Touch the Wind (11 page)

A word of thanks started to form on her lips until she remembered what Laredo had told her before. He was only following orders. So she flexed her stiff fingers and said nothing. Sheathing his knife, Laredo walked to the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked with a slight toss of her head, trying not to show her apprehension at being left alone with the renegade leader.

Laredo paused, glancing from Sheila to his boss, then back again to her. “To take care of the horses.”

He walked out and her gaze ricocheted from the pair of glinting, dark eyes. She had the uncanny sensation that he was reading her mind and pivoted away. Her spine prickled with awareness. Sheila wasn’t surprised when she heard him speak only a foot behind her.

“
Señora
.” The low, commanding tone was accompanied by a hand appearing alongside of her to motion her toward the hallway.

It branched into two rooms. He indicated with a gesture for Sheila to enter the last room. Surveying it, she guessed it was to be her new prison. The monk-like cell consisted of an uncomfortable-looking cot, a crude dresser with a basin and water urn on top of it, and a chair. A coarsely woven curtain in a dull orange material hung at the lone window.

Her sweeping gaze stopped at the rectangular mirror hanging above the dresser. Sheila stared at her reflection in shock. She looked like a haggard tramp. Her face was streaked with grime and sweat. Her hair was matted and straggly, its glossy sheen hidden beneath clotting layers of dust. The dusty serape covering her made her figure seem shapeless.

Unconsciously, Sheila touched a hand to her cheek, as if to be certain the reflection she saw really belonged
to her. She felt the grit that coated her usually creamy-smooth complexion. It awakened the rest of her senses to the filth that soiled the rest of her body and the stench of perspiration and horse odor that clung to her skin and clothes. She barely looked human and turned from the mirror in distaste.

“Is there somewhere I can clean up?” Sheila asked quickly.

Not a flicker of understanding crossed the carved mask of his features. Sheila sighed impatiently, wondering how she was going to get her request through to him.

“I want to wash. Do you understand?” She rubbed her hands together in a cleansing gesture. “Wash. Take a bath.”

He studied her miming action and walked to the dresser to pour water from the urn into the basin. A wave of his hand indicated Sheila was to use it to wash.

“No. No.” She shook her head determinedly. “Look,
Señor
—whatever your name is.” She hesitated before filling in the blank with a disinterested shrug.

“Ráfaga,” he interrupted blandly. Not a whisper of emotion was evident in the lean, masculine face or the flat, black eyes.

Sheila stared at him curiously, not certain if he had actually furnished his name. Considering the way Laredo had avoided giving it, she had almost decided it was going to remain a secret.

“Señor Ráfaga?” she repeated to determine if it was his name. There was a faint slightly arrogant inclination of his head in acknowledgment. “Señor Ráfaga.” Sheila began again, “I don’t want to just wash my hands.” She again repeated the rubbing gesture. “I want to wash all over—my hair, my clothes, all over. Do you understand?”

His expression was inscrutable. Surely he could understand what she meant, Sheila thought in irritation. She wondered if he wasn’t deliberately being obtuse when he waved a hand again toward the washbasin.

“It’s too small,” she snapped and sat down in the
middle of the floor, pretending to splash water and wash. “I want to take a bath—in a big tub of water. Do you understand?”

Laughter came from the door. “What are you doing?” Laredo asked with obvious amusement, his blue eyes silently laughing at Sheila.

Her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. Stiffly, she scrambled to her feet, dusting the seat of her pants as she tried to regain some measure of dignity.

“Would you explain to this Spanish-speaking imbecile that I want a bath?” she demanded coldly.

“The plumbing around here is strictly the outdoor type,” replied Laredo, his mouth still twitching in silent laughter.

“Surely there has to be something around here bigger than that stupid washbasin. Where do you bathe?” Sheila challenged. Then she added caustically, “Or don’t you?”

An insertion in Spanish kept Laredo from answering her question as he responded instead to his boss. Their exchange was brief, musically fluid, and low.

“My bath?” Sheila reminded Laredo when their conversation appeared to be finished.

“Baño,”
came the low Spanish word.

“That means ‘bath.’” Laredo supplied the translation.

“At last my message has gotten through,” she sighed impatiently.

“As I said before, the facilities around here are primitive,” Laredo continued, “but there is a spring we use for bathing.”

“Am I allowed to use it?” she asked stiffly.

Her answer came from the leader, who had identified himself as Ráfaga. A dresser drawer was opened and a folded cloth was removed. Ráfaga carried it to Sheila, a used bar of soap atop the coarse fabric of a towel.

Warily, she took it from his hands, tensing under the aloof appraisal of his dark gaze. He motioned her toward the hall to indicate Sheila should lead the way while they followed.

Outside the adobe house, a man lounged against a pole supporting a porch-like roof, a rifle in his hand, the muzzle pointed toward the ground. At Sheila’s appearance in the doorway, he straightened, the muzzle swinging toward her as he took a step to block her exit.

When the other two men appeared behind her, he relaxed his alert stance slightly. He didn’t look familiar to Sheila. She was almost positive he hadn’t been a part of the band that had just ridden in moments ago. Ráfaga stepped ahead of Sheila, signaling her to wait while he spoke to the stranger.

“Who is he?” Sheila watched the two curiously while Laredo waited with her. “What’s he doing here?”

“He’s the guard. There’ll be someone outside the door as long as you are here.”

“For whose protection?” she retorted. “Is Ráfaga afraid I’ll steal another knife and attack him?” She caught the flicker of surprise in the blue eyes upon her use of the bandit’s name. “He told me that was his name,” she explained coolly.

“Ráfaga? Yes, that’s what he’s called.”

“You seem surprised.” Her head tipped to the side in a challenge.

“Only that you got the message across, considering the difficulty you had with ‘bath.’” Amusement glittered in his blue eyes again.

“‘Me, Tarzan, you, Jane’ is much easier to act out.” Sheila shrugged, knowing it had been even simpler than that. “I don’t suppose that is his real name any more than Laredo is yours.”

“No, it’s a name given to him by the men.”

“What does it mean?” Sheila looked at Ráfaga. A panther perhaps, she thought, considering his animal grace and that feline aloofness with a touch of predatory ruthlessness thrown in.

“I think it translates into”—Laredo frowned as he searched for the English equivalent—“a gust of wind or a flash of light.”

The descriptive term suggested something fleeting,
something that was elusive and volatile. Considering his occupation, it was probably appropriate, Sheila thought wryly, and she wondered if it was true or wishfully portentous.

“What is his real name?” she asked curiously.

“I don’t know.” Laredo removed his hat to run his fingers through the thick brown of his hair and then put it back on, pulling it low on his forehead. “It isn’t a question that a man likes to be asked around here.”

The guard was listening to what Ráfaga was telling him, but watching Sheila intently. She seemed to be the object of their discussion. She realized that yet again Laredo had avoided giving her a direct answer to her question about the guard.

“You never did explain what the man was guarding,” she reminded him. “Me or Ráfaga?”

“Diego will be there, or someone else, to make sure you don’t decide to take any long walks.” Tipping back his head, he peered at her from beneath his hat brim.

Her gaze swept the mountains ringing the canyon. “Where would I go?” Sheila sighed bitterly.

“There isn’t any place you could go.” Laredo agreed, “but Ráfaga thinks you would be foolish enough to try.”

“Do you?” she countered.

“You forget. I’m the one you stole the knife from. Yes”—Laredo nodded—“I think you would try to run, but you won’t be given the chance.”

Sheila realized she was well and truly trapped. Her prison came complete with walls, guards, and a warden. The only thing lacking was the bars at her window. She felt her frustration mount and knew it was only the beginning.

His conversation with the guard concluded, Ráfaga turned to rejoin them. Sheila’s eyes shimmered with bitter resentment as he motioned her to the left side of the adobe building. Laredo touched fingers to the brim of his hat in a mock salute and walked in the opposite direction.

“Do you trust yourself alone with me?” Sheila flashed at Ráfaga’s
hooded expression. She knew he didn’t understand a word she said, but she had to release some of her temper or choke on it. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll do something desperate like scratch your eyes out?”

As if he knew how impotent her venom was, he didn’t blink an eye at her poisonous tone. He used hand signals to guide her beneath the shading trees behind the clay-colored building. Subtropical growth hid the dammed pool below the spring until they were nearly on top of it.

The sun-kissed surface of the water glittered cool and inviting. Birds flitted from branch to branch, crying out alarm at the human intrusion. Sheila forgot her anger of a moment ago, abandoning it in the surging desire to feel her body cleansed of the grit and grime from the last two days.

Laying the towel and soap on the bank, she started to pull the dirty serape over her head, then remembered the man behind her and turned. He stood watching and waiting.

“Would you please turn around?” She made a circling motion with her hand.

His dark gaze remained shuttered and unrevealing, but it didn’t leave her. Stubbornly, Sheila made no move to undress, determined not to be the one who ended this staring contest.

“Baño”
Ráfaga said crisply and motioned to the pool.

“I am not getting into the water until you turn around,” Sheila insisted with a flash of temper.

He took a step to a tree near her and indolently leaned a shoulder against its trunk. His dark gaze didn’t waver from her face. Speaking in Spanish, his hand pointed to the pool, then over his shoulder the way they had come.

Sheila caught the words
“Baño”
and
“casa”
The latter she knew meant “house.” She guessed he was telling her if she didn’t bathe, they would return to the house. Fuming inwardly, she realized her choice was either to remain dirty or undress while he watched.

Turning her back to him, Sheila tugged the serape
over her head, fingers trembling with her inner rage. “If you were hoping for a private performance, you’re going to be mistaken,” she ground our Savagely. Holding the torn front of her blouse together, she turned and threw the serape at his impassive face He caught it with one hand. “My clothes are just as dirty as the rest of me.”

Sheila sat down to remove her shoes, then slid from the grassy bank into the pool. The shock of the ice-cold temperature of the water drew a sharp gasp of surprise. But there was no turning back as Sheila immersed herself completely in the pool. Surfacing with a toss of her wet mane, she smoothed the strands away from her face, her teeth chattering from the cold.

Half-sitting and half-floating on the shallow bottom of the pool, immersed up to her neck. Sheila fought her way out of the entangling looseness of her blouse and tossed the sodden garment onto the bank. She tugged free of her slacks, as well, leaving her underpants on. Inching her way to the edge of the pool, she deposited her slacks beside her blouse and reached for the soap. The water was too cold for Sheila to waste time congratulating herself on successfully thwarting Ráfaga. She soaped down briskly, feeling the dust and grime float away.

By the time she had rinsed the lather from her hair, her arms and legs were becoming numb from the frigid temperature of the water. Awkwardly. she moved to the bank and reached for the towel. Shaking out the fold, she held it in front of her breasts with one hand as she scrambled out of the icy pool and wrapped it around her.

Briefly she looked at Ráfaga. His shoulder still rested negligently against the tree trunk while he watched Sheila. Tucking the ends of the towel beneath her arm, she knelt beside the water to scrub her blouse and slacks clean. She shivered uncontrollably, a mountain of goosebumps covering her naked skin. Wishing for clean, dry clothes to put on, Sheila settled for clean, wet clothes.

Keeping her back to Ráfaga, she tugged on her slacks before abandoning the towel. The blouse was minus its buttons, so Sheila tied the loose front in a knot. The plunging vee exposed the cleavage between her breasts while the saturated, clinging material emphatically outlined every curve of her breasts. Its coverage was dubious, but Sheila couldn’t bear the thought of putting on the dirty serape.

Wrapping the towel in a turban, she straightened up and turned to Ráfaga. Her shoulders were squared, the lift of her chin proud, as she tried to control the shivers of cold racing over her skin.

Indolently pushing himself away from the tree trunk, Ráfaga made a low comment in Spanish and glanced pointedly at her shoes. A flush of pink briefly colored her cheeks as Sheila bent over to put them on. She felt the touch of his gaze and realized how much she revealed when she leaned over like that. She quickly turned away to squeeze her wet feet into the shoes.

Her toes were squishing noisily with each step by the time they retraced the path back to the house. The guard stared curiously at her shivering, besodden state, but Sheila was too chilled to feel self-conscious. Without waiting for him to motion her toward her room, she hurried there on her own. Entering it, Sheila began sneezing. Ráfaga disappeared from the doorway.