Rainbows and Rapture (22 page)

Tipping his hat to one of them, he knew they themselves were not any sort of danger. He then turned his attention to the men.

Many were just returning from the orchards. Their brown faces were shadowed by their large sombreros. Their long-sleeved white shirts and loose trousers were soiled with black dirt, green grass stains, and sweat. Some wore serapes, and these were either vividly colored or solid black.

Loyal burros trudged closely behind them, their backs piled high with woven baskets filled with fresh apples, avocados, and a colorful assortment of other fruits. Santiago knew the harvest would be sold in bigger towns in Mexico and Texas. The rest would feed large families, and all refuse would be given to the pigs he could hear squealing nearby. These humble men toiled tirelessly from dawn to dusk, not only working the orchards, but also seeing to their animals. Not even nighttime brought an end to their labor. After their supper, they knelt with their families in front of their statue of the Virgin Mary and prayed the rosary; then they tended to the things in their homes that needed attention: a squeaky door, a broken chair, an exhausted wife, pleading children, or a lost kitten. Nothing or no one under their care suffered if the men could possibly help it.

These devoted and diligent people, men and women alike, gave testimony to the fact that there was little, if any, truth to the widespread belief that Mexicans were lazy people, that all they did was eat and take hours-long siestas. Many times Santiago had heard his people slandered in such a way. As he watched them now, as he witnessed their gentle and unassuming behavior, he was filled with a pride so deep he felt its warm glow shine from his eyes.

Russia noticed it, too. “You like it here, don’tcha, Santiago?” she asked, halting Little Jack Horner in front of the small stable.

He dismounted. “Yes.” But though peace seemed to reign here in Rosario, he still felt anxious. With long-practiced ease, he made a thorough inspection of his revolvers, rifle, and ammunition supply. He also made sure that his dagger was within easy reach.

Russia watched him closely, puzzled by his preoccupation with his weapons. A tremor of fear slid down her spine. “Why—why are you checkin’ your guns like that?”

He saw the apprehension in her eyes and realized his suspicions had been contagious. Not wanting her to panic over danger that hadn’t even materialized yet, he quickly invented a story he hoped she’d believe. “Russia, I always inspect my weapons when I arrive in a town. It’s habit. You saw me do it in Rock Springs, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Well, I did.”

“Oh.” Satisfied with his answer, she stood up in her cart, then prepared to alight, unaware that she’d dropped the reins and that they were now looped around her foot.

She stepped down and fell directly into a soft bed of hay. Lying flat on her back, half her leg in the cart, she stared up at Santiago. “Bottomless boxes of brainless bull balls, what the hell is it about this damn stable? Ever’ time I git near it, I fall down.”

“Brainless bull balls?” Despite his wariness, Santiago chuckled. “Call it guessing if you want, Russia, but I don’t think the stable has anything to do with you falling down.”

Smiling, he assisted her to her feet and began brushing bits of straw from her hair.

Instantly, he was aware of its softness. Unable to resist, he slid his fingers through it. Every nerve in his hand began to tingle.

Sensing his mood, Russia reached up and closed her hand around his. As she did, she saw flames leap into his sable eyes. “Should— Do y’think we should eat now?” she asked, captivated by the lingering smile playing upon his lips.

Lord, it was becoming so hard to ignore the warm feelings Santiago’s nearness brought. At night, while safely sheltered within his thick arms and the solid curve of his body, sleep came only after hours of restlessness. Hell, even when he wasn’t close to her…when he was out hunting or riding way ahead of her, his image remained in her mind, the thought of him sending desire wafting all through her. And though she knew full well that those hot feelings would come to nothing…that she was physically unable to satisfy them, she couldn’t seem to suppress them.

“Santiago,” she said softly, “I asked you if we should eat now.”

“I heard you.” Yes, he’d heard what her pink lips had said. But her eyes… From the turquoise-green depths of her wonderful eyes radiated a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

But as he beheld her desire, as his body responded to it, he wondered if he would ever have the chance to fulfill it. He wondered if she would consent to another try at love-making.

He wondered how to ask her. And if she did agree, he wondered how it would turn out. Wondered if she’d find the pleasure he so wanted to give her. He wondered…

Santa Maria
, he wondered so many things about this beautiful and complex girl looking up at him.

“Senorita? Senior?” the stableman asked. “You stay in Rosario? I take care of animals?”

The sensual spell broken, Santiago gave Russia’s hand a gentle squeeze and turned to the man. In Spanish, he asked him if he’d seen anyone fitting Wirt Avery’s description.

Wide-eyed, Russia listened to the stableman explode into a full five minutes’ worth of furious, rapid-fire Spanish. When the man finally stopped yelling, she took hold of Santiago’s arm and squeezed it impatiently. “What did he say? Why’s he so riled? Does he know anything about Wirt? Did—”

“Avery was here. Before he left, he stole every bit of gold these people had.”

“Their gold?”

Santiago looked across the
zocalo
, his gaze settling on the small church across the way. “It was all in their church. A few gold candlesticks, the holy chalice, and the tabernacle. The villagers are still enraged. Their only comfort is that there were no consecrated Hosts in the tabernacle when Avery stole it. It seems he got away with the only real treasures these people had. I imagine he probably sold his loot to anyone he could find who was as ignorant as he is.”

“But why didn’t nobody try to stop him?”

Unconsciously, Santiago slid his hand over his Colt. “They were too afraid of him. These are peaceful, law-abiding people, Russia. I doubt many of them even possess weapons.”

“Oh, these poor folks,” Russia murmured. In a way, it was her fault, she realized. If she hadn’t come to Rosario in the first place, Wirt wouldn’t have trailed her here, and these villagers would still have their holy church gold.

Her guilt worsened as she continued to watch the people milling about in the square. They had so little. And now their only worthwhile possessions were gone. Damn Wirt Avery! she fumed.

Her lips set in a straight line of determination, she grabbed her bag from the back of her cart and hurried into the
zocalo
.

Keeping his eye on her, Santiago instructed the stableman to leave Quetzalcoatl saddled and Little Jack Horner hitched. Though he was relieved to know Wirt Avery was not in Rosario, his feeling of anxiety had not abated, and until he understood the reasons why he felt as he did, he wanted the mounts ready for flight.

As he followed Russia into the town square and watched her trip over a tin bucket, he began to wonder if the feeling of apprehension had something to do with
her
. After all, Avery wasn’t here, and Rosario was the epitome of tranquility. So what else—besides the possibility that Russia was on the verge of causing some kind of catastrophe—could be the reason for his suspicions?

With that thought in mind, he quickened his pace, completely panicked when he saw her dart into the church.
Santa Maria
, what if she destroyed Rosario’s place of worship? “Russia!” he called loudly, dread rising when he realized she hadn’t heard him.

Russia slowed when she entered the dim sanctuary. It smelled of wood. And lemon. And real old things. The aged pews gleamed; they were probably rubbed daily with lemon oil.

Never having been inside a church before, she wasn’t certain how to act, what to do. Glancing around, she noticed a nearby wooden table with a basin of water on it. Painted along the sides of the bowl were little crosses.

Staring at the water, she figured it was for washing. It was probably a terrible sin to be in a Catholic church with dirt on your hands and face. Of course, she wasn’t Catholic, so maybe it was all right for her to be dirty in here.

Still, it was better to be on the safe side, she mused. Getting struck by heavenly lightning or shot by angel arrows wasn’t a pleasant thought in the least. She set her bag down and dipped her hands into the water. “Well, you’d think they could put out more water’n jist this,” she muttered under her breath lest some saintly being should hear her complaint and tattle to God.

After bathing as well as she could, she dried herself with her soiled skirt, picked up her bag, and proceeded down the aisle, running her hand along the backs of the rickety pews. When she reached the altar and looked at the wall behind it, she hesitated, stilled by awe.

Staring down at her from within an elaborately carved frame was a painting of the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Lifted by a tiny angel, the lady stood in an oval of brilliant sunbursts, her delicate hands folded in prayer. She wore a long tunic of dusky rose, and a cornflower-blue veil with gold stars on it lay upon her ebony hair.

Russia swallowed, a hint of apprehension whispering through her. “You God’s mama?” she asked softly. “You ain’t gotta answer,” she rushed to say. “If you did—good Lord, I’d faint dead away. I— Stay there, all right? Don’t be comin’ down here on a cloud or nothin’ like that, hear? I brung somethin’ fer you. Fer the people here.”

Her hands trembling, she opened her bag and withdrew her pouch of gold. Smoothing her fingers over it, she couldn’t help but dwell on all the nice and pretty things she’d been going to buy with it. “My lacy gown,” she murmured wistfully. “A new flower wreath and some more panties. And maybe even a new cover fer my book o’ fairy tales. A leather one with a picture o’ Prince Channin’ etched on it.” And with whatever gold would have been left over, she mused silently, she’d have been able to eat for weeks.

With a deep sigh, she looked up at the painting again. The lady had a touch of sorrow on her beautiful face. Russia wondered if she always looked sad, or if she just looked that way now because the church’s treasures had been stolen. “I’m real sorry about what Wirt done when he was here, Miz Mary. It’s all my fault, y’see, but I’m givin’ you this here gold to make up fer it.”

Slowly, she ascended the three steps that led up to the altar, her knees knocking so hard she could actually hear them. She placed the pouch of gold on the table, then backed away, forgetting there were three steps behind her.

Her tumble didn’t hurt, but it embarrassed her. What must the beautiful lady think of her? she wondered, blushing miserably. Rising from the floor, she turned to leave, but couldn’t. Not just yet. Something, some strange pull, kept her there.

She faced the portrait again, astonished anew by the lady’s serene beauty. “I heared you’re a virgin. I cain’t understand how you can be a virgin and God’s mama at the same time, but I ain’t one to argue against holy stuff like that. But you bein’ a virgin and all… I reckon I ain’t fit to be in here with you on account o’ I’m about as far from a virgin as a girl can git. But— Well, before I leave I want to git things straight.”

“Yeah, I’m one o’ them what you call soiled doves,” she confessed quietly. “I might be real bad in your eyes, Miz Mary. I wish it didn’t have to be that way, but it jist plumb nelly is. It’s like I was tellin’ Santiago. If Wirt weren’t follerin’ me, I could settle down and git me a honest job somewhere. But the man don’t let up on me, and I don’t dare stay in one place fer too long. I’m real sorry if what I do makes all y’all heavenly folks mad, but till things change fer me, I don’t know what else to do.”

Captivated by the lady’s gentle eyes, she sat on the bottom step and tried to smile. “I got a real big favor to ask you, Miz Mary. I know I ain’t Catholic, and I know I don’t know how to pray, and I know I prob’ly ain’t good enough to ask the favor, and I know that maybe you won’t do it fer me…but I’m gonna ask it anyway. I’m gonna ask it on account o’ this might be the last time I’ll ever be face-to-face with you like I am now. I heared tell it’s all right to talk to holy folks in your mind, but it seems to me that it’s better to do it when you got ‘emright in front of you. That way they cain’t git away, y’see.”

Gathering courage, she stood and walked close to the altar again. “Santiago,” she told the lady, her voice spilling poignant emotion. “I—If it ain’t a lot o’ trouble, Miz Mary, could you keep your eye on him? Danger’s his job, y’see. He’s all the time after criminals, and even though he’s real good at what he does, he could still stand to git a little bit o’ help from heaven. And could you let somethin’ nice happen fer him?” she continued, encouraged by the lady’s benevolent gaze. “He’s the loneliest man I ever run across. Folks is so afraid of him that he don’t never have no kinda chance to make him no friends a’tall. Lies, Miz Mary. Lyin’s what folks do when it comes to that big ole bloodthirsty, hardhearted, murderin’ Santiago Zamora. They make up all sorts o’ wild tales, and other folks? Well, they believe ‘emall. And jist look what it’s done to Santiago’s life. He don’t hardly git his foot set in a room real good before folks start tremblin’, canyin’ on, and thinkin’ he’s gonna draw them guns and shoot ever’ one of ‘em.”

She fingered the white cloth covering the altar. “I’ll be nice to him fer as long as I’m with him, Miz Mary. Nice as nice can be. But who’s gonna be nice to him when him and me ain’t together no more? How’s he ever gonna find his Princess Charmin’ if no decent ladies have enough nerve to be around him?”

“Princess Charmin’,” she murmured. “Yeah, his princess. That real decent lady who’ll have all them babies fer him. I…I hope he finds her, Miz Mary. He needs somebody so bad. Somebody to love him and not be scared of him. His princess. That real decent lady. Please let him find her.”

Her head bent low, she turned, picked up her bag, and walked down the aisle. But before leaving, she faced the painting one last time. “Abraham, alleluia, and amen.”