Heart of Thunder

by Johanna Lindsey

  He scowled darkly. “Get out of here!”

  “I’m not going without you.”

  “For God’s sake, will you do as I say for once?” His voice rose. “We’re outnumbered here.”

  “Exactly. You’ll need every gun.”

  Hamilton stared, incredulous. “You can just bury that bravado right now, little girl. There could be more men behind that hill. We’re not riding into any trap.”

  She saw the wisdom of it. “Let’s go, then.”

  “You start out now. We’ll catch up with you as soon as we get Juan and the boy on horses.” He signaled Manuel and Luis to do just that. “Go on now, Sam.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  Hamilton grew furious. “Don’t you realize that every second is precious right now? This is the first time the bandits haven’t run from their crime. They’re feeling bold, Sam. They could attack at any moment.”

  “I’ll wait,” she said again, her mouth set firmly. “I’m not going to leave you here alone, father.”

  He glared at her, shaking his head, then turned to help the injured Juan onto a horse.

  Across the blackened field, the bandits held their ground. They had not moved. They seemed to be waiting for something. But what? To be attacked, or to attack? Samantha could kill six of them before she had to load her gun again, and another six before they came close enough to do her any damage. In a good position, she could pick off every one of them.

  She hated to turn tail and run, and was glad that they didn’t race away from the area like cowards. Through caution and in deference to Juan’s injury, they moved slowly, rifles in hand, prepared to shoot if attacked. The bandits didn’t follow. Samantha looked back once and saw that they had not moved from the hill. Was this all just for show?

  After what seemed an eternity, they reached the ranch. Juan was taken away to have his injury tended, and Samantha followed her father into the house. He was stiff-backed as he marched across the patio and into the sala, and as they entered the room, he turned on her. “That’s it!” he shouted. “That—is—it! That’s the last time you will defy me!”

  “Calm down, father.” Samantha spoke gently. “We can discuss this reasonably, you know.”

  “Now you want to be reasonable? Why couldn’t you have been reasonable out there? You risked your life!”

  “I didn’t see it that way.”

  “You never do!” he said sharply. “But you’re too old to be acting like a child.”

  “Then don’t treat me like one!” she snapped back, adding more calmly, “I was aware of the situation, father. I know very well we could have been attacked at any moment. But I could have taken care of myself—better than you, in fact. I would have shot three men with my Colt before you hit even one.”

  “That is not the point. You’re my daughter, Samantha, not my son. You shouldn’t have been in danger at all. I wanted to protect you, to get you away from danger.”

  “Father, those protective feelings run in me, as well. I couldn’t leave you. I just couldn’t.”

  He sighed and sank into a chair. “You just don’t understand, Sam. I’m an old man, I’ve lived my life. But yours is all ahead of you. You’re all I have. If anything happened to you…I wouldn’t have any reason to go on living. You must not take chances.”

  “Now stop it!” she said hoarsely, uncomfortable with the way he was talking. “You’re all I have, too, you know.”

  “No, Sam. You’ll have a husband and children. You will have others to love. God, I should never have let you leave the house this morning, but I never dreamed they would still be there. When I think of what might have happened…”

  “Now don’t start blaming yourself.”

  “I’ll blame myself if I damn well please!” He sat up sharply and glared at her. “But that’s the last time you’ll be placed in danger, my girl. You’re not leaving this house again until the trouble is over!”

  “You’re going too far!” she protested.

  “No, I’m not. I’m quite serious, Sam. There will be no more morning rides, not even with an escort.”

  “I won’t stand for it,” she warned, her temper on the rise.

  “Yes you will, or, by God, I’ll put bars on your windows and lock you in your room.”

  Emerald sparks shot from her eyes as she realized that he meant it. “For how long?” she demanded coldly. “Just how long do you intend to keep me a prisoner?”

  “You needn’t sound so offended. I’m only denying you your morning ride, and only for the sake of safety.”

  “How long?”

  “A week, maybe. I’ll send for the authorities today. But if they can’t help, then I’ll get my own army in here. We’ll see how El Carnicero likes having the tables turned on him.”

  “At least you’re admitting the truth now,” Samantha said bitterly. She took satisfaction from her father’s expression. He actually flinched. “I’ll agree to a week on one condition.”

  “What?” he asked wearily, suspicious.

  “You tell me what was in those messages The Butcher left for you.”

  To her surprise, he looked relieved. “I’ll do better than that.” He got up and left the room, returning a moment later with two dirty, crumpled sheets of paper. “Here, read them.”

  They were written in a crude scrawl, and each was signed with a large “C.” One said: “Go home, Gringo.” The other was clearer. “Mexico hates you, Gringo. You will die if you stay here. Go home.”

  “Manuel told me he hates gringos passionately,” she said after a moment.

  “He hasn’t given up trying to evict me. He’s grown bolder. But the last straw was seeing you in danger. The bandido will get the war he wants now.”

  “I’ll wait a week, father, I promise. But no more than a week.”

  He knew she meant it.

  Chapter 16

  THAT next week was the slowest of Samantha’s life. But the trouble seemed to be over. Soldados had charged into the mountains. Reports came back slowly. Evidence was found in an old abandoned village that pointed to many men having stayed there. But they were gone. The Mexican soldiers then went deeper into the mountains, but there were no tracks to follow, and no sign of the bandits. It was the general consensus that El Carnicero had returned to his southern territory. Samantha was quick to agree, and soon the week was over.

  She was ready to ride again, but her father insisted that she take four vaqueros with her.

  “But the trouble is over,” she protested. “The Butcher has gone.”

  “We won’t know that for sure until more time passes,” Hamilton insisted. “Four men, Sam, and you’ll stay close to the ranch, as well.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about all these conditions last week?” she stormed. “You were afraid to, weren’t you?”

  “Be reasonable. I would really rather you didn’t go out at all. Not yet. At least give me the peace of mind of knowing that you’re well protected.”

  Samantha gritted her teeth. “All right, I’ll give you one more week—but no more. After that I have my freedom back completely and you stop treating me like a child.”

  “Agreed—as long as nothing happens in the meantime.” She turned to stalk away, but Hamilton added, “And these conditions include your staying with your escort, not racing ahead of them, Sam.”

  “Oh!”

  Samantha was still furious when she stormed into the stable to get El Cid, but Ramón was waiting, and he tried to coax her out of her mood. She had forgotten that he had promised to join her for a ride. Now she would have five men along to protect her—though she would most likely end up protecting them if anything happened.

  She waited while her escort readied their horses, and Ramón sat his horse, smiling at her vexation. So much trouble for just a few hours’ ride!

  Ramón and Samantha had returned to their old camaraderie, and she was grateful for his company, but there was often a difference in his behavior toward her, and she was disturbed by it. The
re was sometimes a dark passion in Ramón’s eyes. Surely he was not falling in love with her, she told herself. She hoped not, for her feelings did not run that way.

  He looked exceptionally handsome today in his black leather waist-length jacket and black pants that flared out at the knees. Samantha was wearing soft leather herself, a dark-chocolate-brown skirt and vest embroidered along the hems with fancy gold thread. Her blouse was brown-and-beige-striped moiré silk, with cuffs on the long sleeves and a wide collar opened only discreetly. She wore her hair pinned up under a wide-brimmed brown hat.

  She sighed. She had planned to give El Cid a vigorous workout. Now she would have to go slowly, to allow her escort to keep up with her—or would she? As they rode away from the ranch at a leisurely pace, Samantha kept looking at Ramón’s gray stallion. It was a powerful horse, nearly as spirited as El Cid. They were riding abreast, heading south, the four vaqueros a good twenty yards behind Ramón and Samantha. She looked sideways at Ramón, her lips curling in a mischievous grin.

  “Ramón, race me to that far hill at the end of the south range. You know the one.”

  But he shook his head firmly. “No, Samantha. We are no longer children.”

  “What does that have to do with it? I want to race.”

  “No. Your father would not like it.”

  Samantha’s grin deepened. “I’ll wager you,” she bribed. “If I lose, I’ll dance the jarabe for you. But, of course, I won’t lose.”

  Ramón’s eyes brightened. Only once had he seen her dance the passionate Mexican dances that Froilana had taught her. She had set his blood afire that time, when he was seventeen. He would give anything to see her wear the loose, deep-necked camisa and the full red skirt that sparkled with bangles, to see her hair cascading down her back like a cloak of fire, to have her dance, only for him, a dance of passion.

  Samantha knew by his sudden change of expression that she had won. As he nodded, she dug her heels into El Cid and shot off ahead of Ramón. But Ramón caught up with her quickly. One mile passed, then two. She pushed El Cid to his limit. She did not look back to see how far behind her escort was trailing. She bent down against the wind, her hat whipping off to bounce on her shoulders, caught by the cord around her neck. She was flying. She was free. She had never felt better.

  The hill was just ahead, and she sensed Ramón falling back. The hill sloped gently at least twenty feet upward, and Samantha charged to the top, laughing in delight. She had won. At the top she turned sharply and slid off El Cid to look down the hill. Ramón was only halfway up. She could not even see the vaqueros.

  “I told you I—”

  The words died in her throat as a hand slipped over her mouth from behind her. She jerked, startled. In the next second her hand went to the gun on her hip. But another hand was pulling it out of the holster before she could touch it.

  Ramón rode to the hilltop, his eyes wide. Three men were standing there, one pointing a rifle at him. He wore bandoliers across his chest, and long pistols on his hips. Another man in a poncho and a large sombrero was holding the horses, five of them including El Cid. A third man in a brightly striped serape was standing behind Samantha, holding her own weapon on her, his other hand covering her mouth.

  Seeing Samantha’s wide eyes staring up at him, Ramón went a little crazy. He wasn’t sure whether it was fear or anger in those green eyes he loved so much, but he was sure she was beseeching him for help. He went for his gun, but a rifle exploded before he reached it. The blast, at close range, whipped him off his horse, and he tumbled halfway down the hill before he could stop his fall.

  Samantha came out of shock and bit the hand over her mouth. She was suddenly free then, and ran down the hill screaming Ramón’s name. He was trying to sit up, but the effort was too much, and he fell back, spent. There was a big, gaping hole in his shoulder. Samantha caught her breath.

  “Ah, Ramón, you were so brave! But you shouldn’t have done that. You will be all right, though.” She was talking through tears, talking just to hear the sound of her own voice, to ease the sickening turning of her stomach. “I swear you will be all right. I will take you home and tend you myself.”

  “You will not take him, señorita.”

  At that moment, Samantha realized that they were not alone. Somehow, she had forgotten her assailants. She turned and looked at the two men who had followed her down the hill. It was the first she had seen of them, and the color drained from her face. Bandidos! She prayed quickly that they were only after money, but she knew full well how foolish that was.

  “Of course I will take him home,” she said, her voice firm and unwavering. “You can steal our horses, but there are other men coming right now who will help us. Here, take this!” She angrily tore off an emerald ring from her finger and threw it at the man nearest her. “That’s all I have. Now leave before my vaqueros get here and there is more bloodshed.”

  The man who had caught the ring laughed shortly. “We saw you racing ahead of your escort, señorita. You have left them far behind. You made our job easy for us.”

  “Your job? You mean your thievery!” she snapped, her eyes damning him.

  She was not frightened. She was furious. And most of her fury was for herself, for riding into the trap. They had seen her coming and hidden behind the hill. And she had not even looked over the hill as she reached the top. And then to let him take her gun!

  The man in the serape was shaking his head at her. He was a young man, with a short black beard and dark, piercing eyes almost as black as his long, shoulder-length hair. There was a thin scar across one cheek, but that took nothing away from his swarthy good looks. By comparison, the man with the rifle seemed a vicious beast, with a long, thick black mustache and a gap-toothed, ugly grin. The third man, still at the top of the hill, was almost unnoticeable, with dark brown hair and no outstanding characteristics. He seemed distant, reserved, and he did not join in the joking of the other two.

  The handsome one spoke again, his voice still amused. “We do not wish to rob you, señorita.” And he tossed her ring back to her.

  “What then?” she demanded impatiently. “Can’t you see my friend needs help? Tell me what you want and be gone.”

  The two men looked at each other and laughed. The ugly one, gripping his rifle, remarked in guttural Spanish, “She likes to give the orders, eh? She will not like taking them, I think.”

  Samantha did not let on that she had understood, but her heart began a rapid beat. She dreaded to imagine what the Mexican meant. She needed to gain control of the situation, and fast.

  Ramón began moaning, and she turned back to him. His eyes were closed and he seemed barely conscious. But she saw his hand moving slowly toward his gun. His gun! It was still in his holster. As quick as lightning, she went for it.

  “Do not, señorita.”

  Samantha stopped, her hand on the grip. Could she take the chance? Would they shoot her? Yes, they would. Slowly, with the greatest reluctance, she let go of the gun.

  “What do you want?” she shouted in frustrated anger.

  “You, señorita,” the man with the serape said quietly, and then he turned to his companion. “Take the foolish one’s gun, Diego, and give him the written message to deliver.” He looked at Samantha again and explained. “Our job was to find you and take you with us.”

  She stared, wide-eyed, as the one who had shot Ramón took his gun and put a folded piece of paper inside his jacket. A message. Oh, God, El Carnicero left messages.

  Samantha shook her head in disbelief. “Who told you to take me?”

  “El jefe.”

  The leader. But who was the leader? she asked, and the Mexican grinned. “El Carnicero. It is his wish that you be his guest for a while, Señorita Kingsley.”

  Hearing him speak her name confirmed her worst fears. They knew her. El Carnicero had not left the area after all. Her father had been right. Why couldn’t she have listened to him?

  “No,” she whispered.

/>   “Sí,” he countered calmly.

  At that, Samantha jumped to her feet and started running down the hill, frantic. The Mexican caught her easily, and they both fell, sliding several feet before they stopped.

  “Damn you!” Samantha screamed, spitting dirt. “I won’t go with you!” she cried. “I refuse!”

  “We waste time here, mujer,” he replied curtly, and jerked her to her feet.

  His grip on her arm was relentless; she couldn’t pull away. He dragged her back up the hill, passing Ramón, who seemed deathly still. At the top, the third man guided her to a magnificent white stallion and told her to mount.

  Samantha held back. “I’ll ride my own horse, thank you,” she said caustically.

  In response, he whacked El Cid on the rump, sending him racing down the hill. “El jefe has sent his own horse for you, Señorita Kingsley. You will ride El Rey.”

  The King. It was fitting. The stallion looked like a king. His coloring reminded her of Princesa. He would have made a fine mate for her. He was too beautiful for a butcher.

  “Mount now, or I will have to put you in the saddle myself,” said the man with the serape.

  Her head snapped toward him. “I don’t see why I couldn’t have ridden my own horse,” she said angrily.

  “Your father will understand better when your horse returns without you,” the man replied, then grinned. “Besides, it is an honor for you to ride El Rey. El Carnicero prizes this horse. He cost a fortune. You understand, el jefe is being most generous in offering him for your use. He wishes you to know of this honor, so you will not be afraid.”

  Samantha managed a derisive laugh. “I am not afraid.” She mounted the big horse, snatching the reins away from the man. “Why should I be?” she added confidently. “When you give me the means to escape you?”

  She reined the horse up, forcing the Mexicans back, and then dug her heels into the animal, charging down the hill. But she didn’t even reach the bottom before a shrill whistle stopped the stallion in his tracks and she nearly went flying over his neck. Then the Mexican was beside her, laughing as he took the reins and led her back to the top of the hill.