but each time he looked back and saw her, he heard the sharp clang of the bell, saw the lead ball explode in his brotherâs chest, heard the soft words Andreas had spoken as he died clutching Ramonâs hand.
It was dark when they reached the place they meant to camp, the girl walking blindly, stumbling now and then, but always moving forward, by sheer will alone, it seemed to him. It angered him more than ever that she had decided to fight him, that she had not weakened as he had expected. Yet part of him was glad for it, glad to pit the rage he felt inside against someone besides himself.
She was trembling with exhaustion, he saw when he climbed down from his horse, swaying slightly though she fought to stand still. Her blue robe hung in dirty tatters, snagged on sharp rocks and thorny vines along the trail. Her hair had slipped loose from its binding. It tumbled in dark copper waves down her back and clung in damp curls to her slightly sunburned cheeks.
A knot of guilt twisted inside him. He had never been cruel to a woman. Never lifted a hand against one. But this was not just any woman. This one had murdered his brother. A bone-deep chill quelled the fires inside him. She would pay for what she had done. Her uncle would pay. He owed that much to his brother.
Then he noticed the blood on her feet.
Madre de Dios. âSanchez!â he called out, and Pedro came running. âSee to the girl.â The words came out thick and strained as something squeezed painfully inside him. It mixed with the grief, stirring it up in agonizing waves, making it hard to think. âYou should have said something,â he told the woman darkly. âI would have seen you had something to wear for shoes.â
She spit into the dirt at his feet. âThere is nothing I want from you. Do you hear me? Nothing!â
She was everything he hatedâhe had discovered that the instant he had met her. She was grasping, hedonistic, spoiled, and self-centered.
Everything he once was himself.
Walking away, his head pounding viciously, he reached into the bolsa hanging behind his saddle and drew out a bottle of strong aguardiente. He pulled the cork and took a long, mind-numbing drink. He didnât take more than one. He did not dare. He knew if he did he would not stop. He would climb into the bottle, drink until he couldnât feel the pain.
Behind him Pedro led the girl to the stream, knelt and helped her bathe her bloody feet. A few minutes later, one of the men approached, carrying a soft pair of knee-high moccasins. The vaquero said something to the girl and though he couldnât hear it, Ramon was certain what it was.
Because as much as he hated to admit it, as much as he wished it werenât the truth, the same grudging respect his men had begun to feel for the woman had begun to blossom inside himself.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Every noise in the darkness seemed magnified a thousand times. Carly wasnât used to being out of doors. Her uncle had warned her not to go far from the house alone. The woods, he said, were dangerously overrun with wild animals: mountain lions, poisonous rattlesnakes, huge sharp-horned wild bulls, feral pigs, and worse of all, giant man-eating grizzly bears. Even now she could hear something growling in the darkness not far from camp. A second night creature howled its vicious intent just down the hill.
Carly shivered to think of it. Even if she could escape, which there seemed little hope of, she didnât know her way back home, and the animals would be prowling, just waiting to tear her in two.
And yet an even greater peril lay just a few yards across the camp.
He was stretched out on his bedroll, his black flat-brimmed hat tilted forward over his eyes. He had only just returned to the clearing, having gone off alone into the forest while the others made camp. He hadnât returned until after the men had all gone to sleep, then sat in front of the fire and stared
It was dark when they reached the place they meant to camp, the girl walking blindly, stumbling now and then, but always moving forward, by sheer will alone, it seemed to him. It angered him more than ever that she had decided to fight him, that she had not weakened as he had expected. Yet part of him was glad for it, glad to pit the rage he felt inside against someone besides himself.
She was trembling with exhaustion, he saw when he climbed down from his horse, swaying slightly though she fought to stand still. Her blue robe hung in dirty tatters, snagged on sharp rocks and thorny vines along the trail. Her hair had slipped loose from its binding. It tumbled in dark copper waves down her back and clung in damp curls to her slightly sunburned cheeks.
A knot of guilt twisted inside him. He had never been cruel to a woman. Never lifted a hand against one. But this was not just any woman. This one had murdered his brother. A bone-deep chill quelled the fires inside him. She would pay for what she had done. Her uncle would pay. He owed that much to his brother.
Then he noticed the blood on her feet.
Madre de Dios. âSanchez!â he called out, and Pedro came running. âSee to the girl.â The words came out thick and strained as something squeezed painfully inside him. It mixed with the grief, stirring it up in agonizing waves, making it hard to think. âYou should have said something,â he told the woman darkly. âI would have seen you had something to wear for shoes.â
She spit into the dirt at his feet. âThere is nothing I want from you. Do you hear me? Nothing!â
She was everything he hatedâhe had discovered that the instant he had met her. She was grasping, hedonistic, spoiled, and self-centered.
Everything he once was himself.
Walking away, his head pounding viciously, he reached into the bolsa hanging behind his saddle and drew out a bottle of strong aguardiente. He pulled the cork and took a long, mind-numbing drink. He didnât take more than one. He did not dare. He knew if he did he would not stop. He would climb into the bottle, drink until he couldnât feel the pain.
Behind him Pedro led the girl to the stream, knelt and helped her bathe her bloody feet. A few minutes later, one of the men approached, carrying a soft pair of knee-high moccasins. The vaquero said something to the girl and though he couldnât hear it, Ramon was certain what it was.
Because as much as he hated to admit it, as much as he wished it werenât the truth, the same grudging respect his men had begun to feel for the woman had begun to blossom inside himself.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Every noise in the darkness seemed magnified a thousand times. Carly wasnât used to being out of doors. Her uncle had warned her not to go far from the house alone. The woods, he said, were dangerously overrun with wild animals: mountain lions, poisonous rattlesnakes, huge sharp-horned wild bulls, feral pigs, and worse of all, giant man-eating grizzly bears. Even now she could hear something growling in the darkness not far from camp. A second night creature howled its vicious intent just down the hill.
Carly shivered to think of it. Even if she could escape, which there seemed little hope of, she didnât know her way back home, and the animals would be prowling, just waiting to tear her in two.
And yet an even greater peril lay just a few yards across the camp.
He was stretched out on his bedroll, his black flat-brimmed hat tilted forward over his eyes. He had only just returned to the clearing, having gone off alone into the forest while the others made camp. He hadnât returned until after the men had all gone to sleep, then sat in front of the fire and stared
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