A Lady of the West (11 page)

But propriety had given her a husband she despised, and sin or not she couldn't rid her mind of the insidious weakness of thought that brought to the fore; again and again, Jake's form and narrowed, glittering green eyes.

She hated him. He made her lust, and she hated him for it. Lust was an ugly, shameful thing, but she was beginning to know its power. It made her feel hot and restless, her body heavy and aching; it kept her from sleep and tore at her conscience. Because she couldn't handle it any other way, she took her desperation and formed it into resentment against the man who had, without even trying, brought her to this pass. How he would laugh, in that sneering way, if he knew!

After leaving Victoria, McLain stood in his bedroom, swaying a little as he thought. He'd been drinking, so maybe that was why he'd had the thought that this time he'd be able to get hard if he tried it with her again. He shuddered, remembering the two times he
had
tried. By God, no way he'd risk that again.

But he needed a woman, something to keep him
from going to sleep and having that damn nightmare again. It was coming more and more often lately, robbing him of sleep and wearing him down.

Angelina. He snickered at the thought of having to kick another cowhand out of her room. Hell, what did he care? He liked the idea of making another man crawl off of her so he could crawl on. Showed 'em who was boss.

He quietly left his bedroom, taking exaggerated care that he didn't slam the door. The house was dark and he held onto the banister to keep from stumbling over his own rather unsteady feet. Just as he reached the bottom step he saw a flash of white out of the corner of his eye, and terror chilled him. He could feel his scalp prickling as his hair lifted. Sarratt was back! The flashing knife—maybe it was a ghost—

Then the white moved again and he saw that it was a woman in a nightgown, moving past the doorway of the dining room, walking toward the kitchen. His terror changed immediately to anger against whoever had scared him like that, and Angelina was forgotten as he walked toward the dining room.

“Who's there?” he snapped. By God, he'd teach her to wander around like that at night, scaring him. It was one of those Mex women, probably Carmita; she was always poking her nose in every cranny of the house.

The woman was already in the kitchen. She came back to the doorway just as he entered the dining room. “Señor?” she asked in a timid voice.

Now that they were in the same room, he could see her well enough to identify her. It was Juana, the young one. Her long dark hair was streaming down her back. The plain white nightgown was long-sleeved and high-necked, but his eyes narrowed as he looked her over.

He'd been intending to give her hell, but abruptly changed his mind. “What're you up to, gal?” he asked
in a smooth tone as he approached. “Walking around in the dark like this.”

Juana took a step back. “I'm sorry, señor,” she blurted. Her dark eyes looked huge in the faint light. “I was going back to my room.”

“What were you doin'?” he demanded. “Maybe slippin' out to meet some cowhand?”

She vigorously shook her head. “No, señor. I—I carried a book back to your study. I read them, sometimes. I apologize, señor, I won't get one again without your permission.”

“Forget the damn books,” he said, his tone becoming thicker. He put his hand in her hair, twisting the heavy dark locks around his wrist. “You can read all the books you want if you'll be nice to me.”

Juana tried to draw back. “Señor?” she asked in a quavering voice.

“You know what I mean.” He jerked her to him and ground his mouth over hers. Terrified, Juana raised her fists and began to pound at him, but her efforts were useless. He had the strength of a bull.

He laughed soundlessly at her as he clamped his hand over her mouth and forced her down to the floor. “If you scream, I'll throw you and your nosy mother off the ranch.” He grunted as he unbuttoned his britches and jerked up her nightgown. Juana tried to hit him again, and he balled up his fist and hit her in the head. She whimpered with pain.

He kneed her legs apart and thrust into her. She bucked once, then lay still. She was dry, but he kinda liked that; made her feel tighter. He'd wanted to do this for a long time; he thought of the Mexican servants as belonging to him anyway. Now the pleasure was doubled for him because he was so relieved to find he still had the power and virility to force a woman, even if he couldn't force his wife.

When he was finished, McLain climbed off and nudged Juana with his boot. “You say anything about this, gal, and you'll regret it.” Feeling satisfied that his
threat would keep her in line, he returned upstairs and fell into bed. Angelina could wait.

Whimpering, Juana curled into a ball. The pain in her lower body was so bad she could barely move, and her head was throbbing. It was over an hour before she could get up, and then she walked like an old woman, bent over and hobbling. At night, she noticed, blood looked black.

J
ake looked both left and right as he left the telegraph office, but saw no one he knew. As capital of the territory, Santa Fe was bursting at the seams and no one paid any attention to one more dusty cowhand. The streets were crowded with bonneted women, men in blue army uniforms, prosperous merchants in their tailored suits, rough ranchers, shopkeepers, saloon bartenders, politicians, children darting and playing, and untold numbers of dusty cowhands. He was hidden in their swarming midst.

He settled his hat lower on his forehead to shade his eyes and began walking up the street. It was past noon, when McLain had told Victoria they would look at a string of horses. The Major had asked Roper to help in the selection, and he was looking forward to the excuse to stand close to Victoria and watch her evade his eyes. She hadn't looked at him square in the face since the night she'd caught him with Florina. Right from the first she had met him stare for stare, bolder than most men, but now she tried not to even acknowledge his presense. He was going to have to do something about that.

About twenty horses were milling about in two adjoining corrals. Celia was perched on the railing with her bonnet dangling down her back by its strings, and enthusiastically pointing out the horses she liked. From what he could tell, she had narrowed her favorites down to about half of the herd. Victoria and Emma were standing a little back from the fence, watching the horses and occasionally asking questions of the beefy man standing beside them, who evidently owned the herd. McLain was leaning on the railing with Garnet beside him. Several more McLain men were close by.

Emma pointed. “I like that one,” she said decisively, and McLain signaled that her choice be separated from the herd.

Jake looked the horse over. It was a stocky, strong-looking gray gelding with calm eyes, and it didn't fidget when it was cut from the herd. For a lady's mount, it was a good choice. When the Major noticed he'd arrived and caught his eye, Jake nodded his approval.

Celia squealed, and Jake saw Victoria give her sister a loving, amused look. “This one!” Celia called, pointing to a showy chestnut with cream-colored mane and tail.

The beefy man transferred his chew of tobacco from one cheek to the other. “He's not real well-mannered, miss,” he said gruffly.

Jake walked up beside Celia and rested his arms on the top railing while he looked over the horses. “What you want,” he said in a quiet voice, “is a horse with good strong legs and one that don't look like it'll shy every time a rabbit crosses its trail.” The girl loved horses, but from what he'd seen she hadn't had much experience with them. She was attracted to the fancy-colored animals regardless of their temperament, but what she needed more than anything was a horse with a placid disposition.

He pointed out a dark brown horse with one white
stocking. “Now, look at that horse,” he said. “It's got good strong shoulders and legs, and a deep chest. That means it's got good lungs. That horse could carry you all day and all night without getting tired.” It was also as calm as the horse Emma had selected.

Celia tilted her head a little to the side as she studied the animal. “He isn't very pretty,” she said.

“It's a mare,” Jake corrected. He looked at the beefy man. “How about bringing that dark brown mare with the stocking up so the lady can meet her.”

A simple rope bridle was fashioned on the mare's nose, and she willingly walked over to snuffle at Celia's shoes and skirts before nuzzling at her hand. Celia giggled, a sound like liquid sunlight, and stroked the mare's neck.

“She's dusty, but a good brushing will make her shine,” Jake said.

The mare blew through her nose, sounding as if she agreed, and Celia was won. She turned a beaming smile on Jake. “I want this one,” Celia said, still patting her new friend's neck.

Jake glanced at Victoria and caught her watching him. For the first time she didn't jerk her eyes away as if she couldn't bear to see him. Pushing it, Jake walked up to her and tipped his hat. “Mrs. McLain. Miss Emma.”

Victoria was a little pale, but she met his gaze. “Thank you,” she said in a low voice, nodding toward Celia.

“No thanks needed, ma'am. Do you need any help picking out your own horse, or have you already made up your mind?”

Victoria had, but she looked blindly at the horses again. He was standing so close that she could feel his warmth at her shoulder.

“Let Roper pick one out for you,” McLain said. “He knows his horses.”

“I already know which one I want. The tall mare
with the blaze. The dark chestnut.” She felt stifled by Roper's nearness and stepped forward until she reached the railing.

To her dismay Jake moved forward, too, under the guise of looking for the mare. His left shoulder crowded her and immediately he put his left hand on her waist. “Steady, ma'am,” he said, as if she had stumbled.

He took his time removing his hand. He was standing between her and the Major, blocking her from McLain's view with his own body. Victoria shuddered and stepped sideways. Her skin burned where he had touched her.

The beefy man transferred his chew again, eyeing the mare in question. “I don't know, ma'am. She's only about half broke to the saddle, and tends to be a touch headstrong.”

Jake looked at the mare and his eyes narrowed with interest. No doubt about it, that was a damn fine horse. She was big for a mare, as big as most stallions, and she had fire in her eyes. She was strongly built, but her lines suggested speed, too.

He rubbed his jaw. “How old is she?”

“Three. Ain't never been bred.”

“Too wild looking,” McLain announced. “I don't want my wife risking her neck on some half-wild nag.”

Victoria pressed her lips together and looked away. Jake realized she wouldn't argue with McLain, just as he realized she badly wanted the mare. He rubbed his jaw again and motioned with his head for McLain to walk a little bit away with him.

“That mare is a fine-looking piece of horseflesh. Just look at her. Tall and strong, and full of piss and vinegar. Think of the foals you'd get by putting Rubio on her.”

McLain thought and looked at the mare again. His eyes gleamed. “That's an idea, Roper. I'll buy her, but pick out some other nag for Victoria.”

“Why not give this one to her? She's in love with the horse. She'd think a whole lot more of this one than any other horse here, and be more appreciative.”

“You heard the man, the damn horse ain't good broke.”

“Hell, that's no problem. I can have her settled down in a couple of weeks. All of them will need work with a sidesaddle anyway, before they'll be fit to ride.”

McLain pursed his lips, watching the mare toss her head. Roper was right; that was a fine-looking animal. He almost rubbed his hands together in glee as he thought of the quality of foals she'd drop. He was going to buy that horse, but putting Victoria on her was something else.

“I don't know,” he said. “Victoria's a lady, not a Mexican wench who'll throw her leg over a donkey. She might not be able to handle a horse like that.”

Jake's eyes gleamed and he turned his head so McLain couldn't see. “Let me work with Mrs. McLain, and I'll have her the best damned horsewoman in the territory. Buy her one of those fancy riding habits like the women wear back East, and people all over will talk about her and that mare.”

If there was anything that swayed McLain, it was the idea of someone else envying him. He laughed heartily and said, “By God, that would be a picture, wouldn't it? All right, Roper, you teach that mare some manners and my wife how to ride.”

He'd said it loud enough for Victoria to hear, and she blanched. My God, what had Roper said to him? She already knew how to ride! There was no need for Roper to give her any lessons. But she didn't say anything, because the most important thing was that the Major was going to buy the mare. She had been fond of the horse she had regularly rode before the war, but something about this magnificent animal tugged at her. The mare was as fierce and arrogant as any stallion, not flashy, but confident in her own
strength and speed. She had heart, and Victoria wanted to share in her freedom. When they got back to the ranch she would make it plain that she didn't need any riding lessons.