A Lady Bought with Rifles (13 page)

My scalp prickled. “Are—are you talking of war? Revolution?”

“The bloodiest, Miss Greenleaf.” For once there was no mockery in Court's ombré eyes. “There are rumbles everywhere, but I hear a lot of such discontent at the mine. Why do American workers earn double the Mexican wage? I've gradually replaced them with Mexicans and Yaquis, but the memory lingers. Why do Mexico's minerals enrich other countries?”

“Where would the Yaquis fit in a revolution?” I wondered. “They certainly don't love the central government, but would any other treat them better?”

“The mine's work force is mostly Yaqui,” Court said. “Your father set a policy of treating them fairly and they haven't been bothered by the slave raids Yzábal began last year. The ranchers, landowners, and industrialists of Sonora are going to put an end to that traffic one day, not out of humanitarianism, but because Yaquis are the hardest workers, whatever they turn their hands to.”

Court was an analytical man, detached from the passions he described so coolly. No doubt he was an excellent superintendent, one of those nationless professional men who abilities made them indispensable to whatever forces ruled a country.

Revolution?

I hoped he was wrong. Change was necessary, but I shrank at the thought of slaughter, pillage, and useless death.

“Rebellion will not affect Las Coronas,” Reina said, tossing back her red hair so that the emeralds in it gleamed like serpents' eyes. “I'll arm the men if war comes and hire enough
pistoleros
to train them and help defend our boundaries.”

Court shrugged. “A private army could have its uses—
if
you can control it.”

She smiled. “Trace Winslade can.”

Something flashed across Court's face. Jealousy? It was gone before I could be sure. “Ah, Winslade. But will he?”

“He'll do as he's told,” Reina said almost shrilly.

Court smiled. “Maybe. I never figured him as a run-of-the-mill hired gun, even though that was how your father, Miss Greenleaf, originally employed him.”

“I thought he was in charge of the horses,” I said.

“Yes. That happened after he took care of a few other matters.”

“He can wear his guns if it's required,” declared Reina. “Or perhaps, Court,” she added with some malice, “you think you'd make a better defender?”

His eyelids drooped, and though his teeth showed, I would not have called his expression a smile. “My dear Reina, it would all depend on what was in it for me. That's my single law, unalterable as those of the Medes and Persians.” He laughed at my involuntary frown, raising sun-bleached eyebrows. “That troubles you, Miss Greenleaf? You think I have no honor? I do. The largest part is honesty with myself.”

“And under that self-righteous stance you do what you will,” gibed Reina.”

With a mocking inclination of his head, Court said, “I think there are no complaints about my running of Mina Rara.”

Some devil made me say, “I believe you must let me inspect it before you're so sure of that, Mr. Sanders.”

Reina shot me a surprised glance and I could almost hear her doing a hasty reevaluation of my fiber. Court's startled look changed to one of amusement and he-watched me with male speculation. “I shall be delighted,” he said with an extravagant bow. “At any time.”

Reina sounded the silver bells for coffee. I decided I wanted none, excused myself, and yielded to an urge to stop by the chapel before going to my room. The talk of revolution had frightened me. I wanted to be close to the mortal remains of my mother, shelter in the timeless peace of the little church.

The houses of the people of Las Coronas were built in an oblong of which the church and storerooms formed one side. Most were dark, but I heard one mother singing a lullaby and children playing here and there.

Entering the church, I moved to the front, where a candle burned by the blue, white, and gold crowned image of the Virgin. She looked distressed, almost horrified, as if she knew she couldn't answer most of the entreaties she received. Though I did not believe in prayers for the dead, I did send my spirit reaching toward my mother's and father's, imagined that I was talking to them, telling my perplexities. I knelt for a long time and rose, feeling comforted, strengthened by the one thought I have held to ever since.

Heroic it is not. Sustaining it is. I didn't aspire to do what another person had not been able to, but I believed that I could do what other people had—live through struggle and death and war, find my own place, care for a child. Whatever was the day's task, I would do the best I could.

Crossing the patio, I heard soft male laughter above quick sobbing breaths and protests, the sound of scuffling.

“Who is it?” I called sharply.

Court Sanders faced around, still holding the wrist of Consuelo, the prettiest girl in the household. Her blouse was torn, exposing ripely firm breasts, and in the dim light from the kitchen I could see tears running down her cheeks.

“Good evening, Miss Greenleaf,” he said with a bow, just as if he hadn't been engaged in manhandling one of our maids.

“It's not a good evening, Mr. Sanders, when a girl is molested.”

“Molested?” His eyebrows climbed. “Oh, come now, Miss Greenleaf. Even if you
were
reared in England, you must know girls of this class don't mind a little rough wooing.”

“It looks more like rape,” I said flatly and spoke in halting Spanish to the girl. “Consuelo, have you encouraged this man?”

“No, no!” Vigorously shaking her head, she used her free hand to straighten her blouse and skirt. “I am a virgin, señorita. If this gentleman has his will, my sweetheart would never marry me.”

“That seems a good practical reason,” I told Sanders. “So unless you are prepared to stand at the altar with Consuelo, I must tell you to leave her alone.”

He still held her and his tone was patronizingly amused. “My dear young lady—”

“I'm a woman,” I cut in. “I believe the poorest of us has a right to decide what man, if any, shall have her.”

He let go of the girl as if losing all interest, folded his arms, and gave me a cool raking survey that would ordinarily have been humiliating but now only made me fiercely indignant so that I stood my ground as Consuelo murmured thanks and sped away.

“I thought you were skim milk and toast,” he said, an echo of that conquering laughter back in his throat. “But now you sound—and look—like wine and meat, as if you could intoxicate a man but feed him, too.”

“Why, you insulting—”

He waved his hand carelessly. “It's no insult, Miss Greenleaf. Most proper women are skim milk or sour milk or water, though the nicest are good sweet milk. Boring at best, nags at worst. So I've usually taken the ones who were whiskey or wine or tequila—and most have been rotgut.”

“Your escapades, Mr. Sanders, are no concern of mine, as long as you conduct them with willing partners.” A sudden thought occurred troublingly and I said gingerly, “I hope you don't use your position as mine superintendent to take whatever workers' women tickle your fancy.”

He chuckled. “Why don't you come on that tour of inspection?”

“You may be sure I will,” I said coldly. “The mine, after all, is where I get my income from, so I should interest myself in its condition and your methods.”

His jaw hung for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “I should be happy to arrange for such a visitation,” he said mockingly. “And to simplify at least part of your inspection, women I haven't favored with my attentions could wear blue rosettes.” With a lift of his massive shoulders, he went on, “I'm not that much of a fool, Miss Greenleaf, to toy with the wives or daughters of my men. Accidents in mines are too easy to contrive.”

“So you save your lust for our household women?”

“My dear,” he said with elaborate patience, “I have an outlet that need not concern you.”

“Is she whiskey?” I couldn't help asking.

“She looks like the best Scotch,” he said, smiling slowly after shooting me a surprised glance. “But she tastes like raw tequila. And leaves the same headache.” He moved to where my face was in the window light and his lion's eyes reached into me. I felt as if he were physically invading my mind and body, and I fought a heaviness, a compliant languor robbing me of strength while paradoxically those depths of me which Trace had revealed stirred. I didn't want to respond to this ruthless man, yet I did. Feeling naked and abased, I stared at the wall.

Court's voice rasped in my ears. “Has someone had you?”

“No!” Retreating, I shielded myself from those devouring eyes, crossing my arms across my breasts. “No!”

“You'd swear it?” His nostrils dilated and the muscles corded in his neck as he kept his hands clenched at his sides.

Who was he to ask such questions? Commanding slow calming breaths, I drew myself up as tall as I could, forced myself to meet his hungry eyes. “Mr. Sanders, I don't have to tell you anything, much less swear. You are
my
employee.” Turning to avoid him, I finished coldly. “I bid you good night.”

Swift as a panther, he barred my way. “Discharge me if you please, Miss Greenleaf. You'll have a hell of a time getting a dependable man at Mina Rara these days.” He dismissed our roles with a wave of his large, well-formed, yet somehow brutal hand. “Unless you swear no man has had you, I'm going to.”

“How dare you say that?” I choked, completely astounded. “Here, in my mother's house?”

“Because it's where we are.” He dropped his hand to the wall so that I was imprisoned. “I want you. You want me, too, I can tell.” He laughed, a sound far back in his throat. “I can play the correct games if you're innocent. Woo you, kiss your forehead, wait, and ache. I want to wed a lady. She might as well be you. But I'm not going through that nonsense if you're fledged—and something in the way you look makes me think you are.”

“That's my business.”

“I can find out,” he warned softly. “Your danger there, Miss Greenleaf, is that even if you prove a virgin, I might not be able to stop by the time I know.”

Glancing desperately about, I saw that the courtyard was deserted. “If you scream,” Court said lightly, reading my mind, “people will simply conclude someone's entertaining himself with a girl—and that will be the truth.”

He moved forward.

I stepped back, met the wall. He had me. And those hands were reaching …

“No man has taken me,” I blurted.

He paused reluctantly. “You swear?”

“I swear.” His approach made me ready to cry, try to dodge past, but I knew that, if I broke, it would snap his last restraints. A sigh came from him.

“That had better be the truth, my gently reared English lady. Because someday I'll know. And I promise you this. If you don't come virgin to my bed, I'll train you to tricks the vilest whore shrinks from.”

Turning on his heel, he swung away into the darkness.

I stared after him a moment, heart pounding, senses tingling, then ran to my room as if pursued.

Flinging myself across the bed, I trembled and longed for Trace, who had ridden away without a word, left me to cope with a ruthless and experienced man like Court. My deepest being feared and hated him. For Court Sanders a woman would be a possession, protected simply out of his own egotism. I was almost certain he had been Reina's lover.

In spite of all this, I was strongly aware of him. In resisting him, I had also to battle my flesh, the hungers he roused. How could I feel that way when I loved Trace? There must be something fatally wrong with me. My body throbbed and burned. I hated, and cursed it. After a long time I slept.

Court left next morning immediately after breakfast, accompanied by two vaqueros to help with the horses. He told Reina and me good-bye at the same time and didn't make even oblique reference to what he'd said to me last night.

“I'll be expecting your visit, ladies,” he said as he took the reins of a mettlesome, unblemished gray, the one Trace must have selected. “After all, Miss Greenleaf, you should inspect your property.”

“We will inform you,” said Reina stiffly. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and faint bruises on her arm. I was convinced she was his raw tequila, that he had gone to her after our encounter in the patio.

Court bowed ostentatiously. It was clear he liked to annoy her, burlesque the employee role. Springing into the saddle, he was off with a wave of his gauntleted hand.

“Fanfarrón!”
Reina spat. “He fills the eye and well he knows it! Arrogant, like all
yanquis
.” She turned to scan me narrowly. “You and your inspections! Now he will plague me till I take you to the mine.” She gave a disagreeable laugh. “Court is so obvious. He dreams of marrying a lady, well-brought-up, virginal. Oh, he has told me his views on the subject boringly often. But what he would do with such a finespun doll I cannot imagine. His passions are those of a bull—so I have heard.”

When I didn't answer, she swept up her skirts and vanished into the house. Slowly, I followed. Had Court told Reina he planned to marry me? Could and would she help me evade him?

I had no intention, certainly, of being his wife, but if he used his strength, overpowered my resistance, could I keep from responding, becoming his thing, his possession? I clung desperately to the memory of Trace, the clean fierce passion that had flowed between us. But that was gone. He had abandoned me.

Next morning, fighting waves of nausea, I changed the dressing on Sewa's foot. It wasn't that the stump looked so terrible. Scabbed, puckering at the edges, it was not inflamed. What was dreadful, was what was not there—a small, brown, high-arched foot, the marvelous articulation of an ankle and flexing toes.

“It's healing splendidly,” I told her, supplementing mixed Yaqui and Spanish with smiles and gestures. “Cruz would be proud.”