Ride The Wild Wind (Time Travel Historical Romance) (14 page)

“I know how you
feel about me, Miss Brannigan,” he whispered. “But before you cast judgment,
you should know that I spared you a fate worse than death at Elena Costanza’s
brothel.”

A shiver skittered
up her spine. “What do you mean?”

“The other day
when I took you from the gentleman’s parlor, I had reason to believe you would
have been raped, probably by more than one man.”

Halle swallowed
the hard knot of fear in her throat. He knew something she didn’t. “I
 don’t understand.”

“This gown you’re
wearing…the one Elena gave you—” He tugged on the sleeve. “It’s the initiation
dress.”

“Is that supposed
to mean something?”

He sighed. “When a
woman makes her debut at Elena’s—that is, when she is sold for the first time
to one man or perhaps several—she wears the very gown you’re wearing.”

It took a moment
for his words to sink in. When they did, disgust roiled through her. No, he was
wrong! The dress had come straight from Elena’s closet. The madam had given it
to her as a gift, a beautiful gown that she no longer wanted in appreciation
for all her hard work—designing dresses, styling hair and writing letters.
Elena wouldn’t betray her.

“Elena wasn’t
going to sell me.” Numbness settled into her extremities as the ugly truth
dawned on her. “She needed help serving drinks in the private suite.”
And I
was to take the money to room twelve
. She clenched her eyes shut.
Oh,
God.
The special room. Elena probably
was
going to sell her that
night. But why? She had plenty of other women in her employ—prettier,
experienced ones. “Why would Elena do that?”

“Because Elena
Costanza would sell her dear old grandmother to the Devil if she thought she
could turn a profit. Virgins, especially exotic looking beauties such as you,
are a rare commodity and much sought after in parlor houses. Besides…” He
tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Elena wanted to hurt me.”

Halle shivered at
his tender touch. “W-why did she want to hurt you?”

There was a long
pause of silence. “She knew I desired you
instead of her.”

The revelation
stunned her. Why would he want her over the beautiful, voluptuous Elena? His
breath tickled her ear and she sucked in a breath as he moved in closer.

“I told Elena if
you were to be sold, that I would be the first,” he whispered, adding, “
your
first.”

CHAPTER TEN

At dusk, a storm
rolled in from the northwest. Antonio sheltered them in a cave within the
canyon wall. Dinishwo pranced about excitedly as thunder crashed, rattled, and
boomed across the canyon. He talked softly to the stallion, stroking his neck
until he calmed. Afterward, he built a small fire to give them light, as well
as to warm them from the falling night time temperatures.

Thankfully, the
Brannigan woman had given him no more trouble. He ordered her to sit near the
fire where he could keep a close watch on her. He grimaced at the pink marks on
her delicate wrists, disgusted by his brutality earlier in the day. Never had
he tied a woman, or mistreated one. He would never do it again.

He re-read the
note he had lifted from Elena’s pocket, the sting of his mistress’ betrayal raw
in his gut. There had been no abduction by
comancheros
when she was
fifteen, no rape that left her pregnant
.
She left Casas Grandes, his
family’s ranch, willingly with a drifter named Franklin Cole, and had become
his lover and partner in a thriving bordello business in El Paso, Texas.

Apparently the two
had been in correspondence these past few months and Elena knew of the reward
for Hope Brannigan. Antonio had no doubt she planned to sell her to as many men
as she could that last day. Once Hope had been used up, Elena would most likely
have turned her over to her uncle, Franklin Cole, and collect the reward.

He had been a fool
to think Elena the victim all these years, feeling sorry for the abuses she
allegedly suffered. He found her illegitimate son a home with his mother’s
people—Cole’s issue no doubt. He had bought her the fine, two story stone and stucco
home in Albuquerque so she might have security. But the lying witch scorned him
by turning the house into a brothel.

Running his
fingers through his hair, he blew out a breath of disgust. For fifteen years he
believed Elena’s lies, had shared her bed off and on, not out of love, but
habit. No more. There was nothing left in Albuquerque for him now. Elena
Costanza could rot in hell for all he cared.

He fingered the
bills in the Brannigan woman’s coin pouch again, disbelieving his good fortune.
Two hundred and fifty dollars. Where had she obtained such a large sum of money
in such a short time, unless Elena had
paid her for special services?
She would not be Elena’s first female lover.

Although Hope
rested near the fire with her dog, he knew she wasn’t sleeping for he felt her
eyes bore through him as he went about starting a stew of jerked venison and
dried corn. Had she been shocked by lustful confession? Was that the reason for
her silence? Perhaps it had been a mistake to tell her of his attraction to
her, but after two days of hard riding with no sleep and little food, he was
exhausted. Men did foolish things because of lack of sleep. Or because of a
pretty woman’s charm
.
Now, his eyes would barely focus on the task of
making a simple meal. He needed rest.

“You’re going
about it all wrong,” she said quietly. “The fire is dying. Poke at the coals
with a stick to get it going again.”

He turned and
glared at her. “I don’t need a woman to tell me how to build a fire.”

She sat up on her
knees and pushed the tousled locks of hair from her face. While the gesture had
been completely innocent, she looked anything but as she gazed at him with
wide, questioning eyes. Her gown had lost two of its’ buttons, revealing a hint
of deep, shadowed cleavage.

“You could pretend
I’m not a woman,” she said with a shrug. “Just think of me as one of the guys,
okay?”

An impossibility
not to think of her as female after the intimacies they had shared.

“Poke the
ash-colored logs with a stick to start up the flames again. Otherwise, the fire
is going to die out and that sickening watery stuff with floating jerky will
never cook.”

She was right, but
he was too tired to argue. Even to concede. His body grew wearier by the
moment, his arms heavier.

 “I’m a good
cook. Really, I am. You should let me try my hand at this dried-up piece of
meat stew thingy. Believe me, back home I can make ramen noodles taste like
gourmet fare. Right, Max?”

The dog didn’t
lift his head, but only arched his brow as if to question her.

“Fine.” He tossed the
spoon down. “You cook.”

He stretched out
to rest but never fully closed his eyes. He dared not, fearing he might fall
asleep. His stomach rumbled and he realized she must be as hungry as he was.

“Do you have
anything else we could put in the stew?” she asked. “Salt for seasoning? Maybe
more corn?”

He pondered her
question a moment, uncertain. “I don’t know what is left.” It was the truth.
He’d no time to restock rations. He reached across, lifted his saddle bag and
set it beside her. “Check.”

Reclining again,
he watched as she dug carefully through the bag, making certain she did not
open the side pouch where he kept his papers.

“Cup, spoon, fork
…Aha! More meat!”

“No. That is all
we have left. Save it for another meal.”

She held up a
small muslin pouch, then peered inside and wrinkled her nose. “Ewww. She held
it away from her. I think this smells like some kind of fruit but it doesn’t
look appetizing.”

Dried peaches. He
had picked them up about a month ago. “It’s fruit. Probably still good. Check
for mold, first.”

 She
continued picking through the items. “I think there must have been coffee in
this tin at one time.” She shook the empty can and dropped it back in the bag.
“A box of matches…hmmm…what’s this? She uncorked the top of an unlabeled flask
and took a quick whiff. “Woo-hoo! I’ll bet that’s ass-kicking stuff.”

“Whiskey. For
medicinal purposes.”

She snorted. “This
stuff’s smells so potent I’ll bet it could grow hair.”  She put the bottle
back into the bag and sighed. “There’s nothing else.”

“I will try and
hunt for fresh game tomorrow.”

 The stew
turned out bland and watery, but the bits of softened meat and corn were
filling. The broth warmed him, chasing off the chill of night. He ate heartily,
more than he had in days. She also ate well he noted. The peaches were sweet
and rounded off the meal, although she declined.

Afterward, he got
to his feet and stretched, satisfied. “Remove your clothes. You may cover
yourself with the blanket.”

Her eyes narrowed.
“Why do you want me to take off my clothes?”

“I am not going to
tie you again tonight while we sleep, but I am going to insure that you will
not run away. Undress while I am gone.” He left her and made his way to the
entrance of the cave to calm his thoughts.

The rain had
ended. Strong gusts of cold night air whipped through the canyon, chilling him.
Lightning flickered far off on the southern horizon and a thousand stars
glittered overhead in a clear, night sky.

He leaned against
the craggy wall of the red sandstone cliff beneath a massive rock overhang, and
gazed out across the dark canyon in the direction of long abandoned ruins. He
imagined the timeless drumbeats of the ancient ones carried on the night wind.
If he listened long enough, he could almost hear their chants and songs, or see
the flicker of their small campfires.

The Navajo
believed the spirits of the dead, or
chiindi
, still inhabited the cave
ruins. It was forbidden to go there, taboo to have any contact where ghosts
might roam. That’s why he had hidden crates of guns and ammunition in the
caves. The army knew of the Navajo’s taboo of being in or near places where
others have died. They’d never think to look there.

If all went well
tomorrow, he would meet up with Sonny’s
band of men and retrieve
the weapons. From there, they’d proceed to raid Fort Dennison and take back as
much of The People’s stolen livestock as possible. Later, after he’d deposited
the Brannigan woman with his aunt in
Dinetah
for safekeeping, he’d
return to the nearest town and wire a letter to her uncle, Franklin Cole. It
would be weeks before he knew if Cole took the bait. If negotiations were
necessary, valuable time might be lost.

Antonio returned
to the cave and found her sleeping soundly on her side, snug in the blanket,
her knees drawn up like a small child’s. The tiny dog lay curled upon her
dress. Her lips were parted, her dark, thick lashes flitting occasionally. In
the fading firelight, the remaining red tips of her two-toned hair sparked like
falling embers at twilight. He smiled to himself, remembering the first time he
saw her with the purple paint stripes in her hair and the bizarre clothing—her
scanty, but intriguing undergarments in particular. He had never seen anything
like them before, or since.

He hadn’t noticed
before but she had delicate looking ears. He started to touch her cheek, but
she stirred restlessly and he drew back his hand.

She rolled onto
her back and murmured something in her sleep before smiling sweetly. The dog
scooted close and settled in the crook of her elbow, inadvertently drawing the
blanket down to reveal one breast. Antonio tried not to stare, but it was
impossible not to look. She was angelic looking, bathed in a halo of warm
yellow light from the fire.

Wanting to see
more of her, he hooked a finger beneath the blanket and drew it aside. Her
breasts were small and firm, yet proportional to her petite frame. Her dusky
areolas were set against the stark contrast of skin the color of coffee with
cream.
 He stared at the delicate
nest of dark hair at the juncture of her thighs, wondering what she would feel
like. Inside
.

The dog gave him a
warning look.

His nightly erotic
dreams of her had long ceased. Now he only held the memory of their one and
only kiss. He wanted to taste her lips again, caress her breasts. Blood rushed
into his groin as he imagined himself dipping to nuzzle the mounds. He imagined
more, sliding down her body, parting her thighs and tasting her deeply.

Her eyes fluttered
open and she stared, her eyes growing wide at the realization he was looking at
her, that the blanket was askew. She made no attempt to cover herself, nor did
she seem to object to his perusal.

Testing her, he
brushed his thumb pad over one nipple, listened to her sharp intake of breath
as the pebble blossomed beneath his touch. He watched the reflection of the
flames dance in her whiskey-colored eyes as she held his gaze.

This was as far as
it went. After covering her again with the blanket, he lay down next to her and
the dog, his body trembling as his physical hunger warred with honor. He hugged
himself tightly, not so much against the growing coldness but more out of
loneliness. He grew numb, feeling almost weightless as he finally succumbed to
exhaustion. Forcing himself to keep his eyes open, he watched shadows dance on
the cave’s ceiling. He dared not fall asleep. But he did.

He awakened before
sunrise. The fire had burned out, leaving the cave pitch black and icy. Panic
seized him when he reached for the woman and found her and the dog gone. He
rolled to his feet, relieved to find she hadn’t taken Dinishwo. But she had
taken all the papers in his bag—his drawings! The reward poster and Elena’s
note were missing as well. She couldn’t have traveled far barefoot.

He quickly loaded his gear, leaving the cave before sunrise.

The first rays of dawn slid across the shadowed face of the purple
canyon, casting an eerie, pale pink light on everything it touched. He did not
search long before he spotted her less than a quarter mile away. Her pale dress
stuck out among the dark limestone walls. She had climbed only a few feet above
the jutting rocks and had curled into a tight ball with her dog in her lap on a
narrow ledge, tucked almost out of sight. She did not seem to notice he’d
discovered her, that he was only a few feet below. Quietly, he climbed up.

No sooner than he reached the ledge, she jolted awake and lunged at him,
puncturing his cheek—and with a fork of all things!  
Son of a bitch!
 She’d
narrowly missed gouging his left eye.

The dog yapped and snarled. When she jabbed at him again, he ducked out
of the way and lost his foothold. He slid down the rocky incline several feet,
scraping his palms and forearms on the way down. He clawed madly at the
canyon’s wall hoping to grasp any twig, rock, or scrub brush growing out of the
side. Crumbling rocks of all sizes rained down, pelting his head and shoulders.
He latched onto a juniper and clung to safety, willing himself to calm his
pounding heart.

The little witch had tried to kill him!

Furious, he climbed back up and hauled himself onto the crumbling ledge.
She screamed and pressed back against the wall. The dog continued to snarl and
show his teeth.

“No, I am not dead.” He sneered as he inched toward her on hands and
knees. “I am very much alive.” He paused to wipe a smear of blood from his
cheek with the back of his hand. “Scream as loud as you like. No one can hear
you out here.”

He was upon her now. She cried out, thrusting the fork toward his eye
again. He knocked it from her hand, sending it sailing over the ledge to
clatter hundreds of feet until it was heard no more. Grabbing her by the wrist,
he pulled her dangerously close to the edge and held her face over, giving her
a sobering view of the vast canyon below. The dog continued to yap.

“Instant death,” he whispered in her ear.

She screamed. The dog let out a high pitched whine.

“You almost killed me!” he shouted. “Is that what you intended? Did you
hope I would fall?”

“Hell yes!”

His body shuddered and it took every ounce of control within him not to
strangle her. He yanked her back from the edge and forced her upright on her
knees. “You stole the fork from my bag when you cooked our meal last night.”