Hotter Than Hell (24 page)

Trueno fell back, pawing at her dusty footprints. She thought he’d finally gone, and an immense weight of sadness collected in the space beneath her ribs. But then the soft clop of his hooves resumed, and she found a little extra energy to keep walking. She spotted the dark band of exposed basalt that marked the deep gorge of the Rio Grande and set her course beside it.

Turk and another cowboy met her around midmorning. The old hand dismounted and hurried toward her, his face long with concern.

“Miss Cat! Are you all right?”

Her skin went hot. “I’m fine.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “Have you been looking for me?”

“Just about all night.” He tipped his hat back on his head and subjected her to a thorough examination. She was almost certain that he knew exactly what she’d been doing…how close she’d come to making a very bad mistake.

“I’m really sorry,” she said, staring at the toes of her boots. “It was very foolish of me to ride a horse I knew nothing about.”

Turk frowned. “What horse?”

She turned around. Trueno was gone.

“It’s a long story,” she said. “I promise I won’t let anything like this happen again.”

Even Turk’s unfailing courtesy couldn’t quite conceal his skepticism. “You’ll ride with me, Miss Cat.” He addressed the other cowboy. “Thanks for the help, John. I’ll take it from here.”

The cowboy waved and rode off. Turk held out his hand, pulling Cat up behind him.

Pilar met them at the house, tight-lipped with concern. Cat found it impossible to meet the older woman’s gaze. She retreated to her room, still trying to make sense of the nonsensical.

It was almost as if her mysterious encounters with Andrés were about much more than just sex. She’d never before been in the least bit tempted to make love with a complete stranger; she couldn’t dismiss the idea that her uncharacteristically wanton behavior had some rational basis.

Night was slow in coming. Cat tossed and turned, imagining she felt invisible hands stroking her body. She got up, threw on her robe and went to the kitchen for a glass of milk.

Someone scratched on the front door.

Cat nearly dropped her glass. She set it down on the kitchen table, crept to the door, and checked the lock.

“Who is it?”

There was no answer.
Just your imagination.
But she was struck by the uncanny certainty that someone was waiting outside. Waiting for her.

Fear and anticipation held her paralyzed for a dozen heartbeats. She unlocked the door, holding her arm firm against the shaking of her fingers.

The porch was empty. Cat flipped on the light. A small, cloaked figure stood several yards away, dark eyes deeply set in a nut-brown face.

Cat released her breath.
“Buenos noches
,” she said. “Can I help you?”

The woman only stared. Cat stepped onto the porch, pulling her robe close around her throat.
“Necesitas ayuda?
”

Gnarled fingers shaped the sign of the cross. “
Bruja
,” the old woman whispered.

Witch
. Cat remembered the word from the childhood stories Abuelita had so delighted in telling her. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“
Cuidado conel caballo oscuro
.”

“
Ha venido a jugar contigo
.” The woman backed away, clutching the crucifix about her neck. “
Cuidado. Cuidado!”

“Wait!”

“What is it, Catalina?”

Pilar stood in the doorway behind her, peering sleepily over Cat’s shoulder. “Who were you talking to?”

Cat drew Pilar back inside the house. “An old woman,” she said. “I’ve never seen her before. She came out of nowhere, gave some kind of warning, and then disappeared.”

“What did she say?”

“I didn’t understand all of it. First she called me a witch, and then she said something about a horse. At least I think she did.” Cat repeated the words the old woman had spoken.

“Beware the dark horse,” Pilar translated. “He has come to deceive you.”

All the warmth drained from Cat’s body.
The dark horse
. “What…what do you think she meant?”

Pilar sat down at the table. “I have heard stories about a black horse that wanders the
meseta
, a great stallion who has never been caught. Some say he is a ghost, others a demon.” She shook her head. “I myself have never seen the beast, but there is always talk, especially among the old.”

“Why would the old woman come to warn
me
?”

“I don’t know.” Pilar met Cat’s gaze. “This means nothing to you? Nothing at all?”

“I…may have seen this horse.”

“Ah. Then perhaps you should heed the old woman’s warning.”

“You don’t really believe it’s a ghost or a demon?”

“No. But it does no harm to be careful.”

Pilar returned to her room, preoccupied with her own musings. Cat made another attempt to sleep. Half-formed images of black horses and pale-eyed strangers flickered in and out of her consciousness. They seemed to blend together, hurling her into a dark space suspended between vision and nightmare.

The day of his return was the happiest in her life. His face was darker than she remembered, carved with deeper lines of sorrow, yet the joy came back into his eyes when he saw her. He shed his heavy armor and tight-fitting clothing, putting on the proper garments of the people.

The marriage was arranged as quickly as possible, taking into account the most auspicious days and the advice of the
tonalpouhqui.
The headman and elders were convinced that Andrés brought good luck with him; they provided him with a house, to which she went when the ceremonies were complete. They lay together on the reed mat, and once again she knew the ecstasy of his touch….

The shout sent Cat bolting from her bed, scattering pillows across the polished hardwood floor. Several moments passed before she realized that the noise had come from her own throat.

The dreams were getting stronger. Cat didn’t know how to stop them. She was beginning to believe they were something more than dreams. But what did they mean? What was that alien world where Andrés wore armor and rode a horse, and who was the girl?

Anxious to banish the alien memories, Cat plunged into the shower and stood under the spray until the hot water was gone. Then she dressed, snatched a piece of freshly baked bread from the kitchen, and looked desperately for a distraction.

It was Turk who provided one. “Morning, Miss Cat,” he said, looking up from the tack he was mending. “Don’t know if it would interest you, but there’s a music festival going on in Taos this weekend. Mostly local stuff…folk and something called ‘world music.’ You’re welcome to take the Dakota into town for a couple days.”

Cat closed her eyes. “Bless you, Turk.” She went back into the house, throwing a few pairs of shirts and jeans into her duffel. After a brief exchange with Pilar—during which neither one of them mentioned last night’s peculiar visitation—Cat settled behind the wheel of the Dakota and drove south on the dirt road leading to State Route Sixty-Four.

Taos was a colorful village, vivid with Hispanic and Native American influence, a little rustic in spite of the thriving arts community that revealed itself in numerous studios and gift shops around the Plaza. The majority of the buildings were adobe or mock-adobe, painted in tones of terracotta, turquoise, and gold. Hollyhocks and blanket flowers graced neatly fenced gardens.

The narrow streets were busier than usual, clogged with out-of-towners arriving for the music festival. Cat found a room in a modest motel at the southern edge of town, tossed her duffel on the bed and headed out to explore.

Though Cat had spent most of her life in the dynamic world of urban Los Angeles, she found Taos no less stimulating. The locals were easygoing and sometimes eccentric, reminding her of people she’d met in Berkeley and San Francisco. The mood was both peaceful and inspiring.

She felt remarkably free as she rambled about the town, stopping as the mood struck her, listening to a Mariachi band in Kit Carson Park and Finnish folk music at an eclectic coffee house. She had a sandwich and iced tea for lunch, browsed shops on the plaza for several hours and then decided to have a drink at a bar off Paseo del Pueblo. She found music there as well; a young, long-haired man perched on a stool in the corner and played melancholy airs on a Native American flute.

Cat claimed an empty bar stool and sat, feeling in great good charity with the world. Though she seldom enjoyed beer, she tried a pale ale from a local microbrewery and found it quite congenial. She’d just started on the second glass when the young flautist stepped down and another musician took his place. She didn’t pay much attention until she heard the first golden strains of the guitar, beginning a melody rich with the distant and exotic sounds of another age.

The voice that accompanied the music sang in liquid Spanish, a voice she recognized even before she turned to see the man who owned it.

Even from his corner, Andrés dominated the room. He sat with one knee drawn up, cradling the guitar like a lover while his fingers danced over the strings. He sang with such intensity and sorrow that every eye in the room was drawn to him, yet he never glanced up from his intricate finger work. The melody curled around Cat like a silken rope, binding her limbs and her loins and her heart.

“Do you understand the song?”

She started, turning toward the bar. The bartender, a man of middle years and a slight Spanish accent, leaned on the scarred wood and nodded toward the singer.

“It is a very old song,” he said. “The words he sings are from an ancient form of Spanish…one only scholars would know today.”

“Really?” Cat said, feeling stupid and confused. “Is he a scholar?”

“He doesn’t look like one, does he? But looks can deceive.” He smiled. “I was a teacher myself, once. Shall I translate?”

“Please.”

The bartender began to recite.

Cat shivered. She could almost imagine that Andrés was singing directly to her. But surely he hadn’t even noticed her. Surely the fact that they were together in this bar was the sheerest coincidence….

Andrés looked up. His gaze met hers.

“Do you know him?” the bartender asked.

“No.” She heard her own trepidation and deliberately turned her back on Andrés. “Do you?”

“I’ve never seen him here before. Would you like me to ask around?”

“No. No, that’s all right, thanks.” She placed several small bills on the bar and headed for the door.

“Where’re you going so fast, beautiful?”

The man at the table caught Cat’s arm and held on, stopping her in her tracks. He was blond, muscular, and handsome; plenty of women would have been flattered by his attention. Cat wasn’t.

“Excuse me,” she said, shaking him off.

“Hey. No need to be so unfriendly.” He gave her a dazzling grin and patted the chair beside him. “Have a seat. I’ll get you whatever you want.”

“Sorry. I’ve got…things to do.”

“It can’t be all that urgent. Come on.” He grabbed the hem of her jacket and tugged. She lost her balance and banged her hip on the table. The blond looped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Cat could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“I’d advise you to let me go,” she said.

“Advise?” He laughed. “You a lawyer or something?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oooh. I’m seared.” He pushed her into the chair. “You need some loosening up, princess. And I’m just the man to do it.”

“You will unhand the lady,
cabrón
, or you will regret it.”

The jerk looked up into Andrés’s face with blank incomprehension. “What did you call me?”

“Do you require a translation,
pajero?”
Andrés glanced at Cat. “Are you hurt,
señorita?”

“No.” She scrambled up and backed away. “It’s all right. I was just leaving.”

All her hopes of defusing the situation were shattered when the blond stood up, toppling his chair behind him. He towered over Andrés by a good six inches, and he was nearly twice as wide. “You shouldn’t have stuck your nose where it don’t belong,” he said, flexing his muscles.

“The lady is with me,” Andrés said.

“That so?” He turned to Cat. “This is what you like? Some pansy musician pretending to be a man?”

Andrés met Cat’s gaze. “Go outside,
mi gatita.”

“Only if you come with me.”

“When this is finished.”

“That won’t take long,” the blond said. He beckoned to Andrés. “Go ahead, faggot. Just be careful not to hurt your pretty little fingers.”

He had barely lifted his own massive fists when Andrés struck, hitting the blond with a series of punches that snapped his head from side to side as if it were made of rubber. The bigger man crashed into the table and collapsed to the floor, sprawling in an ungainly heap.

The bartender appeared beside Cat. “You’d better get him out of here,” he said, nodding toward Andrés. “I know this guy, and he’s trouble. I don’t want a brawl.”

“Of course. I’ll pay for any damages.” Cat took Andrés’s arm, feeling the muscles bunched beneath his shirt sleeve. “Please, Andrés. Let’s go.”

He regarded her with a wild look and suddenly relaxed. “As you wish,
mi gatita.”