Touch the Wind (34 page)

Something in the way he said the last remark made her look at him. “You know what happened?”

Laredo nodded. “Juan was conscious when we found him. How, I don’t know. He managed to crawl to the pool. Ráfaga and I and the guard found him when we went looking for you. Someone had told Juan that they had seen Ortega and Chavez take three horses from the corral. Juan became suspicious and started to trail them. Then he ran into them with you.”

She shuddered, remembering. “When they got Juan, I didn’t think there was any chance you could catch up to us before they—”

Laredo didn’t give her a chance to finish the sentence, drawing her into his arms. “Ráfaga knows these mountains like the back of his hand. Once he saw which trail they were taking, we took shortcuts to intercept them.” Her head rested lightly on his shoulder, finding a small measure of comfort in his circling arms. Gently he rocked her. “It’s all over now, Sheila,” he murmured.

Thinking of Ráfaga’s cutting aloofness, Sheila denied it tightly. “Not quite. Ráfaga—”

The front door opened and he walked in, stopping abruptly at the sight of Sheila in Laredo’s arms. The bronze mask over his features melted as dark flames of anger blazed in his eyes. Gently, Laredo set Sheila apart from him and met the dark gaze without flinching.

“
I told Sheila about Juan,” he said in explanation, then walked calmly past Ráfaga and out the door.

Ráfaga continued to stare at Sheila, the black rage slowly being brought under control. His gaze sliced suddenly and pointedly to the tray of food scattered on the floor near his feet.

“The food was prepared to be eaten, not to be thrown on the floor,” he informed her icily.

She could have withstood his anger, but this chilling indifference was something she couldn’t handle. “Then eat it yourself!” Sheila cried. “I don’t want it!”

He seemed to draw himself up to his full height, cold and withdrawn. “We will leave it to the cockroaches, then.”

Ráfaga started to walk away, but Sheila couldn’t let him go. She caught at his elbow to stop him. He paused, looking down at her while her eyes searched his face for some indication of the reason for his behavior toward her.

“What is it, Ráfaga? What’s wrong?” she demanded earnestly. “What have I done? Do you blame me for what happened to Juan? Do you think I went with Ortega willingly at first?”

Sheila remembered how certain she had been that the rider’s information had concerned her. His hands drew her shoulders back against him.

“You should berate me for my stupidity, Sheila,” Ráfaga said, his breath stirring her hair. “It nearly cost the life of a good man and a loyal friend to you—Juan may yet die; I do not know. It nearly gave you into the hands of a man who would have abused you with his lust.” His voice was harsh, with a savage anger that was turned inward. “I deserve your hatred and mistrust for failing to protect you when I have forced you to accept my protection by taking you to my bed. I saw the way you cowered from me out there in the mountains, the fear that was in your eyes when you looked at me.”

“I was frightened,” Sheila admitted, leaning against him, closing her eyes, “frightened of that cold rage in
your eyes. Later I thought you blamed me for what happened. I don’t hate you. How could I?”

She would have added, “when I love you so much,” but he was turning her around, claiming her lips in a hard, possessive kiss. Sheila wound her arms around his neck as he lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bedroom. The warmth of his embrace made her forget the previous anguish.

Yet there was something missing. Sheila realized that after a few days had passed. They hadn’t recaptured that special magic that had linked them before the incident. There was a part of himself that Ráfaga held back. At first, she tried to convince herself that when Juan showed signs of recovery, Ráfaga would return to his old self.

But it hadn’t worked that way. Juan was still dangerously weak, but he had begun to respond to the loving ministrations of his wife, Consuelo. And there were still times when Ráfaga would withdraw behind a shuttered look, studying Sheila silently, as if expecting to find something. Those moments troubled her, no matter how much she tried to ignore them.

His side of the bed was empty. Ráfaga was rarely there anymore when Sheila awakened. He rose with the sun, leaving her to sleep. Another dull headache droned at her temples. Sheila frowned and tried to rub away the pain with her fingers.

Light footsteps entered the hall. Sheila turned her head toward the sound, moving too quickly, and a wave of dizziness drained the color from her face.

Consuelo appeared in the bedroom doorway, smiling. “
Buenos días
, Sheila.”

“
Buenos días
.” The greeting sounded weak even to Sheila’s ears. “How is Juan this morning?”

There was a positive declaration in Spanish that he was much better before Consuelo clicked her tongue at Sheila and teased her about something. Sheila frowned, certain she hadn’t understood the woman. She blamed it on the dull headache, deciding it had affected her concentration.

“What did you say, Consuelo?” She asked that the remark be repeated.

A second time didn’t improve her comprehension of the Spanish words. Consuelo tried again, combining them with sign language and pantomime. Sheila’s mouth opened in shock when Consuelo made a cradle of her arms, rocked an imaginary bundle, pointed at Sheila, and said,
“bebé.”

“It isn’t possible,” Sheila gasped in protest. But a swift, mental calculation said it was more than possible. It was quite likely true. She was pregnant. Her hand moved across her stomach, as if it might feel the child growing inside her.

It was as flat and smooth as always. For now. How naïve of her not to have suspected, Sheila thought angrily. A month and a half, two months. God, she couldn’t even remember.

Immediately, Consuelo recognized that Sheila hadn’t known. The gentle woman hurried to assure her that it was wonderful news. Sheila understood more by the woman’s tone than her actual words. For a moment, she could feel nothing but shock and confusion. Then she caught the gist of a comment concerning how pleased Ráfaga would be. And Sheila suddenly realized he would have to know she was carrying his child.

Somehow she managed to get Consuelo out of the room so she could be alone to think this discovery through. A part of her glowed with the knowledge that she was carrying Ráfaga’s child. But there was fear, too—fear because there were no doctors for miles. She would be bringing a child into the world under conditions that could only be classified as primitive.

As for Ráfaga, he wanted her now, when she was shapely and beautiful But how long would his desire last when her stomach grew as fat as a melon and her long legs had all the grace of a waddling duck?

Sheila started to cry.

The silence during the noon meal was heavy. Sheila knew her eyelids were still swollen from crying and her features were drawn with tension. Ráfaga had to have noticed. His alert, yet hooded gaze had continually inspected her face all through the meal.

There were only the two of them in the house; Consuelo was in her own home with Juan. This was the time to tell Ráfaga about the baby. Her hands closed around the empty coffee mug in front of her.

There was no easy way to say it. Trembling, Sheila lifted her chin, a faint challenge in the gesture, and blurted out, “I’m going to have a baby.”

Nothing flickered in his dark eyes. “Yes,” Ráfaga said, as though he were confirming her statement.

“You knew?” she asked with a slight frown of disbelief.

“Do you think I do not know every inch of you?” There was a cynical lift to one corner of his mouth. “Do you think I would not notice the slightest change in your body?”

Her announcement had not brought any pleased light to his dark eyes. There was none of the gladness or pride that Consuelo had suggested would be there when she told him. He didn’t want the baby, and Sheila felt something die in her heart.

“What is it you want of me?” Ráfaga inquired, studying her closely, a blandness to his look.

“I want you to be happy about the baby,” Sheila wanted to cry. Instead, she shrugged and said, “Nothing,” her shoulders hunching forward.

“Do you not want me to arrange for an abortion?”

“An abortion?!!” Her hand moved protectively to her stomach, as if at that moment he could somehow take the life she carried within her.

“Many American women have come to Mexico in the past to rid themselves of babies they did not want. Is that what you wish?” he asked with infuriating calm.

My God
she thought,
how could he suggest such a thing?
This was his seed she carried, his baby. How could he believe that she would want to get rid of it?

“No.” Her voice was coldly drawn from her throat. “That is not what I wish,” Sheila declared, rising from the table. She needed to get away from him before she lost her temper and did something that might ultimately harm their baby.

“Then why have you told me?” Ráfaga’s question checked her footsteps as Sheila turned.

“I told you.” She held herself rigidly, not looking back. “Because you are the baby’s father. I thought you should know.”

She was trembling uncontrollably, tears stinging her eyes. There was the scrape of the chair leg as Ráfaga rose from the table. Her heart hammered frantically against her ribs. Every muscle was poised for flight, but he didn’t approach her. His striding walk was carrying him to the door.

When Sheila heard it open and close, her hand groped for the chair she had just left, needing its support as her legs threatened to collapse. She found it, sinking quickly into its seat. Burying her face in her hands,
she began to cry. She would have Ráfaga’s baby, but she would lose him. It wasn’t a fair exchange.

The supply of tears ran out. Sheila was numbed to all but her own torment. She didn’t hear the door open or the sound of footsteps approaching. She still believed she was alone with her misery when a hand touched her shoulder. Her head jerked, her blurred eyes seeing Ráfaga standing beside her chair.

“Don’t touch me!” The chair clattered to the floor as she moved to elude his touch. Sheila faced him rigidly, retreating when he moved toward her. “Don’t come near me!” she hissed in bitter anger and hurt, a wounded animal lashing out at the one who had injured her. “Haven’t you done enough? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

The room was small. Within moments she was cornered against a wall, his hands seizing her arms, refusing to let her go. There was an unrelenting grimness about his mouth.

“Listen to me, Sheila,” commanded Ráfaga.

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say!” she cried. Her hands were straining against his chest, but he was making no attempt to draw her closer.

“You will listen,” he insisted harshly. “There is a priest I know who will marry us and keep silent. It will not be legal in the eyes of the government, but to the eyes of God we will be man and wife.”

“Don’t be patronizing!” Sheila rejected his proposal violently. “I wouldn’t want to endure the shame of a marriage to you!”

He gave her a hard shake, his teeth bared. “I wish to have our union blessed by the Church and to give you the protection of my name.”

“I don’t want either one!” Her protest was choked with pain. A surfeit of pride insisted she must deny the offer he made only because of the child she carried. Sheila reinforced her refusal with a lie. “I don’t want you!”

For a moment the fire blazing in his dark eyes seemed about to consume her in its raging inferno, Roughly, he
pulled Sheila to his chest. The hard fingers digging into her arms lifted her up on tiptoes. The heat between them made it difficult for Sheila to breathe.

“What is it that you want, then?” he demanded savagely. “Do you want me to let you go? Is that it? So you can go to your parents and have the baby there with them? Do you wish to do that and hear him called a bastard?” Ráfaga did not give Sheila the opportunity to make a single response. “I will not let you go! If that is what you hoped, you can wipe it from your mind. I will never permit you to leave me—nor the child that was conceived by our love. We will be married by the priest, and the child, when it is born, will be baptized by a priest! He will be raised here in this house, in this canyon, with whatever brothers and sisters that may follow.”

Her heart stopped beating, then soared. “Do you want our baby, Ráfaga?” Sheila sighed.

“It is the flesh of our flesh. Do you think I would deny it?” He frowned angrily.

“I don’t know.” She closed her eyes, making a small, confused shake of her head. “I thought... When I told you, you seemed so—”

His fingers dug into the flesh of her arms in hard demand. “Do you want our baby?” Ráfaga put the same question to Sheila.

“Yes.” There was no uncertainty at all in her answer. “Yes, I want the baby.” She reaffirmed it more forcefully, although her voice was hardly more than a whisper. “I love you, Ráfaga.” She opened her eyes and saw the flicker of doubt in the darkness of his. “You thought I didn’t want the baby,” she accused in disbelief.

“It was possible.” His gaze roamed her face, still not totally convinced. “You were brought to this canyon against your will. I forced you to lie in my bed.” One arm was released as his hand moved to her back, faintly caressing while he drew her possessively closer. “I had you punished when you ran away from me. How could I expect you to want a baby conceived with me? When
I saw the redness of your eyes, I knew you had shed bitter tears of regret at the discovery.”

“Only because I thought you wouldn’t want the baby or me.” Her trembling fingertips traced the outline of his carved cheekbone and jaw. “In a few months, I’ll be so fat and ugly that—”

“No.” His hand covered her lips. “Even when you are heavy with child you will be beautiful.” His voice was husky and low, the midnight velvet of his eyes gazing deeply into hers. “Do you remember the time that you tried to escape in the storm and later sat in front of the fire to warm yourself? I watched you then, wrapped in a blanket I put around you. The firelight was dancing in your hair and I imagined you sitting there, your belly swollen with child. At that moment, I knew a desire such as I have never felt before. I thought to satisfy it by taking you. But having you once was like drinking water from the sea. I found I needed to possess more than your body. I wanted your mind and heart and soul. I love you,
querida,
as I have never loved another woman.”