The Heavenly Surrender (32 page)

Genieva closed her eyes as Brevan’s delicious mouth blessed her own with a coveted kiss. His kiss was laced with so much restrained passion, she could only guess at what the liberation of its full potency would generate. And his words held true—for the unendurable doubts in her fevered mind ceased as their affectionate exchange intensified. Gradually, Brevan seemed to untether his own restraints. As he let his body cover hers, Genieva became the enraptured recipient of his kiss in its full, unshackled, amorous fervor. His emotion spoke to her soul, and she knew, though he had not uttered it literally, that she owned his heart. He kissed her cheek lingeringly, brushing the remaining tears from her face as he at last spoke the assurance she’d so yearned to hear for such a long, long time.

“It’s love that I have for ya, Genieva. The powerful, eternal kind of love that a man has for a woman who makes him want to live his life for nothin’ else…for no other reason but the fact that he has her,” he whispered. “I love ya, I do.”

Genieva smiled as a final teardrop streaked her tender temple. “I love you, Brevan,” she told him, thrilling at the gratified smile spreading across his handsome face.

“Ya’ve said it to me then,” he whispered. “And now ya’re mine, are ya? Now? This night? Entirely?” he asked, still hesitant.

“Entirely yours, Brevan,” she assured him, reaching up to place a small hand against his unshaven face.

He smiled once more as his gaze fell to her mouth. Letting his thumb trace the pretty outline of her lips, he repeated, “Entirely mine,” before lavishing her again with passionate, fevered kisses accompanying the profound, shared love they surrendered to then in each other’s arms.

Chapter Fourteen

The winsome song of the meadowlarks lifted Genieva from her deep, contented slumber. The warmth of an early autumn morning met her as she slowly opened her eyes to the bright sunshine already streaming through the open window. The sun’s light, coupled with the soft billows of the lace curtains at the window, painted lovely shadows on the walls.

She was not surprised to find Brevan had already left their bed to begin his day—for he was not one to oversleep. She was, however, delightedly astonished to find the largest, reddest, and shiniest apple she had ever in her life seen lying on the pillow next to hers. A small bouquet of wild daisies accompanied it, and she smiled, elated by the tender thoughtfulness of her husband.

Sitting up, she took the delicate flowers in one hand, brushing them lovingly across her cheek as she bit into the juicy sweetness of the apple. Her gaze fell then to the bed, and she placed a hand to her bosom, gasping as she realized the tattered quilt that was Brevan’s usual and familiar bed covering had been replaced—replaced by the lovely quilt the women of the town had labored over months before beneath the fragrant blossoms now bearing abundant fruit in the orchard.

It was too much—too sweet and tender—too loving. Genieva tossed the covers aside and dashed down the hall to her room. She dressed quickly—though she was irritated with the time it took to lace her boots—for she must find Brevan at once. She must let him know what his attention to her morning waking had meant to her. As she tied the last bow of her boot securely, she heard heavy footsteps enter through the front door.

Dashing into the kitchen, the daisies and apple core firmly in hand, she called, “Oh, Brevan! You’re so…” The words caught in her throat, however. For before her, in her very own kitchen, stood Cruz Archuleta. His nauseating smile curled his lips as he studied her from head to toe. The young man she recognized as his brother Mateo entered the house behind him, accompanied by two other vaqueros. Genieva was immediately aware that Mateo seemed uncertain, hesitant. When he removed his hat politely and nodded at her, she shook her head in wonderment—for it was only then she knew his age to be no more than sixteen.

Looking to Cruz defiantly, though her fears were mounting, Genieva ordered, “Get out of this house.” But Cruz only chuckled. He knew all too well her extreme disadvantage.

“Where is your hombre, Mrs. McLean?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

“He’s just outside. He’s no doubt heard you approach, and if you value your life, you had better leave,” Genieva answered, trying to sound as confident in Brevan’s supposed nearness as she could.

“He is not too near,” Cruz corrected her. “He is out in the orchard. I know. We watched him leave this morning, just a time ago. We waited until he was far enough from you.” Cruz walked to where Genieva stood, stopping so close to her she could smell his reeking breath, already heavy with the stench of liquor even so early in the day. “Him. This Brevan McLean. He is a coward. He should not have such a woman as you. He is not man enough for you. I am right, yes?”

“No,” Genieva growled. “If he finds you here…if you touch me…he’ll kill you. I’m warning you for the last time to leave this house.”

The brutal force of the back of Cruz’s hand as he struck Genieva violently sent her plunging to the floor. She watched as her precious flowers and apple remains flew from her hands to scatter across the floor. She lay for several moments in shock before dabbing with her fingers at the cut Cruz’s rough knuckles had left across her soft cheek. Looking up at him, she knew complete and frightful dread. As his smile broadened, she again understood his intention—absolutely understood it.

“Don’t you dare to touch me,” Genieva warned through clenched teeth. But the villain only laughed as he reached down, taking hold of the front of her bodice and pulling her to her feet once more.

“Touch you?” he mocked. “I’ll do more than touch you, señora!” Genieva gasped as another painful blow was dealt to the other side of her face.

“What are you doing, Cruz?” Mateo exclaimed.

Cruz looked over his shoulder for an instant. He growled, “I was right, Mateo. She is here. Alone.”

Genieva, though aching from the abuse dealt her by Cruz, did not miss the opportunity allotted her and, summoning all her strength, shoved Cruz, causing him to lose his balance and stumble backward. He caught hold of her wrist, however, and she was unable to pull free of him.

“Mateo,” Cruz mumbled as he pulled Genieva’s body flush with his own, “she is bonita, no?”

“Cruz,” Mateo began, his insecurity and hesitation all the more apparent, “Cruz, let’s go. Ven conmigo.”

Cruz only chuckled. Taking hold of Genieva’s chin tightly, his fingers tortured the wound at her cheek as they squeezed it mercilessly. Genieva cried out as Cruz forced her to the floor, pressing her bleeding cheek to the wood planks.

“Let the hombre see
that
when he comes back, mí amigos! It is good, Mateo, no?” The two vaqueros chuckled. Yet when there came no reply from his brother, Cruz stood, releasing Genieva for a moment and turning to face his sibling. “Answer me when I talk to you, hermano! It will make him loco with anger, Mateo! It is good, no?” Genieva’s fingers again went to her wounded cheek, pressing on it in a pointless effort to stop the throbbing pain there. She drew her fingers from her face, studying for a moment her own blood, moist and red on them.

Then, seeing perhaps one last opportunity, Genieva reached out, taking hold of Cruz’s boots and pulling at them as hard as she could. Her efforts were successful, and Cruz lost his footing, falling against his brother for a moment before ending on the floor. With only moments to act, Genieva dashed into her room, slammed the door shut, and dropped the heavy bolting board across it. Almost immediately, Cruz began shouting angrily in his native language as he pounded on the door. Knowing it would be a matter of mere moments before he broke the door down, Genieva rushed to the window. Struggling for a moment to release the latch, she opened the window and, wriggling through it, plummeted to the ground outside.

She knew Cruz would think of the window, perhaps deciding to enter her room by way of it. Thus, without pause, she ran—ran toward the orchards, knowing Brevan would be there—ever her safety.

“You will not escape me!” Cruz shouted as he struggled to follow her through the open window. But the window was small, and it was not as simple for his bulky form to slip through it. “Ándele! Get her!” he ordered over his shoulder.

As Genieva reached the orchard and began calling Brevan’s name, she heard the angry pounding of horse hooves and knew that Cruz would overtake her quickly.

“Brevan!” she screamed desperately as she ran between the trees, slipping once on a wind-fallen apple. “Brevan!” She paused for a moment, looking about frantically. But her protector was nowhere within her vision. He did not answer her call for him. Brevan was not in the orchard. As she looked back to see Cruz astride his horse—the others behind him, fighting at the tree branches hanging low and heavy with fruit—she realized that were she to escape, it would be her own doing.

The orchards and wind-fallen fruit indeed helped to slow the approach of Cruz and his accomplices. Staying close to the trees, for Cruz had not yet caught sight of her, Genieva made her way through the orchard and into the open. Pausing for only a moment to think, she remembered the rocky, hilled area to the north of the property. She had been there only once—on a day when she had needed to chase down a young calf that had strayed. But it was rocky and full of concealing crevasses, impossible to traverse on a horse or any means other than on foot. Hoping the orchards would continue to irritate and confuse the men for a time, she ran on. Her lungs burned—her legs ached with the strain of the sprint—but still she ran. As she neared the edge of the rocky hills, she could again hear the mad pounding of horses’ hooves and the angry shouting of Cruz. Looking over her shoulder only once before leaping atop the first large rock, she felt tears finally begin to flood her cheeks. She knew all too well what her fate would be if the man who hated her husband so were to capture her. Quickly she began to climb among and over the large rocks in her path.

“The horses will not follow,” she heard Mateo shout to his brother. But she knew that Cruz would. She only hoped she could hide herself from his sight quickly and well. It was her only chance of escape—of eluding a morbid fate. But Cruz, unhampered by bulky skirts and petticoats, was able to climb more nimbly and quickly. Genieva screamed as she felt his hand take hold of her ankle. Kicking at him with her free foot, the heel of her boot hit him squarely in the nose. It administered enough pain to him to cause him to release her ankle. As she neared the top of the first hill, the realization struck her that she had never viewed the other side of the formation. What if there were no more rocks to hide among? No more chances of escape? As she reached the summit, she cried out in frustration—for the hill did, indeed, flatten out for some distance before dropping off again.

“I’ll kill you when I’m done with you!” Cruz shouted from behind her.

Genieva looked back to see him scrambling up the rocks toward her, his nose bleeding profusely. With no other path before her, she pushed on, running across the summit. Suddenly, there was a thunderous crashing as Genieva felt the ground give way beneath her. Her body was wracked with pain, and darkness enveloped her. Genieva had fallen, and fallen far. As she pressed her hands to her temples to lessen the mad pounding in her head, she looked up to see sunlight streaming through an opening some twelve feet above her. Her left hip throbbed fiercely. She sensed that, miraculously, nothing was broken. She looked up once more to the sunlight entering through the opening above. As she had feared, Cruz now loomed above her, blocking most of the sun’s light, peering down into the darkness. He uttered something she couldn’t understand, and then Mateo joined him in looking into the pit.

“Is she down there?” Mateo asked.

“It is too dark to see clearly. But I think she is there, sí,”
Cruz answered his brother. Genieva sat very still. The pit was too dark and deep for them to see her clearly, but she knew she mustn’t move.

“I’ll go for rope,” one of the vaqueros offered.

“No!” Cruz shouted. “McLean will be back too soon. We leave her. If she is dead…she is dead. It is a long fall to the bottom, but such a strong woman would not be killed by such a simple fall. She lives…We will return for her. Vamos.”

“But what if she climbs out?” one of the men asked.

Cruz chuckled. “She won’t. It is a good prison down there, and no one will think to look here for her. We’ll come back when there is the darkness of night.” Raising his voice, he shouted into the pit, “Do you hear me, niña? You have nothing to fear. I will come back for you later!”

“
We cannot leave without finding out if she is hurt or…” Mateo began.

“We will leave!” Cruz shouted. “The woman has caused enough trouble for me. And I know this way…if I cannot have her…well, then neither can McLean.”

“
Cruz,” Mateo argued. “You said we were only going to frighten McLean. You said nothing about harming the woman, but now I know you want to…”

“Cállate!” Cruz shouted. “And you will say nothing to Papá about this! Do you hear me, hermano? Nothing!”

They were gone quickly, and Genieva was left alone—safe for the moment. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness within her prison, and she began to look about, gasping when she saw the dead and rotted carcass of an animal lying only a few feet away. Judging from the skull and length of the leg bones, she surmised it had been a cow. She pitied the animal for the suffering it may have endured if the fall had not killed it.

The ground was damp, and the musty smell of the enclosure tickled Genieva’s nostrils, causing her to sneeze several times in succession. There were masses of spiderwebs everywhere and insects of every sort caught fatally in them. As she looked about, Genieva noticed that large wooden beams lined the sides of the pit and ceiling around the hole through which she had fallen. Common sense told her she had fallen into an old mining shaft of some kind. Yet seeing no other beams of light before or after her as she peered into the endless darkness, she knew it would be pointless to try to venture in either direction without a lantern.