by Nan Ryan
Everyone showed up en masse.
Everyone except Senator de Temple and his daughter, Gena.
In the midst of all the frivolity, Cappy Ricks stood alone and apart from the crowd. One hip pressed up against the old, stone wishing well, he stood leaning back, arms crossed over his chest, his squinted eyes seeking out and following the white-gowned bride.
Cappy suddenly shivered in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine.
Amidst the loud laughter and talk, the feasting and the drinking, the music and the merriment, the troubled ranch foreman wondered—for the thousandth time—if he had done the wrong thing by not telling Burt about Raleigh Burnett’s shocking confession in his final hour of life.
Should he have warned the unsuspecting Burt about this beautiful young woman who was now his wife?
He had meant to do just that—but had never gotten around to it. He had fully intended to tell Burt everything once Raleigh Burnett’s funeral was over. He had figured it was best to wait until after the elder Burnett had been laid to rest. Then he would tell Burt. As soon as they got back from the cemetery, he would tell him.
Everything.
He had sure meant to do it.
But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. Burt had just buried his father. Surely that was no time to reveal what he knew would inflict even more pain on the grieving son. He’d wait a week, two at the most, then have a long private talk with the boy.
It never happened.
Two days after the funeral Cappy met Sabella Rios and that changed everything. Despite who she was and what he knew about her, he was instantly charmed. He couldn’t keep from liking her. He could not believe that she was anything other than exactly what she seemed: a very sweet, very pretty young woman who was totally in love with Burt.
Right from the start she had seemed so open and so honest. She didn’t act like a woman with something to hide. He had attempted, in an offhand, casual manner, to find out what she was up to, what was going on.
Instead of dodging his questions, she seemed to genuinely appreciate his taking an interest in her, asking about her family, etc. She talked at length about her mother, her father, and her life growing up on a small Arizona ranch. She freely revealed all kinds of personal information without the slightest hesitation.
On occasion he had purposely tried to trip her up. Other times he attempted to get a rise out of her. He would brag mercilessly about Lindo Vista, go on and on about the vast acreage the Burnett family owned. All the while searching her pretty face for the slightest change of expression.
There was none.
Still Cappy was worried as he looked now at the glowing and gorgeous young woman in her long white-satin dress. Mrs. Burton J. Burnett. The troubled foreman shook his silver head, disgusted with himself. Fool that he was, not only had he not tried to stop the wedding, he had walked Sabella down the aisle.
“I have no one,” she had told him with poignant honesty, her large dark eyes burning directly into his. “You’d be the next best thing to having my own father give me away.”
Today at the noontime nuptials in the old mission’s chapel, it had seemed almost as if he actually were her father.
Toward the end of the brief ceremony, the padre had asked, “Who giveth this woman away?”
Cappy recalled that a slight lump had formed in his throat when he replied, “I do” and placed her hand in Burt’s.
Cappy sighed heavily. Then he smiled, shoved his nagging doubts aside, and loosened his choking tie. He reached out and took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and began to relax.
Everything would work out. Maybe Sabella Rios and Burt Burnett hadn’t met through pure happenstance. Maybe fate hadn’t tossed the two of them together. Maybe the angel-faced blonde had searched Burt out with ulterior motives in mind. But maybe, just maybe, she had fallen in love with Burt, just as he had with her. And maybe Burt need never know …
“Cappy? Cappy Ricks, where are you?” Sabella’s warm, musical voice pulled him from his reverie. He looked up. She stood smiling in the sunlight, Burt at her side, a possessive arm around her waist. Motioning with her hand, she called, “Come on over here, Cappy. We’re about to cut the cake!”
Twenty
SHE COULD DELAY NO longer.
The hour had finally come. The hour which she had dreaded for the past ten years.
The sun had long since slipped into the Pacific Ocean and bright stars had come out to wink in the dark night sky. Colorful Japanese lanterns strung out over the sprawling grounds of the estate, illuminated the peppermint-striped tent and the big yard beyond.
At the center of the large manicured lawn, a three-tiered fountain splashed cool clear water down into a circular pool at its base. A couple of laughing young ladies, who’d had a touch too much champagne, were wading about in the crystal-clear pool.
Sabella envied them their carefree, childish fun. She longed to join them. She wished she could step into the fountain, and kick and laugh and play until it was time to go home.
Only this was her home.
She wouldn’t be leaving with the rest of the crowd.
She would be spending the night here with … with …
Sabella smiled wistfully as she watched the laughing Cynthia Douglas and Janie Desmond, the friendly pair she had met in the millinery shop last spring, splash about in the fountain.
Only recently they had returned from their summer in San Francisco. Before they were even unpacked, they had learned of Burt’s switch from Gena de Temple to her. Both swore to her that they were delighted. Enjoying themselves now, they giggled and squealed and waded about in the water, their dresses hiked up past their knees. A group of approving young men circled the fountain, clapping and egging them on.
The dancing had begun shortly after dark on a specially constructed outdoor dance floor on the oceanside of the splashing fountain. The loud, brassy band which had played fast-paced tunes throughout the warm sunny afternoon had been replaced by a small string orchestra whose members were elegantly attired in dark evening clothes.
The tempo was slower. The music more mellow. The tone half dreamy.
Sabella had been turned about on the dance floor by so many pairs of arms, her head was spinning and her slippered feet were sore. Still, she wished she could stay there all night, dancing, laughing, talking. Safe in the crush of people.
She couldn’t.
She had made her bargain with the Devil and the first of many payments was now coming due.
Swaying to a slow, romantic ballad in the arms of her new husband, Sabella pulled her attention from the laughing girls in the fountain, lifted her head from Burt’s chest, looked into his silver gray eyes, and calmly said, “Darling, give me half an hour.”
The simple statement sent a shudder through Burt’s tall, lean frame. While Sabella faced the hours ahead with dread and apprehension, Burt looked forward to them with expectation and anticipation.
He squeezed her hand gently, smiled, and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. His lips against her forehead, he whispered, “My love, I’ll give you the rest of my life.”
He hugged her tightly to him one final time, then released her. He stayed where she left him, standing in the middle of the dance floor, his arms at his sides, his hands balling into fists. His admiring gaze following her every graceful movement, he watched as she lifted the long skirts of her wedding gown and weaved her slow, sure way through the crowd.
Pride and love swelling in his heart, he saw her approach the hacienda with a growing group of excited young women following closely on her heels. The excitement seeped through the crowd as the departing bride disappeared into the striped tent and then reappeared on the other side.
She had reached the flagstone patio. Regally she climbed the steps, then turned about. In her hand was the slightly wilted bridal bouquet fashioned of ivory orchids and roses.
Every unmarried girl and woman eagerly pressed up close, hands outstretched, hoping to be the lu
cky one. Cynthia Douglas and Janie Desmond, barefoot and giggling, managed to maneuver themselves up to the front.
Sabella smiled brilliantly at all the females gathered before her. She teased them by making a couple of false starts, then tortured them no more. She tossed the bridal bouquet high into the air, whirled about, and hurried inside the hacienda with the sound of female screams, squeals, and laughter following her.
Once inside the safety of the house, Sabella’s bright smile vanished.
Sweeping through the wide, silent corridor, she climbed the grand redwood staircase as if she were ascending to her doom. Wondering miserably if she could survive the terrible ordeal ahead, she told herself she had to, there was no choice.
She reached the second floor landing, hesitated, closed her eyes for a second, and nervously bit the fleshy inside of her bottom lip. Her eyes opened, she drew a shallow breath, and forced herself to move. At the head of the wide corridor leading down the mansion’s northern wing, she paused again.
She began to tremble so violently her teeth chattered, and she felt icy cold and faint. She clamped her jaw down tight, gritted her chattering teeth, and narrowed her dark eyes in determination.
She lifted the long flowing skirts of her white-satin wedding gown and marched down that long silent corridor. When she stood directly before the very last door, she lingered for a long moment outside, waiting, putting off entering. Postponing her entrance into the luxurious quarters which, this night, would be for her a frightening chamber of horrors.
Her cold hand slowly reaching for the gleaming silver doorknob, she was struck anew with the terrifying realization that she would be spending the agonizingly long night on the other side of the door. Unable to get away. Trapped like a condemned prisoner. Locked up with a dark, amorous stranger of superior physical strength who, in his eagerness and lust, might well behave more like an animal than a man.
Sabella turned the silver knob, pushed open the heavy door, and stepped inside.
“Madre de Dios!” muttered Carmelita, hurrying toward her. “Where have you been? I expected you to come up ages ago.” Shaking her graying head, the stocky Mexican woman took Sabella’s elbow, turned her about, and began undoing the back of the satin wedding gown.
“It’s still quite early,” Sabella defended herself.
“It’s nearly nine o’clock! Are you forgetting all the years you spent teaching yourself the rules of proper etiquette for such occasions? You know very well the guests cannot leave before the bride and groom! Why, some of the older ones must be completely worn out.”
“They’re not the only ones,” said Sabella.
The dress unhooked, Carmelita peeled it down Sabella’s slender arms to her waist, pushed it over her hips, and said, “There, now, step out.” Sabella took Carmelita’s offered hand to steady herself, and stepped free of the mushrooming satin gown. “Your bath has been drawn for so long it’s probably cold. I’ll ring for—”
“No, don’t.” Sabella shook her head. “It’ll be fine.”
Carmelita saw the anxious look on Sabella’s face and softened. “Oh, my little nena,” she said, wrapping comforting arms around the slender Sabella, “you don’t have to go through with this! There’s still time. We could slip away while everyone’s—”
“No.” Sabella pulled from Carmelita’s embrace. “We are not leaving here until I can take with me Burt Burnett’s only son!” Tugging at the tape of her full, lace petticoats, she said, “Since that is impossible without first … without allowing … ” She swallowed hard. “I just pray that I will be one of those fortunate women who gets pregnant on my wedding night!”
Older, wiser than her young charge, Carmelita frowned. “Do not count on such quick results. It may take weeks, months, even years before—”
“No!” Sabella said forcefully. “Don’t say that! My mother got pregnant with me as soon as she was married. The same thing will happen to me. I know it will. It has to.”
While Sabella took her bubble bath, Carmelita turned back the champagne-colored counterpane of the massive bed. She folded the downy matching coverlet to the bed’s foot, and peeled back the cool, silky top sheet of the same hue. She fluffed several matching lace-edged cased pillows up against the tall solid headboard, then lowered the light in the frosted-glass-globed lamp on the bedside table. She moved a crystal bowl of ivory roses from the bureau to the night table.
She then went about the spacious bedchamber, checking to see if everything was ready, if all the windows were open as Mr. Burnett had requested. They were. She crossed the plushly carpeted room and opened the tall glass-paned doors leading onto the balcony. Breathing in the cool night air which carried the scent of the sea, she crossed the wide balcony, looked down, and saw dozens of guests milling about, laughing, talking, drinking.
Her gaze sweeping over a sea of faces, she easily picked out the bridegroom. He was taller, bigger, handsomer than any of the other gentlemen. A fine-looking man in Carmelita’s opinion. Watching him closely, she saw Burt say something to a circle of friends, laugh heartily, then begin making his way through the throng. She turned away and hurried back inside.
The men in the crowd started to whistle and roar as Burt moved determinedly toward the hacienda, a bottle of champagne tucked under each arm and mischief in his eyes.
“Name the first one after me, Burt,” someone laughingly said.
“Hey, Burt, want us to wake you at sunrise for breakfast?” teased another.
It was all in fun and Burt took it good-naturedly. When he reached the steps of the back patio, he pivoted, grinned boyishly, and said, “Good friends, Mrs. Burnett and I thank you all for coming. There’s plenty of food and liquor, the orchestra’s still playing. Stay as long as you like.” He grinned, winked, and said, “But it’s time for me to bid you all good night!”
Piercing whistles and thunderous applause followed him into the silent house. Burt’s bright smile didn’t disappear once he got inside. He was beaming when he made a detour by the kitchen. He snagged a couple of stemmed glasses in his lean fingers, nodded yes when a white-jacketed waiter quickly produced a silver bucket of ice. The smiling servant took both bottles of champagne from Burt, set one aside, shoved the other down into the depths of the ice, and handed the silver bucket to Burt.
“You’re a good man, Thomas McGuire. Remind me to give you a raise tomorrow,” Burt said, smiling as he backed away.
Carmelita hurried back inside to warn Sabella that she had to hurry, Burt was on his way up. Sabella had barely shoved her arms into the long gossamer sleeves of her filmy white negligee before a firm knock sounded on the heavy door. The women temporarily froze, and looked at each other. Then Carmelita gave Sabella one last reassuring hug, hurried to the interior door leading into the suite’s sitting room, dashed through it, and waited there until she heard Sabella say, “Come in, Burt.”
Carmelita stepped out into the corridor and fled as Burt opened the door and went inside the bedroom.
Burt nudged the door shut with his muscular shoulder, then stood there against it for a long moment, unmoving, the silver champagne bucket in one hand, two stemmed glasses in the other, helplessly staring at the young woman who was now his wife.
She was covered from her graceful throat to her cute little toes in a flowing, long-sleeved negligee of ivory satin trimmed in delicate lace. Her blond hair was unbound and spilling around her slender shoulders and down her back. The lamplight, coming from behind, made a halo of the lustrous golden locks. Her eyes were fixed on him and in their dark luminous depths was an oddly appealing mixture of virginal anxiety and challenging boldness. She was, without doubt, the most exquisitely beautiful woman Burt had ever laid eyes on. He wanted her with such a blinding passion he could hardly keep from dropping the champagne bucket and rushing forward to pull her into his eager embrace. His hands trembled with the need to immediately sweep away her covering nightclothes and have her naked in his arms.
“Sweetheart, I hope I didn’t r
ush you,” he said, his tone low, caressing.
“No, not at all,” Sabella told him, her knees trembling, her heat pounding in her chest.
With quick catlike grace Burt moved into the room. Nervously observing his approach, Sabella thought he had never looked so big, so dark, so frightening before. He was a giant of a man and she felt small and defenseless in his intimidating presence. He walked directly toward her. When he was less than two feet away, he placed the silver ice bucket and the stemmed glasses on the night table by the bed.
He turned to face her, stepped closer, smiled, and placed his hands on her upper arms.
“Will you join me in a toast, darling?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, nodding, swallowing convulsively. If only she could drink the entire bottle. Maybe then she could stand what was in store for her.
Burt shrugged out of his dark suit jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair. He stuck his middle finger beneath the neat knot of his black silk tie, and yanked, loosening it. Then he unbuttoned the top button of his white dress shirt.
Sabella closely watched the quick, impatient way he removed his jacket, the way he decisively pulled at his tie and swiftly flipped open the collar of his shirt. Would he be that reckless and hasty with her? Would he snatch away her robe and toss it aside, then immediately tug her gown off, leaving her stark naked and miserably embarrassed?
Burt handed Sabella a glass of champagne. He picked up his own, held it out, looked straight into her dark flashing eyes, and said, “May all our bright tomorrows be half as sweet as this first night together.”
Twenty-One
HIS CHAMPAGNE FLUTE TOUCHED, clinking musically against hers. They raised the stemmed glassed to their lips. Burt took one generous swig of the chilled wine, then lowered his glass. Sabella gulped thirstily, swallowed anxiously, then immediately took another large drink. Unnerved by the hot light shining in Burt’s smokey eyes, she was bent on consuming as much of the bubbly champagne as possible. She drank until she had drained the last drop, took a quick anxious breath, and held out her empty glass to him.
