The Tiger Lily

by Shirlee Busbee

  Brett nodded his dark head slowly. A lopsided grin curving his mouth, he murmured, "Sometimes the only manner in which I can see my way clear is to discuss a particular problem with my friend Morgan Slade."

  Nodding his head, much like Brett, Alejandro murmured thoughtfully, "Yes, I can understand that." He took a sip of his Madeira and said reluctantly, "The de la Vega family is in great financial trouble. Just a short while ago, I lent Luis a very large sum of money. The money doesn't concern me—Luis will repay me when he can. What does concern me is Carlos! I cannot understand what that young fool is thinking! His family is as close to ruin as a family can be, and yet he spends his time at some low cantina in Nacogdoches, gaming and wenching."

  At Brett's expression of surprise, Alejandro admitted uncomfortably, "Several of the vaqueros from our rancho have seen him in there. And they talk. When the family had the money, I could understand Carlos's wasteful habits, but now ..." Alejandro shook his head sadly. "Now he continues just as he always did, and instead of helping his father, he lazes the days away visiting with Sabrina!"

  A curiously bleak slant to his mouth, Brett said dryly, "Perhaps he comes to her for compassion. Or in the hope that she can find a way to solve his dilemma—you said that they are close."

  "That's not the point! The point is that Carlos should be working like the devil to save his home, his inheritance. He acts as if it means nothing to him. Luis is showing the strain; even my sister, who would rather die than let me know she is disturbed, has begun to bear the marks of worry." Glumly Alejandro confessed, "She hated it when Luis asked me for the money. She has such pride, and worse, she never wanted to leave the de la Vega rancho in Mexico and make Nacogdoches her home." Alejandro sighed. "How she pleaded with Luis not to come with me when I wanted to settle here! Even my own father wasn't precisely pleased about it, but at least he understood a young man's yearning for adventure. I tried to explain to Francisca at the time that Luis, being the youngest son, would never be more than merely a cipher next to his older brother, that here he could be his own man, forge his own fortune." He smiled whimsically. "But Nacogdoches cannot compare to the splendor and delights to be found in Mexico City, and though she hides it well, I know she still resents the fact that Luis listened to my stories of the beauty and grandeur of this country, of the opportunity for a man to gain a fortune, and decided to come with me when I left Mexico." He shook his head sadly. "She always feared that they would come to ruin, and now ..."

  "But how did it come about?" Brett asked curiously. "This land is so rich, so very fertile, that I cannot believe a man could fail so dismally. It is obvious that they prospered for some time."

  Alejandro grimaced. "It is always a battle out here, amigo. Floods can drown your herds, Indians can steal them, and crops can fail. And then there are bandits and four-legged predators like bear and puma that can devastate an area. But in Luis's case, I think it has simply been mismanagement of his money. A rancher, like many plantation owners, lives from season to season, from one year of plenty to the next of famine, and Luis has not always been wise with his funds." Alejandro's patrician features hardened. "And I fear that his indulgences with Carlos have also eaten deeply into his actual monies—he cannot, or will not, deny his only son." Alejandro shook his head again. "I never suspected how unworthy Carlos is. I knew he was spoiled and perhaps a little wild, but I never dreamed he would be so indifferent in the face of true adversity. These past few months have left me very disappointed in Carlos."

  A little smile of embarrassment tugged at the corners of his mouth. "And now," he said apologetically, "I have disappointed myself, by boring you with such a maudlin tale." He glanced at his glass. "It must be the Madeira that has made me such a poor host."

  Brett hastened to assure him that he was indeed a fine host, and a few minutes later they were busy talking of other, more interesting things. It was only when the shadows were lengthening into the duskiness of early evening that Alejandro looked up with surprise and murmured, "It just occurred to me that Sabrina should be here with us. I wonder what has delayed her."

  Brett remained silent, not trusting himself to speak, his eyes fixed on his glass. But then there was no need for him to speak. Almost as if waiting for her father's words, Sabrina suddenly walked out from under the overhanging eaves of the house and joined them at the table.

  It had taken a great deal of bravery for her to do so. Outwardly she looked quite composed—no sign of the angry, disheveled young woman who had raced away from the gazebo in shame was apparent in her appearance. The red-gold curls were demurely caught in a chignon at the base of her neck, and her gown was a delightful concoction of embroidered yellow muslin. The color enhanced her own golden-toned skin and deepened the intensity of the amber-gold eyes; a profusion of lace edging the modest neckline formed a charming frame for her lovely features, and around her neck was an emerald-green velvet ribbon; topaz earrings gleamed in her ears. But if outwardly Sabrina showed no signs of agitation, inwardly she was a quaking mass of jangled emotions. She was furious with Brett, and the hours between their parting and now had done nothing to soothe her ire. How dare he think her capable of welcoming Carlos's attack! And yet, a more rational part of her admitted that the scene had looked compromising. She didn't want to think about that, for her humiliation was too deep.

  Her attitude toward Carlos was a mixture of disbelief, anger, bewilderment, and hurt. How could he have acted so despicably? She had been nearly in a state of shock when she had gained the safety of her bedroom, and for several moments she had just stood in the center of the room staring blindly at nothing. Fortunately, no one had seen her arrival back at the house, and she had shuddered just thinking about the questions and the unpleasantness there would have been if her father or Bonita had chanced to see her as she fled up the stairs. Would they have believed that she had welcomed Carlos's assault?

  Thinking of Carlos had sent a wave of nausea coursing through her body. Even love, she had thought painfully, did not excuse him. He had meant to dishonor her, and she had little doubt that if Brett had not arrived when he did, Carlos would have raped her. And it would have been rape. Carlos's touch, his hot kisses, his caresses aroused no feeling within her but repulsion, and remembering his seeking hands upon her thighs, the touch of his hardened male flesh against her, she had shivered as she tore off the tattered gown and threw it violently down on the floor of her bedroom. What had possessed him? Had he gone mad?

  She almost couldn't believe what had transpired, and yet, staring at the ruined heap that had been her pretty lavender gown, she was forced to face the fact that her friend, the cousin she had known all her life, the playmate of her childhood, had indeed tried to rape her.

  Numbly she had gathered up the evidence of his attack and hidden it in the bottom of a pine chest that sat near her bed. She couldn't think clearly right now, but she didn't dare let anyone, especially Bonita, see that ripped and torn gown and ask questions.

  Reaction had made her teeth chatter, and with a low moan, she had sought out her bed, burrowing deeply down into the covers, seeking to drive out the chill that seemed to permeate her very bones. She had shut her eyes, Brett's contemptuous face suddenly floating behind her lids. Shivering then almost uncontrollably, she had felt rage rising up through her body. How dare they! Carlos to try such a trick and Brett to blame her!

  She was furious with Carlos for his actions and she would never trust him again, but she didn't hate him—there were too many childhood memories binding them together. As time passed, and she gradually calmed herself, she had begun to search for some reason for his actions. She couldn't imagine anything that he could ever say that would wipe out this afternoon's ugly memory, but deep in her heart, she hoped that there was some extenuating circumstance that would explain his actions.

  As for Brett . . . Her young face hardened. What else should she have expected from him? He had no use for women—except one, according to Tia Sofia—and even though these past da
ys, she had hoped that they were forging a strong new bond, today had showed her how frail that hope had been. He would always believe the worst about any woman, and for that she could never forgive him. Had he really believed that she would respond to him the way she had and then creep out to be mauled and pawed by Carlos? Her mouth had twisted distastefully. What an ugly, tortuous mind he must have, she had thought angrily.

  Carlos had betrayed a trust, but Brett's betrayal went deeper. He should have understood, she had repeated savagely to herself. He should have realized, should have known I would not be a willing partner to what was going on—no matter how it looked! It wasn't very rational thinking, but Sabrina was young and was caught in the painful throes of her first love.

  She hadn't known how she was going to react when she saw Brett again, but her heart had given a funny little jerk in her breast when she walked out to join the men at the table and was confronted with his indifferent glance. The face he showed her was politely remote, and remembering the warm smiles they had been exchanging this past week, her eyes sparkled with temper.

  As interested as he was in their blooming love affair, it was to be expected that Alejandro would notice immediately the air of reserve and stiff punctiliousness between the two younger people. His eyes puzzled and a little worried, he looked from one set face to the other. What in the world, he wondered bewilderedly, has caused this? And it wasn't until after a stiff, uncomfortable dinner that an inkling came to him.

  The long table had been cleared, and fourteen-year-old Lupe, one of the kitchen servants, was bringing in bowls of peaches, green grapes, and cheeses for dessert, when Alejandro said casually to Sabrina, “Chica, I hesitate to bring this up . . . but I do not think it is proper or wise for you to be meeting so privately with your cousin Carlos. Brett mentioned to me this afternoon that he had seen the two of you at the gazebo, and I really must insist that if you wish to see Carlos you should do so here in your own home."

  Sabrina's face paled, and she stiffened. Tale-bearing was not one of the crimes she would have laid at Brett's door, but obviously she had overrated his scruples. Her voice choked with outrage, her eyes flashing contemptuously, she got out, "Cielos! And having seen us there together, he must immediately run to you with the tale! There are words for men like him—ugly words!"

  Startled, Alejandro could only stare at her in astonishment. "Chica, what is this? Why—"

  Sabrina stood up abruptly, and interrupting Alejandro, she said regally, "If you will excuse me, I must leave." Slinging a venomous look at Brett, she added, "The air in here is suddenly foul!"

  Open-mouthed, Alejandro watched as she swept from the room, her yellow muslin skirts frothing behind her. He looked over at Brett and muttered, "What in the world disturbed her so? I cannot understand her these days."

  The dark green eyes fixed with cold anger on the door Sabrina had just stormed through, Brett threw down his napkin and said in a hard voice, "If you'll excuse me, Alejandro? I would like a word with your daughter!"

  Speculation leaping to his eyes, his mouth still open, Alejandro suddenly found himself sitting all alone in the spacious dining room. "Well!" he said indignantly to the empty room.

  Brett caught up with Sabrina at the top of the stairs leading to their bedrooms. She hadn't been aware that he had followed her, and his brutal grasp of her arm as he swung her around to face him disconcerted her. She gave a small gasp of alarm, and then, when she saw his dark angry face, her heart began to thump painfully.

  "Let go of me!" she said furiously, jerking at the arm he held so tightly.

  "Not yet, your highness! You and I are going to have a private conversation first," Brett snapped.

  "I don't want to speak to you! Ever! You have done nothing but slip around and sneak and spy on me since you arrived here—and now you carry tales to my father. You're despicable!"

  A muscle in Brett's jaw bunched, and the dark green eyes went nearly black with fury. "I've had just about all of your accusations I'm going to take! Now you shut up and you listen to me!" he said with cold rage, giving her an ungentle shake. He sent a harassed look down the long hallway and then pulled her into a small antechamber nearby.

  Releasing her arm, he regarded her unkindly as she stood defiantly in front of him, one hand rubbing the place where he had grabbed her. Icily she said, "Since you've dragged me in here, say what you have to say and let me go."

  Brett inclined his dark head in mock politeness. "As you command, your highness." Propping himself negligently against the door, he said in a level tone of voice, "I didn't run tale-bearing to your father. I did, however"—an expression of disgust and contempt passed across his lean features—"mention to him that I had seen you and Carlos at the gazebo. I didn't," he went on in an increasingly harsh note, "tell him what you were doing there!"

  "And what were we doing?" Sabrina inquired dangerously, the amber-gold eyes glittering incandescently. "What was it you thought you saw?"

  The tanned face full if distaste and scorn, he said bluntly, "You damn well know what I saw! But you can be assured your sordid little secret is safe with me. Not for your sake," he added tightly, "but for your father's! I don't want to be the one to disillusion him about his slut of a daughter!"

  Sabrina's hand swung out and cracked against his cheek before she had time to think. And before she had time to realize what she had done, she found herself jerked cruelly up against Brett's hard, long length.

  His mouth inches from hers, his warm breath teasing her lips, he snarled thickly, "I think I warned you not to try that again! And since you seem to be passing out your favors, I don't see any reason why / shouldn't have another sample!"

  Brutally his lips came down on hers, his arms crushing her to him. It was a shockingly carnal kiss, his tongue ravishing her inner mouth with frank demand. There was nothing gentle about this kiss, nothing tender; it was full of anger, and yet a strange longing seemed to be there, too. His arms kept her prisoner as he pulled her between his legs, his body supported by the door behind him.

  Sabrina was helpless in his embrace, her own desires rising up uncontrollably to meet the spiraling passion she could feel emanating from his muscled body. Crushed intimately against him, she could feel the hardening of his manhood, feel it lengthening and pressing insistently against her own increasingly hungry loins. Unable to help herself, she responded blindly, deliriously, to the fierce demand of his kisses.

  Oh, dear God, how very different this was from what she had experienced in Carlos's arms. There was no desire to escape, no feeling of fury or degradation; only passion and sweet need swamped her, driving her to cling to him, her body aching to have his touch upon it. She could stay here forever locked in Brett's savage, oddly yearning embrace, his strong arms holding her a willing prisoner. Hungrily she returned his kiss, her lips opening more fully under the onslaught of his, her tongue daring to touch his as he urgently plundered her mouth.

  With a groan, Brett pulled her even closer to him, his hands dropping to her hips and caressing them with a feverish intensity. Sweet Jesus, but it was heaven to have her in his arms, to have those taut, full breasts burning against his chest, to have her warm body arching up next to his.

  The embrace was explosive; neither one of them was even aware of what they were doing or how swiftly passion was taking them to a point of no return. Each was lost in the urgent tide of desire that swept over them, their bodies straining frantically together longing for something more.

  Suddenly, like plunging into a river of ice, Brett realized how very near he was to taking Carlos's place in her arms.

  Smothering a curse, he pushed her violently away from him. The jade-green eyes full of loathing, he snarled, "Oh, no, you don't! I've never taken another man's leavings before, and I sure as hell don't intend to start with you!" His body ached with desire, but stilling the overpowering urge to take her into his arms again, he promised grimly, "I will warn you, though—continue to offer yourself so blatantly, and I might weake
n. Next time, sweetheart . . . next time, I'll take you, and the consequences be damned!"

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The next day, Tuesday, when the servant appeared in her room announcing that Senor Carlos was waiting to see her downstairs, Sabrina could hardly believe her ears. After what had happened the previous afternoon, she had never dreamed he would seek her out this way.

  Angry curiosity brought her down the stairs and out onto the patio where a wary and apologetic Carlos waited for her. The servant had departed for refreshments; so it was that Sabrina was alone with him when they met.

  Reluctantly she walked across the patio to where he stood by the iron table, nervously turning his sombrero between his fingers. His expression was suitably woebegone, the black eyes brimming with apparent misery. He looked at her angry, set face and then glanced quickly away. He swallowed with difficulty. His voice almost a whisper, he muttered, "Will you ever forgive me?"

  Indecisively Sabrina eyed him, astonished at how indifferent she felt. It was as if the fury she had experienced when Brett had slammed out of the room last night had burned away all her emotions—except the rage that was reserved especially and exclusively for one Brett Dangermond.