Harvest of Fury (12 page)

“It's true! We agreed the night before he left.”

“And he was drunk, perhaps?” Güero spat near Talitha's feet. “I've heard no whisper of such a thing! Everyone knows the
patrón
loves only that dead one on the hill.”

“All the same, when he comes back, we'll marry.”

“That old man?”

“Even if he were old, I'd choose him over anyone in the world. Now that you understand,
por favor
let me pass.”

He did so, bowing ironically. “Yes,
señorita
. Finally, I understand.” He spun on his heel and strode off with a jangling of his sunburst-roweled spurs.

That beginning left a taint on the day, though Talitha was touched by the handkerchiefs Cat had laboriously embroidered for her with her brand, T, and by her other gifts. From James and the twins there were a dozen new arrows, and from the ranch families buckskin trousers and vest, fringed and ornamented with silver conchos.

These were bestowed after the noon meal. A few hours later, while the sun was still high, Talitha took her new clothes and some powdered orris root, telling Carmencita she was going to the hot springs.

“Is that safe?” worried the older woman.

Talitha laughed. “Nothing can happen to me on my birthday!” She gave the plump, motherly woman a hug. “I'll take my weapons and be back before dark. I'm just so tired of taking quick little baths in the tub!”

“It's enough to bathe on Saint John's day,” Carmencita grumbled.

Talitha grinned. “Not if you've been working cattle.”

For weeks she and the men had been riding the expanses of the ranch to see how the cattle had wintered, treat any screwworms, and help young heifers who might have trouble dropping first, calves. With a kiss for Carmencita, she went out to the corral and whistled up Ceniza, giving the ash-gold mare a piece of bread and rubbing her velvety muzzle before saddling her. Ladorada, this mare's mother and Talitha's first beloved horse, was eighteen now, retired to graze. Chusma, the cat Santiago had brought from California, matriarch of the dozens of cats that routed mice and snakes from around the ranch, was ten. That was the sad thing about loving animals. Their lives were so short beside a human being's. Even when they were colts or kittens, you knew you'd see them die.

Ceniza tossed her head and snorted at some rustle in the brush, a trait Shea had said she inherited from her grandmother Castaña. Her rather melancholy trend of thought checked by the persistence of a mischievous spirit, Talitha sent the mare into an easy lope, watered her at the creek, and after a half hour's ride unsaddled her to graze, hobbled, in a grassy meadow, while Talitha made her way up the narrowing cañon, over rocks and boulders washed down by heavy rains.

This was the dry season and there was only a trickle of water flowing along the watercourse. New leaves were coming out and wild cherry was starting to blossom. A gray fox vanished like a shadow into a hackberry thicket, and the red-tailed hawks soared in their dizzying circles while a bluejay chattered saucily at an acorn.

Drinking in the fresh new smells of spring with the underlying scent of dead leaves and pungent pine and cedar, Talitha reveled in the dappling of sun that managed to reach her through the trees, feeling how good it was to be alive. When she undressed and climbed into the big rock basin, she shut her eyes and lay back, lulled by the warm water, the sound of it gurgling out of the rocks above.

All her fears and worries seemed to loosen and float over the basin's edge. Sun kissed her through the glimmering ripples. Wonderful to have unlimited amounts of heated clean water, room enough to stretch out full length and let the water lap against your chin.

This was a special place to Talitha. She'd found it herself when she was thirteen. Although the Place of Skulls where the scalp hunters had whitened lay in a grassy little park not more than half a mile onward, and though this had been where she'd first met Judah Frost, these unpleasant memories weighed little beside the many refreshing baths and hair-washings she'd had here.

Sitting up, Talitha rubbed the powdered orris root into her hair, making suds. They made their own soap at the ranch with wood ash and fat, but it was harsh yellow biting stuff, and Talitha feared it might be bad for wild creatures to drink. The orris root left no traces when its bubbles dissipated, and it was used by both Indians and Mexicans.

When her hair was so clean it squeaked, she stood up and shook it about her, fanning it with her hands till it started to dry. Then she washed her body.

As she touched her breasts, she thought, with a pang, of Shea. Would he remember at all that it was her birthday, or was he in a situation where such things didn't matter? Shutting her eyes, she tried to reach him with her thoughts, tell him how she loved him, make him think of her, see her as she was now.

Holding out her arms, offering herself, she murmured softly, “Shea. Oh, my dear love—”

“He can't hear you, but I can.”

She froze, then started to reach for her clothes as Güero stepped out of the manzanitas but checked when she realized she couldn't get to them. Disdaining the frantic impulse to at least try to cover herself with her hands, she threw her hair back and stared at him. She had often quelled a devilish horse by showing no fear and speaking steadily. That was all she knew to do now with the man who came toward her, eyes like green flame.

“You were to comb the southern bounds of the El Charco
sitio
today. Go back to your work and I will pardon your discourtesy. No doubt you saw my horse and wished to be sure I was safe.”

He made a dismissing motion with his hand. “The time for nonsense—and singing—is past,
señorita
.”

His avid gaze ran over her. She could see the pulse hammering in his temples, the whitening groove behind his nostrils. “I've tried to woo you, to have you in sweetness. Since you've spurned that, I'll have you as I can.”

Another long step brought him within reach of her. His sweaty male odor was strong and frightening. It took all of Talitha's will not to run, to try futilely to escape.

“If you touch me, your own brother will help hunt you down.”

“That fool Tivi? What do I care for him, or old monkey-face Pedro, who got horns from my French father?” Güero deliberately cupped her breasts, stroking the nipples with his thumbs. “How white you are where you're hidden from the sun! I've always wanted a white woman, but those I had in California were whores.”

“So would anyone be who slept with you.”

His lips peeled back over square white teeth. “Is that what you'll say of yourself when you hold me in your arms?”

“I never will.”

His hands ran along her waist, curved over her thighs and belly. “But you will,
patronita
.” His eyes smiled into hers. “For you won't let the Socorro go the way of the San Patricio miners' camp.”

She was already numb with horror, but as she slowly understood him she felt encased in freezing, immobilizing ice. “You—you were with the bandits?”

“More. I led them. It's a loose gang, scattering around Sonora between raids, but it wouldn't take me long to gather them, and plenty more.” He kissed first one breast, then the other, sucking hurtingly as he caressed her flank, all the time watching her. “You could hold us off a day or two, but the end would be the same.”

Her mind dodged this way and that. “What's your proposition?”

“You will name me foreman, I will be your lover, and all will be safe and serene at Rancho del Socorro.”

“Your family,” she said wonderingly. “Your mother, who loves you so. Do they mean nothing?”

“Less than nothing. I hate them for stupid Mexicans who were diddled by a Frenchman. I hate that Frenchman, too, for causing me such a life out of an hour's amusement.”

Sickened for Carmencita, who, taking for granted her dutiful children, had loved this one best, grieved for Pedro, who'd been a father to him though he knew the truth, Talitha said coldly, “And if I don't make you foreman?”

“I'll take you away with me now, gather my comrades, destroy the ranch, and keep you as long as I choose.” Reflectively he added, “One of our men fancies young girls. He'd let Caterina and Paulita live a little while.”

She had to kill him, that was all. Had to find some way. Her rifle leaned against the boulder where her clothes were spread, and there were her bow and arrows, tantalizingly close; yet even if she could reach them, no use unless she could put a little distance between herself and Güero.

“I'll have you now,” he said, laughing as he swept her into his arms. “Perhaps seeing how much man I am will help you decide.”

She already had. She must agree to make him foreman, agree to be his woman, and then, when he wasn't expecting it, kill him. Belen would help her sneak the body to some place where it would never be found. Better for Carmencita to think her son had drifted off in his erratic way than to know the truth about him.

It was no use to fight. She would not give him that satisfaction. But when he tossed her clothes on the ground and lowered her upon them, pressing her down while he worked at his own clothes, the dread she'd kept at bay exploded. Kicking, writhing, she buried her teeth in his wrist and hung on as he swore. A blow loosed her hold, sent the world dark for a second. He was opening her mouth with his, forcing her knees apart.

A meaty thud, grinding on bone. A warm torrent drenched her. Red. Red everywhere, in her mouth, her nose, her eyes. She coughed, then struggled aside as Güero collapsed, blood pumping in jets from the side of his neck.

She looked up into the chill silver eyes of Judah Frost. But he was dead! She shut her eyes. He was still there when she looked up, cleaning the edge of a small ax before he tucked it into his belt. His thick silver hair gleamed, and as he stooped beside her she could see the black whisker stubs on his close-shaven jaw and chin.

“What, my darling?” He smiled, though no warmth lit those wintry eyes. “No thanks for rescuing you?”

“You—you—They found your body along the Devil's Road.”

He shook his smooth head. “
A
body. Some prospector the Areneños had already waylaid. Roasting his head so his face charred was ingenious, wasn't it? He was about my build and my clothes fit. A shame I had to kill Selim, though, to clinch the identification. That was a fine horse.”

The former scalp hunter had no doubt had more qualms about killing his valuable mount than in slaughtering women and children at Santiago's former home and in Tjúni's village.

Stunned, Talitha lay there, heedless of her nakedness, the dead man's blood drying on her. The brief fear she'd had of Güero was nothing compared to the horror she'd felt for this man since the time she'd met him, here, at this very spot, nine years ago.

“Full circle, love. When I saw your horse in the meadow, I was delighted to think we could have so poetical a reunion.” He grimaced at the slumped figure of the dead man. “Then I found his horse a little way up the cañon and I did you wrong, Talitha. I thought you had a lover. However, what I heard pass between you corrected that notion. Now, my sweet, wash that hideous mess away and give me thanks and a proper welcome.”

She might have known he was alive. The devil never dies. She felt unable to move, unable to accept his reappearance.

“Get up,” he said impatiently. “You'll have to wash your hair again, too.”

“Why have you come back?”

“Now, why do you think?”

She moaned and turned away, hiding her face. It was as if time had turned back a year and he were going to rape her in that shallow arroyo west of Pete Kitchen's ranch. She shrank away from him and tried to cling to the ground as he lifted her.

“I'm fastidious, my dear. You'll have to cleanse yourself before I kiss you.”

He set her in the basin. When she only stared at him dully, he made a smothered sound of exasperation and splashed her face, throat, and shoulders, then forced her head down and rinsed her hair.

“There, that's better.” He pulled her petticoat from beneath Güero's knees and dried her as much as possible. Slowly he drew her against him, set his hand at the back of her head, and lowered his mouth to hers.

It was like being enveloped by dark, heavy water, deprived of air and light. She could not see or feel or smell anything but him. He was filling her senses, drugging them.

Suddenly, amazingly, he let her go, supporting her when she would have fallen. “We have plenty of time.” The words, when she comprehended them, struck at something vulnerable beneath her frozen shield. “I don't want you when you have all the animation of a cedar post. Get dressed while I haul this carrion into the brush.”

Before he tugged at Güero, he got Talitha's weapons and kept them with him. “An enterprising man,” he said regretfully, returning from dragging the body into a tangle of hackberry. “I could have used him if he hadn't wanted you so badly.”

“You have much in common,” Talitha agreed, scrubbing blood from her skirt before she slipped it on over the damp petticoat. She was beginning to recover, to see Frost as an actual man, not an almost eerie superhuman. “You both have killed harmless, helpless people and have enjoyed inflicting yourselves on women who don't want you.”

“I assure you that's not my usual pattern,” Frost said, unmoved. “Most of my women are all too willing. They cloy, like Leonore, my poor, lamented wife. Perhaps that's why you've been an obsession with me since I met you as a spitfire child.”

She didn't answer, a great helplessness washing over her as he kicked dust over the dark, soaked earth. Shea was gone, and Marc. Who could help her against this man? She knew him too well to hope he'd come back without some means of bending her to his will. He motioned in front of him and waited till she started down the rocky way.