Harvest of Fury (30 page)

She couldn't see in the darkness, but her hands found a shirt of his hanging on a peg. She pressed it to her face and drew deeply into her lungs the scent of him, mixed with that of woodsmoke. A table. A bench. His bed was straw matting covered with serapes.

As she touched where his body had lain, Cat's blood seemed to slow, run heavily molten. Her breath came jerkily. Standing to undress, she touched her breasts, wishing her hands were his. She put on the chemise and lay down, sinking luxuriantly into blankets that had held him.

Even if he didn't come home before she'd have to get back to the manager's bed, it was balm to lie in his bed, in his house. She wouldn't sleep. Just rest here and think of him, his eyes and hands and mouth.

Querido. My love. James
.…

XVI

She woke to violent hands, a hoarse, enraged voice that panted in Spanish as a hard knee parted her legs, “Have it, then, whore! I need a woman, even you!”

Something rammed painfully at that secret place which had occasionally, when she was riding, brought her an urgent pleasure she hadn't known how to bring to a finish, which had one time throbbed to delight in a half-waking dream of James. But this was a nightmare. She cried out, writhing: “James!”

The cruel rigidity thrust convulsively deep, then seemed to melt, no longer hurting, laving her torn entrance with a slow, warm seep of juices. Shuddering, he wrenched himself from her, setting his hands on either side of her face as if that would help him see her in the darkness.

“Caterina! Not you—”

“I—I wanted to see you.”

She heard his teeth grit together. “So you lay in my bed and I took you for that town
puta
who's been after me every payday!”

She put her arms around him, forgetting her shock and hurt in the joy of touching him, holding him like this. After all, if that was what happened with men and women, it's what she would have wanted after they were married. She was sure it would be a lot different when he was loving her, kissing and caressing her. But even if it always hurt like that, she could stand it if he'd do the nice things first.

“It wasn't your fault,” she said. “What could you think, when you found a woman in your bed?”

He sat up, not touching her. “You are a child.”

She sat up, too, stung by his tone. “I'm seventeen. From what you've told us of Apaches, I'd probably be a mother now if I were one of them.”

“If you were an Apache girl, you wouldn't be a child.”

“Ohhh!” She searched her fund of vaqueros' words for something bad enough to hurl at him. “
Cabroncito! Sangrón!
Man because the midwife said so—”

Startled laughter burst from him. She hit him as hard as she could. It was like striking rock. Wrist and knuckles smarting, she realized her behavior had confirmed his slighting remark. She wanted to cry, but that would only make things worse. Pride warred with her love for him. Who was he, a half-breed, to attack and mock her? She should get up and walk away now, put him out of her heart. Smile at Jordan or some young officer.

But that would be a lie. Lifting her head, she tried to keep her voice steady. “Maybe I do seem a child to you. But I can learn. I love you, James. Let me be your woman.”

He was silent.

What could she say now? What could she do? A withering thought pierced her. All the time, she'd been sure he loved her. What if he didn't? What if he cared for her only as an older brother?

She took a long, slow breath. If that were so, she had to leave him in peace, of course, without any more begging. She put her hand out to find his face.

It was wet with tears.

“Oh, James!” She closed her arms around him. “I'm sorry I've made you feel bad. Please …” She began to cry herself, miserable at this ending to what she'd dreamed would be a happy meeting.

He took her in his arms then, cradled her against his bare chest. “What can I do, my soft wild kitten, little
gídí?
” He rocked her back and forth. “I'm a warrior with power from the Sacred Mountain, but I cannot fight you.”

They lay down together, her head on his shoulder. He covered her against the cold. Though she felt his hardness against her thigh, he didn't try to have her again; he only touched her face, throat, and breasts as if they were wonders, smoothed her shoulders, the arch of her back, and her lean rider's hips with warm, gently fingers. Honey-fire sweetened her veins. She felt like a flowery unfolding at his touch, opening, inviting. When she tried to kiss him, he laughed softly.

“Apaches don't do that.”

“Well, you can! Let me show you.”

It was made difficult by his embarrassed chuckles. Losing patience, she bit him lightly. He turned her over on her back and closed her mouth with his.

“Is this how? Is this how you like it,
gídí?
”

That bewildering part of him, swollen so that it was hard to believe it could be soft and vulnerable, pressed against her side. She'd seen enough horses and cattle mate to understand his need, and her own body craved him in spite of the ache between her legs.

Trying to ease herself beneath him, she whispered, “Please, James. Please—”

“No. You are sore where I broke your seal. I'm sorry I hurt you,
gídí
.”

“James …”

He lay back again, holding her so tenderly that her flaring rebellion ebbed. She found it unspeakable comfort to know the strong smoothness of his body, the deep, regular pounding of his heart against her cheek.

“Let me tell you how it would be if you were an Apache girl,” he said, and she suspected he found it necessary to force his attention from that curious, independent part of his body.

“When your
ch'ich'ilwod
came upon you, your first woman flow, a special lodge would be made for you. Inside this universe, during four days, you'd be made a woman by rites taking you through the mysteries of White Painted Woman. At night the Gahan, good spirits who live in mountain caves and in the four great directions, would come as masked, painted dancers. They'd come from east, north, west, and south and dance around a great fire, waving their painted wands, wearing headdresses plumed and ornamented with a black cloth to cover their faces expect for little eyeholes. They'd dance while a shaman celebrated rites in the lodge, with women attending you. On the fourth night you'd dance, too, and at sunrise run around a basket of ceremonial things, and back to the deerskins in front of the lodge, four times, while the shaman would sing. The last time you'd take a feather from the basket. Then the lodge would be taken down. Your parents would give the people gifts. And everyone would know you were a woman.”

“I should hope so, after all that!” Snuggling her head deeper into the curve of his arm, she tried to imagine the flickering fire, the towering masked dancers. “Do boys have anything like that?”

“No. We go to the Sacred Mountain for power and act as servants on four raids, but there's nothing like the maiden's ceremony. That celebrates the holiness of being able to give birth.” He twined a lock of her hair around his finger. “Apaches are sad if they have no daughters. It's through them descent is traced.”

“I thought Apache women were drudges and were always getting their noses cut off!”

“Only for adultery. Our women are chaste. Of course, they work hard; there's much to do. But they can have power from the spirits, too. Some are shamans. Some go into battle with their husbands. Of the Mexican women captured and taken to wife, I've never heard of one who'd go back to her people even when given the chance.”

She didn't remind him that his own mother hadn't been reconciled to her captivity, nor had Talitha. “How do Apaches marry?”

“After a man proves he can support a family by taking part in a number of raids, his parents may choose a girl for him, or he may have his eye on one he's seen at ceremonials or about her errands. His father or uncle goes to talk to her parents, and if agreement's reached, he leaves a gift of horses, blankets, or guns. The horses, usually between two and six, are tied near the girl's lodge during the night. After a decent wait, if she takes them to water it means she's consented. It's thought bad of a girl to leave horses waiting a long time without water if she intends to have the man. If she won't take care of the animals, the man finally gives up and takes them away.”

“It seems hard on the horses:”

“It seldom is,
gídí
. Since the families have talked, it's pretty certain the girl will accept the gifts before they're made.”

“Then what happens?”

“Often the man has made a lodge in some pleasant place a distance from the camp. He may take his bride there for a week or so. Sometimes, they just build a lodge close to the girl's parents and live there from the start. In that case, the bride's mother cooks for them for the first few months.”

Cat frowned. “But I've heard Talitha say a man's mother-in-law can't speak to him, look at him, or even be in the same house at the same time! That seems strange if the young couple's expected to live close to her parents.”

“It's how mothers-in-law and sons-in-law show their respect for each other.” James laughed. “Anyway, the lodge entrances are usually out of sight of each other. If a woman meets her son-in-law, she just throws her blanket over her face.”

For the first time Cat was thinking of Apaches as they lived together, not as fearsome plunderers. They had as many rules and customs as any people. She began to understand, a little, why James had stayed with them.

Caressing his face, she said dreamily, “I want you to make up a lodge like that, maybe by the hot springs, where we could be alone awhile. But I want to be married in the
sala
, like my parents and Marc and Talitha.”

James stiffened. “Married, Caterina? It cannot be.”

“But you love me!”

“Too much to let you make such a mistake. It's not good to hang between two worlds. Your fingers grow numb at last. You drop into the chasm.”

“We could live here at the mine,” she ventured. “Or build a house somewhere on the ranch.”

“You've always been surrounded by people who love you,
gídí
. You'd miss that, as flowers miss the sun. I can't take everything you have and give you only me.”

“You're all I want!”

“It's as I've said,” he replied grimly. “You're a child. A spoiled one.”

Storming at him would only harden that conviction. With tremendous effort she restrained an outburst and waited till she could speak in an even, though rather sarcastic tone.

“When will you consider me a woman?”

He didn't answer for a moment, as if stunned. Then he began to laugh, hugging her to him in spite of her outraged resistance. “I remember your mother used to call your father a redhead burro for his stubbornness. What would she have called you?”

“She'd have had a large choice, since I was given all my great-aunts' names,” said Cat haughtily. “She was my age when she met my father and no one ever said she wasn't a woman!”

“She was a lady of valor and compassion.”

“And you think I can't be?”

He sighed. “I'd call some of your bravery ignorance. Of compassion, you have too much. Always sorry for the sick or hurt or orphaned. I think that's why you've thought you love me.”

“Yes, you look a lot like those little calves I feed! Stop dodging, James. When will you believe that I know what I'm choosing? One year? Two? Five?”

He was silent for a long time. At last, reluctantly, he said, “Let's talk about it in a year. But you're not bound to me,
gídí
. If you decide to marry Jordan, or if you meet some other man, my heart will be glad for you, though heavy.”

Only then did she realize she was holding her breath. Slowly she released it. A year seemed forever, but it
would
pass.

“Will you come for the Roof Feast?” she asked.

“I'll try.” He sat up, bringing her with him. “Are you staying at Don Buenaventura's? You'd best get back. It'll be dawn soon. The card players and revelers were sleeping where they fell when I came home, and that's been some hours ago.”

A time that had begun as nightmare ended with hope. He loved her. Knowing that, she could wait. He held her and they kissed. “You're learning to do that very well,” she teased.

“I suppose I'll get used to it, though it seems a dirty habit. I'd never do it with anyone but you.”

“Good!”

She clung to him. He kissed her again and told her to dress. Hurrying into her clothes, she stood with him at the door. “Remember the Roof Feast,” she said, then touched his cheek and hurried across the way to the headquarters. Belen might be sleeping in front of her door. She went around to the bedroom window, blessed the fact that it was low enough to clamber through, washed herself and threw the water, which must be somewhat bloodied, out the window, and fell into bed. The way James had taken her hadn't been anything like her vague dreamings. But if it hadn't happened he'd probably never have admitted he loved her.

Since few miners were fit for work next morning, it was an unofficial holiday. The twins invited James over for a big breakfast. Fortunately, Patrick talked enough for everybody.

For a while, Cat could no more have looked directly at James than she could have stared straight at the sun. She felt as if her body must glow for all to see from his caresses. That other dull pain was all but forgotten. She longed to tell her brothers, Belen, and even Don Buenaventura that in a year she and James would marry, but she knew he wouldn't like that, would think it a mark of her alleged childishness.

After breakfast, the twins and James went hunting. Cat complimented the old woman on breakfast and, though her help was refused in the kitchen, she tidied the bedroom and then, heart thudding, walked over to James's little house.