The Barefoot Bride (53 page)

"Virgil also said," she interrupted, raising her eyes to the sky, "'We are not all capable of all things.' So if you should prove that you are definitely who I'm almost positively sure you are and then have difficulty with one of your heroic duties, I'll help you with it. You've no need to worry, I'll be right beside you."

"Heroic..." Sterling's frustration and confusion rose steadily. "What—"

"Ah, Virgil." She sighed. "He was—"

"Listen, lady, I don't give a fraction of a damn what Virgil said about time or capabilities. I don't care what kind of nonsense you read, and I've no interest whatsoever about whether the authors are from Rome, Greece, or the moon! All I'm interested in at this moment is that knife you're holding. Now are you going to give it to me or not?"

She saw the fury in his upside-down silver eyes. "'Anger is a short madness,'" she said stiffly. "Horace, another Roman poet, said that. And I'm not sure I should trust a crazy man with a knife."

He rolled his eyes. "You call me crazy? If you can't cut
me
down, how did you think you would cut down a
werewolf?"

"You know, I never gave it much thought until now. I guess I'll have to re-set the trap on a lower branch. That or bring a ladder when I catch one. 'The glorious gifts of the gods are not to be cast aside.'"

"'The glorious gifts of the gods are not to be cast aside,'" he repeated. Where had he read that line? Despite his predicament, he searched his memory, some part of him determined to prove to her that he was not as ignorant as she apparently thought him to be. "Homer wrote that," he said suddenly. "It's from the
Iliad."

"You've read it?"

Sterling felt a tad of guilt that he could remember a line from an ancient poem but had botched The Lord's Prayer. Well, to a child the Trojan War was definitely more entertaining than a prayer about daily bread. "Do you think you're the only person in the world who can read? And what does the
Iliad
have to do with this too-high trap and the werewolf? Perhaps you think Zeus might hurl the ladder down to you?"

"I don't believe in Zeus. But even if I did, I've never heard anything as ridiculous as him tossing down a ladder. I quoted the line because it happened to pop into my mind. I say what I think."

"Whether it makes sense or not."

Irritation swept through her. "Now see here—"

"No,
you
see here! I've been hanging upside down for almost an hour now, and I've no intention of discussing your sanity, your religious beliefs, or any other kind of absurdity with you. Give me that knife and step away!"

She sighed deeply but obeyed. Sterling snatched the knife, then looked at the ground beneath him. If the crazy woman had cut him down, he'd have been able to break his fall by twisting his lower torso toward the ground before he hit it, enabling himself to land on his feet. But since he had to cut himself down, he wasn't going to have time to do that and would land flat on his back. The knowledge didn't thrill him.

He swung himself upward, grabbed the rope wrapped around his foot, cut through the bond, and braced himself for the fall. As he'd known he would, he fell with a dull thud, flat on his back. The air rushed from his lungs, and it was many moments before he caught his breath again. When he opened his eyes he expected to see Chimera above him. But he was on the forest floor alone, she and the children having gone to play with the baby. Groaning, he tried to stand but fell back to the earth, clutching at the sharp pain in his side.

"Dammit!"

His curse immediately brought the triplets, whom the woman had called Snig, Snag, and Snug. "Cursin' ain't nice, you damn trespasser," Snig chastised him, brandishing the stick sword.

"Well, neither is torturing a helpless man!" Sterling snapped.

"Are you hurt?" Chimera strolled toward him, the baby in her arms. "Can't you get up?" She saw his silver eyes darken, lighten, and then darken and lighten again. It seemed to her they were made of pepper and salt.

"Well, of course I can get up," he assured her, flashing a sardonic smirk. "It's just that lying here on the ground, dirt grinding into the wounds your three monsters gave me and relishing the pain I feel from the rib I just cracked, is such a pleasant pastime, I thought I'd enjoy it a little longer."

"You don't have to be so snippy," Chimera retorted. "If you hadn't been stupid enough to walk into the snare—"

"How the hell was I supposed to know these peaceful woods were booby-trapped? But you're right. I should have known better. Everyone knows the Arizona Territory is the werewolf capital of the world. I should have realized there would be snares set out all around for them. Why, even as we speak, there are probably at least ten of the bloodthirsty beasts watching us. Come a full moon, they'll be sneaking out of their dens and—"

"Make fun if you want!" Chimera yelled down at him, then held the baby closer when the infant began to cry.

"Now look what you did!" Sterling charged. "You've made her cry! Give me my baby!" Still on the ground, he held out his arms.

"I wasn't aware men could have babies," Chimera replied smoothly. "Or are you of a breed that can?"

"Give her to me," Sterling ordered.

"When was the last time she ate?"

"Ate?"

"You haven't given her anything to eat?"

Sterling frowned. "Eat?"

"Eat! You know—that thing you do when you put food in your mouth, swallow it, and are therefore enabled to live?"

"Well," Sterling began sheepishly, "we've been riding for about four hours, and—"

"You haven't fed her in four hours?" Chimera demanded, aghast.

"Well what the hell could I give her? Beans and hardtack? I'm not in the habit of carrying fresh milk around in my canteen!"

"Some hero you are! The spirits must have pulled you out of their bag of rejects!"

"Hero? What are you talking—"

"You're the hero. At least I'm almost sure you are. And you've much to do. So—"

"I'm not doing a damn thing for—"

"'Not snow, no, nor rain, nor heat, nor night keeps them from accomplishing their appointed courses with all speed,'" she said, and nodded smugly. "Herodotus, the Greek historian, wrote that, and he might have been thinking about heroes. You would do well to heed his advice since his knowledge, I'm sure, surpasses yours. Now, if you have a horse, find him, get on him, and follow me, mister. But stay on the path or you might squash the gnomes."

"Gnomes?" Sterling repeated in a whisper as he watched her disappear down the trail through the woods. The woman was mad, and she had his baby! He struggled with his pain until he was on his feet. "Where are you taking her? You come back here, lady!" He stumbled a few steps forward but was stopped by three stick swords. The triplets came at him from all sides, continuing their torture for a good ten minutes before they finally scampered away and left their tired, furious victim alone.

Sterling stood there in the clearing, holding his side for a long time before the pain subsided enough for him to find the breath to whistle for Gus, who appeared instantly. Sterling mounted none too easily and tried to decide what to do.

The knowledge that the crazy woman could care for the baby better than he could filtered into his mind. The triplets looked well cared for. And the woman herself, with her glossy black hair, glowing cheeks, and bright brown eyes, was the epitome of health. There was really no reason for him to retrieve the Apache infant. She was better off with... What had those freckled fiends called her?

Chimera.
He grinned absently. Chimera was the name of a fire-breathing female monster, if he remembered Father Tom's mythology lessons correctly. What a fitting name, he thought, his smile advancing to a chuckle—a chuckle that died away when it suddenly dawned on him she was the only woman he'd ever met who hadn't thrown herself at him.

He hadn't seemed to impress her at all. Why, she'd barely looked at him, and then she'd actually insulted him, the raving lunatic! The realization unnerved him. What was it about him she didn't like? Was he losing his touch?

"She's obviously a madwoman," he muttered to Gus, and shifted uneasily in the saddle. "Spouting off about all that Virgil and Herodotus stuff while letting me dangle from a tree. Mad, Gus. She's mad. I'm going to Tucson, lady!" he shouted at the path she'd taken. "So why the hell should I give a damn what your opinion of me is?"

The answer to his question came immediately. It both infuriated and worried him. He hadn't believed there was a woman alive who was immune to his magic, and it was this fact that had given him such confidence concerning the woman he sought in Tucson. But if Chimera could resist him, wasn't it also possible another rejection awaited him in the town that lay just on the other side of these mountains?

Dammit, why did this have to happen to him now? Now, when it was so important that everything be perfect upon his arrival in Tucson? He was counting on his special touch with women to aid him there.

"Well, now
she's
messed up everything, Gus! Fifteen minutes was all she needed to do it. Damn her, Gus. Damn her, damn her, damn..." His voice trailed off; he raised a brow. "No, don't damn her," he whispered.
"Seduce
her."

His brow rose higher. He smiled. The only way to set things right again was to bed the harebrained wench. It was like knocking on wood. Superstitious, yes, but there was no way in hell he would leave this godforsaken, gnome-infested, werewolf-haunted place until he possessed the proof that his charm hadn't failed him. Otherwise, how could he be sure it would work for him in Tucson?

With that thought in mind, he urged his horse down the winding path Chimera had taken. "Fifteen minutes was all the time she needed to show me she can resist me, Gus. I'll need only ten to prove she can't."

Chapter 2

The triplets stood around the lopsided table watching the Indian baby howl. "What did you feed us when we were this little?" Snag asked, and slipped his finger into the infant's open mouth, grinning when the baby sucked on it.

Chimera took a small bag of sugar from her pantry. "I didn't feed you. There used to be a woman who lived nearby who'd lost her baby a few days before I found you three. She nursed all three of you and must have had good milk because by the time you were a week old, you were sitting at the table eating roast chicken with a knife and fork."

"Aw, Chimera," Archibald said, and smiled at the baby. "Week-old infants can't eat roast chicken by themselves."

"Well, maybe they were two weeks old," she teased.

In the next moment, the door banged open, and she promptly dropped the bag of sugar.

"What have you done with my baby?" Sterling demanded as he walked into the room. He'd decided the only way to successfully handle this fire-breathing vixen was to be firm with her: show her he knew exactly how to handle women, and she'd fall at his feet, like she was supposed to.

His lips curling, he allowed his narrowed gaze to sweep over the small room. Taking in the sight of the old and meager belongings, he realized that lunacy was about the only thing Chimera had in abundance. The exception was her collection of books. Against one cracked wall were tall stacks of what looked to be about a thousand of them. That explained why she was able to snap off all those quotations, Sterling mused, and then slid his focus back to her.

She met his smug look with a defiant one. "Archibald, go get the broom and give it to this man. He's going to sweep up this sugar he made me drop."

Sterling threw his hat on the cot in the corner. "I didn't come to sweep your dilapidated house." He would, however, sweep
her.
Right off her dainty little feet.

His penetrating, smoky gaze bored into her. She shuffled uncomfortably, the sugar crunching beneath her boots. This was the first time she'd seen him on his feet. She hadn't realized he was so tall or powerfully built. He was still shirtless, the thick ropes of muscle in his chest and arms unveiled. His upper torso tapered down to slim hips. His buckskin breeches were tight, leaving no doubt about the strength in his legs.

And lying beside those firm thighs, she saw, was a matched brace of gleaming pistols.

For all she knew, this man could be a dangerous outlaw! A murderer, a robber, a rapist, or all three! After all, he hadn't done a single heroic thing since she'd found him, and though she was reasonably sure he was the man she'd conjured up, she wanted proof.

Well, she was raised a witch, wasn't she? She had special powers, didn't she? Never mind that they rarely worked, she had to keep her faith in them or the spirits would never consent to help her.

The spell. The one for warding off danger! If the gunslinger was dangerous, he'd disappear, and if he was not, he'd remain. Oh, golly darn, how did that confounded spell go? She squeezed her eyes closed, waiting for the words of the incantation to come to her. When they didn't, she decided to make up some of her own.

She raised her arms level with her shoulders and wiggled her fingers. "Uh... evil, danger, all perilous things—begone with you, before... before the clock goes ding-ding!"