Desert Storm

by Nan Ryan

Rising immediately, Barrett McClain was behind Angie’s chair, pulling it out for her.

  “Before you rush off, Dad, I wanted to inform you that a couple of our best men left Del Sol this morning.” Pecos’s level gaze went to his father’s sun-creased face.

  “Really?” The elder McClain acted faintly surprised. “Who is leaving?”

  “Old Pedro Rodriguez and his son, Jose.” A muscle worked in Pecos’s swarthy, lean jaw.

  Without thinking, Angie asked bluntly, “But Pedro and Jose, aren’t they the nice father and son who brought me to the ranch yesterday?”

  Narrowed gray eyes going to her delicate white throat, thinking how he’d like to snap it, Pecos said evenly, “They’re the ones. Been here on old Del Sol for as long as anyone can remember. Pedro was one of the first vaqueros to work the high range. Every child he had was born out there in his ’dobe hut.” Pecos looked from Angie to Barrett McClain. “Pedro and the boy are mighty good people. I’ll miss ’em, won’t you, Dad?”

  “But why did they leave?” Angie had liked the two friendly Mexicans.

  Pecos looked her in the eye. “I’ve no idea.” His hard features softened abruptly; he rose and yawned. “Lord, I’m sleepy. How about you, Angel? You sleepy too?” He turned to leave, then swung around. “By the way, Dad, before you buy Angel that palomino and saddle and riding habit, you’d best see about getting her a new spring frock for the courthouse dedication.” A wicked gleam came into his eyes as they raked over her. “Looks to me like she’s about to burst right out of the one she’s wearing.”

  Angie’s cheeks flamed hotly. She felt exposed and humiliated. She was well aware that the dress she wore was too tight and that her breasts pushed rebelliously against the snug bodice. She was sure the others had also noticed, but only a man as crass as Pecos would speak of it. She was filled with hatred for the contemptuous, leering man. Her green eyes flashed fire at him, but to her despair, he enjoyed her reaction.

  “I’ve a lovely bolt of pink organza, Angie,” said Miss Emily, rushing her words. “One of the house servants, Teresa, is an expert seamstress. How would you like her to make you a lovely new frock to wear to the dedication?”

  “I … that would be … thank you,” Angie said as she watched Pecos’s tall, lanky frame arrogantly strolling from the patio. Her hands were balled into tiny tight fists, her long nails cutting into her palms. Sickly she wondered how she could have possibly enjoyed the kisses of a man she so despised.

  “Come, my dear—” Barrett McClain took her elbow “—there’s so much I want to show you. Let’s leave right away before it gets too warm.”

  WITH A PARASOL BORROWED from Miss Emily shading her fair skin, Angie stepped close to Barrett McClain. His hands spanned her small waist as he effortlessly lifted her atop the padded leather seat of the fine carriage. He watched in mute enjoyment as the lovely girl settled herself, smoothing at the folds of her long skirts, squirming in a sweet, childlike manner that enchanted him.

  Barrett McClain had very carefully guarded his reactions to the pretty blond girl. He was sure he’d done nothing to arouse her suspicions. It was vitally important that he gain her complete trust, and to do so he would have to watch every move he made. He would even have to keep the warm light from his eyes when he looked upon her. It wasn’t an easy thing for him to do. From the first moment he got a glimpse of her nestled in Jose Rodriguez’s arms in the midst of the dust storm, he’d been hopelessly overwhelmed. Never had he seen a girl so breathtakingly beautiful, so undeniably sensual and so sweetly trusting and unsophisticated as Angie Webster.

  Barrett swung up into the seat beside her. Angie’s eyes were on the big hacienda. Pointing, she questioned her companion, “Mr. McClain, what are those …”

  Barrett’s eyes followed her finger. He smiled. “They’re gun ports, Angie.”

  Angie continued to look at the strange square openings strategically placed at intervals just under the red-tiled roof. “Gun ports? But whatever for? I’ve never seen …”

  “For protection, dear. You see, the Mescalero Apaches roamed this part of the country and—”

  Angie whirled to look at him. “Indians? Are they still a danger? Will we be safe if we …” Her brilliant emerald eyes were wide with fright, a small hand unconsciously clutching at his sleeve.

  “Oh, my sweet child,” Barrett said as he smiled and took her hand, holding it in both of his. “No, no, there’s absolutely no danger. There hasn’t been for years.” Enjoying the feel of the small warm hand in his, he caught the sweet fragrance of her golden hair as she automatically swayed close, her alarm at his mention of redskins genuine. “Those savages were finally cleared from this range six years ago. Their bloodthirsty leader, Victorio, was gunned down in Mexico. After that bloody battle at Tres Castillos, there were few of Victorio’s survivors left to cause trouble.” He smiled, reassuring her, “You’re completely safe anywhere on Del Sol.”

  Angie smiled, nodded and withdrew her hand from his. “I … I’m sorry if I lunged at you, Mr. McClain.”

  His heart beat erratically and his fingers trembled slightly as he took the reins and slapped them across the backs of two perfectly matched blood bays and said kindly, “That’s quite all right, my dear. It was my fault. I upset you, foolishly mentioning the Indians.” Wondering how on earth he could stand to wait six long months before he made her his, Barrett added calmly, “Now, let’s depart; I’m anxious to show you a little of this Texas I’ve grown to love, Angie. I hope someday you shall love it, also.”

  Longing to please him, Angie, though feeling the day would never come, said graciously, “I’m sure I shall like Texas just as you do, Mr. McClain.” The carriage moved away from the house, down the long dusty drive to the tall ranch gates.

  “Angie,” he said, looking into her open, sweet face, “I insist you call me Barrett. Will you do that for me?”

  “Why, I … yes, if that’s what you wish.”

  “It is,” he said. “Say it for me, Angie. Call me Barrett.”

  Suddenly shy, Angie looked away from him, her gaze going to the shiny coats of the horses’ backs. “Yes … Barrett.” Her words were little more than a whisper.

  Her eyes were still glued to the prancing team. Barrett McClain was glad. He wouldn’t have wanted her to read the exquisite joy upon his face. Just to hear her sweet soft voice call him Barrett sent shivers up his spine, and in his mind’s eye he could vividly see a panting, naked Angie calling his name in abandon while he feasted hungrily on her warm, willing young body.

  “Thank you, my dear,” he said evenly, and nodded to the young Mexican guarding the ranch gates. Bobbing his dark head eagerly to the couple in the fancy carriage, the young man swung wide the gates, his sombrero crushed against his chest. “Gracias, Pascual,” Barrett McClain said to the man as the carriage rolled through and into the sun-drenched desert.

  Angie’s eyes swept around, taking in the vastness that she had missed on her dust-filled arrival at Tierra del Sol. Amazed by the brilliance of the morning sun, the high, thin air and the seemingly limitless sky and earth surrounding her, Angie was awed by the starkness of the terrain. They rode through a barren, rocky, sandy place where hearty yucca, mesquite and ocotillo dotted the desert floor. They were almost entirely surrounded by mountains, their bare peaks jutting high in the distance, clouds clinging to their tops.

  To the young woman from New Orleans, the desert seemed incalculably barren. The bright sun bit into her flesh; the hostile, desolate expanse of blazing desert gave her a choking, cloying feeling. Desperately she searched the horizon for trees. There were none. Angie chewed at the inside of her bottom lip. How could anyone possibly love this strange, monotonous wasteland? Waves of dazzling heat already shimmered from the parched ground at this early hour. Angie unwittingly shook her blond head. If an early May morning was this devastatingly hot, how would they survive July in the desert?

  “My dear, you’re frowning,” Barrett McClain said softly. “Do you feel wel
l? Shall I take you back to the house?”

  Fighting the queasiness assaulting her stomach, Angie shook her head. “No, I … I’m fine, really.”

  “I think I know what it is, Angie.” Barrett McClain pulled up on the reins, bringing the sleek horses to a halt. Wrapping the reins around the brake, he shifted a little, turning to her. He smiled kindly, and lifted a hand to point in a low, sweeping gesture as he spoke. “This is a dry, proud, open land. It must seem terribly lonely and forbidding to you, but you will grow to appreciate its unique, barren beauty. There’s a lazy warmth to the desert that brings a feeling of well-being; the heat caresses you, strokes you, relaxes you. I want you to love this place, Angie; I want to share it with you.”

  Barrett reached for Angie’s hand. Taking it tenderly in his, he mused aloud, “I wanted to show you the ranch, Angie, but it’s more than that. I wanted to have a private talk with you, too. May I speak frankly, dear?”

  Angie looked into his brown eyes and the softness she saw there gave her a feeling of security and safety. She clung to his hand and nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir.”

  “Barrett,” he gently corrected.

  “Barrett,” she said softly, smiling.

  “Sweetheart, as you know, your dear departed father, Jeremiah, and I were very close. He was such a good man; I know you must miss him terribly.”

  Angie’s hand tightened in his. “Yes, I do.”

  “No one could ever take your father’s place, but I’d like to try and fill part of the emptiness. I’m sure he spoke to you of our marriage.” Barrett held his breath.

  “Yes, Barrett, Papa told me I was to come to Texas and marry you. But if you do not want me, I can—”

  “Oh, my dear, of course I want you. But I want you to want the marriage, too.”

  Angie’s eyes left his and her blond head bowed a little. “I … I … do, but … I …”

  “Dear, I know exactly what’s bothering you.” His voice was low and gentle.

  “You do?” Her head lifted slowly, though her eyes remained on her lap.

  “Yes. You think that if you marry me, you will be required to perform all the duties of a wife. Let me set your mind at ease, Angie. I want only to be as a father to you. The marriage will be in name only. We will wed in order to keep gossip from rearing its ugly head, but our vows will be solely for the purpose of making you a member of the McClain family.”

  Slowly her eyes lifted to his. “You mean it, sir?”

  “Angie, Angie,” he said warmly, “may I tell you something? Something very personal and painful?” She nodded. “As you know, I have only one child. Pecos.” Barrett’s soft brown eyes clouded. “From the very beginning, Pecos has been my heartache. His mother spoiled him outrageously, as does his aunt. As you’ve already seen, he is rebellious, willful and disrespectful. Pecos and I have never been close, never. Why, there are actually times I …” He fell silent, sighing dramatically.

  “I’m so sorry, Barrett,” Angie offered, truly sympathizing with the kind, suffering man. Too well she knew of Pecos’s heartlessness. She was sure Barrett had been often grieved by his son’s coldness.

  “It’s because of the chasm between my son and me that your coming means so much to me. At last I’ll have the kind, caring child that I’ve always needed. That’s what I want from you, Angie. I want you to be a daughter to me. I want to take care of you, to buy you pretty dresses and watch you mature into a woman. Do you understand?”

  Feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from her slender shoulders, Angie impulsively threw her slim arms around the surprised Barrett McClain’s broad neck. “Oh, yes, I do, I understand, and I’m so grateful to you, Barrett. I was so afraid that you … that I …” Her face reddened. Against his jaw she whispered, “I was so scared you’d want me to share your bed and I was …”

  His arms enfolded her. “Good heavens, child, I’d never do that to you. Put it right out of your mind.” He gave her heated cheek a dry little peck and drew her into the curve of his shoulder. “Listen to me carefully, Angie. We will wait for six months to marry. That way, we’ll get to know each other well. When we marry, you will move from your present room downstairs, up to the mistress’s suite, which connects with mine. There you will sleep each night, safe and secure. I shall occupy the next room, just as I’ve always done.” He chuckled softly. “Angie, Angie, you flatter me. I’m much too old to be interested in such needs of the flesh.” He moved his arm from around her and picked up the reins once again. Flicking them over the horses’ backsides, he said engagingly, “Have you any questions, my dear?”

  “No, Barrett, you have answered what I most wanted to know.” For a time the two rode across the desert in easy silence, each lost in their own thoughts of the future. It was Barrett who broke the quiet.

  “It isn’t always this barren, Angie. We’ve had no rain since February.” Automatically his eyes lifted to the cloudless, blue skies above them. “Surely we’ll get rain soon. We have to.”

  “Is it so important?” she inquired softly.

  “It is, my dear. Without rain the cattle have nothing to eat and we have to feed them. That’s very expensive and it leaves little or no profit when we sell. But I’ll not worry yet; it will rain soon.”

  Despite the covered carriage and the parasol Angie kept over her head throughout the ride, her white skin was flushed with color by the time the pair arrived back at the ranch house. She felt faint and hot and longed only to disappear into the coolness of her big bedroom, but Barrett insisted on giving her a short tour of the house.

  Built in a U, the main part of the house consisted of a large sitting room, music room, library, study, office, dining room and kitchen. Barrett proudly showed her through the grand old house, patiently answering questions about various fine pieces of furniture and art objects. Pointing to a portrait of a lovely woman with jet-black hair smiling down from over the mantel in the library, Angie asked, “Is that … Pecos’s mother?”

  Barrett’s eyes narrowed as he looked up briefly at the huge portrait. “Yes, Kathryn York McClain as she looked on her twenty-third birthday.”

  Stepping closer, Angie murmured, “She was very beautiful, Barrett.” Her eyes were drawn from the strikingly pretty face to a gold medallion resting on the woman’s full bosom. Its design was unlike anything she’d ever seen. Angie blurted out, “Her necklace … it’s so lovely, so different.”

  “Yes, isn’t it?” Barrett’s voice sounded strained. “Kathryn’s father gave the necklace to her. It’s supposed to be the sun with fingers of light shooting outward. A sunburst. It’s the brand of Tierra del Sol.”

  “Hmm, it must have meant a lot to her.”

  “I suppose. She lost the sunburst necklace and we never found it. Come.” He took her elbow and guided her into the corridor. Pointing, he said, “As you know, the right wing houses our guests—several rooms in all sizes. Yours is the largest.”

  “It’s very luxurious.”

  “The left wing is where all the house servants live. And Pecos. His room is in that wing. Upstairs is my suite, connecting with the mistress’s suite, as I explained earlier. Miss Emily’s room is up there, too, at the other end of the hall. We shan’t go up; I want to show you the courtyard.”

  They went to the back of the house and out a set of double doors. A wide, shaded gallery extended around the entire U of the hacienda. The big courtyard was filled with various blooming cacti and a fountain spurted water high into the air to spill refreshingly down its tiered tile pedestal and splash into the knee-high pool at its base.

  “See those double doors?” Barrett pointed to their right. “That’s your room, the one you slept in last night, the one where you’ll stay until … You can throw those doors open at night and have the cool desert breezes come inside.”

  “Yes, I will,” she murmured, “that will be delightful.”

  “Come, you must see Miss Emily’s greenhouse.” He again took her arm and they stepped off the gallery. Crossi
ng the hot courtyard, they came upon a cluster of padded chairs and chaise longues on the far side of the bubbling fountain. On one of the colorful padded chaises, a man lay upon his back. One gleaming black boot rested across the other and his long lean legs were encased in skintight denim trousers. He was shirtless, his sleek dark skin gleaming in the bright sun, the long white scar starkly visible on his chest. A Stetson covering his face, Pecos McClain slumbered peacefully in the broiling heat of the noonday sun.

  Helplessly Angie’s eyes were drawn to the sleeping Pecos, noting how his shoulders and upper arms had a chiseled finish, how his trousers fit so snugly around his slim hips and how the sweat dampened the thick curling hair covering his broad, smooth chest. Swallowing hard, Angie said shrilly, “My goodness, how can he possibly sleep in this heat?”

  His lips a thin, strained line beneath his white mustache, Barrett clutched Angie’s arm, possessively guiding her by the couch where Pecos lay. “Because he’s like a lizard; the hotter it gets, the better he likes it.”

  A brown hand left his naked belly and went slowly up to ease the Stetson from his face. The sleepy silver eyes opened and a wide grin flashed in his handsome, dark face. Mesmerized, Angie felt the breath catch in her throat. Whatever else Pecos was, he was without doubt the most disturbingly attractive male she’d ever seen.

  “Come, Angie, you’ll burn if you remain outdoors.” Barrett pulled her forward.

  Angie nodded wildly. She did fell as though she were on fire. The sun seemed to beat down atop her blond head with a vengeance, making her dizzy and weak. The flesh of her arms and neck was scorching, while her palms were clammy. Her knees watery, she hurried away, grateful for the support of Barrett’s sure hand under her arm. Angie knew very well that Pecos’s eyes were on her, that insolent grin on his face. And she knew exactly what he was thinking. He was thinking that the heat claiming her so completely was not caused solely by the desert sun.

  And Pecos was right.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE FRIGHTENING, fascinating Pecos remained on Angie’s mind long after the summer sun had left the courtyard and Pecos had taken his leave of Tierra del Sol. He stopped briefly by the library where Angie and Miss Emily sat quietly after the evening meal. Angie’s heart lurched in her chest when the tall graceful man with great gray eyes came into the large, high-ceilinged room at dusk. Pecos looked strikingly handsome in well-tailored trousers of fine gray gabardine and a snowy-white shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest. He addressed them both, though his sultry, disquieting gaze never left Angie.