by Nan Ryan
“Listen to me, Delores,” Angie raised herself up, her lips thinned, “I don’t care where this land came from nor who is the rightful heir. I’m telling you that I married the miserable old man believing he was good and kind, only to be subjected to the worst nightmare of my life. If he’d not fallen ill, I would have had to …” Angie shuddered at the thought.
“Angie, Angie,” Delores said in a calming tone, “I know how you feel. Barrett McClain, he lied to you and did bad things to you, but … it is not Pecos’s fault! Pecos is not like Barrett, he is a good, loving boy, not ever—”
“Stop, Delores. I’m not interested in what Pecos is or is not. If you knew …” Angie paused, smiled at Delores and said honestly, “Delores, I can see why you are upset, but there are many things you don’t know. I hope you’ll not hold it against me that I …”
“Angie, I love you, you are always sweet and kind. But I have loved Pecos for twenty-seven years. Honey, he is special to me. Couldn’t the two of you share …”
“No, Delores, we couldn’t. Pecos is a cold man and we don’t get along.”
“He is not,” Delores defended. “I do not know what happened between you two. I had even hoped when you first came to the ranch that you and Pecos would …” She sighed heavily. “I know Pecos all his life. Barrett McClain neglect Pecos since Pecos was a little boy. It break my heart to watch that beautiful loving child try so hard to please his daddy, to beg for his love! No, señora, Pecos may have faults, but he is not a cold, bad man like his father. His heart is tender!”
BY LATE AFTERNOON all the guests had departed. Again, dressed in her black dress, Angie sat on a high-backed chair in the library. Pecos, his long arms folded across his chest, leaned back against the cold marble fireplace. Miss Emily sat beside him. Behind Barrett’s desk, the McClain attorney, Donald Worth, held a legal document in his hands. Outside the closed library door, Asa Granger and Punch Dobson stood watch.
In an even, modulated voice, the attorney read the bizarre last will and testament of Barrett McClain. Angie hazarded a quick glance up at Pecos when the words leaving everything to her were read. A white ring of anger appeared around his full mouth, and his gray eyes held a stunned, disbelieving look. It was gone almost at once, but Angie knew he was seething and had every right to be upset. His tall, lean body looked tense, immovable, and Angie felt a disturbing pang of guilt.
“If there’s nothing more …” The attorney rose and looked at Angie.
Angie stood up. “Thank you Mr. Worth, shall I see you to the door?”
“I’ll find my way, Mrs. McClain.” He kissed her hand and turned to Miss Emily and Pecos. “If you’ll excuse me.” Miss Emily nodded absently, stunned, heartbroken for her beloved nephew. Pecos shook the attorney’s hand with a kind of lazy ease and smiled as though nothing undue had happened.
Pecos escorted his aunt to her room and went to his own. He walked directly to a peg in his closet where his gun belt hung. Smiling coldly, he took it down, slung it around his slim hips and buckled it. Checking his revolver, he loaded each chamber and thrust it into the holster. Pecos pulled his black suit jacket back together, concealing gun and belt. He strode directly back to the library, strolling past the two huge men still guarding the door.
“Mrs. McClain,” he said softly, and Angie looked up from the desk where she sat rereading the will. “I wonder if I could have a word with your two bodyguards.”
“Why, I don’t … You … Certainly,” she stammered.
“Then if you’ll be good enough to tell them, I’ll appreciate it.” He gave her an engaging, boyish smile. Wishing he were not so overwhelmingly handsome, Angie said nervously, “You tell them. They’re just outside the door.”
“You don’t understand. I’ve no authority over them. They will only listen to a command from you. You own everything at Del Sol, remember?” His full lips curled cruelly and his gray eyes were narrowed in contempt.
Angie came around the desk, brushed past him and jerked the door open. “Mr. Granger, Pecos wishes to have a word with you and Mr. Dobson in private. He has my permission.” She sashayed back inside and glared at Pecos.
“My humble gratitude, Your Highness.” Pecos bowed exaggeratedly and left her. Silently he led the two bodyguards out of the hacienda and toward their quarters. Inside the sitting room of the spacious adobe house the two men shared, Pecos made his wishes immediately known.
“I want you both off this property by the time the sun sets today. Don’t ever come back.” Pecos stood facing the big Asa Granger.
“You can want anything you please, Pecos, but it’s not up to you to tell us to leave.” Asa was smiling.
“I am telling you. You’re both fired as of this minute. Pack your things and get out.”
Asa Granger laughed in Pecos’s face. “You’re the trespasser here, boy, you don’t own Del Sol. Mrs. Angie McClain owns it. Why, you don’t own a …”
Pecos whipped his gun from its holster and stuck it firmly underneath the square jaw of Asa Granger. “Here’s my deed.” Pecos smiled.
Immediately contrite, Asa started to beg. “Come on now, Pecos. Hell, what have you got against us? All we ever did was carry out the wishes of your old man.”
“Yeah, Pecos,” Punch Dobson added hopefully, “you know how he was. Why, we didn’t like a lot of the things we had to do, but we were paid to—”
Coldly cutting in, Pecos said through clenched teeth, “There’s no amount of money that could make a decent man whip a helpless, naked Mexican boy.”
“We didn’t, Pecos. Remember, you …”
Pecos shoved the gun closer to Asa’s jawbone. “I remember all too well. My sanctimonious daddy gave the boy the first lash, then turned the whip over to you. If I hadn’t intervened, you’d have beaten him unmercifully. No more conversation. Pack up, both of you, and get out.” Pecos lowered the gun back to its holster, pivoted and left. At the open doorway he turned. “I’ll be leaving Del Sol, too, but if I ever hear of either of you setting foot on this range again, I’ll return to kill you.”
Pecos felt better. He walked back to his room in the late-afternoon sun. Shrugging out of his black jacket, he went to visit with his aunt. Patiently assuring her that he would get along without the McClain fortune, he ate the evening meal with her, gave her a kiss on the temple and pleaded tiredness. By twilight, he was in his room, making plans to leave at daybreak.
Pecos poured himself a bourbon and paced the quiet room. He began to chuckle at the irony of it. Angel had gotten it all! The room where he stood was not his. It belonged to her. And she’d gotten it so easily. For twenty-seven years he’d assumed that his birthright would make the place his, when apparently one torrid night in Angel’s bed was all it took for Barrett McClain to sign everything over to her. Obviously the heart-stopping climax had been just that. Pecos grinned at his sardonic joke and poured another bourbon. And another.
IT WAS PAST MIDNIGHT. Angie, pacing the floor in her big upstairs bedroom was plagued with doubts and misgivings over inheriting all of Barrett McClain’s wealth. For hours she’d been tortured with her guilt, longing for advice, wishing there was someone to whom she could tell everything, some way she could right the wrongs. Delores’s strong defense of Pecos kept ringing in her ears, and the heartbroken look on Miss Emily’s sweet face haunted her.
Finding it much more difficult than she’d expected to be the cold, uncaring woman she had told herself she’d be from here on out, Angie couldn’t shake the misery she felt. Nor the guilt. After spending hours alone, tormenting herself with painful soul-searching, she came to a decision. No matter what he had done to her, Pecos was indeed the rightful heir to Tierra del Sol. The land had belonged to his mother; he’d told her so that day in his secret cave. He’d told her how much he loved the land, his life on the range and the vast, lonely empire that was Del Sol.
Angie felt some of the tension slip away. She’d made up her mind, and already she breathed a little easier. She would give half
of everything to Pecos. Split it all right down the middle. He could remain at the ranch and run it; he knew ranching, knew how to make it profitable; she did not. They would be business partners, putting aside their personal differences. Surely a mansion as large as Del Sol was big enough for them both. They needn’t even see each other except at prearranged meetings to discuss the necessary decisions connected with operating a gigantic cattle empire.
Knowing Pecos well enough to assume he intended to leave early in the morning, Angie slipped a soft white robe over her satin nightgown, intent on telling him immediately of her decision. She crossed the room, paused and frowned. Biting the inside of her bottom lip, she envisioned the huge Asa Granger standing outside her door. She squared her shoulders and jerked the heavy door open, intending to tell the intrusive man that he and his partner were no longer needed. Or wanted.
A soft sigh of relief escaped Angie’s lips. Asa Granger and Punch Dobson were nowhere in sight. She was puzzled but delighted. Almost smiling, Angie closed her bedroom door, descended the carpeted stairs and made her way silently to Pecos’s room. When she lifted her hand to knock softly, her heart lurched beneath the robe. She stood waiting, feeling she’d made a mistake. She should not have come to his room at night. He wouldn’t understand, he might …
The door opened. Pecos stood before her wearing only a white towel knotted loosely at his left hip. His blue-black hair was damp and falling onto his forehead. The thick hair of his chest was glistening with drops of water. His feet were bare and he smelled of soap and bourbon. His smoky eyes widened and then narrowed.
“Come in.” He swept a long bare arm out, gesturing her into the room. He closed the door and padded past her, straight to the nearly empty bourbon decanter. “Join me?” he asked as he held up his glass.
“I … I don’t drink,” she stammered nervously. “I’m sorry I came so late. It’s … I …”
“You came at a perfect time. Five minutes earlier and I would have still been in my bath. You will excuse the less than formal attire.” He swiveled around and looked at her.
Angie unconsciously clutched at the lapels of her robe, wishing she’d taken the time to dress before she came. Wishing that Pecos were fully clothed. Wishing he were not quite so tall, so dark, so male.
“Did you drop by to gloat, or is there something on your mind?” He set the glass aside and came closer.
“I … I … Pecos, I’ve been thinking. I see no need for you to leave Del Sol. You could remain and …”
Anger blazed in his expressive gray eyes. “Oh, sure, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Mrs. McClain.” His lips thinned hatefully. “What do you want me to do? Be dependent on you, hang onto your skirts?” He smiled sarcastically and added, “Or is it under your skirts where you want me?”
Fury flared immediately in Angie. She stepped closer and slapped him hard across his smooth, handsome face. Pecos’s head turned with the blow, the sound of the contact startlingly loud in the quiet room. Teeth grinding, jaw stinging, he reached for her as she whirled around to flee. His strong fingers gripped her arm and pulled her against him with such force Angie’s breath escaped in a loud whish when she slammed up against Pecos’s bare chest.
Indignant, she declared hotly, “I want you to—”
Pecos held her to him, his fingers cutting into her arm. His free hand moved up to cradle her head tightly as he interrupted, “You want … you want! Who the hell do you think you are coming to my room telling me what you want? You own the ranch; you don’t own me. I don’t give a damn what you want. How about hearing what I want!” He was breathing heavily, his broad furry chest heaving against hers.
Angie looked up into the stormy gray eyes; afraid, attracted, weak. She wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and tried to speak, her voice shaky, her anger slipping away. “Tell me,” she whispered. “Let me hear what you want, Pecos.”
She saw the rage leave his eyes, replaced with confusion, then with warmth and finally desire. Both were too aware of the intoxicating effect of their closeness. Angie was weakened by the powerful male body pressing against her, filling her with warmth and longing and need. Pecos was just as conscious of the soft, sweet female curves nestled to him.
Slowly the punishing fingers on her arm loosened, and Angie was sure he meant to gently set her from him. She was glad. She hadn’t the will to pull away. Her heart skipped alarmingly when, instead of pushing her from him, his hand moved up to her chin and his thumb and forefinger tenderly tilted her face to his. She held her breath as his lips descended to hers. Pecos brushed his mouth to hers so lightly she hardly felt his touch. He raised his head and looked at her, his eyes questioning. Angie, trembling, rose on tiptoe and brushed her mouth to his, just as he had done. Parroting his gesture, she went back down on her heels and looked up at him, her emerald eyes inquiring.
A loud groan of surrender came from Pecos’s naked chest as he pulled her to him and kissed her with a fire and fury that were devastating. Angie locked her arms around his neck and clung to him, kissing him wildly, meeting his thrusting tongue with hers, both letting their simmering passions burst into healthy flame. For a long time they kissed, almost devouring each other. They kissed as they had never kissed before, taking turns as the aggressor. At first it was Pecos whose fiery tongue explored the sweetness of her inner mouth, and when Angie sucked at his tongue, Pecos moaned with rapture. Breaking apart only for gasping breaths, their mouths rapidly locked together again. Angie, learning from Pecos, thrust her tongue deep into his hot mouth, and Pecos loved it.
When they’d kissed until both were burning with passion, Pecos lifted his hot lips from Angie’s and placed them on her temple. Cautiously, he took Angie’s slender right wrist in his long fingers and moved her hand down from his back. Slowly, while his open lips scattered kisses on her forehead, Pecos moved her hand around his body, between them, and finally to the hard rise of male flesh beneath the restraining towel. For a minute he left his hand on hers, and he whispered softly, “You wouldn’t really kill me if I put that in you, would you?” He moved his hand from hers.
Her hand remained on him. Timidly, she stroked him through the towel while he sighed and kissed her hair. “I think,” she murmured against his warm, clean chest, “that I shall kill you if you don’t put it into me.” Her hand reached up to jerk at the knot on his hip. The towel fell to the floor.
“Sweet Jesus, honey,” he murmured huskily, shuddering, as naked he stood pressed against her, the blood pounding in his temples.
Angie was just as inflamed. When Pecos’s eager hands pushed the robe from her shoulders, Angie helped him pull the satin nightgown down over her full breasts and hips to the floor.
“Love me,” she whispered passionately and threw her arms around his neck.
Pecos drew her to him, his mouth went to hers, his hands filled with her soft, rounded buttocks. Angie provocatively rubbed her bare, heated little body against his, glorying in the pulsating power she felt throbbing against her belly. Instinctively, she began to rotate her hips in erotic movements of loving, until Pecos, close to climaxing, jerked his dark head up and begged, “God, honey, wait … wait.”
He carried her to his bed. Angie lay back on the softness, her arms held up to him. Aching with passion she writhed in eagerness for him to take her. Pecos groaned with need and fell atop her. Swiftly, deeply, he thrust into her while she sighed and moaned and kissed his shoulders and throat. Wildly they moved together, two ravenous, uninhibited young animals, giving and taking, intent solely on attaining the ultimate physical gratification. Forgotten was the McClain money and the purpose of her visit to his room. Cast aside were bitterness, doubt, jealousy, shame and distrust. Oblivious to all save the raging fire between them, they mated violently, primitively, Pecos murmuring unmentionable erotic phrases; Angie thrilling to the words she’d never heard spoken.
Too soon they reached the crest, erupting together in a fiery release that was as frightening as it was fulfilling. Both
cried out in their ecstasy; then they collapsed.
Legs and arms entwined, they lay together, panting for breath, throats dry, hearts pounding, bodies slick with perspiration. Neither spoke. Angie, satiated and limp, lay beneath her tall, heavy lover, feeling she’d found complete bliss. Her arms wrapped tightly around him, she longed to hold him that way forever, to never have him out of her. His dark face lay pressed to her breasts. Angie smiled happily, kissed the thick blue-black hair of his head and spoke.
“Darling, about me inheriting the …”
Pecos lifted his head. The look she saw in his expressive eyes was chilling. Her words had brought him back to harsh reality, and no sooner was he sated than he was filled with disgust, for himself and for her. And he wanted her to know it.
“Ah, Angel, you get better at your trade with each performance.” He rolled off her, slid from the bed, running a hand through his dark, disheveled hair. “Tell me, when you so eagerly spread your legs to my old man, did you service him as expertly as you do me?”
All the tenderness she’d felt only seconds before was gone. As though he’d struck her brutally, she felt her love for him seeping from her as the blood drained from her tortured face. Anger welled up within her and she longed to hurt him just as he was hurting her. Forcing a wicked smile to her lips, Angie playfully turned over onto her stomach, her elbows bent, her face resting in her hands. She kicked her feet in the air and sighed, as though recalling something very pleasant.
“I tell you, Pecos,” she said in a slow honeyed voice, “you’d be surprised to know how much of a man your father was.” She looked up at him and relished the stunned, horrified look she saw in those gray eyes. Spurred on by his response, she again rolled over and lay on her back, displaying all her charms to the tall, angered man standing above her. “It was glorious with Barrett; he did things to me that I never dreamed—”
“Stop it!” Pecos shouted angrily and fell upon the bed beside her. Placing a hand on either side of her blond head, he leaned over her and snarled through thinned lips. “You immoral, repulsive, greedy little bitch! You make me sick … you and your little-girl act. That soft, fragile-looking body that’s known so many men you’ve lost count.” A punishing hand grabbed a thick shock of her golden hair. “How many men have buried an eager face in this spun gold, you beautiful, slimy reptile?” He saw the tears spring to her wide, emerald eyes and delighted in her reaction. “Good.” He grinned, twisting her hair painfully around his hand. “Cry for me. Turn on the tears, Angel. You’ll excuse me if I’m not too touched. You see, I must get back in the tub, so you’ll have to go to your room to cry. The feel and scent of you is on my body and I find it most distasteful.” He released her hair and was off the bed again, picking up her discarded gown and robe. “Please leave,” he said coldly, thrusting the satin nightclothes toward her.