by Ryan, Nan
Pecos was very drunk when the train puffed into Paso del Norte much later. He stumbled down the steps, singing a bawdy song while the short, friendly train conductor cupped his elbow to give assistance.
“Mistah Pecos, suh, is you sho you can make it to the hotel?” The old man’s eyes twinkled and he grinned indulgently. He’d had Pecos as a passenger many times since the railroad came through Marfa, and he was fond of the likable young man.
“I’ve no idea what you’re going on about, Willie.” Pecos quit singing long enough to speak and wink at the short, black man. “However, if someone could see to my horse, I’d be much obliged.” He hiccuped loudly.
“Sho nuff, Mistah Pecos.” Willie bobbed his head and promised the drunken man his horse would be sent to the livery stables.
Weaving around on the wooden train platform, Pecos clumsily fished for money inside his tight trousers pockets. “My God, Willie, I’ve been robbed right on board the Southern Pacific railroad!” He tried to focus his surprised gray eyes.
“No, suh, Mistah Pecos, you ain’t been robbed. You done lost all yo money playing cards.” He shook his head.
Pecos jerked his hands from his empty pockets and put them atop the short man’s shoulders. “So I did. So I did. Willie, I’m broke.”
Already pulling bills from his pocket, the short black man beamed and thrust a wad up into Pecos’s face. “I make you a little loan, Mistah Pecos. You pay me back next time you ride to Marfa.”
Pecos leaned toward Willie’s face. “I’m never going back to Marfa, Willie.”
“Well, you is gonna ride my train again, all the same. I trust you.”
Pecos released the man’s shoulders and said thickly, “Willie, you are a mighty fine fellow.” His long, lean fingers closed over the roll of money. “I have to take this, but you’ll get it back, my friend. Don’t you be worrying about it; I’ll give it back to you if it’s the last thing I ever do. Do you think I’d let your younguns starve because I took all your money and—”
“Mistah Pecos,” the little, smiling man interrupted, “I got to get back to my train.” Holding tightly to Pecos’s arm, Willie hailed a carriage and poured the tall, lanky man into it. While Pecos sat in the back of the carriage foolishly counting the bills and once again singing in a loud, boisterous baritone, Willie spoke to the driver. “Take this man directly to the Grand Central Hotel. See he gets checked in and put to bed.” Willie took one of the bills from Pecos’s long fingers and handed it to the driver, the interruption causing Pecos to lose count.
“Damn,” Pecos muttered and began to count all over again.
“Night, Mistah Pecos,” Willie said, grinning at him, “you get some sleep, suh.”
Pecos didn’t hear him. As the driver pulled away from the platform he was too busy counting his borrowed roll of bills and singing.
WHEN PECOS AWOKE the next afternoon with a raging headache and a foul taste in his mouth, he looked around wondering where he was and how he’d got there. It all came back. From the wedding to the train ride to drinking himself into a stupor. Disgusted with himself for behaving like a lovesick boy, Pecos threw back the covers and rose. An hour later, he stepped from his hotel room onto the long wooden sidewalk. Clean-shaven, immaculately dressed, he was the picture of health, youth and good looks. His gray eyes were as clear as if he’d never had anything stronger to drink than cool lemonade.
Pecos smiled, patted the roll of bills Willie had lent him and pulled a fragrant cigar from his breast pocket, clamping it between his teeth. He looked around, deciding how he would spend the evening, and stepped from the sidewalk. He pulled the unlit cigar from his lips and tossed it away. His long strides carried him to Pioneer Plaza. He paused.
Pecos looked across the plaza and knew where he’d been heading all along. Fighting the urge to run, he strolled leisurely across the busy square through the throngs of people mingling in the twilight and stopped in front of Hurricane Gussie’s.
His heartbeat was erratic, his palms perspiring. Shrugging his wide shoulders at his foolishness, Pecos went inside. His eyes swept the elegant room, uncrowded at this early hour of the evening. A couple of tables were occupied and a dozen men lounged at the bar.
Casually, Pecos stepped up to the long mahogany bar. The bartender he remembered from that fateful visit the night he’d met Angel nodded and came to stand before him. “What’ll it be?”
“Bourbon,” Pecos said in a flat, even voice.
“Good enough.” The bartender pulled down a bottle and set a glass before Pecos. Pecos downed the first. The bartender poured another and started to move away.
“Wait,” Pecos said quietly, and tossed down the second bourbon. “I was in here four or five months ago.”
“I remember you.” The big bartender nodded. “The marshal had to take you off to jail.”
Pecos grinned. “I’m guilty. The fracas was over a girl, a beautiful girl called Angel.”
“So?”
“I’d like to see her. Angel. Is she here?” Pecos held his breath.
The big burly man in the stiffly starched white jacket was again pouring bourbon into Pecos’s empty glass. “No. Angel’s no longer here.”
Knowing very well that she was no longer there, that she was at Del Sol, Pecos went on. “Oh? Any idea where she went?”
“Look, son, you were on your way up the stairs with Angel that night. You know what kind of woman she is, so …”
Pecos raised a hand. “Sure, I do. I didn’t want to take her home to meet the family—” he grinned engagingly at the big man “—I just wanted to spend an evening with her. Any idea where she’s working now?”
“You know that kind, one day they’re around, next day they’re gone. Who knows where she went?”
“Ah, that’s true.” Pecos nodded yes to another drink. “How long ago did she disappear?”
The bartender poured, set the bottle down on the polished bar and scratched his broad jaw. “Hmm, she’s been gone a long … I’d say three or four months. Maybe more. Wasn’t long after you were in here, as a matter of fact. Hell, maybe that jealous English fellow locked her up, or killed her, or something.” He shook his head. “God, she was a pretty thing, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, she is,” Pecos said tiredly. He tossed down his drink, put his money on the bar and left. Back on the street, he felt almost relieved. He’d always had a slim thread of doubt that Angel and the girl calling herself Angie Webster were one and the same. Now he was certain. Angel left at exactly the time Angie showed up at Del Sol. Angie was Angel. The Border Angel who had been a high-priced whore was now Mrs. Barrett McClain, the high-priced wife.
Pecos laughed and set out to enjoy himself. He’d spend no more time thinking of Angel. Anything he could possibly desire could be found within a few square blocks in this rollicking border town. Pecos decided he’d sample the many pleasures for at least a week before he headed down into the interior of Mexico and the Lost Madre mine.
He felt lucky. The small amount of money Willie the conductor had loaned him would be his stake. He’d play poker and run it up. By midnight he’d be rolling in money once again, and he’d cash in and visit the ladies.
Almost lighthearted, Pecos made his way hurriedly across the plaza and down the street to the Pierson Hotel. A short conversation with the desk clerk, coupled with a bill pressed into the slim, pinch-faced man’s palm and Pecos knew where the best action could be found. All he needed now was the money. He went back outside and made his way to a rowdy, brawling saloon. There among weathered cowboys and Mexican peasants, he took a seat at a poker table. The stakes were moderate. These men were not wealthy. Neither was Pecos. Within an hour he’d won enough to leave.
He made his way back to the Pierson Hotel, climbed the stairs to suite 212 and knocked lightly on the heavy door. It was opened by a slim-hipped Mexican in a mustard-colored jacket who ushered Pecos inside. Nodding to an array of well-heeled gentlemen around a table filled with colored poker chips and st
acks of money, Pecos took a seat. Introductions were made as a courtesy, his real introduction was the huge roll of bills Pecos placed on the table.
“A pleasure, Mr. McClain,” said the dealer, a railroad magnate with curly red hair, freckles and unreadable green eyes. The evening’s winner, he licked his thin lips in anticipation, delighted to have fresh money in the game. He’d already taken most of what his table companions had.
Pecos was lucky. Calmly he played his cards, his cold handsome face and steel-gray eyes as unreadable as the redhead’s. By the time the clock over the mantel was striking 2:00 a.m., all had dropped out of the game save Pecos and the redheaded railroader. The game continued, a small fortune at stake. Pecos had a run of cards, and by 3:00 a.m., it was all over. Smiling lazily, Pecos rose from the table, stretched, rolled down his white shirtsleeves and refastened his collar. The loser sat calmly smoking while Pecos retied his black silk tie and pulled on his waistcoat.
“We’ll meet again,” Pecos said, and stretched a hand to the tired man.
“That we will, son.” The redhead smiled good-naturedly, shook Pecos’s hand and didn’t flinch when Pecos bent and scooped up all the money from the center of the table. $10,435.
Feeling more like his old self than he had for months, Pecos strolled the streets that were still crowded with drinkers and gamblers. He inhaled deeply and smiled. He could almost smell the excitement in the air. This was where he belonged. This was what he needed. A wicked grin stretched his full lips. What he really needed was to pleasantly pass the hours till dawn at Tillie Howard’s Parlour House on Utah Street.
Pecos changed directions, heading straight for the famous sporting house, the most elegant on either side of the border. He entered the luxurious mansion and was met by Tillie herself, a genuinely warmhearted woman. “My dear, it’s been ages since we’ve seen you. How handsome you are this evening.” She smiled up at the towering, well-dressed young man.
“It’s been too long, Tillie. I badly need attention. I’ve been at a poker table for hours and I …”
“Say no more, darling boy.” She waved a feather boa teasingly under his nose. “You like blondes, don’t you, Pecos?”
“Brunettes,” he corrected quickly and was promptly introduced to a girl with hair almost as dark as his own. She was very tall and voluptuous. Her coal-black hair contrasted sharply with her lovely porcelain skin, and her chinablue eyes caressed him appreciatively. She wore a gown of ice-blue satin that appeared to have been poured upon her generous, feminine curves.
“I am Babette,” she whispered through wide, red lips. “I hope you will like me.”
“Darlin’, I already do,” Pecos said gallantly and winked at the stout, laughing Tillie.
Up the carpeted stairs the good-looking young couple went, down the quiet hall and into an opulent bedroom with walls of shiny blue brocade. Priceless art objects graced the spacious room. Candles burned in silver holders. Tillie’s grand house was famous for its elegant bathrooms with fixtures of gold. Pecos smiled down at the lovely brunette whose small hand he held, and slowly pulled her to him.
A small, soft hand came up to his face and her fingers gently traced his sensual lips. In a sweet, honeyed voice, Babette said teasingly, “You will let Babette pamper you, please, Pecos?”
Sliding a long arm around her waist, he kissed her fingers and whispered, “I’d love it, honey.”
Minutes later, Pecos, stripped of his fine evening clothes, lay reclining in a tub of hot, soapy water, a cigar between his teeth and a glass of cognac in his dark hand. From the bedroom, Babette floated in with a long-handled brush in one hand and a fluffy blue sponge in the other. The lovely gown of blue satin had been removed to reveal her daring French underwear of blue silk. Her thick dark hair had been taken down and brushed to tumble around her white shoulders.
She laughed prettily as she came to the tub. Holding her arms out wide, Babette leaned over the tub, purposely displaying her charms to the handsome dark man in the water. She teasingly gave his mouth a kiss, her teeth nipping sharply at his full bottom lip. She then took a seat beside the bathtub on a small velvet stool.
Babette gave Pecos a bath. Her laughing kisses and bold soft hands upon his slippery body were meant to give him pleasure. They should have done just that. Babette made it clear that he was welcome to touch anything he wished as she brazenly caressed every masculine part of him. When she thought it time to proceed to the big soft bed in the next room, she rose, put out her hand and giggled engagingly when Pecos stood up. She toweled his long, lean body, refusing his attempts to help.
Pecos followed Babette to the satin bed. The lamps had been lowered till they cast only soft, shadowy light about the room. While Pecos slid into the waiting bed, Babette began to strip, seductively peeling a stocking down a long, shapely leg while her dainty foot rested on the bed near his bare chest. When she’d pulled off only the one stocking, Pecos pulled her down to him.
He kissed her and Babette’s red lips were afire. She kissed him with wild abandon and pressed herself to him, her small, busy hands running eagerly over his hairy chest and bare brown body. Into his mouth she whispered passionately, “I will give you a night to remember,” and her mouth ground back into his, devouring, hot, bold.
Pecos’s arms went around her. Her bare shoulders were soft and warm beneath his searching hands, her silk-clad waist was tiny and her hips full and rounded. His hands moved down to her creamy thighs, one bare, one still encased in its silk stocking. Gently his practiced hands caressed her and she sighed into his mouth.
Pecos’s hands slowly came back up to her small waist. Gently he lifted her up. “I’m sorry, Babette, but I …”
Wide ice-blue eyes were looking down at him; small warm hands played in the crisp hair on his chest. Babette’s black, shiny hair fell around her lovely, puzzled face. “What is it? Is something wrong with me?”
“No, Babette,” Pecos said tiredly, “something’s wrong with me.”
Five minutes later, Pecos, fully dressed, paid the disappointed young beauty and stole back down the stairs. Outside he walked hurriedly back to his hotel. The first gray tinges of dawn were appearing when he undressed again and got into his bed.
“Goddamn you, Angel,” he ground out bitterly and waited impatiently for sleep to come.
Chapter Twenty-Four
BARRETT MCCLAIN AWOKE. His body ached, as did his head. He’d slept in the same position all night. With difficulty, he raised himself to an elbow. Circulation slowly began in both body and brain, and Barrett’s dry, thin lips parted. He murmured croakily, “Angie.”
A slow, pleased grin curved his mouth. The preceding evening and all that had transpired was vague, but Barrett recalled snatches of what had taken place and he felt an immediate rush of desire, a swell of possessive pride. Vividly he remembered Angie’s beautiful naked body spread out before him on the bed. The kisses, the caresses. He could relive most everything up to the point of penetration, but there, strangely, it evaded him.
Barrett rubbed his stubbly chin and tried to retrieve that most enjoyable part of their lovemaking. He slowly sat up in bed; that was when he saw it. Tiny specks of dried blood on the clean white sheets. He smiled with delight, inspected himself closely and spotted the dried blood on his inner thigh. Chuckling with joy, Barrett’s tiredness and lassitude disappeared. He rose from the bed, puffing out his bare chest, feeling like a virile, potent man.
Figuring his beautiful young bride was in her bathroom cleaning up, he tiptoed in to surprise her. The room was empty. Barrett’s wide grin slipped a bit. Puzzled, he drew a towel from the rack, wrapped it around his thick middle and crossed the big bedroom to the connecting suite. Quietly, he pushed open the door and his broad, happy grin returned. There atop his big bed in the master suite, the lovely, goldenhaired child, wearing his gray satin robe, was stretched out, sleeping soundly. Barrett’s heart hammered. One long, shapely leg was bent slightly upward, and the robe fell away, revealing her bare, creamy
flesh shimmering in the first rays of the morning sun. Her flaxen hair spilled in tangles on the pillow and one small hand rested beside her angelic face.
Exercising remarkable control, Barrett didn’t touch her. His bare feet making no sound on the heavy, plush carpet, he padded quietly to his desk and picked up the document he’d had drawn up prior to the wedding. From the top drawer, he drew out a vital piece of paper, a codicil, that would be placed with, and become a part of, his will.
Barrett left the will atop his desk, taking only the codicil. He recrossed the room, went back into the mistress’s suite and directly to the door where Asa Granger stood guard. Jerking it open, he invited the big man to join him in the bedroom. “You and Punch come on in here for a minute, Asa. I want you to witness something for me.”
Asa Granger, motioning to his partner, joined the short, towel-clad man in the bedroom. Punch Dobson followed. Both tall men stood towering over their smiling, white-haired boss, keeping their eyes on Barrett, lest his new bride be in the bed and he catch them looking at her. Nothing this determined man did surprised his bodyguards. They knew him well. They were not fooled by his pretended righteousness; they’d seen him slip the pose too many times.
“Boys—” Barrett waved a piece of paper in his hand “—you’re looking at a happy man. My innocent little bride is now a woman. I loved that child half the night and I tell you …” Barrett motioned the two big, red-faced men to follow him to the bed. “There.” Barrett proudly pointed. “Proof of what happened in our bed. And that’s not all.” To the chagrin of his bodyguards, Barrett dropped his covering towel to the rug and stood stark naked before them. “Boys, look here.” He was touching himself with such selfsatisfaction he didn’t notice the distaste in the eyes of the embarrassed men, sliding glances of disgust at each other.
Asa stooped and retrieved the towel, holding it out to his employer. “Barrett, we’re happy for you, but if there’s nothing more …”
“Wait!” Barrett knotted the towel over his hip. “I called you in here to witness this document. Read it and then both of you sign and date it.” He handed the paper to Asa. Asa hurriedly lifted it up and read.
