The Devil's Cowboy Page 4

  Disgusted, she went back to her search. The only real fact she unearthed was that Rafe was thirty-five years old. Although he’d gotten quite a bit of publicity over the last ten or twelve years, to her surprise he never seemed to seek it out. Most of the time he declined to be interviewed, leaving the writers to use their imaginations to fill in the details of the cases he worked. His reticence seemed only to heighten their interest in him.

  Melanie paced through the house restlessly, stopping in the dining room every now and then to peer over Ellen’s shoulder at the computer screen.

  “Well, it looks like your cowboy may be the real deal,” Ellen admitted grudgingly. “He seems to spend as much time exposing hoaxes as he does communicating with the spirit world. And he’s no publicity hound. In fact, he shuns the spotlight. I can’t find a single interview he’s given to the press. Oh, there are quite a few first-person accounts from those he helped. One family swears they owe their lives and their sanity to him. But it’s as though they’ve been carefully coached. They really don’t go into any details about how he managed to rid their home of a poltergeist.”

  Melanie sighed heavily and sank down on the nearest chair. “I don’t care how he does whatever he does. I just hope he—and you—can make this nightmare go away. I’ve never been so scared, El. How do I protect my children against something I can’t even see?”

  “Have faith in us, Melanie. We can help you.” Ellen shut the laptop. Rising, she gave her friend a hug. “Come on. Let’s pick up Amy early from preschool. Auntie Ellen wants to buy her a Happy Meal and then play dolls out in the back yard while mommy takes a much-needed nap.”

  By the time Rafe arrived a few hours later, Ellen had managed to calm her friend and even had little Amy giggling. Mother and daughter left to pick up Adam from school, all three planning to spend a few hours at the park.

  “We’ll bring home a pizza for dinner,” Melanie called on her way out the door. “Rafe, you’re welcome to join us,” she added, always the gracious hostess.

  He took off his hat and stepped inside. “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to see how things go. I may need to do some homework later.”

  The minute she laid eyes on him, Ellen slammed down the mental barricades that shielded her mind from his. All afternoon she’d been flooded with images of all sorts of naughty things they could do now that they had a whole house to themselves for a few hours. Some of them made her blush. Although she wrote erotic romances, she’d never actually done any of the really wild things she wrote about. There was something about this long lean cowboy that made her desperate to change that. But there was no way she’d risk letting him read her thoughts and find out that his mere presence turned her into a shameless slut.

  She took a moment to compose herself, shut the door, then turned and gave him a mocking smile. “Homework?”

  “Why yes, ma’am.” His tone was polite, but underneath the mild response Ellen sensed a core of steel. This man didn’t respond to taunts or mockery. His self-worth wasn’t based on what anyone else thought or said. “Don’t you spend time preparing yourself when you’re about to face an unseen enemy?” he asked.

  She stared at him thoughtfully. “Yes, I do. I meditate, I pray, I ask my spirit guides for protection and assistance. I just never thought of it as homework.”

  “I try to put what I do into terms folks can relate to,” he explained. “I find it eases their nerves when they’re faced with the unseen world. Now, before you show me around this old place, let’s get rid of the snake in the corral.” She gave him a quizzical look. “It’s an expression my granddaddy used to use. I’m talking about the issue we both know is on the table that can derail this joint venture of ours before it even begins. I say we put our cards on the table. You’re wondering if I’m some kind of scam artist or have a hidden agenda for being here. You’ve had time to check me out, find out if I’m for real. Do you have any questions?”

  “You’re right. I did check you out. And you probably did the same with me.”

  He nodded. “You’d be a fool not to… and so would I. There are too many phonies out there. I read up about you a little. You do psychic readings, seem to have a pretty loyal following. But I don’t need to find out about you online to know you’re for real. I can feel your power. I felt it when we met this morning.” He reached out and took her hand.

  Ellen gasped. The tingle flowed through her like a mild electrical shock, leaving all her senses heightened. This time it wasn’t sexual. A white light pulsed with his heartbeat, radiated all around him.

  His eyes met hers. “I feel it too, coming from you. Together we seem to be far more powerful than either of us is alone, more powerful than anything I’ve ever experienced. Whatever evil resides here, we can cope with it, defeat it, send it back where it belongs.” He stopped, then softly asked, “Do you trust me?”

  Ellen pulled her hand back. “My rational mind screams ‘hell, no.’ I barely know you. How can I trust you? But all my instincts are saying yes.”

  His voice was soft, soothing. “I don’t know how much experience you’ve had with dark forces, Ellen. As for me, I’ve had more than my share. For now, all you need to do is believe that I can keep us safe today, whatever we encounter. Let me take the lead.”

  He flashed that devastating, slightly crooked smile and took her hand again. “Now let’s take a stroll through this here so-called ‘haunted house.’”

  Chapter Four

  Rafe paused in the foyer, bowing his head. “We come today to help those whose spirit dwells here, both the living and the dead. We ask that you send your angels to guide us. Let us bring comfort and peace to the souls we encounter and make this home once again a sanctuary, a place to nurture and support the young family living here. Let the white light of our creator protect and surround us as we do the work we were born to do.”

  He turned to Ellen. “You and I may see and feel and hear the same things. Or our experiences may be totally different if we connect with different spirits. I’m going to be the anchor. My energy will bind us here and keep us safe from harm. Remember, I need you to do exactly as I say—and no matter what happens, don’t let go of my hand.”

  Ellen took a deep breath, emptying her mind, and allowed herself to be led through the house. Rafe turned left, walking slowly through the dining room, but not pausing. She felt the heaviness, the chill, instantly when they stepped into the kitchen. She couldn’t tell if it was because that room held negative energy or if it was emanating from Adam’s bedroom directly above them.

  Rafe didn’t speak, but his hand tightened on hers. He closed his eyes for a moment, cocked his head, and stood still, as though listening to faint voices whispering in a corner of the room. They went on into the adjoining family room, where he stopped again. He glanced at her, as if to assure himself that she was all right. Ellen nodded slightly. She didn’t sense any lingering spirits in this room. So far, all she felt was the cold. It seemed much worse now that Rafe was here, nearly bone-chilling, despite the Dallas heat outside. She shivered slightly, grateful for the warmth of his hand around hers.

  He turned and headed into the living room at the front of the house, completing a circle of the first floor. This room lay directly beneath Amy’s bedroom. The cold wasn’t as intense here but the room felt so sad, the air so heavy. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she glimpsed a dark mass swirling in the corner, up near the ceiling. Rafe followed her gaze, but once again he didn’t speak.

  He led her back to the foyer, paused for a moment at the stairway, and looked her in the eye. She nodded again to let him know she was all right and started up the stairs, but he pulled her back.

  “I go first,” he said, in a tone that told her he was used to being obeyed.

  Ellen bristled. No matter how much experience he claimed to have, she was no novice at this work.

  “Don’t start ordering me around,” she retorted.

  “You’ll do as I say or I’l
l put you over my knee again.”

  At his words, the house they were in seemed to disappear. Through a haze, Ellen suddenly saw herself standing in a Victorian parlor, wearing an old-fashioned long black skirt and ruffled white blouse. Rafe was in front of her, seated on a heavy carved settee upholstered in burgundy crushed velvet. She was yelling at him, but he never uttered a word in response. Instead, he simply reached out, yanking her face-down across his lap. Now he was pulling the floor-length skirt up to her waist, uncovering some sort of white pantaloons slit open in the back, exposing her bare bottom.

  She blinked and the scene faded away. Despite her irritation at his high-handed tone, she felt a sharp tingle of arousal from the vision. Angrily, she forced the image out of her head.

  “What do you mean—put me over your knee again?”

  “We can discuss that later. Right now, we need to go upstairs. And you need to remember to do as you’re told.”

  Ellen had worked with other psychics before, but never with anyone so bossy and overbearing. Still, the dark energy in the house seemed stronger now and, although she hated to admit it, she was grateful for his presence. Grudgingly, she allowed him to pass her and followed him up the stairs, with his hand firmly gripping hers.

  When they got to the upstairs hall, he stopped, as though taking his bearings, then led her into the center of Amy’s room. They paused as Rafe took in the crayon drawings covering the walls, most of them marred by a gray-black mass added somewhere in the picture, scrawled with an angry hand. Ellen stared around the room uneasily. She’d never had a place affect her this way. The dark mass was nowhere in sight, but something was definitely wrong here. She tried to take a deep breath to calm herself. Her throat tightened and suddenly she was suffocating. Her eyes widened and she put up one hand, certain she would feel an arm clamped around her throat, cutting off her air supply.

  Panicked, she fought for control. This isn’t real, she told herself over and over. The cheerful yellow walls suddenly felt like they were closing in on her, trapping her. A wave of grief hit her out of nowhere, a palpable pain in her chest so overpowering that she nearly fell to her knees. She let out a muffled cry, yanked her hand out of his, and dashed back into the hallway.

  He caught up with her in two long strides.

  “You don’t let go of my hand—and you don’t go off on your own. I’m not going to tell you again.”

  Ellen glared unseeing at the tall male figure in front of her, hatred glowing in her eyes. When he reached for her hand, she burst into wild sobs. “You can’t make me stay here,” she shrieked. “I know what you are, what you’ve done.”

  He grabbed her shoulders. “Ellen, stop. Come back. It’s not him, it’s me. She’s taken over your mind. You have to fight this.”

  She struggled to get free, pounding him with her fists. He pulled her close, wrapping both arms around her, and trapping her hands against his chest. She sagged against him and her sobbing gradually subsided, turning into a silent river of tears. Rafe held her tight, stroking her hair, alternately murmuring to his spirit guides and whispering soft words in her ear, until her shoulders quit heaving. Then he led her back down the stairs.

  He headed for the living room and sank onto the couch, pulling her down beside him with one arm firmly planted around her waist.

  Ellen’s head was throbbing and she raised a hand to her face, shocked to find it wet with tears. She stared at him. “What… what happened?” she muttered.

  “I’m sorry. I should have known, should have guessed how strongly you might be able to connect. She entered your mind, took over your body for a short time.” His voice trailed off. He shook his head. “Still, if you’d done as you were told …”

  She glared at him, suddenly furious. Who the hell did he think he was, this arrogant cowboy attempting to boss her around?

  “Done as I was told? Done as I was told!” Her voice rose, gathering steam as she went into a tirade. “What happened to ‘I’ll keep you safe, I’m your anchor’? You were my anchor, all right. You dragged me right down into a psychotic episode with a crazy ghost!”

  “I was your anchor—until you pulled away from me and allowed her in. She’s still controlling you, Ellen.” His tone was calm, reasonable. “You felt her grief and her fear, now you’re giving voice to years of her pent-up anger. You’ve got to stop. You’ve got to fight this.”

  “Anger? Damn right, I’m angry! You come in here, drag me upstairs…” Her eyes glazed over, staring unseeing into the distance, and she went on in a leaden voice tinged with fear. “Then you locked me in that room, forced me to…”

  Her outburst was cut short when she suddenly felt herself yanked face-down across his lap, in the same position she’d seen so clearly just a short time ago. Dimly, she heard his voice.

  “I’m sorry to have to do this, Ellen, but you need to stop this temper tantrum. I’ve got to bring you back to reality… to be reminded that I’m still in control of the situation. I always have been.”

  As he spoke, he was sliding down her loose cotton pants, pulling up the long hem of her flowing paisley top. Ellen started shrieking, kicking wildly. One strong arm locked her in place across his knees and he gave her panty-covered ass a hearty smack, raising his voice so she could hear him above the racket she was making.

  “I didn’t lock you in that room. You’re not her. You’re Ellen Jacobs and deep down inside you know me. I’m the man you’ve spent lifetimes with, the man you’ve driven to distraction over and over with this stubborn insistence on doing things your way. She wouldn’t have been able to take over your mind if you hadn’t let go of my hand. That showed her you didn’t trust me enough to do as I said. She fed on your negative emotion and it made her stronger.”

  All the while, his hand was igniting a fire on her backside, spanking first one cheek, then the other. Ellen wriggled on his lap, but there was no escaping his hard callused palm cracking down on her ass. Here she was, finally in the position she’d fantasized about so often, but this was no sexually charged daydream. This was sharp, stinging, burning pain.

  “Let me go, you asshole, or I’ll call the cops. You’re as crazy as she is!”

  “You’re staying right here until you promise to listen to me next time.”

  “Next time? Screw you! There’s not going to be a next time! You’re going to jail for this. I swear I’ll press charges.”

  “Then I might as well do a proper job of it while I’ve got you here,” he replied. To her horror, he jerked her panties down around her knees, baring her ass completely. “It’s already a little pink, but maybe I need to spank it till it’s bright red before you’ll listen to reason and drive her out of your mind once and for all.”

  With a loud crack, his hand came down again. Ellen gasped. “Dammit, that really hurts!”

  “It’s supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to remind you that I’m the one in charge and if you do things I tell you not to do, you’re going to get hurt much worse than this.” He smacked her again, harder, and Ellen shrieked. She began struggling, desperate to get away.

  Rafe simply locked one strong thigh over her flailing legs, rendering her immobile, and started spanking in earnest. She thought it had been bad before, but now he seemed to be putting every ounce of his considerable strength into the job. Ellen forgot her embarrassment, forgot her anger. Her whole world centered around the relentless wallop of his palm on her tender bottom. She’d written lots of spanking scenes for her erotic romances, but she’d never been spanked for real, not even as a child. She was stunned at the searing agony a bare hand was capable of inflicting on her defenseless bottom. Ellen felt a pang of sympathy for all the reluctant heroines she’d placed in this position.

  “Rafe, stop. Please, Rafe!” She cringed inside when she heard her voice, begging, but right then she vowed she’d do whatever it took to get him to end this torment.

  “I can’t stop, Ellen. Not till you tell me you remember this, remember being spanked when you disobeyed m
e in the past. Putting you across my lap was always the way I could get you to settle down and listen to reason. You’ve driven me to distraction so often.” As he spoke, he was whacking her bottom steadily, emphasizing his words with especially harsh smacks.

  “Do you remember the time we were down at the river? I told you not to go in alone, but you wandered off when I was asleep and decided to take a dip. I yanked you out just before that crocodile appeared. Then I cut a switch from one of the trees lining the bank, bent you over a rock, and tanned your dripping wet ass.”

  His words barely penetrated the haze of pain that his relentless paddling was creating. Did he say something about a crocodile? Maybe the man was deranged. Ellen gave up struggling and sagged across his iron-hard thighs, hoping if she lay limp he’d decide she’d been spanked enough and end this agony. Thankfully, it seemed to work. He stopped smacking her—and laughed. A bolt of white-hot fury shot through her.

  “What the hell is so funny?” she demanded, twisting around to give him an angry glare.

  “Up to your old tricks, are you?”

  “People think I’m crazy when I say I talk to dead people, but you? You are definitely insane. Old tricks? Crocodiles?”

  His hand moved lazily, tracing circles on her stinging bottom. Ellen squirmed, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment at her position. She imagined the scene from his point of view—a half-naked strange woman draped provocatively over his lap, her quivering bum no doubt glowing bright red by now. In the scenes she wrote, all her alpha male heroes loved to see their woman in this position. She wondered fleetingly if Rafe was getting turned on. As though he’d read her mind again, he ground himself up against her a little and even through his jeans she felt the very large, very hard evidence that he was thoroughly enjoying this whole situation.

  “Now darlin’, you know what I’m talking about.”

  Ellen shivered. His voice was warm and low, pouring over her, his hand gentle on her burning skin. In spite of herself, she felt the unmistakable thrill of arousal beginning to build between her legs.