Desert Storm

by Nan Ryan

  Pecos dropped his valise on the floor. The coat he left on, unbuttoning the top two buttons. “I’m here to borrow money, Huff.” He took a seat and lifted a booted right foot to rest on his left knee. He fished in his shirt pocket for a cigar.

  “I see, I see.” The beady eyes looked pleased. “No luck at your mine, eh, son?”

  “Luck has little to do with the mining business, Huff.” Pecos was determined not to let the irritating man get on his nerves.

  “Really? Why, I thought luck was how you gained the Lost Madre in the first place. As I recall—”

  “Huff, I’m tired and cold and I want to get out to Del Sol before this storm moves in. Let’s draw up the papers.”

  “You going to the ranch, then?” Bushy eyebrows lifted quizzically.

  “Yes, yes of course. My aunt will expect to see me if I’m in Marfa.”

  Randolph Huff swiveled in his chair and placed his short arms up over his head, lacing his stubby fingers over the bald smoothness. “Just your aunt? What about the lovely Widow McClain?”

  “What about her?” Pecos felt the vein in his temple throb.

  “I bet she’ll be glad to see you too, Pecos.”

  “Huff, I need ten … fifteen thousand. Can we take care of it and …”

  “Sorry,” Randolph Huff said as he lowered his hands back to his desk. “I can’t do it, Pecos.”

  “Why the hell not? I’ve been borrowing money here since before I was eighteen.”

  “Ah, I know, I know,” the man admitted. “But it’s all changed, hasn’t it?”

  Pecos felt his chest tighten. “Has it?”

  “Afraid so. You have no borrowing power at this bank, Pecos.”

  “Jesus Christ, I’ve paid off tens of thousands of—”

  “I know, I know, and I sure hate to have to turn you down, but there are banking regulations, Pecos, and you have no collateral.” Huff rose and slid his hands into his brown wool trousers that strained over his rounded belly. “You’ll have to have your—” a gleam of delight appeared in the piggish eyes “—your stepmother cosign.”

  “Forget it.” Pecos was out of his chair.

  “Wait, Pecos,” the short-legged man said as he hurried around the desk. “I hear the new Mrs. McClain has been having her problems running Del Sol. Why, that drought last summer, as you know, was almost devastating. Then, before the ranch could be properly restocked, your father died, rest his soul, and you left for Mexico. She’s having difficulty getting the most out of the vaqueros, I hear, and … well, by the looks of the winter coats on the mustangs, we’re in for one terrible winter.”

  “Your concern is touching, Huff. If you’ll excuse me,” Pecos said. He lifted the black valise from the floor and started for the door.

  Randolph Huff followed, a wicked light in his eyes. “Look, Pecos, I know the pretty young widow got all the fortune, but—” he placed a pudgy hand on Pecos’s shoulder and leered up at him “—I’ve a notion you could get a bit of it back if you would—”

  “Huff, do me a favor, will you?” Pecos interrupted, shrugging off the man’s hand.

  “Why, sure, sure, son. What is it?”

  “Take your bank and your dirty little thoughts and shove them both right up your pompous ass.” Pecos left the bank with the indignant, red-faced man shouting insults at his departing back.

  “Pecos! Pecos!” He turned to see Reno Sanchez pursuing him down the wooden sidewalk. The unpleasant episode in the bank momentarily forgotten, Pecos grinned and hurried to meet his old friend. After the usual hugging and grunting from the beaming, affectionate Latin, Pecos pulled away and the two fell into step. “We are rich yet, sí?” Reno grinned expectantly up at him.

  “No, amigo.” Pecos shook his head. “That’s why I’m back. We’re about broke. What are you doing in town?”

  “I came in to buy groceries and supplies before the storm hits. Come, I give you a ride to Del Sol.”

  On the cold ride to the ranch, Pecos explained that the ten thousand dollars he’d won in September was almost gone, so he’d come in to get a loan at the bank. Through clenched teeth, he told Reno that the only way he could borrow money would be to have his stepmother cosign the note. Without her, he couldn’t get a dime.

  “Why not ask her?” Reno saw nothing wrong with the idea.

  Gray eyes blazed at him. “Jesus Christ, do you think I’d ask her for money!”

  “I do not see anything—”

  “Get this straight, Reno. I’d not ask Angel for money if I were starving. I may be busted, but my pride is still intact.”

  “Sorry, Pecos, I did not mean to make you mad. I just thought … well, I spoke to her this morning and she talked about you and …”

  Pecos’s heart lurched beneath his heavy coat. “No kidding,” he said evenly. “And what did the Widow McClain have to say about me?” He gave a look of bored indifference.

  “She asked if I heard from you.” Reno shrugged. “She wondered will you come home when Diablo’s foal comes.” He grinned happily. “She will not have to wait till then, you are here now.”

  “Yes, I’m here now, but I doubt the grieving widow will be glad to see me. Enough about her, have you got any cash, Reno?”

  “A little. You can have it. I will go back to Mexico with you this time. When do you leave?”

  “On tomorrow’s train. I’ll just spend the night, visit with Aunt Emily and be on my way. If you’ve enough cash, perhaps we can get lucky again out at the pass and run it up in a game.”

  “Sí, but I still do not see why you not let Angie—”

  “Damn it to hell, Reno, the name is Angel, and I told you, I’ll never take money from her!”

  They rode in silence for a time, and soon Pecos’s good humor returned. By the time they reached the tall ranch gates of Tierra del Sol, Pecos was telling colorful tales and the happy Mexican was laughing uproariously.

  The laughter choked off in Reno’s throat when Pecos said, “Tell you what, amigo, take me out to the stables. I want to take a look at Diablo. Then we’ll go on up to the house and I’ll help you unload.” Pecos saw Reno suck in his bottom lip and lower his head.

  Waiting, he was staring at his friend when Reno finally looked up at him and said regretfully, “We cannot do that, Pecos.”

  “Why, Reno? Where the hell’s my horse?”

  Reno lifted his shoulders, “I see no harm. Angie, she wanted to ride and Ángel, she was not feeling good and so I …”

  “Tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.” Pecos’s gray eyes were wintry.

  “Angie took Diablo for a ride,” Reno blurted out. “It is my fault, she never would …”

  “God in heaven!” Pecos bit out. “You fool, you haven’t the brains to …” Furious, Pecos looked up at the darkening, eerie sky. Cold fear clutched at his heart. Angel was somewhere out there on Diablo, riding into a menacing storm.

  “I should not have let her go, but …”

  Pecos’s gaze swung back to the repentant Reno. “Take me to the stables. I’ll saddle a horse while you run to your ‘dobe and get me a blanket and some food. I’m going after the little fool.”

  “I go with you, Pecos,” Reno offered hopefully.

  “No, you won’t.” Pecos was adamant. “I’ll bring her back myself. I’ve an idea where she might have headed.”

  “But, Pecos, I gladly … I feel so bad, and I …”

  “I said I’d go get her.” Pecos refused to bend. “You can go up to the house. Tell Aunt Emily I’m home and that I’ve ridden out after Angel. Tell her not to worry if we don’t make it in tonight. I know where to find shelter.”

  “You think you may have to spend the night?” Reno felt terrible about his blunder.

  “Look around you, my friend.” Pecos’s tone had softened. “You know how it will be up in the mountains.” Pecos again scanned the bleak, leaden sky. He looked back at the miserable Latin. “Don’t worry, Reno, I’ll bring ‘em back. Tell you one thing, t
hough, if I weren’t worried about Diablo’s safety, I’d let the little bitch freeze out there.”

  Reno didn’t believe him.

  ANGIE ROLLED TO A STOP in the soft, new snow. On her feet immediately, she ran back to Diablo, her heart pounding with fear. His big eyes wild, the frightened horse was fighting to get up, despite Angie’s shouted pleas for him to remain on the ground.

  “No, Diablo,” she shouted, reaching him, “don’t, you can’t.” The big beast whinnied in confusion and rose. His right foreleg was shattered in two places. The mighty horse sank pitifully back to the snowy ground, unable to understand what had happened to him. He tossed his big head and rose again while Angie, with tears streaming down her cold cheeks, begged him to lie down.

  “Diablo, Diablo, I’m sorry,” she sobbed sadly and loosened the girth under his big, heaving belly. He stood quietly while she unsaddled him. When she knelt in the snow and gently touched his fractured front leg, soft, harsh sounds came from deep in his throat. The magnitude of what she’d done weighed heavily on Angie’s slender shoulders. She began to tremble uncontrollably. How could she get him back to the stables for help? How could she make him lie down and not further damage his leg? How could she shelter the hurt animal from the rapidly worsening storm?

  For more than an hour Angie knelt there in the snow in front of the stricken horse, foolishly murmuring words of apology and telling the big-eyed trusting animal that she would not desert him. The snow continued and the temperature dropped dramatically. The horizon disappeared in the swirls of blowing snow and still Angie stayed with the horse.

  As though the big beast were valiantly bidding her to leave him and take shelter, Diablo nuzzled at her cold, unhappy face, rubbing his velvety nose against her freezing cheek. Soft, soothing sounds came from him, and Angie hugged his great head, pressing him close while she sobbed out the words, “Diablo, Diablo, forgive me.”

  She kissed the sleek black jaw and pulled away. On cold, stiff legs, she rose and stood looking into his big eyes. Diablo whinnied and tossed his mighty head in goodbye. Angie turned away, sobs tearing at her throat. She left behind the beautiful, proud Diablo and made her way slowly toward the mountain cave where Pecos had taken her that hot day last summer. She’d gone only a few yards when she turned back to look, but the huge black horse could no longer be seen through the thickening snow. Crying hysterically, Angie finally stumbled into the damp, dark cave. Soaked to the skin, teeth chattering from the cold, she dropped to her knees. She crawled into the thick darkness farther and farther, her wet hand searching for the coal-oil lamp.

  Sulfur matches in a big box lay beside the lamp. She lit the wick and placed the glass globe back atop the small flame. Shadows flickered over the dark, rocky walls of the cave and over the sad, tearstained face of the young girl wearing drenched clothing. Wondering if she should pull off her clothes, Angie dismissed the idea. The lamp would not keep her warm. With or without clothes, she might well freeze before the raging storm ended. Hugging her stiff knees to her chest, Angie stared blankly into the weak flame of the lamp and in her misery thought she wouldn’t mind that so very much.

  PECOS, RIDING FAST on Angie’s trail, sat atop a huge, galloping roan, spurring his mount northward. His gray eyes were narrow with rage. He was furious with the haughty, foolish, young woman. She’d taken out his prized stallion, the horse he’d caught and trained as a boy. He loved that horse. Were it not for Diablo’s danger, he’d let the brainless beauty get lost in the foothills in a snowstorm.

  Pecos felt his chest constrict. He was worried about Angel. If she was not headed for his secret cave as he was hoping, then she was in peril. The thought was sobering. He let the truth surface as he never had before. Whatever she was, he wanted her. He wanted her as he’d never wanted any woman. Time and time again he’d reminded himself that the beautiful, blond Angel was a whore. It did little good. She was in his blood, in his brain, and he wanted to possess her and make her his forever. The magnitude of his desire was frightening. The possibility of her freezing to death in the snowy mountains was terrifying.

  Pecos kicked his mount again, impatient to reach the uneven ground of the foothills and find Diablo and Angel. The blowing snow made a blur of his vision. He blinked, squinting to see into the thick white sheets assaulting him head-on. In the distance, he spotted a flash of black amid the blinding white. His heart sped up.

  “Angel,” he called hopefully, “Angel, it’s Pecos.” He pulled up on his horse as he shouted, praying for a response from her. There was none. No sound, save the blowing, howling winter winds. He moved out once again, trotting up into the deep drifts. Then he saw him.

  Diablo, his great head bowed, stood statue-still twenty-yards ahead. The black stallion proudly lifted his head and whinnied when he saw horse and rider approaching. “God in heaven!” Pecos rasped through clenched teeth and slid from his horse. “No!” he shouted mournfully as he ran to his faithful old friend. “No, no,” he repeated stupidly as he fell to his knees in front of the cold, injured beast.

  For a time Pecos remained there, rocking back and forth on his heels, patting absently at the ice-crusted mane and the neck of Diablo. Diablo nuzzled his dark head and Pecos slowly raised his eyes to look up. Pecos got to his feet. His right hand went to the cold barrel of the Navy Colt 44 riding his thigh. Slowly he drew the gun from its holster.

  “My friend, it’s only because I love you,” Pecos whispered. He looked his horse in the eye, steadily raised the gun, pointed it between the two big, sad eyes looking at him and squeezed the trigger.

  Pecos lowered the gun while the stunned, dying horse slipped to his knees before him. Diablo gave one soft, strangled whinny before his glazed eyes closed and he fell over dead. Above him, Pecos stood, shoulders slumping, sad tears sliding down his cold cheeks. The frozen countryside was eerily quiet, the strong wintry winds lulling to a plaintive moan of sadness.

  Alone in the mountains with no one to witness his display of deep emotion, his innate gentleness, his overwhelming pain, Pecos McClain stood looking down at his beloved horse, weeping. In a choked, heartbroken voice, he solemnly declared, “I will return to bury you, my faithful friend. I shall miss you, Diablo. You were the best.”

  Pecos replaced the revolver in the low riding holster atop his thigh and turned away. He swung up into the saddle of the roan and loped across the white, glistening snow, heading higher up into the frozen mountains.

  He never looked back.

  ANGIE HEARD THE SINGLE SHOT and jumped, almost upsetting the lamp. Her heart racing beneath her cold, wet blouse, she stumbled toward the mouth of the cave. She stood trembling in the rushing wind, waiting for Diablo’s executioner to appear, because she knew what the shot meant. One of the cowhands had ridden out to look for them and had found the horse with his shattered leg. The vaquero had checked the limb carefully and had made the difficult decision to put the poor creature out of his misery. Angie waited, wondering if she should call out. The rider soon appeared, pulling the roan to a halt just outside the cave. Angie opened her mouth to speak. The tall rider was bearing down on her.

  “Pecos,” she gasped in disbelief.

  Eyes colder than the snow, he looked at her, roughly grabbed her elbow and jerked her back inside the cave. He deposited her on the floor, turned and went back to unsaddle his horse without saying a word. Angie’s mind was in a whirl of confusion. What was Pecos doing here? How did he know where she’d be? Would he ever forgive her for Diablo? Her teeth chattering with cold and fear, she looked up. He was coming back toward her, his saddlebags and a blanket slung over his right shoulder.

  He dropped both at her feet. Still he did not speak. Her heart hammering loudly in her chest, Angie blurted nervously, “Pecos, I … I’m so sorry about … I’d give anything if I hadn’t taken him out. I know you must be … I wish I could …” His icy gaze made her stop trying to explain. He whirled away from her and moved around the cave, collecting twigs, old papers, anything that would burn.<
br />
  She watched, terrified by his grim demeanor, while he methodically built a fire, squatting on his heels beside it. In minutes healthy flames were shooting into the air, warming the cold, damp cave. Pecos rose abruptly and looked down at her, his eyes as hard as his heart. “Get undressed,” he snapped impatiently.

  “I … no.” She blinked up at him.

  He bent and grabbed her arm, jerking her to her feet. “I said get undressed, goddamn you. I’ll not let you freeze to death and have people say I killed you.”

  His tone brooked no argument and his lean fingers were cutting into her arm. “All … all right,” she managed, “I will.”

  Pecos released her and sat down on his heels by the fire. With stiff, shaking fingers, Angie shrugged off her saturated buckskin coat and began to unbutton her wet blouse. While she fumbled with the buttons, Pecos lifted one of her feet atop his thigh; she put her hands on his wide shoulders to keep from toppling over. He jerked her boots and stockings from her feet and turned back to stare into the fire.

  Angie turned her back to Pecos and removed her blouse. She patiently worked her way out of the tight wet trousers and stood shivering in only her lacy chemise and satin underpants. Timidly she turned back to Pecos. Without lifting his dark head, he barked, “That too! Get everything off.”

  Again she turned away from him and peeled off the sopping underwear. Naked, she stood, uncertain, fighting her cold and shame. She felt a warm, coarse blanket being draped around her trembling shoulders. A little sob escaped her chilled lips as her hands came up to clutch at it.

  “Tha—thank you,” she hiccuped gratefully.

  “Sit down here by the fire,” he ordered and she immediately dropped to her knees near him, holding the blanket around her quivering body.

  The fire and the blanket felt good. She was tired and cold and hungry. And she was repentant. “Pecos, I know you can never forgive me for Diablo. I don’t blame you; he was such a remarkable animal. You can never replace him, but I … I want to pay you for …”