Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance (19 page)

“Aren’t we taking a big risk attending a fiesta here? Suppose there is somebody who saw you in the cantina?”

“One of the bandits?” he asked in surprise. “Why would they be guests here?”

“I don’t know. I just thought I recognized a man I saw earlier.”

“Who was he?” Tucker asked, puzzled at the revelation.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t know. Rosalita said that everybody in the territory will be here. I only caught a glimpse of him. But I’m worried. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Look, Raven, I escaped a necktie party the last time I was here. I’m not a bit worried this trip. I’m a respectable married man now.”

“Yes, you are,” she said shyly, holding out her hand. “You’ve never said, Tucker. Have you ever been married?”

Tucker took her hand, allowing her to draw him down to the bed. “Not likely. I never stayed in one place long enough.”

“Indians travel from place to place, moving their camp to find food and water, but they marry.”

“But I’m not an Indian.”

She gave him a long, searching look, then, as if satisfied at what she saw, she slipped her fingers inside his and brought his hand to her lips. “Does it matter that I am part Indian, Tucker?”

When she kissed his knuckles, he blanched, unable to believe the intense wave of need that swept over him. “Don’t be foolish.” He drew his hand away.

“Good.”

“Now,” he continued, taking charge of the situation, “don’t worry about the party tonight. I think we deserve a night of fun before we look for the treasure again. We’ll eat too much and dance too—”

Raven let out a wistful sigh. “I don’t think so, Tucker. I’ll attend the fiesta and I’ll watch you and all the eager young señoritas, but I doubt I’ll do much dancing.”

“Then neither will I,” he said with firm resolve. “But you won’t be going if you don’t get some rest. The evening doesn’t begin until late, so I want you to take a nice long nap.”

He stood up and turned purposefully toward the door, then retraced his steps. “Raven,” he whispered. Then he kissed her, lightly, tenderly, before he left the room.

Once Tucker shut the door, Raven wanted to jump out of bed and go after him. Then, just as quickly, she wanted to cry. Tucker might be reassured, but everything about her usual calm demeanor was unsettled. To her surprise, being alone was just as bad as having him beside her. The ache of wanting him was like an annoying catch in her side that refused to go away.

She didn’t expect to sleep, but she did. When she was finally awakened by a knock on the door, the afternoon sun was low in the sky.

“Are you ready to dress, señora?” Rosalita entered the room with some brightly colored fabric draped over her arm. “The señora thought you might like to borrow a Spanish dress for the fiesta. This belongs to her daughter.”

Raven fingered the red blouse that matched the bold designs of the skirt. A pair of matching sandals, a fringed shawl, and combs and ribbons for her hair completed the ensemble.

“I don’t know. Are you certain that the other guests will be dressed like this?” She hoped her question didn’t give away her ignorance. She’d never worn such colorful garments.

“Oh yes, señora. You will be beautiful.”

Before Raven could change her mind, Rosalita had produced a ruffled petticoat and undergarments. With the
young servant’s assistance, Raven donned the bright garments. The banker was right. She no longer looked like an Arapaho. She looked like a Spanish lady.

“Let me arrange your hair,” Rosalita insisted, drawing up the front sections and anchoring them firmly with the Spanish comb. “Now, some color for your cheeks and lips, and a fan.”

Raven looked at herself in the mirror and gasped. The face looking back at her was nothing like the Alexander sister who’d left Denver and even less familiar than the Indian girl who’d left the train for Santa Fe.

With Rosalita to lean on, Raven started toward the door. At the head of the stairs, she caught sight of Tucker looking up at her, his face frozen in surprise.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Uh—no. It’s just that you’re—you’re even more lovely than before, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

If he thought she looked different, her transformation was nothing compared to the change in him. He was wearing a short black jacket, trousers with a red stripe down the side, and a matching red silk shirt. His hair, still damp from his bath, was drying in curls across his forehead and around his face. The blue of his eyes had heightened, catching the light of the candles in the corridor and reflecting them like stars.

“You can walk?” he asked.

“I can hobble,” she admitted, trying to conceal the pain of her weight against the bad ankle.

“Not tonight.” He climbed the stairs, lifting her in his arms as easily as if he’d never been hurt.

“Your ribs?” she whispered.

“Didn’t bother you before, when you were tormenting me on the upward climb. Besides,” he countered and walked down the stairs, “they’ve missed you.”

Outside, the sound of horns and guitars broke across
the courtyard, followed by laughter, a clicking in rhythm with the music, and the clapping of hands.

“Señora Farrell.” Mayor Hildalgo came forward to take her hand and plant a kiss across her knuckles. “You are truly a Spanish lady now. Come and watch our daughter and her fiancé dance for our guests.”

Candles graced every surface of the courtyard, including the outer walls. Colorful paper animals hung from the trees, and blindfolded children with long sticks were poking at them.

“Who are the children?”

“They belong to our friends and the workers on the ranchero. Everybody is welcome at a fiesta.”

Raven wanted to ask what they were doing, but held back for fear of revealing her deception. Fascinated with the picture of color and movement everywhere, she commented instead, “They look as if they are having a grand time.”

“My wife makes certain that the animals contain many toys and candies. Once the children break through the paper shell and the candies fall to the ground, you’ll really see them scrambling.”

From the back of the house, brightly dressed servants, led by Rosalita, brought great trays of food and drink to every table. Suddenly the music stopped and two dancers burst into the center of the courtyard. The woman was petite, very young, and beautiful in her ruffled yellow and red satin dress and Spanish combs. The man, also small in stature, was dark skinned and handsome. He was dressed like Tucker, except his clothing was solid black.

The man and woman positioned themselves before Señor and Señora Hildalgo’s table, as if waiting for a signal to begin.

“Good evening, Padre,” the young woman said, her eyes full of joy.

“You will honor us with a dance, my
querida
?” he asked, pride bursting from his face.

“Si, if you permit.”

“Then dance, Evita.”

Moments later the slow staccato music and the sultry movements of the dancers began. Teasing, rejecting, showing their desire with their bodies and their faces, the young couple moved their feet in time with the click of something the woman was holding between her fingers.

As if they were enacting the mating game of two wild creatures, she tempted and tantalized the man until at last he caught her and jerked her to him. The tempo increased, pulling Raven along. She didn’t move. She didn’t have to. Her inner spirit embraced the feeling and the rhythm. At the height of the dance, she realized she was holding her breath. Letting it out in a long stream, she glanced at Tucker, who wasn’t even pretending to watch the dancers. His gaze melded to hers.

He was such a glorious man, every inch of him male, every inch of him caught up in the mood of the occasion. He would never tease as the dancer was doing. He’d take what he wanted with the force of his desire and make the woman want it just as badly.

Raven’s heart raced. Her blood pounded in her ears and suddenly it was happening again. Though there was a space between them, she could feel his touch. The music grew wilder. The other guests watching began to blur, and she could feel Tucker’s breath against her hair, the heat of his body hot against her.

And she knew as she looked at him that he felt it too. His lips parted and he drew in a long heated breath. Then he smiled and she felt her heart lurch.

“Not now, Spirit Woman,” he said, though he never moved his lips. “Our time will come, but not yet.”

And she felt the response of her body. The quick, hot
pulsing of her blood seared under her skin and made her feel as if she were on fire.

The music and the dancing made normal conversation impossible. Raven leaned closer to Tucker. “What is it called?” she asked, not so much to know the answer, but to hear his voice.

“The fandango,” he answered, his mouth only inches from her ear.

They were talking about the dance, but Raven knew that their thoughts were on each other. She wanted this man in a way that she’d never known. And he wanted her as well. Tonight she couldn’t think about the future. She could only think about being here, with Tucker.

She shivered.

He moved his chair closer to prevent others from hearing their conversation. “It’s the dance of courtship.”

“And seduction,” she added in a breathless voice.

Tucker’s eyes, now black as midnight, never blinked. “They’re the same, aren’t they?”

“No. One is for the moment. The other is forever.”

Then the frenzy of the music came to a climactic ending when the dancer dropped to his knee. His partner haughtily slapped him across his cheek with her fan and dramatically turned her back.

“Not always,” Tucker said, his expression turning dark and dangerous. “Sometimes it leads to rejection.”

Tucker and Raven met the bride, who was polite and gracious but who only had eyes for the man she was to marry. Her fiancé was pleasant to Raven, but seemed particularly interested in Tucker, though he didn’t linger to talk. Tucker and Raven shared in the rich, spicy food and the wine, which flowed generously, signifying the banker’s prosperity and position.

Raven knew she was out of her element here. She resented being diverted from her mission. She would have preferred to remain in her room, but it was impossible to watch the dancers and listen to the lively music without being drawn into the joy of the young couple. Their happiness set off an odd kind of longing in Raven.

Now that she understood what they were feeling, it was even harder to ignore the smoldering excitement that arced between her and the handsome blond man who was so attentive to her needs. He towered over every other man there. Both his size and his coloring set him apart.

He was simply looking at her now, a sappy smile plastered across his lips.

“You don’t act like a husband,” she hissed.

“I don’t know what a husband acts like,” he countered, “but from what I can see of the ones here, you’re right, I don’t.”

“What does that mean?” She opened her fan and hid her smile behind it as she leaned forward.

“They seem to be talking with other husbands instead of their wives.”

“Maybe you’d better do that,” Raven suggested, leaning even closer.

“Not when you’re dressed like this.” He put his hand on her arm and slid it behind her neck, her closeness allowing him to glance down the top of her blouse. “They must all be blind.”

This time Raven blushed and moved the fan to cover her breasts. “Are you always so honest?”

He shook his head. “I rarely say what I think. Especially with a woman. That gets you into hot water.” He moved his chair closer to her so that he could whisper in her ear.

“But tonight I’ll be honest. You’re the most beautiful woman here.”

“Stop that, Tucker!”

He brushed his lips against her cheek and moved down to her neck.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “but the music is so loud I can’t hear you.”

He pulled one of the flowers from her hair, kissed it, and tucked it between her breasts. He didn’t have to say that he wished his lips could be there instead. It was like being in a waking dream, except this was no dream. She felt as if every eye in the courtyard were on her. She couldn’t be still.

“The bride is lovely,” she said, trying to force his attention elsewhere.

“Not as lovely as you.”

“Tucker, don’t do this. I can hardly breathe.”

“It’s your fault for wearing that dress. You’re laced up like a Christmas goose. Every man here is practically overheating. Didn’t you know what would happen?”

She hadn’t known. Not until he looked at her. He’d been practically devouring her with his eyes ever since. Nervously she tugged at the top, pulling it higher, only to take a breath and see it slide down again.

“Please, don’t talk like that. I don’t know what to say. You’re making me feel so strange.” She fanned herself. “I’m getting very warm. Would you get me something cool to drink, a cup of punch perhaps?”

“Of course. But that won’t cool you, Mrs. Farrell.” Lazily, as if he knew she was watching every move, he came to his feet and started across to the refreshment table.

All eyes shifted from Raven to Tucker, all except one man’s. Raven spotted him again, the stranger she’d seen before. And he was looking at her as if she had two heads. He was leaning awkwardly against one of the posts supporting the balcony outside Raven’s room, looking very uncomfortable.