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My Dearest Sybil,
My dear sweet child, your father has failed you. Once I thought John Henry to be a suitable husband for my only child but only before I learned of his trickery. I will be heading out in the morning to New Orleans. I have mailed letters of account to your uncle there and will need to retrieve them to gain back the ranch and your future. My despair over losing your Mother led me to fail her final request of taking care of you. Now it is time I fulfill her request and make things right. Stay away from John Henry my dear child, for I fear his trickery knows no bounds. Should I fail at my attempt to regain ownership of the ranch, you must leave. I fear you will not be safe. You uncle has assured me you would be accepted well in New Orleans, but first for my own peace, I must try to undo the things I have done. Please, my daughter, forgive me.
Benjamin
Tossing at the images of her father's casket in the ground being covered by unmerciful shovels full of earth and the haunting remembrance of his letter, Sybil sat up in the bed and stared into the darkness of the room. Night had long since fallen and the murmur of the staff and guests had disappeared leaving her sitting in the dark silence of the big house. Her father hadn't been gone a full day when the sheriff had arrived at the ranch with news of his death. John Henry stood solid at the news, unflinching as the lawman told the tale of the murder of his business partner. In the days leading to the funeral, he had attempted to console Sybil's heavy heart. She might have been grateful had she not found the letter her father had slipped under her pillow the morning he left. He hadn't even tried to comfort her once, she thought as her mind turned back to the mournful gathering in the parlor after her father's funeral. John Horner had stood perched against the mantel of the fireplace all evening sipping slowly on whatever liquor he'd found and eyed all the guests. The few times her eyes landed on him, the heated stare and the sinister sneer on his lips unsettled her. The last time she'd met the cold gaze, she'd snuck away from the crowd and disappeared into her father's bedroom. Though the sheriff had told her and everyone else that they had no clue to who her father's murderer could be, Sybil knew. She had slipped her father's letter into the sheriff's pocket the last time she had made her rounds checking on the guests, but there was no doubt in her mind he probably wouldn't find it until after leaving. That would give the law a place to start investigating and her plenty of time to do what she needed to do. The small tapestry bag slid silently from under the bed as she gently tugged on its strap. All she had to do now was get the money from her father's safe, saddle her horse and leave for her uncle's plantation in New Orleans. As she tucked the bottom of her shirt into the hem of her denim trousers, Sybil's eyes grew as a pool of light slithered under the door of her father's bedroom. She had assumed everyone had gone already, but maybe it was one of the staff just cleaning up. As the pool grew larger, the soft padding of footsteps filled her ears. Hoping it was just one of the ladies checking on her, Sybil kicked the bag back under the bed and quickly slipped back under the covers. Closing her eyes, the soft click of the door threatened to choke the very breath from her body.
The mattress groaned beside her as some weight pressed down against it, Sybil tensed willing herself to stay still. The softness of a hand passed over her forehead lifting her hair from her face and shoulder as a hard sigh filled the room. "I know you aren't sleeping my darling, I heard you moving around in here." The sound of his voice sent chills down her spine almost as much as the slow petting passes of his hands in her hair did. "What do you want John," she managed to mutter slowly opening her eyes into the darkness. The soft candle light glowed behind him and she was almost thankful he'd left the candle on the dresser so that he couldn't see her face, nor her his. His body shifted on the mattress making the springs groan once more, wrinkling her nose against the strong smell of his aftershave Sybil shivered. "Now that your father is gone," he started with no tone of comfort in his voice, "I have come to claim what is mine." Feeling the heat of his hand slipping under the collar of her shirt and brush against the soft warmth of her neck, Sybil started upright in the bed holding the quilt tightly in front of her. "What do you mean claim what is yours?" Her voice was high pitched and trembling as she tried to distance herself from him sliding back against the head of the bed. The low wicked rumble of his laugh flooded her ears as he shifted again on the mattress beside her. "I've owned his share of the ranch since your father lost it to me in a card game two years ago, but now it's time to collect on his debt of letting you both still live here until his untimely departure." As all the rumors she'd heard over the past two years came flooding back to her, Sybil recalled the urgency in her father's letter about her leaving. Quickly slipping past him, she slid out of the bed and started toward the door. "Sybil," his deep voice teased as she pulled on the doorknob finding it unwilling to open, "don't fight it. Once we are married and you are mine, we will own the largest spread this side of the Texas border." The quickening of her heartbeat filled her ears and faded the soft thudding of his footsteps. As she pulled again on the knob and tried to wrench the door open, his hands dug into her shoulders and forcefully turned her around. "Now, now my darling," his voice oozed with a dark sinister tone as he pressed her back against the door and closed the gap between them pushing his body against hers. Before she could open her mouth to say anything, his mouth bit into hers in a hard fevered kiss as his hands quickly found the buttons of her shirt and ripped them apart. Fighting against the sting of his teeth scraping and pulling against her lips, Sybil found the lock bar of the door lifted it and raised her knee in a swift motion slamming it into his groin. The loud growl coming from him as his body stumbled away from hers gave her the chance to swing the door open and break free.
As she turned the corner into the big dining room, his hand crept through the darkness and grabbed onto the loose, torn material of her shirt, pulling it down her arms. "Get away from me John," she screamed as she rounded the long, heavy mahogany table of her mothers. With a hard thud into her side forcing the air from her lungs, Sybil fell forward over the smooth coolness of the table. His hands grabbed her shoulders again, lifting her then slamming her hard back against the table top before his body pressed over the top of hers. Against the screaming squeak of the table's bad leg, he grunted hard, "I told your father years ago if he gave you to me he could keep the ranch. I didn't think I was going to have to kill the old bastard for it, but now the ranch and you are mine." A swift rough pull of the denim trousers raked relentlessly at her hips as he pulled the material down her thighs. Shoving his hand between their bodies fighting at the catch of his own pants, Sybil beat her fist into the side of his face screaming, "Murderer!" One lucky blow of her knuckles stopped his evil laughter and sent him off the side of the table. As Sybil jumped up off the table she heard the loud screech of the table's bad leg pierce the night air. A loud crash followed by his cry of agony rang out in the darkness. As she started toward the parlor, the moonlit glow in the house played on the etched glass of the large French doors. The hard pulling grip of his hand wrapping around her ankle sent her flying forward crashing through the door. A heated pain shot through her neck and face as the glass shattered and rained down around her. Sybil kicked away from his grasp, crawling into the parlor before returning with the shotgun her father always kept over the mantle. As the shimmering shards of glass crunched under her bare feet, she stood over him looking down the barrel of the gun. The darkness of his hair and the sweat on his bare chest glistened in the pale moonlight as he sat up beside the fallen table with his leg still penned under its weight. "You killed my father," she half snarled as she raised the gun, pressing the butt into the soft curve of her naked shoulder. Raising his hand and running it slowly through the tussled mess of his hair, the sinister sneer stretched over his face again as he looked up at her. "You wouldn't shoot me, now would you my darling," his voice oozed the fake tenderness as her finger squeezed the trigger. As the shotgun blast rang in her ears, Sybil lowered the gun wa
tching the jerking of his body against the floor and gritted her teeth, "Don't call me darling."