A Lady of the West Read online

  It was supposed to have been just as simple for the Sarratts. Kill McLain and take over the land. He’d had no heirs; the land would have reverted to the government and been available for filing. This time it would be the Sarratts doing the filing.

  It would even be legal. There was no law against killing a man in a fair fight. Jake allowed himself his own cold smile when he thought of it. With his own men in place to protect him from a bullet in the back, he’d face them one by one in a gunfight. Until the end of the war there had been no such thing as a quick draw, but with thousands of ex-soldiers pouring westward it was a skill that had quickly developed within the past year. Hell, McLain’s holster still had a flap on it. Jake had cut the flap off of his and practiced for hours to develop both speed and accuracy. McLain wouldn’t stand a chance. The only one who came close to him in speed was Quinzy, but he tended to hurry his shot and often missed the first time. Pledger was more accurate, but slow. Garnet was respectable in both speed and accuracy, but Jake was faster and he knew it. He should be able to take them all without trouble. If not, Ben would finish the job.

  Only now the ranch would belong to Victoria.

  He wondered what he’d have done if McLain’s chosen wife had been ugly or ill-tempered or a whiny idiot. He couldn’t kill an innocent woman, but he didn’t think he could force himself to marry a woman like that, either. Victoria, on the other hand, was just right to be the mistress of Sarratt’s Kingdom. He hated to admit it, but McLain had chosen well. She was a lady, she had courage, and she didn’t simper.

  Marriage wasn’t such a bad idea. He’d never considered it before, but once he and Ben had the kingdom back, it would be time to settle down anyway. Jake figured Victoria would do for him, circumstances being what they were.

  Victoria sat upright with a jerk, clutching the sheet to her chin while her body went cold. The Major stood in the open door, outlined by the light coming from his room. Dear God, she couldn’t bear it again….

  “I been thinking,” he announced, his words slurred, and with horror she realized he was drunk. She could smell the stench of alcohol from across the room.

  “‘Bout them horses you and the other gals want. Ain’t no horses on the ranch fittin’ for ladies, they’re all work horses ‘cept for Rubio. We’ll go into Santa Fe to buy some fancy ridin’ horses, and maybe find some of them fancy saddles ladies use. That’s what we’ll do, we’ll go to Santa Fe, and let all those bastards get an eyeful of my womenfolk.”

  He laughed and lurched farther into the room.

  “They’ll be so jealous they can’t stand it,” he predicted, and seemed to take great pleasure from the thought. “Yessir, when they find out you three ladies are up here, I’ll have men from all over the territory sniffin’ around. Not no trash, mind you, but men who mean something, and they’ll all be beggin’ to court them other two gals, especially that fancy little sister of yourn—yours,” he corrected himself, and laughed again. “We’ll leave in the morning. I can’t wait to see their tongues hangin’ out like hound dogs in a pack.”

  He took another step toward her, and suddenly she knew that she’d do anything, even run screaming from the house, to prevent him touching her again.

  “If we’re leaving in the morning, we’ll have to get up early,” she said, fear making her voice sharp. “We need all the sleep we can get. I’ll see you tomorrow, Major, bright and early.”

  He stopped, weaving back and forth on his feet. She waited, holding her breath. Then he said, “We need sleep. Good thinkin’, sugar. You ladies need to rest a lot, you ain’t used to life on a ranch, or on a trail, either.”

  “Good night,” she said, and lay back down, tucking the sheet around her. Then she bit her lip and called, “Major?” as he turned to go. “I—thank you for the horses. It’s very generous of you.”

  “Nothin’s too good for my wife,” he said with heavy self-satisfaction.

  It wasn’t until he’d left the room and closed the door behind him that she relaxed. She didn’t know if he had intended to try again to bed her, but just having him that close had been almost more than she could bear. If he had actually tried to do to her what she had seen Roper doing to that woman—

  The remembered image flashed in her mind again, tormenting her. Damn him! Why should she care what he did? “I don’t” she whispered into the darkness, and knew that she lied. God help her, she did care. She was horrified by the admittance. She was married; Jake Roper and every other man, except her husband, was forbidden to her. There were only two classes of women, good women and bad women. For a woman to consort with any man except her husband, in any way except socially, was for her to cross the line between good and bad. For her even to think of Jake Roper in such a manner was sinful.

  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.”