Desert Storm

by Nan Ryan

  Disappointed but gracious, Angie took the spoon from her teeth and stepped forward to congratulate the victorious dark beauty. The lovely woman flashed her a bright, triumphant smile. Her soft white low-necked blouse stretched over magnificent breasts, and her colorful skirt swayed around her voluptuous hips. The exotic girl shook Angie’s hand firmly.

  “My congratulations, you have won,” Angie said breathlessly.

  “Sí,” the girl said happily. “And I shall continue to win, señorita,” she added, her flashing black eyes conveying a message beyond Angie’s understanding. The Spanish beauty promptly dropped Angie’s hand, whirled and went to claim her prize.

  Angie dismissed the girl’s rudeness and went on to enjoy her day. Time flew as she visited various booths and saw the prize jams and jellies, hand-quilted coverlets, knitted shawls displayed by the ladies, and an array of hand-tooled bridles and leather goods fashioned by the talented, callused hands of local men. The hot, lazy day passed swiftly, and by late afternoon most of the crowd had drifted to wagons, buggies and any sparse shade that could be found, to rest a while before the evening meal and the dancing.

  Angie, flushed with excitement, was not at all tired. Barrett was busily engaged in a game of dominoes, and Miss Emily, her eyelids heavy, sat in a wooden booth, watching over her handmade quilt. Angie looked around and smiled to herself. She’d take advantage of the lull to explore the town. She took the hair pins from her heavy hair and coiled the golden mane into a flat loose knot atop her head. She tied the pink hair ribbon into a bow around her throat. Cooler now, she set out for the wooden sidewalks and a stroll through Marfa, eager to look into shop windows, to enjoy her freedom, to be alone for a time.

  Lifting her long pink skirts, Angie cast one last glance at Miss Emily, now dozing peacefully, and walked away from the crowd, heading for Main Street. She passed the grain store, the saddlery, an attorney’s office and paused, fascinated, when she came to the Red Sunset Saloon. From just beyond the slatted doors, the sounds of loud voices and piano music drifted out onto the hot, quiet street. Longing for a peek inside, Angie sidled closer, glancing nervously around. No one was on the sidewalk at that particular moment, and seizing the opportunity she rushed to the dirty window and looked inside.

  The small square room was filled to capacity. Blue cigar smoke hung in the still air. Men played cards at round, green-felt-covered tables, and a beefy bartender, his muttonchop sideburns wiggling, chatted while he poured liquor from huge bottles stacked in front of a tall mirrored bar. Above the mirror, a huge painting hung in a gilt frame.

  Angie’s small hand flew up to her mouth. There above the bar in the Red Sunset Saloon in Marfa, Texas, was a painting of a plump pink lady with no clothes. Reclining on a couch of red velvet, the woman wore a coy look upon her fair, heart-shaped face, while her heavy breasts, fleshy belly and rounded hips were displayed for all to see. Her mouth gaping open, Angie slowly lowered her eyes from the shocking nude back down to the bar. Then she saw him.

  Pecos stood there, drink in hand. Her breath stopped in her chest, Angie wondered in horror if he’d seen her. He picked up his glass of whiskey, turned and looked directly at her! He smiled disarmingly, lifted the glass to the large lifelike nude and tossed down his whiskey.

  Angie whirled and ran. She ran so fast she got a stitch in her left side and had to stop and lean against a barber pole to rest. Her green eyes wide, she looked behind her, terrified she’d see Pecos’s tall frame bearing down on her. The street was deserted, nothing there but shimmering thermals of heat rising from the dusty ground. Angie gave a silent gasp of relief. When her breathing returned to normal and she was certain Pecos didn’t mean to pursue her, she again took up her exploration of Marfa.

  Lifting her skirts, she crossed the street to the general store on the corner. Sweeping through the open doorway, she saw a couple of customers in front of the counter, counting out coins to pay for purchases. A tall, rawboned man with an apron wrapped around his trousers stood in front of the shelves of goods. “May I help you, miss?” he called to Angie.

  “No … I … would it be all right if I just looked around?” Angie asked hopefully, her eyes darting around, taking in everything, longing to touch it.

  “Why, you’re mighty welcome to browse all afternoon, missy,” the big man answered cheerfully.

  Angie didn’t hear him. Transfixed, she slowly drifted between the tables looking at the varied merchandise. The bolts of colorful fabrics, spools of thread and bonnets with feathers were a delight. She sighed as she carefully lifted a gold hand mirror from its satin bed in a long cardboard box. Peering into the round mirror for a moment, she smiled foolishly at herself, and replaced it. It seemed everything a girl could ever want was displayed here in the Marfa general store. She saw crystal beads and golden bracelets and pretty combs to be worn in the hair. There were lace fans and sweet-smelling perfumes and bars of scented soaps. There were plumed pens and pastel writing paper and tiny bottles of ink.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Angie whispered and took a step closer. Unable to stop herself, she reached out and picked up the most beautiful small box she’d ever seen. It was made of mother-of-pearl inlaid on shiny gold. Never had she seen anything quite so lovely. Angie stood clutching the delicate box between her palms when from behind her a soft, masculine voice said, “Open it.”

  Angie turned, puzzled. Pecos stood looking down at her. “I’ll show you,” he said. He took the small box from Angie and set it on his outstretched palm. He flipped open the top and smiled when Angie’s big emerald eyes widened in surprised wonder. The magical box played music while a tiny gentleman and lady, their miniature forms elegantly dressed in evening clothes, rose from the box’s floor to spin about to “Good Night Ladies.” Unable to hide her delight, Angie pressed her small hands to her cheeks and stared at the spinning, dancing figures.

  “Pecos, I’ve never …” Her voice trailed away.

  “It’s just a music box, Angel.”

  Eyes glued to the tiny turning figures, Angie said honestly, “I’ve never seen a music box in my life, Pecos.”

  Pecos started to protest such a foolish statement, decided against it and said instead, “Shall I buy it for you?”

  Wanting the magical box more than anything she’d ever seen, Angie automatically breathed, “Oh, yes, I’d love …” She looked up at him and came to her senses. His expressive gray eyes were crinkled at the corners, his full lips parted in a grin. “No, of course not,” she quickly corrected herself.

  “Angel, I wasn’t joking. I’ll be glad to buy it for you.”

  Taking it from his palm, Angie carefully shut the gold and pearl lid and placed the box back on the shelf where she’d first seen it. “Papa said to purchase such foolish things was a monstrous waste of money.”

  “Sounds to me like your papa was a real pain in the—”

  “Pecos McClain!” Angie shrieked and started past him.

  “Sorry, Angel.” He stopped her. “Don’t run off, I want you to meet my friend.” His fingers slid teasingly along the shiny pink hair ribbon tied around her throat. Angie irritably brushed his hand away and for the first time noticed the small Mexican standing at Pecos’s elbow. Smiling warmly, a shiny gold front tooth sparkling in the shafts of sunlight surrounding them, the man extended his brown hand in a gesture of friendliness while Pecos informed her, “This is Reno Sanchez, Angel, the laziest Mexican on Del Sol.”

  Shocked by his insult to the man, Angie smiled at Reno and said, “I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Sanchez. My name is Angie Webster.”

  Bobbing his dark head, Reno pumped her hand vigorously and said in a rich, baritone voice, “The señorita is very beautiful. The fairest we’ve ever seen at Del Sol.”

  “You’re kind, Mr. Sanchez.” She tossed a cool glance up at Pecos and said pointedly, “I’m surprised you can’t find better company.”

  Pecos chuckled while Reno said defensively, “Oh, no, señorita, you can’t beat Pecos. He and I, we are
podners, sí.” With that Reno dropped Angie’s small hand, stepped back and clapped the tall Pecos on the back.

  Shrugging off his hold, Pecos said dryly, “Don’t let this greaseball fool you, Angel. I don’t have partners; I’m strictly a loner.”

  Wondering why the friendly Mexican man stayed around for Pecos’s barbs and insults, Angie said softly, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Sanchez.” She looked at Pecos. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Why sure, Angel,” he said. He bowed grandly from the waist and laughed softly when she tossed her lovely head and sashayed out of the store. He watched while she crossed the street, hurried down the sidewalk and disappeared. While his friend exclaimed in rapid-fire Spanish that he thought Angie was the sweetest, prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his thirty-two years, Pecos lifted the dainty music box from the shelf and said to the rawboned store clerk, “Sam, put this trinket on my bill, will you?”

  “Sure thing, Pecos. Want me to wrap it up?”

  “Nope,” was the one-word reply as he placed the gold-and-pearl music box under his arm and strode from the store, his short-legged buddy dogging his long steps.

  Chapter Fourteen

  DARKNESS HAD FALLEN. The hot desert air had cooled. The stellar display in the inky sky and the torch-lit platform lent an air of romance to the last event of the long day’s celebration. Angie, her hair back down around her shoulders, watched enchanted as the smiling couples turned about on the wooden dance floor, their feet in perfect rhythm to the fast-paced music of local fiddlers giving a rousing rendition of a schottische. When the number ended the dancers fought for breath while Angie smiled and applauded loudly.

  For a change of tempo, the musicians raised their fiddles and played the hauntingly beautiful “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen,” a sweet, sad ballad that was a favorite of Angie’s. Dreamy-eyed, she swayed in place and looked at the embracing couples.

  Her feet stilled. Her eyes widened. She swallowed hard. Torchlight flickered on the handsome features of a dark, sleek dancer. Pecos. In his long arms was a beautiful, dark-haired girl with chestnut skin, black flashing eyes and a voluptuous body. The same young woman who’d beaten Angie in the afternoon race. While Angie watched, Pecos pulled the smiling beauty closer to his long frame and looked seductively into her eyes. The girl’s strange words came back to Angie: “and I shall continue to win …” The beauty’s arm was wrapped around Pecos’s neck, her head tipped back. She was looking up at him, and on her pretty face was an expression of undiluted bliss.

  Angie’s stomach knotted. Mesmerized, she couldn’t take her eyes off the swaying, sensuous couple, and she experienced, for the first time in her life, another strange, frightening emotion.

  Jealousy.

  “You ladies ready to get back to Del Sol?” Barrett McClain had made his way through the crowd and now stood at Angie’s elbow. Angie had wanted to stay until the very close of the dance. She’d hoped, foolishly, that she might be allowed to dance, even if it were only with Barrett. Now the joy had departed and the music taunted her. The sight of Pecos and his sweetheart pressing their beautiful bodies so close together was too disturbing. She felt almost ill.

  “Yes.” She turned to Barrett and Miss Emily, shaking her head. “I’m very tired, I’d like to go home.”

  “Good,” Barrett said, and lightly patted her slender shoulder. “I’ll drive us. Pecos will, of course, be staying in town.”

  Pecos watched them leave. Lupe Gonzales, lost in the nearness of her tall, handsome lover, pressed her happy cheek to his hard chest and closed her dark eyes, inhaling deeply of his male essence. Pecos’s gray eyes were riveted on Angie’s shiny blond head growing smaller and smaller as she moved away.

  Lupe lifted her head and looked up at him. “What is it, Pecos?” She had caught a glimpse of the intensity in his eyes.

  Smiling immediately, he pulled her closer. “Nothing, darlin’.” He gave her ear a teasing kiss.

  Lupe trembled with anticipation. Against his warm brown throat, she murmured seductively, “When the sun rises on a new day, my beautiful Pecos, you will have had not one wink of sleep.” She playfully bit his neck. “Lupe will love you all night long!”

  Pecos gave the correct reply, “I can hardly wait,” but even as he spoke the words, he wondered why he felt less than eager to spend the night in Lupe’s arms. He also wondered why he’d purchased the foolish music box that was now in his saddlebag. And why he didn’t give it to the warm, willing girl in his embrace. That was what he’d do; he’d give the silly little box to Lupe tonight after the dance.

  Hours passed and Lupe, tiring of the dance and anxious to have Pecos alone, clutched his arm and whispered, “Pecos, you have had enough of whiskey and dancing. Lupe knows what you need now. Reno and my sister, Georgina, left the dance a long time ago. Are you not ready?”

  Slurring his speech a little, Pecos nodded. “Sure, sweetheart. Let’s go.” In minutes he was lifting her across his saddle and swinging up behind her. They rode the short distance to Lupe’s frame house. Dismounting, Pecos clumsily unsaddled his horse and dropped the saddle onto Lupe’s front porch. Forgotten was the tiny music box in his saddlebag.

  Lupe pushed open the warped door of the small, sparsely furnished shack she shared with her older sister, Georgina. She took Pecos’s arm and maneuvered him down a narrow hall past a closed door behind which loud snores erupted from the open mouth of the sleeping Reno Sanchez.

  “Jesus, I hope he doesn’t suck the house down on our heads,” Pecos mumbled thickly.

  Lupe giggled. Clutching Pecos’s big hand, she led him to her small bedroom. The door creaked when she closed it behind them and Pecos, reeling slightly, laughed, too. “Where the hell’s the bed, Lupe, have you moved it?”

  The moon had risen and its bright light streamed in the open windows of Lupe’s cluttered bedroom. “It’s in the same place, you silly man,” Lupe bubbled and guided him around a chair piled high with discarded clothing. At the bed beneath the windows, she whispered, “Sit down, Pecos,” and pushed on his broad chest.

  He dropped down heavily on the lumpy bed with its bright green-and-yellow-flowered spread and toppled over onto his back. The worn springs groaned under his weight. Feet still on the floor, he murmured huskily, “Come here, woman,” and lifted a long arm to Lupe.

  “Ah, sí, love,” she said happily and willingly let Pecos pull her between his long legs and over onto his supine body.

  “Kiss me, Lupe,” he said thickly and lifted his dark head.

  Pushing him down into the softness of her squeaky bed, Lupe put both hands to his face and hungrily pressed her lips to his. Sighing, she opened her mouth wide and kissed him passionately while her breasts pressed heavily against the hardness of his chest. Finally, gasping for air, she lifted her head and murmured brazenly, “You wish Lupe to make love to you, Pecos?” Her dark eyes were filled with fire and she was busily flipping open the shirt buttons on his chest with a deft hand.

  “Sure, baby,” he rasped. His gray eyes were glazed and his head spun from too much hard liquor.

  “It will be very good, Pecos,” she confidently assured him and pulled his white shirt apart so that she might kiss his hair-covered, muscular chest. Shifting, Lupe pulled her knees up to sit astride him, murmuring, “You stay away from Lupe too long, my handsome lover. I miss you. You will stay all night with me, sí?”

  “Now, Lupe …” Her eager mouth stopped his words as she leaned to him, grabbed a handful of the blue-black hair on his head and pressed her burning mouth to his once again, whispering into his open lips, “Lupe knows how to please you.” She kissed him again, playfully nipping at his full bottom lip. Pecos found to his chagrin that he was consciously putting forth an effort to let the passionate woman excite him, arouse him, bring him pleasure. He wrapped his long arms around her and kissed her with heated depth. Delighted, her desire quickly heightened to an aching urgency and she was sure he felt the same.

  As soon as the fiery kiss e
nded, Lupe raised up and shamelessly unbuttoned her white blouse, anxiously jerking it apart to expose her breasts. Focusing with great difficulty, Pecos looked up at the brown, pendulous breasts above him and was suddenly all too sober. Wondering absently if he had lost his mind, or his masculinity, Pecos turned his head when Lupe crouched down to him, her bare breasts flattening against his naked chest. Kissing his throat, she provocatively began to rotate her hips as she murmured, “What is wrong, Pecos? You don’t want Lupe? You don’t want to look at me?”

  His eyes closed, Pecos was seeing another girl. A lovely, slender girl with golden hair and milky skin. A girl he’d half undressed in his room earlier in the day. It was Angel he wished now lay atop him; she he longed to kiss and hold; she whose perfect white, porcelain breasts he longed to caress. It was Angel he wanted to make love to in the moonlight.

  “Lupe, baby,” he apologized, “I must have had too much whiskey.” He opened his eyes and kissed her cheek while he ran a lean hand down her back. “Sweetheart, I can’t do you any good tonight. I’m sorry.”