She did. If she were to lose her virginity, she’d rather it be with him than anyone she had ever known. In spite of his ability to trigger her temper, she liked him. He was kind and good, even if he did think she was a prostitute. But he wouldn’t believe she was from the future. Until he understood who she really was and where she came from, there could be no present.
CHAPTER EIGHT—TROUBLE
At the sound of Miguel’s spurs jingling on the back porch, Elizabeth looked up from the kitchen table where she was helping Raul do his sums by the light of the evening oil lamp. Miss Parsons had come calling, but finding Miguel gone, she had not returned, for which Elizabeth was grateful.
Miguel had been gone nearly a month. She’d no idea she’d miss him so much, The Rangers had called him to active duty to help settle a Comanche uprising some thirty miles to the northwest of Fort Worth. Olga had told her it was a favorite spot for the Comanche to retreat to, full of small mountains, deep canyons, huge boulders and cedar brakes. They could effectively vanish in there. Luckily, he had taken Swift Hawk with him for translating if necessary.
Elizabeth hadn’t even known Miguel was a Texas Ranger until Tate-Johnson showed up with four of the men who had been at the dinner that night, saying that a farmer’s family had been killed and their daughter kidnapped. She’d watched Miguel hurriedly prepare, sliding the crossbands of bullets over his broad shoulders so that the leather formed an “X” on his chest, then loading his Colt .44 and the Sharp’s rifle. But it was when he attached the metal star within a circle to his shirt that she’d gasped, remembering the last time her father had prepared for duty—and not come back.
She tried not to show too much emotion that Miguel had returned safely. “All is well?” she asked when he came through the door.
Miguel looked grim as he hung his hat on the peg near the door and ruffled Raul’s hair. “Why don’t you go to bed, son? It’s Friday. That homework can wait until tomorrow.”
All was not well. Silently, she followed him into the sala where he poured a stiff drink of Kentucky bourbon. He took a deep slug and offered her the glass, but she shook her head. He refilled it and sank down on the sofa in front of the hearth. “Sit down beside me, Red.”
Elizabeth stoked the fire first, coaxing the feeble flame into something that would produce some warmth and then she sat down. “What’s wrong?”
Miguel swirled the contents of the glass, staring into it before he answered. When he did, she had to lean closer to hear him. “We were too late. They’d already raped her.”
She inhaled sharply. The girl had been a child, just twelve or thirteen, Mr. Johnson had said. “Is she alive? How—how badly was she hurt?”
He looked at her then and she didn’t think she’d ever seen more pain and misery in a man’s eyes. “She’s alive. We managed to get there before the ceremonial ritual was completed, although I’m not sure she’ll ever thank us for that. She was tortured.”
Tears welled up in Elizabeth’s eyes. “Oh, no…” she whispered. “How?”
“They staked her arms and legs,” he said and took another strong swig. “Each of the five braves who led the attack had his way with her, then carved a power symbol into her skin and licked her blood.” He watched the fire as if mesmerized.
Elizabeth felt herself gagging and she swallowed hard. That poor child. Mary, her name was. “Why would they do something so barbaric?”
He shook his head. “Men have been raping and pillaging since the Dark Ages.”
“But why the torture? And the blood-drinking?”
“Culture is a funny thing, Red. To them, the giving of the power symbol is a term of respect. Many of the braves receive one after their first kill.”
“Like a tattoo?” Elizabeth asked.
He frowned. “A what?”
“An ink picture. It’s made by pricking the skin with a tiny needle.”
“Ah. I think I saw one of those once, on a sailor in San Francisco.” He paused for a minute and studied her. “Is that where you might be from?”
Images of the notorious waterfront with its attendant saloons and brothels flashed through Elizabeth’s mind. It hurt her for him to think that, just when they were having a meaningful conversation. She sighed. “No. Now, finish this horrible tale of what happened. Why did they drink her blood?”
“Because they draw power from it. They believe they can draw her spirit into their own bodies by absorbing her blood.”
Elizabeth shuddered. This sounded too much like a vampire story. “How much power do these braves think a child could have, anyway? Is there something magical about children?”
He continued to stare broodingly into the fire and twirled his empty glass.
“Well, is there?” she asked again.
“No. Nothing magical about children,” he answered and then he looked up and into her eyes. “What was magical was she had red hair, just like yours.”
Elizabeth stared at him, remembering Swift Hawk’s proclamations. She felt dizzy, suddenly. He said she would give him much power. Was he capable of slicing her to take her blood? What if he caught her alone? Was she really safe?
She heard a roaring in her ears, like that of a fast train, before the world turned gray and then slid into black.
• ♥ •
When she regained consciousness, she was lying in a large, four poster feather bed, warm bricks wrapped in towels around her feet, a down quilt covering her. Tentatively, she felt her body. She was wearing a nightdress. What had happened, and whose room was she in?
Something moved in the shadows of the far corner of the room and came toward her. In the dim light from the banked fire, she could see it was Miguel. He sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled at her.
“You had a nasty shock. Feeling better?”
She remembered then. The child with the red hair. She shook her head to clear it and then struggled to sit up.
“Here. Allow me.” Miguel put one hand under each arm and easily lifted her to a sitting position, his fingers splayed against the soft, round sides of her breasts. He reached around behind her, his cheek grazing hers as he plumped the pillows and then he leaned back and handed her a glass of brandy from the bedside table.
“Drink this. It will do wonders to revive you.”
She pulled the quilt up under her chin, all too aware of the thin cotton of the nightdress and where his hands had just been. Had he undressed her?
“Where am I?” she asked as he took her hand and wrapped it around the glass.
“My room,” he answered. “It was easier carrying you in here than up the stairs.”
She took a sip of the fiery liquid and looked around. A massive black walnut wardrobe took up much of one wall, its panels inlaid with gold trim. A matching walnut table and chairs stood by the window and on the other side of the room, an overstuffed armchair sat on a soft woolen rug close to the hearth, a pile of books on the floor beside it. A simply furnished room, yet comfortable. Lived-in. Her clothes hung on a peg by the door.
She looked back at him. “Did you—” she hesitated and then took another sip for courage. She had to know. Had he actually seen her naked?
“No,” he finished for her. “Olga undressed you and got you snuggled into bed. Although,” he said as he picked up the thong and bra from the floor, “if I’d known you were wearing these, I might have been tempted.”
She blushed furiously and downed the rest of the brandy and then gasped. She would never learn to drink this stuff.
He shook his head and took the glass from her and set it back on the table. “Slowly, Red. I can see I’m going to have to teach you something about appreciating fine French cognac.”
“Never mind. About the child—can you keep this from happening again?” Elizabeth asked when she could speak again.
There was a subtle change in his expression. “I wish I could. Chief Jim Ned says it was a renegade raid, nothing he led. The braves are in custody at the brig in Fort Worth. There’ll be
a trial when the circuit judge comes around.”
“What about Swift Hawk?”
Miguel looked surprised. “What about him?”
Elizabeth felt a chill, in spite of the warm bricks and blanket. “He’s always staring at me and making remarks about my hair being red. Am I safe? I wish you could you send him away.”
“I can’t do that. He and Cactus Flower are our guarantee the Comanche will not raid our ranch. My part of the treaty is to expose them to the white man’s ways in hopes they will eventually become mediators.”
“That will never happen with Swift Hawk.”
“Maybe not. But it’s better to have him here, where I can keep an eye on him, then send him back to his people where he can stir up enough trouble that you could be in danger.”
Elizabeth felt the chill seep through her again. “So you do think I’m in danger?”
Miguel was silent for a moment. “I doubt it. You should be safe here.” Then his expression changed, and he grinned. “But if it’s protection you want, the bed is big enough for both of us.”
She took a pillow and flung it at him, although not hard. “Is that all you ever think about?”
He stood. “Pretty much, with you. My promise still stands—I would give you more pleasure than any other man you’ve had.”
Of course he would. She was a virgin! She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “I’ve told you I don’t…don’t…”
He glanced meaningfully at the black silk that lay on the floor and she felt her face flame. She threw a second pillow at him. “Go!”
Miguel raised an eyebrow and then bowed dramatically from the waist. “As you wish.” He walked to the door and then turned. “Just remember, you’re in my bed. Sweet dreams.”
She could hear him chuckling as he went down the hall.
He was maddening. Not to mention arrogant. He was also right. She’d dreamed of him plenty already, not that she would admit to it. She sighed and inhaled the scent of him on her pillow and drifted off to sleep.
• ♥ •
It didn’t take the feline long to realize Miguel had returned. Miss Parsons arrived the very next afternoon, a still-warm apple pie in her basket.
“I baked it myself,” she said as she handed it to Miguel, her fingers lingering on his hand.
Elizabeth would bet she didn’t. How did she know apple was his favorite? What an old ploy to think that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Still, did Miguel have to act so pleased?
“I did want to see that library your domestic told me about,” she purred and looked up at him with wide eyes. “Would you escort me there?”
Domestic? She was a teacher! Just as she was about to confront her, Miguel blocked the path.
“This way,” he said.
Elizabeth followed them, fuming. Miss Parsons had latched onto Miguel’s arm, and was chattering like a magpie. She stopped though when she saw the vast expanse of books in the study.
“This is a real library!” She actually released Miguel’s arm to walk closer and read titles. “You have classics here, and,” she paused, “the Arthurian legends.” She turned and smiled at Miguel, totally ignoring Elizabeth. “You probably aren’t going to believe this, but I knew a girl named Gwen, which is short for Gwenevere.” She tilted her head to the side and studied him. “You’d make a very satisfactory Lancelot, I think.”
Miguel groaned and looked at Elizabeth. “What is it with you women?”
Like she had something in common with that hussy? Elizabeth hated to think they shared any kind of the same thoughts. “It’s just that you and Sir Knight have the same bad boy image,” she said flippantly. “It’s a universal thought.”
Miguel looked confused. “What kind of image?”
Elizabeth sighed. How could she explain the charisma that lured women to perfect-looking men who were anything but perfect for them? A man who could make a woman feel like she was the center of his universe—if only she didn’t mind the fact that his universe became a bit crowded with all the other women who were centers, too.
“I think she means you’re irresistible.” Abigail gave Miguel a sleepy-eyed look, a small smile playing on her mouth.
Miguel raised an eyebrow, still looking at Elizabeth. “Is that so?”
Really! Asking that question just proved the point; he probably did think he was! And now he was actually waiting for an answer. She felt herself blush furiously. She seemed to do a lot of that around him. “Irresistible to Diablo, maybe,” she said.
He grinned. “That’s not an insult, Red.”
Abigail looked annoyed. “I’m really quite thirsty, Miguel. Do you suppose Elizabeth could get me some water?”
Elizabeth felt her mouth drop open and snapped it shut. The nerve! Ordering her about! The last thing she wanted to do was leave Miguel alone with the schoolmarm, but if she refused to leave, she’d be all but admitting she was jealous. And she wasn’t. She was not jealous. No way.
“Of course,” she said sweetly, “and I’ll ask Olga for some cookies, too.”
Unfortunately, Raul waylaid her trip back. She found him at the kitchen table, grumbling over his arithmetic. She helped him with a division problem and then poured three glasses of lemonade and added some sugar cookies to the tray.
Raul swiped a cookie and popped it into his mouth. “I don’t like my teacher being here,” he said. “I’m not even sure I like her.”
Smart boy. Elizabeth kept her voice even. “Why don’t you?”
“She makes lots of mistakes. Gus corrected her once and she yelled at him.” Raul shrugged. “Whenever a father comes to school, she forgets all about us, and she’s always asking about Papá. I don’t like that.”
If Elizabeth hadn’t had her hands full, she would have hugged him. Then she realized she had been gone longer than she intended. She gave him a quick smile and walked back to the study.
And wished she hadn’t. She’d left the door slightly ajar and as she pushed it open with her foot she saw the schoolmarm raise up on tiptoe, put her arms around Miguel’s neck and pull his head down for a kiss.
Molten lava hardened in Elizabeth’s stomach. She nearly dropped the tray. She began to back out of the room hurriedly before she could be seen. The hem of her skirt caught on the edge of the straight chair next to the door. Damn skirts, anyway. She balanced the tray in one hand and tugged, only to have the dress snag more. It gave a horrifying loud rip. She froze, wishing she could melt into the floor.
Miguel turned, disengaging Abigail’s arms from around his neck. He walked over to her. “Let me take that,” he said as he set the tray on a small table.
Elizabeth bent over, hiding her face as she tried to work the skirt loose from the rough edge that caught it. She was humiliated beyond words.
His hand covered hers. “Let me.” Gently, he wiggled the material free. “There. I’ll have to get that chair sanded down.” He straightened and looked at her. “Not much damage done.”
If he only knew. She tried to ignore the surge of warmth his touch always gave her. She had only herself to blame. She’d let herself begin to care: first the feeling of family over the holidays, then the month waiting for him to return safely. She had let her guard down. Why wouldn’t he be interested in Miss Parsons? She obviously wanted him, and was willing to do something about it. Her eyes began to burn, and she blinked rapidly to keep embarrassing tears at bay.
“I think Raul needs some help with his homework, so I’ll leave you with the lemonade,” she said stiffly. “The cookies are good.”
As she turned, Miguel caught her arm. His dark eyes were serious as he looked into her face. “I’d rather you stay.”
She freed her arm. “Your son needs some help.” She lifted her head and walked away, hoping her unsteady legs would support her.
She heard the front door open and close a few minutes later as she sat at the kitchen table with Raul. Miguel approached, but stopped in the doorway. She didn’t look up from the problem s
he was helping solve. Unfortunately, it was the last one.
“Done!” Raul said and threw his pencil on the table. “I’m going outside to play.”
“Don’t get too dirty,” Elizabeth said to his back.
Miguel sat down in the chair that his son had occupied. “You’re really good with him. I’ve meant to thank you.”
Elizabeth avoided looking at him as she gathered the supplies. She didn’t want his pity or a gratuitous compliment. He might suspect something, but at least she hadn’t made a fool of herself.
She stood quickly. “You’re quite welcome. He’s a wonderful boy. If you’ll excuse me—”
“No.” Miguel stood in front of her, blocking her path. “We’re going to talk.”
“About what?”
“About what you saw—or thought you did—just now.”
Elizabeth’s chin jutted out. “I hardly think I need to have a kiss explained.”
He took her supplies and set them down and took her hands in his. Elizabeth tried to pull back, but his grasp was firm. And hot. How could a man have such hot…hard…yet gentle hands?
“I didn’t kiss her.”
“I saw what happened. Not that it matters, of course. You’re free to kiss whomever you choose.” How much more prim could she get? She really had to get away from him before she blubbered her way into admitting she was a little bit jealous. She tugged at her hands, to no avail.
“Whomever I choose,” Miguel echoed. “Precisely.” He covered both her hands with one of his and caught her chin lightly with his other one, holding her head in place. He bent his head and gave her a soft, slow kiss and released her.
“I choose you. Now, we won’t speak of this again.”
Elizabeth held on to the back of the chair as he walked away, her legs wobbly and her heart beating rapidly.
• ♥ •
“Do you want to go to Fort Worth with me today?” Miguel asked as he stood up from the breakfast table in the kitchen.
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