A Lady of the West Read online

  She calmed Lola; Juana herself had become rigidly dry-eyed and held herself away from comfort. “The Major won’t do anything,” Victoria assured them. She hoped she wasn’t lying. Here was another responsibility; she would have to make certain they didn’t suffer for her actions. She wondered how Jake would feel about having an instant household of six women, and smiled wryly. Whatever his plans, she was sure he wasn’t prepared for that.

  “Return to your duties,” she said soothingly, patting Juana’s shoulder. “I promise he won’t do anything, and if he tries, scream for me.”

  Lola put her arms around Juana, who stiffly allowed the embrace. The red imprint of McLain’s hand was turning into a dark bruise on Juana’s face. Lola led her into the kitchen.

  Celia’s face was shuttered, she who was the most open of people. “I’m going to bed,” she murmured, and fled the room.

  Emma turned to look after the girl in astonishment and started to follow her, then stopped and turned back to Victoria. “Come up to my room,” she said. “We can talk there.”

  Upstairs, they both seated themselves on the bed to talk as they had been doing since they were children. “Why did that happen?” Emma asked, going straight to the heart of the matter.

  Victoria clenched her fists as she remembered what Jake had said; now she knew beyond any possible doubt that every horrible word of it was true. “Jake told me that the Major stole this ranch from the Sarratt family, by killing all of them. He said that the Major raped the woman—I don’t remember her name—and then shot her in the head.”

  Emma turned white at Victoria’s even-toned statements. “If it’s true—” she gasped. “My God, you actually asked him about the Sarratts—”

  “I wanted to see how he’d react.” Her eyes burned. “My husband is a murderer, a rapist, and a thief. It was true, everything Jake said.”

  “What are we going to do?” Emma got up and began to pace the room. “We can’t stay here, but how are we going to leave? I doubt Major McLain would lend us the money and use of his buggy. We’ll have to think up some reason for going to Santa Fe again, and we’ll leave from there, somehow.”

  “I can’t leave. Not yet.”

  Emma gaped at her. “Why? You said yourself, he’s a rapist and a murderer! How can you stay?”

  “Jake—Jake asked me to stay.”

  “Ah.” With that one syllable Emma signaled her understanding of everything. She paused, thinking through their situation. When she finally spoke, it was to say softly, “Victoria, you know I’ll give you my support in any way you need it. You’ve always been the strong one, the one who somehow kept us all fed when there was no food. We might not even be alive today if you hadn’t had the courage to sacrifice your happiness to marry the Major. But how can we stay? Why doesn’t Jake simply leave with us?”

  “I don’t know.” Anguished, Victoria stared at her cousin. “Perhaps he’s planning to take us away; he only asked me to stay and said that it wouldn’t be for long.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “Do I have any choice? He’s the only protection we have.” She could have trusted him if she thought he was doing it out of regard for her or even out of a sense of right and wrong, but she still had the uneasy feeling that he was doing it for his own reasons, and that they had nothing to do with justice or herself at all.

  McLain was sweating profusely, his eyeballs moving swiftly back and forth beneath his closed lids. In his dreams he had just withdrawn from Elena’s limp body when a hideous figure leaped at him from the black shadows in a corner of the room. It was the Sarratt whelp, with a wolf’s head and glowing yellow eyes; instead of hands he had long, white, curving claws. He swiped at the Major’s exposed genitals with those claws again and again, and in his dream McLain was screaming and rolling all over the room, but his body lay heavy and still in the bed, with only his hands twitching. The boy was tearing at his throat with dripping fangs, and the yellow eyes were glaring at him so close that McLain could see his own reflection in them. The claws finally reached his groin, and he screamed madly as his manhood was torn from his body—

  He came awake with a jerk, his eyes flying open as he stared in terror around the dark room, expecting the hellish figure to leap on him from the corners. The shadows were expanding, pressing down on the bed. He couldn’t move. He could only lie there, sweating, waiting for his own horrible death. His heart raced and the stench of his fear-sweat filled the room. The silence was unbroken by anything except his own labored breathing.

  He was still after him. The bastard hadn’t died. He was still out there, with his flashing knife, waiting for his chance, waiting to catch him alone, waiting…

  Finally McLain summoned enough courage to stumble from the bed and light a candle. The frail, solitary flame illuminated only himself and cast the remainder of the room into even deeper shadows. He needed more candles, more light. An oil lamp—yes, that was what he needed. A couple of oil lamps.

  His hands shaking, he found three more candles and lit them, putting them around the room to diminish the shadows. He wanted more, but he couldn’t make himself open his bedroom door to go downstairs and get them. What if the Sarratt whelp was waiting, crouched, on the other side of the door? He’d just wait until daylight and make sure he had lamps in here before another night fell. If he just had enough light, there wouldn’t be any shadows for the whelp to hide in and he would be safe.

  Jake patted Sophie’s rump as he walked behind her to let her know he was there, but he was still ready to leap out of the way of a well-placed kick. He didn’t trust her manners that far. He noticed that she was showing signs of coming into season, and he decided not to ride his own horse on today’s outing with Victoria. It would be safer if he rode another mare, for both Victoria and himself.

  “You got that damn mare settled down yet?” McLain asked, walking up behind him.

  Jake glanced at the man, noting his red-rimmed eyes and unshaven jaws. He looked as if he’d been drunk all night. The cold hatred that lived inside Jake hardened more, as it did every time he looked at McLain. “She’ll do,” he said. He didn’t add that he doubted she would ever be docile; Sophie’s spirit would always burn too hot for that. She would always be contrary and arrogant, and love to run. “She’s coming in heat.”

  McLain grunted. “Try her out with another stallion tomorrow morning. If she’s ready, put Rubio with her.”

  Jake gave a short nod. McLain shifted his feet. “You taking Victoria for a ride this morning?”

  “I don’t know.” Every muscle tensed. He didn’t want to talk about Victoria with McLain. He hated hearing her name come from the man’s filthy mouth, hated knowing that she bore the McLain name.

  “Show her around the ranch,” McLain said abruptly. His eyes were glittering.

  Jake shrugged. “Sure.” McLain’s insistence was a bit strange, but it was too convenient for Jake to worry about it.

  “I’ll send her out. Why don’t you show her North Rock? She’d like that.”

  “The Rock’s about a two-hour ride.”

  “You said she’s a good rider; she can make it.” McLain turned and hurried to the house. Jake’s eyes narrowed as he watched him leave. This was strange. It was almost as if McLain were throwing Victoria at him, but for what reason?

  Maybe that episode in Santa Fe with Pledger had made him suspicious; maybe McLain thought he could catch Jake being too familiar with his wife, and give him a reason to put a bullet through his head. No one would say a word about it; a man had a right to protect his family. The whole idea sounded just like something Garnet would think up.

  Jake saddled Sophie and another mare; in less than half an hour Victoria appeared wearing her riding habit. She looked pale, but bright spots of color burned in her cheeks. She didn’t look at him as he lifted her into the saddle.

  “Where are we going?” she asked once they were away from the house.

  “No place in particular. Just riding.” The last place h