The final days of a dust-dry June slowly waned, with southwest Texas suffering the worst drought it had seen in more than three decades. Not a drop of rain had fallen since early spring. All the many Regent pastures, save the high, lush mountain tract, were turning brown, the grass dead or dying. The precious water holes were drying up. Fire was a real and constant threat. Day after day of heat was taking its toll on The Regent cattle empire. But the parched, thirsty land was not the only thing suffering.
Brit was miserable.
Anna was, too.
Achingly aware of each other, sharing identical feelings of growing desire and painful longing, the two of them felt the raw sexual tension between them escalate daily until it was almost palpable. The anxiety Brit had aroused in Anna was now completely overshadowed by the building passion he had so effortlessly incited.
It was the same for Brit. His deep distrust and resentment of Anna’s impersonation had been eclipsed by a basic, burning hunger to possess her physically. The attraction that had smoldered from the very beginning was now threatening to blaze out of control. Unspoken between them was the awareness that they could not stay out of each other’s arms forever. Brit was impatient. Anna was apprehensive. Both were obsessed.
The blinding white-hot days were interminable. The dark sweltering nights endless. Night after sultry night, an edgy, restless Brit lay in his room unable to sleep, hot and miserable, his naked body gleaming with perspiration. He could find no relief from the awesome summer heat. Or from the raging desire that had him so hot for Anna he could hardly stand it.
It was sheer agony knowing that she was asleep and vulnerable in the room right next to his own. His body automatically responded as he pictured her there in bed wearing only her thin white batiste nightgown, her long unbound hair spilling across the pillow like a gold, silken fan.
Brit cursed himself for the unwanted erection now pulsing on his bare brown belly. He had never been this way about a woman before and it both frightened and annoyed him. There were far too many times of late when no more than a glance at Anna made his knees buckle, his heart pound. It was as if she were now the one in control, not he.
And he sure didn’t like that.
Brit balled his hands into fists and ground his teeth. He reminded himself—one more time—that this golden goddess who robbed him of his rest was a greedy lying thief who meant to hurt LaDextra and steal The Regent from him.
It did no good.
He still wanted her. God, how he wanted her. He wanted her so badly he felt as if he couldn’t stand it one more agonizing minute. Yet he couldn’t risk being rebuffed again. He would have to wait. Like it or not, she was, temporarily, the one who wielded all the power.
But she was, he knew, steadily weakening. He was going to have her and soon. And he was confident that all it would take to put this debilitating madness behind him for good would be to make love to her.
Once. Just once.
No more.
Just one long, dark, hot, passionate night in her slender arms and he would be cured of this insanity.
He exhaled heavily, turned over onto his belly, allowing his heavy erection to press into the mattress, hugged his pillow and silently cursed the beautiful woman who was sleeping soundly while he suffered.
Brit would have been surprised—and pleased—had he known that Anna was not sleeping as soundly as he imagined. While he lay in the dark, naked and hurting from wanting her, she, too, was wide awake and suffering.
Night after steamy night, Anna lay awake in the hot darkness, her gown damp with perspiration and sticking to her skin, her slender body painfully tense with a kind of powerful longing she didn’t fully understand.
It was not the summer heat that kept her awake each night. It was the awesomely masculine man in the room next to her own.
Anna pictured Brit sound asleep in his bed. She didn’t envision him in pajamas. She saw him gloriously naked, like he’d been at the springs. Only without the Stetson covering that most virile part of him. She visualized the smooth darkness of his lean, hard body against the snowy whiteness of the sheets, imagined his jet-black hair appealingly ruffled on the pillow.
The vivid vision brought on a new surge of heat, and Anna was plagued by the rising fever in her blood. Her slender body on fire, she felt as if she couldn’t draw a breath, was smothering. She rose from the bed, impatiently lifted the damp nightgown up over her head and dropped it to the plush beige carpet. She exhaled shallowly. Naked, she got back into bed, stretched out and closed her eyes, certain that blessed sleep would finally come.
It did not.
Now the wicked thought kept running through her mind that Brit was in bed and she was in bed and he was naked and she was naked and he was uncomfortably warm and she was uncomfortably warm and he wanted her and she wanted him.
Anna was hot and cold at once. She trembled even as she perspired. Her teeth chattered, while her body felt feverish. Her stomach fluttered as if butterflies had taken wing inside. Her bare breasts swelled and her nipples tightened and ached. A gentle throbbing began in her lower belly.
Anna gritted her teeth and curled her hands into tight fists. She reminded herself—again—that this dark Adonis who stole her sleep was a hard-hearted adversary who meant to deny her her heritage and have her tossed right off The Regent.
It did no good.
She still wanted him. Wanted him so badly she would have welcomed him warmly had he crept into her room the way he’d done that night she’d pulled the knife on him. Right or wrong, foolish or wise, she wanted Brit Caruth. She wanted him to take her in his arms and make love to her. He wanted her, too; she knew he did. They wanted each other, so it was, she realized, inevitable that one night soon it would happen. They would come together in their shared passion, unable to fight the deep yearning for one more minute. She hoped it would be soon. She didn’t think she could stand it if it took much longer.
Tingling with the anticipation of being enclosed in Brit’s strong arms, Anna told herself resolutely that if he made love to her once and never wanted her again, she wouldn’t be hurt or disappointed. If once was enough for him, it was enough for her, too. Hopefully that’s all it would take. Surely the fierce fever in her blood would cool once he had given her that sweet, mysterious release.
July 4, 1890, dawned clear and hot in the parched deserts of far southwest Texas and in the rocky foothills of the towering Guadalupe Mountains.
Anna awakened with the sun.
As soon as she opened her eyes, she smiled. Delicious aromas wafted up from the kitchen below. Maggie Mae and her helpers were already hard at work preparing tempting foods for the daylong celebration.
Anna bounced out of bed, despite the fact that she’d slept little. She was excited. The Fourth had finally arrived and she had the delicious feeling that this was going to be one of the most exciting days—and nights—of her life.
Just as Sally had predicted, the mansion was now full of out-of-town guests, old and dear friends of LaDextra’s. Petra, Anna’s young maid, had told Anna that every single guest room was filled.
Anna had met most of the visitors at dinner last evening. And, as far as she could tell, she had passed muster with all of them. She was hugged and patted and told repeatedly, “You look just like you did when you were a little girl.”
Anna heard voices coming from outdoors. Curious, she drew on a robe and rushed out onto the balcony. Praying that Brit was either still sound asleep or already up and gone, she anxiously tiptoed past his room, then hurried on down to the east end of the mansion. She followed the wide balcony around the corner and looked down on the terraced lawn, where the festivities were soon to begin.
Directly below, on the terrace nearest the house, and at the very back edge of the yard, a skinny man wearing a tall chef’s hat and a white apron stood beside a huge pit and its roaring fire. A long-handled brush in his hand, he was basting the slow-cooking beef with some secret, spicy barbecue sauce. A platoon of white-garbed assistants were engaged in similar tasks. Anna watched as the great sides of beef were slowly turned on the spits. LaDextra swore that Hap Kinney’s barbecue was the best to be had in all Texas because of his secret sauce and the slow, patient cooking of the beef.
Near the smoking pits were several long utility tables. Soon servants would be carrying huge platters of food from the house and placing them on the service tables.
On the middle terrace, workers were busy setting up dozens of tables that would later be covered with white cloths and place settings. A couple of Regent gardeners were filling dozens of white porcelain vases with red roses to serve as centerpieces. Stacks of folding chairs had come out of a storeroom and were ready to be set up and placed at the tables.
Anna gazed down and wondered at which table she would be seated that evening. And she wondered where Brit would be sitting. Would they be at the same table?
On the third and lowest terrace of the vast east yard, the sound of hammering echoed in the early morning quiet. A team of carpenters was constructing a large wooden dance floor. As soon as the platform was completed, dozens of colorful Japanese lanterns would be strung overhead to cast their mellow light on the dancers. At the north end of the new dance floor was a raised dais for the orchestra. Anna pictured herself turning round and round on the dance floor in Brit’s arms.
Soon her attention was drawn to the south side of the lower terrace. Workers were very carefully stacking fireworks for the midnight display. Anna smiled. Exactly where, she wondered, would she be at straight-up midnight? What would she be doing? And with whom?
A thrill shot through her at the thought and she turned and dashed back to her room.
By midafternoon everyone had arrived. Hundreds of guests were milling around the manicured grounds, sipping iced lemonade, greeting friends, laughing and talking, totally oblivious to the searing July heat.
On the flat west lawn a huge striped tent offered welcome shade to those seeking it. For the younger and heartier in the crowd who needed no protection from the broiling Texas sun, games were underway. A crawling-baby race—complete with wagering—had just ended. A gurgling, chubby nine-month-old girl had beat out some strong competition, much to the delight of her proud parents and the gamblers who had put their money on her.
Contestants were now being sought for the men’s three-legged race. Brit and Buck Shanahan immediately volunteered. Anna, standing on the sidelines with Sally, clapped excitedly as the gun was fired and two dozen laughing, scrambling men awkwardly took off. The spectators yelled and whistled and took bets on which team would finish first.
Her sparkling eyes fixed on the laughing, hobbling Brit, Anna was startled when a woman’s low, sultry voice said into her ear, “In case you’ve been getting any ideas, he belongs to me.”
Anna quickly turned, to see the beautiful, red-haired Widow Harris standing close beside her. Speaking on impulse, Anna replied, “I wouldn’t be so sure, Mrs. Harris.”
Beverly’s eyes narrowed minutely, but she smiled and said, “Ah, but I am. You can’t compete with me, my dear. You’re a sweet, pretty young girl, but Brit doesn’t like sweet, pretty young girls. He prefers women.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. And I am the woman he prefers,” Beverly boasted. “Brit wants no one but me.” Again she smiled and warned, “Stay away from him.”
Quickly rising to the challenge, Anna smiled back at her and said, “You’re warning the wrong one, Mrs. Harris. It’s Brit who can’t stay away from me.” And she turned back to watch the races just as Brit and Buck tripped and went down.
The girls’ egg races came next, and Anna and Sally were among the first to line up. Fourteen girls and women participated. With their hands behind their backs and a silver spoon holding a boiled egg clamped between their teeth, the contestants waited nervously for the starting gun.
At the sound of the shot, off they went, moving as quickly as possible while attempting to keep the egg from falling off the spoon. Again the crowd cheered and whistled, and Anna heard people calling her name, rooting for her.
It was exhilarating.
From the corner of her eye she saw Sally drop her egg. Anna kept going. Others were dropping out now. The finish line was only twenty short yards away. Anna wanted to win. She was out in front of the others. Victory was within her grasp. Her heart was pounding with elation. Everyone was cheering her on. Brit’s deep baritone voice rose above all the others. She was giddy with delight.
And then a moment’s distraction spelled defeat.
Beverly Harris, standing at the finish line, her red hair aflame in the sun, purposely moved across Anna’s line of vision and slipped her arms around Brit’s hard waist from behind.
Anna made a misstep.
The egg teetered and fell to the grass. The Methodist preacher’s wife raced across the finish line, the winner.
Beverly Harris laughed.
Seething, Anna silently vowed to have the last laugh.