Heart of Thunder

by Johanna Lindsey

  “I came to see if you were hungry. You did not eat last night.”

  “Of course I am hungry. Of all the stupid excuses! You really wanted to humiliate me by catching me in bed. Did you hope to find me unclothed as well?” she hissed. “You’re disgusting!”

  Hank’s mouth thinned to a hard line. He had believed that he could be with her and keep his anger under control, but he was finding that he couldn’t. Her disdain enraged him. He would not take her contempt. Damn her, he would not!

  Samantha screamed as he took a step toward her, murder in his eyes. She scrambled to the top of the bed, trying to take the covers with her. But the covers caught at the end of the bed, and she let them go. It wasn’t important. All that mattered was getting as far away from Hank as she could.

  She cowered there in the bed, her eyes wide with fright. Because of that terrible fear, Hank moved no closer. Her anger could elicit his own anger, but afraid, she moved him differently.

  “It is well you fear me, niña,” he said, and his voice was controlled. “It is well you remember what happened the last time you angered me.”

  “I don’t fear you—I hate you. I just can’t bear to have your hands on me!”

  Hank stiffened but managed to laugh derisively. “Perhaps you do not know what you look like, Sam. I have never seen such a bedraggled woman. I certainly do not intend to dirty my ‘hands’ by touching you.”

  “I know how I look, damn you!” she shouted. “And I know whose fault it is for having me dragged up here, riding day and night, never getting a chance to rest or to wash. What the hell do you expect? Should I be wearing silk and smell of roses?”

  “What you are wearing now is not so bad.” Hank chuckled.

  Samantha gasped and quickly crossed her arms over her chest where the nipples had been pressing against the thin linen camisole. But her hips and legs were still revealed by every curve in the skin-tight bloomers, and she couldn’t really hide herself.

  “Oh! Will you get out of here and leave me alone?” she cried, the humiliation more than she could bear. “And don’t come back. Someone else can see to my needs.”

  “Perhaps you have not truly considered your position here. You will not be giving the orders. I have not given it much thought either, but it is time I did. Sí.” He grinned. “I think I might enjoy having you at my mercy. After all, Samina,” he added, rubbing his side at the place where she had shot him, “I owe you.” And he turned abruptly and left.

  Samantha threw herself down on the bed to cry out her frustration. This was not the way she had planned for them to meet again. She was supposed to be the one in control, not him! At his mercy? Ah, God, it just wasn’t fair!

  A little while later, Inigo brought her a large breakfast. The food did not comfort her, however, for while she ate she had to watch her only window being nailed up with sturdy boards. Then a dark little man came in and secured her door with a lock.

  After the meal was over and the door shut and locked, Samantha sat staring at the four walls and the boarded window. Only thin slivers of light came through. As the heat in the tiny room increased, her frustration mounted. She felt sticky and grimy, and she was working herself into such an angry state that she could hardly breathe.

  Finally she pounded on the door, screaming that she needed a bath. But no one came. She gave up after hammering at the door on and off for an hour without any response. There being nothing else to do, she lay back down on the bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Chapter 20

  SCREAMING woke her, a woman’s crying and pleading. What were they doing to that poor woman to make her scream and beg like that? Was Hank making her scream?

  The screams finally stopped, but the crying continued. A while later that stopped, too, and all was quiet again—too quiet. Samantha could hear her heart pounding. It was the only sound she heard, a maddening sound. She was putting herself in that woman’s place, imagining all kinds of horrible things. She was finally beginning to see just how dangerous her situation really was.

  At his mercy—his mercy! Samantha squeezed her fists until her nails stung her palms. She hated her fear. She had to conquer it, either conquer it or shame herself. Anger was better. Anger was strong. Anger! She would make herself recall all of her fury.

  “Hank!” Samantha shouted. “Hank, if you’re out there, you damn well better answer me!”

  She shot off the bed and began pounding on the door again, the anger propelling her.

  “Hank!” she called, her voice strong and unwavering.

  Hank sat on the porch steps, listening to the racket Samantha was making. A satisfied grin curled his lips. Let her wonder. Let her stew.

  The sun beat down on his legs, stretched out comfortably on the steps. A light breeze teased his black curls, sending a long lock down into his eyes. He brushed it away as he watched two of his men getting their gear ready to leave. They were returning to their villages, returning to their lives, their mission over with.

  All the men had been paid handsomely from the sale up north of the stolen cattle and horses. He no longer needed so many men. They had served his purpose, this group of peasants and bandits, and he had been lucky to find them so quickly. But he didn’t need them any more. He had all he needed—Kingsley’s daughter.

  His smile deepened as he considered the little hellion inside the house. It just might prove satisfying after all that she had turned out to be Kingsley’s daughter. He had thought about her much too often in the last two months, wanting to get her out of his system but unable to do it. She had haunted him, and his anger had been matched by bewilderment. Why, he had asked himself again and again, did the woman mean so much to him? Why couldn’t he simply forget the vixen? She needed to be punished for what she had done to him, what she was still doing to him.

  He didn’t know what had happened between Samantha and Adrien Allston after he left, but he couldn’t help wondering about that. Did she still love the man? Did she believe what Hank had told her about Adrien? He had thought about it all during that torturous ride to Santa Fe, where he had finally stopped to have the wound in his side attended to. He still had the bullet in his possession. He carried it with him as a harsh reminder to himself never to fall prey to a woman’s deadly charms.

  He had stayed in Santa Fe for two days, getting his strength back after losing so much blood. There he found the white stallion and couldn’t resist buying him. El Rey and his other horse made it possible for him to reach Mexico in record time, and he had felt better then, believing that his luck was returning. Then, meeting Kingsley, Hank had reached a dead end. How that man infuriated him, refusing even to listen to Hank’s story. Hank, raging, left Kingsley and sought out the nearest cantina, losing his rage in a three-day drunken stupor. Coming out of that drunk, he got the idea to force Kingsley into selling the land.

  The scheme surfaced as he was remembering Lorenzo and his parting promise that if Hank ever needed him for anything, he could find him in Chihuahua. Hank had thought, I could use you now, amigo, to help me change someone’s mind. Lorenzo was indebted to Hank for saving his life. It had happened just outside El Paso, where Hank had come upon Lorenzo as he was about to be lynched by four drunken cowboys who claimed he was a cattle rustler. Hank never asked about the accusation. He simply couldn’t see a man being hanged for anything less than murder, especially not a countryman.

  He had risked his life getting Lorenzo away from the four men because they were too drunk to realize the danger of his rifle pointed at them. There was shooting, and he had lost one of his horses, but he and Lorenzo and El Rey managed to get across the border.

  A week later, when Hank located Lorenzo in Chihuahua, his new friend was not opposed to Hank’s idea. He had no great love for gringos—not after four had tried to lynch him—nor did the other men Lorenzo enlisted. Hank and he had to break three men out of jail. Friends of those three joined Lorenzo and Hank, until there were a dozen.

  The plans did not go smoothly.
Kingsley was not easy to intimidate. But when the men learned that he had a daughter, they knew Kingsley could be forced to give in.

  Hank would approach him again, saying he had heard of Kingsley’s troubles and thought perhaps he was ready to reconsider. Kingsley would jump to it. He would sell, leave Mexico, and await the return of his daughter. There was nothing else he could do, not if he wanted her back.

  That would be the end of it. Kingsley would have sold his land to Hank, in Hank’s real name. Samantha might want to return one day to question the new owner about his cousin, but Hank would just have to avoid her. There would be nothing to connect the respectable new owner with the bandit who had kidnapped Samantha Kingsley.

  Kingsley would not be cheated, for Hank intended to pay a fair price for the land. Of course, he would be making his offer based on Patrick McClure’s promises, but he doubted that Kingsley would mind if he had to wait awhile for the money. He would be more concerned about his daughter’s safety.

  It was time he sent word to Pat, to let him know he would need the money quickly. Diego would be the best man to take care of sending a wire. After what had happened just a little while ago between him and his woman, it would be better if Diego left camp for a while. He was too good a shot to let go completely yet. There was still the matter of delivering Samantha to her father, and that would be dangerous if Kingsley had any tricks planned.

  “Hank, you miserable wretch! I know you’re out there. Open this door!”

  He flinched when the pounding suddenly grew louder. What the hell was she using to bang on the door? But he wasn’t quite ready to go to her. She could make all the noise she wanted, no one would respond. Lorenzo was the only one who might protest, and Lorenzo was not there. Hank had sent him back down the mountain to make certain they were not followed, and to cover any signs Samantha might have secretly left behind to show their way.

  Lorenzo wouldn’t be back until the next day. It was just as well. Hank liked Lorenzo. He would hate to see the younger man hurt by Samantha’s duplicity. And he had no doubt that she would try to use him. She would use every weapon at her disposal to get away.

  “Rufino!” Samantha tried, and Hank grinned. Several moments passed before she called out, “Lorenzo!”

  Hank frowned. The pounding became distant then, and he knew it was the window she was banging on. He jumped to his feet angrily.

  Hank unlocked the door and threw it open, startling Samantha. She whirled away from the boarded-up window, holding the boot she had been banging with. She was wearing the other one, and the rest of her clothes, as well, except for the gunbelt, which was still lying over the trunk, useless. Her hair was a tangled mass, and her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were green fire. He stopped, startled.

  Angry, she was magnificent. And the sight of her, dirty, wildly disarrayed, yet still undeniably beautiful, made Hank forget his anger.

  “I think I will take those,” he said mildly, indicating her boots. “I did not have boards put over your windows so you could pound them loose.”

  “You can’t have them.”

  Samantha stepped back, holding the boot possessively against her chest. Even a boot could be a weapon. She wouldn’t give them up.

  “Just where have you been?” she demanded. “I have been calling for you half the day!”

  He shrugged. “I was busy.” Some of the stiffness left her, and he asked courteously, “Did you want something, Sam?”

  “I want a bath.”

  “There is a stream at the end of the village. I will be happy to take you there.”

  Samantha glared. “I want a decent bath, a hot one—here.”

  “What you suggest would involve too much trouble. It would be simpler just to take you to the stream.”

  “I don’t care how much trouble it would be!”

  “Of course not. You would not be the one to carry the tub in here, to tote and heat the water.”

  “You refuse?”

  “Perhaps if you ask for the bath nicely, instead of demanding it,” he offered, “I might consider it.”

  Samantha stood frozen, tight-lipped. Nicely? She would rather throw the boot at him. But she wanted that bath desperately, wanted it badly enough to demean herself this one time.

  She swallowed hard. “Could I have a bath in here—please?”

  “Ah! I knew you could be agreeable as long as you had the right persuasion.” He smiled.

  Samantha waited a moment, holding herself in check. “Well?” she finally asked.

  “You will have your bath—if I can find a tub in this miserable village.”

  He left, locking the door behind him. It was nearly an hour before he returned with a small round tub that looked so old she was sure it would leak. He had the water ready and brought it in. There was only enough to half fill the tub, but he had found her soap and a towel, even a brush and a change of clothes, for which she was grateful, though silently so.

  But he didn’t plan to leave. As nonchalantly as could be, Hank sat down on the bed, leaning back against the wall, obviously prepared to stay.

  “What are you doing?” Samantha demanded.

  “I have never watched a woman bathe before,” he said smoothly. “I think it will be amusing.”

  “Amusing?” she gasped and pointed to the door. “Get out of here!”

  But Hank shook his head, that slow, maddening grin beginning. “I will stay.”

  “Then I won’t bathe,” she said stonily.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Hank bounded off the bed in a single lithe movement and picked up one of the empty buckets he had left on the floor. When he began scooping the water back out of the tub, Samantha caught his arm.

  “Leave it!” she snapped, furious. “You enjoy humiliating me, don’t you?”

  “Sí, gatita. I must admit I do.”

  She turned her back on him, so angry she wanted to scream. Suddenly she began to yank off her clothes, and though she heard him sit down on the bed, she went right on. He hoped to humiliate her, but she just wouldn’t let him. There was no need to remove everything. She would just have to wash herself as best she could with the camisole and bloomers still on. They needed washing anyway. Still keeping her back to Hank, Samantha stepped into the little tub.

  She shrieked as she felt him at her back, his hands at her waist. Before she could stop him, he had pulled the camisole over her head. Covering her breasts, she faced him, screaming her rage. But that left her unguarded, and in the next moment her bloomers were falling down her hips. She swung a fist at Hank, but he caught it and pushed her down into the water.

  “You son of a bitch! How dare—” He bent over, reaching into the water, and she panicked. “No! Don’t you touch me, damn—”

  But Hank only wanted her bloomers, and he tugged them off. Samantha was bright red when he finished undressing her. She had never been so shamed—well, once before, and that had been because of him, too!

  Hank dropped her wet bloomers into the empty bucket and said matter-of-factly, “Bathe properly.” Then he sauntered back to the bed and sat down again.

  He hadn’t touched her. Thank God for that. But she wasn’t going to entertain him, either. She gave him a look of utter contempt, turning her back on him. Scooping up the soap, she began to wash.

  “You are no fun at all, little one.”

  Hank chuckled, and she muttered, “You haven’t a shred of decency in you, Hank Chavez. I used to think you were such a fine gentleman—”

  “And so I can be, when there is a lady present,” he pointed out cruelly.

  “You’re a savage!”

  “You keep calling me names, Sam, and I will be obliged to do the same. I do not think you will like the sting of the names I have for you.”

  She ignored the warning and continued, almost conversationally, “You know, I wanted to see you horsewhipped before I had you shot. I used to dream about seeing you bleed.”

  “You have already made me bleed.”

&n
bsp; “Not enough. You hurt me!” she shouted. “I may have flirted with you, even encouraged you, but those are harmless things, things every woman does. What you did to me was unforgivable.”

  “So you do not forgive me,” he replied coldly. “I will not lose sleep over it.”

  “Perhaps you will, when the bounty hunters start catching up with you. I have wanted posters out on you. Did you know that?”

  “It will not be the first time,” Hank said. He sounded unconcerned, but the fact was that he hadn’t known.

  “You won’t shrug it off so easily after I raise the price, amigo,” she gloated. “I will make the reward for you so tempting that every bounty hunter and gunslinger in the country will be looking for you.”

  Hank’s gray eyes narrowed, focusing on her back. “That is, if you leave here.”

  Samantha tensed. Had she gone too far? Then she recalled the woman screaming earlier, and a chill overtook her.

  “There’s another woman here in this camp, isn’t there?” she began.

  “There are several. Those of my men who had women brought them along.”

  “I heard a woman screaming,” she said hesitantly. “Is she here with one of your men?”

  “Yes,” he said, deciding there was no reason not to tell her.

  “What happened to her?”

  “She was beaten.”

  “But why?”

  “She was unfaithful. The whole camp knew it. She was with another man last night, before Diego returned, and that wasn’t the first time. But Diego did not find the other man’s boots under his bed until today.”

  “Diego? She is his woman?”

  “Was. He has cast her out.”

  “Oh!” Samantha said in disgust. “He beats the poor woman, then he wants nothing more to do with her.”

  “You approve of unfaithfulness?”

  “No, I—I just don’t approve of women being beaten.”

  “Even when they deserve it?”

  She didn’t answer. That argument would get them nowhere. “If he was going to beat her, he shouldn’t have thrown her out. Or vice versa. He should have done one or the other, not both. Is she all right, the woman?”