Once A Wolf (30 page)

common words back and forth in both languages—including "vaca" and "cow," accompanied by

much posturing and appropriate animal cries.

It was nothing like what she'd done in England. She had taught tenants' children on her

brother's estate, as many young English gentlewomen did. It was a part of the duty those of her

rank owed the less fortunate.

Duty, order, normality. Those had always been her watchwords. In England her place among

the tenants and their children was firmly established. She was accustomed to the respect and

awe with which they regarded her, their unquestioning obedience.

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Here, she had no place but what Tomás had made for her or what she made for herself. She

was neither fine lady nor wealthy aristocrat. The children were not dependent upon her, nor

did they hold her in any particular awe.

So she found herself gradually forgetting all the careful formalities she had planned to establish.

She laughed helplessly when Miguel imitated a bleating sheep, or when Gertrudis showed

remarkable flair for imitating Tomás's swagger. She beamed with pride when Pilar gravely

congratulated her for correctly pronouncing a new Spanish word. And she reflected, again and

again, how much these untutored children already knew of life and happiness in spite of their

disadvantages.

Did Tomás have any idea who they truly were, or what they were capable of?

Tomás. She glanced toward the window. He'd better return soon with the fabric and patterns

she'd requested, if he didn't wish to hear her very pointed thoughts on his delinquency.

She touched her hot cheeks. No. She and Tomás could never return to that peculiar raillery that

had made up so much of their conversation since her kidnapping. She had come to realize,

during his absence, how used to it she'd grown. She had even begun to enjoy it.

But the time at the waterfall had changed everything. An important barrier had been breached;

she had breached it with her carelessness and unconsciously wanton behavior. She had

encouraged him to take liberties. The only way she could mend the chasm between them was

to begin with words: cool formality and absolute courtesy. She must at all times keep her

distance and reserve with Tomás, regardless of how much he provoked her. The children gave

her a perfect reason to discuss things with him in a reasonable manner.

To wish for his swift return was sheer foolishness. And she'd made little headway in finding a

reasonable exit from the canyon. Esperanza no longer accompanied her on the morning and

evening excursions up and down the canyon floor; the girl had grown almost reclusive since the

waterfall incident. Rowena felt somehow to blame. For the child to witness such a shocking

lapse on the part of her mentor… no wonder she avoided Rowena's company.

At least Sim Kavanagh had left the same day as his master, and could not trouble Esperanza in

her solitude.

Turning away from the window, Rowena clapped her hands. "Atencion, ninos! It is time for

Nestor and me to read to you from Little Women."

The children stopped their work and play with varying degrees of alacrity and settled cross-

legged on the packed earth floor. Pilar sat at the foot of Rowenas chair, her round face turned

up like a flower toward the sun.

Rowena began to read. At the end of each sentence, she paused for Nestor to translate the

words into Spanish and watched as magic worked in the minds of the children. Somehow she

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must find more books for them, in their own language as well as English. There was so much of

the world to show them.

Her gaze drifted from the page. She wouldn't be here long enough to make a real difference in

their lives—just as Tomás, in spite of his efforts, could make no difference in hers.

"Senorita?"

She started at the sound of Nestor's voice and found her place again. " 'Call yourself any names

you like, but I am neither a rascal nor a wretch and I don't choose to be called—' "

The front door burst open before she could finish the sentence. Enrique ran in, out of breath

and flush-faced.

"Esta de vuelta! Don Tomás ha regresado!"

Any hope of order in the classroom was lost as the children bounced up from their places.

Rowena remained frozen in her chair.

Tomás. Tomás has returned.

She tried to prepare herself. She thought she had reasonable control of her face and manner

when Tomás walked in the door a minute later.

He looked just as she remembered. Why should he be any different? He was still handsome,

dashing, lithe as the predator he was. And just as shameless.

In his arms he carried a large canvas bag, which he set down in the middle of the floor with an

air of drama.

"I've been to town, muchachos," he said, ignoring Rowena.

A series of happy shrieks greeted his words. Like a little flock of mudlarks, the children pounced

on the sack. Tomás scattered them with a gentle sweep of his hands.

"Con cuidado, muchachos. I have a present for each of you." From the depths of the sack he

produced what he'd promised: toys for each of the children, including a pair of plain but well-

made dolls, a top, a rubber ball, and a handful of wooden soldiers. Each one found its way into

the eager grasp of a child. Even Pilar, who hung back, received one of the dolls. She gazed at it

as if it were an undreamed-of luxury from some exotic land. Chattering and laughing, the

children tumbled out into the plaza.

Rowena had sworn to herself that she wouldn't be the first to speak, that she would greet

Tomás's return with complete disinterest. Let him accuse her of deception if he wished. Let him

try to impress her with his generosity to the children, belated as it was. She would not be

moved.

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Quickly she got up and went to the window. Two people were talking several yards away, just

out of her hearing. She recognized Esperanza—and Sim Kavanagh.

He'd wasted no time in bedeviling her again. Clenching her jaw, Rowena turned and strode for

the door.

"Don't you want to know what I have for you in my magic bag, mi alma?"

She stopped. Tomás stood right behind her. If she turned too swiftly, she'd all but fall into his

arms.

She pressed her back to the open door and faced him warily. "Unless you've brought the fabric I

asked for the children—"

"But I have." He reached into the sack again and withdrew a paper-wrapped bundle, and then

another, and a third. He cut the strings with his knife and tore open the paper. Fabric tumbled

free—strong, practical broadcloth and calico, one bolt printed with tiny flowers, perfectly

suited for a little girl's frock. He draped the lengths of fabric over the table and piled the rest of

his bounty on top: patterns, thread, needles, all she could possibly require to provide the

children with sturdy, simple clothing.

She swallowed the sudden thickness in her throat. "I suppose you stole all of this."

Tomás touched his chest above his heart. "How good it is to come back to your gracious words

of welcome, señorita," he said. "But I'm afraid I must disappoint you. I used no theft or trickery

in obtaining what you see. All this I was given, or purchased in the usual way."

With stolen money, Rowena thought. She bit her lip until she lost the urge to speak. Courtesy.

Formality. Give neither him nor yourself a single excuse…

"Then both I and the children owe you thanks," she said, inclining her head.

"The children are too busy for gratitude," Tomás said, pointing his chin toward the open door

with a wry smile. "But I'll accept yours willingly."

She stepped over the threshold. "If you'll excuse me, there is something I must see to."

By the time she reached the place where she'd observed Esperanza and Kavanagh, both were

gone. She shaded her eyes and looked up and down the canyon.

"Who are you looking for?"

The increasingly familiar tingling in her body had already warned her of Tomás's approach, but

worry lowered her defenses. "Esperanza has been behaving oddly for the past several days."

"And you are concerned about her."

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"Shouldn't I be—especially when Kavanagh continues to annoy her?"

Tomás frowned. "I've spoken with him about this. Perhaps I must do so again. More firmly."

She relaxed a little. "I'm glad you see the necessity of keeping such a man under control."

He kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot. "Nestor tells me that you've been busy while I was

away."

"Since you left without any indication of when you might return, I felt it best to find myself

some useful occupation."

"Teaching the children." His gaze slid up to hers, warm with approval. "Nestor says they are

learning very quickly because of your patience. Now it is I who must be grateful to you, for

taking such good care of my people."

It was difficult not to let herself be affected by the honest admiration in his words. "Any decent

person would wish to help."

"Why, dulzura, is it so hard for you to accept thanks?" The back of his hand brushed hers, as if

by accident. "Just as you won't accept the pleasures your body knows are its due." His breath

teased her ear. "I thought of you every night while I was gone, mi cielo. I couldn't forget a single

moment in the pool, when you almost gave yourself to me."

His suggestive words no longer had the power to shock her, but his touch was more than she

could bear. She had learned what it felt like to be aroused. Erotic images filled her mind again,

made inescapable by their reality. She had been in that pool. She had nearly given herself to

him…

"You have not said you missed me, but your body cannot lie," he said. His hand came to rest on

her hip, curving about it possessively. "I can feel what you feel. I smell it in your scent. If I were

to invite you to my bed, your mouth would say no, but your body would say yes."

Yes. The wolf within her howled in unholy joy.

She took it firmly by the scruff of its imaginary neck and bid it be silent.

"I thought you said you'd make me beg for it, señor Tomás," she said.

His hand jerked from her hip. She caught the dazed surprise on his face before he smoothed his

expression into one of indolent amusement.

"So I did," he said. "Thank you for reminding me."

"You're welcome. And since you are a man of your word, I think perhaps you ought to find your

friend Kavanagh and remind him to leave Esperanza alone."

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There was a peculiar light in his eye that belied his easy posture. She could have sworn it was

anger—genuine anger that came from being thwarted—and… hurt. Could El Lobo be hurt?

"Don't you want to know if I saw your precious Cole MacLean while I was away shopping?" he

asked.

With a jolt of guilt she realized she hadn't thought of Cole once in the past several days. Of

escape, yes, but not of returning to her fiancé. His face was already becoming frighteningly dim

in her memory.

"Did you?" she said, covering her confusion.

"No, but I saw the men he hired to find you." He laughed. "Fools, every one of them."

"If you had come face to face with Mr. MacLean himself, I doubt that you would be standing

here now."

He grew very still. "Are you so anxious to see me dead?"

The question hung in silence, as terrible as a blow. It was not what she had meant… not that

Cole would kill him, only that he would be facing retribution for his crimes, as all lawbreakers

must.

Now all Rowena could see was Tomás's body, sprawled dead upon the ground at Cole's feet, his

joy in living ended, his laughter forever silenced.

"No," she whispered.

In the space of a heartbeat she felt a stunning transformation in the emotional current flowing

between them. Desire, lust, anger, suspicion—all were swept away by something far more

intense. It was as if they had both forgotten every feeble defense they used against each

other… against the fearsome prospect of an intimacy, not of the body, but of the soul.

Rowena was too transfixed to remember why she should be afraid. She couldn't look away

from Tomás's eyes and what she saw within them. Slowly she lifted her hand.

Tomás drew in a breath and let it out again. He raised his hand to take hers. His skin was hot as

with fever.

"Thank you." His voice was hardly more than a croak. It startled them both; the bizarre spell

was shattered. Tomás flashed his teeth and pumped her hand up and down with hearty

goodwill.

"Thank you," he repeated mockingly. "I'm grateful to know that you find me more interesting

alive than dead." He let go of her hand and backed away. "I fear I won't be able to attend you at