“What are you talkin’ about? What’s goin’ on?”
“Beth.” Devon continued his frantic search of the empty yard, expecting riders to thunder up any minute.
Cal understood. “No, son. No. Find Brandi. I’ll get yer horses.”
With several long strides Devon burst through the kitchen door. “We’re leavin’,” he said, relieved to find Brandi here. “Right now.”
Sadie paled. “Why? What’s happened?”
“There’s no time to explain.”
“Oh, no,” Sadie whimpered. “They know where you are.”
“I think so. I can’t take a chance.”
“Rufus,” Sadie ordered calmly. “You go climb that big tree and whistle like I told you if you see any strangers comin’.”
“Yes’um,” the boy answered and raced off as quickly as his little legs could go.
Devon hugged his sister. “Don’t you fret, darlin’,” he said, controlling the need for haste during these few precious seconds. The uncertainties of life weighed heavily in his chest. He might never see Sadie again, although he couldn’t let her think it. “You take care and I’ll be back as soon as this is over.”
Tears began gushing down her paled cheeks. “Oh, Dev. Be careful.”
Holding her tight, sensing the baby she carried, the child he might never know, Devon swallowed a dry lump in his throat. “I love you, Sadie. Believe in me, please.”
Brandi had managed to overcome the shock of Devon’s brisk announcement and was on her feet. She, too, had gone white, but regained color as they dashed across the yard towards the barn. Cal was leading two horses there to be saddled.
“Best let her ride yer mare,” Cal said, throwing the saddle onto the animal’s back. Both horses sidestepped with the excitement, nodding and snorting as though sensing the urgency of escape. “You can handle this one if she starts to get jittery.”
Devon squatted to fasten the harness under the horse’s belly. His eyes never stopped roving. Beth was gone. “Rumford sent her to stall me,” he said, more to himself then to Cal. “He knew I was here cause you told him.”
“I’m sorry, son,” Cal said softly. “I thought I could trust him.”
Devon shot Cal a cold look. He didn’t have to explain why. Trust wasn’t anything to be taken lightly.
“Don’t follow the river,” Cal said, helping Brandi to mount. “Go out past the Biddle place. Follow the trail to the hills before veering south. Ride hard fer as long as possible, into the night if you have to. If Horn shows up here I’ll stall him but it won’t be easy.”
The horizon was still clear and no whistle rang out from the tree.
Sadie had raced over, a bundle in her arms. “I packed you some food,” she said, stuffing it into Devon’s saddlebag. Her face was streaked with tears. She hugged her brother’s leg before stepping back.
“Stay sharp, son. You’ll do good. Send word when you can.”
Devon nodded his thanks, secure in the belief his former suspicion about Cal had been wrong. True, a mistake in trust had been made, yet it was comforting to know even a perceptive former ranger could misjudge, as long as he and Brandi didn’t have to pay the price for that mistake.
As they reached the outer edges of Cal’s property Devon thought he heard a shrill whistle, but the galloping hooves beneath soon drowned out everything except the sound of escape. Life on the run but it was still life and it felt good. He and Brandi were free.
Part 2
Chapter One
“Your back is beautiful, senorita, but when I am finally permitted to make love to you, I hope to glimpse your face.”
She thought he had long since fallen asleep. The night was touched with only the eerie call of an owl beyond the darkness and the crackling of the dimming fire, small tongues of light which kept the blackness from closing in on her completely.
“I beg your pardon,” Sara said without turning from the fire. It was a great security, like a thick warm duvet, to feel Romy’s strong body curled against her back, his arm, strong and thick like the truck of a tree, draped over her waist. More than once, here and in the saddle throughout the day, he had brushed his thumb casually over her breast. But rather than be insulted or annoyed, Sara was surprised to find she welcomed the gesture, and sighed quietly when his forearm tightened and his breath tickled her neck.
He was all the protection she had against the confusion surrounding this place. He was like the firelight in a haze that stubbornly insisted on clouding her mind. And slowly his affections were convincing the haze to lift.
“I mean,” he whispered to her ear, brushing away a short strand on hair, “you rarely look at me. Are you frightened of me still, little rabbit?”
“It’s not you I’m frightened of.”
“Then what? Tell me and I shall banish it forever.”
He was so kind, she thought. He had a strong gentleness she had never known in a man before. And he talked continually, drawing out her solemn state, until eventually she became delighted in the animals they had seen, the beauty of the scenery, and the stories he shared of his adventures. For some time she had forgotten the anxiety of this desolate place and as long as she could feel his touch or know that all she had to do was reach out and he would be there, then panic calmed. Romano was the thin surface that kept the fire of panic from flaring up.
Now as they lay together beside the campfire she was thankful he didn’t force her beyond capabilities. She couldn’t help but know he wanted to make love to her. He said so with the swaying motion of his body as they rode, the fluttering kisses down her neck, the subtle nuances in his husky voice. And yet not once was he rude or uncouth in his displays of attention, for if she stiffened to a touch gone too far, he retreated, grabbing the reins again or pointing out one of nature’s many creatures. Even now as they curled on the same bedroll, he spoke of pleasures in the future, once she was well enough to oblige. He sensed this debilitating anxiety that struggled within her mind, and with affection she had never experienced, was cleverly manipulating her from hanging onto it.
“Romano?”
He stretched to attention. “Si?”
“How old are you?”
Either the question troubled him or he wasn’t sure. After a pause he said, “I am twenty five. Not too old for you? I assure you everything works accordingly.”
She laughed. “Yes, I’m sure everything does. I ask because I’m doing a bit of figuring. If you are twenty five then that means you were born in…”
“Laredo.”
Sara knew he was smiling; she felt the muscles of his cheek constrict under a thick growth of stubble. She laughed again for he was not only teasing her, he was tickling the hollow of her neck with a great black moustache. Two fingers squeezed into her waist finding another sensitive area. She giggled and twisted, which was the intent.
A massive palm cupped her skull. Black eyes followed the trail of one fingertip as he outlined her face, from jawbone to temple to hairline and down the other side. Then he carefully inspected her lips, the pad of the inquisitive finger touching first the top and then the bottom. He seemed to be memorizing every miniscule detail.
Sara, too, during this intimate moment of exploration, took a long drink of his dark swarthy features. The great mane that flowed over his wide shoulders was inky black, rivaling the night sky behind. Such darkness--the frame of long hair, the heavy eyebrows the stiff moustache and the stubble along his cheeks and chin--all gave the illusion the olive skin beneath was like rawhide, instigated by genetics and maintained by the weather. Not so. Sara reached to lightly feel the exposed skin and it was as silken as the dancing eyes that continued to peer through her.
“You like what you see?” he said, full lips pursing with slow words. “What you touch? Does this please you?”
Her guard slipped and as it did Sara’s chest contracted, stealing several heartbeats. “This better not be a gag,” she said sternly. “If I find out Clyde is yanking my chain by paying you f
or this hokey charade I will give that butthead an almighty run for his money. I swear it!”
The brow lifted and then creased. “I don’t know Clyde. But if he owes you money we shall find him.”
Sara’s heart sunk. He was so innocently sincere and straining with great effort to understand everything she was saying. He had bravely picked out what he could and promised to help.
“Believe me,” she sighed, resigned finally that this was no charade. “We will never find him.” As much as she’d hate her ex-boyfriend for staging such a cruel joke, a confession to such a truth would answer a few questions and bring closure to this escapade. But Romano, mysteriously dark and handsome and delicately monstrous, had absolutely no connection to the world she had left so far behind. “You’re not an actor, are you? I was so convinced I had seen you on television, that series about gangsters. You were the one they asked to pay off the heat. It was a small part and your hair was short but I was certain…”
He was squinting, still listening carefully. When she stopped her rambling he tipped his head and pinched a polite smile. “Ah, little rabbit, you are a puzzle. I thought I knew English so well. My mother was Texan, you see and she taught me to speak with care knowing it would help me to get along best. I realize since meeting you I have been far too confident in my abilities. There are many words I do not yet understand.”
Suddenly the voluptuous lips were touching her chin, the whiskers scratching her flesh. His long fingers moved through her hair. “You will teach me so much,” he whispered, breath hot. “And I will teach you words of my family. And together we will discover the language of our bodies.”
His gestures of passion were gratifying. Sara didn’t want him to think differently, or misunderstand her lingering need for inner isolation. To know he was there within reach, always vigilant, always gentle, always protecting, was the gift of healing she needed so desperately. But like a stubborn fever the heat of shock hadn’t quite lifted. His kiss was the cool cloth on her temple, but only time could break the illness that shivered for control within her heart and mind. Once healed then she could, and would, give of herself to his passions.
And since he was obviously far from sleepy she hoped to find a few answers from cleverly veiled questions.
“Is that where we’re headed? Laredo?” She had shrugged, easing his lips away from the downward path to her breast. The stubble on such delicate flesh caused her to wiggle. Taking a deep breath of his hair she identified a delicious combination of wood smoke and horse. On Romano it was a perfect cologne.
“No,” he answered, his deep voice purring. “I can’t go there.”
“Ah, too many angry girlfriends?”
“Too many angry Rangers.”
“Oh.” Sara was again reminded that no matter how warm and sensual Romano acted with her he was wanted, and for deeds she knew nothing about. As he fluttered kisses over her neck she found it difficult to believe he could be wanted for anything other than a paternity suit. It was as Brandi had once said when they were getting ready for their holiday, that even the most perfect gentlemen could flare up to become the deadliest of gunmen, especially when honor was the issue.
A holiday. Dry Gulch. Desperadoes. Devon Fault and a gang of five.
Sara bolted up. Gang of five? The brochure said five but there was only three. “Oh, dear Lord,” she muttered.
“What is it?” Romy asked, throwing wary glances into the darkness. He was reaching for his pistol. “What did you hear?”
“There was you and Devon,” she said numbly. “And the other guy, Budd. That’s three. The other two who were seen riding with the ‘gang’ were Brandi and me. My God. We were the ones being referred to in the brochure. We were sitting there reading a passage from history that we helped create…something that happened in 188…”
“You’re not going to run off again, are you?” Romy held his arms out, as though ready to catch her if flight persuaded her feet.
“Sweetheart…” she started, thinking carefully about how to phrase her questions without sounding even more hysterical. Shivers had made even this term of endearment sound wobbly.
Romy relaxed, placing the pistol on the ground nearby. “At last,” he teased, “a word I can understand. And appreciate.” Already his body heat radiated through her clothes; all she had to do was lean and she would be folded within his arms.
“You were born in 1860, right?”
“Si. I think so. I don’t quite remember.”
A long shiver crawled up Sara’s spine despite the warmth of his corded body and his humor. She swallowed hard and continued, much to the amusement of her host who watched her with curiosity. “That makes this 1885?”
“Very good,” he smiled, pleased with this game.
Wishing now she had paid more attention to Brandi’s incessant lectures on names and dates she flipped through her memory’s filing cabinet of information. “The shoot-out at the OK Corral was only four years ago. The same year Billy the Kid was gunned down.” The floodgates opened, she remembered facts fast and furiously. “Wyatt Earp is still alive. So is Doc Holliday, Pat Garrett, Bat Masterson, and Wesley Hardin.” Her heart thrashed frantically. Somewhere, off in the darkness, these men were actually breathing. The men who made the West famous were alive, right here, right now. She stared off into the night shadows as though expecting them to appear, willowy ghosts, lost in time as she was. But they weren’t the ones who were lost.
She felt dizzy. And slightly ill.
“I heard of this Kid,” Romy said. “I do not know of the others you say.”
Her hands had begun to tremble. “This can’t be true,” she mumbled. “It can’t be.”
Romy took her into his arms. “Are you cold? Why are you shivering so?” His voice was filled with concern.
“Oh, you don’t understand,” she cried.
“Try me,” he coaxed.
“You already think I’m crazy. If I say much more you’ll have me committed.”
“You are committed,” he said with patience she hadn’t expected. “Committed to me.” Each arm tightened, promising acceptance.
Sara closed her eyes, luxuriating in the warmth of the circle of pure steel. She ached to tell him she was not of this time, yet a small voice inside her screamed alarm. It would be risky to share such a confession, a gamble with odds stacked against her. How would he react? What if he recoiled in total horror as though she were a hideous witch and abandoned her here? Still, she had never known such adoration, especially from one who seemed thoroughly intent on claiming her, complete with hysteria.
Maybe by sharing she could cope. By telling him everything he would help her to see everything more clearly.
When he began to rock her tenderly while singing a Spanish lullaby, strumming his fingers up and down her back, Sara decided to keep this unbelievable piece of the twilight zone to herself. Explaining the unimaginable might confuse him to the point of hurt and that would be unbearable. Besides, she could hardly convince herself of what had happened. How much more incredible would this gentle giant find her strange words?
“Romano,” she whispered once the song had ended, feeling sleepy from his consoling song. “I’m sorry if I sound foolish. I am frightened because I don’t know if I’ll see my friend again. Our separation was so fast ... and then there’s the danger you’re in. I couldn’t bear it if you were to get hurt.”
“Ah,” he cooed knowingly. “I thought perhaps that’s why you trembled.” He snuggled his cheek against her hair, continuing the pleasant swaying. “Don’t worry, my little dove. I have known Dev a long time. He is smart and he knows where to find us when the dust has settled.”
He pushed her far enough back to peer lovingly into her eyes. “My frightened little rabbit,” he smiled. “The wolves will never see us. I’ll see to it.”
With that, he kissed her. A feathery sensation on her mouth lulled her into a cloud, not a cloud of swirling fear and doubt, but of longing and gratitude. In total contentme
nt she ran her fingers up and into the heavy cascade of black hair, something she had wanted to do upon first seeing him. The reaction was titanic.
Massive shoulders rose as his whole body constricted, engulfing her within. The embrace was a crush and air rushed from her lungs. His mouth swallowed her lips, a hot piercing tongue delved to greet the cry of pleasure, a square jaw worked with such energy to explore even more deeply that she thought, for a fleeting second, he might literally crush the life from her melting body.
Despite crushing into her like a tidal wave, he remained tentative, giving her control. He would not permit himself to rush beyond a kiss if she refused him. Control. Patience. Everything about him made her body flare.
“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.” Verbally expressing reticence helped convince her that the decision was correct. It was too soon. She had to give her whole to him and how was that possible when the whole was still cracked and chipped in several places?
Romano’s chest shook with disappointment but strengthened again when he took a deep breath, the expansion of rock crushing into her breasts. He whispered to her in Spanish, musical seductive words, and although she couldn’t identify the words she did understand the language of his body.
He would wait. Yet his enthrallment centered on her mouth.
First her lips. Again and again he tasted them, running a silken tongue over and around, a thumb following behind smoothing the wetness, cooling her chin and cheeks in turn. Whiskers raked these sensitive areas and he would smile, for although she kept her lids shut, she felt his lips curl and then the tasting returned.
Then, with a suggestive moan, he thrust his tongue between her lips, sinking it deeply into the crevice that readied for him. He explored every hidden spot, circling her teeth, delving against the fleshy sides, and when he groaned appreciation her whole face vibrated, a rumble of the earth warning that a terrible and terrific quake was about to rock every object from its foundation.
Sara lifted her hand to his jaw, steadying for the imminent quake. The tongue that had so lavishly enjoyed her lips now centered on the inside wrist, up to her palm. His thick fingers circled round her knuckles, holding, strumming while tasting each digit in turn. Then he pressed her palm against his cheek and sighed.
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