Wanting You

by Nan Ryan

  If not for Brit Caruth, everything would have been wonderful. For the first time in her life Anna was treated with respect and kindness. Already LaDextra doted on her, showed her the affection she had never known, had been starved for. Will Davis, the silver-haired attorney, had quickly become a kind, fatherly ally. She felt sure that Will believed she was Anna, and she suspected he hadn’t expended a great deal of effort trying to prove otherwise.

  Friends and acquaintances of the Regent family came to the ranch specifically to see Anna. Each had some small memory of her, and they had kept the memories alive because they cared about her, had grieved for her. Even people who were not close friends of the Regents were kind to Anna.

  The first time she was to go into Regentville with LaDextra, Anna had been sick with apprehension. She remembered the reception she’d received on the streets of Nogales—the jeers and insults and threats. Would it be the same here? These people all knew she had spent years among the Apache. Would they look down on her, too?

  To her relief, the townsfolk had come up to her, smiling, eager to welcome her home. They hadn’t expected her to remember them, but they remembered her. All were kind and friendly and put her at her ease.

  Anna had been deeply touched. She had never before felt loved or wanted. Now everyone seemed to love and care about her. It was heady stuff. She was happy. It all felt so right, so good. She wondered if it was because she really was Anna.

  As the warm days glided pleasantly by, Anna became more and more at home on The Regent. She worried less and less about being found out. She realized that it would be next to impossible for anyone to prove that she was not Anna.

  Or that she was.

  Still, she did worry. She never completely relaxed.

  Not with Brit Caruth on the premises.

  Eight

  “She is roughly the same age. Same slim carriage. Same big blue eyes. Same pale golden hair,” said Will Davis thoughtfully.

  “Sure, Will, but that description fits thousands of women,” Brit replied. “It’s hardly enough to convince me she’s LaDextra’s granddaughter. And it damned sure shouldn’t be enough to convince LaDextra’s trusted legal counsel.”

  “Now, Brit.”

  “Don’t ‘now, Brit’ me. A stranger shows up after all these years claiming she’s the missing Regent heiress and we’re not to doubt it? To look into it? Jesus, Will, you’re LaDextra’s attorney. You’re supposed to look after her interests, keep her from being taken in by a charming little swindler who just happens to resemble her long-lost granddaughter.”

  The two men were alone in Brit’s office, sharing a drink at the close of the day. The last rays of a dying June sun slanted in through the half-open shades, bathing the dark, masculine room in a reddish-gold glow. Brit sat behind his mahogany desk, leaning back in his chair, his booted feet, crossed at the ankles, resting on the desktop.

  The attorney, his linen suit jacket open, one hand in his trousers pocket, paced nervously back and forth, feeling as if he were being interrogated. And loath to admit that he had done little or nothing to disprove Anna’s claim.

  “Look, Brit, I know how you feel, but—”

  “Do you?” Brit cut him off. “I don’t think so.” He downed the last of his bourbon, swung his feet to the carpeted floor, set the heavy leaded glass on his desk and rose.

  Torn between conflicting loyalties, Will said, “Son, LaDextra doesn’t want me to do too much checking into Anna’s past. She’s the same as told me that. She’s totally convinced that this girl is Anna, and she sees no need to investigate further.”

  “I can understand that,” Brit said. “LaDextra’s an old woman who has suffered more than her share of loss. But maybe you’ve forgotten that this is not the first time she’s thought she had found her granddaughter.”

  Will looked sheepish. It was the truth. Over the years there had been at least three other young women who had shown up, claiming to be the missing heiress. None had favored anyone in the Regent family, and under intense questioning in Will’s law offices, all had been easily exposed and sent on their way.

  “That was different,” Will said.

  “The difference is that you were intent on denouncing them. But not this one. What’s so special about her, Will? Why are you perfectly willing to believe her?”

  Will’s face flushed and he said nothing. Brit shook his dark head in disgust. He came around the desk, headed for the door.

  “Forget it. You won’t hear another word out of me. You and LaDextra are convinced she’s Anna. So be it.”

  “What would it take to convince you, Brit?”

  Brit stopped in the doorway. “Ever hear of proof?”

  “How can I prove that she is Anna?”

  “You can’t,” said Brit. “But I will prove that she isn’t.”

  It was mid-June, and still no rain had fallen in southwest Texas and the Guadalupe Mountains.

  The once green pastures of the big Sunland spread were starting to turn brown, the grass was beginning to die from lack of water, the ground was becoming loose and dust-dry. The water tanks scattered out over the range were all getting low.

  The lack of rain was accompanied by relentless century-mark heat. The long June days were scorching hot. The nights were not much cooler. Everyone was complaining of the heat, the incredible dryness.

  Brit and some of the other cowboys and vaqueros rode the range bare-chested in an attempt to keep cool. LaDextra took to spending the hottest part of the afternoons in her darkened bedroom, wearing a dampened nightgown.

  Anna, too, suffered from the sweltering temperatures. She became irritable, had little energy.

  And as the Texas summer heat grew steadily fiercer, so did an unsettling heat of another kind.

  Night after sleepless night, Anna lay awake in her stifling hot bedroom trying not to think about how Brit looked without his shirt. Or how a rebellious lock of his jet-black hair constantly fell over his high forehead. Or how his tapered brown fingers stroked his wineglass at dinner. Or how his tight Levi’s appealingly outlined his slim hips and long legs.

  Or how he looked at her with those smoldering dark eyes that held a promise of paradise.

  She wondered, as she lay there tingling from head to toe from just thinking about him, if the fascination was mutual.

  It was.

  Brit couldn’t help wanting Anna. He knew better. He knew that he should leave her alone. But he also knew that he couldn’t. He wanted her. Wanted her badly. Wanted her more with the passing of each hot summer night. He had to have her at least once. Then he would let her be.

  Brit knew women. Knew them well. Had plenty of experience at sensing exactly what a woman wanted, even before she knew it herself. He knew without a word passing between them what Anna was thinking, how she was feeling. He knew that she was lying in bed each night wide awake, unable to sleep.

  Because of him.

  He knew that she wanted him, just as he wanted her. He knew he was upsetting her, scaring her, tempting her. He knew that with the passing of each long, hot summer day she was growing a little more anxious, a little more attracted. Just as he was.

  At first he had been only mildly interested. Curious, but not overly so. She was a beauty, and he had fleetingly wondered how it would feel to hold her in his arms, but he hadn’t spent much time thinking about it.

  Now he could think of little else.

  Lying awake at night in the room right next to hers, Brit thought about the tempting swell of her pale bosom rising above the low-cut bodice of her frilly summer dresses. And the way her long golden hair ignited in the candlelight. And the sound of her rich, soft voice saying his name in a way that made his chest hurt. And how she prettily flushed and nervously licked her lips when he boldly gazed at her across the dining table.

  Ah, yes, she wanted him.

  Still, Brit wanted to make sure she was totally ready and willing before he went to her. So he intentionally let her twist in the wind. He bided
his time, allowing the sexual tension to build, waiting for the opportune moment when he was certain she would sweetly surrender.

  On a hot, hot late-June night after a long, leisurely dinner during which the two of them had been unable to keep their eyes off each other, Brit felt sure the time had come. Unspoken messages had passed between them throughout the evening meal. Silent sexual communications going back and forth, unnoticed by the others. Invitations to intimacy extended through the flirtatious lowering of her thick lashes, the fierce beating of the pulse in his throat.

  Now, finally, at well past midnight the big house was silent and sleeping. Brit lying naked on his bed, arms folded beneath his head, knew the moment for which he’d been waiting had finally arrived. He swung his long legs over the mattress’s edge, sat up and got to his feet.

  He stood in the darkness, anticipating what was about to happen. He padded into his bathroom, where the black marble tub, which had been filled earlier, was waiting for him. He stepped into the cooling water, sank down into its depths and lathered and bathed his lean body from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He ran a hand over his jaw, wondered if he should shave again. He decided against it. He couldn’t wait that long. He wanted her now.

  After toweling his slippery brown body and thick raven hair dry, Brit slipped on a pair of freshly laundered Levi’s, but didn’t bother with shirt or shoes. He crossed the room, stepped out onto the moon-silvered balcony and drew a deep breath. He walked the short distance to Anna’s room.

  The French doors were open.

  Inside the spacious room, Brit softly called her name and went directly to the bed. She didn’t hear him. She was sound asleep. And, God, she was irresistible. His heart hammering in his naked chest, Brit stared at her, enchanted, fascinated.

  She was wearing a lace-trimmed white nightgown, but the delicate fabric had become twisted and had risen up past her pale thighs, while the gown’s bodice, partially open, revealed the soft curve of her breast.

  Wanting her with a passion that quickly blazed out of control, Brit couldn’t stop the immediate response of his body. With his swollen tumescence straining the denim fabric of his tight Levi’s, he sat down on the bed facing her, bracing an arm across her slender body.

  For a long moment he simply stared at her, trembling with need, excited beyond belief.

  “Anna,” he whispered, slowly lowering his mouth to hers. “Kiss me, Anna. Kiss me.”

  Before his yearning lips could cover hers, she was fully awake and fully furious. To Brit’s stunned surprise, she pulled a sharp-bladed knife from under her pillow, stuck it against his naked ribs and snarled, “Don’t you dare touch me, Britton Caruth.”

  Half frightened, half excited, Brit murmured huskily, “Ah, baby, don’t be like that. Don’t you want me? I want you. See?” he lowered his eyes, directing her attention to the awesome erection straining his Levi’s. “See how much I want you.”

  Never taking the knife from his ribs, Anna purposely softened her expression and her voice. In a sultry whisper she said, “Oh, Brit, Brit, you do want me, don’t you. Does it hurt? Shall I fix it for you?”

  Sure she had capitulated, Brit urged huskily, “Oh, yes, yes.” Then blinked in shock when she gave his hard, throbbing flesh a sound, swift thump with thumb and forefinger.

  “There,” she said sarcastically, smiling at the stunned man, “all better now?”

  With fury flashing out of his dark eyes, Brit said, “Why, you cruel little bitch! I ought to—”

  “Get up!” she ordered, cutting him off in mid-sentence, pressing the knife blade into his ribs. Brit hesitated “Now!” she warned.

  Brit rose and Anna leaped to her feet before him. With the flat of the knife blade never leaving his flesh, she backed him across the room to the open French doors.

  “Perhaps you’ve forgotten I was taught by the savages. I can take care of myself. If you ever again touch me,” she threatened coldly, “I’ll kill you.”

  Nine

  Back in his own room, Brit poured a stiff drink of bourbon, downed it in one swallow, made a face and poured another. Angry and aroused, he paced restlessly in the darkness, more convinced than ever that this beautiful hellion who had pulled a knife on him couldn’t possibly be Anna Regent Wright.

  But perversely, her unexpected rejection and reckless behavior had left him wanting her more than ever. Never in his twenty-eight years had a woman turned him down. This one had not only turned him down, she’d threatened to kill him if he ever tried to make love to her again.

  He didn’t doubt for a minute that she meant it. She had been, after all, raised by the Apache.

  Brit involuntarily shivered.

  The danger was intoxicating. It added a whole new dimension to his growing desire. Now he had to have her.

  From that night wanting her became an obsession that was equally as powerful as his need to expose her. Before the summer ended, he meant to settle both scores.

  Then send the lying little wildcat on her way.

  LaDextra noticed.

  So did Will Davis.

  Brit had stopped going into town in the evenings. He was present at dinner nearly every night.

  Immaculate and handsome, he was charming and talkative, spinning humorous tales that made LaDextra and Will laugh merrily. Anna didn’t laugh, but she found it impossible to keep from smiling at his amusing, well-told stories. He was entertaining, no denying it.

  He was also dangerously appealing. With his heavy-lidded, sensuous eyes and seductive nonchalance, he was almost impossible to resist. But Anna had to resist him. She would resist him. And the only way to do it was to never, ever be alone with him.

  She made it a point to check on Brit’s whereabouts before she stepped foot outside the house, much less went for a walk or a ride. If he were anywhere on or near the premises, she didn’t dare venture out.

  But if she was absolutely certain he was gone for the day, was way out on one of the far ranges or visiting one of the division headquarters, she offered up silent thanks, feeling as if she’d been let out of jail.

  On those welcome days, Anna waited until after lunch, when LaDextra was taking her afternoon nap. Then she flew out of the house and hurried up toward the mountain tract and her favorite spot.

  Manzanita Springs.

  Anna considered the gurgling, splashing springs her own private paradise. She’d never seen any of the ranch hands or anyone else anywhere near the willow-enclosed waters. When she’d asked, LaDextra had told her that no one went there anymore, hadn’t ever since she, Anna, and the other two little girls had been taken from there by the Apache all those years ago.

  The springs held no bad memories for Anna. And since no one else came here, she felt perfectly comfortable in stripping down to her skimpy white underwear.

  She was at the cooling springs one scorching hot Wednesday afternoon in mid-June.

  Brit posed no threat. Anna had learned from LaDextra that he and some of the cowhands would be up in the South McKittrick Canyon pasture all day, rounding up strays.

  With him miles away, she could relax and enjoy herself. Eager to get into the cooling water, she was quick to slip out of her summer dress and petticoats. She kicked off her shoes, peeled down her stockings and stood there on the rocky banks for a long moment anticipating the meeting of her hot body with the cold water.

  Squealing with childish delight she jumped in and swam across the crystalline stream with long, graceful strokes. Loving the feel of the water lapping around her and over her, Anna swam back and forth several times before getting out.

  Her delicate underwear now sopping wet and clinging to her chilled skin, she shook herself like a great dog, laughed and sat down on a smooth, slightly tilted flat rock. She sighed with satisfaction and stretched out on her back, folding a bare arm beneath her head. Squinting against the hot glare of the summer sun, she considered reading, but quickly decided against it. She felt drowsy, wonderfully relaxed. She didn’t want to do
anything.

  Nothing at all.

  Lying there in the warm June sun, Anna was struck anew with how good, how easy her life was here on The Regent. She was never allowed to do any work. When she offered, the servants just smiled and shook their heads. It had taken a while to get used to a life of leisure. At first it had seemed strange not to be constantly scrubbing floors and washing dishes and ironing clothes.

  Anna sighed with sweet contentment.

  Soon enough she had grown accustomed to the amazing freedom enjoyed only by the wealthy. She was emancipated, did as she pleased when she pleased. And oh how wonderful it was to go to bed each night not suffering from an aching back or chapped, red hands.

  And acute loneliness.

  Smiling dreamily, lazily counting her many blessings, Anna soon fell asleep.

  “Damnation!” Brit swore, as the sharp thorns of barbed wire punctured his fingers through his protective chamois gloves.

  Groaning, Brit shoved on the huge Hereford bull he was attempting to free from the tangle of wire.

  “Hang on,” shouted Buck, dismounting, hurrying to Brit’s aid. The big blond cowhand easily pushed the angry, snorting bull away from Brit, then freed Brit’s hand from the wire. Bright red blood immediately appeared in the pierced fingers of Brit’s work gloves.

  “Son of a bitch!” Brit muttered. Peeling off his ruined glove, he took the bandanna Buck offered and wound it around his bleeding fingers.

  “We’re about finished here,” said Buck. “Why don’t you go on down and have that hand tended?”

  Brit nodded. “I will. See if you can get this big brute out of the wire, but be careful.”

  “I can handle him,” Buck said with confidence. “When you get that hand bandaged, what say we go into town tonight, see if we can’t find us some wild women?” He grinned broadly.