Sun God (31 page)

One-handed, Luiz removed the barebacked stallion’s bridle and stepped inside the dim barn to hang it on a peg. Blinking to focus, Luiz stepped father into the barn. His eyes fell on something lying on the hay.

Carefully he laid his bouquet of poppies aside, stepped forward, and crouched down on his heels. His dark face broke into a smile of pleasure as he reached for the shimmering red silk sash. A sash that had been cut into.

His fingers toying with the ruined silk, he draped it across one knee and fondly rubbed it as a sweetly erotic vision flashed through his mind.

A naked, beautiful Amy on all fours in the hay, the long red sash tied around her waist and around his own as they made love.

Later, still tied together with the silk sash, they had lain in the hay touching and kissing until they wanted each other again. They began making love, this time facing each other, Amy beneath him. Face to face. Eye to eye. Heart to heart.

The sash had pulled and bound and grown uncomfortable.

“Cut it,” she had whispered, her lovely eyes looking into his, her silky legs wrapped around him. “Cut the sash, darling.” She thrust her pelvis up to his. “We’ll still be bound together.”

He had removed a knife from his discarded boot and sliced the lovely sash away from her slender waist. Then she had taken the knife from him, slipped its point under the red silk tightly pulling against his ribs, and severed it.

Now, as Luiz slowly rose to his feet, he carefully folded the butchered sash, opened the middle button of his shirt, and slipped it inside. His eyes shone with amusement as he stepped out of the stable into the bright sunshine. Crossing the sandy lot, he stopped abruptly, snapped his fingers, turned, and hurried back inside.

He stooped and picked up the bouquet of vivid orange poppies. Flowers he had picked for Amy.

When he crossed the west stone patio, Luiz felt like an excited young boy. Looking nervously about inside the wide corridor, he heavily exhaled with relief to find it deserted. He climbed the stairs, taking them two at time, his heart beginning to beat erratically.

Outside the heavy carved bedroom door, he raked long fingers through his thick black hair, looked down to check his appearance, and lifted his hand to knock.

Then lowered it without doing so.

After turning the knob, he silently stepped inside, then closed the door behind him. His eyes went at once to a big white bed. Seeing it empty, he frowned. But his smile quickly returned.

Amy was probably soaking in the tub after the night they’d shared. He could think of no better way to spend the remainder of the morning than watching her bathe leisurely.

Gripping the Mexican poppies in both hands, Luiz crossed the room, softly calling her name. But when he reached the white marble bath, he saw only his own reflection in the mirrored walls. The tub was empty.

The slightest trace of unease took the edge off his feeling of well-being. His hands fell to his sides as the premonition that she was gone gripped him. He turned on his heel and went back into the bedroom. Nervously tapping his thigh with the bouquet he stood beside the rumpled bed, remembering how the two of them had quietly climbed the back stairs at five that morning, half dressed, laughing, eager to get into their bed.

His black eyes narrowed. Luiz bent and plucked a tiny piece of straw from the white silk sheet. He tossed the bouquet of poppies on the bed and went downstairs to find Amy.

And knew that he would not.

Amy wasted no time. As soon as Pedrico had pulled up in front of Mac’s big general store, she was out of the buggy and on the wooden sidewalk, saying, “You needn’t come in. This will take a while.”

Not waiting for a reply, she dashed inside, relieved to see none of El Capitán’s troops. She caught sight of Mac behind a counter, hurried over, and asked the big Irishman if his oldest son, Raul, could run an errand for her.

Mac laughed good-naturedly. “If you can wake him. He’s asleep in the sun out behind the store. Where did his mother and I go wrong?” He laughed and Amy laughed with him as she turned and hurried away.

Amy anxiously shook eleven-year-old Raul awake. The boy rubbed his eyes and blinked, but listened as Amy told him to go at once to the livery stable, hire the best horse they had, see that it was saddled, and bring it right back to the rear of the store. She pressed money into his palm.

The barefoot boy took off running and was back within minutes, leading a powerful-looking saddled roan gelding. Pleased, Amy took a shiny gold coin from her reticule, handed it to Raul, and said, “This is yours if you will do me one last favor.”

“Sí, señora?”

“Go back to sleep.”

“Ah,
sí
,
sí.
” Raul shoved the gold coin into his pants pocket, curled up like a cat in the sun, and closed his eyes. But he opened one eye into a slit and watched as Amy mounted the roan and rode away toward the west. When the sound of hoofbeats and the dust kicked up by the roan had disappeared, Raul yawned, touched the gold coin in his pocket, and went back to sleep.

Two hours later a worried, remorseful Pedrico Valdez returned to the ranch. Standing in the buggy and applying the whip to the tired team, he flew through Orilla’s tall white archway.

El Capitán, immaculate in a snowy white shirt, sky-blue uniform trousers, and gleaming black boots, paced back and forth on the shaded west patio. He had been pacing for the past hour. He saw the cloud of dust on the horizon and felt his heart lurch in his chest.

Arms crossed, feet apart, he was waiting in the drive when Pedrico brought the horses to a plunging halt in the gravel. El Capitán stepped forward to meet his lieutenant.

“
Dios
, Capitán! It is all my fault. I should never have—”

“Lieutenant Valdez,” Luiz calmly cut in, “tell me what has happened.”

“She’s gone!” Pedrico shouted apologetically. “I drove her to Sundown against your wishes and
Señora
Parnell is gone!”

Conditioned to conceal his innermost emotions, Luiz said evenly, “Come,
amigo.
You need a drink. Then you will tell me all.”

Pedrico did just that. He listened intently as El Capitán issued orders in a low, level voice.

“Have one of Orilla’s fastest horses saddled.”

“You do not wish to ride Noche?”

Luiz shook his head. “No. Apaches don’t shoe their horses,
amigo.
Noche is shod. Make my mount a paint.”

“
Dios
!” Pedrico hurriedly crossed himself.

“Gather supplies—blankets, extra clothes, candles, water, weapons. Go now!”

Minutes later El Capitán came downstairs. He was out of uniform. A pair of soft buckskin trousers clung to his lean flanks and long legs. A matching buckskin shirt with fringe around the yoke and down the sleeves stretched across his wide shoulders. A low-riding gunbelt was buckled around his slim hips, a Colt .44 in the holster. His knee-high black boots had been replaced with a pair of soft brown cowboy boots. A neckerchief of vivid blue was tied at his throat.

Wringing her hands and crying, Magdelena followed him out of the house and onto the porch. He turned and said, “Stay here, Magdelena. And stop worrying. I’ll bring her back.”

Unable to speak, the weeping, heavyset woman lifted the tail of her apron, wiped her red eyes, and watched the tall buckskin-clad man move down the front walk to the drive.

“Let me search with you?” Pedrico asked as Luiz mounted the big paint pony.

“No, my friend.” Luiz looked down at the older man’s pain-etched face. “You must be in command here until I return.”

Pedrico objected. “I am not trustworthy, Capitán.”

Luiz leaned down from the horse, gripped the older man’s shoulder, and said, “No man on earth is more trustworthy,
amigo.
”

Before Pedrico could reply, Luiz righted himself, wheeled the paint about, and kicked him into a trot. Pedrico stood looking after him, tears blurring the vision of his one eye. He blinked and tried to swallow the growing lump in his throat.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder. He turned his head and saw Magdelena standing beside him. Wordlessly his arm went around her shoulders and they stood there clinging to each other.

Watching until they could no longer see El Capitán. Then they turned and went back inside.

H
ER LONG BLUE SKIRTS
billowing in the wind, Amy beat it out of Sundown atop the big roan gelding. Never looking back, she slapped the long reins from side to side and violently kicked the mount’s flanks. Leaning low over his neck, she raced him across the barren desertland, the rapid beating of her heart in tempo with his sharp hooves striking the packed earth.

She didn’t slow the pace until the peaceful little village of Sundown had been left far behind. Only then did she pull up, bringing the well-trained horse to halt atop a broad, barren mesa, two miles west of town. While the horse shook his head about and danced restlessly in place, Amy stood in the stirrups and lifted a hand to shade her eyes against the glare of the noonday sun.

Reining the roan around in a slow deliberate circle, she carefully pondered which way she should ride. She had her final destination firmly in mind: New Orleans, Louisiana. She would take the train to Galveston, then hop a riverboat to New Orleans. She’d go to her Aunt Meg and daughter Linda and stay there until the cruel El Capitán and his troop left
Orilla.
Poor Magdelena would be frantic … she’d worry about that later.

Amy looked about.

Far to the west, on the Mexican border, was Paso del Norte. To the north was the Guadalupe mountain range with the highest peak in all Texas, ironically called El Capitán. Amy shuddered and quickly turned away from its stark, cold summit. To the east lay the town of Pecos, Texas. South was the Davis mountains and the Big Bend of the Rio Grande. And the Mescalero Apaches.

Amy sighed with indecision.

East or west? If she chose Paso del Norte she’d lose precious time traveling in the wrong direction. But if she headed east to the small town of Pecos, she might be noticed and reported to El Capitán when his search for her began. Nobody would pay her any attention in the wild border town of Paso del Norte. She could likely board an eastbound train as soon as she got there.

Amy turned the horse in full circle, again kicked him into a gallop, and headed west. She was a long way from Paso del Norte—at least sixty miles. Still, she figured if she rode hard and stopped for only short periods of time to water and rest the roan, she would reach The Pass within twenty-four hours.

She rode through the thick silence of the afternoon, her head throbbing, her back aching. The sun’s harsh rays burned her fair skin and the dust made her eyes sting and water. She was hungry; she’d not eaten since yesterday at lunch. Worse, she was terribly thirsty, and she had no water. By the sound of the blowing, lathered roan, he too was thirsty.

Silently Amy promised herself and the winded gelding that if they kept going, she would soon spot a ranch-house located on some remote rise of land. Or a shallow water hole. No need for worry.

On she rode.

The sun had lost some of its sting and was starting its slow descent toward the western horizon when Amy caught a glimpse of something moving in her side vision. She turned and looked to the south, never slowing the roan’s steady pace.

At first she thought it was only a fast-moving dust devil swirling up out of the burning sands. But the cloud of dust grew larger, moved closer, and finally horses emerged from out of the whirlwind. Amy immediately began slowing the roan, her parched throat already tasting the nice cool water from canteens the riders surely carried.

The contingent thundered closer and Amy’s lips fell open in astonishment. For a split second she was totally paralyzed with fear and disbelief. The riders racing toward her were not dressed in chaps and boots and big sombreros. They wore breechcloths and moccasins and feathers in their long black hair.

Apaches!

Her heart seemed as if it would pound its way out of her chest, and Amy’s brain screamed for her useless feet and hands to work, but they did not obey. It seemed an eternity that she sat immobile as the warriors closed in on her, the one in the lead opening his mouth to give a long, wailing cry for attack.

Amy screamed and kicked her mount into movement. Across the barren tablelands she raced, her cumbersome skirts flying up into her face, her heels digging into the gelding’s belly. She didn’t dare look back but knew by the sounds of their horses’ pounding hooves and their bloodcurdling shrieks that the band of savages was rapidly gaining on her.

The lathered roan gave his best, leaping narrow washes and whipping around scrubby mesquites that scratched Amy’s arms and legs. When they reached a wide, shallow ravine, the roan plunged down into it, his hooves flinging up clods of soft, sandy soil. The valiant gelding was struggling up the far side when one of the riders spurred his swift paint into a flying run that lifted it in a wide-reaching jump across the ravine.

The Apache’s arm shot out. He grabbed the roan’s bit and pulled his head forcefully down. The roan continued his efforts, his forelegs pawing at the sandy incline as he struggled to lunge to its top. Amy had not given up either. She shouted to the laboring roan, kicked his heaving sides, and jerked frantically on the reins, trying to loosen them from the red man’s tight grip.

When an arm of steel came around her waist, Amy screamed at the top of her lungs. Tenaciously clinging to the reins, she was pulled from the roan, onto a prancing pony, and crushed to the sweaty, naked chest of a stocky warrior, the Indian backed his pony away with Amy still gripping her mount’s reins. Big-eyed and frightened, the roan stumbled and neighed wildly until a knife flashed in the bright sunlight, the straining reins were cut, and Amy was left holding nothing but two useless strips of leather.

Her head banged against her captor’s jaw as he wheeled his mount around. Squirming impotently within the brave’s clasping arm, Amy clawed at his chest and shoulders and kicked her feet and screamed at him to release her.