Dunaway's Crossing by Nancy Brandon Read Free Book Online

Nothing is your fault. You’ve always taken good care of me.” She breathed in the odor of sweat, cooking, and dishwater. California had smelled that way as long as Bea Dot had known her.
    “Child,” California said, taking Bea Dot’s shoulders and holding her at arm’s length, “you done had your bath. Don’t go hugging on me and getting dirty again.”
    Bea Dot nodded and smiled.
    “You gone be fine. I’ll see you when you get back.”
    “Bye, Cal.” Bea Dot watched her close the door behind her. As she gave her hair a few more strokes with the brush, she ambled back to the dressing table. Her curly dark brown hair, fluffy from the brushing, hung behind her shoulders. I look like the madwoman in the attic , Bea Dot thought as she opened a drawer to find a nightgown. As she rummaged through the camisoles and shifts, a sound at the door startled her.
    “Cal, I thought you went home.”
    “It’s me.”
    Bea Dot’s chest tightened as she turned to face Ben. He hadn’t been in her bedroom since the day he knocked her down. Nerves humming, she stood and approached him, trying to keep him from coming farther into her refuge. “Did you call me? I didn’t hear you.”
    He took another step forward so that he stood immediately in front of her. More than a head taller than she, he looked down at her with his hands clasped behind his back. His thick black eyebrows came together over his nose like a large caterpillar.
    “No, I didn’t call. I heard you in here, and I thought I’d come in.”
    The whiskey on his breath failed to cover the fish he’d eaten for supper. When he put his hands on Bea Dot’s waist, she tensed, and his slight frown registered her reaction. She couldn’t help herself, though, since the last time he’d touched her he’d been looking for a fight. He untied the sash of her robe, and Bea Dot took a step back. The robe fell open, and she clutched it again, her heart racing like a scared rabbit’s.
    “Easy,” he said, as if talking to a skittish filly. He grabbed her arm, then pulled her to him again.
    Bea Dot pushed against him, but he was too strong for her.
    Fear’s simmer escalated to a boil. “Ben,” she urged him, “remember, Dr. Arnold said—”
    “Hush,” he said sharply before pressing his mouth to hers so hard that her lips hurt from mashing against her teeth. Disgust ignited inside her, as it had done before with forced, drunken kisses.
    She wriggled away from his grasp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Ben, stop. Please.”
    He glared at her with the familiar dark wrath in his eyes, and his height increased as he inhaled with anger. Then he drew back his hand and swung it full force across her mouth.
    She fell back and hit the dressing table before landing on the floor. Her hand mirror, brush, and cologne bottles toppled around her. Her face felt like it had exploded, and the taste of blood flooded her mouth. She tried to get her feet under her, but Ben was too fast. He yanked the robe off her shoulders, wrenching her arms still in their sleeves. Gripping her elbow with one hand, he tossed the robe to the side, then slung her over the bed.
    Quickly she stood again and faced him. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. “No, Ben,” she tried to assert herself. “Don’t do this.”
    But she knew he didn’t hear her in his rage. He grabbed her hair again and yanked her to the bed, pushing her into it facedown. He held her there by the neck, pressing her face into the embroidery of the counterpane. She heard him unfasten his belt buckle with his free hand, so she gritted her teeth and tightened her muscles, ready for a lashing.
    Instead, he pushed her legs apart with his. Then her flesh tore as pain ripped through her. She cried into the mattress and tried to press up with her palms, but Ben only pushed her neck harder, pressing her face so deep into the bed linens that she could hardly breathe. She grasped handfuls of fabric and ground her teeth with each