Authors: Sandra Hill
Desperado (9 page)
“Stop trying to rattle me,” she snapped.
“I rattle you?” he asked with boyish pleasure, leaning back on his elbows and stretching out his long legs, crossing them at the ankle. He watched her the entire time.
“Back to our situation,” she insisted, licking her lips nervously. The smooth line of his muscled thighs drew her eyes, and her pulse quickened. “I told you before. In my opinion, we've traveled back in time.”
“Maybe it's UFOs,” he said, ignoring her theory. “Yeah, maybe we're on another planet. But I never expected aliens to look like these three stooges.”
“Stop joking. This is serious.”
“Who's joking?”
“Rafe, time travel is the only explanation. I know these mountains like the back of my hand. It's the same place, but different. I've studied the clothing on these three men, too. They're all handmade, and some of the fabrics are of a type no longer available. The guns are collectors' items, early models of Colt revolvers, I would guess. Worth a fortune.”
“A fortune, huh? Maybe we could take them back with us and send them to Sotheby's or some other auction house. I could really,
really
use the cash.”
“Is money that important to you?”
“Money is
very
important to me. In fact, you could say it's everything right now.”
How sad!
She put that thought aside, for the present. “So, do you accept that this is time travel?”
“Hell, I don't know. I'll tell you this. If it is time travel, it wasn't caused by science. I think we sort of died, and God sent us here for a reason. You know, like Purgatory.”
She laughed. “
Sort of
died? Is that like being sort of pregnant?” She pressed the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger, trying to solve the puzzle. When she looked back at him, she said, “Heck, your explanation is as good as any. Assuming we have time traveled at heavenly direction,
how do you figure we're going to get back to the future? Sprout wings?”
He bit his bottom lip in concentration. “I haven't really thought about it, but I guess we'll have to go back to the site where we landed. I bet . . .” His eyes brightened with sudden insight. “. . . I bet we need to parachute off that cliff where we almost hit.”
“Hmmm. Sounds logical. Does Pablo still have your harness and the parachutes?”
He thought a moment. “Yeah. I saw them when he started to set up camp.”
“Then we should be okay.”
They exchanged a hopeful smile.
She lifted her chin then. “Just remember, I'm still the officer in charge.”
“No, you're not. The ground rules changed the moment we landed in this time warp. You are Helen Prescott, and I'm Rafael Santiago. Just two people trying to survive . . . together.”
She started to argue, then stopped herself. Perhaps she had been too rigid in the past. “Trust, right?” She held out a hand for a shake to seal the agreement.
“Right.” He shook her hand solemnly, then ruined the businesslike nature of the gesture by turning her hand over in his, and kissing the palm.
She made a low hiss of protest.
“I couldn't help myself.” He grinned boyishly and released her hand, which tingled with the imprint of his lips. She pressed it tightly with her other hand, but the tingle remained.
She fought for her usual emotionless poise. “All right. We've got to follow Army guidelines, view this as any other landing within enemy lines,” she said, all business now.
“Huh?”
“You know. The Army survival manual. Live by your wits, but rely on basic skills.”
Rafe groaned. “Here we go again.”
She tried to recall the specific instructions. “Make decisions quickly. Improvise. Adapt. Remain cool, calm, and collected. Be patient. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.” She felt really good about remembering so much from the manual . . . until she looked at Rafe.
He was shaking with laughter. “You are a real piece of work, Prissy. Do you really believe all this crap?”
She stiffened. “Okay, Mr. Know-It-All, what's the plan?”
“First, we sleep together on this blanket tonight.”
“Oh, Lord, we're back to that again.” And the tingle on her palm raced up her arm, out to her breasts, and then, slam dunk, down to her groin.
“Trust, Helen. Remember?”
She eyed him suspiciously.
“We have to
pretend
we're married. No, don't look at me like that. I don't mean make love, or put on a show for these creeps. Although, if you
want
to make love, I'm willing.”
“Cut it out, Rafe.”
“I'll try,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Anyhow, what we need is time. Their belief that we're married will put them off for a little while. That, and your demonstration of how you'll karate chop their privates if they touch one hair on your . . . hmmm . . . you know, not your chinny-chin-chin.”
She inhaled sharply at his vulgarity.
He didn't notice her reaction and went on. “We can make our move tonight, after they fall asleep. This is as good a place as any to ditch them.”
“And head back to our landing site?”
“Uh, not right away,” he said evasively.
“But, Rafe, we have to be careful. Don't forget that they believe you're the Angel Bandit, and there's a price on your head. Geez, in this primitive time period, the authorities might really hang you.”
He waved her concerns aside. “I'll be careful, but I can't go back right away.” He avoided looking at her directly.
“Why not? Spill it, Rafe. What exactly do you have in mind?”
“Oh, hell! You're not gonna like thisâ”
“Tell me,” she demanded icily.
He held her eyes defiantly. Helen could bitch and moan all she wanted, but he'd be damned if he backed down from this one. It was too important. “If I have the dumb luck to land in 1850, I'd be a fool not to turn it into good luck, and . . .”
“And?”
Rafe hesitated, watching Helen's stubborn chin lift to the sky. He'd been avoiding this moment, but he couldn't put it off any longer. “And I'm headed for the goldfields. We've landed in the middle of the Gold Rush, for God's sake. I'm not going back to 2015 without a load of gold in my pockets.”
She stood indignantly. “Money again? Everything comes back to material goods for you, doesn't it? Is there anything more important to you than money?”
His eyes traveled over her body in a slow, smoldering sweep. “Well, there is one thing.”
“Forget I asked.” She glared at him. “What about me? What am I supposed to do while you gallivant off to prospect?”
He smiled optimistically. “You gallivant along with me. We'll be partners. We can share a claim. It'll be fun, Helen. Really. An adventure. We'll get rich together.”
She rolled her eyes. “How long?”
“Just a few weeks. Maybe less.”
“What if I refuse to go?”
“I'm taking my harness with me. You can do whatever you want.” Actually, he cared a whole lot about what she decided, and he would never leave her behind, no matter what he'd just implied. He'd even force her to accompany him if she balked.
“You can't do this.”
“Wanna bet?”
“What about all this teamwork baloney you just threw around?”
“We're still a team, baby. It's your choice whether you want to come with me or not.” He crossed his fingers behind his back at his small lie.
“I don't believe this!” she exclaimed, then spun on her heel and started to walk toward the stream.
“Where are you going?” he asked worriedly. Knowing her, she might have a grenade in her back pocket and make him the target. “To bathe again?” he quipped with forced lightness in his voice.
“No, I'm going to brush my teeth. I've got a real bad taste in my mouth right now.”
“Where'd you get a toothbrush? Did you bring it with you? How farsighted of you!” He was trying to change the subject and get her in a better mood.
“No, I'm going to make one with a shredded twig. Didn't you learn anything in survival class?”
“A twig?” Rafe muttered, his brow furrowed. Yeah, now that he thought about it, he remembered, but he wasn't exactly sure how it was done. “Hey, can you make me one, too?”
She said something incomprehensible through gritted teeth.
“I guess that means no.”
This time, the words she sliced back at him were very comprehensible . . . and graphic . . . and not like Helen at all. Maybe it would take a little longer for her to adjust to his minor detour back to the future.
Rafe lay back on the blanket, very satisfied with the course he'd laid for them. His eyes drifted shut. It had been a long, tiring day, and he suddenly realized how much he craved sleep. Plus, he would need his wits later when they made their escape. Just a few winks.
He was jolted awake a short time later by a hand clamped on his arm, shaking him.
“Wha-at?” he said groggily.
Pablo peered down at him. And in the distance he heard the oddest noise,
“Glug, glug, glug, glug, glug . . .”
“What is
that
?” Pablo asked, pointing to the stream.
Rafe watched as Helen raised a cupped hand of water to her mouth, swished the liquid around,
“Glug, glug, glug, glug, glug . . .”
then spit it out.
“Gargling,” Rafe told the awestruck bandit. Son of a bitch! Even in a time-travel nightmare, she was concerned about every detail of dental hygiene. She would probably floss, too.
“Glug, glug, glug, glug, glug.”
“Is she practicing one of her sexual tricks?” Pablo asked.
“Maybe,” Rafe said with chuckle. “Yeah, I think she did mention a new trick she wanted to try.”
“Gargling, it's called?”
“Yep,” Rafe said and lay back down, smiling. His eyes closed once again. That would teach Helen to refuse to make him a toothbrush.
“Corkscrewing
and
gargling,” he heard Pablo telling Sancho and Ignacio in the background before he dozed off again.
“Ooohm. Ooohm. Ooohm.”
Rafe emerged from sleep once again, this time to the low chanting hum.
“Ooohm. Ooohm. Ooohm.”
Rafe didn't want to open his eyes.
“Ooohm. Ooohm. Ooohm.”
But the annoying chant just went on and on. Maybe it was an owl or some wild animal. Like a raccoon. Or a bear.
A bear!
He cracked one eyelid halfway.
Helen
. Why was he not surprised?
“Ooohm. Ooohm. Ooohm.”
She was sitting with her legs folded in one of those lotus positions that he recalled an old dancer girlfriend of his had used for meditation. Her back was erect, arms crossed over her chest, and she stared straight ahead.
“Ooohm. Ooohm. Ooohm.”
“What the hell are you doing now?” he grumbled, coming to his feet.
“Meditating.
Ooohm
. Finding my center.
Ooohm
. I do this every morning and every night.
Ooohm
. You should try it.
Ooohm
. It cleanses the spirit.
Ooohm
.”
“I'd like to cleanse something.” He walked away with a shake of his head. She really was a fruitcake.
After relieving himself in a bush, with a sleepy-eyed Pablo following him to keep guard, Rafe came back to the clearing.
Helen no longer sat in the lotus position. Instead, she was moving through her karate exercises, in slow motion. The deliberately decelerated, inadvertently sensual moves were like an erotic dance of seduction. She twisted her body like a ballerina, stretched her arms, spun and bent, all in one connected, smooth movement.
He felt himself grow hard.
The only sound in the dusky clearing was that of crickets, and a faint breeze riffling the leaves, and breathing. Mostly his.
“What in God's name are you doing now?” he choked out.
“Forms,” she answered without looking at him and continued her unconsciously sexual motions.
“Forms?” Pablo whispered and rushed off to his comrades. “She does corkscrews, gargling,
and
forms,” he babbled excitedly to his friends. “Can we have her now, Ignacio? Can we?”
“No, no, no. We mus' wait till her husband ees dead . . . if he ees her husband. One more day,” Ignacio interjected quickly. “We cannot risk the wrath of our Blessed Lord for taking another man's
esposa
. We are honorable men.”
Honorable?
Rafe thought.
Like snakes
.
“
DÃos mÃo!
I cannot wait till we get to Sacramento City an' we can have her all to ourselves,” Pablo said then, quickly overcoming his initial disappointment.
They all made salivating noises of appreciation and anticipation.
“After we get our reward money in Sacramento City, the sheriff weel hang
El
Ãngel Bandido. SÃ
, we can wait one night,” Ignacio told them. “Then Elena weel be all ours.”
There were more drooling sounds.
But Rafe just smiled, watching Helen, because he knew something they didn't.
She is mine, mine, mine
.
T
ies that bind . . .
H
elen agreed to let Rafe share her blanket.
But then, she really had no choice. The bandits decided not to risk taking turns guarding them through the night, untied.
“Tie them up again,” Ignacio ordered.
“Why?” Rafe asked. “You can trust us.”
“Do you think we are
estupÃdo
?” Ignacio countered.
Luckily, it was a rhetorical question.
After a lengthy argument, the bandits concluded that: one, Rafe really was the Angel Bandit, and therefore dangerous; and, two, Helen was a lunatic who attacked innocent men with weird hand and leg gyrations in the midst of fits.
Ignacio approached with a length of rope.
Helen had to give Rafe credit. He tried to wrest Ignacio's gun from him; however, just as he gained the weapon and had a stranglehold on the leader, Sancho came up from behind and walloped him over the head with a rock. Her efforts to
waylay Pablo proved equally useless since he, too, held a revolver.
So much for Rafe's plan for them to escape during the night!
After the brief scuffle and Rafe's foul expletives over the goose egg rising on his crown, the outlaws tied them together, lying on their sides back to back. Rafe's arms were pulled backward around her waist and the wrists tied. Her arms were bound in a similar manner, back and around his body. In addition, the bandits secured one ankle each to a stake several yards away.
“Are you guys related to the Marquis de Sade?” she asked.
“What's a mark-key-sod?” Sancho inquired.
“Our arms and legs are going to be numb by morning,” Rafe protested, ignoring Sancho's dumb query.
“Would you rather be tied belly to belly?” Ignacio chortled.
“Nude,” Pablo added.
“Well . . .” Rafe said, considering.
“NO!” Helen said, absolutely.
“This is no way to spend a wedding night,” Rafe grumbled.
“It's not our wedding night,” Helen hissed, for his ears only.
“Abstinence ees good for the soul,” Ignacio said. “Besides, you'd best be saying your confession tonight,
Señor
Ãngel
. By mañana, you may very well be a real angel. Heh, heh, heh.”
They were all silent at that macabre reminder. Then Sancho conceded, with a sympathetic sigh, “
Ah, mierda!
Perhaps we should let
El
Ãngel Bandido
have his last night with Elena.”
“And we could watch,” Pablo suggested.
“You've got a real Peeping Tom fetish, Pablo,” Helen declared. “Why don't you get a life?”
“What ees a fat-dish?” Pablo asked Rafe.
Rafe laughed.
Helen could feel it all the way down to his buns, which moved against hers.
Aaaarrgh!
“The next man Elena corkscrews weel be me,” Ignacio asserted.
“Aren't you afraid I'll tell God what you're doing to my wife?” Rafe tossed out to Ignacio. “After the hanging, I'll be going through those pearly gates. Then, I'll have easy access to the Lord's ear.”
“Hah! You weel, no doubt, be in hell.” But Ignacio worried the edge of his big mustache between a thumb and forefinger. “Besides, I do not believe you are married.”
Disregarding Ignacio's scoffing, Rafe went on with obvious relish, “I hear God has a special place in hell for adulterers. He gives Satan free rein to torture men who bang other men's wives. Hot irons. Eye pincers. Snakes.”
Ignacio gasped at the word “snakes.”
“Oh, yeah, snakes,” Rafe said, picking up on Ignacio's fear of reptiles. “I hear St. Patrick sent all those leftover snakes from Ireland down
there
just so Lucifer could make up a pit for adulterers to sleep in. Yep, that's what my priest always said, âAdulterers are snakes who should sleep with snakes for all eternity.' Hmmm. What'll He think of a man who corkscrews another man's wife? Think that counts as adultery?”
“She won't be your wife then. You weel be dead,” Ignacio argued, but there was a slight note of doubt in his voice.
“Would you all stop talking about me like a piece of meat? I'm not making love with anyone tonight, and that's that.”
Eventually, the three shuffled off, congratulating themselves on their prowess, and Helen and Rafe tried to find a comfortable position.
Unable to sleep, Helen finally said, “Rafe? Are you awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do you keep goading me? It's really mean of you.”
“Me? I just kept those guys from tying us together, naked, face to face. How is that mean?”
“It's the way you do it. There's always a sexual message in every reference you make to me.”
“Well, it's like this, Prissy. A lot of sexual bells go off in my body every time I look at you.”
“See. You're always teasing me.”
“Who's teasing? Hey, even with only our backsides touching, I gotta tell you, my chimes are ringing.”
“Oh, give me a break! I think you just get a kick out of being politically incorrect.”
“Maybe. I'm a product of my environment, you're a product of yours. I don't know why you think it's mean of me, though. Don't you like knowing you're attractive to men . . . to me?”
Actually, she was liking it way too much. Despite the inappropriateness of some of his remarks. Despite his pushing the envelope of suggestiveness. But she'd never tell him that. “Ours is a professional relationship. There should be respect and distance andâ”
“Distance? Hell, I can feel the seam of your panties with my butt. And you're talking distance?”
“It's impossible to talk to you. Let's change the subject.”
He laughed. “To what?”
“Well, tell me what you've been doing all these years. You obviously went to law school. Where?”
“UCLA.”
“And after that?”
“Public defenders' office for two years.”
“Really?” She wasn't sure why that surprised her. Yes, she was. “You don't make much money there.”
“Right. That's why I left.”
A sudden thought occurred to her. She couldn't believe she hadn't asked before. “Are you married?”
He gave a short laugh. “No.”
An unexplainable rush of pleasure washed over her. “Ever?”
“Never.”
“Why?”
She felt his shoulders shrug. “I couldn't afford marriage.”
“Oh.” All kinds of possibilities arose in her mind. “Does that mean there was someone you would have liked to marry?”
He didn't answer right away. Eventually, he admitted, “There was a girl once, a long time ago, but it never would have worked.”
She wanted to know more. Was it a Mexican girl? Someone from his old neighborhood, or perhaps a fellow law student? And had he loved her? More important, did he still? She shouldn't care. She really shouldn't. But she did.
“Enough about me. When are you and Colonel Sanders gonna bite the bullet?”
Helen bristled at his deliberately misspeaking her fiancé's name, but this time she didn't rise to the bait. “Elliott and I will likely get married at Christmas,” she said. Even Helen heard the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. Why did the image of her marriage to Elliott loom in the distance like a dark cloud, not the special bright event it should be? And had it always been so? Was that why she'd put off the date so many times?
Do I make Elliott's bells chime?
Helen wondered.
I don't know
. She bit her bottom lip pensively.
Isn't that sad? I really don't know
.
“Will you stay in the military?” Rafe interrupted her disturbing reflections.
“Until I get pregnant, yes. I want to have lots of kids.”
Rafe's body stiffened behind her.
“Being an only child, I've always dreamed of . . . Well, anyhow, Elliott and I plan on having at least three children. I'll quit the service then.”
She expected Rafe to make a smart response, but he didn't. Instead, he informed her flatly, “I don't intend to ever have any kids.”
“You don't? Never?”
“Never.”
“You'll probably change your mind later . . . when you meet the right woman.”
“I'll never change my mindâfor any woman. And I've had a vasectomy to make sure.”
“Oh, Rafe.”
“Don't plan a pity party for me. It was my choice. Not everyone feels the need to overpopulate the world, or clone themselves all over the planet.”
“And that's the reason why you don't want children? Somehow, I don't see you being that altruistic.”
“There you go again. Prissy, making judgments about me.”
“You're right,” she admitted meekly. Geez, when had she turned into such a judgmental prig?
Rafe chuckled softly, as if reading her thoughts. “Now, now, Prissy, don't be gettin' out the guitar and love beads. I never was much good at singing âKumbayah.'”
Even she had to laugh at that picture.
“Nah, it's a lot simpler than that. I grew up the oldest of nine kids with a single parentâmy mother. I know firsthand what it's
really
like to raise babies, and I've had enough of it.”
“But, Rafe, babies are God's gift to mankind. Little miracles.” Helen couldn't imagine a life without childrenâher children. All her life, she'd dreamed of settling down in one place, surrounded by the love of a husband and family. Never lonely.
“Boy, are you in for a rude awakening. Once you get past the miracle, there's just a whole lot of piss and puke. To this day, I can recognize the smell of baby shit at fifty paces.”
“You areâ”
“So crude,” he finished for her. “Anyhow, the bottom line is, kids always have problems. And they're a constant money drain. I want to enjoy life sometime before I need a walker and dentures. Champagne, caviar, a Jacuzzi . . . Yeah, a Jacuzzi. A Rolex watch, a Lamborghini.”
“So, we're back to money again.”
“Yeah, I guess we are.”
“I know it's a cliché, but money can't buy happiness.”
“Bull! I never bought that crock. And I'd sure like to test the theory. Did you ever notice that the people denigrating the good life are usually the ones living high on the hog? Like you.”
“Me? It's true I never had to worry about money, but I wouldn't categorize the way I've lived as the good life.”
“Helen, I saw the fancy cars your father drove when he visited you at college. BMW one time, Mercedes another. You went on vacations to exotic places like St. Thomas or Italy. I vacationed at McDonald's in the L.A. barrio.”
“I don't ever remember noticing my father's cars, or caring what kind of vehicles they were.” She frowned. Wasn't it odd that something Rafe considered so important was totally irrelevant to her?
Rafe exhaled with disbelief.
“And the vacations always seemed so boring to me. My father usually combined them with military business, and I'd be left in a hotel room with room service and a book.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Oh, Rafe! My mother died of cancer when I was eight. My only memories of her involve a sick bed.” She coughed to clear her tight throat. “Dad was career military. He tried to be a good single parent, keeping me with him, but we moved from base to base, never more than two years in one place. Although we had a home in San Clemente, we rarely lived there. I was always so . . . alone.”
“Alone? Since when is being alone a bad thing? When I was a kid, I yearned for quietâone little tiny space to call my own. Hah! My family wasâ
is
âlike an octopus. Tendrils everywhere. Pushing, pulling, screaming, crying, laughing, singing, talking. Not a minute's peace.”
She bit her lip, trying to understand. “Don't you care for your family?”
“Of course. But they crush me. Suck all the life out of me. Everyone wants a piece of Rafe. And I'm damn tired of being responsible for everyone.”
“And you think money will be the panacea?”
“I know it will.”
A heavy sadness enveloped Helen. She wished she could see Rafe's face. “We're worlds apart,” she concluded sadly. “We have nothing in common, nothing that connects us, at all.”
A long, telling silence hung in the air before Rafe spoke again. “Well, that's not quite true,” he said playfully. “Could you move your hands up higher? Either that, or finish me off, because right now I'm feeling real
connected
to you.”
To her horror, Helen realized that her bound wrists were resting on Rafe's crotch.
She yanked her hands upward, as best she could. “I didn't . . . Oh, God. You don't think I did that deliberately?”
“Hardly. Not Prissy Prescott.”
His words hurt.
Then she discovered that his bound hands were lying familiarly over her upper stomach. She looked down, and through the light of the campfire, Helen could see the dark skin of his hands and the long fingers resting intimately where only a lover's should. For some reason, tears filled her eyes, and she wished . . . She wasn't sure what she wished.
But she didn't ask him to move his hands.
N
eedles of pain shot through Rafe's bound wrists, up to his numb shoulders. Day-old whiskers made his face itch.
He licked his dry lips, and his tongue felt fuzzy and thick. He should have made himself a twig toothbrush last night, too.
Slowly, awareness crept over his aching bones. Something had awakened him in the predawn haze.
“Ooohm, ooohm, ooohm, ooohm. . . .”
“Damn! It's not even daylight yet. What the hell are you doing now?”
“Meditating.
Ooohm
. I told you I meditate every morning and evening.
Ooohm
. It's a ritual.
Ooohm
.”
