A Lady of the West by Linda Howard

alone. One of the cowpunchers lay naked and groggy beside her.
    Angelina was at first astonished to see him; after all, he’d only gotten married the night before. Then a slow, self-satisfied smile curled her lips.
    â€œGet out,” McLain said to the cowboy.
    The man stumbled to his feet and awkwardly got into his britches and boots. He too was astounded that the Major was there. The tale would be all over the ranch by morning.
    Angelina lolled against her pillows, letting the sheet fall to the side so that her large breasts were revealed. “So,” she said in a purring voice. “Your grand lady can’t satisfy you?” It wouldn’t take much, as she knew from experience. The Major was too fast, but she always praised him as if he were the biggest and best stud she’d ever had. Angelina was shrewd enough toknow she had a good thing here, and the best way to keep it was to butter up the boss.
    McLain grunted as he unbuttoned his pants. “She couldn’t even get it hard,” he muttered, and from that, and his haste, Angelina understood exactly what had happened. She wanted to laugh, but knew she had too much to lose if she shared the joke with others, even later. She stifled her smile and instead stretched out her arms toward him.
    â€œShe must be a cold fish, then,” she purred.
    McLain freed his erection and lowered himself. “Bend over,” he panted, already near climax at the thought. “I want to do it that way.”

CHAPTER THREE

    T he dull, endless chores of domesticity had a settling effect, Victoria mused. It had been a week since her marriage, a week in which she had thrown herself into the duties of running the household in an effort to make herself too busy to think. She admitted that the larger portion of her growing serenity was due to the Major’s continued absence from her bedroom, but mending had its own soporific effect. She stifled a yawn.
    Emma chuckled. “Here we are, about to doze in the sun like two doddering old tabbies.” She took two more tiny stitches, then smothered her own yawn.
    â€œIt’s so pleasant here,” Victoria said. She was coming to appreciate more and more both the weather and the landscape of her new home. It was June; the sun could be quite hot at noon, but the air was dry. The result was wonderful, after the humidity of the South. The nights were chilly and crisp, perfect for snuggling under blankets.
    â€œEspecially here, in the courtyard. I don’t believe I care if this hem is mended.” Emma replaced the skirtin her basket, looking enormously satisfied with the decision. She yawned again. “But I
do
believe a nap is necessary.”
    â€œSiesta must be contagious.”
    â€œIt seems to be. Not that they’re totally foreign to us. Remember when we used to take naps before evening dances?”
    â€œA long time ago.” Victoria looked down the past five years.
    â€œYes.” They said no more about the days past. Neither of them liked to discuss it. The changes brought by war had been too violent, the difference in their lives too complete. Too many people had died.
    Emma got to her feet and Victoria did also, her brows knit as she realized she hadn’t seen her sister in at least an hour. “I think I’ll look for Celia,” she said. “She didn’t tell me where she was going.”
    â€œAnd wherever Celia is, Mr. Garnet will be close by,” Emma said grimly.
    Victoria wondered how Garnet attended to his job when he seemed to spend so much of his day lurking around Celia. He hadn’t made any untoward moves, but his constant hovering made Victoria uneasy. If she found him near Celia again, she would inform the Major of his foreman’s behavior, although she grimly suspected he was fully aware of it.
    â€œShall I come with you?” Emma asked.
    It was tempting to accept her offer. Victoria often felt as if she needed support, and she knew