Desert Storm

by Nan Ryan

  “Thought I’d run into Marfa and do a bit of shopping. Anyone like to come?”

  Angie, seated on the floor, her small feet curled to one side, felt her face growing warm and her pulse speeding up. Hating herself for letting him so affect her, she quickly lowered her eyes from his, determined not to look up at him again. To her dismay, he came directly to where she sat in front of the cold marble fireplace and slowly, agilely crouched down in front of her. His knees wide apart, one long arm draped over his thigh, Pecos sat on his heels facing her. Angie couldn’t help but notice the jet-black hair curling darkly from the neck of his clean white shirt. The cut of his tight trousers pulling across his hard thighs, his flat belly, his straining crotch further unnerved her, and when her eyes lifted once again to his, the teasing, knowing look she saw there made her cheeks flush hotly. His back to his aunt, he said to Angie, clearly giving his words a double meaning, “And if you see something you like there, I’ll give it to you.” He chuckled wickedly and slowly rose to his feet before her, while Angie’s heart pounded furiously and her face grew scarlet.

  From behind them, Miss Emily said sweetly, “I’m sure there are plenty of pretty things in the Marfa store that Angie would like, but Pecos, you know very well there’s nothing open at this hour except the saloons and taverns.”

  Pecos threw back his dark head and laughed, pivoting in front of Angie. “You’re right, Auntie, how foolish of me.”

  His back now to her, Angie lifted her eyes. Undetected, she let her gaze slide up his long lean legs and over his slim hips to his trim waist and to his wide shoulders.

  His manners were disgraceful; he had no respect for anything or anyone, of that Angie was certain. He was a bitter disappointment to his kind father. He was undependable, leaving the ranch without notice, staying away for weeks, even months, at a time. He drank alcoholic beverages. He gambled, both in town at the saloons and at the ranch with the cowboys. Angie had learned all these things about the mysterious Pecos in the short time she had been at Tierra del Sol. Barrett had told her almost everything on their shared ride around the ranch; other things she’d unfortunately learned for herself. Pecos McClain was what her dear, dead father would have referred to as a degenerate, hopeless sinner.

  Why then, Angie wondered miserably, was she sitting here looking at his fine physique with undeniable interest and appreciation? How could she possibly be intrigued by someone as obviously worthless as Pecos. Why on earth did she have the desire to reach out now and let her hand rest on the gray gabardine covering the calf of his long leg? Why, dear God, did she long to be kissed once again by those cruel, heated lips? And how, she wondered wretchedly, did Pecos seem to know that she felt that way about him? It was maddening, scary, dangerous. She was grateful Miss Emily was in the room with them. She wished that Barrett had not retired so early; he would quickly have put Pecos in his place.

  “… and please, darling, do be careful. I know some of those places you go into are frequented by rowdies.” Miss Emily’s warnings to her nephew brought Angie back to reality.

  “Sweetheart, I shall stay out of mischief. Don’t you worry,” Pecos assured his aunt, walking across the room to bend and kiss Miss Emily on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Pecos, you have a nice time,” she said, beaming.

  To Angie’s horror, he turned and was again bearing down on her. Bending, he put out his hand and, flustered, she took it. He easily pulled her to her feet to stand before him. “You really should come along, Angel. I could show you the mysterious Marfa lights on the way into town.” Her palm resting on his, he made small, irritating little circles on the back of her hand with his thumb while he spoke.

  “I … care nothing at all about … what are the Marfa lights?”

  “Ah, they’re ghost lights, Angel. I’ll tell you all about it when I show them to you.” The brown thumb continued to tickle her sensitive hand and his eyes held hers prisoner.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said, raising her chin defiantly.

  “Good, then you’ll not be afraid when I take you out to see them. If you won’t go tonight, perhaps some time soon. I must be off.” With that he gently pulled her a little closer and kissed her temple. Lips open and warm upon her flushed face, he whispered, “I’ve more than ghost lights to show you, honey.” Then loud enough for his aunt to hear, he announced, “I kiss all the ladies in this household, don’t I, Aunt Em?”

  “You’re incorrigible, Pecos,” Emily gently scolded, neither shocked nor displeased by his behavior. She was glad, however, the elder McClain hadn’t seen his son kissing the young lady who would soon be Mrs. Barrett McClain. Emily didn’t think Pecos’s attraction to Angie was of a serious nature; he treated her no differently than he treated any other pretty girl. Females of every age adored the dashing, impudent Pecos and Pecos returned that admiration. It meant nothing whatever to the outgoing, handsome young man. Miss Emily hoped it meant nothing to the young, unsophisticated Angie. That was the main worry. Few women could resist Pecos. Could Angie?

  After his departure, Emily glanced at Angie, still standing before the fireplace. A small, trembling hand was touching her forehead in exactly the spot where Pecos had kissed her good-night. Unaware that the older woman was looking at her, Angie wore a faraway, dreamy expression while her fingers remained on her temple. Emily York felt her chest constrict with alarm.

  “Angie, dear,” she began, her voice high, shrill. “you … that is …” she stammered nervously, trying to choose the correct words, anxious to avert any possible trouble for them all. “My nephew … Pecos is a very … mmm, how can I put it, he’s a very forward, fun-loving boy. Boy!” She laughed at herself. “Pecos is no boy. He’ll be twenty-eight on his next birthday; still, I suppose he’ll always be a boy to me. Anyway, dear, what I’m trying to tell you is that Pecos is full of life, adventuresome, and … well, he teases a lot. You may have noticed that. He’s mischievous; loves to joke and carry on a bit, and it means nothing. Do you understand what I’m saying, Angie?” Emily held her breath.

  Lowering her hand from her face, Angie listened to the kind woman speaking affectionately of her nephew. Angie wondered if Miss Emily realized that her nephew’s playfulness went to outrageous limits, that he had kissed her passionately over and over and said terrible, shocking things to her. She considered telling, but quickly dismissed the idea. She couldn’t tell anyone; not now, not ever. Pretending a nonchalance she didn’t really feel, Angie smiled charmingly at Miss Emily and said, “Please don’t worry. I’m well aware that Pecos means little of what he says. I don’t mind his teasing, Aunt Emily.”

  “Good, dear.” Miss Emily nodded. “But … Angie … do you find Pecos, ah, shall we say, attractive?”

  “Attractive?” Angie repeated, thinking to herself that never had she seen a human being so physically beautiful, so breath-snatchingly handsome, so utterly irresistible as the dark, devilish Pecos. “Yes, I suppose Pecos is attractive. I hadn’t really thought about it, Aunt Emily.” Angie yawned dramatically. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go on to my room. I know it’s early, but for some reason, I feel sleepy.”

  Once inside the privacy of her room, Angie threw herself across the bed and commanded her pounding heart to slow and her reeling senses to be still. It was not that simple. Pecos had easily spun his snaring web about the naive girl. Worldly, sophisticated women found it very hard to resist the charms of the magnetic Pecos. He was the sort of man a woman could never take for granted; his sleek, tanned muscles and dark, handsome face gave him a striking appearance that could not be ignored by even the most jaded of females. He moved with an indolent grace that commanded attention. One flashing smile from his gleaming white teeth, one heated look from his silvery eyes and a few words spoken in his deep confident voice had caused many a female heart to palpitate alarmingly. Angie Webster was no exception. She disapproved of him, disliked him immensely, but she could not ignore the stormy emotions he evoked by his mere
presence in the room with her.

  Angie undressed and got into bed, turning out the lamp beside her. She lay in the darkness for a long, long time trying to forget a burning pair of gray eyes and a wide, sensual mouth stretched into a mocking grin. Sleep finally came, but not release. Pecos followed her into her dreams, to kiss and caress her, to make her his.

  ANGIE WAS STARTLED AWAKE the next morning by a loud knocking upon her bedroom door. Holding the sheet over her breasts, she raised up and called, “Who is it?”

  “Ah, Señorita Angie, is Delores. Señior Barrett say if you want to choose a palomino this morning, that you should dress and meet him in half an hour.”

  “Oh, yes, Delores,” Angie eagerly responded. “Tell Mr. McClain I’m dying to pick my horse.” She was sliding from her bed while she spoke, furiously snatching up her underpants and pushing at the long, sleep-tousled hair cascading about her bare shoulders.

  Filled with excitement, Angie strolled beside Barrett McClain through the many corrals, holding pens and stables behind the hacienda. She was given her choice from the large remuda, Barrett assuring her that any horse that caught her fancy would be hers. Her eyes sparkling, Angie anxiously looked at dozens of sleek, beautiful horses, growing more confused with each corral she passed. There were so many varied kinds and sizes and Angie knew little or nothing about horses.

  Nearing the end of a long line of stables, Barrett McClain said, “My dear, you don’t have to stay with your decision to choose a palomino, if you’d rather not. As you’ve seen, we’ve every kind of equine here at Del Sol: roans, duns, chestnuts, grays, coal-blacks, sorrels …”

  “No, I want a palomino, but I …” Angie stopped speaking. From a large, high corral down an incline in the distance came loud crashing sounds. Angie’s attention was drawn by the commotion that continued as she stared. The noise was coming from inside a closed-in barn at the far side of the corral. Expecting to see the red-tile roof of the building explode at any second, splintering into a million pieces, Angie stood gaping. A flash of gold caught the morning sun. “Look! That’s the one!” Angie gasped happily, and before Barrett could stop her, she picked up her skirts and began to run straight for the distant corral.

  Galloping proudly around the big fenced lot, a beautiful, long-legged palomino, its golden flesh shimmering with perspiration and long white mane and tail flowing grandly, was nickering loudly and tossing its regal head around. Angie, nearing the penned palomino, saw a huge black horse thunder out of the barn, snorting violently, heading directly for the golden horse. Her momentum flinging her toward the tall fence, Angie fell against it, stepped up and clung to the top rail while her wide-eyed gaze locked on the two horses. The black horse, in pursuit, easily overtook the smaller palomino. To Angie’s shock, the black whinnied and viciously bit the palomino, making it lurch and nicker, its big eyes wide with fear. No sooner had the black drawn back from punishing the palomino with its sharp teeth, than he seemed to be sorry, because he nuzzled the smaller horse and made strange sounds deep in his throat.

  To Angie’s chagrin, the palomino neither bit back nor fled. It was not until the beautiful blond horse reared and the sleek black mounted her that Angie fully realized what was happening. For a second, Angie’s wide, shocked eyes remained on the mating pair, transfixed by their wild, strange dance of shameless passion.

  “Angie.” Barrett had reached her, taking her arm to pull her from the fence. Mortified, Angie felt hot tears of embarrassment springing to her eyes. “Child,” Barrett said softly, “I didn’t mean for you to come down here. The black stallion, Diablo, is Pecos’s and Pecos is mating him with the palomino.”

  “I … I’m sorry,” Angie stammered, her face pink. “I shall go choose one of the other horses.” She hurriedly started back up the path.

  “Nonsense!” Barrett caught up to her. “If that’s the horse you want, she’s yours. She’s a dandy, that’s why Pecos chose her to breed to Diablo.”

  Angie turned to face him. “Then I can have her? She doesn’t belong to Pecos? He won’t mind?”

  “My dear, every horse in the remuda belongs to me save that black brute, Diablo. Pecos caught him when he was a boy and broke him. The palomino is mine. Now she’s yours. I’m afraid you’ve chosen a mare that will be in foal, though.”

  “I don’t care. I think she’s beautiful. Pecos can have the colt. Oh, Barrett, thank you, thank you. When may I start riding her?”

  “Will tomorrow be soon enough?”

  Angie took a guilty glance behind her. Hurriedly turning back to Barrett, she said, hardly above a whisper, “Will she feel like it by tomorrow?”

  Barrett hid his amusement at her charming naïveté. Thinking to himself that the beautiful child standing before him would soon be learning for herself how a female feels the day after lovemaking, he swallowed hard and said matter-of-factly, “She’ll be fine tomorrow. Today is her last day in …” He cleared his throat, unsure how to gently explain that the mare would no longer be in heat after that day, at least until next month. He finally muttered, “She’ll not be busy tomorrow. You may ride her.”

  “Good! May I name her?”

  “By all means.”

  “Does she have a name already, Barrett?”

  Barrett hesitated. “Pecos has a name for her, but that makes no difference. She belongs to you now, and you may call her anything you please.”

  Angie tilted her blond head. “What does Pecos call her?”

  “Ángel.” He used the Spanish pronunciation.

  A chill skipped up Angie’s spine. “Ángel and Diablo. Angel and Devil,” she mused, saying the names aloud. The sight of the huge black stallion mating with the beautiful palomino flashed through her mind. Close on the heels of that scene, a satanic-looking Pecos, his dark chest bare, his gray eyes smoldering, pushed the vision of the horses from her thoughts. Heat rose to her cheeks at the unbidden image of Pecos, and Angie lost her footing and stumbled against Barrett.

  “My dear are you feeling faint?” Barrett questioned, quickly taking her arm.

  “I … yes, yes … I suppose I’m not yet accustomed to the Texas climate.”

  “We’ll go back to the house,” he soothed, his fingers tightening on her bare flesh, “you can choose a name for your palomino later.”

  “No,” she said resolutely, “her name is Ángel. There’s no reason to change it.”

  THE NEXT MORNING Barrett escorted the excited Angie back to the stables where she’d first seen Ángel. The palomino was alone; the black stallion was nowhere in sight. A tall slender Mexican, Roberto Luna, stood beside the saddled palomino, reins in his hand, ready to begin Angie’s riding lessons. To Angie’s relief, Barrett didn’t stay to watch or advise. He returned to the hacienda, leaving her in Roberto’s care. The distance of the big corral from the others gave the nervous Angie the privacy she so needed for her first time up in the saddle.

  She found Roberto a patient, likable man, very knowledgeable about horses. Frightened though she was, having never been on a horse, Angie’s fear was tempered with the strong desire to ride the gleaming palomino, and within half an hour of her arrival at the corral, she was atop Ángel, holding tightly to the saddle horn while Roberto led the gentle horse around the sandy lot, quietly giving instructions to Angie in low, calming tones. Believing no one was near but Roberto, Angie let her joy surface, tossing her blond hair around and laughing girlishly, proud of her bravery, delighted in her newfound pleasure.

  Roberto smiled at her happiness, nodding his head approvingly. “The señorita will be good horse lady, sí”

  “Sí,” Angie quickly agreed, her young face aglow with health and excitement. “Sí, sí, sí,” she shouted in uninhibited abandon while laughter continued to bubble from her parted lips.

  Drawn to her as a moth to a flame, Pecos stood at the far end of the long wooden corral, the toe of one boot hooked over the first rung, elbows resting atop the fence and a newly lit cigar in his mouth. His gray eyes turned silver as
he keenly followed every enchanting movement of the golden-haired girl on the golden-coated mare. Angie’s tinkling laughter assaulted his eardrums. His lean brown fingers gripping the splintered wooden fence, Pecos felt the familiar tightening of his stomach muscles as unwanted desire swept through him.

  Irritated, Pecos pushed away from the tall fence, pivoted on his heel and strolled away, shaking his dark head with self-disgust. Tossing the unsmoked cigar away, he pulled his Stetson low over his hooded eyes and promised himself he’d take another trip into Marfa come nighttime. He’d grab Reno and they’d ride into town and visit the hot-blooded Gonzales sisters. It had been too long since he’d seen the beautiful, dark-eyed Lupe. He’d make up for it tonight. Pecos smiled slightly in anticipation.

  From behind him, the tinkling laughter of the lovely girl pierced the quiet morning air. His smile quickly faded.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE DEDICATION of the Presidio County courthouse was to be an important event for the citizens of the small community of Marfa, Texas. Miss Emily and Barrett had spoken frequently of the plans for the big occasion, and Angie had listened excitedly, thrilled that she was to be a part of the festivities.

  For more than a week Teresa, the house servant whose talented hands could turn a bolt of fabric into a gown fit for queen, had been sewing on the new pink dress Angie was to wear to the dedication. It was now finished, pressed and ready for the big day. Angie’s emerald eyes sparkled when she slipped the lovely dress over her head. Never in her life had she owned such a beautiful garment, and to think that it was hers alone, and no one else had ever worn it.