Deep Purple (7 page)

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “
And Lucy wants the East, where she thinks all the excitement is! I keep telling her that everything worthwhile is here—at Cristo Rey.”

Cathe
rine sighed. “At this moment the East is filled with destruction and death. There is nothing beautiful about the pall of smoke that hangs over the cities. There are no glorious sunrises or sunsets like what I see above the Whetstones when I wake or the Santa Ritas before I go to bed.”

“
Why can’t Lucy understand that?” he asked tersely. “Why can’t she love the beauty of Cristo Rey as you do? I thought she—”

He broke off, and Catherine sensed the embarrassment in his voice. “
I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.”

She shifted uneasily on the wooden seat. The moon had moved past the Stronghold
’s earthen roof so that the compound lay in total shadow. But she had the strangest feeling of being watched.

“
Catherine,” Sherrod said softly, “thank you for listening to me tonight. I needed to talk.” He paused. “I value your friendship very much.”

She was not even aware of the hand that took hers or the way his arm encircled her waist when they returned to their separate rooms. Her thoughts were still back at the
compound remembering the tiny spark of light she had seen in the distant shadows . . . and the noxious odor of Sonoran tobacco that had drifted on the air.

CHAPTER 9

T
hrough the escape of her daily riding, Catherine was beginning to know the countryside. The twisted mesquite grove that heralded Coyote Wash—an arroyo that would run rabid with flash floods in the monsoon months; the red sandstone boulders that indicated the trickle of water seeping at their base; and the miniature canyons that opened fold on fold, like a desert flower, ever exposing some exotic landscape to delight her aesthetic taste. For her the land possessed incredible lights and shades . . . intensely sharp colors not to be seen anywhere else.

But now the July heat stole a litt
le of the pleasure from riding. The parched land was a fiery furnace. Blue-green mirages shimmered against the horizon. Life itself seemed stilled, the wind wilting, waiting for those first fleecy clouds to mantle the brooding bulwark of the Huachucas. Still, she loved it, despite the perspiration that soaked her armpits and dampened her thighs where they rubbed against the sidesaddle’s sweaty leather. The blistering summer played its part in the Southwest’s timeless magic show.

It was these hours she lived
for. She cared not where the mount took her and was only half aware of the trail it followed as it picked its way along a rocky bed bordered by the waxy- leafed creosote and the green-barked paloverde. But when it halted suddenly, its small ears erect and the muscles in its barrel twitching, she came alert. Something out of the ordinary moved beyond the range of her own senses. She did not know which she feared worse—the screech of the Mexican jaguar that occasionally roamed the area or the sight of a string of Indians riding toward her.

The long seconds she sat on the roan, straining her eyes and ears, seemed more like minutes. She began to believe she was at
tributing more caution than the situation warranted when a voice behind and slightly above her said, “Aren't you a little far from the Stronghold, Miss Howard?”

She jerked around in the saddle. “
Law!” she gasped, recognizing at once the man crouched on one knee on the bank’s high rim. Above the black, dust-coated trousers his lean, brown body was bare. “I’m so glad it’s you!”

“
Oh?” He rose now and scrambled down between a wedge of rocks, crossing to catch the bridle of the roan, which danced nervously at his approach. He stroked the soft muzzle, and when the horse calmed, looked up at Catherine. “I had an idea you might be happier to see someone else.”

She tensed. She forced her gaze to meet those watchful eyes. "Whatever are you talking about?”

His mouth stretched thin in a grimace. “Don't pull one of Lucy’s simpering acts on me, Miss Howard. I thought you were above something like that.”

He did not wait for her to reply but took the roan
’s bridle and began to turn the horse about. “You’re going up a boxed-in canyon,” he explained as he led her back the way she had come, then up a slight ravine hedged by ironwood. Fifty yards away stood the gotch-eared sorrel he rode and a burro loaded with picks and shovels.

“
Have you been prospecting?” she asked.

He release
d the bridle. “Trying to. Not much luck. But then I’m not the superstitious sort.” He grinned—not a mocking but a friendly, teasing smile. “Been out wading in any creeks lately?”

So, he had not forgotten that night. She had hoped the
aguardiente
he had consumed had wiped out the memory. “No,” she said quietly. “Nor have I been out picking night-blooming flowers.”

“
Then it’s time you did something impractical again.” And before she could protest, his hands clasped her waist and lifted her from the saddle.

“
Oh, no. Law Davalos,” she said as he pulled her along with him, “I’m not about to go traipsing the hills for some mysterious flower.”

“
It’s not a flower this time. It's a tree.”

“
It’s far too hot to be—”

“
There,” he said, pulling her up before him.

She star
ed at the tree—a type she occasionally had seen in her rides. The largest of the yucca cactus, it had grotesque branches all pointing in the same direction. And yet there was something weirdly beautiful about the tree.

“
It’s a Joshua tree,” he said behind her. “The Mormons named it so because it looks as if it’s lifting its arms to heaven in supplication. The Yaquis and Mexicans tell superstitious lore about it.”

She turned her head to the side so that she could see his face. “
Like what?”

He shrugged and sm
iled. “The usual things. Like making wishes.”

“
Then if I make a wish, will that satisfy you? Can we go back?” She pursed her lips and squinted her eyes, as though concentrating. “I am wishing that you won’t drag me off to look at any more desert plant life.”

He laughed. “
Oh, no. That won’t do. Miss Howard. You can’t tell a wish or it won’t come true. Try again.”

She sighed and turned around to face him. “
All right. Let me think a minute.” And with her eyes closed there suddenly seemed only one important wish. It overrode even the desire for the return of her mother’s health. Love—and marriage—with a man like Sherrod.

Law took her shoulders. “
You’re a foolish woman. Miss Howard,” he said grimly. “The kind of man my stepbrother is would never make you happy.”

Her eyes snapped open. So, it had been Law out in the compound the night she talked with Sherrod. “
And do you think you would?” she gritted.

For an answer Law jerked her to him. His mouth ground down on hers. It was nothing like the kiss he had given her t
he first time. She tried to twist away, but he held her fast. When he forced her lips apart, his tongue first teasing, then ravishing, she was shocked. She felt sullied. But out of that revulsion there sprouted a seed of desire to take root in her loins, and it seemed that too soon he released her.

“
No,” he said, still holding her wrists, “I’m not that man. But then I don’t think you’ll give any man a chance at laying claim as long as you got Sherrod sitting on that mountaintop. ” Anger shot through her, but before she could deliver a verbal blast, he held up his hands. “Wait! Don’t get me wrong. I’ve always admired my stepbrother. Sherrod is every inch the gentleman. What every woman wants. And he's too much the gentleman to violate civilization’s code of ethics. Excepting . . .” Law paused, his eyes studying her pale face. “Excepting, Cate, if I wanted something bad enough, you can damn well bet civilization’s code wouldn't stand in my way of taking it.”

And he took her in his arms again, holding her, bendi
ng her so that she could not move—one hand behind her head, the other gripping her waist. His mouth clamped over hers in a long, thorough kiss. At first Catherine, constrained by his arms, remained passive. All she could think of was how cool, how refreshing, his mouth was on hers as the sun beat down mercilessly on them.

Then that ember of passion that her Victorian morals would have denied flared into a flame. Slowly her conscious thought ebbed so that she was aware of Law and Law only . . . his masculine
strength, his smell of leather and sweat and tobacco, and the solid thud of his heart that seemed to drum in time to her own.

Beneath her palms his sun-heated back rippled with sinewy muscles. His mustache ab
raded her lips, and his mouth tasted salty over hers. He was all male, and he was making her very much aware of herself as a female, aware of what her body was meant for.

“
Open your mouth, Cate,” he said, his voice husky with his want of her.

She knew that
a proper lady would never do what she was doing. And yet was not that why she was out there—to live her life to its fullest? Slowly, with great misgivings, her lips voluntarily parted.

Law boldly tasted of her mouth. His teeth nibbled at her lips. Dimly s
he wondered if he had made love to many women and suspected that his women had been innumerable. Any other thoughts she had wavered like the shimmering heat rising off the caked and crinkled earth as his tongue plundered the hollow of her ear. His sure hands traveled down her spine and pressed her against him so she could feel the hard knot at the apex of his long legs. Her knees buckled with the thirst for something more that raged through her, parching her, leaving her depleted.

When his hand cupped one h
er derriere, anchoring her against him she was jolted by the unexpected act of intimacy, unprepared. “No!” she rasped, swiveling her face away.

He paused, lifted his head, and said in a sardonic tone, “
Seems I misjudged you.”  A crooked grin eased the angled face. “Or perhaps you are one of that kind, Cate—the kind that leads a man on?”

She blinked. “
What?” Suddenly the meaning behind his words dawned on her. “You insufferable clod!” She stepped away and coolly surveyed the young man. “You are a good-for-nothing reprobate. Law Davalos! A parasite. Feeding off the labor of Don Francisco and your stepbrother!”

“
Yes’m. That I am.” The man was obviously enjoying himself. He rested his hands on his hips and settled his weight on one leg. “Anything else?”

The infe
ctious amusement softened her anger. “Yes, there’s more.” She bit her lip. “I’m trying to be honest, and I find it rather painful . . . but the fact of the matter is I—I liked what you did. The kiss.”

Law nodded his head slowly, and she saw that he was str
iving to keep from smiling again and losing. “I admit my naiveté—my inexperience— but I didn’t know what to expect until it was almost too late.”

His grin faded, and he looked at her as if he was trying to understand. “
Too late for what?”

She colored. It w
as really ridiculous standing there under the scorching sun, trying to explain herself to him. “To make it blunt,” she said, crossing her arms defensively, “I want a husband.”

His eyes narrowed, and she hurried on. “
Oh, I’m not after you. Law Davalos. You’d be a poor excuse for a husband.”

He smiled broadly and reached for her, saying, “
I knew I liked you, Cate Howard. Not only are you a fetching woman, but you’re plain-spoken. Now that we both agree that marriage is not in the book for us . . .” He drew her close, and she put her hands up against his chest in an attempt to distance herself from his irresistible allure.

“
You still don’t understand, you nitwit! I want a real husband. A real marriage. I don’t want to go to my husband . . . tainted.”

The comers
of his lips twitched. “You just want us to go on—kissing, is that it?”

She glared at the tall man. “
No! I’m not that insipid. I’m trying to tell you that though I like the way you make me feel—and I know it is quite shocking to admit it, but you did indicate you appreciate honesty—even though I—your kisses are . . . nice, well, you mustn’t ever do it again.”

His laughter was uproarious. It echoed throughout the small canyons about them. The more he laughed, the angrier she became. Her fist doubled up, and
she socked him below his ribs in the muscled flatness of his stomach.

Law grunted. A surprised look flashed across his face. He jerked her up against him, and her booted toes swung free of the ground. “
I ought to whip you for that!”

Then he bent his head,
and he began to kiss her with a ruthlessness that frightened her worse than his threat of whipping her. Physical punishment would only make her angrier. But this, the slow devouring of herself, left her weak and helpless, without any volition of her own. Even now her hands crept up to entwine in the riotous sun-bleached locks, to pull him closer.

He released her abruptly, and she almost fell. “
And I'll warn you about something else,” he said softly, his gaze scalding her. "You can’t help what you feel, Cate. You’re a hot-blooded woman, whether you know it or not. And you want me.”

Her breasts rose and fell in seething contempt. “
You’re wrong! I don’t want you. I'd have any type of man before I’d have you!”

The mouth eased into a smile, but the eyes were the
shade of burnt umber. “No, you’re wrong, Cate. As sure as you’re standing under this Joshua tree, you want me. And you know where to find me. I'll be out here waiting for you. I’ll wait—and you’ll come.”

“
You’ll wait forever!” She turned on her heel and stalked back to her horse.