The Bronzed Hawk

by Iris Johansen

“Good.” He turned and strolled toward the door. “Then I won’t have to face that belligerent temper of yours for making you take a six-hour hike in the blazing sun.” He waved casually, stepped through the door, and closed it softly behind him.

  Kelly sat where he had left her, still holding her precious Leica and staring at the closed door, a bemused smile on her face. Nick, too, had made that miserable hike when he could have been riding in comparative comfort if he had been willing to let the bandit leader keep the camera. Her lips curved in a tender smile as she remembered just how hot and weary Nick had looked when they reached Matzalea. She felt a strange melting sensation somewhere near her heart.

  Now after going through so much for her already, he was canvassing the village instead of resting. Kelly frowned and straightened slowly in her chair. Meanwhile, she was sitting here doing nothing, leaving it all to him. Well, she wasn’t about to wait until a dragon appeared over the horizon for her to fight. She’d just go hunt one up on her own.

  Kelly got briskly to her feet and marched toward the door beside the bar in search of her lethargic hostess.

  It was almost six o’clock when O’Brien returned to the cantina, and Kelly was beginning to feel the faint stirrings of anxiety. Therefore, it was with profound relief that she saw him walk through the door and pause a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimness after the glare of the street. It was only an instant before his gaze circled the room and spotted her sitting at a table in the corner of the cantina.

  A flashing smile lit his dark face. He strolled slowly over to the table and dropped down into the chair across from her own. “Mexicali Rose, I assume,” he said solemnly. “You’ve been busy, Goldilocks.”

  “I feel more like a Salvation Army reject.” Kelly looked down at the flounced red cotton skirt that she was wearing with the low-necked white peasant blouse. They both belonged to Carmen Rodriguez, and Kelly’s petite form was lost in them. The only way she had been able to get the skirt to stay up was to tie a black sash tightly around her slim waist. The peasant blouse was utterly impossible, hanging on her like a sack, and the low neckline persisted in slipping off her shoulders. “But I had to wear something while Carmen was washing my clothes.”

  “You’ve had a bath, too,” he noticed, his eyes traveling over her clean, shining face and the sun-streaked ringlets that were still a trifle damp. “You look like a fresh-scrubbed baby.”

  “Carmen is heating water for your bath right now,” Kelly said briskly. “She has some old clothing of her husband’s that you can wear while she launders your own. The sun is so hot and the air so dry here, that the clothes should dry in a few hours.”

  “Oh, Lord, that sounds good!” Nick’s gaze travelled over his dust-coated jeans and sweat-soaked shirt. “I bet I smell like a polecat.”

  “Well, now that you mention it,” Kelly drawled and grinned impishly, “I was aware of a slight musky odor.”

  He chuckled. “Very delicately put, sweetheart. Am I allowed to ask how you managed to persuade our hostess to stir herself to such herculean efforts on our behalf?”

  “Well, she wasn’t about to exert herself for me without compensation,” she replied. “I’m sure you would have had better luck with her. But she did take a fancy to my jade ring fortunately. It bought us baths, laundry services, and a meal. I must say it was a bit difficult communicating with her in sign language, however.”

  “You’ve supplied our every need, Kelly,” Nick said slowly, reaching over to take her hand in his and looking down at her bare ring finger thoughtfully. “It was a very pretty ring. Did you place a high value on it, Goldilocks?”

  She shrugged carelessly. “Of course not,” she lied. “It was just an inexpensive dinner ring. I’ll replace it when I get back to San Francisco. Did you find transport for us?”

  He was still staring down at her hand, his thumb absently stroking her ring finger. “Yes, I think I found a way to get us out of here,” he replied quietly. “But there’s a small catch.”

  “There always is.” Kelly sighed. “What is it this time? Another poker game with my fair body as the stakes?”

  He shook his head, his expression oddly grave. “It’s a little more complicated than that, I’m afraid,” he said, still looking down at her hand. “It seems that Matzalea possesses its own resident priest, a Father Juan Miguel. He lives in Matzalea but travels around the area periodically to conduct mass in outlying villages. He has an ancient Buick station wagon that’s his pride and joy.”

  “Will he let us borrow it?” Kelly asked, her eyes alight with eagerness.

  He shook his head. “No, but he offered to drive us to Acapulco himself. I’ll naturally send a donation to his parish when I get back to the States to pay him back for his time and expenses.”

  “Well, then what’s the problem?” Kelly asked, puzzled. “Everything’s working out splendidly.”

  “Except for one minor detail,” Nick replied. “Father Miguel seems to be a kindly and devout man, but no one could call him a member of the modern enlightened clergy. He’s as old-fashioned and outdated as this village. He doesn’t approve of an unmarried man and woman traveling around Mexico together.”

  “What!” Kelly exclaimed, “But that’s positively archaic. Didn’t you explain what I was doing with you?”

  “I thought it best not to,” he said quietly. “Father Miguel obviously has rather rigid ideas regarding a woman’s place in life. I told him instead that you were my novia.”

  “And what is that?” Kelly asked warily, her eyes narrowing.

  “My fiancée,” he translated. “I thought it might pacify his moral code if we were at least engaged.”

  Her eyes widened. “And did it?” she asked carefully.

  “No,” he replied bluntly. “He wants to marry us at once before he’ll agree to chauffeur us to Acapulco.”

  “Marry?” Kelly’s mouth dropped open in shock, and she could feel her breath catch in her throat. “But that’s impossible,” she choked out. “Couldn’t you talk him out of it?”

  “Why do you think I was so long returning? Father Miguel is a very stubborn man, and he’s holding all the aces. He has the only wheels in town.”

  “But surely there’s something we can do,” Kelly protested, nervously biting her lower lip. “We can’t just give in to him on something as important as this. It’s like something out of a Victorian melodrama.”

  “The only other option is a sixty-mile hike to the next village with no guarantee that we’d have better luck there,” he said soberly. “As I said, the good father is holding all the aces.”

  “But …” Kelly trailed off helplessly, her jade eyes wide and troubled in her suddenly pale face.

  Nick’s hand tightened comfortingly on hers. “It’s not the end of the world, you know. There’s a distinct possibility that the marriage wouldn’t even be legal in the States. Even if it is, there shouldn’t be any trouble getting it annulled. It’s not as if it’s an irrevocable step, Kelly.”

  “No, I suppose not,” she said dazedly. She was feeling a peculiar tightness in her throat, and she felt foolish tears brim in her eyes. What in the world was the matter with her that his casual dismissal of any permanent ties between them should cause this aching pain? “You think we should do it, then?”

  “I don’t think we have much choice,” he said quietly, his eyes intent on her troubled face. “You agree?”

  She drew a shaky breath and then tried to shrug carelessly. “Why not?” she asked flippantly, over the slight lump in her throat. “After all, you’re risking much more than I am. You’re the one who’s rich as Croesus. How do you know that I won’t hold you up for some exorbitant bundle in alimony?”

  “I know,” he said softly, his gaze holding her own. “I know.” It was an incredibly intimate moment the world narrowing to include just the two of them; they seemed bound in a golden, timeless haze.

  Kelly was not aware how long she was held in that mesmerizing spell. She was vaguely
aware of Carmen Rodriguez entering the cantina, undulating over to their table, and speaking to Nick. Kelly didn’t even glance at Carmen until Nick reluctantly released her hand, turned to smile warmly at the cantina owner, and answered her with a brief, “Gracias.”

  He turned back to Kelly. “It’s my turn for a bath,” he said. “Would you like to come and scrub my back?” His lips were curved in his usual mocking smile. It was as if that instant of sudden breathless rapport had never existed.

  Kelly drew a deep breath and carefully composed her own expression. “I don’t believe so,” she replied lightly. “If you need any help, I’m sure that the merry widow will be more than happy to oblige.” That fact was more than evident, she thought crossly, as she gazed with extreme displeasure at the plump, beaming cantina owner, who stood waiting for Nick to accompany her. She positively glowed with blatant invitation.

  Nick rose to his feet and grinned down at her. “But I’m an engaged man now,” he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I’m quite sure that Father Miguel would never approve of such goings on.”

  Her lips curved in a reluctant smile. “And how long are you going to remain an engaged man?” she asked. “When does Father Miguel intend to tie the knot?”

  “He suggested that we stroll over to the church about sundown,” he answered casually. “I’ll have a bath and make myself presentable, and we’ll leave after our meal. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said just as matter-of-factly. She made a face. “I suppose I’d better not change back into my own clothes as I’d planned. If the priest is as old-fashioned as you say, I doubt if he’d be pleased if I showed up for the nuptials in jeans.”

  “You’re probably right,” Nick replied, as he gestured politely for Carmen to precede him from the room. “Besides, I find that earthy peasant look very fetching.” Without waiting for a reply, he followed their hostess to her rooms at the rear of the cantina.

  Kelly didn’t feel at all fetching some two hours later when they arrived at the chapel on the outskirts of the small village. She felt unattractive and terribly nervous and slightly sick to her stomach as they walked into the tiny vestibule.

  O’Brien’s keen glance raked her pale face and wide, frightened eyes in swift appraisal before his hand closed bracingly on her elbow. “If I wasn’t so confident of my devastating charm. I might be offended by your unbridelike demeanor, Goldilocks. You look scared to death. I’m not really a bluebeard, you know.”

  “Sorry,” she apologized, moistening her lips nervously. “It’s just that I haven’t done this before.” She smiled tremulously. “I know little girls are supposed to have romantic fantasies about their wedding and marriage, but I never did. I just never thought about it. I guess I’m still suffering from shock.” She had been carrying a mantilla, which she unfolded and put on.

  “How flattering,” Nick said dryly. “You may not be an eager bride, but you’re certainly a lovely one in Carmen’s mantilla.”

  Kelly touched the fragile lace. “It’s perfectly beautiful, isn’t it?” She looked up at him. “It was very generous of her to offer it, considering how disappointed she was when you told her we were going to be married. Tell me, did you soothe her feelings by letting her scrub your back, after all?”

  “No, sweetheart, I scrubbed my own back,” he said solemnly. “Though I did regard it as a monumental sacrifice.”

  “I don’t know whether to believe you or not. She certainly managed to find you a more attractive wedding outfit than she did me.”

  Nick was wearing his own freshly laundered black jeans, but the white linen shirt with its exquisitely delicate flower design embroidered in fine white thread was truly beautiful. Carmen’s husband must have been smaller than Nick, for it fit a bit tightly over his shoulders and hugged his lean waist. He had left a few buttons open at the throat for comfort, and his strong throat and muscular chest looked almost aggressively virile against the delicacy of the white embroidered linen.

  “It’s a little fussy for my taste, but I thought I’d try to do you proud,” he said casually. “It’s not every day that a man marries such a ravishing creature as Kelly McKenna.”

  “You know I look absolutely dreadful,” Kelly wailed miserably. “Not only do these outsize clothes make me look like a rag bag, but my hair is a complete mess, and I don’t even have any lipstick on.” She glowered at him. “While you look perfectly gorgeous.”

  He grinned. “Men aren’t gorgeous, Goldilocks,” he corrected. “I’ll grant you that I’m an exceptionally handsome devil, though.”

  “You’re gorgeous,” she repeated emphatically. “And it’s just not fair.”

  He went suddenly still, the laughter fading from his face. “You really mean that,” he said quietly. “I thought you were joking, but you really don’t know how beautiful you are.”

  “Save the blarney, Nick. Even when I’m at my best, I know I’m not exceptional.”

  He gave her a curiously tender smile. “Aren’t you?” he asked gently. He cupped her face in his two hands and looked down into her eyes. “There must be something radically wrong with my perception then. You appear most exceptional to me, love.” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “Now, let’s see where I miscalculated. Two very ordinary eyes that are sometimes the hue of grass after a spring shower and at other times as vibrant as emeralds.” He brushed her lids with a kiss as light as butterfly wings. “Nothing unusual there.” One lazy finger twisted a silky ringlet. “Hair that’s touched with shining golden ribbons of color and curls around my finger as if it loves me. There’s no real reason for me to find it appealing.” His hand left her hair to touch the curve of her cheek. “As for the rest of your features, I’m sure there are thousands of women more beautiful, if you took time to look for them. Who wants strength and intelligence and a glowing joie de vivre when one can have cold, classical perfection?” He kissed her lightly on the lips as she gazed up at him in dazed bewilderment. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right, sweetheart. There’s nothing extraordinary about you.”

  Kelly was silent for an instant as she struggled to free herself from the velvet cloud of intimacy that he had created about her. “I’m glad you agree,” she finally managed huskily. “You certainly know how to raise a girl’s morale, Nick O’Brien.”

  “I didn’t mention that curvy little body, which could bring a mummy back to life,” he said softly. “That’s certainly not exceptional either.”

  She laughed. “Okay! I surrender. I’m gorgeous, too!”

  “Then shall we two gorgeous people go find Father Miguel and be joined in holy wedlock?” Nick asked. “I’m sure he’s waiting anxiously to see if I’m going to make an honest woman of you.”

  She tucked her arm in his and said softly, “By all means, let’s not disappoint the padre.”

  The first impression she had when she met Father Juan Miguel was that he looked more like Friar Tuck from Robin Hood’s merry band than the old-fashioned, narrow-minded clergyman of O’Brien’s description. In his early sixties, his short, rotund body and kind, laughing dark eyes were warmly appealing. He had only a sparse circle of gray hair bordering his head. His handshake was firm and hearty when O’Brien introduced them, and though the priest could speak no English, he managed somehow to convey both his pleasure and enthusiasm in performing their nuptials. With him was a middle-aged Mexican couple, who smiled and bobbed their heads in pleasure when the priest introduced them in Spanish. The witnesses, Kelly thought, as they walked to the altar.

  Kelly felt strangely remote as she stood at the altar and let the incomprehensible Spanish words flow over her, responding dazedly when Nick urged her and otherwise mentally floating above the simple ritual. The whole scene was incredibly dreamlike, she thought: the austere interior of the chapel with its stark white walls and ancient pews; the golden rays of the setting sun pouring through the narrow windows and forming checked patterns of brilliant light and shadowy darkness on the ornate crimson and gold altar cloth; and the crucifix, be
autifully wrought of ivory and bronze.

  Nick’s face was as bewilderingly bizarre as the rest of their surroundings. Perhaps it was that hazy golden twilight dimness that caused his expression to appear so set and stern as he answered the priest with ringing firmness. She was so absorbed in her fascinated appraisal of the lean, strong planes of O’Brien’s face that it startled her when he turned and bent down to gently kiss her lips.

  “Is it over?” she whispered, her jade eyes wide and childlike in her pale face. The delicate white lace mantilla floated over her shining curls with a graceful purity that reminded Nick more of a child at her first communion than of a bride.

  He shook his head gravely, and his expression still had that puzzling element of sternness. “No,” he said simply. “Most people consider this just the beginning.”

  Then, before Kelly could question this puzzling statement, Father Miguel was extending his hand in enthusiastic congratulations while he delivered a long discourse in Spanish that might have included advice, benediction, and general good wishes. She must ask Nick what he had said later, Kelly thought. The couple also smiled and spoke to them in Spanish. After signing papers, Kelly and Nick said goodbye to the couple and turned to Father Miguel, who gestured for them to follow him.

  “Are we leaving now?” Kelly asked, startled. “I’ve got to go back to the cantina and change my clothes and return these to Carmen.”

  Nick had his arm firmly at her waist and was propelling her steadily after Father Miguel’s plump, hurrying figure. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “There’ll be plenty of time to do that tomorrow morning.”

  “Tomorrow morning?” Kelly asked, bewildered. “But aren’t we leaving for Acapulco this evening?”

  Nick shook his head. “We’ll leave Matzalea a little before noon tomorrow.” His lips curved in a smile. “Do you think anyone with a code as rigid as Father Miguel’s would sanction a newlywed couple starting out on their wedding night?”

  “Then where are we going?” Kelly asked. They had left the chapel and were hurrying down the dusty main street of the village, trying to keep pace with the padre.