The Legend Of Love

by Nan Ryan

  Neither Elizabeth or Edmund spoke a word of Spanish, so they had no idea what West was saying to the laughing woman. But Elizabeth could tell that Edmund was impressed with West’s easy command of Spanish. He regarded West with undisguised admiration, and obviously hoping he, too, might learn to speak the language, opened his red-leather menu to hunt items that sounded like the dishes West was spieling off so rapidly.

  Elizabeth was not impressed.

  And she was most definitely not amused when she sensed that West and the waitress were talking about something other than scrambled eggs. She knew she had guessed right when West eased a moccasined foot out from under the table and directed the Mexican woman’s attention to it.

  Of all the nerve! He was telling the Mexican woman about her giving him sore toes!

  The waitress looked almost lovingly at his foot, shook her dark head in understanding sympathy, then glared hotly at Elizabeth. She muttered to herself as she hurried back to the kitchen with their breakfast orders.

  West felt Elizabeth’s snapping blue eyes on him.

  All innocence, he asked quietly, “Something wrong?”

  “Nothing you can fix!” She accentuated the word so wiltingly, Edmund looked up from his menu.

  “A good breakfast will fix you up, Elizabeth,” he said optimistically, puzzled by the friction between the pair. “Afterwards, West has promised to take us over and get us outfitted.” He said it excitedly and his green eyes shone like those of a little boy about to get his first pony.

  “That’s very kind of Mr. Quarternight”—Elizabeth looked only at Edmund—“but since I have no idea what ‘outfitting’ means, I believe I’ll pass.”

  West, slouching back in his chair, suddenly leaned up to the table. “You can’t do that, miss.”

  “Ma’am,” she quickly corrected him, turning to meet his low-lidded gray eyes. “Ma’am. Not miss. I am a married woman, Mr. Quarternight.”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, not really sounding sorry. “You’ll have to come with us, I’m afraid. ‘Outfitting’ means choosing all the equipment we’ll need for the expedition.”

  At the mention of the expedition, Elizabeth brightened. She was anxious to get under way. Every hour they waited put her husband in further peril. She felt it was extremely urgent they get on the trail as quickly as possible.

  “Then we’ll be leaving right away?” she asked hopefully. “In the next day or two?”

  “Soon as my partners come down out of the San Pedro Mountains,” said West.

  Edmund said, “So you’ve already communicated with them, West?”

  West nodded.

  “How?” asked Elizabeth. “The heliograph? You sent them a heliogram message this morning? Yesterday?”

  “Nope.” West again leaned back in his chair, the chambray of his gray shirt pulled across the flat muscles of his chest. “The mirror station up on No-name Mountain’s been down for the past two weeks.”

  “The station’s down?” Elizabeth felt her irritation rising again. “So you haven’t been in touch with them! Well, that’s just marvelous. Now we’ll have to—”

  “Simmer down, Mrs. Curtin,” West broke in smoothly. “They’ve received the message to come down. They’re on the way.”

  “Oh, really?” she said, more than a little skeptical. “You have some kind of magical powers, do you, Mr. Quarternight? You can merely wish someone here and they materialize?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said, and grinned. “You’ll understand once you meet my partners.”

  Impatiently, Elizabeth said, “Are you capable of ever giving a straight answer, Quarternight?”

  “Elizabeth,” Edmund cautioned, surprised at her rudeness, concerned that she might antagonize their much-needed guide.

  “It’s all right, Edmund,” West said. “It’s a fair question. Let’s see, today is Saturday the … the—”

  “May fifteenth,” said Elizabeth. “Saturday the fifteenth of May, 1869.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Curtin.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Quarternight.”

  “Okay. It’s Saturday, May fifteenth,” West repeated, unruffled. “Grady and Taos, my partners, will reach Santa Fe late this afternoon. If we’re completely ready and outfitted—horses, pack mules, tools, everything—we can be on the trail no later than dawn Monday the seventeenth.”

  “So soon?” Elizabeth asked.

  West grinned, then said, “Ah, just like a woman, Mrs. Curtin. Bellyaching when a man’s too slow, then acting downright shocked when he makes a quick move.” His voice got across the two-edged meaning of his remark and his silver eyes gleamed with devilment as he waited for her response.

  Elizabeth’s pale face flushed with anger. His casual statement clearly held a double meaning, but she couldn’t properly respond without arousing Edmund’s suspicions. She ground her teeth and quietly seethed to a count of five.

  She smiled sweetly at West and replied, “Ah, just like a man, Mr. Quarternight. Always swaggering with supreme self-confidence, as long as he’s never really put to the test.”

  Elizabeth was delighted to see the pleased expression quickly vanish from West’s silver eyes. It was evident that she had hit a nerve, but in fact she was somewhat puzzled by her easy victory. While she did find him maddeningly self-assured, she would be the first to grudgingly admit that his confidence was not misplaced. She’d be willing to wager that the tall, dark man would not only meet but excel at any test.

  “Oh, Good. Here’s our breakfast.” Edmund cut through the tension.

  West’s smile returned and Elizabeth’s disappeared as the beaming Mexican waitress placed steaming platters of food before them.

  Elizabeth heard West say, “Nothing like a hearty breakfast to start your day off right.” Wrinkling her nose, she stared down at her plate as he pointed out what she was looking at. “These are very special enchiladas. Cornmeal pancakes stuffed with raw onions and melted cheese, smothered with hot chili sauce. And this is green peppers, filled with cheese and fried until they’re golden brown. That’s your scrambled eggs.”

  “That couldn’t be scrambled eggs,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s fresh eggs soft scrambled with goat cheese and hot peppers and—”

  “I’m not hungry,” said Elizabeth, pushing the plate away.

  “No?” said West. “Not even for a piece of spiced sausage sprinkled liberally with hot sauce?”

  She made a face. “Edmund, I’d eat sparingly, were I you,” she turned to her brother-in-law.

  His mouth full of the hot, spicy food, his eyes watering, he could only nod. Elizabeth sat there sipping black coffee, her empty stomach churning, while the two men ate heartily, neither stopping until their plates were clean.

  As they were leaving, the Mexican waitress made it a point to wander over to say good-bye. “You come back soon, no?” she said, looking only at West Quarternight.

  “Sure we will,” he told her, and the woman’s dark eyes clung to him until they were well out of the dining hall.

  Out in the La Fonda lobby, moving toward the plaza entrance, Edmund smilingly said, “West, I believe that pretty waitress has her eye on you.”

  Gently placing a brown hand to the small of Elizabeth’s back as they stepped out onto the stone sidewalk, West replied, with mock resignation, “What can I do?”

  Wrenching away from him, Elizabeth snapped, “You could stop leading her on!”

  Smiling contentedly, West let the remark pass. In silence the trio strolled around the plaza, stopping when they reached a large, flat sand-colored adobe building on the square’s west side.

  Bold black letters on a long white sign mounted above the doors read Ruiz Brothers. West explained that in the Ruiz Brothers’ store they would find all the supplies needed for the long, grueling journey ahead.

  Inside the spacious, high-ceilinged store, the air smelted of plug tobacco and leather and fresh-ground coffee. Row upon row of tables
and shelves along the walls were filled with a myriad of merchandise. Atop some of the large square tables were colorful bolts of fabric, ribbon-trimmed bonnets, and delicate lace mantillas. Men’s trousers and bright-hued cowboy shirts and longjohns filled others.

  From the ceiling hung hams and slabs of bacon and varicolored peppers. A glass-fronted display case was filled with nostrums: Oriental Wart Destroyer, Electric Rheumatism Syrup, Dr. Jacob’s Female Tonic, and Sure-Help Toothache Drops. Atop the display case were big glass jars of peppermint sticks and jawbreakers and jet-black licorice twists.

  One wall, containing no shelving, was covered with bridles and farm tools and brooms and baby cradles. Everything from clothing to food to saddles to weapons to coffins could be found in Ruiz Brothers.

  Two smiling slender mustachioed Mexican men hurried forth to greet them. “Mi gringo amigo!” said the taller of the men, vigorously snaking West’s hand.

  “Qué pasa, West?” said the other, his dark eyes and white teeth flashing.

  Grinning, West greeted the pair in Spanish, then turned, laid a gentle hand on Elizabeth’s arm, and said, inclining his head to the two smiling Mexicans, “Mrs. Curtin, Edmund, los hermanos Ruiz.” To the brothers Ruiz, he said, “Rio, Roberto, may I present Señora Elizabeth Curtin and Señor Edmund Curtin.”

  “Señora, Señor,” the Ruiz brothers said in unison, “Buenos días. ¿Cómo están ustedes?”

  “Muy bien. Gracias,” Elizabeth replied warmly, charmed by the two small, mannerly Mexican men.

  All smiles, the brothers’ dark eyes rested solely on her. Addressing West, they chattered excitedly in Spanish, and Elizabeth, able to catch a word here and there, heard ojizarca and pelo rojo and hermosa and magnífica. She was curious.

  West answered the brothers in Spanish, shaking his head and smiling easily.

  “What are they saying, Quarternight?” Elizabeth asked, smiling at the two Mexicans.

  “The Ruiz brothers are amazed by your blue eyes and red hair. They say you are beautiful, a truly magnificent lady.”

  Elizabeth quickly thanked the Ruizes. Smiling, she said, “Gracias, gracias.”

  “Shall we get started?” Edmund asked eagerly, walking toward a square table loaded down with men’s pants. Rio and Roberto Ruiz hurried after him, sizing him up, arguing over which cut of trousers would best fit him.

  “And you”—Elizabeth turned slowly to West—“when you answered the Ruiz brothers. What did you say?”

  “Why, that I agree: sí, con mucho gusto.” His warm silver gaze slowly lowered from her face to where the soft light fell on the smooth slope of her exposed throat. “That I think you are a magnificent blue-eyed, red-haired beauty.”

  Feeling suddenly uncomfortably warm, Elizabeth wondered how West Quarternight managed to make the simplest of compliments sound decidedly familiar. Sexual even. She swallowed nervously.

  “Gracias,” she said, almost resentfully, turned, and walked away. She knew, without looking back, that those gleaming silver eyes followed, stripping the clothes from her body.

  West and the Curtins spent more than two hours inside the Ruiz Brothers’ general store. Leaning on one of the square merchandise tables, West smoked a cigar and watched, genuinely amused, as Edmund Curtin enthusiastically chose his personal gear for the upcoming journey.

  Caught up in the excitement of being a rough, tough outdoorsman, Edmund chose several cotton shirts, some silk bandannas, a half-dozen pair of trousers of denim and twill and soft buckskin. A wide intaglioed leather belt with a silver buckle, a pair of matching leather cowboy cuffs. A leather vest. Some shotgun chaps. A fringed suede jacket. Two pair of handmade boots. And, finally, a wool-felt cowboy hat.

  Elizabeth was far more conservative. She picked out only a pair of serviceable suede gloves, a brown flat-crowned hat with drawstring, and a couple of colorful silk bandannas.

  “That all you’re getting?” West walked over to her, toyed with the pair of rust suede gloves she had placed on the counter;

  “It is. I already have everything I’ll need.”

  “Really? You have tall leather boots and sturdy trousers and some long-tailed shirts? Wool socks and heavy cotton underwear?”

  “Of course not! A lady, Mr. Quarternight, does not go about dressed like a man.”

  “The lady who goes where we’re heading, Mrs. Curtin, is going to wish to hell she was dressed like a man.”

  19

  “YOU WON’T TELL, WILL you?”

  “No, I won’t tell.”

  “Thank you, Elizabeth,” said Edmund gratefully. “I feel so foolish. I wouldn’t want him to know that I—”

  “He won’t. Now just lie here quietly until you’re feeling better.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that,” said the pale, suffering man.

  It was not quite noon. After spending the better part of the morning purchasing supplies at Ruiz Brothers, Edmund had seemed more than anxious to return to the hotel. When West had suggested they all go out to Jorge Acosta’s horse rancho, two miles east of Santa Fe, to pick out some saddle ponies and pack burros, Edmund had curiously begged off. Pointing out that he trusted West’s judgment, he asked West to go on out alone, or to take Elizabeth, if she wished to go.

  She did not care to go, she had quickly let it be known. She and Edmund had returned to their hotel while West promised to ride out to the Acosta rancho sometime after lunch.

  Once back inside the comfort and privacy of the La Fonda suite, Edmund had admitted the truth to his sister-in-law.

  He was sick.

  The hot, spicy breakfast had played havoc with his stomach and for the past hour he had been in agony. Tempted to say “I told you so,” instead Elizabeth had sympathized. Urging him into his bedroom, she had ordered him to take off his coat and shoes and lie down. He hadn’t argued.

  While Edmund stretched out, she had poured cool, clean water into a porcelain pan, dipped a clean washcloth into the water, squeezed it out, folded it meticulously, and draped it across Edmund’s perspiring forehead. She then went about pulling the heavy curtains and shutting out the harsh sunlight.

  He murmured his thanks as she tiptoed out, closing the door behind her. Poor Edmund. He wouldn’t feel like getting out of his room for the rest of the day.

  Afraid she might bump into West if she went downstairs for lunch, Elizabeth had a light meal sent up. She couldn’t interest Edmund in even trying some of the clear beef broth, so she ate alone. Afterwards, she took a long, cooling bath and stretched out on her bed. She read for a while, but found she was too restless, too full of energy, to get really interested in the book.

  She dressed again, choosing a crisp cool blue-and-white gingham shirtwaist with a round collar and short puffy sleeves. She checked on Edmund and found him sleeping peacefully. She smiled and pulled his door shut.

  Fidgety, she prowled the sitting room, crossed it, stepped out onto the hotel balcony, and stood looking out over the plaza. The city had suddenly become quiet and somnolent, the plaza nearly deserted. The shops surrounding the square were closing their doors.

  Siesta time in Santa Fe.

  A tranquil calm fell over the beautiful sky-high city. A hushed, peaceful silence descended over the verdant little valley and over its shuttered adobe residences. An atmosphere of total serenity settled over the calm, quiet valley.

  Elizabeth pushed her long, unbound red hair back over her shoulders. While the warm alpine sun kissed her face, she looked down on the placid plaza. But she felt no peace. She was troubled. She was restless. She was confused.

  She slowly lifted her eyes to gaze up at the towering mountains ringing the quiet valley.

  Strong mountain winds swayed the scrubby juniper and tall green pines. Above the timberline, clouds veiled the highest summits and traces of snow still clung to the rugged cliffs and barren rock.

  If the valley seemed serenely tame and safe, the majestic mountains with their soaring scarps and twisted peaks appeared wild and dangerous. The contrast wa
s awesome. While charmed by the calm meadow village, Elizabeth felt a quickening of her pulse, a shortness of breath, as she gazed at those unreachable pinnacles framed against the clear blue sky.

  As she stood there entranced, feeling helplessly drawn to the wild beauty of the forested slopes and barren sun-soaked plateaus and soaring peaks, the bothersome thought occurred to her.

  Her husband, Dane Curtin, was like the pleasant peaceful valley. West Quarternight, like the beautiful, forbidding mountains.

  Dane was blondly attractive, warmhearted, settled, trustworthy, respectful, and safe.

  Quarternight was darkly handsome, callous, incorrigible, disreputable, disrespectful, and dangerous.

  A chill shot up her spine.

  Dear Lord, here she was, too close to admitting a terrible truth. Tearing her eyes from the mesmerizing mammoth monoliths, Elizabeth whirled about and rushed back indoors.

  Once inside she reasoned that there was no real need for concern. Why not admit the truth and face the facts like the logical-thinking adult she prided herself on being? West Quarternight was a ruggedly handsome man with a sexual magnetism and self-assurance that women—all women, herself included—naturally feared, but were drawn to as well. His was the lethal brand of charm found in reckless, worthless scamps no woman could hope to hold. Which, of course, made every woman long to hold him.

  Why did she suppose she should be immune? How could she be? Especially since she had certain guilty knowledge that the dark, dangerous Quarternight was all every woman dreamed he’d be and more. He was the hot, sexual animal they imagined. A skilled and exciting lover capable of stripping away any woman’s inhibitions along with her clothes. If he were not the ultimate seducer, would she have allowed him to make love to her on a hay-strewn floor while a guard slept just around the corner?

  Certainly not.

  West Quarternight, even with a bushy beard and a too-thin frame, had been powerfully persuasive.

  Why should she expect herself to be so different from all the others? Hadn’t she seen the beautiful Doña Hope slip away from the Governor’s Spring Baile to spend one golden hour in Quarternight’s arms? And the Mexican waitress at breakfast had made no secret of the fact she would be his for the taking.