Montana Sky by Nora Roberts Page B

hitched as she ran a tongue over her teeth. “I think I’ve got some of your shirt in my mouth. Turn me loose, Ben.”
    â€œSo you can bite me again, or try to kick my balls into my throat?” Since they were still aching—more than a little—he narrowed his eyes, sneered. “You fight like a girl.”
    â€œSo what? It works.”
    His mood was shifting again. He could feel that hot, slick transition from temper to lust, from insult to interest. The way they’d ended up, her breasts were pressed nicely against his chest, and her legs were spread with his snugged between them.
    â€œYeah, it does. You being female seems to suit the situation.”
    She saw the change in his eyes, teetered between panic and longing. “Don’t.” His mouth was barely an inch from hers now, and her breath was gone again.
    â€œWhy not? It’s not going to hurt anybody.”
    â€œI don’t want your mouth on me.”
    He lifted a brow, and he smiled. “Liar.”
    And she shuddered. “Yeah.”
    His mouth was only a whisper from hers when she heard the first piercing screams.

FIVE
    B EN ROLLED , GAINED HIS FEET . THIS TIME , AS WILLA RAN behind him she could admire the speed with which he could move. The screams were still echoing when he wrenched open the front door.
    â€œChrist.” He muttered it even as he stepped over the bloody mess on the porch and gathered Lily in his arms. “It’s all right, honey.” Automatically he shifted so that he blocked her view and, with his hands stroking easy down her back, looked over her head into Willa’s eyes.
    The shock was there, but it wasn’t the quaking, glassy-eyed horror of the woman he held. This one was fragile, he thought, whereas Willa would always be sturdy.
    â€œYou ought to get her inside,” he said to Willa.
    But Willa was shaking her head, staring down now at the mangled and bloody mess at her feet. “Must be one of the barn cats.” Or it had been, she thought grimly, before someone had decapitated it and cut its guts open and left it like a gory gift at her front door.
    â€œTake her inside, Will,” Ben repeated.
    The screams had brought others running. Adam was thefirst to reach the porch. The first thing he saw was Lily weeping in Ben’s arms. The quick hitch in his gut had almost as much to do with that as what he saw spread on the porch.
    Instinctively he stepped up, laid a hand on her arm, soothing when she jerked. “It’s all right, Lily.”
    â€œAdam, I saw . . .” Nausea churned a storm in her stomach.
    â€œI know. You go on inside now. Look at me,” he murmured, carefully easing her away from Ben and leading her around and toward the door. “Willa’s going to take you inside.”
    â€œLook, I’ve got—”
    â€œTake care of your sister, Will,” Adam interrupted, and taking her hand, placed it firmly over Lily’s.
    Willa lost the battle when Lily’s hand trembled under hers. With a mumbled oath she tugged. “Come on. You need to sit down.”
    â€œI saw—”
    â€œYeah, I know what you saw. Forget it.” Willa closed the door with a decisive click, leaving the men to ponder the headless corpse on the porch.
    â€œChrist, Adam, is that a cat?” Jim Brewster swiped a hand over his mouth. “Somebody sure did a number on it.”
    Adam glanced back, studying each man in turn: Jim, face pale, Adam’s apple bobbing; Ham tight-lipped; Pickles with a rifle over his shoulder. There was Billy Vincent, barely eighteen and all eager eyes, and Wood Book, stroking his silky black beard.
    It was Wood who spoke, his voice calm. “Where’s the head? Don’t see it there.” He stepped closer. It was Wood who oversaw the planting, tending, and harvesting of grain, and his wife, Nell, who cooked for the ranch hands. He smelled of Old Spice and peppermint candy. Adam knew