Authors: Jane Toombs
After they tied the horses to a dead tree, Jordan held out his hand to keep Alitha behind him. Pistol ready, he went to the doorway and peered inside. The interior was dark, for the baths were enclosed by stone walls with only small apertures near the roof to admit light. As Jordan stepped inside, a great whirring sound erupted. Swinging his gun up, he was about to fire when he saw a large bird take flight, circle the room and fly through a rent in the roof and disappear.
Alitha hurried past him and knelt beside a pool, testing the water with her hand. The mineral water in the bath was captured in a series of terraced pools. Steam rose from their surfaces; the odor in the building was sharp and medicinal.
"The water's delightfully warm," she said. "At last we can bathe. Do you want to be first or second?"
"I'll wait outside." Jordan walked to the doorway. "I'd best keep an eye out for trouble, just in case." She followed him into the glaring sunlight, and when she led her horse to the doorway and retethered him there, Jordan smiled knowingly to himself. He paced back and forth on the crest of a rise before sitting with his back to a tree, from where he could see up and down the valley. Taking his handkerchief, he mopped his face. God, but it was hot.
He heard a sound behind him and, looking back, realized it was Alitha singing. He stood up. Beside the doorway to the baths he saw a pile of clothing—Alitha's black dress, her dark petticoats and, on the top, her white chemise. He drew in a long breath as he closed his eyes, picturing her as she bathed, imagining her raising cupped palms and letting the warm water run from them down over her naked body, across her breasts to her hips and down along her legs.
He blinked, surprised to find himself just outside the doorway to the baths. Who was Alitha Bradford, after all, he asked himself, that he should be so circumspect? She was no better than she should be. Hadn't she traveled to Mexico with Esteban? Hadn't she these last few days been tempting him by sleeping in her chemise, by exposing her body to him?
Alitha had stopped singing, but he could hear the splash of water from inside the baths. Jordan stepped through the doorway and stared into the gloomy darkness. Steam rose in front of him like an early morning mist at sea, the air was warm and damp on his face. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he saw, through the white haze, a darker form. Alitha stood with her back to him, her body outlined in the clouds of steam. Jordan felt a pang, almost an ache, as he saw her hands lave her body, and he moaned, his desire rising. Turn back, he told himself, before she sees you. Turn back while you still can. Alitha leaned over so that he saw her in profile, her hair falling free across her face. He saw the enticing curves of her breasts and buttocks. Standing again, she raised her arms above her head, stretching, almost as if she were reaching out to him and inviting him to come to her.
Jordan strode into the steam. When she saw him, Alitha cried out, shielding her breasts with her arms. He stopped a foot from her, his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes roved down over her body, taking in all of her pale, glowing loveliness.
"Alitha," he murmured.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached toward her, his hand going to her face until his fingers touched her cheek in a tentative caress. She stared at him as though frozen, and for a moment he thought she was about to turn her face and press her lips to his fingers.
She placed both of her hands on his chest and shoved. Jordan stumbled back, tripping on a stone ledge and falling into the bubbling water, where he flailed about until he was finally able to sit up, spluttering, in the two-foot-deep bath. He heard Alitha's bare feet race across the stones to the entrance.
Jordan stood, shaking the water from his clothes. He must look like a sopping wet dog. He glanced down at his soaked trousers. Sudden immersion was a sure cure for passion, he thought, smiling ruefully.
He climbed from the pool and walked to the door. Alitha, now wearing her chemise, stood next to her horse with a pistol in her hand.
"Don't come near me or I'll shoot," she warned.
Jordan reached for the gun.
"I mean it," she insisted. "After what you tried to do to me, after what you did to Esteban, I'll not hesitate to kill you."
"Give me the gun," Jordan said, calmly stepping toward her until the muzzle pressed against his stomach.
He saw her finger tighten and thought she was about to pull the trigger, but then her hand relaxed and her arm dropped to her side. Jordan took the gun from her and thrust it into his belt.
"I couldn't," she said. "I wanted to shoot you—I should have shot you—but I couldn't."
Jordan smiled. "It would have done you no good. The first night we were on the trail I searched your saddle after you feel asleep and found your pistol. I emptied it. Pulling the trigger just now would have produced nothing louder than a click."
"I don't believe you."
He removed the gun from his belt and handed it to her.
"Here," he said, "try to shoot it and see."
Alitha held the gun gingerly in both hands and aimed to one side of Jordan's head. When she pulled the trigger, the gun roared, filling the air with the stench of gunpowder.
"I'll be damned." Jordan stared at the gun, feeling a sudden queasiness in his stomach as he realized he'd been but a hair's breadth from death a few minutes before.
"The gun was loaded after all," Alitha said. "That just shows you, Jordan Quinn, you can never be sure of anything—not about guns or about me. You might think you know the truth and later find out you don't. To your discomfort."
"I could have sworn I unloaded that gun." Jordan shook his head. "I must be losing my mind."
"No," she said. "I don't think that's the case. Or at least not completely. I woke up and saw you unload the gun, so after you'd gone to sleep, I reloaded it." She turned from him. "Now why don't you take your turn in the baths? I'm quite through. And I can assure you I won't interrupt your pleasure as you saw fit to interrupt mine."
He started to speak, shrugged instead and entered the bath, where he slowly began removing his clothing. By God, he told himself, she's a match for any man. The one who gets her will have his hands full, no question of that; and she'll be worth every battle of wills, there was no question of that either.
As he began to rinse himself off, he wondered what she had meant when she told him not to be too sure about her. He'd never understand her, not in a thousand years. He'd give a great deal, though, to have the chance to try.
When he was dressed again and came out into the sunlight, he saw that Alitha had put on her petticoats and the black muslin dress over her chemise. She stood near the tree where he had gone to wait for her. She was staring down into the valley.
"I was about to call you to come," she said when he stood beside her.
Following her pointing finger he saw, in the distance, a lone horseman riding at a gallop toward them from the direction of the territory held by the revolutionaries.
CHAPTER
TWENTY ONE
"That's no ordinary horseman, “Jordan said after studying the oncoming rider for a few minutes. "Look at his brown robes and the cowl. It's a priest."
"A Franciscan padre."
"Come along; we'll ride into the valley and find out what he can tell us about conditions to the south."
At their approach, the padre pulled up his lathered horse and waited for them to reach him.
"Father," Jordan said, "we ride to the south, to Acapulco. Is there fighting ahead?"
"Go no farther," the padre, an emaciated-looking man with close-cropped gray hair, told them. "Renegades are in control from here to the jungles near the sea. A foreigner courts certain imprisonment, a foreign woman risks worse." He glanced at their pack horses laden with the sacks containing the gold. "Anyone with valuable possessions faces death."
"I feared as much," Jordan said.
"Why don't you ride with me?" the padre suggested. "My brothers at the monastery ten leagues from here will harbor you until this danger passes."
Jordan, thinking of Esteban in pursuit of the gold, shook his head. "No," he said, "we must go on."
The padre shrugged. "May God have mercy on your souls," he said.
"We'll travel by night," Jordan said to Alitha as soon as the priest was out of earshot. "Even if it slows us down."
They camped for the rest of the day, rising as soon as the sun set behind the mountains. At first they rode in moonlight, but then clouds swept in from the west to darken the sky and force Jordan to slow their pace. Finally he dismounted to lead the horses himself as thunder growled in the distance. Suddenly a jagged streak of lightning crackled earthward, followed by a drumroll of thunder, and Alitha's horse whinnied in fright. The sky blackened until she could no longer see Jordan walking ahead of her, nor his horse nor even her own horse.
A drop of rain struck her cheek. Her horse stopped, and a moment later Jordan was standing at her side.
"Best put your cloak on," he said. "It looks like we're in for it." Already the rain was beating a tattoo on the hard earth around them.
Alitha pulled her manga from her pack and slipped it over her head. Once more they started forward, plodding on with the rain driving down on them until Alitha's hair was plastered to her head. The manga clung wetly to her body as the water soaked through to her dress.
Again Jordan stopped. "I'll go ahead and look for shelter," he called to her through the rain.
"Yes," she shouted back. They could make little progress in this storm. A barn, an Indian hut, a cave among the rocks, anything would be preferable to slogging on in the drenching downpour.
Lightning sliced across the sky, and in its glare she saw two stone pillars with a road between them. When the thunder boomed, her horse reared, forcing her to tighten her grip on the reins. She leaned forward on the stallion's neck, talking to him, comforting him until he quieted.
"I saw a gate," she called to Jordan.
He didn't answer but led the horses on, and in a few minutes they turned in the direction of the pillars. The way leveled and she knew they must be on a road. In the next flash of lightning she saw trees arching above her head and, farther along the road, a looming mass of buildings.
Jordan walked back to her. "A hacienda." He had to shout to make himself heard above the steady roar of the rain.
"No lights," she shouted back. Even this late, and it must have been nearly midnight, Mexican houses were usually lit by at least a single lamp or candle.
"Wait here," he told her.
She lowered herself to the ground and huddled beside the horse's flank. When Jordan returned, he leaned to her and spoke into her ear. "Seems deserted," he said. "We'll go in, then I'll find shelter for the horses."
He took her hand, led her along the road and up the steps to a massive door. He pushed open the door, and as soon as they were inside, he released her hand.
"The door was bolted," Jordan told her. "I had to break a window to get in."
The flicker of lightning through the windows on either side of the door showed her they were in a high-ceilinged entryway with chandeliers over their heads, the candles unlit. She saw chairs along the walls but no other furniture. The floor itself was bare brick. Brown drapes covered the windows.
A spark flared near her, and a moment later a candle flamed in Jordan's hand. He held the candle out to her and she took the holder in her hand while
he found another. After he lit it, they advanced side by side into the dark hacienda, holding the candles in front of them.
Going through an archway, they entered a lofty room furnished only with a deal table and a few chairs. Old pictures of saints and the Virgin Mary hung askew on the stone walls. Jordan strode across the room to a fireplace recessed in the far wall. He took wood from the pile on the hearth and soon had a fire crackling in the grate.
"I'll see to the horses," he told her.
She nodded, going to stand in front of the fire with her hands stretched out to receive its warmth. As the flames leaped higher, she pulled the wet manga over her head and spread it on the table to dry.
"Why don't you see if you can find some food," Jordan said from the doorway.
She reluctantly left the warmth of the fire and, taking a candle, searched among the cavernous rooms, shivering in her damp dress. One room, a bedroom with two green-painted bedsteads, a bench and more pictures of the saints, had clothing strewn on its wardrobe floor as though the occupants had left in haste. Other rooms were empty, but whether they had never been
furnished or had been stripped bare by the hacienda's departing owners or by marauding revolutionaries she could not tell. At last she came to the kitchen, with a pump above a washbasin. In the pantry she discovered food—lidded earthenware jars partly filled with dried beans and dried corn. Although she searched every cranny of the two rooms, she found no more food. She sighed. While she was tired of trail food, dried beans and corn were little better.
Discouraged, she made her way back to the room with the roaring fire, where she found Jordan waiting for her. He had a broad smile on his face as he stood holding one hand behind his back.