CHAPTER THREE
There has to be something I can do, thought Priscilla Devereaux as she spurred her horse angrily across the rolling hills and meadows near her father's huge estate. She knew she was near the edge now, close to moving onto Pace property. But no one cared around here who rode across whose property. It was open land and a horse never hurt anything.
There has to be something I can do to get him away from that bitch! The thought rattled around in her head irritatingly. The little trollop DesirЋe Mitchell had had her way with Mark and Priscilla had no intention whatever of standing by and watching it all pass under the bridge as if it had never happened and Mark and she had never been lovers. She wanted him back, and that meant she would have to separate him from his hot-and-sticky-cunted little wife.
And that might take some doing.
Down below she saw Nancy Pace's little Camaro negotiating the dirt road leading to and from her uncle's estate. Priscilla thought that Clete Anderson's teenage fiancee would be better off trying to take a four-wheel-drive vehicle in to town. The river had risen high from a recent rain and had flooded a piece of the road. She could easily get stuck and immobilized far from anywhere. Priscilla drew her binoculars out of her saddle bag and took a closer look. Yes, Nancy would be lucky indeed to make it across the swamped part of the road just ahead.
Priscilla swept the vista with her lenses again and stopped. Well, if it wasn't her own dear Mark driving this way in his new Bronco, whipping up a cloud of dust. What was he doing down this way?
Nancy cried out as her Camaro plowed into the water, hearing the spray roar up under the hood, killing the engine. Damn, how could this happen? She was in a hurry to get down to see Clete. He had been away for a few days, and they had had no intimate moments. Strange how he had turned a virgin teenager – well, he and the raping dog Lobo – into such a wanton and sexy woman. She was burning with desire for his big cock and their times together had become quite animal. All that he had taught her now ran through her mind constantly. She need him almost every day to quench the fires of sensuality he had stoked within her.
Clete had taught her well – all the things a loving woman needed to know. Every position for fucking, every way to please a man. She had begun to like sucking his big, black cock, though it was terribly difficult to get even half of it inside her mouth. Her hot pussy burned just thinking about being with him and now this flooded road had thrown ice water on her plans and libido. What was wrong with her? Damnit, it was Clete's fault for making her such a hot-pussy bitch at the very tender age.
There was absolutely no response from the engine. It was drowned, just like her plans to be with Clete. With a mild curse, she gingerly stepped out of the car in to knee-deep water and began to walk.
Mark welcomed the chance to be back at work after his pleasant but exhausting honeymoon, the breakfast and hot coffee doing much to restore his energy. Damn, if he could just find the strength to leave his young wife, DesirЋe – but Christ, he almost couldn't this morning! He had just wanted to lie in bed with her and make love and stroke her hot and sweaty body. He was already getting hard just thinking about her. When was he going to become just slightly used to her beauty and be able to get back to work.
Irately, the town's councilor slammed the gears through their cycle, forcing his mind to concentrate on other immediate issues at hand. As much as he had his own personal weaknesses, there were other local matters to be looked to, especially the area's drug trouble. The high-school was seemingly saturated with it, and Clete Anderson had done nothing concerning the three teenage pushers Mark had picked up and turned over to the police chief. Though Mark tried never to draw obvious conclusions, Clete's laxity in bringing the three before the county judge for indictment, plus his refusal to discuss the matter, underscored what he'd feared all along. He hated to believe it, but more and more it began to look as if Clete was in cahoots with the young pushers, though to prove the matter might be next to impossible in Pickford's Meadows, for it was up to Clete himself to present all evidence.
The police chief had the Devereauxs on his side, had somehow curried favor with good old venomous Priscilla and her father, and who would buck James Devereaux, even with him somewhere overseas. On top of that, Mark had already made an unbearable enemy in the beautiful, auburn-haired whiplash of a daughter who had laid claim to him years back. But what else could he have done but spurn those big, lusty green-eyes? He'd married DesirЋe, was head-over-heels in love with her. His affair with Priscilla, which had never been anything more than a lurid diet of sexual variety, was over! Hell, there'd never been any future in it from the beginning. There was no place at the time for him in the wealthy Devereaux circle. It had always been his stud value, and he'd never tried to fool himself on that score. But Priscilla didn't like her playthings taken from her, not before she had broken them and was finished, and she had made that well known to him back at the Radisson Hotel. How had she so glibly and gently put it? "You-you sonofabitch, Goddamn you, Mark Denning! I'll have your nuts for this! I swear I will! I'll have your nuts!"
Mark's keen, but tired mind diligently worked as he drove, covering the miles on that winding rural road to the Pace house, to see if talking to the chestnut-haired Nancy Pace and her uncle could tell her anything. He wasn't quite clear in his mind what value would come out of a chat with her, but she'd always been an amiable girl, talkative and eager, and she undoubtedly had at least been exposed to the drug-traffic at school. And maybe, just maybe, she might let something drop that she had observed in Clete's behavior that might explain why he kept covering for the drug pushers. Anyway, he had to start somewhere, and he'd promised Rodney that he'd try to get him an interview with her.
His mind was again reverting to irritatingly lustful thoughts of DesirЋe when he saw the attractive brown-eyed beauty, Nancy Pace herself, on the road, the warm curves to her shapely young legs first catching his eye, then the miniskirt and white pullover she wore. Drawing closer, he realized that she was obviously braless, a new thing for the reserved and shy teenager, her full, youthful breasts doing an arousing sashay to her every step. He swallowed, wondering if maybe he shouldn't wait until tomorrow when her uncle was with her.
She saw him and waved. Mark smiled back, responsively easing the Bronco to a stop, making no motions toward her, yet she swerved from the sidewalk to come and talk with him.
"Hi, Mark… I-I mean Mr. Denning. I just bogged my car down," she said in one breath, her young white teeth glistening with her smile.
"Y-Yes, I can see that," he stammered, her accidental use of his first name surprising him. In the past, it had always been Mr. Denning. "Come on, I'll drive you. I wanted to talk to you anyway," he added with a little smile of his own. "Ooohhh?" he heard her pleasant girlish voice questioningly fade as she unhesitantly circled the car, that too astonishing him. He opened the door for her and she climbed in, making none of the usual demure efforts toward covering her youthfully rounded thighs with her tiny mini-skirt. Being with Clete these last few months had changed her, not to mention her horrid experience with the wild dog. "It's not very often that I get picked up by the handsomest man in town," she said with a light, flirty air, the pleasing scent of fragrant soap reaching him.