Wild Midnight Read Free Page B

 
    “Shut up.” He brought the sweating, protesting horse up short in front of her. “I want you to stop talking and get that truck the hell out of here.”  
    Rachel was breathing hard in spite of herself. He had forced the stallion so close, the front of her clothes were layered with dust and sand. Undaunted, she met that fierce look in the hard, suntanned face with her chin raised.  
    “Just let us through the gate.” A compromise, at least for the moment, would save their precious cargo of tomato plants wilting in the back of the pickup. The bad-tempered horseman who claimed to be Beaumont Tillson could argue with them about the road and the right of way later. “The tomato plants cost so much money,” she tried to tell him, “we really can’t afford to lose them. Surely you will...” Her words died away.  
    For a split second she saw his eyes widen slightly, as if he couldn’t believe that she continued to resist him. “Turn that goddamned truck around.” He lifted his tanned hand to point. “Tell Wesley Faligant to get it the hell out of here—right now.”  
    Rachel did not budge. “I feel that you will let us through, if only,” she added quickly, “for today.” She took a deep breath. “There is no harm in doing fellow human beings a good turn when they need it, now is there?”  
    She heard what could have been a strangled growl of pure amazement. Rachel turned and walked slowly toward the cattle gate. Behind her the man on the horse sat motionless; she could feel his stare as tangibly as a knife pressing against her shoulder blades. There was no telling what he would do. When she was only a few steps from the barrier she lifted her voice to say, “I am going to open the gate and let the truck through. It is a public road, or we wouldn’t be using it.”  
    Her hands lifted the chain and she fumbled with the loops that held the gate shut. There was no padlock, only knotted links that showed the haste with which the gate had been put up. She waited for some outburst, some angry command behind her. But none came.  
    With aggravating slowness the chain came apart. Rachel pushed the gate inward, and trying to avoid the appearance of haste, walked it wide enough to let the truck through. She heard Mr. Wesley start the motor, and she said a quick prayer for the pickup to get out of the pothole on the first few tries. There was a grinding roar as Mr. Wesley put the pickup into gear and rocked it to get free. Rachel kept her head bent, not daring to look. As far as she knew there was no movement from the rider who sat his horse only a few feet from the truck.  
    It could not have taken over a minute, but it felt like an eternity before Rachel heard the pickup rip into second gear and the engine rev up to a higher whine. With a flurry of sand and dust the truck roared the few feet toward the gate.  
    For a moment it seemed as though Mr. Wesley was not going to stop, but keep going straight down the field track and out of sight. Then Rachel saw him jam on the brakes. The truck stopped, straddling a low clump of bushes.  
    Rachel walked the cattle gate shut again. The silence, except for the truck’s laboring engine, was deafening; she did not dare glance at the man on horseback. Her hands were shaking so badly that she could hardly reknot the chain. She left it dangling as she turned and suddenly sprinted to where the truck stood waiting, flung open the door and jumped inside.  
    Rachel collapsed against the seat. It had turned out well after all, except for the undignified way she’d bolted right at the last.  
    “Mr. Wes, who was that man—it wasn’t Beaumont Tillson, was it?”  
    He stepped down hard on the gas pedal and the old pickup lurched ahead, hitting a rise of old furrowed earth at a bounce. Both hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, the black man let the truck plow into a hollow and rear out again.  
    “Mr. Wes!” Rachel grabbed the dashboard with both hands. He was