Sun God (38 page)

Struggling to keep up, Amy did not ask for his help. She knew he was waiting for her to do just that. Well, he would wait until hell froze over. She would make it through this hostile country under her own steam if it killed her.

She ignored him when, pausing on ridges above, he turned smugly to look back down at her. She paid him no mind when once he stretched out on a rim high above, pretending to be napping. She disregarded his implied warning that if she did not hurry, he would leave her behind.

But when her lungs were burning so she felt they would explode, and her legs were too weak to climb up one more ledge, Amy shouted up to him, “I am stopping. Feel free to go on without me.”

And she didn’t take one more step. She slumped down to the ground, leaned back against a smooth rock, and closed her eyes. She did not open them even when she heard him swiftly coming down toward her, dislodging pebbles as he descended.

Steeling herself, she laid her head back on the boulder, stretched her legs out straight, and yawned lazily.

Eyes closed, she knew the second he reached her. Felt the overpowering presence that caused the downy hair to lift on her forearms. She was determined to keep her eyes shut, even when she knew without doubt that he was standing directly before her, scowling at her.

But she couldn’t quite do it.

Tentatively she opened her eyes then gasped. He
was
standing over her. Almost on top of her. His moccasined feet were planted firmly on either side of her hips, arms at his sides. With her head back, she was looking directly at his groin.

While she helplessly stared, he slowly dropped into a crouch before her. Straddling her with his knees bent and widespread, he further directed her attention to the straining crotch of his buckskins.

Guiltily she tore her eyes away, annoyed by such blatant flaunting of his masculinity. When he lifted his hands and gripped the rock on either side of her, she was further irritated by a quick glimpse of the dark hair under his arms.

Angry and upset, she said, “You are suffocating me! Move back, damn you!”

“As soon as you agree to get on up the trail.”

“I’ll agree to nothing,” she told him, meeting his gaze.

“We’ll stay just as we are until you do.”

“No,” she said, “we will not.”

“Yes,” he assured her, “we will.”

“I don’t think so,” she replied confidently, knowing it was virtually impossible for anyone to remain in his uncomfortable position for long.

“I guarantee it,” he coolly assured her.

“We’ll see,” she said smugly.

“You’ll see,” he corrected her and remained crouched astride her.

And so began a foolish test of wills that would last for the next hour. Amy was miserable. A gust of hot wind blew a grain of sand into her left eye. She badly wanted to rub it but her hands were resting on her thighs with El Capitán’s hard buttocks poised not an inch above them. She didn’t dare risk brushing against him, so she was forced to sit there and suffer.

No sooner had her eye quit tearing than her nose began to itch. Then a drop of perspiration started at her hairline and slowly, maddeningly worked it ticklish way down the side of her face. When finally it dripped off her chin and she sighed with relief, she had a sneezing fit.

Through it all, Capitán Luiz Quintano remained as he was, not moving a muscle, seemingly in total comfort crouched there on his heels, spread knees and long arms enclosing her.

Amy finally conceded defeat.

“If you will kindly move off me, I’ll try to go on.”

By early afternoon they reached Persimmon Gap, one of the two small breaks through the rugged Santiagos. Leading the way, Luiz guided them into its wide mouth. A hundred yards inside, he stopped so abruptly that Amy, her head down, bumped into him.

Startled, she stopped short and said, “You trying to scare me half to death?”

“Quiet.” He laid his forefinger to his lips.

“What is it?”

“Be still,” he said. He dropped to his knees, leaned over, and laid an ear to the rocky ground. Frowning down at him, Amy didn’t dare make a sound. When he came to his feet, took hold of her elbow, and guided her swiftly toward the ribbed wall of the canyon, she felt her heart rise to her throat.

“Apaches?” she whispered anxiously, hurrying over the uneven floor of fallen boulders and loose gravel.

“Apache, singular,” he told her, “I heard only one horse. Likely they’ve sent out scouts all through the mountains and one has picked up our backtrail.”

They hid behind a tall sandstone outcropping, Luiz urging Amy into a narrow passageway between the high promontory and the gap’s rocky wall. After taking the packroll from his back, he tossed it behind her, drew out the Winchester, then left her there with the caution not to make a peep.

He scrambled up the sandstone spire and chose a spot where he was concealed but could see anyone entering the canyon. Soon Amy could hear the sound of horse’s hooves striking the rocky earth, drawing steadily closer. She sank farther back into her close-walled hideout, hunched her shoulders, pressed her hands between her knees, and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

She almost jumped out of her skin when Luiz came skidding down the hillock. Wordlessly he took her hand and pulled her from her hiding place, then reached for the pack.

Whispering, Amy said, “Have they seen us? Are they coming?”

“No Apaches,” he told her, handing her the Winchester and searching through the pack for a length of rope. “A horse. A wild horse.” He almost smiled then and added, “We’ll ride back to Orilla after all. Come on.”

Hurrying after him, Amy said skeptically, “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t catch a wild horse.”

“I can if you’ll just keep quiet.”

Lowering her voice, she said, “And even if you could, what good would it do? If it’s wild, we can’t ride it.”

He didn’t answer. They rounded the tall spire where they had hidden, coming back out into the main corridor of the gap. Luiz looked about, spotted a flat, overturned boulder large enough for them both. He took Amy’s arm and propelled her to it, lifted her atop its five-foot height, then climbed up and ordered her to lie flat on her stomach.

Immediately he stretched out on his belly beside her and within seconds the horse came fully into view. A red sorrel mare, she was as large as a stallion and looked every bit as powerful. Her mane hung in wild profusion over her sleek neck and her long tail swept the rocky ground.

The mare caught their scent and stopped immediately, fifty yards away. Amy, squinting at the shimmering horse in the distance, couldn’t believe it when Luiz puckered his full lips and produced a low whistle.

The mare’s ears went back flat against her head. Luiz whistled again and shot Amy a look when the curious mare trotted toward him. As the sorrel approached, she whickered nervously and Luiz began to talk to her in a low, crooning voice.

Inquisitive yet frightened, the mare stopped short when she was still twenty yards away. High nostrils flaring, eyes wild, she whinnied and tossed her head about, her body trembling with excitement.

While Amy lay completely still, Luiz continued to speak to the skittish mare, his voice low, encouraging, persuasive. The nervous sorrel stood her ground, would not come one step nearer. Urgently he chanted to her, gentling her, reassuring her.

Still she refused to move forward. Planting her feet firmly, she blew and snorted loudly while he continued with his litany of encouragement. Finally it worked. Slowly the mare came toward him, her big eyes watchful, her ears laid back.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Luiz praised, “come to me. I won’t hurt you. Come on, now. Let me pet you. I’m harmless, pretty girl.”

Amy watched, awestruck, as the jittery mare, as if she understood every word, pranced toward the man so commandingly beckoning to her. Though a little hesitant, the mare was plainly intrigued. Slowly she came prancing to him, but stopped thirty feet away, unsure, sensing danger.

With a swiftness that left the mare and Amy stunned, Luiz bounded to his knees, threw the rope, sailing the loop high into the air. Startled, the sorrel jumped sideways and stuck her head straight into it. When she realized she was caught, she went crazy with fear.

Luiz leapt down from the boulder and went to her, holding tightly to the rope, drawing the slack around his elbow. The sorrel reared and whinnied, her eyes walling, her entire body shuddering.

Rising to her knees, Amy watched while the competent horseman gentled the terrified mare. Within minutes Luiz had reined in all the rope’s slack and had his arm around the sorrel’s neck, patting her. His lips near her laid-back ear, he murmured softly, telling her that she was a proud and beautiful specimen and the last thing he wanted to do was harm her in any way.

As badly as they needed a horse to ride home, Amy found herself meanly hoping the big sorrel would not be swayed by his murmured words and gentle hands. Watching the pair, she told herself the wild, magnificent beast was one female who would put El Capitán in his place! Just let him try mounting her! He would quickly find himself bucked off to the rocky ground before he could put his full weight down. And the beautiful, untamed mare would race right out of the canyon, leaving him behind without a backward look!

Amy held her breath when Luiz, clinging to the mare’s thick mane, threw a long leg over and mounted her. The sorrel didn’t like it. She bucked frantically, neighed shrilly, snorted violently, and carried on something awful.

But the man on her bare back stayed with her, clamping his long legs around her expanded belly, holding tightly to rope and mane, refusing to let the lady unseat him.

“No,” Amy tonelessly murmured, “no … Don’t let him do this to you. Don’t you see he’s determined to make you his, to bend you to his will.”

It took a surprisingly short amount of time for Luiz to do just that. Not fifteen minutes after climbing on the sorrel’s bare back, the mare had stopped trying to buck him off. Praising her, Luiz rode her around in a wide circle, teaching her how to respond to the pull of the rope, the touch of his knee, showing her that he truly did not mean to hurt her.

When the mare was completely calm—completely his—he rode her over to the flat rock where Amy waited. With a touch of his right knee to the sorrel’s withers, he turned her and drew alongside the boulder.

One hand holding the rope, the other riding his thigh, he sat and looked at Amy, waiting for her to speak. Longing to smack that smug, dark face, she said nothing.

“Would you like to ride with me, or do you prefer to walk to Orilla?” he said, the tone of his voice leaving little doubt he would allow her to walk if she gave him any trouble.

Hating him for his eternal confidence, hating the foolish mare for falling so easily under his spell, hating herself for needing either one of them, Amy grudgingly nodded.

“I would like to ride,” she said.

“With me?”

“With you.”

The words had hardly passed her lips before her reached for her. While the docile mare swished her long tail, Luiz plucked Amy from the rock, sat her astride in front of him, and drew the packroll up and onto his back. He wheeled the sorrel about and the trio set out northward through Persimmon Gap.

If Luiz had expected any commendation for his almost miraculous act of capturing and quickly breaking the wild mare, he didn’t get it. Amy was totally silent, withholding any acknowledgment of his feat.

The vulnerable, boyish side of the dark, enigmatic
capitán
had halfway expected her to be impressed. He thought she would at least comment on his prowess, his expertise with horses.

Stung that she withheld even one word of praise, he told himself she was just being an obstinate bitch.
Como siempre.
As usual. No matter. If he so chose, she would be his, totally. If he wanted her to be. And, when he left her, she would beg him to stay.

A hint of a smile touched his lips and he thought confidently, I can break you just like I broke this beautiful mare, Mrs. Parnell.

For a change Amy was the one who read
his
mind. She knew exactly what he was thinking as if he had spoken it aloud.

“Never!” she coldly informed him, startling him so he jumped. “It will be a cold day in hell when you can break me, El Capitán!”

T
HINGS WENT FROM BAD
to worse.

No one could anger El Capitán as quickly and as completely as Amy Sullivan Parnell. And the fact that she could so anger him made him deathly afraid of her. And because he was deathly afraid of her, his anger grew fierce.

In turn, El Capitán’s fierce anger made Amy fear him. And the fact that she feared him made her furious.

So it was two angry, frightened people who rode the sorrel mare northward. As the mare carried them through the high-walled Persimmon Gap, neither spoke a word, though the thoughts running through their heads were identical.

Luiz, his jaw set, his narrowed black eyes on the trail ahead, told himself that he would
never
touch the golden-haired witch again.

Amy, chin jutting, teeth clenched, swore to herself that she would
never
allow the raven-haired bastard to touch her again!

Silent, they rode through the quiet afternoon. At sundown they camped on the flat rim of a
barranca.
Thirty feet below, at the ravine’s bottom, cold, clean water welled up from a spring. But neither Amy nor Luiz trusted each other—or themselves—enough to undress for a bath.

They spent a restless night, each finding it impossible to sleep. Clouds drifted over the moon, casting their hard bed into darkness. The wind rose to whine mournfully around rock outcroppings and through canyon crevices, rustling the thick chaparral, the sound eerie in the black silence.

Their progress was good the next day. When dawn broke over the mountains they rose and moved out, anxious to be on their way. By noon they left the Santiagos behind, stopped and ate alongside a small offshoot of Alamito Creek, dozed for an hour in the shade of a Cottonwood, then set out again.

It was sunset when they reached the tall pink palisades bordering Fort Davis. Fifty yards out, Luiz pulled up on the mare, but they remained mounted. Amy, staring at the ruins of the once-bustling fort, spoke for the first time in twenty-four hours.