Desert Storm

by Ryan, Nan

  Jose stood, willing his teeth not to chatter and his heart not to pound so loudly. He bit the inside of his jaw to keep his teeth still and let his dark eyes study the face of Asa Granger, now tying a rope tightly around his right wrist. The rope secure, Jose’s slim arm was stretched toward the right cedar pole, lifted high over his head and tied. The action was repeated with the left arm. Asa stepped back to survey his handiwork. Tugging first on one taut rope, then the other, the big man nodded to his partner that he was satisfied the boy was securely restrained.

  Asa walked away, folding his arms across his massive chest to wait. Punch Dobson fished a cigar from his breast pocket, cupped his big hands and puffed the smoke to life. He, too, waited. And Jose waited. And waited. He stood with his arms tied painfully high and wide, pulling muscles throughout his bare brown back. His slender legs aching from his long run across the underbrush and sand, Jose stood with his feet apart to help brace his weight. His naked helplessness suffusing his tawny cheeks with shame, he stood facing east, wondering silently if it would be the last time he saw the sunrise. The child in him longed to cry and beg for help; the man in him forbade it. If he were to die here naked in the dawn light for some wrong he’d unwittingly committed, he’d die with no childish tears wetting his cheeks.

  Jose heard a commotion behind him. Asa Granger unfolded his long arms and stood rigidly at attention. Punch Dobson tossed away the half-smoked cigar and did the same. Jose could feel someone’s eyes upon his back. A chill ran up his spine. He felt exposed, vulnerable and afraid. When a man’s fingertip touched the nape of his neck and slowly traced the cleft in his back all the way down to his bare buttocks, Jose involuntarily flinched, his body constricting.

  A spirited chuckle came from the finger’s owner. Jose knew who was laughing. Fear and shock squeezed at his erratically beating heart. This he’d not expected. He had assumed that Asa Granger and Punch Dobson would mete out his punishment and that no one else would be present to witness his shame. It was not to be. Jose closed his eyes for an instant and thought of his father. The elder Rodriguez would be forever disgraced. By noon every cowboy and vaquero on Tierra del Sol would know that Pedro Rodriguez’s only living son had been stripped and punished by the powerful patriarch who owned everything and everyone as far as the eye could see. The news would travel throughout the ranch and into the town of Marfa, that young Jose Rodriguez’s bare ass had been soundly spanked for … for … Jose had no idea what for. He only knew that his father would be humiliated and his heart ached for his kind, caring padre.

  Barrett McClain stepped around in front of the trussed boy. He looked the youth in the face and smiled. A hint of excitement sparkled in his brown eyes. Jose had the distinct impression that the old man was enjoying this little drama. Coldly, Jose looked him in the eye.

  “Son, I’m sure you know you must be punished.”

  “Do I?” Jose answered defiantly.

  The smile faded from Barrett’s aging face. “You dare to get smart with me? You pretend innocence when you know very well you must be punished for fondling the sweet young woman I intend to marry!”

  “I have never fondled anyone in my life,” Jose said with bold honesty.

  “You fondled Angie Webster; I saw you and you’ll pay for it.” Barrett’s furiously flashing eyes slowly slid down over the naked boy’s body. “Look at you,” he said with disgust, pointedly eyeing the youth’s genitals, “already you’ve the body of a man! Wanting to stick that piece of flesh hanging between your legs into my sweet Angie, aren’t you?” His eyes slowly returned to Jose’s face.

  Jose swallowed. “You are a sick, dirty old man and I pity Miss Angie Webster,” he said, his narrow-eyed gaze that of a man. “Have you fooled her into believing you are a decent person?”

  An open-palmed slap to his face struck Jose with such force his head turned violently to the side and his teeth painfully bit a piece of his tongue.

  “We’re wasting time,” Barrett McClain said to his two big bodyguards. “Give me the whip. I think I deserve to give this filthy spic his first taste of leather upon bare flesh.” To Jose, he said, “We’ll see how much of a man you are now, you hot-blooded little Mexican!” He took the whip and flicked the long, black leather loudly against the packed earth, raising dust where it struck. Laughing again, Barrett McClain stepped under the upstretched arm of the naked Jose Rodriguez and stopped directly behind him. Standing so close Jose could feel the heat of his breath when he spoke, Barrett said into his ear, “As the Lord is called upon to punish his wayward children, so am I called upon to punish mine. His will be done.”

  Looking proudly into the magnificent orange sun now bathing his body with warmth, Jose Rodriguez said his own prayer, “Have mercy on his soul, Father, and accept me into thy kingdom. Amen.”

  Enraged by the boy’s words and by his lack of respect and fear, Barrett McClain stepped back several paces, lifted the fat bullwhip high over his white head, and with a shout of glee, brought it swiftly down across the boy’s shoulder blades. Nodding to Asa, he handed the whip to his right-hand man and retired to his nearby carriage, there to watch the remainder of the whipping in the covered comfort of the leather-padded interior. Asa, the whip in his huge hamlike hand, patiently waited until his employer was seated inside his fine carriage, ready and eager to witness the spectacle of the impudent boy screaming in pain from the blows falling upon his deserving brown back.

  Settled comfortably in his carriage, Barrett nodded his white head for the performance to commence. Asa dutifully lifted the whip high over his head, but his attention was diverted from the helpless Mexican lad waiting stoically for the whip to lash him again.

  Silhouetted by the rising sun, a horse and rider thundered across the desert. Jose blinked, longing to wipe the sweat and dirt from his eyes that he might see better. Behind him, Asa Granger stood poised, the whip over his head, his eyes on the approaching rider. From the carriage, Barrett McClain’s brown eyes were narrowed, nervously locked on the tall rider, while under his breath, he said venomously, “What in the name of God is he doing up this early?”

  From fifty yards away the tall rider shouted, “That whip falls and you’re a dead man, Asa.”

  In seconds the tall dark rider, atop a coal-black horse, was plunging up onto the mesa, coming to a dusty halt between the huge, gaping man with the long black whip and the tied, naked boy Granger was intending to beat. The whip was jerked from the big man’s hand before he could protest. Asa watched, transfixed, as the ugly, long whip sailed through the air and came to a coiled, harmless heap twenty yards away.

  Shifting his long body in the saddle, the rider cut one rope, then the other, with a gleaming Bowie knife, freeing the young Mexican. Before Jose’s slender, tired body could crumple to the ground, a long, powerful arm reached down and pulled him up onto the horse. Jose’s grateful arms came around the rider’s taut abdomen as he spurred the big black stallion and galloped down off the mesa, leaving three stunned, motionless men behind.

  From over his shoulder, the rider shouted to the boy riding tandem with him, “Jose, how would you and your father like to move down to Mexico and help me dig for gold at the Lost Madre mine?”

  His fear behind him, Jose clutched the slim waist a little tighter and smiled. “Oh, sí, Pecos. That would be fantástico!” Pecos grinned and nodded. Jose then asked, “Tell me first, why is your father so angry with me?”

  The smile left Pecos’s handsome face. “Compadre,” he shouted against the wind, “you’ve learned the hard way. There’s a high price to pay for any man who crosses paths with Angel.”

  Chapter Ten

  ANGIE AWOKE WITH A START. At first uncertain where she was, she lay completely still upon her back, her wide green eyes scanning the filmy yellow organdy above her. In seconds it all came flooding back to her, and she closed her eyes once again and wished she never had to leave this safe haven. Her face scarlet, Angie pulled the sheet protectively up to her chin and desperately fought the
emotions filling her. Feeling like the worst kind of traitor, she thought of the impudent, satanic Pecos McClain. Had he already arisen to inform the elder McClain that his intended was guilty of behaving in a lewd and lustful fashion?

  Angie’s eyes came open. Would Pecos tell on her? Should she tell herself? Should she be totally honest as she’d been taught and go directly to Barrett McClain and tell him exactly what had happened? That’s what she would do! She would dress and go in search of the understanding, fatherly gentleman and tell him that his arrogant, drunken son had accosted her in the darkened hallway and forced himself upon her, that he had boldly embraced her and had kissed her right on the lips in the most disgusting … the most horrible … the most …

  Angie sighed heavily. Disgusting? Horrible? Pecos’s heated kisses were hardly disgusting. A small white hand slipped from under the yellow sheet and came up to touch her lips. Again she sighed and traced her mouth with trembling fingers, recalling all too vividly how it had felt to have Pecos’s warm, masterful mouth moving upon hers.

  Beneath the sheets her naked body squirmed and stretched. For just a brief moment she let herself give in to the pleasurable recollection of what had taken place between her and the darkly handsome Pecos. Tiny quivering sensations made her bare stomach flip-flop pleasantly, and she sucked in her breath and arched her back upward, her bare, tingling breasts seeking closer contact with the silkiness of the sheet that tickled, teased at the hardening pink tips. She moistened her lips, aching to feel once again that male mouth upon hers, taking her breath away and making her dizzy with a kind of wanting she didn’t fully understand. Vividly she remembered the frightening hardness of his tall, sleek frame; as though he were made of steel, immovable, punishing, powerful.

  Angie’s hands clutched at the sheets, her fingers remembering the feel of soft fine fabric stretched taut upon a broad male chest and hard-muscled flesh alarmingly hot beneath her exploring, eager fingertips. Having no idea she was moaning softly, Angie lay lost in the world of wonder Pecos McClain had so recently opened up to her. With heart-stopping clarity, she girlishly relived each and every kiss and caress he’d bestowed upon her, beginning with the moment she put her hand upon his warm, flat abdomen. Her brain very carefully recorded each passion-filled second, each torrid thrusting of his hot, questing tongue inside her mouth, each pressing of his practiced hands upon her shoulders, her arms, her back, her waist, until the moment he had said so matter-of-factly, “Why don’t we get into bed.”

  Angie’s eyes flew open and she bit the inside of her cheek. Desire fled, chased away by her rising guilt and shame. Swinging her legs over the edge of her soft bed, Angie hurried into the bathroom to draw a tub. She must dress and go to breakfast. She would not tell Barrett McClain about Pecos as she’d considered. It wouldn’t be fair to tell him his son had taken advantage of her. Not when she’d enjoyed it so much. She could only hope that Pecos wouldn’t tell. And she could also hope that Pecos never made advances to her again. If he did, she wasn’t sure she could resist him.

  ANGIE GAVE A LITTLE INWARD SIGH of relief when she was led onto the south patio for breakfast. Pecos was not at the table. Barrett McClain rose from his chair and smiled warmly at her, his brown eyes kind and calming. “My dear, how did you rest?” he inquired politely as he seated her.

  “I … I slept fine, thank you.” She smiled weakly and nodded to Miss Emily.

  “I’m afraid you’re just being gracious,” Emily said, smiling knowingly at Angie. Angie felt her throat tighten before the kind, older woman went on to add, “You’ve faint little circles of darkness under your lovely green eyes, Angie. I suspect you had a difficult time resting in a new place. I always have that trouble. I shall insist that after you’ve had a tour of Tierra del Sol you return to your room and rest some more.” Emily turned to Barrett. “Don’t you agree, Barrett?”

  “I most assuredly do,” he seconded. “There’s certainly no pressure on you, my dear. You’ve been through a bad time and you’re a bit pale and thin. We shall see to it you rest and eat well and learn to feel completely at home here. If there’s anything we can do to make things easier for you just say the word.” His voice was well-modulated, soothing, and Angie smiled at him, thinking how kind and considerate he was. How different from his son. Barrett was immaculately dressed in a summer suit of light beige, his white shirt collar open and a brown ascot tied jauntily at his throat. His snowy-white hair was carefully brushed and his matching mustache clipped and neat. His face, though ruddy and wrinkled, had an open pleasing quality, as though he were undoubtedly a person one could trust. Angie felt safe in his presence, at ease and relaxed. She smiled at him when he took her china plate and began filling it with varied succulent fruits, as though he were eager to take care of her and ensure her well-being.

  As he speared a lush piece of honeydew melon, he told her of his plans for her morning. “You saw nothing of the ranch because of that terrible dust storm, so I thought, if you are feeling up to it, I’d have a couple of horses saddled for us and we’d ride over …”

  “Oh, dear.” Her interruption bubbled from her mouth. “I … I … don’t know how to ride, sir.” She expected to see disappointment in his eyes.

  He swung his gaze from the well-filled plate to her face. His eyes met hers, and to her surprised relief there was no displeasure there. “It doesn’t matter, Angie,” he assured her, setting the plate in front of her. “We shall take the covered carriage. Now eat up, dear. Delores is preparing your ham and eggs.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said gratefully and picked up her fork.

  “Tell you what—” Barrett caressed the left side of his thick white mustache “—how would you like it if I gave you a nice, gentle horse and had one of my vaqueros teach you to ride?”

  Angie shook her head excitedly. Swallowing her mouthful she looked at the beaming white-haired man and said with childish delight, “Mr. McClain, may I have a palomino? I saw one once in a parade in New Orleans when I was a little girl, and ever since than I have dreamed of having …” She fell silent, embarrassed by what she was certain sounded like a much too presumptuous request.

  Barrett threw back his white head and laughed, while Miss Emily merely smiled. “Sweetheart,” the happy man proclaimed, ignoring his sister-in-law, “you shall have the most beautiful palomino you have ever seen. And you’ll have a sidesaddle trimmed in hammered silver. And you’ll have the most flattering riding habits that can be tailored. You shall be a grand young lady atop your horse, a beautiful golden girl on a beautiful golden horse.”

  Angie’s eyes were wide. To her utter amazement, the kind gentleman didn’t think her avaricious and sinful because she had asked for a horse. He seemed delighted at her keen interest, eager to give her the kind of horse she wanted. She smiled sweetly at him. He was a very nice man, nicer by far than her own father had been. Jeremiah Webster would have been quick to accuse her of loving things of the flesh if she’d made her wishes known, but this warm, giving man was laughing and telling her he would give her a palomino horse and a saddle and clothes! Shyly Angie spread her small hand atop his, purposely ignoring the iciness of his large, square fist. “Mr. McClain, may I tell you that I think you are a most generous man.”

  Barrett McClain’s chest expanded proudly, and he happily lifted the hand on his up to his thin lips. Kissing it lightly, he said, “My dear, to have you think me kind is all the reward I could ever want.” His brown eyes twinkled as reluctantly he released her hand so that she might finish her breakfast. His happy eyes remained upon her lovely fair face, the swanlike neck, the golden hair so neatly pulled atop her head.

  “All this kindness is indeed touching. However, I’m afraid were I either of you, I’d be seeking a more tangible reward.” Pecos’s voice startled both Angie and Barrett McClain. Pecos grinned devilishly when Angie’s hand began to tremble and she placed her fork upon her plate. Barrett McClain’s brown eyes narrowed as he turned toward his approaching son.

  Pecos kis
sed his aunt, took a seat beside her and poured himself a cup of coffee. “But then I suppose I must strive to be more like you two. I’ll begin by offering my services to teach Angel to ride.” He took a drink of coffee and smiled at her. “Free of charge, of course. How’s that for a start?”

  Angie couldn’t speak. She could only look at the smiling, taunting gray eyes and wonder if he’d be crude enough to mention last night’s episode. She was momentarily terrified; if he should tell of her unladylike behavior, would a man as honorable and decent as Barrett McClain be filled with disgust and put her on the next train back home? How would she live, how could she support herself? Where would she go? What would she do?

  “You’ll do no such thing, Pecos,” Barrett McClain said angrily. “Roberto Luna is the best horseman at Del Sol. He will teach Miss Webster to ride.”

  Pecos lifted his wide shoulders in a helpless gesture and said sweetly, “Well, I tried.”

  Ignoring the others since her beloved nephew had taken his seat, Miss Emily put her hand on his right forearm and said, “Darling, I had no idea you’d be up so early. I would have insisted Delores fix buckwheat cakes for you.”

  “Yes, Pecos,” Barrett McClain said through gritted teeth, “we’re all surprised to see you up at this hour.”

  “Are you, sir?” Pecos said coldly. “I thought you knew I was up before sun this morning.” He stared pointedly at his father, baiting him, before turning his attention back to Angie. His eyes sliding from Angie’s strained face down to the swell of her breasts, he addressed his aunt, “I don’t know, Auntie. I just couldn’t sleep last night.” He paused and sighed, “I kept thinking about—”

  Interrupting rapidly, Angie said, “Mr. McClain, I don’t believe I can eat any more right now.” Her green eyes held an imploring look. “I’d love to take that ride around the ranch if you’re ready, sir.”