Hannah Howell - Stolen Ecstasy

A LEISURE BOOK

June 1991

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc. 276 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10001

Copyright 1991 by Hannah Howell

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, withut the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

The name "Leisure Books" and the stylized "L" with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Printed in the United States of America

CLS 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Chapter One

Colorado, 1870

"I'M NOT YOUR MA

Hardly aware that she still lay sprawled in the dirt where her mother had pushed her, Leanne stared at Charity. "Not my mother?"

"Not your mother," Charity said with every evidence of glee. "You little bitch." Charity spat out the words. "Since you've been home, I've had to put up with your fancy ways, and I won't any longer. I told Grant this wouldn't work, told him years ago when he forced me to take you on. Wouldn't even let me be your aunt, had to be your ma. Well, I'm not your ma. Never was. Not even your blood kin. Your ma was nothing but a cheap whore, and it's clear blood will tell. Not even a month back home and you're stealing my man."

Clovis, standing behind Charity in the doorway, whined, "She tempted me sorely, Charity. I'm only a man, darling. I couldn't help myself."

"Shut up, you fool," Charity snapped and Clovis disappeared into the house. She then went back to glaring at Leanne. "Well, that does it. I'm finished. He doesn't pay me enough for this. You're on your own, honey."

"But, Mama..." she began, her voice shaking.

"Don't call me that. I should've left you to rot at that school."

Leanne almost said, 'You did,' but now was not the time to be airing grievances and old hurts. Even though she was facing yet another rejection in a life painfully filled with them, there was a more immediate concern.

"But who... where can I go?"

"Go to your paGrant Summers. And tell that bastard he owes me three months upkeep."

"Grant Summerswho is he? And where is he?" Leanne demanded somewhat hysterically as Charity started to shut the door.

"Denver."

"But that's hundreds of miles away."

Staring at the shut door, Leanne told herself it was all a nightmare, that she would wake up any moment back in her own beda bed without a sweating Clovis crawling all over her and telling her how good he was going to make her feel.

Something fell at her side and she stared at her cloak. She looked up in time to see Clovis shoved away from the window just before Charity slammed it. She wondered dazedly if Clovis was going to suffer any punishment at all for what he had done.

A cool breeze made her shiver and she reached for her cloak. Standing up, she started to put it on, staring at the house she had thought was her home. A part of her waited for the woman she had always thought of as her mother to open the door and let her back in. It was not until the house grew dark that she finally gave up hope.

"I'm not your ma."

The words echoed through her mind, making her wince. She found it impossible to believe. She had no memory of anyone except Charity. The woman had been cold, sarcastic and sometimes cruel, but she had been all the family Leanne had ever known, the only real tie she had ever had anywhere. She had formed none at school, where she had been viewed as a kind of barbarian, an uncivilized Westerner, no matter how hard she had tried to fit in. She had formed none in Clayville, where she had been viewed as an outsider because of her schooling and the long absences it had entailed. There had only been Charity, and now even that thin bond was cut.

"And who the blazes is Grant Summers anyhow?" she muttered and kicked at a stone, only to be painfully reminded that she was barefoot. "That is what I call adding insult to injury," she groaned as she bent to rub her sore toes.

Suddenly, she was all too aware that she was standing in the streets of Clayville in her nightgown. The cloak was adequate cover, but knowing that a thin cotton nightgown, somewhat torn by Clovis's rough hands, was all she wore beneath it was enough to cause her acute embarrassment. Glancing, around she was both relieved and frightened to find the streets deserted. She realized how very late it was. That meant that probably no one had witnessed her being thrown out, but it also meant she would have even more difficulty in finding someone to help her.

There was always the sheriff, she mused, but she did not see how Martin could help her. Hers was a family problem, not a legal one. Leanne did not think there was any law against a parent throwing a child out into the street.

"I'm not your ma."

Charity had certainly not acted much like any mother Leanne had ever heard of or met. Other mothers might be aloof, but none of them had had a succession of 'gentlemen friends,' as Charity called them. Or if they did, they were far more discreet about it. Probably had more taste too, Leanne thought nastily as her anger began to rise.

Everything she owned, little as it was, was inside that house. She decided that was reason enough to go to the sheriff. It was robbery plain and simple. If the woman was going to thrust her out into the streets she could at least thrust out what belonged to her as well. With a final glare at the house, Leanne marched off to the sheriff.

By the time she saw the sheriff, she had pushed aside her hurt and confusion, replacing it with anger. She didn't stop to wonder why the sheriff was lurking outside the bank. He looked horrified when she marched up to him. Leanne decided he was probably just shocked. She doubted he had seen many young ladies wandering around in the middle of the night half-dressed.

"Sheriff, I require your assistance."

"Get out of here, Miss Summers," he croaked. "Go on, get out of here."

"I would," she snapped, "if I had some place to get out of here to. Is there something wrong?" she asked when she noticed how he kept looking in the window of the bank. "Is there supposed to be a light on in there?"

She glanced at him curiously when he groaned. He was shaking, and his eyes were the most restless she had ever seen. The sheriff's gaze flickered nervously over the town, to her, to the inside of the bank and back to the town. She felt he ought to be concentrating on the bank, for Mr. Poitier never left a light on.

"I think you ought to look into this, Sheriff," she said as she sidled up to the window.

"Please, go home, Miss Summers," he said, a distinct tremor in his voice.

"I have no home to go to. That is what I came to speak to you about."

Standing on her tiptoes she was just able to peer in the bank window. What she saw made her heart skip a beat. There were five masked men in the bank, and they were in the last stages of picking it clean. She looked at the sheriff, sure he must be aware of what was going on, but he just stood there staring at her.

"The bank is being robbed," she hissed. "Aren't you going to do something?"

"Please go home, Miss Summers," he whined.

"I keep telling you, I have no home to go to. Well, if you are just going to stand there and cower, I shall do something."

She yanked his gun out of his holster, and stared as he hissed a curse and raced off down the street. There was a chance he was going to get some other men and she wondered if she should just wait. Then she shook her head. The man had been acting so strangely, there was no depending on him. Although she did not know what she could do against five men, she decided she had to do something. She could not simply stand there and let them steal everything, nor could she run for help. There was no time left. From what she had seen, they were very nearly done.