A Lady of the West by Linda Howard Page A

to your study. I read them, sometimes. I apologize, señor, I won’t get one again without your permission.”
    â€œForget 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.
    â€œYou 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 histhreat 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.

CHAPTER FIVE

    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