Desert Dreams (13 page)

Damn
you, Rafe Montalvo. She began stuffing her belongings back inside the running
bag. I hope you burn in hell!

She
would survive in spite of Rafe Montalvo’s treachery-whatever it took. And maybe
one day she’d even exact a little revenge.

But
right now she had a more immediate problem. Before she could do anything,
before she could even leave this room, she had to have clothes. Maybe when the
doctor returned she’d give him some of her precious funds and ask him to buy
her some basic things-a shirt waist, a skirt.

The
door from the waiting room opened at that instant. She turned, expecting to see
the doctor, then gasped at the site of Rafe Montalvo stepping across the
threshold and closing the door behind him.  Her breath caught at the
perfect symmetry of his body, the way he moved with the grace of a predatory
cat. When he glanced at her, her blood ran cold and hot at the same time.

A
warning sounded in her mind. She was feeling tender toward him because of the
doctor's revelation and her own murky memory. She mustn't allow herself to
forget that everything he had done had been calculated to get her to tell him
the location of the gold so he could leave her behind.

He
might be the most handsome man she had ever seen, he might have spoken to her
soothingly and touched her gently last night, but she couldn't afford to forget
what he was and what was at stake here. It was more than gold. When he looked
at her with those silver-blue eyes that reflected the light like shards of
glass, she feared for her very soul.

"You
seem to be much better," he said, his voice soft and emotionless.

"I
am." Her heart pounded so fiercely she wondered if he could hear it across
the room. “I-I thought you’d gone.”

He
stood where he was, studying her intently. His gaze moved from her face down
her body and back to her face in a way that made her legs feel even weaker than
they had before. She realized the only thing between her body and that gaze was
a much worn chemise, and a flush rose from her chest up her neck to her face.

He
took a step toward her and she backed away instinctively, eyeing him warily
like a trapped animal, a defenseless deer stalked by a mountain lion.

"I
had your clothes washed," he said, holding a package toward her.

Anne
grabbed it from him and held it to her breast.

A
corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I bought you another shirtwaist.
The one you were wearing looked pretty bad. And boots. I couldn't help noticing
yours weren't quite the right size."

Her
heart caught in her throat. Why? Why did he have to do something thoughtful
just when she was telling herself to hate him? Anger was her only defense
against the unaccountable wave of pleasure and relief she had experienced at
the sight of him, an emotion she could not hold on to.

“Thank…
Thank you,” she murmured.

He
took off his hat, and ran a hand through his hair. "Why did you think I'd
gone?" he asked.

She
shrugged. "I figured I must have told you what you wanted to know while I was
delirious."

With
a short, mirthless laugh, he shook his head. "We're quite a pair, aren't
we? We don't trust each other, we don't particularly like each other, but we've
been forced together by fate."

He
gazed at her for an infinite moment before releasing a sigh, and she had the
unmistakable impression that he was either weary or heartsick. Now why had she
thought that?

"We've
been forced together by you, Mr. Montalvo."

"Are
you hungry?" he asked, ignoring her statement.

She
nodded, thinking of the thin broth the doctor has brought her.

"You
feel up to going out?"

"I
don't think I could stand it in this room for another hour." She hated the
desperation in her voice and the way it nearly cracked with emotion. He'd come
back.

"Well,
change clothes and I'll take you to the cafe for dinner."

"I
need a bath."

Once
again that unfathomable gaze traveled down her body. She quivered, tried to
swallow, but her throat had gone dry.

Deny
it though he might, he desired her. What she didn't know was if he had the
scruples to control his lust. She'd have to be a fool to trust him completely,
knowing what she knew about him-about men.

He
smiled, rather wolfishly. "I'm sure the doc can help you."

He
walked across the room, his boot heels loud in the silence.

Anne
watched him as he reached the door and turned to gaze at her one last time. It
occurred to her then, and not for the first time, that perhaps she should be
worried about trusting herself.

Chapter
8

How have I come
to this? Anne asked herself
silently. All I've ever wanted was a home, a little peace and quiet, and look
at me now.

She'd
been in some desperate situations before, but never like this. Always there had
been a place to run to, a refuge, if it was nothing more than a cheap, shabbily
furnished apartment. Now there was nothing but a roughhewn clapboard town
surrounded by a vast, unfamiliar wilderness.

The
boots Rafe had bought for her fit remarkably well, she decided, especially
considering he had bought them without knowing her size.

Around
her spread the town of Hondo, a collection of clapboard buildings and canvas
tents. Animals and wagons and men on foot crowded the dusty streets. It was a
town like many others she'd seen since coming to Texas, but somehow it seemed
dirtier, more dangerous,
less
permanent.

She
sat on a horse in front of Rafe Montalvo because he'd said she was too weak to
hold on to him, and she really wasn't sure which would have been worse—to be
seated behind him, with her arms wrapped around him and her breasts pressed
against his back, or to ride in front of him as she did now.

Too
tired and too weak to prevent it, she leaned back against his hard chest. His
strong arms encircled her. His breath caressed her ear, sending currents of
sensation down her neck to her breasts. His hard, muscled thighs cradling her
hips served as a constant reminder of his maleness and of her own
vulnerability. She hoped fervently that he couldn't feel the trembling of her
body, and she hoped just as fervently that their ride would be a short one.

The
sounds of shouting, thundering hooves, and gunshots invaded her mind,
interrupting her disturbing thoughts. Fear flashed through her as Rafe crushed
her back against his chest with one arm and controlled his pawing, prancing
horse with the other, guiding it to the side of the street.

A
team of horses pulling a wagon rounded a corner and galloped toward them. The
man on the seat was cracking a whip over the backs of the animals, shouting and
urging them on. Other men rode on horseback beside the wagon, firing their guns
in the air. People on foot scurried to get out of the way as the wagon and its
outriders bore down on them, swept past, and stopped up the street in front of
a large canvas tent.

The
man climbed down from the wagon seat, laughing and dusting his pants with his
hat. The horsemen dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching post. As
they stepped onto the sidewalk, a woman with impossibly red hair came out of
the tent to watch them, her hands on her hips, her legs planted wide, her head
shaking back and forth in mock disdain.

Anne
had seen "soiled doves" before in riverfront towns, so she wasn't
shocked by the woman's presence or demeanor or revealing attire. Rather, she
was more than a little curious. In her experience, where there were women like
that, there was almost always gambling.

Even
though Rafe had not abandoned her, she still meant to carry out her plan. She
needed money of her own. She needed to be prepared in case he decided to force
her to tell him the location of the gold and leave her behind. She didn’t know
what a man like him was capable of, and she didn’t want to be caught unprepared
in case he left her like every other man she’d ever relied on.

Something
disturbing and frightening had happened between them this afternoon in the
doctor's office. Her body had responded to him, despite everything she knew
about him, despite the fact that she didn't trust him. She didn't want to like
him. She certainly didn't want to
be...
to desire him.

It
was hard to admit, even to herself, that she felt anything but disgust for him.
But she couldn’t shake the impression of a deep sadness whenever she looked
into his or the feeling that there was more to him than the ruthless bounty
hunter.

Rafe
dismounted first. He reached up and took her by the waist before she realized
what he meant to do. She placed her hands on his broad shoulders as he pulled
her from the horse and planted her on her feet in front of him. His hands
remained on her waist, his face close to hers.

Instinctively,
she leaned away from him, putting as much distance as possible between them.
She brushed against the horse behind her and it gave a snort. When she jerked
forward, her body pressed against
Rafe's
hard form.
Again she leaned away, mindful this time of the animal behind her. Trapped
between a horse and an animal of a different kind, she had no choice but to
stand her ground and hope he couldn't hear the furious thundering of her heart.

Unable
to hold his gaze, she glanced away. When she managed to look at him again, his
face loomed even closer to hers. She would only have to tilt her head slightly
and their lips would meet.

The
pull of his body on hers terrified her even as it thrilled her. She fought the
instinctive yearning to lean toward him, to have his arms encircle her and pull
her against him.

Grabbing
one of his arms and prying it off her waist, she twisted away. When she reached
the sidewalk, she turned to wait for him as he looped the reins over the
hitching post and strode toward her.

He
was a killer, a mystery, all darkness, all shadows. To look into his eyes was
to look into an abyss.

She
had learned early to read a person's eyes. Her father had taught her some of
what she knew. The rest had come instinctively. For the most part, she wasn't
even aware of the process. She did know she could learn a great deal about
people that way—most people. But some people had eyes that were hard to read.
They were all closed up inside. Rafe Montalvo was such a man. You could never
know what he had in his head, what he was capable of.

He
stepped up onto the sidewalk, removing his hat in a gesture that was all grace
and courtesy, offering her his bent arm, as if they were entering a ballroom,
not a barely decent cafe. She placed a hand on the crook of his arm and he
guided her inside.

Immediately
after they crossed the threshold, she had a sense of staring eyes, of
conversations abandoned, of nervous anticipation. Customers packed the small
restaurant to overflowing. Most of them were men with guns who looked nearly as
hard and uncompromising as Rafe Montalvo.

Her
grip tightened on her escort's arm. For once, she was grateful he was so big
and imposing, although she knew at the same time he was the reason they had drawn
so much attention. These men perceived him as a threat. Why shouldn't they?

She
recalled the night on the street in San Antonio. At the time she had been so
terrified, so determined just to survive, that she hadn't really absorbed all
that had been said. Now she recalled that the men had known
Rafe's
name, and the fear evoked by that name had pulsated through the crowd. They had
spoken of his prowess as a gunfighter.

Did
these men know him by reputation too? How many people had he killed? Was that
the source of his notoriety—bounty hunter, hired killer?

He
steered her through the room toward a small table in the back that had been
recently vacated. He held her chair out for her until she sat, then took the
seat across from her.

Conversations
around them picked up, and the tension in the room seemed to lift.

"Do
people always react that way when you enter a room?" she asked.

He
smiled. "I was going to ask you the same question."

"I
am not the one they were looking at. I am not the reason they all stopped
talking and turned to stare. They were afraid of
you.
The same thing happened in San Antonio, as soon as they learned who
you were. Why is that, Mr. Montalvo?"

"Let
it be," he said, his calm tone veiling a warning.

Rafe
turned in his chair, giving her his profile. He seemed to be searching the room
for a waiter, but she sensed that his posture was intended to put an end to any
further discussion.

"What
are you afraid of?" she asked before her courage faltered.

He
turned to face her, an ironic smile curving his expressive lips.
"Afraid?"

"What
is it you want to avoid talking about?" Her heart fluttered. She could
hardly believe her own boldness.

She
wasn't at all sure she wanted him to answer the question. Did she really want
to delve into his past? Were men like Rafe Montalvo born or made?

He
glanced away again, and for a moment she feared he wouldn't respond. When he
did, his voice was so soft she had to strain to hear him in the crowded room.
"Before you start asking questions, you'd better make sure you want to
know the answers."

To
Anne's relief, the waiter arrived at that moment. They ordered steaks, and Rafe
ordered a beer.

She
looked away in disgust as the waiter returned with the mug of frothy beverage.

"I
see you disapprove of drinking," he said as he took a sip of beer.

"It
leads to slothfulness and irresponsibility, like gambling. Either one can get a
hold on a man and destroy him."

"You
sound like the voice of experience," he said, his tone patronizing.

In
truth, she hoped he would drink it quickly and order another and another. She
needed him out of the way tonight. The alcohol would help her cause, but she
had no intention of depending on that alone. She had left nothing to chance.
The doctor's tiny vial of laudanum secreted away in her skirt pocket would
guarantee Rafe Montalvo didn't interfere with her plans.

"Do
what you like, Mr. Montalvo. Drink to your heart's content."

"I
intend to."

As
she watched him drink his beer, she trembled. What she was going to do tonight
was reckless and dangerous. She'd have to wait until he and the doctor were
both asleep, then sneak out undetected. It would be late, and she didn't like
being out alone after a certain hour. It was a risk she'd have to take, and no
worse than any of the other risks she'd taken since Papa died. Desperation had
made her bold—and reckless.

He
was staring at her, and her face grew warm under his scrutiny. Had he read
anything in her expression?

She'd
learned from her father to put on a blank poker face when she needed to, but
when her guard was down, her emotions showed on her face as clearly as a
reflection in a mirror.

Clearing
her throat, she shifted nervously in her seat. "How much longer do you
think we'll have to stay in Hondo?"

"That
depends on how fast you recover."

"I feel fine."

"You
don't look fine."

"I
know. You've already told me." She remembered his earlier insult, then
silently chastised herself for caring what he thought of her. "But we
should at least move out of the doctor's office to a hotel, don't you
think?"

"Can't,"
he replied casually. "Bunch of teamsters burned the hotel down and there's
no place else to stay."

The
waiter arrived with their food, and Anne dove into her steak with all the vigor
of a starving field hand. Steak – she hadn't tasted meat of any kind in a long
while, first because of the blockade, then later because she was afraid to
spend what little money she had.

It
proved to be a little tough, but she was too hungry to care. She glanced up
once to see Rafe Montalvo staring at her.

"The
doctor has offered to let us stay with him until you're fit to travel," he
said.

She
swallowed a bite of steak, then replied, "I'm just a little tired. Maybe
tomorrow…"

"Why
don't you just admit you're not cut out for this kind of adventure?" He
leaned toward her, his arms folded on the table in front of his plate.
"Tell me where the gold is and wait for me here."

He
wasn't going to give up. Did he think her completely brainless? Did he really
think there was a chance she'd tell him where that gold was?

"And
you'll go and get it and bring it back to me, right?"

He
smiled and picked up his fork and knife. "Right."

"I
may be a bit reckless from time to time, but I'm no fool."

"A
bit
reckless?" He took time to chew and
swallow before adding, "You nearly got yourself killed."

"That
was an accident." She hated that she felt the need to defend her actions
to this man who had forced himself into her life. "It could have happened
to anyone."

"Out
here you have to be prepared for accidents. You have to know what you're
doing."

"And
you know what you're doing, don't you?" she asked.

But
he wasn't listening to her. All his attention was focused on the front of the
café where some sort of commotion had erupted. She took advantage of his momentary
preoccupation, grabbing a small slice of onion from her plate and dropping it
into her reticule.

"Stay
here," he said, as he rose from his seat and went to investigate.