stiffened with fear.
"I'm
real sorry to do this," he admitted, and she held her breath.
"Especially not even knowing your name, or nothin', but I'm afraid I've
got no choice. I don't suppose waiting would make it any easier."
He
ran his hand slowly down her hip and followed the line of her thigh. This was
ridiculous. He couldn't. Not with a baby strapped to his chest, on a horse, out
in the open.... He reached her ankle and pulled up slightly on her skirts. Oh,
dear God! He intended to! The bravado which had stood her in such good stead
over the last week broke as the cool air tickled her skin and sent shivers up
her legs. Hail Mary, full of Grace, she prayed. I know it's been a long
time. She could feel his warm hand on her bare leg and her breath caught in
her throat. No. No. No!
His
hand inched higher, burning a path upward until it stopped suddenly and she
heard the fabric ripping beneath his hands. All those years at St. Andrew's
School and the words wouldn't come to her. Nothing came to her except the
memory of nights in the dark and groping hands. Hail Mary, full of Grace...
Hail Mary... Oh dear God!
She
twisted around and stared at him in horror, tears threatening in her eyes. The
son of a bitch looked at her and shook his head pityingly. She couldn't believe
it. Quickly she turned away, looked back at the ground, not wanting to give him
the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She could feel him still fumbling behind
her and pictured what he was doing. Just like the last time, she had to imagine
and suppose in the dark. Yes, her knowledge of men and women was limited, but
he'd have to get her off the horse, put down the baby....
She
was trembling all over. Even the horse was aware of it as he stomped his feet
impatiently. Well, he'd have to untie her to get at her, and then she could
defend herself. She could run. She felt incredibly stupid and vulnerable. Where
could she run? With what could she defend herself? The man and his horse were
in their element, obviously. And she was at their mercy.
"Now
there, Sweet Mary, it's just a petticoat. Nothing to cry over. I'd offer to buy
you another, but I'm sure we won't be together all that long. Besides, seems to
me it isn't even yours, is it? Didn't wait long before layin' claim to
everything she had, did ya?"
A
soiled diaper fell to the ground with a thud, its ammonia fumes rising up
toward her and making her gag. Relief warmed her body and she sagged against the horse,
surprised to find that she had been as rigid as a corpse.
"Lucky
thing we brought along Sweet Mary, huh son? Sweet Mary and her supply of these
rags. Looks like providence and your mama's gonna provide just fine for
you."
The
baby, oblivious to all but his own comforts, made the usual baby noises. His
gurgling reassured Mary Grace that the experience hadn't harmed him any, so
far. For a fleeting moment, it occurred to her to warn their captor what would
inevitably happen now that the crisp April air was hitting the baby's little
acorn. But a string of curses told her it was too late, even if she'd been
willing to alert him. Or able.
"Shit!"
the man yelled out, trying to aim the child away from him, spraying her still
bared leg in the process, dampening her satisfaction only slightly.
"What
are you doing, you little..."
Mary
Grace felt the shaking before she could recognize its origin. The horse pranced
nervously beneath them, and the baby stopped the jabbering he had begun.
Dear
God, if he hurts that child, I'll rip his putrid eyes out of their sockets and
shove them down his bloody throat! And then she heard it, quiet at first,
and growing louder till it filled the valley around them. He was actually
laughing, a belly laugh that shook against her, nudging her sore side against
the saddle horn.
"Well,
I've gone and produced a goddamn water fountain, haven't I? Don't feel bad,
kid. Same thing happens to your old man when the cold air hits his privates,
too. Good to know we've got something in
"I'm
real sorry to do this," he admitted, and she held her breath.
"Especially not even knowing your name, or nothin', but I'm afraid I've
got no choice. I don't suppose waiting would make it any easier."
He
ran his hand slowly down her hip and followed the line of her thigh. This was
ridiculous. He couldn't. Not with a baby strapped to his chest, on a horse, out
in the open.... He reached her ankle and pulled up slightly on her skirts. Oh,
dear God! He intended to! The bravado which had stood her in such good stead
over the last week broke as the cool air tickled her skin and sent shivers up
her legs. Hail Mary, full of Grace, she prayed. I know it's been a long
time. She could feel his warm hand on her bare leg and her breath caught in
her throat. No. No. No!
His
hand inched higher, burning a path upward until it stopped suddenly and she
heard the fabric ripping beneath his hands. All those years at St. Andrew's
School and the words wouldn't come to her. Nothing came to her except the
memory of nights in the dark and groping hands. Hail Mary, full of Grace...
Hail Mary... Oh dear God!
She
twisted around and stared at him in horror, tears threatening in her eyes. The
son of a bitch looked at her and shook his head pityingly. She couldn't believe
it. Quickly she turned away, looked back at the ground, not wanting to give him
the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She could feel him still fumbling behind
her and pictured what he was doing. Just like the last time, she had to imagine
and suppose in the dark. Yes, her knowledge of men and women was limited, but
he'd have to get her off the horse, put down the baby....
She
was trembling all over. Even the horse was aware of it as he stomped his feet
impatiently. Well, he'd have to untie her to get at her, and then she could
defend herself. She could run. She felt incredibly stupid and vulnerable. Where
could she run? With what could she defend herself? The man and his horse were
in their element, obviously. And she was at their mercy.
"Now
there, Sweet Mary, it's just a petticoat. Nothing to cry over. I'd offer to buy
you another, but I'm sure we won't be together all that long. Besides, seems to
me it isn't even yours, is it? Didn't wait long before layin' claim to
everything she had, did ya?"
A
soiled diaper fell to the ground with a thud, its ammonia fumes rising up
toward her and making her gag. Relief warmed her body and she sagged against the horse,
surprised to find that she had been as rigid as a corpse.
"Lucky
thing we brought along Sweet Mary, huh son? Sweet Mary and her supply of these
rags. Looks like providence and your mama's gonna provide just fine for
you."
The
baby, oblivious to all but his own comforts, made the usual baby noises. His
gurgling reassured Mary Grace that the experience hadn't harmed him any, so
far. For a fleeting moment, it occurred to her to warn their captor what would
inevitably happen now that the crisp April air was hitting the baby's little
acorn. But a string of curses told her it was too late, even if she'd been
willing to alert him. Or able.
"Shit!"
the man yelled out, trying to aim the child away from him, spraying her still
bared leg in the process, dampening her satisfaction only slightly.
"What
are you doing, you little..."
Mary
Grace felt the shaking before she could recognize its origin. The horse pranced
nervously beneath them, and the baby stopped the jabbering he had begun.
Dear
God, if he hurts that child, I'll rip his putrid eyes out of their sockets and
shove them down his bloody throat! And then she heard it, quiet at first,
and growing louder till it filled the valley around them. He was actually
laughing, a belly laugh that shook against her, nudging her sore side against
the saddle horn.
"Well,
I've gone and produced a goddamn water fountain, haven't I? Don't feel bad,
kid. Same thing happens to your old man when the cold air hits his privates,
too. Good to know we've got something in
Similar Books
