Savage Desire

by Rosemary Rogers

  “Politics is a bare knuckle kind of fight,” Paco said as he rolled a cigarette with one hand, his leg hooked over the horn of his saddle. “Too rough for me. I’d rather face a band of screamin’ Apache than a roomful of diamond studs and bowlers.”

  “At least the Apache make no bones about wanting your scalp. Men like the senator and Durant are sneaky about it.”

  “So what are the chances of Brandon getting his silver overland to the coast?”

  “I’d say they were damned good. No one’s around to stop him.”

  “Except you.”

  “Yeah.” Steve nudged his mount into a walk. “Except me.”

  “What will you tell Ginny?”

  Steve was quiet for a moment, the only sound that of hooves scrabbling on hard rock, the smell of dust and baking earth pungent and suffocating as they left the shade and rode into hot, searing sunlight.

  “Hell,” he said finally, “she can figure out what kind of man Brandon is. It’s pretty obvious. And she knows that he’s not above cheating or lying to get what he wants. Only now, she doesn’t honey-coat it with some fantasy of noble intentions, but sees it as it is—pure greed. If she gets angry at my interference, she’ll get over it.”

  “She sure didn’t like being left in San Antonio.”

  “With Ginny, protest is as natural as breathing. She liked it well enough. She’s safe there, staying with Renaldo and Missie, and can shop and go to the theater anytime she wants. I think she was relieved to be in a civilized town again, but just wouldn’t admit it.”

  Paco laughed. “You might be bankrupt by the time we get back to San Antone….”

  Ginny was, in fact, having a fine time. It was a relief to be in a real bed again, with clean sheets that smelled of sunlight and soap instead of bedbugs and lice, and a feather mattress that actually cushioned her aching muscles instead of the hard rope cots of her most recent experience.

  The hotel boasted as fine accommodations as would any hotel in New York, with private bathing rooms and huge tubs, and a sitting room with bolstered boudoir chairs and mirrors hung in ornate gold frames. It was comfortable, even luxurious, and Ginny realized that she wasn’t afraid any longer. Even if she did keep the pistol Steve had given her under her pillow or in her purse, she thought that she had finally overcome the gripping fear that had hounded her after Luna.

  Thanks to Steve…his patience and understanding were what had helped her most. How had he known that she would feel much better knowing Renaldo and Missie were in town? When she thought of how he had felt responsible, filled with regret for his own failures, she vowed to give him the benefit of the doubt about the Italian diva. An embrace was not the same as an affair, she reminded herself when the image cropped up to haunt her. He loved her, not Francesca.

  And didn’t she know well that appearances were so often deceiving?

  On her very first trip to San Antonio she had watched out her hotel window while Steve Morgan faced another gunman across the street, and in just a split second, his opponent lay dead. Then, she had been appalled at the raw, ruthless way of life in this sprawling new country.

  It was so long ago. A lifetime. Little shocked her now, though she had learned enough to be wary of situations that once she had considered exciting. There was nothing exciting about a desperation to survive.

  In the days following Steve’s departure, she filled her hours with shopping, or lunching with Missie, who stared at her with big reproachful eyes when Ginny laughed gaily, determined not to delve below the surface of anything. She spoke only of shallow topics, such as the cut of a gown, the new fashions from the Lady’s Book, or the latest play at the Majestic.

  The great di Paoli had left town not long after Steve, and Ginny would not allow her imagination to take her to uncertain possibilities.

  “Ginny, you have changed,” Missie said softly, her small face reflecting concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course, I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be? If you mean because Steve has gone off again, this time it’s quite all right. I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’m grateful.” She took a sip of chilled white wine, a French label that was light and refreshing, and smiled gaily. “It gives me time to myself, to do the things that he doesn’t like to do. We were able to talk quite a bit while we were in that lovely valley I told you about. I’ve finally realized that I cannot change him, and that to try only makes us both miserable. Oh, don’t look at me like that, for you know yourself that Steve Morgan is not a man adaptable to any law but his own. I’ve just finally come to accept it.”

  “I see.”

  “No, I can tell that you don’t see. But it’s all right. We’ve come to a truce, so to speak. I’ve learned to give him room, and he’s learned to be a little more honest about how he feels.”

  “And this…this works well for you?” Missie sipped at her lemonade, having refused a glass of the wine, and stared at Ginny with a troubled frown. “I know it’s none of my business, and Renaldo is always telling me I must not interfere in people’s lives, but I know how you both feel about each other.”

  “And you’re worried that we’ll stop?” Ginny smiled. “If we are still together after all this time, I don’t think it’s going to end overnight.”

  “No. Of course not.” Missie looked slightly embarrassed as she finished her meal. Sunlight through the glass window-panes of the Menger Hotel highlighted the elegant sculpture of her face, the open honest expression appealing and attractive.

  It was too easy to remember that she had once been in love with Steve, too. Ginny reached again for her wine. Was there no end to the women who had loved him? And how many of them had he loved in return?

  And what of Elizabeth Cady? What of the woman who had borne him a son? Did he love her?

  Like a worm, the thought burrowed deeper into her mind, tormenting her, until finally she decided to seek answers from the only other person who could give them to her—Elizabeth Cady herself.

  The Prendergasts lived very close to Prayers End, where Steve had told her he had met Elizabeth. Perhaps if she went for a visit—Her cousin Pierre and Lorna Prendergast were practically engaged. It was the perfect excuse. Then the uncertainty would be behind her at last. It wouldn’t matter that Steve had not been the one to tell her. At least she would know.

  “Ginny, you don’t need to travel without an escort,” Renaldo said when she told him of her intention. A frown lowered his brow, and he looked so worried that she put a hand on his arm and smiled.

  “It’s not as if I have to worry about my reputation. I doubt seriously that anything more dramatic than a late train will happen. Besides, it’s not at all far from the train station to the Prendergast ranch, and Mr. Murdock has put his private coach at my disposal. Don’t worry so much, Renaldo. You drive poor Missie to distraction.”

  Despite his protests, his threats to tell Steve, Renaldo had little choice but to let her go. He couldn’t hold her by force, and Murdock had put his own private Pullman coach at Ginny’s disposal. She’d be safe, but what on earth would he tell Steve?

  “You’ll tell him that I decided to visit an old friend, Renaldo,” she said when he despaired. “It’s not as if Sam Murdock is only Steve’s friend. He was quite kind to me in San Francisco, and I’ve never forgotten it.”

  Yet when she arrived at the Prendergast ranch and was greeted by big Jack Prendergast, his bluff heartiness not quite masking his open curiosity about Steve’s wife and her unexpected appearance in New Mexico Territory, Ginny had to fight sudden qualms. Was she doing the right thing? Steve would be furious when he learned what she had done!

  Ginny needn’t have worried about Sam Murdock; he greeted her graciously.

  “It is very good to see you again, Mrs. Morgan. I trust you are well,” Murdock said with his faint Scottish burr.

  Despite feeling awkward, Ginny smiled at him, her green eyes betraying none of her discomfort.

  “I am quite well, Mr. Murdock. Really, we have known eac
h other for a while now, do you not think we have progressed to a first-name basis? It’s very American of me, don’t you think?”

  He smiled, transforming his features from rather severe to quite attractive. Murdock was tall, with broad shoulders and gray liberally streaking hair that had once been red. A thick shelf of brows nearly met over the bridge of his nose, and his clean-shaven jaw was square. It was a strong face, yet kind.

  Ginny remembered that Murdock had once sponsored Concepciόn, taking her under his wing to teach her the rudiments of proper etiquette at the request of his friend, and partner, Steve Morgan. At first, Ginny had wondered about the relationship between Murdock and the Mexican gypsy. Had it been more intimate than it was presented?

  But she had become convinced that Sam Murdock behaved with the utmost propriety, and felt comfortable with him herself.

  “Ginny, then,” Murdock said as he took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, walking her across the wide verandah of the rambling Prendergast house. “And you will call me Sam, of course. It’s such a pleasant surprise to see you again. Did you become well-acquainted with Jack’s daughter Lorna and, of course, her beautiful mother, Françoise? Their letters from England have been full of news about your cousin Pierre. It seems that he and Lorna have grown quite fond of one another.”

  “Yes, so I gathered. Pierre is delightful, and would make any woman a fine husband.”

  However, Lorna Prendergast Ginny thought, was a spoiled willful girl, who had set her sights on Steve for a time, no matter that she now pursued Pierre. But it wasn’t Lorna or her designs on Steve that concerned Ginny now.

  To broach the subject at once would have been too obvious, so she waited until after breakfast the next day.

  Garbed in a riding habit that fit snugly to her curves and accentuated her slender waist, she smiled up at Murdock as Jack Prendergast had a carriage brought around for her.

  “There is so much beautiful country around here. I’m glad I came. I really needed a change, and of course, to renew our acquaintance.”

  Murdock smiled down at her, but behind his shrewd eyes was a glimmer of polite curiosity.

  Delicately feeling her way, Ginny brought the conversation around to Steve’s time in New Mexico Territory, and his brush with death.

  “Steve told me that he had some accident here, and that he was cared for by a very kind woman. Elizabeth Cady, I believe he said. I am quite grateful for her care of him.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  Murdock did not elaborate, and Ginny relinquished any pretense when she saw that he had no intention of giving away information.

  “I wish to visit her while I’m here, Sam. Do you know where I can find her?”

  “Are you certain that’s what you want to do, Ginny? There are some things best left in the past.”

  “Not this time.” Her gaze was direct as she recognized that he knew her reasons for visiting. “I came all this way, and I want to see her. I have to see for myself. You do understand that, don’t you?”

  “Not everything is black-and-white, you know. There are times and circumstances that alter perceptions and our actions.” Murdock leaned against the smooth wood of the white-painted post that held up the long gallery roof. He smiled slightly. “When I first met you, I recognized your innate honesty and courage. Nothing has changed. You have grown more confident, perhaps, and more wary, but you are still the same woman. Steve is still the same man. Your habits and surroundings have changed, but neither of you have altered your ultimate goals.”

  “Yes, it would seem that a leopard cannot change its spots, after all,” Ginny said tartly.

  Murdock shook his head. “You are deliberately missing my point. You’re a clever woman. Don’t disappoint me.”

  Sam Murdock had offered her nothing but friendship since the time of their first meeting several years ago. He had never shown her anything but respect, and had been instrumental in extracting her from the difficult tangle of her brief marriage to Prince Sahrkanov. He knew more about her than most people, and did not disapprove of her as had so many around her.

  Even her father, and Sonya, had given her little approval.

  Now she looked up at Murdock and said quietly, “I will do nothing to embarrass or hurt either Steve or Elizabeth Cady, but if I do not meet her, I will always wonder. It will eat at me, the uncertainty, the suspicion, until it ends up destroying anything I have left with Steve. I can’t explain it. I only hope you understand.”

  After a long silence, Murdock nodded. “There are some things you need to know first, Ginny. I don’t know if Steve has told you all of it or only a little, but Elizabeth Cady was married to the man responsible for nearly getting Steve killed. Jared provoked a fight, but as you can imagine, Steve prevailed. Unfortunately, Jared had friends with him who decided to finish the job. They swore Steve had drawn first, and if he hadn’t been wounded so badly, they would have strung him up then and there. Mrs. Cady nursed him back to health so he could go to trial. She wanted him to pay for what she believed was her husband’s wrongful death.”

  He watched her face as she talked, and Ginny nodded. “I can see how she would feel that way. And I’m not really surprised that Steve managed to convince her otherwise.”

  “Understand that there were other things going on then, too, between the cattlemen and Prendergast. Land rights and water rights are vital here, and a balance is needed so that all can coexist in harmony. A full-scale range war was developing until Steve took over. Once he was cleared of Cady’s murder, he prevented that war, and no doubt saved quite a few lives in the process. During that time when he thought you were dead, he and Mrs. Cady became…close.”

  A vise seemed to squeeze her heart, slowing crushing it as she thought of Steve with another woman. This was so different than all the others—he had a child with this woman! How could she bear it if she didn’t find out, if she didn’t know whether Elizabeth Cady wanted him? She had a bond with him, a blood tie of their shared child. Would she use it to draw Steve back? Could he be induced to return to her?

  The noise of carriage wheels on the crushed rock of the curving road in front of the house grew louder, then stopped. Springs squeaked slightly as the driver stepped down to the road and waited in courteous silence.

  Ginny took a deep breath. “I understand what you are saying, Sam, but I must see for myself.”

  “I will have the driver take you there. I hope this resolution gives you some peace.”

  “So do I,” she said as she turned to the waiting carriage. “So do I.”

  Serrated ridges were cushioned by shreds of cloud, faint wisps that wreathed the crisp peaks like a woman’s lacy shawl. It was spring, but it was still early enough not to trust a sudden snowstorm to descend upon them and bury the ranch in drifts of smothering ice.

  A single carriage approached at a fast pace, stirring a faint haze behind huge wheels as it navigated the deep ruts of the road leading to the Burneson ranch.

  Fidelito had summoned her, excitement in his voice. “A visitor comes! Shall I ride out to meet them?”

  “No, they’ll be here soon enough, Fidelito. Go and help your grandfather. Oh, and ask Matthew to come back to the house, please. It’s nearly time for the noon meal, and he’s to help Emily.”

  Elizabeth Cady absently wiped her hands in the folds of her apron, eyeing the approaching vehicle with a slight frown. It was not familiar to her. On occasion, they had visitors to the ranch, but not usually in smart black broughams with drivers to handle the horses. It was too bad Martin had gone into town for the day. She always felt better when he was here, especially lately.

  The baby was due any day and she tired easily now. There just wasn’t enough time in the day, and there was always something to do, cooking or cleaning or repairs. She didn’t resent it, and truly loved her husband and family, but there were moments when she longed for time to herself, time to read a book or just sit alone beneath a tree and dream.

  Patting a loos
e curl back into place behind her ear, Beth smoothed her hands down her plain skirts and stepped off the porch to greet their visitor as the carriage rolled to a stop before the neat, two-story house.

  The elegant young woman who stepped down took her by surprise, and she suddenly felt dowdy and clumsy in comparison to this exquisitely groomed creature. A lustrous cloud of copper hair was crowned with a small emerald-green hat tilted stylishly forward. The green velvet riding outfit she wore hugged slim curves in such a fashion as to appear provocative, though there was nothing inappropriate about the high neck. Her matching gloves and trim riding boots were the same rich shade of green reflected in the pair of exotically slanted eyes that regarded her curiously.

  In a voice that bore faint traces of an unusual accent, the woman asked, “Are you Mrs. Burneson?”

  Stifling the urge to rearrange her hair and try to hide the inevitable stains on her apron, Beth nodded. “Why yes, I am. But I’m afraid you have the advantage.”

  “Yes, of course. This is rather unprecedented, but I feel that perhaps we should talk privately, if you don’t mind.”

  Uneasy, Beth frowned. Her glance shifted beyond the carriage to the stableyard and she was relieved to see Domingo and Fidelito pretending to work while they watched over her. Her gaze moved back to the woman.

  “I’m afraid that—”

  “Please, Mrs. Burneson. It would mean a great deal to me if you would agree. My name is Virginia Morgan.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know—” Beth stopped suddenly, the words sticking in her throat. Virginia Morgan…Steve’s wife!

  As if reading her mind, the young woman’s head tilted slightly. “I think you have heard of me.”

  “Yes. Yes, I think I have. Really, Mrs. Morgan, I cannot imagine why you have come—”