Beverly Byrne (35 page)

He
had not thought about what he was going to do, but once begun, the actions came
to him as naturally as breathing.

He
loosened the bow at the neck of her blouse and undid its buttons. Then he
slipped the garment from her shoulders. Amy lay very still and offered no
resistance. When she was naked he took off his own clothes and lay down beside
her. "Some men are selfish and ignorant," he whispered. "It's
not your fault you felt the way you did with Tommy. And it's nothing to do with
race." Gently he ran his hand the length of her small perfect form.
"You are lovely, you give me pleasure. I want you to feel pleasure
too."

She
had been his patient; in a sense the most intimate secrets of her body were
known to him. The difference was that now he saw her with the eyes of a lover,
and touched her with a lover's hands and lips.

Rick
kissed every part of her. He was very slow and very gentle. For long moments
Amy didn't move or seem to respond. He understood that she had padlocked her
feelings behind a false wall of shame, and that only love would open the gate.
"
Mi
amor
," he murmured over and over. "
Mi
corazon
."

Finally
she sighed as though she was waking from a long sleep. Hesitantly she reached
out her hand and touched his shoulder. It was the touch of a butterfly,
precious and fleeting. "I ... love ... you," she whispered. The words
were halting, as if she must relearn speech. "I've loved you for such a
long time. But I was afraid."

"You
will never be afraid again," he said. He stroked her silken skin and
trailed his fingers along her midriff to her breasts. They were white and
tipped with pale pink. He tasted them and they were infinitely sweet.

Amy
put her hands on his hair. Like all of him it was dark and strong and bristling
with vibrant life. She had never known a man with so much life in him, so much
joy. He lifted his head, and she guided his lips to her own. Their tongues
mingled in long seconds of shared promise. When their mouths parted she
whispered, "Now."

Their
eyes remained as much locked together as were their bodies. His movements were
controlled and unhurried, and calculated to arouse.

Amy
felt herself filled by him. She knew that at this moment he was exposing his soul
as completely as he had demanded that she bare her own. Her body found a rhythm
that matched his. Her muscles tensed and quivered, and answered the spasms that
she felt in his.

They
were together in flesh and spirit when they climbed to the top of the mountain
and remained long seconds on its glorious peak.

All
around them was the mystic past of the
kiva
. Here ancient
shamans
and rainmakers had donned their horned headdresses and danced. The men sat on
one side and the women on the other, and they sang and shook their rattles and
their oiled bodies gleamed in the glow of the sacred fire. Now their ghosts
laughed with delight.

"When
will you tell Tommy?" Rick asked on the journey home. Part of him was
afraid of her answer, afraid that perhaps he'd dreamed all that had passed
between them, and once more she would deny his claim.

"As
soon as he comes home," Amy said. Her voice, calm and matter-of-fact,
dispelled all Rick's doubts. "He's been away for over a week, so he should
be back soon." She shifted in her seat so she could study his beloved
profile. "It may not be easy. He'll probably fight us. For spite, if nothing
else."

"We'll
tell him together," Rick said. "Don't worry. Tommy's made a name for
himself, but he's a new-comer. I'm Santa Fe born and bred. In New Mexico that
makes a difference. He may fight, but he won't win. We will."

When
they arrived at Santo Domingo it was after midnight. The house was sleeping and
silent, and there was no sign of Tommy. "I won't stay the night,"
Rick said. "Much as I want to, it's not wise. In the morning pack the
kids' clothes and your own." He took her face in his hands. "Don't
take anything else,
querida
, just your clothes. Will that hurt?"

"No.
There's nothing here I want."

"Good.
I'll be back about noon and take you and the children to Santa Fe. If Tommy
returns before I do, don't say a word to him.

You
must promise me that." She promised, and he kissed her good night and left.

Diego
waited for his boss by the waterhole. They had not seen each other in four
days. Tommy had taken one crew south while the Indian foreman led another along
the eastern boundary close to the Pecos Trail. Tommy was alone when he rode up
and reined in. "How'd it go?" he asked without dismounting.

"Ok.
Picked up a few strays near Buggy Cliff. No sign of trouble though, and the
fence is holding."

"Good.
Let's make for home. I sent the others ahead. "

Tommy
started to turn the horse's head in the direction of the hacienda, but Diego's
voice stopped him. "Boss ..."

There
was something unnerving in the Indian's tone. Tommy reined in again and waited.
For a few seconds the boy didn't speak. "Spit it out, Diego," Tommy
said.

"I
think you should know, but I don' like bein' the one to say it."

"Too
late, you've already said too much. What's up?"

"It's
Rosa."

Tommy
stiffened. "What about her?"

"She
ain't there."

"At
the cabin, you mean?"

"Yeah.
I checked when I was close to the place. Like you always tell me to."

"Maybe
she went into town for the day."

Diego
shook his head and stared at the ground. "No, it ain't that. I met
somebody told me she's gone off."

"Gone
off where?" Tommy asked. His voice bespoke calm reason, but the knucklesof
his hands were white where they gripped the reins.

"To
her pueblo, San Felipe. They say she's gonna marry some guy from there."

"Do
they indeed?" Tommy said quietly. "You go on home," he added
after a moment. "Get a night's rest, then take a crew west. Somebody saw a
dozen strays going in that direction."

"What
about you?" Diego asked.

"
I'll be along when I can."

The
cabin told him little except that Rosa bad left. Her clothes and her jewelry
were gone, as well as a gold framed picture of
La
Conquistador
 which
she treasured.

Tommy
made himself a pot of coffee and drank it laced with some malt whiskey he found
in the kitchen.

Then
he went out back and washed in the tepid, scummy water of the half-filled butt.
It was his custom to leave a clean shirt and a pair of jeans in the cabin; they
were hanging in their usual place behind the door of the bedroom. He changed
and mounted up. He knew he should be tired, but he wasn't. He felt fine. Even
his leg didn't hurt.

Pueblo
San Felipe was a dusty, impoverished chain of single-story mud huts. They
framed a small plaza, distinguished only by a few struggling cotton-wood trees.
At one end was a locked and bolted church. There was also a
kiva
, but
its opening was purposefully disguised from intrusive eyes. Tommy Westerman did
not suspect its existence. He saw only a few squat brown people with hooded
eyes and expressionless faces. They moved aside when he rode into the plaza.

"Where's
Rosa?"

The
Indians stared at him and did not reply.

Tommy
got off his horse and tied the animal to a nearby tree. Then he collared a boy
who stood watching. "Go tell her I'm here."

The
lad looked at the expression in the eyes of the gringo and did as he was told.

Nothing
moved on the earth or in the brittle blue sky. The houses and the people seemed
part of the landscape, immutable and covered with red brown alkaline dust.
Finally a door opened at the end of the row of dwellings, and Rosa stepped
hesitantly into the road. Tommy shaded his eyes with his hand and peered at
her. She wore a rectangular manta of black cloth with a blue border. It was
belted tightly at the waist and short enough to expose her strong brown calves
and bare feet. Her hair was braided and hung down her back.

At
that moment he almost turned and left. She wasn't anyone he knew, this woman.
For a few seconds Tommy saw himself a stranger in an alien environment. The
notion of assuaging his pride in this place struck him as absurd. Then Rosa
walked toward him.

As
she moved her confidence increased. Her hips swayed with the old insouciance;
she thrust her heavy breasts forward. When she was a foot away from him her red
lips parted and revealed her white teeth and her darting pink tongue. She
laughed softly. "Go away,
Anglo
. I'm through with you."

Tommy
slapped her twice. All his strength was behind the blows, and the red marks of
his fingers stained her cheeks. "Get your things. I'm taking you
home."

"This
is my home. I'm staying here."

He
raised his arm to hit her again, but from behind a hand reached out and
arrested the motion. Slowly Tommy turned around. He faced a man about his own
age, but shorter. Instinctively Tommy knew that it was the man he'd seen riding
away from the cabin months before, the one Rosa said treated her like a
"human being." The Indian face was creased with lines of fury.
"Leave her alone! Get out of here. Go back to your own kind."

Tommy
spoke slowly and distinctly. Only those who knew him well would recognize the
controlled rage in his voice. "What makes you think you can give me
orders?"

"Rosa
is going to marry me," the man said.

Tommy
shook his head. "No. She's a slut and a whore, but she's mine. I'm taking
her back where she belongs. "

The
man uttered a strangled gasp of fury and lunged. Tommy straight-armed him to
stop his forward plunge, then hit him with one vicious left jab. The body of
Rosa's intended husband crumpled to the ground. Rosa whimpered softly.

There
were about a dozen people in the street. They huddled in doorways and watched
and made no sound until a youth of about sixteen bolted into the road.
"What's the matter with all of you?" he shouted. "Are you going
to let this pig come here and attack our women and do nothing?" He wore
trousers, but no shirt. His broad shoulders rippled in the glare of the sun. He
had long hair, restrained with a woven head-band, and it swayed when he dashed
forward.

Rosa
screamed. Tommy raised his arm to meet the boy's attack. Then a voice cut the
air with authority. "Stop!"

They
did. The tableau was like a scene caught by camera. Only the man who had
uttered the command moved. He approached the place where Tommy and Rosa stood.
"I am Pedro, the
cacique
. I make the rules here. You are not
welcome. Go."

"That's
what I intend to do," Tommy said. "But I'm taking her with me."
He jerked his head in Rosa's direction and studied the
cacique
.

The
man was about sixty years old, maybe more. He had a thin, wiry body and old,
strangulated sinews that stood out on his neck and his hands. He wore a loose
open weave shirt and trousers, and his hair was cut short around his face, but
long at the back. He looked like every Indian Tommy had ever seen, except for
his eyes. They were pale blue, evidence of some mixed blood in his ancestry,
and they stared into Tommy's with riveting force.

"That
is for Rosa to decide," the old man said. "Her mother was of this
pueblo. She was a right to be here if she wishes."

Tommy
broke the eye contact and took a step nearer Rosa. "That's not how I see
it. And I don't intend to stand here talking about it." He grabbed Rosa's
arm and yanked her forward. "Get moving."