As they were returning to the hacienda, the norther blew in with the full fury of a brutal winter storm. Dark clouds scudded across the sky, dipping menacingly lower, as the wind picked up and howled. By the time they reached home, it was starting to sleet.
“Brrr!” Elizabeth said, rubbing her hands together as Miguel built a fire in the hearth of the main sala. Olga went to work making hot chocolate while Olaf put the tree in a bucket of dirt that had been watered well to keep it fresh.
Cactus Flower and Raul hauled the ornaments in from the storage shed, allowing some of the cold air to enter whenever they opened the door. Soon, though, the room was bustling with everyone stringing cranberries and popcorn on the tree, laughingly arguing about where each ornament should go. Olga decorated the mantle with holly. The fire leapt up, dancing in flames of red and blue, warming the room with its glow. Outside, snow began to fall as twilight descended.
Elizabeth watched Miguel with his son, hoisting him up to put the angel on the top of the tree. He really was a good father. She thought again about how different this family was from hers. And they were a family— She could feel the love that Olga and Olaf had for Miguel and Raul. Even Cactus Flower seemed to enjoy being included. Luckily, Swift Hawk had gone back to the bunkhouse, so there was nothing to break Elizabeth’s good mood. She basked in the sensation of togetherness, something she hadn’t had since her father had been killed.
The next few days passed quickly, and presents began to appear under the tree. Some even had her name on them. Miguel had gone to San Antonio and Swift Hawk took full advantage to be at her side, sitting beside her at dinner, even though Olaf kept a watchful eye on him. He’d followed her to the barn again, too, and she decided the horses would have to wait until Miguel returned. Instead, she helped Olga bake cookies and found she actually enjoyed working in the kitchen. She couldn’t recall her mother ever baking cookies.
Miguel returned home late the afternoon of Christmas Eve, just as the snow began again, this time falling softly in big, wet flakes. After supper, they all gathered together and lit the candles on the tree and sang more Christmas carols. For their final song, they stood in a circle, holding hands, Miguel on one side, Cactus Flower on the other. Elizabeth did not think she had ever heard Silent Night done so beautifully as from that little group of people who all loved each other. She felt happy tears building. This was what Christmas was supposed to be about. The 1800s were beginning to feel a lot more comfortable. After all, what did she have to go back to at home? She began to wonder if her stay would be permanent.
• ♥ •
Miguel was sitting in front of the glowing embers of the hearth when Elizabeth walked into the room after helping Olga finish the dishes.
“Join me,” he said, patting the seat beside him on the sofa.
Elizabeth hesitated. The evening had been so pleasant, and he had been such a gentleman. She didn’t want to start sparring with him again. Not tonight.
He held up a second glass of red wine. “I bought this in San Antonio. It’s imported from Spain. Quite mellow. You’ll like it better than the cognac.”
She sat down gingerly on the edge of the sofa and accepted the glass. Miguel gave her a lopsided smile.
“I won’t bite unless you want me to.”
The idea of being bitten by him was titillating. “Really?” the woman in her whispered, “it would depend on where—” She felt herself blush and was glad the light from the fire only cast her in shadow. It seemed her mind only ran in one direction lately.
“I bought you something,” he said and slid out a package from behind him.
“We’re not supposed to open our presents until tomorrow morning,” Elizabeth said. “Raul will be furious if he finds out.”
Miguel arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think Raul needs to know about this one.”
She looked at him suspiciously as she picked up the package and undid the wrapping. Black lace and silk. She lifted the garment up by its thin straps and then gasped and dropped it back into its wrapping. It was an exquisite, delicate sleeping gown, sexy beyond words. “What were you thinking?”
He grinned. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
She felt heat rush to her face even though the fire burned low in the hearth. “I can’t accept this.” Even as she said the words, her fingers stroked the fine silk that flowed over her hand like water. She took a breath. “I won’t wear it.”
“Sure, you will. One night for me.”
That prostitute thing again. That’s what he was thinking of and all because he’d never seen a bra and thong before. She bridled. “I will not.” She laid the gown down and stood up to leave.
Miguel took a sip of wine. “If you don’t take it with you, I’ll leave it right here for everyone to see in the morning.”
She looked at him, horrified. “You can’t do that to Raul!”
Miguel shrugged. “He’s a boy. He’ll have to learn sometime about girls.”
“He’s seven!”
“Then take it with you.”
She wasn’t going to win this one, although she wasn’t even sure what she considered to be “a win” anymore. What an infuriating man he was! She snatched the package and stomped to the door of the hallway leading to her room.
“Elizabeth?”
She stopped in the doorway. He never called her that. She turned. “What?”
He set his wine glass down and walked over to her. He stopped, his broad-shouldered body towering over her, so close she could feel his male heat, his scent like an aphrodisiac.
“Just this.” He pointed upwards.
She tilted her head up. Mistletoe. It hadn’t been there before. And then, his lips were on hers as he ran his fingers through her hair and held her head in place. He kept the pressure gentle, kissing first her upper lip, sucking lightly on the lower one, then taking her mouth fully with his.
Elizabeth felt her stomach flutter like the fast, sinking feeling she had on a downhill rollercoaster. How could a kiss be so soft and so totally sensual? And so slow? If men only knew what slow did for a woman— Obviously, Miguel did, for he was taking his time, keeping his kisses deliberately easy. And then his tongue lightly traced the outline of her puffy lips, seeking entrance.
She parted her lips and gave a low groan as his tongue explored her mouth, just as slowly and leisurely as his kisses had been. And then, just as she was ready to melt into him, needing to meld with him, to press her breasts against him, he withdrew, giving her one slow final kiss and stepped back.
Elizabeth was left gasping, her lips swollen and needy. Why did he stop? She opened her eyes to find him watching her.
“A kiss is all that’s allowed with mistletoe,” he said. “If you want more, you’ll have to ask me. Nicely.”
“Ask you?” She couldn’t believe her ears.
“Nicely. And you’ll have to wear the gown.”
That did it. By far, he was the most arrogant man— Elizabeth took a deep breath to calm her wildly beating heart. “I will not ask…ask?” She held up the negligee. “And I won’t wear this either!” She turned and fled down the hall, only to hear his laughter trailing after her.
“You will,” he called.
“Never,” she said, before she slammed her door.
CHAPTER SEVEN—THE RIVAL
Miguel mucked out Diablo’s stall with more gusto than usual, tossing the trampled straw into a wheelbarrow outside. Damn, but Elizabeth got to him. Not only was she physically beautiful with her emerald eyes, creamy skin, and a body that curved into a man's hands perfectly, but she had an independence he grudgingly had to admit he admired. All he’d intended to do last night, under the mistletoe, was give her a slow, luxurious taste of what might be had. Instead, he’d nearly ripped her dress off when she pressed herself against him; it had taken every ounce of self-control to step back.
But she wasn’t ready for him. He felt it. Whatever had happened to her was more serious than he first thought. He didn’
t think he could take another rebuff from her. So—he’d keep teasing her, tantalizing her with light touches and almost-kisses, taking every advantage that would leave her breathless and…frustrated. Yes. He wanted that. He wanted Elizabeth to come to him, wet and hot and willing, wearing those black things she’d had on, begging him to take her. And he would, slowly, creating exquisitely pleasant torture as he explored every inch of her body. He’d tear that small bottom piece of cloth off her with his teeth—
“No need to hit the far side of the wall with manure,” Olaf said as he stopped by the stall door. “What’s got you so all fired up?”
“Nothing,” Miguel answered and forced himself to scoop up the last bit slowly.
“You don’t say.” Olaf pulled a fresh blade of hay from a bale and stuck it between his teeth. “Might be that red-headed filly that’s got you gone coon?”
Miguel straightened. “I’m no goner. She’s just…interesting, that’s all, what with her stories about not knowing where she’s from.”
“Uh-huh. I ain’t seen you look so addled since Elena first arrived and you found out she was a beauty.”
Miguel smiled ruefully. Too bad “pretty” didn’t take care of everything. His loon-craziness hadn’t lasted long once his wife showed her true colors. “Nah. It’s just that what Elizabeth was wearing when I found her— Well, she’s got to be a working girl.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. You said Lily didn’t hire her.” Olaf squinted up at him and spit out the hay. “Could be she just means ‘no’. Maybe she doesn’t cotton to you. You thought of that?”
A muscle tightened in Miguel’s jaw and his fingers clenched the shovel. Those were fighting words coming from most men, but Olaf just laughed.
“Them are the ones to watch for, boy. She’ll have you hog-tied and hunkered down before you know it.” He started out the door, then turned and winked. “I know. Olga did it to me.”
Miguel stared after him. There was no way that would happen. Elizabeth—because she had refused him twice and rarely did a woman do so even once—provided a challenge. That was all. A challenge. And he’d win. He always did.
• ♥ •
Elizabeth walked into the stables a short time later, dressed in her boots and denims.
Swift Hawk followed her in so silently she jumped when he spoke at her elbow.
“Fire Woman. What brings you to the barn?” His black-eyed glance traveled down her denim-clad legs. “The Spirits have given you odd choices of clothes.” Then he smiled, his eyes glittering. “I do not mind, though.”
“Well, I do.” Miguel stepped out from Diablo’s stall and towered over her. “I told you not to go around dressed that way.”
Elizabeth drew herself up to her full five-foot-six inches, yet her head hardly reached his shoulder and she had to crane to look up at him. Not exactly the best way to establish a power base. “Why not? It’s practical.”
“Because,” Miguel said as he looked over at Swift Hawk, “it obviously causes a distraction. I can’t protect you if the ranch hands can see all of your…ah, assets.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him and inwardly smirked to see him look slightly guilty. Just like Raul when he stole a warm cookie off Olga’s tray yesterday. “Women from my cent—“ She stopped, aware that Swift Hawk was still there. “Women I know can take care of themselves. Anyway, how can I ride if I don’t wear jeans?”
“We have a side-saddle. Olga can get the seamstress to sew you a riding habit with a split-skirt.”
“Great. And how will I herd cattle in that?” Elizabeth put her hands on her hips.
“Simple,” Miguel said and turned to begin saddling Diablo, who was impatiently stamping a hoof. “You won’t.”
She stared at him. Did he think she was going to plop into the nineteenth century, on a Texas ranch, and not take the opportunities to experience history? Real cowboys doing real wrangler things? No way was she going to miss out on a real Old West experience. Maybe she would have to wheedle just a bit.
She gave a loud sigh. “I suppose you don’t think I can ride well enough to do it. Why don’t you let me ride one of these beautiful mares—Andalusians, aren’t they?—and I’ll show you.”
He looked at her in surprise. “What do you know about Andalusians?”
She knew her history. She’d researched the horses for an under-graduate paper she’d done on Lipizzaners and the Spanish Riding School of Austria. “Andalusians were bred from the Spanish Iberian horses and the invading Moorish Barb horses in the seventh century. William the Conqueror rode one in the Battle of Hastings. From the fifteenth century, they were known as premier war horses.” She reached up to pat Diablo’s soft muzzle and the stallion lowered his head and nickered.
Miguel cinched the saddle tight and studied her. “Do you know, also, that the bloodline is always kept pure? We allow no cross-breeding.” He looked at Swift Hawk. “Chief Jim Ned even offered to treaty for the use of one of our studs, but I have refused.”
“Our mustangs are strong,” Swift Hawk muttered. “It would be a good match; you should heed the chief.” With that, he turned and walked away noiselessly.
Elizabeth watched him leave. He always gave her an uneasy feeling. Whether it was his silent approaches or the look in his eyes, she didn’t know, but she always felt better when he was not present. She turned back to Miguel.
“I’ll prove to you that I can ride. Just point out which mare I can use.”
He studied her and then went to one of the stalls and led a delicate, nearly white, mare out and tied her to the indoor rail. “Her name is Plata.”
Elizabeth stroked the satiny neck and the mare turned her head, her large, limpid eyes watching Elizabeth. “Silver,” Elizabeth said softly and gently rubbed behind an ear, under the halter. The mare bent her head, her neck cresting gracefully, and touched her muzzle to her knee. “Ah, you’re liking this, aren’t you, girl?”
Miguel came back from the tack room with bridle and saddle.
“Let me do it,” Elizabeth said. “She needs to get to know me.” She took the horse blanket and laid it across the back high on the withers. Miguel lifted the saddle, but Elizabeth held out her hands.
“I said I’d do it.”
He raised an eyebrow and then shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
She was not prepared for the weight. Most saddles in her century had a plastic core under the leather, but this one was solid wood. She took a deep breath and struggled to raise it over the horse’s back. She would show Miguel she could do this!
Then he was behind her, his arms coming around on either side, enclosing her in his warmth and unique man smell. She felt a wave of heat flash through her body. He was so close…and yet, he wasn’t touching her. Would she ever stop reacting like this? If she turned around, would he kiss her? Much as she didn’t want to admit it, she had lain awake most of the night, remembering how his sensual mouth had felt against hers.
But he merely adjusted the saddle and stepped back. Fumbling now, Elizabeth reached under the mare for the girth. Her hand shook so much she was sure the horse would feel it. She made quick work of looping the leather belt through the ring and tightening it. There. That was better.
Miguel had already done the bridle and handed her the reins. “Leg up?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I can do it.” Dear Lord, if he touched her calf, she’d never have the strength to mount. She stretched her leg, finding the stirrup. Taking hold of the mane and horn she pulled herself up—rather gracefully, she thought—until the mare suddenly shied as a mouse scuttled across the floor. Wildly unbalanced, her weight not over the horse, Elizabeth began to lurch sideways.
Miguel steadied her, one hand clasping each buttock. She gasped, his fingers kneading her soft flesh as he helped her back into the saddle, knowing her face was probably as red as a desert sunset. She looked away, but she could tell from the sound of his voice that he was amused.
“You have an interesting way of mounting,” he sa
id.
“I was fine until that mouse came out.”
He grinned and vaulted onto Diablo. “I’ll have to thank the mouse, then.”
Maddening man. Was there always an innuendo with him? Elizabeth was about to touch her heels to the mare, when he put a hand on her reins.
“Let’s try you out in the paddock first.”
“You don’t think I can ride?”
“Plata can run like a gazelle. I don’t want you flying off and hitting your head again.”
Elizabeth gave him an exasperated look. “Fine.”
They walked the horses to the enclosed area and Miguel swung down to open the gate. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Elizabeth tapped lightly with her heels and was rewarded with a sprightly trot. She’d never ridden a horse so smoothly gaited as this one. No bone-jarring jog here, only a fluid one-two-three-four rhythm. She pressed her heel again and the mare moved easily into a slow, rocking-chair canter, her neck arching gracefully. She was a sheer joy to ride. Elizabeth laid the right rein against her neck and tapped her left boot against Plata’s flank. Immediately, the mare spun around, not breaking stride, and loped in the other direction.
Elizabeth slowed to a trot and did several figure eights before she halted in front of Miguel. “Can we come out now? I’d like to feel her run.”
He nodded. “Let’s make it interesting. See the tree just at the bend of the road? Once we’re through the gates, I’ll race you to it.”
Already, she was eager to feel this beautiful animal stretch out. “And if I win?”
“Your choice of reward.”
It sounded too easy. Was that a smirk she saw on his face? “And if I lose?”
The smirk widened into a grin. “I get to choose.”
She stared at him. Surely, he didn’t mean…he wouldn’t really expect…would he? Her hands shook a little and the mare twitched her ears. He had said Plata could run—
He was watching her intently, his eyes serious above the easy smile. Fire and ice spread through her simultaneously. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
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