The Claws of the Cat – Chapter 3
"When you find the right man, hang onto him and hang these bells on the porch of your house," her father had once told her giving her the fortune bells he had brought her from India.
Sabrina walked out on the porch of the little green wooden house they had just bought. She was a bundle of joy, the wide smile on her face lighting up her joyful eyes, adding to her remarkable beauty. Hanging with one hand around the porch pole, covered in climbing white roses, she reached out to touch the fortune bells with her other hand and make them ring. They sounded like the laughter of a child, their child, who one day would come into this world. It was the best sound she had ever heard, and she loved it.
Jack came out the front door and embraced her from behind, folding her completely in his strong arms, making her laugh.
"Do you really like it here?" she asked eagerly.
He kissed her on her cheekbone before replying. "Well, I've never had a home of my own."
"I haven't, either, not since I was a little child," she recalled, her gaze encompassing their little garden and the meadows beyond, flying across the woods and the green hills gently rising and descending, their edges standing out against the clear morning sky.
"Well, I guess we ought to send Mr. Hannibal Jordan a thank you, now," he joked. Mr. Jordan had commissioned the job, the one that would put an end to his career as a professional gunslinger. The railroad Tycoon had paid him handsomely for his services.
"I'll write one tomorrow," she joked along with a smile.
"And Mr. Tom Barkley, I think he deserves some flowers," he said kissing her jaw, the image of the affluent rancher lying in a pool of blood, his deadly bullet gone through him cleanly, displaying in front of his eyes. No kind of regret, not even compassion for the life he had taken, for the man's wife and children, ever touched Jack Floyd's cold heart.
Sabrina tossed back her head in total abandon, hanging onto him as her father had said. "I think we do. I'm gonna plant rose bushes everywhere, and you're gonna plant alfalfa."
"Alfalfa…" he repeated and laughed. "It's all fine, but… what are we gonna do for excitement?" He asked. He had been asking that same question to himself many times those last weeks now that the possibility of his retirement had been put into concrete terms. Would he be able to settle down, to live the life of the common man? Taking a human life was an exciting feeling. No man, not even a king, was more powerful than he was when he drew his gun and shot.
Sabrina freed herself from his embrace and descended two porch steps, her gaze, again, taking in the surroundings. "We're gonna stay here until people have forgotten there ever was a Jack Floyd," she stated. She had loved the exciting, dangerous life they had lived so far and had even helped him, occasionally. But, she loved him too much to lose him, to even think he could someday find himself facing someone faster. At age fourteen, when she had left her uncle's house, she had sworn that someday she was going to take everything that life owed her, and by God this time she would.
"Well, I guess we can figure out a few things to do… for a while," he conceded as he walked down the porch steps to reach her.
"It's all I always wanted," she whispered as she turned around to face him. She threw her arms around his neck. "Tell me that you like it too…" she demanded.
Jack didn't answer as yet. He looked intensely into her magnetic eyes and bent to kiss her deeply, a hand on her back, pressing her body against his.
"It's fine, sugar," he soothed. "Just fine. I'll prove it, too."
Sabrina Lynn had truly loved two men in her life, her father, and Jack Floyd. Her father had died too early, when she was just eleven, but her life with Jack was going to be perfect.
Then Nick Barkley had come.
He had been hunting down the man who had killed his father for months, relentlessly until he had found him and killed him.
At last, Jack had really found himself facing someone faster.
Nick Barkley had taken Jack away from her, forever.
Revenge is a dish best served cold and Sabrina had been patient. She had waited months, years, for her revenge, her hate for the man who had killed her lover never diminishing, rather improving in time. She had followed him in his trips, had studied his habits. She knew his tastes, his strengths and weaknesses.
Three years had passed since Jack's death when she finally decided it was the time. Her trap was oiled and set, ready to spring.
She joined him at the Fresno Palace Hotel(*). He was throwing money around and bragging about some mythical 'Barkley Luck'. It had been so easy. She had smiled, and he was caught. A blink of her long lashes, and he was smitten. He had accompanied her to her room, and she had stricken the decisive blow, letting him kiss her. He had fallen deeply, helplessly in love with her.
A week later, she had proudly entered the Barkley mansion arm in arm with Nick, as Mrs. Nick Barkley.
Those dreams, those intense dreams, were like a second skin. They stuck on her body and mind for hours after she had woken up, intoxicating her, before they would slowly fade away. Her dreams, and her memories, were all that she had left.
"Oh, Jack, Jack…Jack…," she whispered, still feeling his touch on her hot, silky skin.
Every breath she took now that Floyd was dead, every new day was just a step she was taking toward her own grave, until the day they'd be together again. If it had to be in hell, that was fine with her. But, before, she intended to turn Nick Barkley's life into a hell, too.
Their new house – built on a spot of the Barkley land, on a ridge with a spectacular sight over the entire valley - was almost finished. Sabrina couldn't care less about it. Her only personal touch were the fortune bells hanging above the front porch, singing in silvery tones in the wind, like mermaids' calls.
That morning, she had lamented a headache and had stayed in bed. She went to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Like a cat, her feline eyes were accustomed to the darkness. She squinted at the light of another glorious day in the San Joaquin Valley. She moaned in disgust and shaded her eyes with a hand the man she hated was riding away, side by side with that ranch hand, Heath Thomson. The boss' pet.
She cocked her head and smiled, the tip of her tongue rapidly darting out and back inside her mouth. That Thomson would have been a good diversion and the first of the many times and the many ways she would hurt her husband. Nick was beyond an excellent lover, she had to admit that, he was attentive, caring, and generous. But now the time had come to use all the weapons she had at her disposal against him for her revenge. A sweet revenge, indeed. Thomson had something about him that intrigued her. Something hidden. A secret.
It was a sight to see, when he was working. His movements a mesmerizing dance, masculine yet gracious, his sleeves rolled up, his muscles leaping under his sweat-drenched shirt. In the saddle, he was one with the animal, pure wildness. And those hands, so big and powerful. Work-worn, calloused, bruised hands. She had spent hours observing those skillful hands as they were holding bridles, carrying saddles, stroking manes. Ah, how she craved for those hands to be all over her. Thomson was able to awaken her most hidden desires things she had always known were there but she hadn't dared indulge.
She had already tried to draw Thomson's attention but to no avail. He avoided her in any possible way, and this just had the effect of igniting her passion.
The poor boy seemed to have taken a liking to that ragged girl, Sharon Callahan, the squatter Nick had nearly shot together with her gross uncle and that bunch of drunkard Irish people. Oh, but that did not matter. She had no doubts she would have him, and use him for her purpose.
Say your prayers, Nick Barkley. You won't even know what hit you.
(*) Author's Note: In this A.U. story, Nick never met Sabrina before.