The Restless Virgin. Peggy Moreland

over her thudding heart. “Reed, you nearly scared me to death,” she accused him.

      He chuckled. “A little jumpy tonight, aren’t you, Sam?”

      She heaved a breath, trying to slow her heart’s racing. She didn’t like Reed. He had a way of looking at her that made her skin crawl. “No, you just startled me.” She started to move around him, anxious to get to the house and away from him, but Reed stepped in front of her, blocking her path. Sam snapped up her head to frown at him.

      “How’d you do in Guthrie?”

      “I ran slack, so I won’t know the results until tomorrow, but I held the fastest time when I left.” Wearily, she pushed a stray wisp of hair away from her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m tired.”

      “I’ll bet you’re a little stiff, too, considerin’ that long drive and all.” He stepped closer, putting a hand on her arm and running it from elbow to wrist. Goose bumps pebbled Sam’s skin while the nauseating smell of cheap whiskey and sweat swirled beneath her nose. “I could give you a rubdown,” he offered. “Ease the ache a little. What do ya say?”

      Sam jerked free of his grasp, her nostrils pinched in anger. “No thanks,” she muttered, brushing past him.

      A hand at her arm stopped her, and before she could react, Reed had spun her around and slammed her up against the barn wall, his hands cuffed around her wrists above her head.

      “What’s the matter, Sam?” he sneered. “You think because you’re a McCloud you’re too good for the likes of me?”

      Terror squeezed Sam’s chest at the hatred in his eyes and she tried to press her head farther back against the wall. “N-no,” she stammered, fighting hard to hide her fear. “I’m just tired, is all.”

      He took a step nearer, pressing his body against hers, pinning her harder against the wall. “You won’t be for long,” he promised, his voice low and menacing. “Reed Wester knows how to make a woman forget most anything.”

      “Let me go, Reed,” she pleaded as she squirmed, trying to break free.

      “Ah, come on, Sammie girl. You know you want it. You’ve been twitchin’ that sassy little butt of yours in my face for months, just beggin’ for it.”

      “No!” she cried, horrified that he’d think such a thing. “I haven’t. I swear. Just let me go, Reed, please.”

      He buried his nose at her neck, his breath hot and rancid against her bare skin. “I’ve watched you ride that horse of yours bareback, watched you squeeze your thighs against his sides. The whole time I imagined it was me those thighs were wrapped around, and me you were pressing that hot crotch against.” His teeth grazed her skin. “And I know you were wishin’ the same damn thing.”

      Before Sam could deny his claim, he moved his mouth up her throat, the hard stubble on his jaw scraping against her sensitive skin. The stench of whiskey and sweat grew stronger, making her head swim, her stomach chum. She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat and forced herself to think. She knew she had to get away from him. But how? All the men who worked the Double-Cross would be asleep in the bunkhouse at this hour, but if she screamed loud enough...

      “Let me go, Reed,” she warned as she continued to fight his grip on her hands. “Or I swear I’ll scream and have every wrangler on the Double-Cross swarming in here.”

      He quickly shifted her wrists to one meaty hand, then clapped the other over her mouth. “Don’t even think about it,” he threatened in a low voice. He dropped his hand and Sam quickly sucked in air to scream, but before she could release it, his mouth slammed against hers.

      Tears burned behind Sam’s closed lids while fear turned every muscle in her body to steel. She wouldn’t succumb to him, she told herself. She’d die first. Using every ounce of strength she possessed, she thrust herself hard against him, hoping to unbalance him, then lifted a boot, slamming it down hard on his instep.

      He yelped in pain, but didn’t loosen his hold on her. “You bitch!” he snarled, ramming his body harder against hers to prevent her from trying the same tactic again. But Sam wasn’t through fighting yet. When he dipped his face toward her again, she sank her teeth into his cheek. With a howl, Reed reared back, staring at her in surprise. Then his eyes narrowed dangerously. He closed a hand over her breast and squeezed hard, smiling as her face contorted in pain.

      “You shoulda told me you like it rough,” he growled, then stabbed his tongue between her parted lips and dug his fingers deeper into her breast.

      Sam twisted her head back and forth against the rough barn wall, frantically trying to escape the suffocating pressure of his mouth, the pain his fingers inflicted on her tender flesh. But she was helpless against his greater strength.

      A sob rose in her throat Please, God, please don’t let him do this to me, she cried silently.

      The prayer had barely formed when he tore his mouth from hers. He stared at her, his eyes wild and dark, while a demonic smile twisted his lips. “I been waitin’ for this for a long time.” He placed a thick finger at the opening of her western blouse, then curled it until it lay in the valley between her breasts. Sam’s blood ran cold at the invasion, at the heat and roughness of his calloused finger on her bare flesh.

      Chuckling, he muttered, “Let’s see what you’ve got,” then jerked the finger down. Buttons rained on the hard-packed dirt floor while Sam shrank against the wall, trying her best to melt into it.

      Knowing that this might well be her last and only hope for rescue, she opened her mouth and let loose a scream that she prayed would reach the bunkhouse. Reed slapped a hand over her mouth, knocking her head hard against the wall, then yanked her away from it, twisting her arm behind her back. She managed to suck in one shocked breath before his hand closed over her mouth again.

      “You’re gonna regret that,” he warned her. He shoved her kicking and fighting ahead of him into an empty stall and knocked her down on the scattered straw.

      Instinctively, Sam rolled, but before she could escape, he pinned her to the stall floor. Her breath burned in her lungs as she bucked and kicked, trying to escape.

      He quickly moved to straddle her. Fumbling for his belt buckle with his free hand, he ordered roughly, “Spread your legs.” When she didn’t respond, he closed a hand around her throat and squeezed. “I said spread ’em!”

      Choking for air, Sam clawed at his fingers.

      “What’s going on here!”

      Reed twisted at the sound of the male voice, giving Sam a view of the open stall door. Gabe Peters, her father’s ranch foreman, stood in the opening, aiming a flashlight at the two of them.

      Reed tightened his fingers on her neck. “Me and Sam was just havin’ us a little fun. Weren’t we, Sammie girl?” he prodded, daring her to disagree with him.

      “No!” The single word scraped like a dull razor at her closed, raw throat. “Gabe, please,” she begged hoarsely while she continued to fight Reed’s hold on her, “help me!”

      With a feral growl, Gabe tossed the flashlight aside and grabbed Reed by the back of the collar and hauled him to his feet. Footsteps pounded in the alleyway as more wranglers appeared on the scene. Turning, Gabe thrust Reed at the first man who appeared at the stall door. “See that he packs his gear. Then I want you to personally escort him off the Double-Cross.” Without questioning the order, four men quickly surrounded Reed and dragged him away. “And if your fists happen to connect with his face in the process,” Gabe yelled after them, “so much the better.”

      Once the men were out of sight, Gabe dropped to a knee beside Sam, his voice growing gentle. “Honey, are you okay?”

      Sam shrank away from his touch, clutching her torn blouse in white-knuckled hands. “I want to go home, Gabe,” she said, finally giving in to the tears. “I—I just want to go h-home.”

      “Just