by Paula Scott
“Where’s he going?” With shaking hands, Rachel pushed her wild curls into some semblance of order.
“We’ll catch up to him later. You don’t want Antonio to see you changing out of your bedclothes, do you?” He came to her, carrying what he’d removed from the saddlebag. A pair of small pantaloons and one of the blousy white shirts the vaqueros wore, along with wool socks, and a pair of little leather boots. “I’m sorry this is all we could find in the stables. They belong to a boy.”
“You don’t expect me to wear a boy’s garments?” She pulled the blanket more firmly about her.
“You must be cold in that nightgown.” He smiled. The first genuine smile she’d seen on his face since she told him she was Joshua Tyler’s daughter. She didn’t know him that well—hardly at all, really—but sensed he was strangely happy standing there alone in the wilderness with her.
“You need to put on something more substantial.” He kept on grinning.
Her face flamed in embarrassment. He had dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. How unnervingly handsome he was. And how deeply he frustrated her. Tears sprang to her eyes.
His smile disappeared. “I should not have kissed you this morning. I’m sorry, chica.”
She bowed her head and began to cry.
He tried to put his arms around her, but she jerked away from him. “Don’t touch me. We have said no vows.” Dreams of a life with Steven turned to ashes, filling her with immeasurable grief. Mounting shame rose as well that Roman Vasquez had awakened something in her she hadn’t known existed. Lust. It had to be lust.
So often she’d dreamed of Steven kissing her, what his embrace would feel like, what it would be like to be in his arms. Loved and cherished by him. Now she’d been held by a stranger. Kissed and caressed by a stranger. Roman Vasquez really was that to her. A dark, dangerous man she knew nothing about. A man who took unbelievable liberties, and she couldn’t seem to resist him.
Where on earth did he expect her to change her clothes out here in this open meadow? And into a boy’s apparel of all things? Had he lost his mind? Perhaps she was losing her mind. She pressed the Bible to her face and cried harder.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Roman didn’t know what to do in the face of her tears. He didn’t try to touch her again, knowing he’d already touched her far too freely. He’d never been with a woman like her before—someone he wasn’t supposed to want, but for the life of him, he couldn’t stop wanting. Even now, all he wanted to do was take her in his arms. The sun shone warmly down on them in the green field surrounded by towering redwood trees. Birds frolicked in the willows along a nearby creek that tumbled musically through the meadow.
Oro grazed where Roman left him after removing his bridle. The horse was well trained, his primary mount for the past four years. Many Californios wore out their horses in a very short time. Roman was not this way. He loved Oro and refused to use his mount harshly. The chance to graze would do the stallion good since he carried two riders this day. Oro remained saddled, the bridle hanging from the saddle horn in case they needed to be off in a hurry.
Rachel finally stopped crying. She sank down on the grass and opened her Bible, then sat there quietly reading with her hair veiling her face. He settled down beside her and lay back on the grass, folding his arms behind his head, staring up into the endless sky, thinking of God. It was hard not to think about God in her presence. She was such a religious person, but not in the way he was used to. He remembered his mother praying the rosary every night. How she taught him to kneel beside her when he was very young. Before she died, he’d liked religion. Now it made him uncomfortable and sometimes sad because religion reminded him of his mother.
After a while, there in the meadow, a peace like he’d never known settled gently upon him. He breathed in the fresh spring air, feeling more content than he had in years. The sky looked bluer. The meadow greener. He glanced over at Rachel. The sun shimmered on her fair hair, haloing her in golden light. Was this light upon her a holy thing, a touch from Dios? He wanted to understand the religion she cocooned herself in, but he was wary of it too. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with her.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
She wrapped the blanket more tightly around herself. “I am reading from the Psalms and confessing my sins to God.” Her eyes accused him when she turned her face to his.
“What sins? I have seen you do nothing wrong.”
She looked back down at her Bible. “You have made me do wrong,” she whispered without looking at him.
Understanding finally dawned. “I only kissed you. I did not make you my woman.”
“I know what a kiss is. That was not a kiss. That was sin between us this morning.”
Fire flamed in his belly, remembering the softness of her mouth as she yielded to his desire. The surprising flare of her own passion in his arms. He wasn’t used to feeling consumed by a woman. With her in his arms, he completely lost his head. That had never happened to him before. And now to his discomfort, he found himself questioning his motives and doubting his actions where she was concerned. With her tear-filled eyes upon him, he felt convicted by his own behavior. He’d always prided himself on his respect for women, how he protected them with his very life. Never had he forced a woman to do anything she didn’t want to do. Women had always wanted him. Sarita had practically begged him to marry her before he left for Texas. But here was Rachel, staring at him like he was an outlaw. She’d agreed to go with him. He hadn’t kidnapped her.
Rising to his feet, he left the little boots and boy clothes there beside her on the grass. Walking over to Oro, he dug through his saddlebags. Pulling out dried meat, he ate just a little, saving most of it for her. He didn’t want to think about what he was doing. Didn’t want to admit that in a way, he was no better than her father, dragging her into this wilderness on a whim he wasn’t sure about. Surely, she was better off with him than with her father and Sarita’s dueña.
When he turned her way, she was trying on the little boots. Hopefully, they would fit her, but if they didn’t, it would serve her right. She shouldn’t have fought leaving with him this morning. Between her and Maria, he’d longed to throttle them both. He had shoved Rachel’s clothes at Maria with the plan of having his sister accompany them to the stables. But every scheme in his head evaporated as soon as he kissed Rachel to stop her from screaming in the hall. He was just going to quiet her; instead, he found himself hungry to consume her.
Now she was trying to shimmy into the pantaloons under her nightdress. He looked away. The last thing he needed was a glimpse of that fair skin that felt like silk under his calloused hands. He turned back to his mount and rummaged through his saddlebags some more, realizing most of his supplies were with the packhorse.
A few minutes later, she tentatively approached him. In her arms, she carried the blanket, Bible, and her nightdress. The masculine clothes fit her like Roman never imagined they would. She looked so appealing he nearly groaned.
Her hair remained loose, falling to her waist in waves of gold. The pants hugged her slim hips. She’d tucked the white shirt into the waistband of the pants. Fortunately, he could not see her bosom, for she held the items against her chest.
“This is scandalous, you know,” she said, and he sensed a teasing in her tone that utterly surprised him. His darkened mood lightened in an instant.
“Si,” he acknowledged. “You do look scandalous.” He took the blanket from her, trying not to grin. The nightdress and Bible she kept tucked to her chest. He handed her the dried meat, which she began to eat very delicately. How things eased between them so quickly, he didn’t know, but he was more than thankful for this truce settling over them. Being honest with himself, he had to admit that he deeply enjoyed being alone with her.
The sound of approaching riders carried to them there in the meadow. He could tell by the look on Rachel’s face that she heard the sound too but didn’t recognize it for what it was. A small army a
pproaching. “You will ride astride in front of me,” he said, dropping the blanket to the ground and swiftly bridling his stallion. Grabbing Rachel around the waist, he threw her up onto his saddle. In a heartbeat, he was behind her, urging Oro to run like the wind.
PART TWO
“He is my stronghold, my refuge, and my Savior—
From violent men you save me.” 2 Samuel 22:3
CHAPTER TWELVE
Pausing deep in the trees, Roman and Rachel watched as the army of vaqueros, led by Rachel’s father, stopped to investigate the abandoned blanket in the middle of the meadow. Tio Pedro, on his palomino mount, stood out amid Rancho El Rio Lobo riders on all their dark horses. Roman knew there was little chance of outrunning Tyler’s vaqueros riding double with Rachel. And he wasn’t about to turn her over to her father today either. He wasn’t sure what he would do.
Antonio waited on the other side of the next hill. Roman turned his mount and spurred Oro through the woods in that direction, one arm firmly holding Rachel before him in the saddle.
Finding his vaquero, with the packhorse now ready for Rachel to ride, exactly where he’d told him to wait, Roman decided they would not continue to run. It would be too dangerous for Rachel if she wasn’t an experienced rider. And he had no idea what kind of rider she was. Just like he had no idea what kind of woman she really was, though his opinions were changing quickly about her.
Reaching Antonio, he took his time getting down from the saddle and lifting Rachel down as well. He would miss her warm body pressed against his. She was delicately built, slender, but soft in all the right places. Helping her down, he smiled reassuringly into her frightened face. “Let me put your gown and Bible in the saddlebags.” When she hesitated to turn them over to him, he explained, “You will need your hands free to ride your own horse now.”
After placing the book and nightgown in the bags, he helped Rachel onto the pack horse. The three then rode at a leisurely pace, waiting for their pursuers to catch up with them.
They rode for several hours without being overtaken. By then, they had traveled onto Rancho de los Robles land, following the creek that ultimately flowed past the Vasquez hacienda. Roman grew certain they were no longer being pursued. He had no idea why Tyler gave up the chase, but was happy for it. In Spanish, he told Antonio to ride on home without them.
Antonio nodded and spurred his horse into a gallop.
After he rode off, Roman turned to Rachel. “Do you need to rest?” He pointed to the inviting creek. “We could get a drink of water and stretch our legs for a spell.”
“Are we far from your home?” she asked with concern.
“Not far.” He stepped down from Oro and approached her horse. When he reached out for her, she tentatively leaned into his arms. He lifted her down, all the while searching her eyes for acceptance of his advances.
But as soon as her feet were on the ground, she stepped away from him, avoiding his gaze. The boy’s shirt offered about as much modesty as her nightgown had. She didn’t look back to see what he was doing with the horses, just quickly headed for the creek with its lush undergrowth and towering oak and cottonwood trees that would allow her some much-needed privacy, he supposed.
# # #
The growl came low and menacing from across the stream where Rachel knelt drinking water from the cupped palms of her hands. Looking up, she stared directly into the gleaming eyes of a large gray wolf. She scooted away from the water, not taking her gaze off the threatening animal across the creek. When the wolf didn’t move, she slowly rose to her feet, backing up as best she could in the tangled vines that matted the creek bed.
When strong arms wrapped around her from behind, she screamed in terror.
The wolf turned and disappeared into the dense undergrowth. Roman spun her around, tucking her tightly against his chest.
“The wolf. . . where is it?”
“He’s gone. A lone wolf usually will not attack unless something’s wrong with it. Like you, he was just satisfying his thirst.”
“This place is so wild.”
“Si,” he agreed. “You must stay where I can always protect you.” His hands began to explore her back under her unbound hair. Through the shirt, the heat of his hands seared her skin as if nothing shielded her body from him.
“I am not your wife yet.” She leaned sharply away from him.
He tightened his hold on her, his hands pressing her closer to his chest.
“You have already taken what only belongs to a husband. Do not take any more from me.”
“Truth be known, I have taken very little from you, Señorita Tyler.”
“My father will not allow you to misuse me. He is an honorable man.”
“Your father has already proved he has no honor whatsoever. I would kill a man for carrying my daughter away. Your father has already returned to his brandy. He and my uncle are probably drunk by now. Perhaps gambling over whether or not I will take your virtue tonight.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Don’t underestimate me, dove.” He ran his long, dark fingers over her ribcage, his thumbs caressing her sides. The boy’s shirt offered her up so freely. Shivers raced down her spine at his daring touch. Her stomach swirled wildly. Fear made her head spin. When he lowered his warm mouth to her neck, running his lips along her throbbing pulse, she stopped breathing. When his hand reached for her breast, her world went dark.
He poured water from the creek onto her lips to bring her out of her dead faint. Holding her in his lap, he scooped more water onto her face. For a moment, she remained disoriented, unsure of where she was and what had happened. He carried her away from the water, placing her on a bed of cushiony grape vines. When she tried to escape, he pinned her there with his body, yanking the cotton shirt free from the waistband of her pants, exposing the pale skin of her midriff as his lips sought hers once more.
A crow squawked in a tree above their heads. The big black bird startled Roman. He stopped kissing her and looked up at the incensed bird.
“Please,” she pleaded. “Let me go.” Tears filled her eyes.
He rose to his feet in a rush, hauling her up with him. He didn’t say anything, just held her protectively in his arms, smoothing down her tangled hair with trembling hands. She could tell he was shaken. She was shaken too.
The crow squawked again before flying away.
The sound of rushing water was the only sound in the grove now. “I’m sorry, pequeña. I don’t know what came over me. The spirit of the wolf, perhaps.” He reached out to retrieve a leaf caught in her hair.
She shied away from his touch. When he released her, she hurried out of his arms.
In a flash, he grabbed hold of the waistband of her pants, yanking her back into his embrace, a wounded look on his face. He took the leaf from her hair at leisure and then leaned his forehead against hers in regret. “I said I was sorry. I won’t hurt you, Rachel.”
“You have already hurt me.”
Cursing in Spanish, he released her. He strode over to the stream. There at the water, he yanked off his shirt and began bathing his face and upper body as if he was a man on fire. His torso was much lighter than his tanned arms and neck, all of him corded in hard muscle. Great bruises and broken skin marred his back. For heaven’s sake, he was so appealing yet so injured. She’d had no idea. He’d not once winced or acted in any pain today. She stared at the wounds on his back with wide, shocked eyes. He’d been terribly beaten. The sight of his injuries appalled her. Had his uncle done that to him on account of her?
Trembling all over, she tucked the bottom of her shirt back into her pants as she turned away from the only half-naked man she’d ever seen and walked out of the undergrowth growing in abundance along the creek.
Their horses were tied together with a long rope in the open field. The buckskin mare Rachel rode would have bolted away when she approached, but Roman’s palomino stallion refused to run, holding the other horse in check.
A whistle
from the trees caused the palomino to trot away from her, dragging her horse to where Roman walked into the clearing. His shirt was back on, his jet-black hair wet and slicked away from his unsmiling face. He untied the horses, rolled up the rope, and bridled both of them. After swinging up on Oro, he rode over to her, leading her mount. His shirt clung to his wet skin outlining muscles Rachel now intimately knew the strength of, even injured, he was unbelievably strong, both physically and in will and constitution. She couldn’t believe how unaffected he was by all those bruises on his body.
“Do not try to return to your father without an escort. The way would be too dangerous for you,” he told her flatly.
She could see he’d misunderstood her approaching the horses while he was at the creek. “I only wanted my Bible.”
He got off Oro and took her by the elbow. “I will return your Bible tonight when we reach my hacienda.” He led her to the buckskin and lifted her without fanfare into the saddle. His eyes revealed not an ounce of emotion, good or bad.
When he turned away to mount his own horse, Rachel saw blood seeping through his wet shirt.
“Your back is bleeding.” She gathered the reins in both hands, keeping a firm bit on the mustang and her feelings.
He settled into his saddle. “It is nothing.”
“I didn’t know you were hurt so badly.”
“Would you have surrendered to me on account of my wounds?” His gaze bore into hers.
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He nudged his horse ahead, leaving her to follow.
Her horse naturally fell in behind his. For the following hours, they rode in silence as she watched the blood dry on his shirt. During that time, she prayed for him. He was like two different men. One protective, caring, and tender, the other driven by demons.