Everything that Yancy had stated was true. Padre Quintero would eagerly do just as Yancy asked, and it had become painfully clear to Sara that all the inhabitants of del Sol were willing to lay down their very lives for El Patron! No one would lift a finger to prevent him from doing exactly as he pleased, and she knew that they would think her mad if she spoke against him. Certainly they would not believe that their beloved Senor Yancy had lied to them! Not everyone understood about the civil ceremony in San Felipe, but all were overjoyed at the prospect of seeing El Patron marry her again in the village church, and preparations for the wedding were in full swing.
To Sara's growing horror, despite her furious, private denunciations of his actions and her oft-stated determination to die before she would marry him, events seemed to be moving along very smoothly in precisely the direction that Yancy wanted. Effortlessly waving away her increasingly frantic and violent vows never to marry him, Yancy had coolly set the date for their marriage for Wednesday, the fifth of June—a day that was coming terrifyingly near.
Each morning she woke to the frightening knowledge that the date of her marriage was twenty-four hours closer and that there was no way of stopping it from taking place. Except, she thought grimly, if there was no bride for the groom to marry ...
Having decided upon her course of action and knowing that time was her enemy, Sara began to plan her escape, and she was thankful that she had free rein of the hacienda compound itself. There was not a moment to lose, and within two days of her decision to escape, she had already gathered and hidden a sizable cache of goods that she would need on her dangerous journey. Secreting food and water, even a knife and an old-fashioned pistol and extra ammunition, had not been
difficult. Suitable clothing was near at hand—^her boy's knickerbockers, boots and the few short gowns she had worn for the trip to del Sol would certainly be sufficient for her return to Magnolia Grove.
Sara had learned a great deal on the journey to del Sol and she had every intention of putting those skills she had perfected on the trail to good use. She knew it was a hazardous, even foolhardy undertaking that she was planning, but being forced to marry Yancy Cantrell seemed to her to be the greater of two evils. She would rather risk her life in the vast wilderness of Texas than meekly become his bride.
As she lay alone in her comfortable featherbed, her stomach full of the hot, spicy meal that had been expertly prepared by Dolores, the nearly finished, lovingly sewn wedding gown of fine white satin and pearls hanging on the mahogany wardrobe, memories of Yancy's smile and his devastating lovemaking drifting through her mind, she sometimes wondered if she wasn't moon-crazed. She was determined to run away from a situation most women would have joyously accepted— & handsome, wealthy man, who made her flesh sing with pleasure and her heart pound with excitement, was intent upon marrying her. What, she had asked herself miserably, was so dreadful about that?
Sara couldn't explain it, not even to herself. She knew it had much to do with the will Sam had left and with Yancy's unwillingness to believe her explanations about her marriage to his father, as well as his frank inability to allow her any say in what was her future, too! That and the fact that he had never once mentioned the word "love."...
A little tear ran down her cheek. He didn't love her, that was obvious. He wanted her; he desired her body and he had taken great delight in making love to her during those never-to-be-sufficiently-regretted times that
she had lain in his arms, but he had never indicated that there was a deeper emotion behind any of his actions. He had—damn him!—^put forth several logical, practical, eminently suitable reasons for their union, but had never a word of love.
To Sara's dismayed relief, a state which clearly reflected her chaotic emotions, he had made no attempt to make love to her again since they had been at del Sol. He had, in fact, attempted no improper intimacies with her at all, and he was always infuriatingly polite to her and treated her with a mocking respect that made her long to soundly box his ears. When he kissed her, and she couldn't help but notice that he seemed to seize every opportunity to do so, they were teasingly chaste, gentle kisses, which she found dismrbingly dissatisfying. Having known his full possession, she was unhappily aware that her body was now beset with powerful, elemental needs that it had never experienced before. There had been several nights recently when sleep had eluded her and she had tossed and mmed, yearning, aching to have him touch her. From the hint of laughter she sometimes glimpsed in his eyes, she had the unpleasant sensation that he was very conscious of just how very unsatisfying she found his mockingly austere salutations....
It was clear—she had to escape! And she had chosen tonight to do it. She had schemed and planned to the best of her ability and everything was in place.
The hour was well after midnight, and scrambling into her clothes—^the knickerbockers and the same short calico gown she had worn on the journey to del Sol, only now freshly laundered and clean—she stole from her room and crept to where she had hidden her cache of supplies. Hefting the saddlebags, which to her good fortune had been inadvertently left in her room, onto her
slender shoulders, she stealthily made her way toward the far wall of the stockade. It was here that she had been shown the small stable, where a few horses were always kept in case of trouble. To her delight, she had discovered that the mare she had ridden to del Sol, Lxx:uela, so named for her friskiness as a filly, was one of the horses in the stable. It was actually the knowledge that Locuela was so near that had first put the thought of attempting an escape in Sara's head.
Slipping inside the stable, Sara crooned to the mare and swiftly saddled and secured the saddlebags to her. Then, her heart thundering in her breast and Locuela's reins in her hands, Sara stepped out of the stable. She had already noted the small, iron-barred gate not far away in the stockade wall, and silently leading her horse, she hurried toward it.
Carefully, holding her breath as she did it, she slowly pushed open the gate. There was one small squeak that brought her heart into her mouth, but the next moment the gate was completely open. Once they were on the other side of the stockade wall, Sara instantly mounted Locuela and urged her away.
She kept the horse well away from the village, circling widely around the clustered buildings. Her nerves were exquisitely stretched, her eyes darting this way and that, trying to pierce the darkness, her ears straining to hear the slightest sound of discovery. Once, when a dog barked, she started so violently that Locuela snorted loudly at the sharp tug on her reins.
Finally they were far enough away from the slumbering village to escape detection, but because of her unfamiliarity with the area and the smothering blackness of the night, Sara still kept Locuela at a slow, steady pace. She glanced now and then at the stars overhead, praying that she was heading in the right direction.
As the hours passed and del Sol fell farther and farther away, the sky gradually lightened and Sara was filled with a sensation of fierce elation. Letting out a whoop of sheer exuberance, she kicked Locuela into a distance-eating canter. She had done it! She had freed herself from Yancy and she was now on her way home!
She made good time all during that day. The heat seemed less intense than it had been the day before and Locuela was fresh and eager to go, so Sara saw no reason to lessen their pace. Her escape would be discovered all too soon, but she was relying on the fact that unless she rang, Maria never came to her room until late in the morning. No one, probably not even Yancy, would be alarmed if she was not in her room even then; everyone would assume that she was somewhere around the hacienda grounds, and it would be several more hours—possibly, if she was very lucky, close to early evening—before it was obvious that she had fled. Locuela's absence was bound to be noticed, but Sara was hoping that it would be a case of the stable boy thinking that one of the vaqueros had needed the mare and had taken her. Her greatest fear was that Yancy would be told the moment the mare's disappearance was discovered. It would take him only a second to
realize what had happened.
Suddenly terrified of being Yancy's prisoner again, Sara kicked Locuela into a dead run, and for over a mile they flew across the ground at a breakneck speed. Finally, though, common sense reasserted itself and she pulled the mare back into a more normal pace. Running her mount into the ground wasn't going to gain her anything!
Sara made camp that night near a thicket of chaparral, a narrow, sluggish stream of water flowing nearby. She was feeling very pleased with herself and there was a smile of satisfaction on her lips when she drifted off
to sleep, the small fire she had built casting flickering shadows over her slender form.
It was Locuela's loud, agitated snorting that jerked her awake, and for a moment she was disoriented. Locuela was dancing nervously around a branch of acacia brush where Sara had tethered her, and Sara heard the mournful and terrifyingly near howl of a lobo drifting through the night air. As the mare continued to move restlessly and snort, the lone howl was joined by several more, and a shiver of unease went down Sara's spine. The fire had died to just a few glowing coals, and hastily she grabbed a couple of pieces of deadwood she had gathered earlier and tossed them on the coals. It took a moment or two, but soon there was the merry cackle of burning wood and as the flames leaped higher, she was able to see the occasional red gleam of eyes and the sinister dark shapes gliding just beyond the light of the fire. Lobosl
Yancy had warned her about them on their journey to del Sol. The lobos were big, fierce wolves, and with all the abundant game in the area, they had flourished, their numbers growing every year. They were brave, tenacious, bold hunters, able by the sheer numbers of their pack to pull down a full-grown horse or a long-homed bull. They showed no fear of humans, but normally they weren't a problem, and it was highly unlikely that they would attack her. Sara swallowed painfully. Ushe wasn't their target... They must have gotten Locuela's scent and come to investigate.
It was one of the most unnerving moments of Sara's life. She was alone in an enormous wilderness, with only an old Spanish pistol for protection, surrounded by a pack of large, feral predators that seemed to have decided upon her horse for dinner—and without Locuela, she was doomed!
One of the wolves, a big, powerful black, suddenly loomed up out of the darkness. With a scream of ter-
ror, Locuela reared and broke loose from where she had been tied and galloped frantically off into the night. The wolves followed her.
There was nothing Sara could do. The horse was gone, the sound of her hoofbeats already disappearing, the lobos in swift, inexorable pursuit. Frightened and appalled, Sara piled more wood on the fire and huddled near it, pulling all her gear near her as if those inanimate objects could protect her. She tried not to think of Locuela's fate, or of what her own might be . ..
It was an endless night. She dozed uneasily by her fire, one hand tightly clutching the pistol she had taken from the saddlebags, the other the heavy leather saddlebags. She was now truly on her own.
When dawn was only a mere hint of rosy-hued orange on the horizon, she woke from her apprehensive and decidedly M^zrestful slumber. Glancing around at the empty, endless horizon of grass and brush, Sara shivered and her spirits sank even lower. Daylight had not improved her situation.
Finishing her last cup of coffee, she repacked her cooking utensils and filled her canteen from the stream. It never occurred to her to give up. She didn't have a horse, but she had two good, strong legs and at least some provisions. The saddle, of course, would have to be left behind, and after hoisting the saddlebags onto one shoulder, she draped the saddle blanket on her other shoulder and, without a backward glance, began to trudge in the direction in which she hoped Magnolia Grove lay.
She walked steadily, stopping only now and then to rest in the scant patches of shade infrequently offered by the chaparral and the few mottes of stunted trees that broke the monotony of the horse-belly-high grass. There was a dogged determination about Sara as she traveled. At first, she didn't let herself even consider failure. She
kept her thoughts trained on how suq)rised everyone was going to be when she eventually showed up at Magnolia Grove.
Keeping the notion of success in the forefront of her mind helped, but it could not compensate for the swiftly dwindling supplies, or for the fact that she had found no water since she had left the little stream where the wolves had frightened away Locuela. During the day the sun burned down relentlessly on her slender form. But the nights were the worst. At night the howls of the wolves kept her awake, robbing her of the deep sleep she needed so desperately. And it seemed that they were following her, that every night the howls came closer....
She was so tired. So thirsty. And crazy, she thought gloomily. Had she really believed that she could find her way back to Magnolia Grove? And would it have been so awful to have been married to an exciting man like Yancy Cantrell? Wouldn't being his wife have been a far better fate than dying out here all alone, where not even her bones would be found?
Suffering from lack of water, exhausted from lack of sleep and the long, fatiguing days spent walking and walking and walking, Sara gradually began to leave a sad little trail of discarded items behind her as she tried to lighten her load. By the fifth day her concentration had grown fuzzy, and when she dropped the saddlebags she wasn't even aware of it—or of the direction she was traveling in, although she sensed that something was wrong. Just before dusk, when she passed a distinctively half-hollowed, stunted oak that she recognized from having seen the previous morning, she knew that her most terrifying fears were real—she had been traveling in circles! Unable to help herself, she sank down miserably on the ground, her back against the tree, her knees against her chest, and allowed the tears she had kept at bay full rein.
She cried bitter, bitter tears, but eventually she roused herself. She had to go on. If she stopped here, she would die by this blasted oak tree, but if she moved on, there was the fervent hope that soon she would find water. Grimly Sara struggled to her feet. She still had her knife, the canteen and the pistol, and she was going to find water! Her shoulders belligerently squared, she gamely set off, determined that she would not be defeated.
She was passing through an area of thick chaparral, and as darkness began to fall, she commenced looking around for a place to camp for the night. The sudden howl of a wolf not far from where she was gathering wood startled her.
She dropped her armload of branches and twigs, her heart pounding in her chest, and looked nervously around. She could see nothing, but the sound came again, closer this time. As she stood there frozen, she heard an answering cry. She swallowed. Oh, God! Oh, God! Surely not!
But as the minutes passed and the blood-chilling howls of the wolves seemed to come from all around her, it appeared that her plea had gone unanswered. The big lobos had found their prey for tonight— her
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TOO scared to move, Sara stood there frozen, the sounds of the nearing wolves echoing in her ears. She told herself that she was imagining things—that it was some other prey that had caught their deadly attention. The hair-raising, mournful sounds died away and a wave of relief swept over her.
Laughing nervously to herself, she bent over to pick up the fallen firewood. A series of soft, excited yelps broke the air just behind her and caused her to straighten with a jerk. The sounds were noticeably closer and she knew then that she had been fooling only herself. The wolves were after her.
Frantically she looked around for a place of safety, but there was none—only the looming, shadowy forms of the prickly chaparral scattered here and there. None was high enough or thick enough to offer any protection from a wolf attack, and her heart squeezed with terror. She had the pistol, but once all the bullets were gone, what was she going to do? Use the knife?
A sudden loud howl nearer than all the others made her whirl around and stare through the gathering darkness in that direction. They were closing in, but it was the sight of a long, lean, sinuous form gliding silently through t
he brush that finally broke the paralysis that seemed to have frozen her limbs.
She had to move. Now Jaw clenched determinedly, she set off with an outwardly confident stride—^there was not going to be any sign of weakness or faltering about her!
Her mind working at a furious speed, she cast about for the best place to make a stand. Like a ray of hope, the memory of that half-hollowed oak flashed into her mind. If she could reach it. . . Spotting two more sinister shapes slinking through the ever-increasing darkness, Sara swallowed painfully. She had to reach that oak! Once she had climbed inside that hollow, it would provide her with the only protection she was going to find for miles.
How far back had she passed it? Her pace increased, and to her great alarm, she heard the brush behind her rustling loudly—as if several large bodies had pushed through it. The wolves were not making any attempt to hide their presence and Sara could clearly hear the sound of their panting, the occasional excited barks and yelps that told her only too well just how very closely they were following her.
Trying not to think about the wolves, she anxiously scanned the area in front of her. Where was that damned tree? One of the bigger wolves slunk nearer and she clutched her pistol even more tightly and pulled back the hammer, the click exploding loudly through the night air. A muffled yelp to her left had her eyes darting there nervously, and nearly choking with sheer terror, Sara spied three or four steadily padding wolves, keeping pace with her.
Her stomach lurched as she realized that with the pack already on three sides of her, it was now herding her to where its leader would strike. She swallowed painfully, the urge to run blindly almost overpowering.
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