A Mating of Hawks by Jeanne Williams Page B

around.

IV
    It was late before Tracy knew by his heavy breathing that he finally slept. Gently freeing her numbed hand from his, she went silently downstairs. A few electric sconces dimly lit the halls. She turned down the one leading to her room.
    A cry rose in her throat as a figure loomed before her. Fingers clamped over her mouth. A steel-muscled arm dragged her against a hard, powerful body.
    â€œTracy!” came a startled whisper. “What the hell, honey? It’s just me!”
    As she quieted, Judd cautiously took his hand off her mouth. He kept his other arm around her, though it was loose now, no longer a pinion.
    â€œI—I—” Swept back to the panic of that night six months ago, she couldn’t talk.
    Judd turned her about and marched her to the kitchen, a big room with all the modernities amidst dark-blue and sun-yellow Mexican tile, sculptured adobe niches and much bright copper. Installing her in Concha’s rocking chair, he got a glass of milk, laced it amply with Tia Maria, and gave it to her.
    â€œI’m sorry I scared you.” He spread his big square hands appealingly. “Just thought I could show you the moon.”
    Restored by reality and the warming liqueur, Tracy managed a laugh. “All is forgiven. But please don’t lurk around in the dark.”
    He frowned, pulling over a low bench so that he could look directly into her eyes. “You were more than startled, you were terrified! Why, Tracy?”
    She shook her head. The pulse throbbed sledgingly in her throat so that she seemed to feel again those strangling, brutal fingers. “I—I’d rather not talk about it.”
    She would have risen but he imprisoned her, setting a hand on either arm of the rocker. “Something’s happened. I don’t remember much about you, but you were no scaredy-cat.”
    â€œPlease!”
    The pupils of his eyes had dilated, leaving only a thin circle of gold around their blackness. “You were raped!”
    She shook her head, beginning to tremble.
    â€œThen what?”
    Maybe it would help to tell. Stumblingly, eyes fixed on her tightly clasped hands, she explained. Judd was breathing heavily by the time she finished. Springing up, he gripped his hands behind him, paced the length of the room.
    â€œSo that pervert’s being coddled by the shrinks till he can be turned loose!”
    â€œI told you, he went berserk in Viet Nam—”
    â€œThat’s an excuse?” Judd turned on his heel. “You wait right here.”
    He was back in a few minutes. “Keep this.” He handed her a small gun.
    She stared at the blue-black barrel, the carved ivory handle. “I don’t shoot.”
    â€œThen I’ll damned well teach you.”
    â€œBut, Judd, I’m not in Houston!”
    â€œYou’re safe enough in this house,” he agreed. “But if you’re out driving or walking alone, you could run into some dangerous types on the ranch. Hippies running drugs, Commies running guns, illegals—”
    â€œOh, come on, Judd! Illegal aliens just want work. I never heard of their hurting anyone.”
    â€œThey sure have taken to robbery. Just ask anyone who lives along the border. Over around Douglas, where two ranchers were tried for defending their home, folks are ready to shoot to kill.”
    â€œWeren’t those ranchers on trial for torturing an illegal?”
    Judd grunted. “They just wanted to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget. Hell, they could have just killed him and dumped the body down an old mine shaft. He’d never even have been missed.”
    Except by some woman, some old parents or children down in Mexico? Tracy shook her head, tried to give back the gun. “I don’t know how to use it.”
    He let out an explosive breath. “After what happened to you? You’d by God better learn!”
    When she still held out the weapon, he took a deep breath, spoke