Rainbows and Rapture (6 page)

What he saw there made him frown. Parked in front of the building was a small, bright purple cart. Red and yellow flowers were painted along its wood-planked sides, and a cluster of silvery bells hung suspended from its seat. An ancient ox was hitched to it. Santiago looked at it twice to make sure what he thought he saw was real.

The animal was wearing a sombrero! Upon further inspection, Santiago saw that the hat was attached to the ox’s head by means of a long blue sash that was tied in a perfect bow around the beast’s thick neck.

An exceedingly uncomfortable thought came to Santiago. Refusing to believe it, he shook his head. No, it couldn’t be, he decided. Russia had said she had a horse. Reassured, he sauntered into the stable and found Russia chatting with the stableboy.

Though he made no sound at all, she felt his presence immediately. When she looked up and saw him, she nearly lost her breath. He filled the doorway completely. Dressed in black from head to toe, his shirt stretched tightly over his broad chest, guns gleaming in the waning light of dawn, he presented a formidable sight.

Memories of last night drifted through her mind. Try as she did, she couldn’t stop remembering what he looked like
without
that black shirt. The recollection of his naked chest was so distinct, it seemed to her she was actually seeing it. His muscles. His smooth brown skin. The way his long ebony hair had looked as it brushed across his wide shoulders.

She recalled the way his lips had felt on hers. The way he’d kissed her, with such urgency, such driving demand. And the way his mouth had felt on her breast…the way his tongue had circled, the way he’d suckled, and the way her body had reacted.

Even now her body warmed, trembled, and yearned for something completely unknown to her. Her eyes stung with the need to blink, but she kept them open, half afraid Santiago would disappear from sight if she closed them. Blushing, she tried to smile at him, but couldn’t get her lips to do much more than quiver. “Mornin’,” she murmured.

He didn’t bother to return her greeting, but studied her attire, noting all the patches on her faded blue-and-white gingham gown. Worn boots peeked out from beneath the hem of her skirt. One had a small hole in the toe. Perched on her head was a frayed straw bonnet. Multicolored flowers pointed skyward from the hat, and nestled among them was a bird made of crimson velvet. Santiago thought it the most ridiculous hat he’d ever seen.

But as ragged as her outfit was, he couldn’t help noticing that it did nothing to detract from her beauty. In a most enticing way, it molded around her full, firm breasts and hugged her tiny waist. And though her hat was shoddy, it adorned the most luxurious hair Santiago could ever remember a woman having. It looked like streams of golden honey pouring all down her body. Even in the dim stable it shone, and for the first time since meeting her, Santiago noticed it wasn’t pure blond. Shots of red glimmered through it, as if it were made of fire.

“I done give you one o’ them saturations, Zamora,” Russia said, unnerved by his blatant scrutiny.

He realized he’d been admiring her and chastised himself for giving the twit more attention than she deserved. “You gave me a what?”

“A saturation. You know—a greetin’. I said ‘Mornin’ ‘ to you.”

“The word,” he gritted out, “is
salutation
.”

She lifted her chin a bit. “Well, excuse my ignorance, but brains ain’t ever’thing, y’know.”

“In your case, they’re nothing. Now, what is the last town you visited?”

Sweatin’ sows and dirty bathwater! she thought. The man was sure riled this morning. “The last town? Why do y’want to know that?”

How dare she question him! he fumed. “Unless you know of a better way to find Avery, we’re going to backtrack to all the towns you’ve been in. We should catch him in one of them. At the very least, we might learn when and where he was last seen. Now what is the last town you—”

“Indian Rock. No, that weren’t it. It was Gray Rock. Sharp Rock. Hard Rock. Um… It was Somethin’ Rock.”

Santa Maria
, Santiago thought. Dawn had barely broken, and she’d already succeeded in irritating him. He didn’t even want to
think
about what condition he’d be in by tonight. Instead, he tried to remember names of towns. “Was it Spring Rock?”

“No.”

“Ford’s Rock? Glory Rock?”

“Yes!”

“Glory Rock?”

“No, Rock Springs!”

Rock Springs, Santiago mused. The tiny town was a two-day ride west, but with Russia following along, it would probably take much longer. He hoped she had a fast horse. “Get ready to go. We leave in ten minutes.”

“I’ll—I’ll get your mount, Mr. Zamora!” the stableboy yelled, rushing to the stall where Santiago’s horse was secured.

“I’ll do it myself,” Santiago said, his statement bringing the boy to a dead halt. Seeing the lad’s fear, he reached out and tousled his hair, and was dismayed when the boy’s knees began knocking together. Turning away from the child, he led his horse, a sleek mustang stallion black as his master’s hair, out of the stall.

Russia stared in fascination as he hauled a huge black saddle off a hay bale. She knew the tack was very heavy, yet he lifted it as if it weighed no more than one of her silk stockings. When he finished saddling and bridling his horse, she watched him mount with motions so fluid and easy, the saddle barely creaked as he settled himself upon it.

Lord, the man was big. Seated on his horse, the top of his hat seemed to be a whole mile above her. “You look like some kinda powerful god way up there. What’s it feel like to be that high up?”

He glanced down at her, suddenly seeing the ring gleaming between her breasts. “Take the ring off. I never want to see it again.”

At his withering glare, her stomach tightened into a hard knot. And his voice…it sounded like weapons. Like guns and swords. Knives and cannons and anything else that could be used to kill.

“Mount,” he instructed her. Placing the flat of his palm on his horse’s shoulder, he pressed gently. The stallion responded to the tender command and began walking out of the stable. As he rode out, Santiago glanced at the two saddled horses tied to the door handle of the feed room, wondering which one was Russia’s.

Russia closed her hand around the ring. How dare the man give her orders concerning what she could and couldn’t wear on her own body! Her defiant side shouted for her not only to continue wearing it, but also to glue it to her forehead so he wouldn’t be able to miss it.

But her compassion defeated her will to defy him. She had no idea why the sight of the ring upset him, but the reasons were obviously strong ones. Shrugging, she dropped the ring into her pocket, vowing never to let him see it again.

Outside the stable, she stopped beside the cart, frowning when she saw the empty seat. “Feener Miner!” she yelled as loudly as she could.

At her shout, Santiago’s stallion reared in fright, but soon calmed under his master’s skillful handling. “
Santa Maria
, what are you screaming about?”

She looked under the cart, finding nothing but cracked dirt and a few wilted weeds. “My cat, Nehemiah. He’s gone.”

“Nehemiah? But that’s not what you—”

“Oh, I don’t hardly never call him Nehemiah,” she explained, looking all around the area for her missing pet. “He likes nicknames better, and he has about a thousand of ’em. When we waked up, he was Boodles. Now he’s Feener Miner. He’s—” She broke off when she saw the tabby bounding toward her. “Shame on you, Mr. Stripy,” she scolded him. “I tole you to stay in the cart, and you—”

“The cart is yours?” Santiago queried, his stomach sinking when she nodded. “Just how fast do you think we can go if you ride in a wobbling cart pulled by an enfeebled ox?”

“Oh, we cain’t go fast a’tall,” she replied, lifting Nehemiah into the cart and slipping in beside him. “We gotta go slow, Zamora, on account o’ Little Jack Horner’s got him a bad case o’ the dwindles. Ain’t he cute with his hat? Keeps the sun outta his eyes. He won’t budge a inch if he gits a lick o’ sun in his eyes, y’know.”

Santiago wondered if the sombrero had been payment for her services. Perhaps a hat was all she was worth. “Has it ever crossed your mind that the reason this Avery character has been able to follow you is because of your idiotic rig? Don’t you understand that people
remember
that stupid thing? So as Avery travels, he only has to ask if anyone has seen it. When they recall it, he knows he’s still on your trail. Get a horse, dammit!”

The thought of giving up her beloved ox made her wince with sadness. “Little Jack Horner and Nehemiah are more’n animals to me, Zamora. They’re the only family I got, and I’d rather walk through a rat-infested alley wearin’ cheese underwear than give either one of ’em up, hear?”

He rolled his eyes. “An ox and cat are your family?”

She nodded. “I’m the mama, and they’re my kids. Now let’s go.” With that, she picked up the reins and moved them sideways so that they slid gently across Little Jack Horner’s back. The ox gave a loud snort and trudged forward, his lumbering gait causing the bells on the cart to tinkle merrily.

Santiago sat motionless, staring at the back of Russia’s hat and the flowers that were jumping all over her head. His ire swelled to fury. “You’re going the wrong way!”

He didn’t wait for her to turn around. Instead, he reined his horse in the opposite direction and urged the stallion into a fast canter, leaving Russia to follow. As he rode out of town, his lips moved in silent supplication. He hadn’t prayed in years, but after dwelling on his situation, he realized that help from heaven was the only possible means of surviving this trip with Russia Valentine.

* * *

Four hours into the journey, Santiago estimated they’d traveled only three miles. Three measly miles! Scanning the distance, he saw nothing but wide open space, dotted here and there by prickly pear, tasajillo cactus, a few masses of thorny brush, and a smattering of acacia and scrub oak trees. To his right lay a dried-up stream bed peppered with rocks and weeds. His head throbbing, he lifted a hand to his temple and shuddered when Russia began to sing again. Her sour notes intensified his headache.

Santa Maria
, how was he ever going to survive this journey? She’d already fallen out of her cart three times. She’d insisted on stopping so she could pick an armful of the yellow rockrose wildflowers they’d come upon. Her damn cat had gotten lost several times, and her hundred- year-old ox kept having to stop to rest. And dammit, she wouldn’t stop singing no matter how angrily he demanded she do so!

The pain in his head and the fury ravaging his body reached a pounding peak. He halted his horse, dismounted, and threw his hat to the ground.

Russia reined in Little Jack Horner and watched a roadrunner speed into the distance. Dangling from the bird’s mouth was a long green lizard. “Why we stoppin’? This ain’t Rock Springs, Zamora.”

Calmly, Santiago pulled a Colt from his gunbelt and pointed it at her. “Because I’ve decided to go ahead and put an end to my misery. I’m going to shoot you, Russia.”

She paid no attention to his threat. “I’m glad we’re stoppin’,” she said, jumping out of the cart. “I’m hungry.”

He stood there, mouth open, pistol in hand. Yes, his threat to shoot her was an empty one, but how did she know that?
Santa Maria
, why wasn’t she afraid of him?

Frowning, he saw her spread a snowy tablecloth on the rocky dirt. Upon it she set two tin plates and a candle; then she scattered her wilted rockroses all around the edge of the cloth.

“I got some biscuits, cheese, ham, and lemonade with the gold you give me last night,” she explained as she took the small sack of food from the back of her cart.

He watched her try to light the candle. The breeze kept blowing it out. “Why the hell do you need a lighted candle out here in the middle of nowhere?”

She wished she could continue to defy him and keep trying to light the candle, but she’d run out of matches. Lips tightly pursed, she filled both plates with food and began to eat.

Santiago decided to make the best of an intolerable situation. Stuffing his gun back into his belt, he stalked over to the tablecloth and bent to pick up his plate.

Russia grabbed it away from him. “This ain’t your plate, Zamora! It’s Gray Man’s, see?” She moved the food away from the middle of the plate and showed him the letter she’d scratched on it. “That’s a
N
.
N
for
Nehemiah
. This here’s one o’ them what you call enclaved plates.”

He looked at the poorly formed letter.
“Engraved.”

“Whatever.”

“The damn cat has a plate, and I don’t?”

He loomed above her; she stared up at him. Sunshine poured all over her, but it was a different kind of warmth that invaded her senses. The sight of him brought so many emotions to her all at once. She decided she’d go quite mad if she couldn’t sort through and comprehend them.

“What are you staring at?” he yelled.

His fury was about as subtle as a bolt of lightning splitting open a pitch-black sky. Lord, the man had him a quick temper!

“I asked you what you’re staring at!” he demanded again, his jaw twitching.

“You.” She cocked her head to one side. “I cain’t understand what it is you do to me. One minute I’m takin’ a fancy to your hair and all them muscles you got. I reckon you’re so strong, you can crack pecans betwixt your toes, aint’cha? I like them muscles, Zamora.”

“But in the next minute,” she continued, “you startle me so damn bad, my heart skips more beats’n a drummer with the hiccups. You git madder’n I ever seen anybody do it before, y’know. I git over bein’ jumpy, then another feelin’ comes. When I look into them black eyes o’ yours—well, I feel somethin’ I ain’t never feeled in my whole life. My stomach sorta bounces, like it’s full o’ bedsprings. I git real warm and breathy, but at the same time my throat feels like it’s closin’ up, or somethin’. I git real bumfuzzled, and I cain’t decide what’s happenin’ to me.”

He didn’t know what to think, what to say. She had no need to flatter him into doing her bidding. She’d already blackmailed him into it.