Sun God (6 page)

Far away on the distant horizon, a series of ridges rose, turning into green foothills, and finally blending into the hazy blue Guadelupe Mountains surmounted by the rising spire of the El Capitán peak. The air, clear as glass, made the distant string of mountains seem deceptively close.

The sun hot on their faces and the wind stinging their eyes, they galloped headlong across open deserts, unbothered by the blazing heat of summer. Farther and farther they rode, the only sound that of their horses’ hooves striking the baked ground.

Feeling as if she would never be tired again, Amy wondered how long it would take them to ride all the way to the mountains. She turned in the saddle to shout the question to Luiz, but he motioned for her to pull up. Amy nodded and slowed the black.

They had traveled quite a distance. The Orilla headquarters were far behind. They had reached an elevation several hundred feet higher than where the hacienda sat on the desert floor. A stand of cottonwoods close by on their left told Amy they were near the river.

Luiz confirmed it when, after they came to a halt and the horses were stomping and blowing, he stood in the stirrups, pointed to the northeast, and said, “I’d like to show you my own special bend in the river. No one else knows about it.”

Pleased that he would consider sharing a secret with her, Amy said, “I promise I’ll never tell anyone.”

“I believe you,” he said with such conviction Amy was even more pleased.

“It’s still a good four miles upriver, Amy. If you’d rather wait until some day when it’s cooler, we can.”

“I don’t want to wait. I want you to take me there now.”

They followed the twisting streambed, climbing as they went, and when they reached their destination, Luiz dropped his reins and lithely dismounted. He lifted Amy down from the black’s back and set her on her feet. He watched her, amused by the look of bewilderment on her face. He knew she was disappointed. She was eyeing the thick clump of tall willows before them, her forehead knitted. She turned her head and caught the faint sound of rushing water, and gave him a questioning look.

Like an excited child, Luiz said, “Close your eyes.”

Amy happily obeyed. He took her hand in his and eagerly led her through the tall willows and cottonwoods. Inside the ring of willows, he drew her around in front of him. He carefully positioned her on the edge of a smooth, flat rock, choosing a cool and shady spot beside the clear lagoonlike pool.

When Amy stood directly in front of him, he turned her slightly so that when she opened her eyes, she would be looking directly at the splashing waterfall.

He took a deep breath and said, “Now, Amy.”

She opened her eyes and stared. And couldn’t believe what she saw before her. They were standing in a lush shaded bend in the river. A deep, clear pool below them was being constantly fed by a cascading waterfall above. Emerald-green grass grew on the river’s banks, along with an array of wildflowers and climbing vines.

It seemed impossible that such a tropical paradise existed in the middle of the stark Chihuahuan desert.

Her eyes wide with wonder, she turned to Luiz. “I must be dreaming. We can’t really be standing here in the cool shade below a waterfall.”

“But we are,” he assured her. “The pool is so deep I can dive into it from atop that big boulder.” He pointed to a large jutting overhang of rock beside the rushing falls.

“You swim here?”

“All the time.”

“I envy you,” Amy said wistfully. She sat down on the grassy banks and hugged her knees.

Luiz quickly dropped down beside her. “You needn’t. You can swim here.” He paused, then added, “With me.”

Amy’s head snapped around. She looked into his dark, expressive eyes and wondered suddenly why he was being so kind and attentive after the shabby way he had treated her all week.

“Why have you ignored me the whole time our guests were here?” she now demanded haughtily. “You never danced with me once! You hurt my feelings.”

A pained expression came over his bronzed face. He looked out across the placid river, then he swallowed hard and told her the truth. “I do not know how to dance.”

“You don’t know … That’s the reason you …?”

“Yes!” he exploded, and his tortured gaze swung back to her face. “I do not know how to dance! I am awkward and clumsy and I … I …” Amy’s sudden burst of laughter made him stop speaking. Quick anger flared in his black eyes. “Is it so funny to you?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. Can’t you see that it’s funny?”

“I cannot.” He glared at her.

Continuing to laugh, Amy touched his tense face with gentle fingertips. “Tonatiuh, do you honestly think I cared if you knew how to dance?”

Skeptical, he said, “Well, didn’t you?”

“No! I don’t care if you never learn to dance! It makes no difference.” Impulsively she grabbed up one of his gloved hands and, holding it in both of her own, affectionately pressed it to her cheek. “I thought you didn’t want to dance with me. Can’t you see, I thought it was me.”

“Well, it wasn’t. It was me.” His glum face began to soften, but he couldn’t help adding defiantly, “I am not Tyler Parnell.”

“I know,” she said, “and I’m so glad. So very glad.” She released his hand, but her warm blue eyes stayed on his face.

Luiz remained unconvinced. “I’ll bet if he had you here right now, he’d … he’d … kiss you.”

Amy looked him straight in the eye. “No, he would not. I wouldn’t let him, just as I didn’t let him when we walked in the garden.” She smiled, and then said very softly, “But I would let you kiss me, Tonatiuh.” Her fair face growing pink, she added shyly, “If you wanted to.”

His face swiftly reddened. “I do want to. I want very much to kiss you, but … but …” He sighed. “Like dancing, I don’t know how to do that either. I’ve never kissed a girl.”

“I’m glad,” Amy said, and meant it. “Nobody has ever kissed me. We can learn together.” She lifted trusting eyes to his. “Can’t we?”

Luiz grinned boyishly. “Yes,” he said, “we can.”

His heart galloping in his chest, he slowly peeled off his chamois gloves and dropped them to the ground. When he turned more fully toward her, Amy held her breath. His lean brown hands came up to gently frame her face.

Amy had no idea what she was supposed to do with her hands, so she wrapped her fingers loosely around his wrists.

His dark eyes held hers for a moment, then dropped to her mouth. Under his intense scrutiny, Amy’s lips began to tremble and she felt as if her lungs were going to explode.

But then he smiled understandingly at her and said in a low, gentle voice, “Breathe, my sweetheart.”

Nodding, Amy gratefully exhaled, and they both laughed. When finally they had quieted, Luiz’s laughing black eyes turned somber, then warm. He tilted Amy’s chin up, lowered his bronzed face, and kissed her.

It was an innocent kiss. Two shy, eager pairs of lips tentatively meeting, fleetingly touching, then quickly withdrawing. But the brief chaste kiss was sweetly exciting to the naive young pair.

Awed by the wonder of it, Luiz said, feeling powerful and protective and possessive, “It is not enough that I’m the first to kiss you, Amy.”

“It’s not?” She stared wide-eyed at him.

His big, dark eyes flashed with ardent intensity and he said in carefully modulated, slightly accented English, “I must be the last as well.”

Amy quickly opened her mouth to assure him he would be. But his warm lips covered hers in another tender kiss and she simply sighed, secure in the knowledge he knew, without her telling him, that he would be.

Her first. Her last. Her only.

T
HE THICK-WALLED HACIENDA
sat baking in the July heat, all its shutters closed against the broiling sun, giving it the appearance of a big, somnolent monster with dozens of eyes, all tightly shut.

Inside all was silent, save for the striking of the tall cased clock in the downstairs hallway. Two p.m. Siesta time. The siesta, adopted from their neighbors to the south, was a custom enthusiastically embraced by the people dwelling in the deserts of far southwest Texas.

At Orilla, in the hottest part of the day, family and servants alike retired to their dim, shuttered bedrooms, sleep the only weapon against the awesome afternoon heat.

One member of the Orilla household had long ago discovered a better way to battle the dry, hot Texas afternoons. Baron Sullivan fought the fierce heat with a heat of his own. Nobody enjoyed siesta time more than Baron.

It had been back in the summer of ’41—the year his mother had died and they had moved into the newly built hacienda—that an entire staff of new servants was hired. Magdelena Torrez, a widow of twenty-eight, and her tiny four-year-old daughter, Rosa, had come from the village. Magdelena was to be Orilla’s upstairs maid.

Baron had noticed Magdelena right away. Fascinated with the way her large, soft breasts swayed and bounced beneath the cotton blouse she wore, he wondered how she would look without it. And he wondered how he could find out.

The answer came to him one hot August afternoon while he lay wide awake in his dim bedroom, bored and restless. He suddenly began to smile. He rose from his bed, crossed to the door, and stepped out into the hall. He looked cautiously about, saw no one, and headed straight for his father’s room. He opened the heavy carved door, stepped inside, and saw his bare-chested father flat on his back and sound asleep. Baron went directly to the tall mahogany bureau and pulled out the top drawer. There in the very back in the corner was a small, blue velvet-covered box.

Baron flipped the box open and took from its satin bed the glittering diamond pendant that Walter Sullivan had given his bride on their wedding day. Baron palmed the pendant, closed the box, and put it back in its place. Within seconds of entering his father’s room, he was back outside.

He silently descended the stairs and went to the back of the house toward the servant quarters. He stopped before Magdelena Torrez’s door. He listened for a moment, heard nothing, opened the door, and went inside.

Blinking in the dim light, he saw, across the room, on a double bed by the window, Magdelena and her tiny daughter, Rosa, sleeping peacefully. He stared, smiling. His pretty Magdelena wore only a cotton camisole and a ruffled petticoat. A strap of the camisole had slipped over her shoulder and the satiny brown swell of her full breast was a tempting sight.

Almost as tempting as the glimpse of a smooth, firm thigh revealed by the twisted, high-rising petticoat.

Baron reluctantly tore his gaze from the voluptuous woman. He moved to the small pine chest of drawers, looked about, and saw on its top Magdelena’s sewing box. He opened the box and placed the diamond pendant inside. He hurried back to his room and sprawled out on his bed, smiling dreamily to himself.

It would be, he knew, the last monotonous siesta he would ever have to endure.

Baron rose at midmorning the next day. He knew that the others had finished their breakfast hours ago and departed. When he started downstairs, he purposely yanked a button off his shirt. With the button in hand, he went in search of Magdelena Torrez.

He found her in the
sala
, dusting. She didn’t hear him approach, so he was treated to the sight of her rounded bottom rising in the air as she bent to flick the feather duster across a low windowsill.

Startled when he said her name, Magdelena quickly straightened, turned, and smiled.

“Oh,
Señor
Baron,” she said, nodding to him, “you will have to eat your breakfast alone. The others, they are gone.” She shrugged apologetically.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Baron. “Actually, it’s you I was looking for.” He showed her the mother-of-pearl button. “Could you possibly sew this on for me? This is one of my favorite shirts.”

“Oh,
sí
,
sí
,” she said, nodding happily, “I do it right now.”

“You’re awfully nice, Magdelena,” said Baron.

Embarrassed, she took the button and stepped past him. He followed her from the room and down the hall. Magdelena stopped before her door.

She said, “I will be right out.”

But Baron trailed the woman right inside her bedroom. When he closed the door behind them, Magdelena’s dark eyes blinked. Hurriedly she moved toward the chest where she kept her sewing box. Baron was right behind her. He stood smiling at her while she nervously opened the box’s lid to look for a spool of thread.

“Why, Magdelena, what … what is this?”

Baron reached inside her sewing box and brought out the glittering diamond. Lacing the delicate chain through his fingers, he allowed the gleaming bauble to swing back and forth before Magdelena’s stunned face.

“I—I … do not know,” she said, her wide eyes locked on the swinging diamond.

Baron’s eyes were on it too. Then they shifted to Magdelena’s face. “This is my mother’s! You stole my dead mother’s diamond pendant.” His expression became one of hurt disbelief. “How could you, Magdelena? After all we’ve done for you.”

“No!” she said, shaking her dark head. “I—I … do not know how the diamond got there. I would never. … I am innocent, Señor Baron. You must believe me, you must!”

“I don’t,” he said. “I don’t believe you and neither will Dad.”

“
Madre de Dios.
” She gasped. “He has to believe me.
Por favor
, Baron. I never do such a terrible thing.”

“Then what is my mother’s necklace doing in your sewing box. Answer me that.”

“I—I do not know. Help me, oh
Dios
, please help me.”

As if talking out loud to himself, Baron said, “This is awful. In Texas thieves go to prison. I just don’t …”

“Prison!” she cried. “No, no. My little Rosa. What will happen to my baby? I beg you, do not tell the
patrón.
I cannot lose this home. Is the only one I have, the only one my little Rosa have. Would you let her go hungry again?”

“Would you?” he said, and his tone softened.

“No.” She sobbed. “No, tell me what to do, help me, please.”

“Maybe I
can
help you, Magdelena.”

A glimmer of hope surged through her. “Yes?” she said, grabbing his arm. “Oh,
Señor
Baron, I would be so grateful, I do anything to pay you back.”