoon the temperature heated up again. Casey remembered this part of Texas rarely saw snow, which sounded better than the subzero temperatures of the North, especially the winters in the Utah, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, and Dakota territories. Watching the seasons change had been a splendid sight, but a warmer climate suited her bones.
    As the miles lay behind her and the forests grew thick and green, she began to look for a small quaint town to call her own. She bathed in the sparkling creeks feeding off the Brazos River and passed huge clusters of tall, spindly pine. Choosing to travel back roads, she avoided anyone who might cause her harm, but now and then she met a traveler and asked where they were bound or where they’d been.
    Surely she could hide from all those who wanted her dead.
    *****
    Morgan dusted off the sides of his jeans and stomped the miles of dirt from his boots. He’d been to Arizona and New Mexico, and now he was back in Texas. He’d searched for Casey and Jenkins since May, and here it was July. He still limped after a long day in the saddle, and the comforts of home sounded good. The hotel near the livery in Houston advertised a good meal, a bed, and a bath. He sorely needed all three. Come tomorrow evening, he planned to ride toward his ranch and see how he could help his mother and family. Leaving her to run his place was another one of those things that needed to change. She’d sold the ranch to him some years back, but he’d wanted her to stay, along with his younger brother and sister. Now she ran the place like a man because he was out chasing Jenkins. What a good son he’d turned out to be.
    Bone-tired, Morgan reflected on the days since leaving Vernal, sleeping little and pondering, always wondering what to do. How to end the vendetta? How to go on with his life? How to forget Casey? The answers lay in returning to the Lord, but he rode on in search of another way, his own way.
    At times he prayed. At times he cursed the God who gave him life. Sometimes he wept. It just came more easily to ride mile after mile, to run away from the demons hot on his trail. When sleep refused to ease his pain, he stared up at the sky and remembered the full moon and the many stars the night he led Casey down from the snow-covered mountain. Then the torment began again. He barely knew this woman. He should hate her.
    Anxious for an end to it all, Morgan considered putting a bullet in his head. But he feared facing God as much as he feared the moment-by-moment nightmares.
    I’m a coward. Don’t even have the guts to finish it.
    All of his anguish had brought him to Houston. A part of him said his mother deserved a son who didn’t look like