Hawk's Way: Rebels: The Temporary Groom. Joan Johnston
a sense of panic growing inside her.
“Aww, Cher-ry,” he slurred drunkenly. “You know you want it.” His hand closed around her breast.
“Ray! No!” she cried. She grabbed his wrist and yanked it away and heard the chiffon rip as his grasping fingers held fast to the cloth. “Ray, please!” she pleaded.
Then she felt his hand on her bare flesh. “No, Ray. No!”
“Gonna have you, Cher-ry,” Ray muttered. “Always wanted to. Know you want it, too.”
Cherry suddenly realized she might be in even worse trouble than she’d thought.
BILLY STONECREEK was in trouble. Again. His former mother-in-law, Penelope Trask, was furious because he had gotten into a little fight in a bar in town and spent the night in jail—for the third time in a year.
He had a live-in housekeeper to stay with his daughters, so they were never alone. He figured he’d been a pretty damned good single parent to his six-year-old twins, Raejean and Annie, ever since their mother’s death a year ago. But you’d never know it to hear Penelope talk.
Hell, a young man of twenty-five who worked hard on his ranch from dawn to dusk all week deserved to sow a few wild oats at week’s end. His ears rang with the memory of their confrontation in his living room earlier that evening.
“You’re a drunken half-breed,” Penelope snapped, “not fit to raise my grandchildren. And if I have anything to say about it, you won’t have them for much longer!”
Billy felt a burning rage that Penelope should say such a thing while Raejean and Annie were standing right there listening. Especially since he hadn’t been the least bit drunk. He’d been looking for a fight, all right, and he’d found it in a bar, but that was all.
There was no hope his daughters hadn’t heard Penelope. Their Nintendo game continued on the living room TV, but both girls were staring wide-eyed at him. “Raejean. Annie. Go upstairs while I talk to Nana.”
“But, Daddy—” Raejean began. She was the twin who took control of every situation.
“Not a word,” he said in a firm voice. “Go.”
Annie’s dark brown eyes welled with tears. She was the twin with the soft heart.
He wanted to pick them both up and hug them, but he forced himself to point an authoritative finger toward the doorway. “Upstairs and get your baths and get ready for bed. Mrs. Motherwell will be up to help in a minute.” He had hired the elderly woman on the spot when he heard her name. She had proven equal to it.
Raejean shot him a reproachful look, took Annie’s hand, and stomped out of the room with Annie trailing behind her.
Once they were gone, Billy turned his attention back to his nemesis. “What is it this time, Penelope?”
“This time! What is it every time? You drove my Laura to kill herself, and now you’re neglecting my grandchildren. I’ve had it. I went to see a lawyer today. I’ve filed for custody of my granddaughters.”
A chill of foreboding crawled down Billy’s spine. “You’ve done what?”
“You heard me. I want custody of Raejean and Annie.”
“Those are my children you’re talking about.”
“They’ll have a better life with me than they will with a half-breed like you.”
“Being part Comanche isn’t a crime, Penelope. Lots of people in America are part something. Hell, you’re probably part Irish or English or French yourself.”
“Your kind has a reputation for not being able to hold their liquor. Obviously, it’s a problem for you, too. I don’t intend to let my grandchildren suffer for it.”
A flush rose on Billy’s high, sharp cheekbones. He refused to defend himself. It was none of Penelope’s business whether he drank or not. But he didn’t. He went looking for a fight when the pain built up inside, and he needed a release for it. But he chose men able to defend themselves, he fought clean, and he willingly paid the damages afterward.
He hated the idea of kowtowing to Penelope, but he didn’t want a court battle with her, either. She and her husband, Harvey Trask, were wealthy; he was not. In fact, the Trasks had given this ranch—an edge carved from the larger Trask ranching empire—as a wedding present to their daughter, Laura, thereby ensuring that the newlyweds would stay close to home.
He had resented their generosity at first, but he had grown to love the land, and now he was no more willing to give up the Stonecreek Ranch than he was to relinquish his children.
But his behavior over the past year couldn’t stand much scrutiny. He supposed the reason he had started those few barroom brawls wouldn’t matter to a judge. And he could never have revealed to anyone the personal pain that had led to such behavior. So he had no excuses to offer Penelope—or a family court judge, either.
“Look, Penelope, I’m sorry. What if I promise—”
“Don’t waste your breath. I never wanted my daughter to marry a man like you in the first place. My granddaughters deserve to be raised in a wholesome household where they won’t be exposed to your kind.”
“What kind is that?” Billy asked pointedly.
“The kind that doesn’t have any self-respect, and therefore can’t pass it on to their children.”
Billy felt his stomach roll. It was a toss-up whether he felt more humiliated or furious at her accusation. “I have plenty of self-respect.”
“Could have fooled me!” Penelope retorted.
“I’m not letting you take my kids away from me.”
“You can’t stop me.” She didn’t argue with him further, simply headed for the front door—she never used the back, as most people in this part of Texas did. “I’ll see you in court, Billy.”
Then she was gone.
Billy stood in the middle of the toy-strewn living room, furnished with the formal satin-covered couches and chairs Laura had chosen, feeling helpless. Moments later he was headed for the back door. He paused long enough to yell up the stairs, “I’m going out, Mrs. Motherwell. Good night, Raejean. Good night, Annie.”
“Good night, Daddy!” the two of them yelled back from the bathtub in unison.
Mrs. Motherwell appeared at the top of the stairs. “Don’t forget this is my last week, Mr. Stonecreek. You’ll need to find someone else starting Monday morning.”
“I know, Mrs. Motherwell,” Billy said with a sigh. He had Penelope to thank for that, too. She had filled Mrs. Motherwell’s head with stories about him being a dangerous savage. His granite-hewn features, his untrimmed black hair, his broad shoulders and immense height, and a pair of dark, brooding eyes did nothing to dispel the image. But he couldn’t help how he looked. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Motherwell. I’ll find someone to replace you.”
He was the one who was worried. How was he going to find someone as capable as Mrs. Motherwell in a week? It had taken him a month to find her.
He let the kitchen screen door slam and gunned the engine in his black pickup as he drove away. But he couldn’t escape his frenetic thoughts.
I’ll be damned if I let Penelope take my kids away from me. Who does she think she is? How dare she threaten to steal my children!
He knew his girls needed a mother. Sometimes he missed Laura so much it made his gut ache. But no other woman could ever take her place. He had hired a series of good housekeeper/nannies one after another—it was hard to get help to stay at his isolated ranch—and he and his girls had managed fine.
Or they would, if Penelope and Harvey Trask would leave them alone.
Unfortunately, Penelope blamed him for Laura’s