Rainbows and Rapture (7 page)

So why was she complimenting him?

And the feelings she’d tried to describe to him… Surely a whore knew lust well. It was an integral part of her profession!

So why did her confusion seem genuine to him?

He tried to convince himself she was lying. That she had some hidden incentive for such tribute. But what reason could she have to lie?

“Ain’t you gonna say nothin’, Zamora?”

What could he say? No woman had ever said such things to him and meant them. Decent women were too nervous around him to even
greet
him, much less give him compliments. And whores—yes, whores flattered him. For payment they’d say anything they thought a man wanted to hear.

But
this
harlot…this one was under no obligation to try to seduce him. She had no motive he could think of.

His confusion angered him. “Don’t say those things to me.”

“What things?”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Those things about me,” he repeated lamely.

“Y’mean about your muscles? Your looks, and what they do to me?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like it, dammit!” He kicked at the yellow wildflowers she’d strewn around the tablecloth.

“All right! Smack my leg with a garter, Zamora, you’re the yellin’est man I ever met up with. All’s you had to do was ask in a normal voice, y’know. If you don’t like me sayin’ nice things about your looks, I won’t.”

Satisfied that he’d intimidated her sufficiently, he inclined his head.

“You’re ugly,” she blurted, grinning. “So ugly that I reckon you gotta sneak up on a dipper to gitcha a drink. Did y’like that any better’n what I said before?” Her smile widening steadily, she soon burst into laughter.

He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

Still giggling, Russia picked up a biscuit. “Anyhow, like I was sayin’,” she went on merrily, “all them strange feelin’s you make me feel? Well, sure as hell’s hot, you’re gonna drive me plumb nelly crazy before all this is over with.”

Her last statement got his full attention and understanding. “
I’m
going to drive
you
crazy? Do you have any idea—”

“Quit hollerin’ at me. I know it ain’t much fun to git blackmailed, but there ain’t no way around it, hear? I done blackmailed you, and you’d best git used to it. Now sit down. I’m figgerin’ that once we talk fer a while, we’ll settle down with each other. Tell me your life’s story; then I’ll be better able to make my decision.”

He watched her stuff the biscuit into her mouth. Ivory crumbs dotted her rosy lips, and it was a moment before he could take his gaze away from her soft mouth. “What decision is it that you have to make?”

“Whether you’re a good man or a bad one. I need to know fer sure, y’see, on account o’ you and me’s gonna be together fer a while. If you’re good, fine. If you’re bad— Well, I guess that’s all right, too. I ain’t one to judge nobody. It’s jist that I’d like to know fer sure, that’s all.”

For one second, he wondered what her ultimate decision about him would be. But as soon as he caught the question in his mind, he clenched his fists. “I don’t give a blasted damn
what
you think about me, Russia. You have something I want, and I have something you want. That is the extent of our relationship, and once both ends have been met, we’ll go our separate ways. But while we’re together, you’d best remember that I never travel with
anyone
. I’m not used to having company, and I sure as hell don’t want
yours.
”

She licked a crumb from the corner of her mouth. “Well, you sure as hell have it anyway.”

He rammed his fingers through his hair, wondering if there was any way in the world to frighten the sassy wench. He arched a brow. “You said you wanted to get to know me, wanted to make a decision about me. All right, Russia, I’ll accommodate you.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Before arriving in Hamlett, I shot a man. He was unarmed, and I killed him in cold blood.”

Russia watched him carefully. His stance was relaxed and calm. His brows were raised in a way that made her think he was bored by what he was telling her. But when she looked beneath those black brows of his, she saw that his eyes held an emotion that was altogether different. His gaze shone with regret.

Absently, she fingered a fold in her skirt. “He musta been really and awfully bad.”

Santiago’s arms fell to his sides. How had she deduced that? Truth was, the unarmed man had been in the process of trying to strangle an old woman before robbing her. The woman had already been close to death when Santiago had come upon the scene. Shooting her assailant had been the only way to save her life, but he still felt bad about it.

He frowned at Russia. “I killed a dog once, too.”

Russia inhaled softly. “Oh, how sad,” she whispered. “Was he mad?”

Santiago’s eyes widened. Dammit, how had she guessed? “No, he wasn’t mad!” he lied loudly. “He was barking too loud, so I shot him!”

Russia burst into laughter. “You cain’t lie worth a damn, Zamora! You wouldn’t shoot a dog fer barkin’! You like animals. You’re real sweet to your horse, and you’ve been puttin’ up with ole Little Jack Horner. And y’know what else? I seed you ride around that little rabbit a while back. He was eatin’ them berries, and you didn’t want to disturb him, so you taked your horse wide around him. A man like that wouldn’t shoot no dog fer no good reason.”

“I… To hell with that! You—”

“Look, you’re a gunslinger, Zamora. Men like you don’t spend their days pickin’ daisies. I already know that them guns you wear ain’t no decorations.”

“Russia—” He cut short his reprimand when he felt something rub across his calf. Looking down, he saw Nehemiah. A big black beetle was clamped between the cat’s teeth.

“Well, look at that,” Russia cooed, smiling. “Whipples brung you a present. He does that when he likes somebody. ’Course, Lord only knows what it is that he sees in
you
.
All’s
he’s seen you do is holler. Take the beetle, Zamora.”

“I don’t want it.” He walked away from Nehemiah, glowering when the cat followed and continued to rub against his legs. “Tell him I don’t want the damn bug!”

Russia finished off a piece of cheese. “If you don’t take it, it’ll hurt his little feelin’s. Git down there on the ground with him and tell him you ain’t never got such a fine present.”

It had been many years since Santiago had received a gift, but damned if he’d accept a dead beetle from a cat!

“’Course, you could always shoot him,” Russia suggested merrily. “Jist like you done with the dog that was barkin’ too loud.”

He threw her a fierce look and stepped away from the persistent feline. Picking up Russia’s bag of food, he found a brown bottle inside. “Is this whiskey?”

She nodded. “Got it from some wanderin’ salesman a while back.”

Santiago examined the bottle, then noticed Nehemiah had stopped trying to give the beetle to him. The cat was now enjoying ham and cheese on his own initialed plate.

“I drink that there whiskey when I’m feelin’ delected,” Russia explained.

“Delected? What the hell does that mean?”

“Ain’t you never heard that word before, Zamora? It means feelin’ low.”

She was looking at him as if he were the biggest simpleton walking the earth. “The word is
dejected.
”

“Yeah, well, whatever. I drink the whiskey when I’m feelin’ low.”

Feeling low
, Santiago repeated mentally. He was certainly feeling low this morning. Uncorking the flask, he brought it to his lips and took a deep gulp.

The whiskey filled his mouth with the most horrible flavor he’d ever tasted. Grimacing, shuddering, and choking, he promptly spat the liquor out. “
Santa Maria,
what the hell kind of whiskey is this? It tastes like it would kill!”

She swallowed her mouthful of ham. “It won’t kill you, but I reckon it’ll worm you good.”

“Worm me?” He closed his eyes and prayed for whatever patience heaven had left to grant him. “Get back in the cart. We’re leaving.”

“But I didn’t get to finish my break—”

“If you think I’m going to let you stop for a picnic every time your stomach growls, think again. Eat while we travel. Now get back in the cart.”

“No. I heared tell that if you eat while you’re movin’ around, you’ll throw up. I ain’t gonna—”

“Get back in the cart!”

Anger tore through her. She’d show this bossy brute of a gunfighter that his constant shouting would get him nowhere. Calmly, she broke off a tiny piece of cheese and slowly placed it on her tongue, taking almost a full minute to chew and swallow it. She continued eating in this fashion, and had to force herself not to smile when she saw Santiago’s eyes flash with rage.

He held his temper for as long as he could, but when he saw her examining a piece of ham as if she couldn’t decide whether to eat it or not, he exploded. “It’ll be dinnertime before you’re done with breakfast! Now get back in that asinine rig of yours and let’s go!”

She crossed her eyes and exaggerated batting her lashes at him before leisurely gathering up the tablecloth, candle, plates, and food bag. “Come on, Feisty!” she called to Nehemiah.

When he didn’t come, she turned back to Santiago. “I reckon he’s lost again. Could be hours before he comes back. Maybe days. Days that’ll run into weeks.” She knew she was pushing Santiago beyond his limit, but she simply couldn’t resist antagonizing him. “Yeah, little Scudders can be slow as Moses sometimes.”

“Did y’know Moses was real slow?” she asked. “I ain’t never been in a church-house, but did ya know once I heared one o’ them travelin’ ministers preachin’ out in the streets? Well, he said Moses spended forty years wanderin’ through the wilderness. He sure taked his own sweet time gallivantin’ around in it, didn’t he?”

Santiago could feel his face contort with anger. “Russia—”

“Do you ever go to church? I’d go, but I ain’t never finded one where I was welcomed. Ain’t fair. Seems I heared some Bible story once about a harlot who was fixin’ to git stoned. Maybe I heared it from that travelin’ preacher I jist tole you about. I reckon that’s what folks’d do to me if I ever tried to set foot in a church. You ever heared that story about the harlot who almost got stoned? How’s it end? Did she really git stoned?”

Santiago was tempted to pick up a rock and see if he could finally scare Russia. But he discarded the thought when he realized it would only waste time. “Find the damn cat, or we leave without him!”

She lifted a tawny brow. “I ain’t goin’ nowheres without Pooples. And I know you sure as hell ain’t goin’ nowheres without
me
.”

“You—”

“Y’know, Zamora? Fer somebody who wants me to hurry up, you’re sure keepin’ me here talkin’ fer a long time. I gotta go find Tringles now or else we ain’t never gonna git to Rock Springs.”

When she began to stroll all around the area calling for the cat, Santiago snatched up his hat and stalked back to his horse. He leaned against the stallion, all the while glaring at Russia.

The breeze picked up her long strawberry-gold hair, ruffling it all around her gingham-clad body. As much as he longed to do so, Santiago couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sight.
Santa Maria
, the girl had beautiful hair. It shimmered all around her thighs, and several locks hugged her tiny waist. Before he could stop himself, he wondered what those thick, soft tresses would feel like spread out over his bare chest, wrapped around his back, and tangled in his fingers.

A sudden flame of desire stroked him, softening his anger. Russia was certainly irritating, but she was an irritating
beauty
. And though his mind refused to even consider the possibility of making love to a girl who maddened the hell out of him, every fiber of his body yearned for just that.

“Lord! Oh, dear God in heaven!”

Her hysterical shout scattered his lusty thoughts. He raced toward her. Just as he reached her, she began to run to a mass of large rocks ahead. When Santiago saw the reason for her panic, he snatched out his guns. “Russia!”

Tears streamed down Russia’s face as she neared the cluster of rocks. “Sugar Boy!” she yelled at her cat.

Santiago was at her side in an instant, grabbing her arm and forcing her to a halt. “Are you crazy? That’s a nest of rattlesnakes!”

She fought to free herself from his grip, but he gave her no quarter. “Well, what the hell am I s’posed to do?” she screamed at him. “Them snakes is gonna bite my—”

“Just stay here, dammit!” He shoved her behind him and cautiously approached the rocks. He was relieved when he saw that Nehemiah was sitting statue-still. As if instinct told the cat not to make a single move, he didn’t twitch as much as a whisker. Santiago leveled his Colts.

The sudden explosion of gunfire sent Russia to her knees. It seemed to go on forever, and she soon lost count of how many bullets Santiago fired. In the dirt, her hands covering her mouth, she watched the area where Nehemiah had been, but saw nothing but shooting pebbles, flying plants, and a thick cloud of dust.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the gunfire ceased. Knowing in her heart that Santiago had killed Nehemiah, she began to shake violently.

Santiago turned to look at her. Seeing her fear, he pulled her to her feet before starting back for his horse.

Russia never took her eyes away from the rocks. Terror still gripped her as she watched the dust settle.

A small mewling sound came to her. “Dinkums!” she cried when she saw the gray tabby sitting amidst a pile of lifeless snakes. She flew to him and lifted him into her arms, weeping into his long gray fur. “Oh, Mama’s little ball o’ love! You coulda been bited! You coulda been—”

Slowly, she glanced at the ground, scowling at what looked to be about ten snakes. It was difficult to count them since they’d been reduced to little more than pulp. “Shriekin’ shoestrings,” she murmured.

Nehemiah still cuddled against her breasts, she returned to Santiago, who was standing next to his horse and reloading his Colts. “You great big dummy! You coulda killed my baby! You coulda missed them damn snakes and shooted Botsoms instead!”