Touch the Wind (12 page)

“What’s the matter?” she taunted after him. “Are you afraid of catching cold?”

Kicking off her wet shoes, Sheila walked to the bed, intending to remove the thick blanket and wrap it around herself for warmth. Ráfaga returned, carrying a man’s white shirt. He handed it to her, speaking in low, rolling Spanish. Unable to suppress the shivers that quaked through her cold body, Sheila accepted it.

“Gracias.”
Sheila doubted that the gesture had been motivated by anything more than a selfish wish not to have a sick female on his hands.

“Por nada,”
was the crisp response he gave before he pivoted and left the room.

Hesitating only a second, Sheila quickly removed the
wet clothes and tugged on the warm, dry shirt. Her shaking fingers had just fastened the last button when Ráfaga reappeared, his dark gaze skimming her from, turbaned head to her bare toes, dwelling briefly on the bare length of her shapely legs. The trails of the shirt ended at mid-thigh.

He said nothing as he tossed a comb onto the bed and picked up her wet clothes lying on the floor. He left the room, taking her dripping clothes with him. Sheila started to protest, then sighed at the futility of it, and she began combing the snarls out of her hair.

The crude cot looked remarkably inviting. She slid beneath the blanket, the coarse fabric rough against her freshly scrubbed skin. But it was warm, and soon Sheila drifted into a light sleep.

The sound of a woman’s voice awakened her. The sun was still up, so she couldn’t have dozed for long. She listened for several seconds to the lilting Spanish voice, the woman’s tone happy and faintly teasing.

Curiosity made Sheila push the blanket aside and she rose. With barefoot quietness, she wandered into the hallway, pausing in the archway of the main room of the adobe house. Her inquisitive gaze looked for the source of the attractive voice.

Ráfaga was standing in the kitchen. Heat waves stirred the air above the cup he held in his left hand. His right arm encircled a slender brunette. Large, sparkling, dark eyes were gazing laughingly into his face, provocative and playful as the woman leaned against him. Her hands were spread inside the front of his shirt, half-unbuttoned to give her access to his naked chest and the vee-shaped cloud of curling dark hair.

The stubble of beard had been shaved from his strongly carved jaw and cheeks. No wide-brimmed hat covered the ebony blackness of his hair growing with rakish thickness away from his forehead. The slashing lines on either side of his mouth had deepened into sharp grooves, hinting at an amused smile. His enigmatic dark eyes were looking at the girl, accepting her attention as if it were his due.

A hard, male vitality now over-stamped the powerful and ruthless set of his masculine features. And it made him seem, to Sheila, more dangerous than before. Her heartbeat quickened, sending her pulse hammering in her throat.

She hadn’t moved since halting in the archway, yet something betrayed her presence to Ráfaga. His dark gaze swung to her, its rapier thrust pinning Sheila where she stood.

The vivacious brunette turned to see what had distracted his attention. Her eyes widened at the sight of Sheila standing in the hallway, semi-clad in a man’s shirt. She noted the dark honey color of Sheila’s hair.

The brunette’s eyes began snapping with black fires of hatred. She stepped angrily away from Ráfaga’s side, turning on him with a vengeance. A spate of rapid-fire Spanish burst from her lips. Her hand gestured at Sheila in Latin temper.

Unaffected by the raging outburst, Ráfaga offered a low comment, which didn’t pacify the girl’s anger. She stormed over to Sheila, a vitriolic flow of Spanish spewing forth again. She was obviously incensed to have Sheila in the house, especially so scantily clothed.

From the contemptuous tone and the sharpness of the girl’s dark gaze, she surmised that the brunette was making derisive comments about her. Unconsciously, Sheila let a smile touch her lips, amused by the unnecessary jealousy.

The action caused the already enraged brunette to draw in her breath with a hiss like a deadly viper. The next second she was spitting in Sheila’s face. All amusement at the situation vanished at the wet drops on her cheeks. Sheila reacted without thinking, hot anger surging through her veins as her opened palm struck the brunette’s face.

There was a momentary shriek of pain and surprise as the girl cupped her stinging cheek. Then she was flinging herself at Sheila, pulling at her hair and hurling words of Spanish abuse. Stunned for only a second, Sheila retaliated instinctively, fighting and clawing while fending
off the brunette’s scratching fingers. The sharp command from Ráfaga had no effect on either of them.

“Sweet Jesus!” Laredo’s startled voice sounded through the barrage of Spanish.

The kicking, hair-pulling fight had barely begun before the two men intervened to break it up. An arm circled Sheila’s waist from behind and forcibly dragged her out of reach of the other girl. Her feet flailed the air a few inches above the floor.

“Put me down!” Sheila pushed uselessly at the muscled forearm across her waist.

Ear-splitting shrieks came from her opponent, held fast in Laredo’s arms. Sheila stiffened as she realized who held her. Ráfaga’s voice barked an order near her ear and the brunette stopped struggling, although the fire of jealous hatred blazed as brilliantly in her eyes now as before.

Sheila was half-turned in his arm, his thumb and forefinger gripping her chin and twisting it up so he could see her face. She strained away from his chest, her amber eyes flashing their loathing of his touch. His expression was masked. Faint mockery gleamed in his fathomless eyes.

He said something in Spanish to the brunette. Sheila sensed by his tone that it was uncomplimentary to her. Seething, she wrenched her chin from his fingers.

“What did he just say?” she demanded of Laredo.

“He was reasoning with Elena,” he answered after a hesitant glance at his boss, “asking her why he would take a clawing wildcat with yellow eyes to his bed when he could have an eager, purring kitten instead.”

The explanation snapped the slender thread holding Sheila’s temper in check. “Pig! You filthy animal!” She struck at his implacable face, but the blow was blocked by an upraised arm. “As if I would ever let you touch me! Murderer!”

Her raining blows fell harmlessly on his arms and shoulders, never reaching the face that was their target. Growing tired of her struggles, Ráfaga swung her into his arms.

“Your bed?” Sheila spat. “I would sleep in a snake-pit before I would lie in your bed!”

His gaze narrowed at the glowing hatred in her eyes. The line of his mouth thinned as he turned, carrying her in his arms, and walked to her room.

Stopping beside the cot, he dropped her unceremoniously and stood above her for several seconds. He didn’t say a word, but everything about him seemed to cry that if he wished, he could force her to lie in his bed. As the color washed from her face, he left the room.

Nearly an hour later, Laredo had come to her room, announcing it was time to eat. She was hungry, but she had no desire to return to the main room of the house, where Ráfaga and his hot-tempered woman were.

“Nobody is going to wait on you or carry trays of food to your room,” Laredo stated calmly. “If you want to eat, you have to come to the table or go without.”

He, too, had washed and shaved, his appearance decidedly American now, but Sheila knew he felt no special bond with her just because they shared the same nationality. He was a member of the band. He belonged to the opposite side.

Sheila stood at the small window, holding back the curtain to watch the sun hovering on the point of a mountain peak to the west. Letting it fall, she turned to look at Laredo, the sensual outline of her lips grimly tight.

“All right, I’ll go to the table to eat, but you keep that little Mexican cat away from me,” she warned.

“Ráfaga has calmed her down.”

Sheila remembered the angry banging of the pans and doubted it. “He better have, or he might find himself sleeping with a dark-haired girl whose face is all scratched.”

“It would more likely be you who would come away from a fight all scarred up.” A bemused smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Elena fights dirty. You wouldn’t stand a chance against her in an all-out brawl.”

“You’d be surprised at what I’ve learned in the last few days,” Sheila said, then stalked past him into the hallway.

When she entered the main room, Ráfaga was seated at one end of the table. His dark gaze noted her presence, although Sheila deliberately ignored him. The young Mexican woman was dishing food onto the plates, made of pottery.

There were four chairs around the table, three empty. Sheila chose one that put her back to the living area and on Ráfaga’s right.

The atmosphere crackled with tension. Sheila knew the volatile brunette was not reconciled to her presence. Her eyes hurled daggers each time she looked at Sheila.

The animosity emanating from the girl across from her was almost tangible. It tainted the food, making it nearly impossible to enjoy the meal. Exasperated, Sheila set her silverware on the table.

Turning to Laredo, she demanded, “Will you explain to this jealous little witch that I am not interested in her lover?” She darted an irritated glance at the girl. “You can also tell her that if she’d give me a knife, I’d make sure he’d never get any closer to me than he is right now.”

Hiding a smile, Laredo flashed a brief look at his boss, then translated what Sheila had said. Skepticism mixed with malevolent dislike as the brunette made her reply.

“She thinks you are only saying that because you are afraid of her.” Laredo repeated in English what Elena had said. There was a wicked glint in his blue
eyes. “She says that only a woman who is too old and crippled would drive a man such as Ráfaga from her bed. She says you look neither old nor crippled.”

The praise for Ráfaga’s expertise as a lover acted as a red cape to Sheila’s temper. Since it had been first rendered in Spanish, he had obviously heard it. Her cat-gold eyes flashed to him, seeing the deliberate blankness in the look he returned to her.

“Of all the—” Sheila sputtered in helpless rage before she checked her exploding temper and clamped her lips tightly shut. She turned roundly on Laredo. “Tell her that he had my husband murdered and that my only wish is to see him suffer the same fate!”

The brunette’s pointed chin lifted at the information translated by Laredo. Finally, she nodded her understanding and the sparkle of battle left her eyes as she dismissed Sheila as a potential rival for Ráfaga’s attention. But there was still a wariness about her when she glanced at Ráfaga, as if she didn’t trust him where Sheila was concerned.

The truce permitted Sheila to finish her meal in relative peace. The minute she was done, she excused herself from the table and returned to her room.

Her thoughts kept returning to the same questions. How long would it be before her parents were contacted and the ransom demand made? How long would it take to raise the money and pay it? Most disturbing of all—would she be released when the money was paid?

Darkness came with the setting of the sun. Crawling beneath the blanket on the hard cot, she hoped sleep would come quickly and help her forget the unanswerable questions.

Laredo left the adobe house soon after Sheila was in bed. A low murmur of voices continued to come from the main room, intimacy implied by the soft tones and punctuated by moments of pregnant silence. Sheila tried to concentrate on the night sounds outdoors, but she found herself straining to hear the couple in the main room.

Footsteps brought the voices closer, to the bedroom
adjacent to Sheila’s. An embarrassed heat burned her skin at the sound of clothes being discarded in haste. The lilting caress in Elena’s soft voice was abruptly silenced and Sheila closed her eyes against the image of the ruthless male’s mouth closing over the brunette’s.

The wall separating the two bedrooms was not thick enough to deaden the creaking of the cot or the sighing moans of ecstasy from female lips. Sheila covered her ears with her hands, trying to block out the sounds of their lovemaking. With nauseous persistence, it kept hammering at her eardrums.

Endless minutes stretched sickeningly together without a hint of either of them being satisfied. Sheila moaned at the repellent thought that the sounds might continue off and on all night as Ráfaga proved his prowess in bed.

A scream of disgust was rising in her throat when the silence came. Sheila pressed a hand to her churning stomach and waited to see if the storm of their passion was over, or if it was merely a lull. There was a creaking of movement on the cot and she swallowed quickly at the sickening lump threatening to gag her.

But the expected resumption didn’t occur. There were rustling sounds of clothing being put on, followed by a whispered, caressing comment from Elena. Then Sheila heard the light tread of the woman quietly leaving the room and eventually the house. Shuddering with distaste, Sheila wondered how many nights she would have to listen to their bestial coupling.

She stared at the ceiling, violently hating all men and their carnal desires. None of them could be trusted. They were insensitive, selfish animals, caring only about their own physical needs. Love was a trap, devised by man to enslave woman to his will. Sheila vowed never to be caught in it.

Silence filled the house. A surge of restlessness claimed Sheila, agitating her into movement. Tossing the blanket to the foot of the narrow cot, she rose and moved quietly into the hallway.

The confines of the main room grated. A full moon
sent silvery light cascading through the windows, darkly shadowing the corners of the room and restricting Sheila’s restless pacing to the area of its light. The back of her neck prickled in warning and Sheila pivoted toward the hallway.

Ráfaga stood in the opening, a silvery sheen to his ebony hair. Naked to the waist, his golden-brown torso gleamed in the moonlight, dark trousers molding his lean hips and thighs, while emphasizing the length of his legs. Paralyzed, Sheila stared at his saturnine features.