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It had been many years since Santiago had received a gift, but damned if he’d accept a dead beetle from a cat!
“’Course, you could always shoot him,” Russia suggested merrily. “Jist like you done with the dog that was barkin’ too loud.”
He threw her a fierce look and stepped away from the persistent feline. Picking up Russia’s bag of food, he found a brown bottle inside. “Is this whiskey?”
She nodded. “Got it from some wanderin’ salesman a while back.”
Santiago examined the bottle, then noticed Nehemiah had stopped trying to give the beetle to him. The cat was now enjoying ham and cheese on his own initialed plate.
“I drink that there whiskey when I’m feelin’ delected,” Russia explained.
“Delected? What the hell does that mean?”
“Ain’t you never heard that word before, Zamora? It means feelin’ low.”
She was looking at him as if he were the biggest simpleton walking the earth. “The word is dejected.”
“Yeah, well, whatever. I drink the whiskey when I’m feelin’ low.”
Feeling low, Santiago repeated mentally. He was certainly feeling low this morning. Uncorking the flask, he brought it to his lips and took a deep gulp.
The whiskey filled his mouth with the most horrible flavor he’d ever tasted. Grimacing, shuddering, and choking, he promptly spat the liquor out. “Santa Maria, what the hell kind of whiskey is this? It tastes like it would kill!”
She swallowed her mouthful of ham. “It won’t kill you, but I reckon it’ll worm you good.”
“Worm me?” He closed his eyes and prayed for whatever patience heaven had left to grant him. “Get back in the cart. We’re leaving.”
“But I didn’t get to finish my break—”
“If you think I’m going to let you stop for a picnic every time your stomach growls, think again. Eat while we travel. Now get back in the cart.”
“No. I heared tell that if you eat while you’re movin’ around, you’ll throw up. I ain’t gonna—”
“Get back in the cart!”
Anger tore through her. She’d show this bossy brute of a gunfighter that his constant shouting would get him nowhere. Calmly, she broke off a tiny piece of cheese and slowly placed it on her tongue, taking almost a full minute to chew and swallow it. She continued eating in this fashion, and had to force herself not to smile when she saw Santiago’s eyes flash with rage.
He held his temper for as long as he could, but when he saw her examining a piece of ham as if she couldn’t decide whether to eat it or not, he exploded. “It’ll be dinnertime before you’re done with breakfast! Now get back in that asinine rig of yours and let’s go!”
She crossed her eyes and exaggerated batting her lashes at him before leisurely gathering up the tablecloth, candle, plates, and food bag. “Come on, Feisty!” she called to Nehemiah.
When he didn’t come, she turned back to Santiago. “I reckon he’s lost again. Could be hours before he comes back. Maybe days. Days that’ll run into weeks.” She knew she was pushing Santiago beyond his limit, but she simply couldn’t resist antagonizing him. “Yeah, little Scudders can be slow as Moses sometimes.”
“Did y’know Moses was real slow?” she asked. “I ain’t never been in a church-house, but did ya know once I heared one o’ them travelin’ ministers preachin’ out in the streets? Well, he said Moses spended forty years wanderin’ through the wilderness. He sure taked his own sweet time gallivantin’ around in it, didn’t he?”
Santiago could feel his face contort with anger. “Russia—”
“Do you ever go to church? I’d go, but I ain’t never finded one where I was welcomed. Ain’t fair. Seems I heared some Bible story once about a harlot who was fixin’ to git stoned. Maybe I heared it from that travelin’ preacher I jist tole you about. I reckon that’s what folks’d do to me if I ever tried to set foot in a church. You ever heared that story about the harlot who almost got stoned? How’s it end? Did she really git stoned?”
Santiago was tempted to pick up a rock and see if he could finally scare Russia. But he discarded the thought when he realized it would only waste time. “Find the damn cat, or we leave without him!”
She lifted a tawny brow. “I ain’t goin’ nowheres without Pooples. And I know you sure as hell ain’t goin’ nowheres without me.”
“You—”
“Y’know, Zamora? Fer somebody who wants me to hurry up, you’re sure keepin’ me here talkin’ fer a long time. I gotta go find Tringles now or else we ain’t never gonna git to Rock Springs.”
When she began to stroll all around the area calling for the cat, Santiago snatched up his hat and stalked back to his horse. He leaned against the stallion, all the while glaring at Russia.
The breeze picked up her long strawberry-gold hair, ruffling it all around her gingham-clad body. As much as he longed to do so, Santiago couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sight. Santa Maria, the girl had beautiful hair. It shimmered all around her thighs, and several locks hugged her tiny waist. Before he could stop himself, he wondered what those thick, soft tresses would feel like spread out over his bare chest, wrapped around his back, and tangled in his fingers.
A sudden flame of desire stroked him, softening his anger. Russia was certainly irritating, but she was an irritating beauty. And though his mind refused to even consider the possibility of making love to a girl who maddened the hell out of him, every fiber of his body yearned for just that.
“Lord! Oh, dear God in heaven!”
Her hysterical shout scattered his lusty thoughts. He raced toward her. Just as he reached her, she began to run to a mass of large rocks ahead. When Santiago saw the reason for her panic, he snatched out his guns. “Russia!”
Tears streamed down Russia’s face as she neared the cluster of rocks. “Sugar Boy!” she yelled at her cat.
Santiago was at her side in an instant, grabbing her arm and forcing her to a halt. “Are you crazy? That’s a nest of rattlesnakes!”
She fought to free herself from his grip, but he gave her no quarter. “Well, what the hell am I s’posed to do?” she screamed at him. “Them snakes is gonna bite my—”
“Just stay here, dammit!” He shoved her behind him and cautiously approached the rocks. He was relieved when he saw that Nehemiah was sitting statue-still. As if instinct told the cat not to make a single move, he didn’t twitch as much as a whisker. Santiago leveled his Colts.
The sudden explosion of gunfire sent Russia to her knees. It seemed to go on forever, and she soon lost count of how many bullets Santiago fired. In the dirt, her hands covering her mouth, she watched the area where Nehemiah had been, but saw nothing but shooting pebbles, flying plants, and a thick cloud of dust.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the gunfire ceased. Knowing in her heart that Santiago had killed Nehemiah, she began to shake violently.
Santiago turned to look at her. Seeing her fear, he pulled her to her feet before starting back for his horse.
Russia never took her eyes away from the rocks. Terror still gripped her as she watched the dust settle.
A small mewling sound came to her. “Dinkums!” she cried when she saw the gray tabby sitting amidst a pile of lifeless snakes. She flew to him and lifted him into her arms, weeping into his long gray fur. “Oh, Mama’s little ball o’ love! You coulda been bited! You coulda been—”
Slowly, she glanced at the ground, scowling at what looked to be about ten snakes. It was difficult to count them since they’d been reduced to little more than pulp. “Shriekin’ shoestrings,” she murmured.
Nehemiah still cuddled against her breasts, she returned to Santiago, who was standing next to his horse and reloading his Colts. “You great big dummy! You coulda killed my baby! You coulda missed them damn snakes and shooted Botsoms instead!”
Without looking up at her, he finished loading his pistols and slid them back into his belt. “I didn’t miss, and don’t ever call me names again.”
His jaw began twitching. No one had ever dared to call him names! He glared at her, determined to set her straight once and for all. But before he could get the stiff admonishment out of his mouth, he was caught off guard by her eyes. One was blue, and the other was green, splashed with the same blue. He’d never seen anything so odd in his life. “You have two different-colored eyes.”
“Really?” she asked, pretending astonishment. “Well, I’ll be a witch’s titty! I ain’t never seed my own eyes before, and I sure as hell didn’t know they was two different colors! How can I ever repay you fer lettin’ me in on such a grand secret?”
He stiffened. Without a word, he mounted. Once in the saddle, he noticed something black lying on his horse’s withers, directly in front of the saddle horn.
It was the beetle. How the cat had managed to climb onto the horse without scaring the skittish stallion was beyond Santiago. He picked up the dead insect and flung it far before urging his mount into a slow trot.
Russia watched him ride away. “Licorice and lice, Zamora. You and me is sure in fer some kinda time, ain’t we?”
She climbed onto the seat of her cart. After setting Nehemiah beside her, she gave him a thorough once-over, but found no injury whatsoever. The cat was so well, he was purring.
Feeling guilty for overreacting, she sat back and thought about what Santiago had done. She’d never shot a gun in her life, but even so she didn’t think killing a mess of snakes without hurting Nehemiah had been an easy thing to do. And yet Santiago had made it look so simple.
She realized then that he’d earned his dangerous reputation. The men in the saloon might have embellished the tales about him, but they hadn’t been exaggerating his abilities. Looking up, she centered her gaze on Santiago’s broad back. Even from so far away, she could see the flash of his Colts. She now had proof that he knew exactly how to use them.
A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Wirt Avery,” she whispered, “wherever you are, you’d best say your prayers. You—”
“Dammit, Russia, come on!” Santiago shouted, waving his arm.
She set the cart in motion, her slight grin turning into a huge smile. “Yeah, Wirt, you ole bastard,” she said merrily. “I believe it’s plumb nelly safe to say that you’re about to meet your match in Santiago Zamora.”
Chapter Four
After what had been the longest, most frustrating day of his life, Santiago decided to stop and make camp in a clear, moonlit spot. Russia had not yet arrived, but he knew she was in the near distance. He could hear her damn bells jingling. Muttering Spanish curses, he made a fire.
They’d traveled from dawn to nighttime and had covered only eleven miles. True, Russia had tried to cooperate with his demands that she hurry, but her ox was simply unable to keep up. At the rate they were going, there was no telling when or where they’d come across Avery. The ox was going to add days to the journey, and that meant spending more endless and troublesome days with Russia.
For the thousandth time since morning, Santiago wondered how he could induce her to accept a horse. He knew he’d have no trouble providing her with a fast mount; there were mustangs in the area. Not only had he caught them around here before, but he’d seen a wild stallion earlier in the day. He’d recognized the proud horse as a master stallion, one that commanded a herd of mares.
There was no doubt about it, Santiago mused while staring into the flames of the fire. The mares were hidden somewhere close by. He could turn one of them into a mount far better than any he’d be able to buy. And he’d need only a few days to do it.
The only problem was how to get Russia to agree.
“Well, it’s about damn time you decided to stop!” Russia huffed as she pulled Little Jack Horner’s reins and yanked off her hat. “I thought we was gonna ride clear through the night, and I’m so hungry my belly button’s rubbin’ a blister on my backbone!” She jumped out of the cart and looked at the fire. “Y’didn’t eat without me, did you?”
He ignored her ranting and raked his gaze down her body. The longer he stared at it, the farther his imagination began to run.
“Zamora?”
A long moment passed before he was able to move his eyes away from her. He opened his saddlebag, took out a pan, and laid it over the fire. “You’ve been eating all day, Russia,” he said, bits of his sensual fantasy still lingering in his mind. “I thought I heard you say that you didn’t like to eat while moving, but every time I turned around, I saw you stuffing something else in your mouth. How can you be hungry?”
She watched him pour a bit of water into the hot pan before he added a heap of dried meat to it. The smoky smell of the beef made her stomach growl. “I’m hungry even when I’m full,” she said, eyeing the simmering food. “If you’d gone hungry as many times as I have, you’d be the same way.”
Though she turned away quickly, Santiago didn’t miss the glimmer of sadness in her eyes. For one short moment he wondered what had caused it.
“Can I have some o’ that meat?” she asked, her back to him while she unhitched Little Jack Horner. “I done ate ever’thing I brung. I figgered it was all right to do that since you’re s’posed to be catchin’ all our meals.”
“Your caterwauling has scared every animal around into the next county. We’ll probably starve before this is over.”
She felt like smacking him. “Can I have some meat, or not? I’m feelin’ plumb nelly malflourished.”
He threw a few red chili peppers into the pan. Upon further thought, he tossed in several more. Grinning, he said, “The word is malnourished, and yes, you can have as much meat as you can eat.”
She finished unhitching the ox. Facing Santiago, she saw his grin. “Well, tinklin’ bracelets and slimy snail trails, look at you smilin’! You oughta show that smile more often, y’know? Them white teeth o’ yours look real good next to your dark skin.”
There she went again, he thought, complimenting him. Like before, he didn’t know how to respond to such unfamiliar flattery, nor could he come up with a reason for it.
He knew only that he’d put a lot of chili in the meat.
Well, who the hell cared if the blackmailing little twit couldn’t eat it? It wasn’t his fault that she’d devoured several days’ worth of food all in one day, and he was entitled to enjoy his dinner the way he liked it. His jaw clenched, he removed the pan of meat from the fire and laid a thin sheet of metal across the blaze. When it was hot, he heated tortillas on it.
Russia watched him tear off a piece of tortilla. Holding it in his fingers, he dipped it into the meat pan, pinching up a section of the softened beef with it. He then ate the entire biteful all together.
“Ain’t you never heared of a fork?” she asked.
He tore off another piece of warm tortilla. “This works better.” Again he demonstrated the Mexican use of a tortilla.
She had to admit it was practical. Wanting to try it herself, she sat down beside him and reached for a tortilla. She pulled a piece of it off and pinched up some meat just as she’d seen Santiago do. “Real nice o’ you to share with me, Zamora.” She popped the bite into her mouth and began to chew.
He saw her eyes water and widen. Her cheeks reddened. An expression of pain flitted across her face. He couldn’t believe it when she managed to swallow.
“You damn varmint!” she sputtered and pursed her lips to quickly inhale a cool breath of air into her burning mouth. “You mean-thoughted, stone-hearted, wickederer’n the devil varmint!”
He listened to her rant and rave, glad the spitfire in her had returned. This Russia he could handle. It was the sweet one who baffled him. “What’s the matter? Too much chili?”
She snatched his canteen from the ground and drank deeply of the pure water. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she glared at him. “Y’know, Zamora, if you was to ever dream you was dead, the heat would wake you up. Where do you git
off lettin’ me eat that—”
“This is what I like to eat. I didn’t cram it down your throat. You begged for it.”
“Well, you shoulda tole me you dumped fire into it!” She looked at the meat longingly. Her shoulders slumped when she saw Santiago reach for the very last tortilla. “Reckon I’ll jist have to go hungry tonight.”
He didn’t comment.
“I hope I don’t die o’ starvation before mornin’.”
He tore off a piece of the tortilla.
“Would you gimme a decent buryment if I die tonight?”
“Burial.”
“Whatever. Will y’give me one?”
Chewing, he studied the stars.
“I want a cross on my grave. Flowers, too.”
Without looking at her, he handed her the last scrap of tortilla.
She gulped it down, then rubbed her stomach. “God,” she muttered. “I ate so much I feel like I’m gonna explode.”
He kept his gaze centered on the star-sprinkled sky, but heard her heavy sigh. Watching her from the corner of his eye, he saw her get up and go to her cart. She rummaged through the back of it for a moment before pulling forth a wad of white cloth. He wondered what it was, but refused to ask. He continued to watch her, however, and was puzzled when she slipped behind a tangle of thick brash.
He frowned when her boots came flying through the air. One hit the side of the cart and bounced to the ground. The other got caught in a branch of a scrub oak. Following the boots, her dress came sailing out, snagging on a yucca. Her undergarments were next. They floated all around, her panties landing directly in Santiago’s lap. He picked them up, noticing the word “Sunday” stitched on them.
Holding the bit of silkiness within his callused palm, he realized they were still warm from the heat of Russia’s body. Desire stirred, bringing his fantasies back to mind. “Russia,” he called softly. “What are you…”
His voice faded when she stepped out from behind the thicket, dressed in a diaphanous sleeping gown. Though her long, thick hair shielded much of her body from his hungry gaze, what he could see was sufficient to make him forget to take a breath. “…doing?” he finally finished.