by Nan Ryan
His hand slowly reached for her, stopped short and fell back to his side. “I’ve never shown anyone this cave.” He said the words as though they meant something very special.
“Pecos, I’m glad,” she whispered.
Pecos shook his dark head as though to clear it, and the intensity in his eyes evaporated. “Let’s go,” he said coolly, swiveling on his heels and moving away in one fluid motion.
Angie stood silent and unmoving while he blew out the lamp and cast them into total blackness. A little sigh escaped her lips when his hand came to the small of her back to guide her back outside into the sunlight. Once outside, it was as if the old, teasing Pecos had surfaced, leaving the kind, sensitive stranger inside his secret cave.
Raking a lean hand through his blue-black hair, Pecos helped Angie mount her mare. “You know, Angel, that your little palomino is carrying Diablo’s colt.”
“I wasn’t sure, but I thought she … I mean I watched …”
Pecos chuckled and set her in the saddle. “Honey, you can bet if that black stud covered Ángel, she’s in foal. Diablo may be getting old, but he’s as virile as he ever was.”
He released her and mounted Diablo, reining the big stallion up beside her. It was the first time that Angie had noticed the long, deep scar down Diablo’s sleek left shoulder. Beginning atop the horse’s neck underneath his shiny, long mane, a hairless scar extended down from his withers to his underbelly.
“Pecos,” she said, studying the long, ugly imperfection, “how did your horse … It looks like someone cut Diablo.”
Pecos patted his faithful stud and looked down at the scar with pride. “Diablo is one hell of a horse, Angel. That old scar is from his days as a wild mustang roaming these mountains. A panther attacked him and this powerful beast managed to throw the bloodthirsty cat. Believe me, it takes some doing to toss a panther. Most horses have little chance against the big cats; a panther is so swift and vicious, he can leap a horse’s back and slash him to death in minutes.”
“Such power,” she murmured, then seized a natural opportunity. “Since we’re speaking of scars, Pecos, how about the one going down your chest? Did a panther do that, too?” She tossed her head and smiled saucily. “Or did you get it over a woman?”
He gave her a hot-eyed look and grinned wickedly. “It was very definitely over a woman, Angel. Are you jealous?” The mocking laughter was back.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Pecos.” She lifted her chin.
“Ah, Angel, Angel,” he drawled suggestively, “I know you’re really yearning for my body.”
Angel pulled up sharply on the reins. Ángel reared up, almost unseating her. Her eyes flashing green fire, she shouted, “You are the most conceited, crude, unprincipled man I’ve ever seen and I want you to leave me alone, do you hear me, Pecos McClain?”
His bold, gray eyes laughed at her. “Aren’t you forgetting, my sweet, it was you who followed me?”
Flustered and furious, Angie kicked her horse and galloped away, but the sound of Pecos’s deep, deriding laughter burned in her ears. Not for long. Pecos made no move to catch up with her.
That, too, made her angry.
Chapter Sixteen
THE FOURTH OF JULY APPROACHED and still it had not rained on the parched, thirsty ranges of southwest Texas. One hundred miles from Marfa, the town of Pecos, Texas, was preparing to host its rodeo. Three years before, the first rodeo had been held in the small, rowdy town to determine which of the area cowboys were the best ropers and riders. The event had been such a rip-roaring success, it was decided by the participants that it would become an annual occurrence. The worried cattlemen welcomed the opportunity to forget their troubles.
Pecos McClain had been an annual contestant in the rodeo from the beginning. This year, the rest of the family would be there to watch. Barrett McClain, Miss Emily and Angie boarded the train on the morning of July 3. Pecos had departed the day before. When the train chugged into the tiny station, the sun was setting, its last orange rays silhouetting a tall, long-legged man waiting on the wooden platform.
Ever the enigma, Pecos McClain strolled forward in superbly tailored evening clothes. Enchanted, Angie put her hands atop his wide shoulders as he lifted her from the train steps. Dazzled, she stood watching the way the expensive fabric of his coat pulled across his muscled back as he lifted his aunt down onto the platform. Barrett McClain alighted, snorting his ridicule at the way his son was dressed.
“Pecos,” he said, shaking his white head and laughing scornfully, “you’re supposed to be a big rough rider. You can’t go around town dressed like a fop.”
Pecos countered coolly, “I am a big rough rider and I can go around dressed any way I please.” He stepped between the two women, bent an elbow to each and said graciously, “Ladies, I’ve a table waiting in the dining room of the hotel. May I escort you to dinner?”
The next morning crowds swarmed the streets. The talk among the cowboys and ranchers was of the worsening drought turning the huge high ranges into bald wastelands, but Angie paid little attention. She was much too interested in the virile, heroic Pecos atop his trusted Diablo, proving his prowess as a rider and roper. Angie clutched her throat when a huge steer was released from the courthouse yard and Pecos thundered after him, a lasso twirling high above his head. In twenty-three seconds flat, his rope pulled the steer to a jerking halt while Angie and the rest of the thrilled spectators cheered and whistled.
A barbecue followed the show, and a dirty, sweat-soaked Pecos McClain ambled up to Angie to ask how she liked the rodeo. Awed by his daring performance, she said casually, “It was … interesting. Your ride was … nice.”
“Nice?” He looked at her and made a face. “Lady, there’s not one nice thing about me or you. There’s a dance tonight. Put the old folks to bed and meet me.”
Angie’s eyes nervously scanned the crowd, “I most certainly will not, I’ve no intention of—”
“You’ll be there,” he coolly assured her and walked away.
It was after eleven that night when Angie, tiptoeing through the darkness, slipped from the hotel suite she shared with Aunt Emily. Quietly closing the door behind her she crept down the carpeted hallway, terrified of being caught. She released her breath in relief as she hurried down the outside hotel steps.
Anxiously pushing her way through the throngs of happy dancers and drunken cowboys, Angie began to feel panicky. Pecos was nowhere to be seen and men were calling to her, asking for a dance, reaching out to grab at her. Caught in a swirling tide of restless humanity, Angie let out a shriek when a pair of strong hands captured her tiny waist from behind. Long arms gently slid around her, pulling her back against a tall, solid male frame. From over her head the tipsy, husky-voiced Pecos said into her hair. “What kept you?”
Warmth and relief spread through her tense body and slowly she turned in the circle of his arms. “I don’t know how to dance,” she said, feeling foolish and flustered and happy all at once.
“Who cares?” he murmured. He put his hands to her fragile wrists and gently raised them around his neck. His hands slid down her sides, gentle, caressing, paused for an instant at her waist and then went around her, slowly, seductively pulling her to him.
The music started and Pecos swayed. Angie swayed with him. Wordlessly, feet barely moving, they danced. Angie locked her hands behind his dark head and stood on tiptoe against him. Bending to her, Pecos molded her small, soft body to his and heard her gentle sighs as her breasts pressed against the hard warm wall of his chest. He shifted her slightly and his knee went between her legs, his hard thigh teasingly tormenting that feminine part of her that was beginning to gently throb from his closeness.
Riddled with guilt, Angie closed her eyes and tried to ignore the question of right or wrong. She floated mindlessly, wrapped in Pecos’s arms, oblivious to the swarms of people around them and the reality of Barrett McClain asleep upstairs in the hotel. She didn’t want to think on this sweltering Fourth of Ju
ly night. She wanted only to feel.
While the fireworks shot high into the dark heavens, Angie snuggled closer to Pecos and felt as if she were exploding inside. She was certain that Pecos felt the same. He shifted her again and the rigid evidence of his desire was like a hard, hot shaft of fire burning through the gathers of her soft summer dress. Angie trembled. She lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him, her lips parted, her eyes dreamy. His mouth, hot and demanding, took hers with blazing passion. Mindless of the dancers jostling them, Pecos kissed her, his tongue plundering, devouring, hungry.
When finally his lips left hers and she panted for breath, he said bluntly, “Come to bed with me, Angel.”
His words were like a dash of ice water flung into her hot face. Reality swiftly rushed in, and Angie gave a strangled cry and pushed him away. Lifting her skirts, she dashed through the crowd, escaping from him and from herself as well. As she ran her breath grew labored and her throat ached. Up the stairs to the hotel she scurried, never looking back. Down the quiet corridor to her room she went. In the darkness, she commanded her drumming, broken heart to slow, her reeling senses to be still. After several gasping moments, Angie crossed the dark room to the window. Straining to see, she looked toward the dancers and easily picked him out of the crowd. Her anger rising rapidly, Angie’s eyes narrowed. Pecos was holding a girl with hair the color of flame. And he was laughing merrily.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, her hands balling into fists as she whirled around. The man had no more morals than an animal. Nothing and no one meant anything at all to the heartless Pecos McClain.
Angie got undressed and into bed. Again he’d made a fool of her and she had let him. Why? Why couldn’t she stay away from him? Tears slid down her cheeks. Tears of confusion and jealousy; tears of hopelessness. As bad as Pecos was, Angie couldn’t bear the thought of his holding and kissing another woman. She didn’t love him, of course not, how could she? Her tears increased and she turned her face into the pillow.
“Pecos, Pecos,” she sobbed, “get out of my life!”
PECOS’S LURKING SEXUALITY was a constant threat to Angie, but she was learning to defend herself against the barrage of insinuating barbs, never-ending flirtations and barely veiled amorous advances, determined that what had happened at the Fourth of July rodeo would never happen again.
Angie shouldn’t have rallied so forcefully. Had she remained terrified and unable to hurl cutting remarks back into his handsome face, Pecos would have tired of the game and left her in peace. He found the combination of her lush, youthful beauty and the newly found feistiness impossible to resist.
Angie stayed away from Pecos as much as possible and she unconsciously tried to make up to Barrett McClain for her disgraceful behavior at the rodeo dance. Barrett had no idea she’d left her room to dance with Pecos, but Angie was remorseful and went out of her way to show kindness to the elder McClain.
Barrett McClain was delighted. He enjoyed taking the breeze on the long gallery in front of the hacienda on the warm evenings, and Angie had begun joining him there. Angie thought Barrett a pleasing companion, easy to talk with, seemingly understanding and kind. Many evenings Miss Emily would retire early, complaining that the summer heat had taken its toll. Angie and Barrett would remain alone on the veranda, he talking quietly of his plans for the future of Tierra del Sol and her place in them.
It was on one of those hot, lazy nights that Angie, having been subjected to Pecos’s heartless gibes throughout the day, felt drained and somehow strangely homesick. Sensing she was upset, Barrett, wisely waiting until Miss Emily had retired, spoke to Angie in a warm caring voice.
“My dear,” he said, rocking slowly back and forth in his favorite white chair, “I’m sure you must know I’ve come to look upon you as my daughter, as though I’d had you with me always.”
“Thank you, Barrett,” she murmured lifelessly, her heart heavy.
“Sweetheart, I know that something is bothering you this evening. Won’t you tell me what it is?” His soft brown eyes sought hers.
Longing to tell him the problem was his handsome, vulgar son, she knew that she could never tell him the truth. Fighting the tears of frustration stinging her eyes, she said instead, “I … Barrett, I’m sorry. I was just … I was remembering my papa and …” She looked at him and immediately added, “Please don’t misunderstand. You’re so kind and you’re like my …” Tears overflowed and Angie bowed her head.
It was his first natural opportunity, and Barrett McClain didn’t hesitate to take advantage. “My dear,” he said and held out his arms to her, stopping the motion of his rocker. Sobs bursting from her tight throat, Angie flew from her chair straight into his arms. He pulled the crying girl onto his lap, wrapping his short arms around her. “There, there, Angie,” he soothed, pressing her moist-eyed face to his shoulder. “Listen to me, sweet child,” he murmured, kissing her temple, “no one will ever take the place of your dear papa, Jeremiah. Why, I wouldn’t dare try; it would be impossible. But dear, if you’ll let me, I’ll be as near to your real father as any other man could be. I’m so fond of you. You’ll never know what having you means to me.”
Trusting him completely, Angie put her arm around his neck and buried her sad face in his chest. “Oh, Barrett, Barrett,” she hiccuped, “I am … so grateful to you. I get so frightened and I …”
“Shh, shh.” He again kissed her flushed temple and inhaled deeply of the sweet fragrance of her golden hair. “Angie, my little girl, you never need to be afraid of anything. You belong to me now and I’ll take care of you. Why, there’s nothing I want more than your trust and dependence. Should anything or anyone threaten you, you’ve only to tell me and I’ll put an end to it. I want you to tell me everything. Everything, do you hear me? Will you do that for me? I want to know all about you.” His square, sunburned hand ran up and down her slender back as he spoke and Angie relaxed against him. She felt safe here in Barrett’s fatherly arms. Pecos’s menace almost evaporated as she sat in the moonlight listening to Barrett’s soothing voice softly declaring that she had nothing to fear; that he would watch over her.
Barrett McClain hardly knew what he was saying. His arms around the slim, warm body of the beautiful golden-haired girl, he talked and talked and assumed that his words were pleasing to Angie because she snuggled close to his chest and made no move to leap from his lap. It was an iron will that kept the excitement from his voice. He was terrified that the innocent girl draped across his knees would feel the fire in his fingers as he gently caressed her back, would be burned by his hot, labored breath upon her sweet upturned face, would become aware of his painfully engorged masculinity pressing her soft, rounded bottom.
He continued to speak in low, modulated tones while her nearness drove him almost insane with passion. Blissfully unaware of the war within him, Angie peacefully fell asleep in his arms. Barrett looked down at the closed eyes and gave a sigh of relief. She had not suspected, and for that he was overwhelmingly grateful. Knowing he should waken her and send her off to bed, he sat slowly rocking her back and forth, enjoying immensely her vulnerability. She wore a thin summer dress with a low bodice and he hungrily feasted his eyes upon the rising swell of her creamy bosom, fighting the blinding desire to press his watering mouth to that sweet warm flesh. He let his big eager hand slide down over her back and to the gently rounded hip and thigh. When she didn’t stir, he grew bolder. Casting a hurried glance around, he smiled. He licked his dry lips and lowered his shaking hand to her flat stomach. He sighed softly and spread his hand, letting it rest there before slowly inching his way down over her belly. Before he could reach his desired target, Angie squirmed, changing her position, and he drew his hand away immediately.
Deciding it would be foolish to risk losing her trust before the upcoming wedding, Barrett groaned inwardly and gently rocked her while she slept. When he’d managed to dampen the fires raging within, he gingerly shook Angie awake. “Angie, dear, it’s growing late. You’d better
run along to your room now, don’t you think?”
Yawning, she raised her head and got up and stretched. Smiling down at him she bent and gave his weathered cheek a kiss. “Good night, Barrett, you don’t know how much your kindness means to me.”
“Good night, my dear, you sleep well.” He smiled, and added, “By the way, Angie, a physician will be here tomorrow … ah, it’s just to ensure your good health. You know, he’ll check your heart, that sort of thing.” Barrett cleared his throat. “He’ll examine you Angie, but …”
“That’s fine,” she said. She smiled sleepily, misunderstanding, and hurried away. In her bedroom, she undressed and fell tiredly into bed, feeling more secure than she’d felt in weeks. She had no trouble going to sleep.
Barrett McClain was the one to spend a sleepless night as the small taste of Angie’s nearness had stirred in him deep, hungry passions.
He lay in the darkness in agony, knowing that the object of his desire was sleeping under his very roof. Groaning with frustration, Barrett flung an arm up over his eyes and cautioned himself once again that he would have to wait a few more months to end this torture. Only when he’d made the unsuspecting Angie his legal wife could he bring her up to his big bed and indulge his lust again and again. He smiled, calming a little, and let the pleasant vision of his wedding night fill his head until he drifted off to sleep.
ANGIE SAT SHIVERING in the hot, closed room. Delores gave her a consoling look and answered the knock on the door. The tall, bulky doctor with bushy brown hair and owlish eyes, bore down on Angie, carrying his small black bag.
“Good morning, Miss Webster.” His thin, chapped lips stretched into the semblance of a smile above his saggy jowls.
Angie, seated on the edge of her bed, a white sheet her only covering, fought the panic rising in her throat. Cold small hands clutched the sheet across her breasts. Her knees were so tightly pressed together, she could feel the pressure from hips to toes. The huge, smiling doctor stopped directly in front of the terrified girl and set his black bag on the bed.