by Nan Ryan
She slowly turned to face him.
Brit stared at her for a long contemplative moment, then raised a hand and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if trying to decide. After what seemed an eternity to Anna, he held his hand out before him, palm down, and tilted it slightly from side to side several times as if to say, “So-so.”
She knew just what he meant, She felt the same way about the blue silk. It was expensive and attractive, but it wasn’t the dress.
Back into the dressing room she went.
Her pulse now pounding with growing excitement she slipped into a matching skirt and blouse of crisp white cotton eyelet. The peasant-style blouse had a low, wide, off-the-shoulder ruffle encircling the gathered bodice and delicate short sleeves. The full, full skirt, draped over rustling white underskirts, was three tiered. A wide sash of flaming scarlet broadcloth encircled her small waist and fell almost to her feet.
Anna gazed at herself and shivered. This was the one. This was her. She could hardly wait to show Brit.
Anna made no pretense of stopping at the mirror. Nervously clutching the full white eyelet skirts, she walked directly up to the window and turned slowly about so that Brit could carefully examine her.
It wasn’t necessary for him to gesture, shake his head or mouth any words. His midnight-black eyes, shamelessly riveted on her, said it all.
“I’ll take this one,” Anna announced decisively, backing away from the window, purposely lifting her right shoulder so that the wide eyelet ruffle would slip a little farther down her bare arm.
By four that afternoon, the three of them, Anna, Brit and LaDextra, were ready to start home. Anna, still flushed from the thrill of her impromptu fashion show, was looking forward to wearing the beautiful white eyelet dress on the Fourth.
Brit, aware that he’d made inroads with Anna this afternoon, was looking forward to her wearing the beautiful white eyelet dress on the Fourth.
So he could remove it.
LaDextra, refreshed from a nice long nap, waved away Brit’s offer of assistance and crossed the hotel lobby with only the aid of her gold-headed cane. Anna followed, with Brit right behind them.
The carriage had been brought around and Brit was helping LaDextra into the rear seat when a woman’s slightly shrill voice called out, “Mrs. Regent! Brit!”
Brit, Anna and LaDextra all turned at once to see the well-dressed, red-haired woman eagerly approaching.
“Oh, Jesus,” Brit swore softly under his breath.
The widow Harris reached them, gave Brit an accusing look, then smiled warmly at LaDextra. “So very nice to see you, Mrs. Regent.”
“My pleasure, Beverly.” LaDextra was cordial. “I don’t believe you’ve met my granddaughter.”
“No, no I haven’t,” said Beverly, her eyes shifting to Anna.
“Anna, this is Mrs. Beverly Harris,” LaDextra announced. “Beverly, my dear granddaughter, Anna.”
Anna smiled and extended her hand. Beverly reluctantly shook it, nodded, acknowledged, “Anna.” She immediately dropped Anna’s hand, glanced at Brit, then back at Anna and said, “We must scold Brit, Anna. He never mentioned that you were so pretty.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Harris,” said Anna.
But Beverly had already turned her attention back to LaDextra. “Tell me, Mrs. Regent, will you be having the Fourth of July celebration this year, despite this terrible drought? Brit says the continuing lack of rain is becoming a very serious problem for the cattlemen.”
“Nothing could stop the Regent Fourth of July festivities, Beverly. You know that,” LaDextra assured her. “Rain or no rain, we’ll have the big party, just as always.” She shook her white head for emphasis, then asked, “You’re coming, I hope?”
Those were the words Beverly Harris wanted to hear. Smiling prettily, she said, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She slid a hand possessively around Brit’s biceps, said to LaDextra and Anna, “Would you two excuse us for a moment?”
Before either could reply, Beverly was urging Brit away from the parked carriage. Never releasing her tight grip on his upper arm, she maneuvered him down the sidewalk a few steps until Brit balked and stopped walking.
Annoyed, he said, “What’s on your mind, Bev?”
“You, darling,” she cooed. “I haven’t seen you in ages and I’ve missed you terribly.”
“Been pretty busy,” he said.
“Oh, I’m sure you have,” she replied, unable to conceal her jealousy. She glanced pointedly at the golden-haired girl now climbing into the parked carriage, and added accusingly, “And I can just imagine what—and with whom—you’ve been so very busy.”
“Christ, Bev, don’t be absurd.”
“Don’t you be absurd, Brit Caruth. You think I can’t see that there is something between you two?” Beverly’s green eyes turned glacial. “For heaven sake, she’s a member of the family. Surely LaDextra wouldn’t approve of you sleeping with her granddaughter. There’s a word for this.”
“That’s it!” said Brit, turning away in disgust.
Immediately contrite, Beverly hurried after him. “Wait darling, wait, I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t mean it. I know you’d never really be interested in a child, even a pretty one.”
His firm jaw clamped tight, Brit kept walking. Beverly caught up with him. “Don’t be angry, Brit.” she said anxiously. “Please forgive me. Take the ladies home, then come back and have dinner with me.” She laughed nervously, adding naughtily, “Or have me for dinner if you like.” Unsmiling, Brit shook his dark head. Beverly grabbed his arm, pressed her voluptuous body close, rose up on tiptoe and whispered, “I have a new black lace nightie I bought just for you.”
“Some other time,” said Brit, his disinterest evident.
Truly worried now, Beverly hid her disappointment and said, “Come when you can, darling. I’ll save the black lace nightgown for you. And, please, Brit save yourself for me.” Brit gave no reply. Desperate now, Beverly said, “Well, then I…I will see you on the Fourth of July? Brit? Brit?”
Thirteen
The final days of a dust-dry June slowly waned, with southwest Texas suffering the worst drought it had seen in more than three decades. Not a drop of rain had fallen since early spring. All the many Regent pastures, save the high, lush mountain tract, were turning brown, the grass dead or dying. The precious water holes were drying up. Fire was a real and constant threat. Day after day of heat was taking its toll on The Regent cattle empire. But the parched, thirsty land was not the only thing suffering.
Brit was miserable.
Anna was, too.
Achingly aware of each other, sharing identical feelings of growing desire and painful longing, the two of them felt the raw sexual tension between them escalate daily until it was almost palpable. The anxiety Brit had aroused in Anna was now completely overshadowed by the building passion he had so effortlessly incited.
It was the same for Brit. His deep distrust and resentment of Anna’s impersonation had been eclipsed by a basic, burning hunger to possess her physically. The attraction that had smoldered from the very beginning was now threatening to blaze out of control. Unspoken between them was the awareness that they could not stay out of each other’s arms forever. Brit was impatient. Anna was apprehensive. Both were obsessed.
The blinding white-hot days were interminable. The dark sweltering nights endless. Night after sultry night, an edgy, restless Brit lay in his room unable to sleep, hot and miserable, his naked body gleaming with perspiration. He could find no relief from the awesome summer heat. Or from the raging desire that had him so hot for Anna he could hardly stand it.
It was sheer agony knowing that she was asleep and vulnerable in the room right next to his own. His body automatically responded as he pictured her there in bed wearing only her thin white batiste nightgown, her long unbound hair spilling across the pillow like a gold, silken fan.
Brit cursed himself for the unwanted erection now pulsing on his bare brown belly. He had n
ever been this way about a woman before and it both frightened and annoyed him. There were far too many times of late when no more than a glance at Anna made his knees buckle, his heart pound. It was as if she were now the one in control, not he.
And he sure didn’t like that.
Brit balled his hands into fists and ground his teeth. He reminded himself—one more time—that this golden goddess who robbed him of his rest was a greedy lying thief who meant to hurt LaDextra and steal The Regent from him.
It did no good.
He still wanted her. God, how he wanted her. He wanted her so badly he felt as if he couldn’t stand it one more agonizing minute. Yet he couldn’t risk being rebuffed again. He would have to wait. Like it or not, she was, temporarily, the one who wielded all the power.
But she was, he knew, steadily weakening. He was going to have her and soon. And he was confident that all it would take to put this debilitating madness behind him for good would be to make love to her.
Once. Just once.
No more.
Just one long, dark, hot, passionate night in her slender arms and he would be cured of this insanity.
He exhaled heavily, turned over onto his belly, allowing his heavy erection to press into the mattress, hugged his pillow and silently cursed the beautiful woman who was sleeping soundly while he suffered.
Brit would have been surprised—and pleased—had he known that Anna was not sleeping as soundly as he imagined. While he lay in the dark, naked and hurting from wanting her, she, too, was wide awake and suffering.
Night after steamy night, Anna lay awake in the hot darkness, her gown damp with perspiration and sticking to her skin, her slender body painfully tense with a kind of powerful longing she didn’t fully understand.
It was not the summer heat that kept her awake each night. It was the awesomely masculine man in the room next to her own.
Anna pictured Brit sound asleep in his bed. She didn’t envision him in pajamas. She saw him gloriously naked, like he’d been at the springs. Only without the Stetson covering that most virile part of him. She visualized the smooth darkness of his lean, hard body against the snowy whiteness of the sheets, imagined his jet-black hair appealingly ruffled on the pillow.
The vivid vision brought on a new surge of heat, and Anna was plagued by the rising fever in her blood. Her slender body on fire, she felt as if she couldn’t draw a breath, was smothering. She rose from the bed, impatiently lifted the damp nightgown up over her head and dropped it to the plush beige carpet. She exhaled shallowly. Naked, she got back into bed, stretched out and closed her eyes, certain that blessed sleep would finally come.
It did not.
Now the wicked thought kept running through her mind that Brit was in bed and she was in bed and he was naked and she was naked and he was uncomfortably warm and she was uncomfortably warm and he wanted her and she wanted him.
Anna was hot and cold at once. She trembled even as she perspired. Her teeth chattered, while her body felt feverish. Her stomach fluttered as if butterflies had taken wing inside. Her bare breasts swelled and her nipples tightened and ached. A gentle throbbing began in her lower belly.
Anna gritted her teeth and curled her hands into tight fists. She reminded herself—again—that this dark Adonis who stole her sleep was a hard-hearted adversary who meant to deny her her heritage and have her tossed right off The Regent.
It did no good.
She still wanted him. Wanted him so badly she would have welcomed him warmly had he crept into her room the way he’d done that night she’d pulled the knife on him. Right or wrong, foolish or wise, she wanted Brit Caruth. She wanted him to take her in his arms and make love to her. He wanted her, too; she knew he did. They wanted each other, so it was, she realized, inevitable that one night soon it would happen. They would come together in their shared passion, unable to fight the deep yearning for one more minute. She hoped it would be soon. She didn’t think she could stand it if it took much longer.
Tingling with the anticipation of being enclosed in Brit’s strong arms, Anna told herself resolutely that if he made love to her once and never wanted her again, she wouldn’t be hurt or disappointed. If once was enough for him, it was enough for her, too. Hopefully that’s all it would take. Surely the fierce fever in her blood would cool once he had given her that sweet, mysterious release.
July 4, 1890, dawned clear and hot in the parched deserts of far southwest Texas and in the rocky foothills of the towering Guadalupe Mountains.
Anna awakened with the sun.
As soon as she opened her eyes, she smiled. Delicious aromas wafted up from the kitchen below. Maggie Mae and her helpers were already hard at work preparing tempting foods for the daylong celebration.
Anna bounced out of bed, despite the fact that she’d slept little. She was excited. The Fourth had finally arrived and she had the delicious feeling that this was going to be one of the most exciting days—and nights—of her life.
Just as Sally had predicted, the mansion was now full of out-of-town guests, old and dear friends of LaDextra’s. Petra, Anna’s young maid, had told Anna that every single guest room was filled.
Anna had met most of the visitors at dinner last evening. And, as far as she could tell, she had passed muster with all of them. She was hugged and patted and told repeatedly, “You look just like you did when you were a little girl.”
Anna heard voices coming from outdoors. Curious, she drew on a robe and rushed out onto the balcony. Praying that Brit was either still sound asleep or already up and gone, she anxiously tiptoed past his room, then hurried on down to the east end of the mansion. She followed the wide balcony around the corner and looked down on the terraced lawn, where the festivities were soon to begin.
Directly below, on the terrace nearest the house, and at the very back edge of the yard, a skinny man wearing a tall chef’s hat and a white apron stood beside a huge pit and its roaring fire. A long-handled brush in his hand, he was basting the slow-cooking beef with some secret, spicy barbecue sauce. A platoon of white-garbed assistants were engaged in similar tasks. Anna watched as the great sides of beef were slowly turned on the spits. LaDextra swore that Hap Kinney’s barbecue was the best to be had in all Texas because of his secret sauce and the slow, patient cooking of the beef.
Near the smoking pits were several long utility tables. Soon servants would be carrying huge platters of food from the house and placing them on the service tables.
On the middle terrace, workers were busy setting up dozens of tables that would later be covered with white cloths and place settings. A couple of Regent gardeners were filling dozens of white porcelain vases with red roses to serve as centerpieces. Stacks of folding chairs had come out of a storeroom and were ready to be set up and placed at the tables.
Anna gazed down and wondered at which table she would be seated that evening. And she wondered where Brit would be sitting. Would they be at the same table?
On the third and lowest terrace of the vast east yard, the sound of hammering echoed in the early morning quiet. A team of carpenters was constructing a large wooden dance floor. As soon as the platform was completed, dozens of colorful Japanese lanterns would be strung overhead to cast their mellow light on the dancers. At the north end of the new dance floor was a raised dais for the orchestra. Anna pictured herself turning round and round on the dance floor in Brit’s arms.
Soon her attention was drawn to the south side of the lower terrace. Workers were very carefully stacking fireworks for the midnight display. Anna smiled. Exactly where, she wondered, would she be at straight-up midnight? What would she be doing? And with whom?
A thrill shot through her at the thought and she turned and dashed back to her room.
By midafternoon everyone had arrived. Hundreds of guests were milling around the manicured grounds, sipping iced lemonade, greeting friends, laughing and talking, totally oblivious to the searing July heat.
On the flat west lawn a huge striped te
nt offered welcome shade to those seeking it. For the younger and heartier in the crowd who needed no protection from the broiling Texas sun, games were underway. A crawling-baby race—complete with wagering—had just ended. A gurgling, chubby nine-month-old girl had beat out some strong competition, much to the delight of her proud parents and the gamblers who had put their money on her.
Contestants were now being sought for the men’s three-legged race. Brit and Buck Shanahan immediately volunteered. Anna, standing on the sidelines with Sally, clapped excitedly as the gun was fired and two dozen laughing, scrambling men awkwardly took off. The spectators yelled and whistled and took bets on which team would finish first.
Her sparkling eyes fixed on the laughing, hobbling Brit, Anna was startled when a woman’s low, sultry voice said into her ear, “In case you’ve been getting any ideas, he belongs to me.”
Anna quickly turned, to see the beautiful, red-haired Widow Harris standing close beside her. Speaking on impulse, Anna replied, “I wouldn’t be so sure, Mrs. Harris.”
Beverly’s eyes narrowed minutely, but she smiled and said, “Ah, but I am. You can’t compete with me, my dear. You’re a sweet, pretty young girl, but Brit doesn’t like sweet, pretty young girls. He prefers women.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. And I am the woman he prefers,” Beverly boasted. “Brit wants no one but me.” Again she smiled and warned, “Stay away from him.”
Quickly rising to the challenge, Anna smiled back at her and said, “You’re warning the wrong one, Mrs. Harris. It’s Brit who can’t stay away from me.” And she turned back to watch the races just as Brit and Buck tripped and went down.
The girls’ egg races came next, and Anna and Sally were among the first to line up. Fourteen girls and women participated. With their hands behind their backs and a silver spoon holding a boiled egg clamped between their teeth, the contestants waited nervously for the starting gun.
