Heart of Thunder (26 page)

Samantha finished the last of her wine and set the cup aside. She watched Diego as he picked up his bedroll and moved off behind the boulder, and Inigo as he cleared the frying pan. Lorenzo was taking a swig from a flask of
tequila
. When he put it away, turning toward her, he wouldn’t meet her gaze. He hadn’t looked at her all day. Why had Lorenzo suddenly been so pacified by whatever Hank told him? She wanted to question him, but he seemed so disturbed, no, embarrassed by the whole affair. But embarrassed for whom? For her?

Inigo finished cleaning and moved off around the boulder as Diego had done. Then Hank got up and began spreading out his bedroll by the fire.

“Did someone bring a blanket for me?” Samantha asked hesitantly.

But neither man looked at her or answered. Lorenzo was watching Hank, and then he rose, too, and left the area.

“Lorenzo, where are you going?” She jumped to her feet. “Lorenzo!” She did not want to be alone with Hank!

“Leave him be, Sam,” Hank said so softly she hardly heard him.

Lorenzo had not gone around the boulder, but was walking away. After a while she couldn’t see him anymore.

“Where is he going?” she asked Hank, the suspicions growing and making her voice rise.

“They will all sleep away from us.”

“Why?” she cried.

“Cálmese.”

“Speak English, damn you!”

“I said calm yourself.”

“Give me a reason to!” she demanded, her eyes wide.

Hank came around the fire toward her, but she backed away. “What is it you fear, Sam?”

“You know.”

He shook his head. “Tell me.”

“You and your crazy ideas about babies!”

He stopped as Samantha continued to retreat. “Ah, so you took me seriously, eh?” he asked, amused.

“Of course not.” She tried to sound convincing but failed. “I just don’t like the fact that the others are giving you this…privacy. They stayed near me when I traveled with them before. Why have they gone off?”

“You have me to watch over you now. It takes only one man to see that you do not escape.”

“But—”

“I want to sleep, Sam, and I can’t until you settle down.”

“Are you going to tie me up?”

“Do I have to?”

“No.”

“Then I won’t,” he said agreeably. “I have a blanket for you.”

He went to his bedroll and picked up a blanket, holding it out to her. Samantha hesitated. Instinct told her not to trust him. She couldn’t run, though. She was still in his power, even out here on this vast plain. As much as she hated it, there was nothing she could do about it.

But she didn’t have to seem cowed. Raising her chin, she walked forward purposefully, ignoring the twinkle in his eye. When she reached him, she snatched the blanket away. His deep chuckle grated, but she didn’t let it show. She turned away, intending to bed down on the other side of the fire, as far from him as she could.

She was startled when his hands caught her shoulders and he pulled her back, forcing her down onto his bedroll.

“You lied,” Samantha said bitterly when he fell down
beside her and put his hand on her skirt. “You said you wanted to sleep!”

“And so I will—afterward.”

“After you make a baby?” she cried, her eyes riveted on his face.

“After I give you pleasure, Sam.”

“You’re crazy if you think I get pleasure out of being raped!”

Hank chuckled. “Now who is lying
dulzura?
There was never any rape.”

“Bastard!”

She went for his face. Hank slapped her hand away, then quickly caught both wrists and held her hands above her head.

His eyes were cold steel, his mouth fixed in a hard line. “I like my face the way it is,” he said icily. “You scar it with your nails as you did my chest and I swear I will give you equal scars. Think about that, Sam, before you use your claws again.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “You’re cruel, Hank. You leave me nothing.”

“And what did you leave me when you stole my heart?” he asked softly.

She stared hard at him, searching his eyes, seeing only naked honesty.

“You have your heart back. It’s whole and hard and vengeful. Besides, you stole my innocence, which I
can’t
get back. You came out ahead, and still you want revenge.”

“This is not revenge,” he whispered. “You make me ache with wanting you. Does it not satisfy you to have such power over me?”

“No! I suffer because of you!”

“You do not know what it is to suffer, Samina. Even when I took you in anger, I never hurt you. You were more upset that day with the truths I told you about Adrien than with me.”

“But you do not take into account my feelings. I hate you.”

“But when I make love to you, you forget that.”

“I don’t!” she gasped.

He grinned at her and with his free hand caressed her cheek. “I am not blind to what happens to you when I touch you,
querida
. Why must you pretend so hard?”

She looked away from him, and a deep flush spread up her neck.

“There is passion in you,” he continued huskily. “You cannot fight it. You feel it with me. I strip your pride away, and that is the only thing you suffer. But your pride returns later, so you need not lose it if you do not wish to.”

He kissed her and she had no retaliation. He had got inside her, discerned all the truths she had thought hidden from him. He made her feel weak, vulnerable—not because of his strength, but because of his knowledge of her. How had he come to know her so well?

She kissed him back, and he made her seek his lips, leaning back, forcing her to strain for him. Not until she had reached her limit and her shoulders were trembling with effort did he move her head back to the ground and cover her lips with his. He was relentless in passion, fiery and wild, and her desire matched his. She stayed with him, movement for movement, her body drawn by strings he pulled, until at last there was sweet, pulsing release.

The first thought that entered Samantha’s mind when clear thought returned was that she hadn’t marked him this time. But then his movements caught her attention. He was rubbing his left shoulder and wincing.

“
Gata!
Your teeth are as sharp as your claws. It is not safe making love to you!”

Samantha burst into laughter, and Hank’s expression darkened as she laughed harder. She had marked him after all, bitten him and not even remembered it.

“I would remember the position I was in if I were
you, before you amuse yourself at my expense,” Hank warned softly.

She sobered instantly. “I’m sorry.” She touched his shoulder. “You want me to have a look at your wound?”

“I will see to it myself, thank you, just as I have seen to all the other wounds you have given me.”

“Well, if you don’t want my help, then how about letting me up?”

He grunted and moved to the side, but threw an arm over her so that she couldn’t rise. “You will sleep here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed.

“I am quite serious, Sam. You will share my bedroll. It is softer than the hard ground.”

“I don’t care how soft it is,” she replied haughtily. “I would rather sleep in a bed of cactus than be near you.”

“I do not give a damn what you prefer,” he sighed. “I want you next to me, and there will be no more discussion of it. I won’t have you slipping off while I sleep.”

He fastened his clothing, then bent to fix hers. She tried to stop him, to do it herself, but he shoved her hands away.

“You’re impossible!” she hissed, and turned away from him as soon as he finished.

Hank drew the cover over them and settled down behind her, curving his body to hers and dropping one arm around her. “When you are angry, you are like a jewel. You sparkle and shine—for me, eh? You are my
alhaja
.”

“You say these things to annoy me, don’t you?” Samantha asked stiffly.

“
Sí
.” He chuckled. “It delights me to stir your temper. But do you know what delights me more?”

“I don’t want to know!” she retorted coldly, then asked, “What?”

His fingers brushed a nipple as he answered, “It delights me to see your eyes smolder with passion when—”

“Oh, shut up, damn you!”

She put her hands over her ears, but she could still hear his voice as he continued to taunt her. “Next time I want you, you will not put up so much fuss, eh?”

She didn’t answer, wouldn’t let herself be goaded. To hell with it. Tomorrow would see her one day closer to her father and to the time when she would see the very last of Hank Chavez.

Chapter 29

S
IX days before, they had left the mountains. They had passed the Kingsley ranch—if it still was the Kingsley ranch. For all Samantha knew, her father had sold it already. She felt so dismal with that thought as they circled well around the ranch, to the east, then rode on toward the border.

Hank was in no apparent hurry. He seemed to be dragging his feet, slow to rise in the mornings, making camp early at night. Nearly two days had been wasted through slow progress. Nor did Hank appear to worry about running into anyone looking for her.

They were only a day’s ride from her home when they rode into a small village. Samantha had long since given up her stiff posture in the saddle, but she was still tired. She didn’t know anyone in this village, but there was a church, so they were probably decent people. The possibility of finding help entered her mind. It would only be a matter of speaking to one person without Hank’s knowing, so when Hank pulled up before a
cantina
and dismounted to go inside, she took hope. She waited outside with the others, who were all still on their horses. The street was dark that night, though scattered lights issued from a few houses, and a torch burned in front of the church down the street. This was a small working
pueblo
, and most of the people would be in bed already.

It was twenty minutes before Hank returned and lifted Samantha off El Rey. Lorenzo and Diego followed
them into the
cantina
, while Inigo led the horses away to shelter.

It was dim inside the small saloon. A candle flickered at the end of the serving counter near a stairway, toward the door, while at the other end of the room a fire burned under a large pot of food. A woman of indeterminate age bent over the fire, adding fuel. There were only a few tables in the room. A white-haired man slept at one, unaware of the travelers’ arrival.

The Mexican woman at the fire turned when they entered, smiling. She motioned them to a table and said that food would soon be ready. Diego and Lorenzo sat down, removing hats, setting saddlebags and rifles aside. But Hank took Samantha to the stairs, taking the candle at the end of the counter to light their way.

His hold on her elbow was firm as they climbed the narrow stairs.

“Will we stay the night here?” she asked before they reached the top floor.

“Yes. There are only two rooms, but Señora Mejia has kindly given us her own.”

“The woman downstairs?”

“Yes. She runs this place herself. A widow.”

Señora Mejia was the one Samantha would need to talk to, then. How could she manage it if Hank shut her up in a room?

“Don’t I even get dinner before you lock me up?”

Hank chuckled at her sharp tone. “I thought you would like a bath. Then you can come down to eat.”

They were at the top of the stairs. The two rooms were right there, and out of one came a young lad bearing two empty buckets.

“Your bath is ready,” Hank said, thanking the boy before he steered Samantha into the room.

There was ample light from an old lantern. The tub awaiting her was small, but steaming, and there was a fragrance of roses. Samantha smiled. Her favorite
scent had been added to the bath. There were clean clothes, too, lying on the narrow bed.

“Are those for me?” Samantha pointed to the white skirt and blouse flounced with delicate lace, and the beautiful
mantilla
next to them.

“Yes.”

“The
señora’s
?”

“No, a friend of hers has a daughter your size. The clothes are new. They are yours to keep.”

“You bought them?” He nodded. “And the rose water was your idea, too? My! You were quite busy while we were waiting out in the street. Will you get me someone to help with my bath?”

“I will be happy to help you.”

“Never mind,” she snapped.

He grinned. “Then I will see you downstairs when you are finished.”

He closed the door, leaving her alone. She ran to the window first, to see if it would offer escape, but there was no overhang, and the drop was straight down. There was nothing to do but take her bath and hope that she still might be able to arrange a word with Señora Mejia.

In less than an hour Samantha descended the stairs, feeling much better after the bath. She had washed her hair, too. The lacy skirt and blouse fit well. They were finely made, probably a special gift for the
señorita
they had been intended for. She hoped the girl would get something just as nice with Hank’s money.

But why had he gone to all the trouble? There were sandals, too, and the
mantilla
that was draped over her damp hair was of the same delicate white lace that adorned the skirt and blouse. Samantha felt like a young girl on her way to meet a favored
caballero
. But the only man she was going to meet was Hank.

He was in the
cantina
with Señora Mejia. The others had gone. They were talking by the fire like old friends. Hank, too, had changed clothes. He was wearing the
black suit he had worn when he took her to dinner so long ago, the first time he had kissed her. That was when she had understood she had to stop using him to make Adrien jealous. How utterly idiotic that scheme had been, and look what it had led to!

Hank came forward and took Samantha’s hand. He led her to a table where a tall candle was burning. There were two place settings, as well as a bottle of wine and a basket of fruit. The
señora
brought
bistec guisado
, a thick stew, and rice and bread.