The Devil's Daughter (6 page)

“He’ll what? Force me into an ugly old rag like that?” Deacon shuddered.

Lucy suppressed a grin; her brother was nothing if not vain. He wore only the fanciest of silk suits, the most stylish hats, and his boots showed nary a scuff. So why he let a filthy little ferret crawl all over him was beyond her.

Maggie sobbed quietly and rolled into a tight ball, pulling the blanket tight under her chin.

“Interesting choice you’ve made this time, Lucille.” Deacon’s gaze fixed pointedly on her, looking through her, down into her soul. “Are you sure you’re ready to risk your future on this? If you quit now, I’m sure Father would understand.”

“It was hardly my choice,” she answered, straightening her spine and lifting her chin. Their father would definitely not understand, and she was not about to quit. “What do you care, anyway?”

He lifted the ferret in one hand until they were nose to nose.

“Surely you know me better than that,” he sneered. “When have I ever cared about you or anything you do?”

A short moment of silence – barely a heartbeat – brought the reality of her brother’s visit crashing down around her.

“No.” Dread filled Lucy’s lungs until she could barely breathe.

He didn’t speak, but his silence screamed the truth.

“Deacon – he promised he wouldn’t interfere.”

All the strength drained from her body; this couldn’t be happening. She’d planned everything so carefully, so cautiously, but she’d never planned for this.

“Lucille--”

“No,” she repeated, anger washing over the dread. “He promised!”

Deacon shook his head slowly. She hated him most when he looked at her in that patronizingly superior way of his.

“We’re talking about Satan, Lucille. After all these years, do you really think you can trust anything he says?”

Of course she couldn’t. She knew that. Everyone knew that.

Heat flamed her skin, and her heart pounded against her ribs. “I’m his daughter. Surely that means something to him.” How could she have been so stupid?

“Of course it means something.” Deacon chuckled, completely unsympathetic. “It means he takes a more personal interest in seeing you fail.”

As he spoke, his pale blue eyes remained fixed and unblinking on his pet’s face.

Lucy eyed her brother suspiciously for a long moment before asking the question she wasn’t sure she wanted an answer to.

“How are you involved?” she asked, forcing calm into her voice.

“You know the answer to that.” As he rose from his chair, he eased the ferret back into his pocket, then reached for his hat, swiping invisible lint from its brim. “I’m here to ensure he gets what he wants.”

She reached to touch him, but then pulled back. “Please, Deacon, you can’t.”

He shrugged. “Of course I can. I’ve already begun.”

“How--” She stopped short. It made sense now. “You have Maggie’s husband.”

Deacon’s head tipped in the barest of nods. “Stupid man. He honestly believed by making a deal with me, his child would be born healthy and they’d all live the rest of their miserable lives together as though everything was fine.”

It all made sense now. Deacon and her father had set her up, had given her a tiny flicker of hope all the while knowing it was futile.

She wouldn’t let Deacon have the satisfaction of winning so easily. “Of course you neglected to mention that he’d never see his wife or child again.”

“It wasn’t mentioned, no.” Deacon shrugged again. “Humans trust too easily.”

“And the part about me coming to take their child’s soul, regardless of what he did or didn’t do--”

“If he knew that, would either one of us be sitting here now?”

Lucy ground her teeth together. Deacon already had Sam, so all he’d have to do was dangle that knowledge in front of Maggie, and she’d no doubt take whatever bargain Deacon offered her, even if it meant giving up her own soul and that of her baby.

Once again, Lucy would be left out, only this time, she’d pay the eternal price for it. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give Sam to me?”

“Dear, simple, stupid Lucille.” Deacon set his hat back on his head and pulled on each glove with slow precision. “Why would I give up anything I’ve rightfully taken? We’re talking about Satan!”

She knew full well who they were talking about. But she hadn’t planned on Deacon’s interference. Her father had promised her a chance at freedom, and she’d been foolish enough to believe him.

Dear, simple, stupid Lucille
.

Deacon adjusted his gloves, keeping his gaze everywhere except on her. “You’d do the same thing if you were me, and we both know it.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then clamped it shut. He was right. She’d take him down in a heartbeat if Satan told her to. At least Deacon had the decency to admit it.

 “Maggie knows about us, doesn’t she?”

“Of course; she’s very perceptive that one.” Deacon smirked. “It’s unfortunate the rest of the world thinks she’s mad.”

“Does she know what you’ve done to Sam?”

“There’s a part of her twisted mind that knows.” Deacon’s eyes flashed with silent mirth. “Being human, of course, she refuses to believe it.”

“And you’re using that to push her over the edge of insanity.”

Deacon nuzzled his stupid ferret again. “Your being here is helping me in that regard.”

“I won’t let you do it.” Lucy’s voice was low, barely audible to her own ears, but he heard her.

Finally, his eyes met hers again. “You can’t stop it, Lucille. I already have the husband and we both know that woman--” he tipped his head in Maggie’s direction – “will do anything to try and get him back.”

“But she can’t get him back.”

“True.” Deacon’s expression remained impassive. “Lucky for us, she doesn’t know that.”

“So why not take her now?”

He hesitated before answering. “You know why.”

The baby. They both needed the child’s soul, and the only way to get it was to wait for it to be born. Too bad for Lucy that Deacon had an ace up his sleeve in the form of Maggie’s husband.

Deacon straightened his suit jacket and tipped his hat to the left just a touch. “You can’t win this, Lucille. It’s simply a matter of whether you give up now, or make me take you by force, as I will with the entire Caine family if necessary.”

Without another word, Deacon was gone, leaving Lucy to her despair and worries while the cramped room closed in around her.

Deacon was a powerful adversary, no question, and he’d do everything he could to drag her back to Hell with him. He’d win, too. Satan always won, and if he sent Deacon to do his bidding, then he fully expected Deacon to win, too.

What made her think she was smart enough – or strong enough – to stand against him and try to win her freedom? She’d seen others attempt the same thing, others who were stronger and much more capable. Yet not a single one had found success.

Why should she be any different?

Failing would mean spending the rest of eternity in Hell with no hope of ever getting out. Not ever. She would never have the chance to live freely, doing as she pleased. Instead, she would be forced into the deepest part of Hell – a part no human could imagine, where the darkness weighed on a soul until it suffocated a million times over.

Lucy couldn’t let that happen. Granted, as Satan’s child, she would never feel emotions as humans felt them; she’d never experience peace or joy or love, but at least she would be free of the anguish and desperation she’s been threatened with her whole life.

Lucy’s mind raced against a mixture of panic and determination.

With Deacon working against her, she’d have to double her efforts. She couldn’t let Deacon or their father feel her doubts, not for a single second. If they so much as suspected, it would be her downfall.

She needed Jed. She’d never needed anything, or anyone, before in her life, but she needed him. She needed him to love her, even if for just a moment. A moment would be all she needed to win his soul. Once she had his, Maggie would fall with little effort, and then Lucy could take the child.

The problem was that no one could love the real her, but maybe – just maybe – she could become someone else until she was free, someone Jed could respect. Someone he could love.

His love was the key to her freedom, plain and simple.

The thought of going back to Hell for an eternity with nothing but desolation – no, she couldn’t do it.

She
wouldn’t
do it.

Lucy inhaled a long, slow breath and tried to clear her mind.

It couldn’t be that hard to win Jed over. If he wouldn’t simply give in to his lust, as most men would have by now, she’d have to do things his way. If he wanted her to respect him, then that’s what she’d do. She’d respect the hell out of him if it killed her.

She’d make him believe anything he liked if it meant her freedom.

First things first, she needed to get outside and start collecting buffalo chips.

Damn it.

Jed tossed another pile of oats into the stall and sighed. Damn, but he was hungry. He’d hoped to avoid cold beans for supper, but if Lucy wasn’t going to do her part, then there was nothing he could do about it.

With the long days of tending Maggie and trying to keep up with the chores, he was too tired at night to be bothered with a fire. Maggie ate little but bread and cheese, so there was seldom a need to cook for her.

Sooner or later, Lucy would see her way clear, and then he’d eat to his heart’s content. Until then, he could live on cold beans and dried pork a while longer.

But if her anger was any indication, it’d be a while before she saw clear to anything. He’d never seen eyes flash fire like that. It went beyond her tantrum, beyond him denying her advances again, and far beyond any normal woman’s frustrations.

For a moment there, he’d almost thought she’d lit his back on fire with rage from that glare.

It’d be easy enough to let her have her way. And sure as hell it would ease her anger enough to make their first night together a lot more enjoyable, but he had to hold firm. By giving in to her now, he’d be letting her think she could do as she pleased whenever she pleased, and that was no way to win her respect. Worse, she’d never earn his.

While the horses chewed noisily, Jed checked over the tack and stored it neatly away. Why couldn’t he think of anything besides food? Maybe he’d have an extra serving of pork to make the beans more enjoyable.

What he wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee. . .no, he couldn’t. He’d had two cups this morning before heading into town. To make more would mean he’d have to build a fire, and that would defeat the purpose of having Lucy do it.

Stubborn, unbending, and too damn proud for his own good – that’s what he was. It was those exact qualities that forced him to believe he could make something of what others saw as a hopeless piece of land.

And it was those exact qualities he appeared to share with his new wife. God help them both.

With a final glance around, Jed stepped out into the fading afternoon light and inhaled a long, steadying breath.

What the. . .?

He froze in place, lifted his nose to the air, and strained to listen for the familiar crackling above a lone whippoorwill’s cry. It couldn’t be, could it? It smelled like it, but. . .

Cautiously, he stepped around the corner of the barn, half expecting it was nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him, that he’d only imagined both the smell and the sound.

They had fire.

Lucy stood next to the pit, small flames dancing skyward, and a fair-sized pile of buffalo chips stacked nearby.

She hadn’t seen him yet, so he kept to the shadows, watching – and choking back laughter. A rag covered Lucy’s mouth and nose, tied at the back of her head. Her cheeks puffed out, straining against the cloth, as her face went from pink to scarlet.

With her gloved hands, she picked up two more chips, tossed them on the fire, then turned and ran, dropping to her knees about a hundred feet away, gasping for breath.

It wasn’t until she stood and began to walk back that Jed realized the rag she’d covered her face with was actually the bottom of her skirt. It used to hang to the toes of her boots, but now only reached about halfway down her shins. If she hadn’t looked so ridiculous, Jed would have been angry at how she’d ripped apart a perfectly good dress.

But all he could do was grin.

He stepped out of the shadows and moved toward her with slow steady steps.

“Laugh once and you’ll be eating these chips for supper.” Lucy swiped her hair back from her face with her forearm, carefully avoiding any contact with the actual glove.

Jed choked back a chuckle and took another step toward her. “You’d probably do it, too.”

 “How are we supposed to eat anything that’s been cooked over a smell like that?”

“Buffalo chips don’t smell.”