Heart of Thunder

by Johanna Lindsey

  “She will mend.”

  His casual answer raised Samantha’s ire. “You have no pity, do you? I suppose you didn’t even try to stop Diego?”

  “I did not interfere, no,” he answered honestly. “I would have done the same thing.”

  “And to think you asked me to be your woman. You would have beaten me, too, wouldn’t you?”

  “Most certainly,” he replied coldly. “Your eyes follow any man.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “No?” he asked innocently. “Then you are still faithful to Adrien?”

  “You bastard!” Samantha hissed. “You had to say that, didn’t you?”

  Hank chuckled.

  She stopped talking and concentrated on her bath. Washing her hair in the confining space was nearly impossible, but she finally managed to scoop water onto her head with cupped hands. Angrily, she lathered in the soap.

  Samantha didn’t hear Hank come up behind her again. All at once the full bucket of cold water splashed down on her head, and she gasped and sputtered, enraged, but his cold voice stopped her from saying anything.

  “Get out, Sam,” he ordered. “You have been in there long enough. It is nearly dinner time, and I think you will prepare it.”

  He walked out of the room, leaving the door open, and Samantha sighed with relief. She had intended to stay in the tub until she got some privacy.

  She left the tub immediately and, after dressing in the clean, low-cut peasant blouse and full cotton skirt that Hank had provided, she quickly scrubbed her underclothes and blouse, then cleaned the leather vest and skirt with the towel. She left the room, carrying the wet clothing over her arm.

  “Can I hang these on the porch to dry without their being stolen in the night?”

  Hank was sitting at the rough table near the fireplace, a glass in his hand. “You can hang them on the porch as long as you go no farther than that.”

  The front door was open, and she stepped onto the shaded porch. There wasn’t a thing on it, not a plant, not a chair. The room she had just stepped out of was nearly as bare, with only the table and four chairs, a saddle in a corner, and a bedroll next to it. Open cupboards ran above a long counter by the fireplace. They held a few dishes and pans and some food, but there was no stove.

  Samantha laid her clothes over the railing. The sun had disappeared below the high cliff behind the houses, but it was still light outside. She tried to see what lay at the other end of the narrow valley, but another house blocked her view.

  A man crossed in front of the house, and Samantha quickly went back inside to escape his curious gaze. But, inside, Hank’s eyes followed her, and she began to feel self-conscious in the loose, flowing clothes. The white blouse was much too low, falling just above the curves of her pointed breasts, and the green sash she had tied around her waist only served to emphasize her breasts. The skirt was too short.

  “I’ll help you empty that tub now, if you’re ready?” Samantha offered.

  “It can wait.”

  She turned toward the cupboards. “What is it you want for supper?”

  “There are some beans you can refry, and one of your father’s plump chickens ready to roast. There will be more supplies coming in a few days, but we are low now.”

  Samantha tensed, but she did not say anything about the stolen chickens. It wouldn’t serve anything to argue with him about his thievery.

  After a while, Hank got up and emptied the tub. Samantha didn’t offer to help, as she had her hands full. After she had put the food on the table, Hank produced a bottle of wine, pouring them each a glass.

  When they were almost finished eating, Samantha finally asked, “Why hasn’t Lorenzo come by to see me today?”

  “He is gone.”

  “Gone?” Her voice held dismay. “You mean he left? Why?”

  “You give yourself away with so much concern,” Hank said drily. “Is he to be your next conquest?”

  “I’m not looking for a conquest,” she retorted. “But if I were, I would certainly prefer Lorenzo to you. Where did he go?”

  “He will be back, but I do not think I will let you see him.”

  “You intend to keep me locked up in here with only your company, then?”

  “You grow bored with my company already,” he chided her. “When I am enjoying the thought of having a woman in my house—even you.”

  “Just don’t get any ideas, Hank,” Samantha warned him. “I don’t mind cooking for you, but that’s all I intend to do.”

  “We shall see, niña.”

  “I mean it,” she said flatly, refusing to be drawn into an argument.

  He grinned. “You know, you are beautiful when your eyes flash like that,” he said softly, his grin devilish. “And you have the body of an angel. I wonder how long I can withstand the temptation you present.”

  Samantha rose from the table and walked stiffly to her room, slamming the door shut without another word. Hank’s brow creased in a thoughtful frown. He had said those last words in Spanish, for no particular reason beyond his own amusement. Yet she reacted as if she had understood completely. Was it possible? Had she only pretended, before, that she didn’t know Spanish?

  Hank sat there thinking, long into the night. The bottle of wine was empty when, finally, he rose and, after locking Samantha’s door, bedded down on his cold floor and slept.

  Chapter 21

  HANK didn’t allow anyone near Samantha for two days, and Samantha spent those days in an agony of wariness, wondering what he would do next. She hadn’t known that she still tempted him. Appalled by his admission, she pinned her hair up in a severe knot and wore her own old clothes, without tucking in the blouse or wearing a belt. She meant to look as dowdy as she could, but she knew her efforts were failing when Hank continued to watch her, his gaze much too admiring. And he continued to lord it over her, reminding her that she was at his mercy.

  So she should have been thrilled when he informed her on their fourth night together that he was leaving the next morning. She should have been delighted—but, for some reason, she was alarmed.

  “Why? Where are you going?” she demanded. “How long will you be gone?”

  Hank laughed heartily. “You sound as if you will miss me, querida.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped, getting hold of herself. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “Now you disappoint me. I had hoped you had come to enjoy my company.”

  Her chin jutted upward. “Stop teasing and tell me where you are going.”

  “You demand answers,” he sighed, shaking his head. “When will you learn to ask nicely? The lesson with the bath was not enough?”

  Samantha clenched her fists. “Oh, I hate you when you get like this!”

  “And here I thought you hated me all the time.” He chuckled, his eyes dancing, enjoying her rage.

  “To hell with you!” she shouted in uncontrolled fury. “Don’t tell me, then. I don’t care anyway. I only hope you never come back!” She stormed into her room, slamming the door.

  But she didn’t sleep well that night. Why was he leaving? It made her uneasy. She hated not knowing what was going on.

  That next morning, Hank came in to tell her good-bye. He hadn’t meant to, had intended just to go. But something drew him. A last look? He shrugged it off.

  She was standing by the window. Sunlight filtering in through the cracks in the boards touched her hair with red fire. She was lovely. Even dressed in silk she wouldn’t have appeared more beautiful.

  She turned, slowly, and faced him.

  “You’re leaving now?” she asked lightly.

  “Yes.”

  He waited, but she wasn’t going to ask questions again. But he no longer wanted her to worry, and he knew how stubborn she could be.

  “I should be back in a week,” he explained. “There is an old man here, Inigo’s grandfather, who will look after you while I am gone.”

  “How thoughtful,” s
he murmured.

  “Do I hear bitterness? Perhaps you will miss me…just a little? After all, without me, who will you fight with?”

  “Why can’t Lorenzo stay with me?” she demanded.

  Hank came a few steps toward her. “You would like that, eh? Then you would have a whole week to work on him, to get him to help you?”

  “Don’t you trust him?”

  “It is you I do not trust, Sam,” he said quite seriously. “And do not look for Lorenzo to visit you while I am gone. He is coming with me.”

  “Fine! Leave me with strangers. I don’t care,” she snapped. “When can I leave this place?”

  “That depends on your father. I go now to see if he is following my instructions.”

  Her heart stopped. She had known this was coming.

  “Then you’re going near my home?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Yes.”

  “Could you find out how Ramón is?”

  “Ramón Baroja?”

  “Do—do you know him?” She was surprised.

  “I knew him when he was little. Through my cousin, of course,” Hank added in an offhanded manner. “Why the concern for Ramón?”

  “He was with me that day. Diego shot him. Didn’t they tell you?”

  “They said a man was wounded when he tried to draw on them. That was Ramón?”

  “Yes. I must know if he is all right.”

  “What is he to you?”

  “If you know him, then you know he’s my neighbor. We grew up together. He is a very close friend.”

  Hank’s eyes narrowed. “No man can be just a friend, not to you, Sam.”

  Samantha gazed down at the floor, unwilling to meet his eyes. “Will you find out about Ramón?”

  “It would be too much risk,” he replied tightly.

  His callousness infuriated her. “I’m only asking you to do this one thing for me. It was your man who shot him. He could be dead. I must know.”

  “Very well. But in return, I want your word that you will not try to escape while I am gone.”

  “I…”

  She couldn’t possibly make that promise. Hank added, “I can have you locked in your room at all times if you prefer.”

  “All right!” she cried, her eyes glittering. “I give you my word.”

  He nodded. “Then I bid you adiós, Samina.”

  And without warning, he caught her in his arms and kissed her fervently. It was what Samantha had dreaded. She remembered so clearly the effect Hank’s kisses had on her, the way she lost herself to the power of the man. She had been afraid it might happen again, and it was happening. She didn’t even try to push him away. She just melted, letting him hold her.

  After a long time, and with great effort, Hank released her. How pleased she would be to know the torture it was to let her go!

  He said huskily in Spanish, “That was so you will know what to expect when I return.”

  As he left the room, he was grinning. He had seen the comprehension in her eyes, and he was certain that she understood Spanish very well. Why not? She had lived in Mexico long enough to learn the language. He was on to her now, and there were ways he could use what he knew. Yes…there were ways.

  Chapter 22

  “MR.…Chavez, isn’t it?” Hamilton Kingsley asked, shaking Hank’s hand and motioning him to a seat in the living room.

  “You are correct, señor. I was not sure you would remember me.”

  “It hasn’t been all that long since you came to see me before, though that meeting was brief and a lot has happened since we met.”

  Hank took in the man’s haggard, almost defeated look. Hamilton Kingsley was not the confident, arrogant rancher he had met before. The ordeals of the last weeks, the worrying over his daughter, those things had taken their toll. Yet he was a strong man and would probably need only his daughter’s safe return to restore his vigor. Hank firmly buried the twinge of conscience that had surfaced.

  “I certainly didn’t expect to see you again, Mr. Chavez,” Kingsley was saying, smiling drily. “You were rather, er, upset, when we met before.”

  “Disappointed,” Hank corrected smoothly.

  “Yes, well, I hope there are no hard feelings?” Hamilton asked. “You can’t blame a man for refusing to part with something of such value.”

  Hank frowned. “You have a great love for this land?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve always been a nomad. I’ve lived all over the States and in Europe. I can take a place or easily leave it, I’m just that way.”

  Hank’s frown deepened. They had not gone into this before. Hank had made his offer and had been flatly refused. Kingsley had given only the explanation that the land was priceless to him. But now he was saying that it didn’t really matter very much.

  “Why, then, did you refuse to sell it to me at a substantial profit?” Hank demanded harshly. So the land didn’t matter to Kingsley? Well, it mattered to Hank.

  “Here now, we’re not going to have another argument, are we? I must say, Mr. Chavez, you should learn to leave emotion out of your business transactions. I have invited you into my house for the second time when the first time proved distasteful. I hope you won’t make me regret my hospitality.”

  Hank was duly contrite. “I am sorry, señor. I am not known for a quick temper. If anything, I roll with the punches, as you americanos say.”

  Kingsley laughed. “You could have fooled me.”

  Hank grimaced. “It is just that this matter is so important to me.”

  “I gathered that.”

  “And you say this land means nothing to you,” Hank pointed out. “I don’t—”

  “Hold on now,” Kingsley interrupted. “I didn’t say that at all. This place is priceless to me because it represents permanency to my daughter. I never settled down until she came to me. But I brought her here to live, so this place is her home. She’s the one who loves it here.”

  “I was not aware that you had a daughter.”

  “She wasn’t here when you came before. She isn’t…”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Hank knew exactly what Samantha’s father couldn’t bring himself to say—that she wasn’t there, and why. The love he had counted on was there. The man would do anything for his daughter.

  “You speak as if she did not always live with you,” Hank said, trying to keep the conversation light.

  “Ellen, her mother, took her away from me when she was just a baby. I won’t go into that. I didn’t see my daughter again until she was nine. I brought her here the year after I finally got her away from her grandparents.”

  “Her mother?”

  “Died soon after she left me.”

  “I am sorry. I know what it is like to grow up without a mother. Mine died at my birth. My grandmother took her place, but it was not the same.”

  “I hope she was a sight nicer than Samantha’s grandmother. That old woman was a bitch.”

  Hank laughed. “My abuela was a kind woman, if a little forgetful and testy in her old age. She died here in this house.”

  “Good Lord!” Kingsley gasped. “You didn’t tell me your family had lived here!”

  “You did not give me a chance to,” Hank reminded him. “I am afraid we both lost our tempers before.”

  Kingsley looked quite uncomfortable. “Yes, well, I can see now why you want this place so much. But I hope you understand now why I won’t sell it.”

  Hank tensed. “You have not asked why I came to see you again,” he said.

  Kingsley smiled. “I’m sure this is not just a social call.”

  “I will be frank and admit I had hoped to take advantage of your misfortune,” Hank returned in a grave tone. “You see, I have heard of the trouble you are having with bandidos. You seem to be the only one in this area whom they are harassing.”

  “Harassing no longer describes it, Mr. Chavez.” Kingsley’s voice rose. “The bastards have kidnapped my daughter!”

  Hank managed to look shocked. “Dios
! I was not aware of this, señor. You must be mad with worry.”

  “Worried sick one minute, furious the next. I’ve never wanted to kill anyone so much in my life as I do this El Carnicero, the leader. And so help me, I will do more than that if he dares hurt my little girl!”

  “But how did they manage to take her? Surely she was always with an escort?”

  “Yes, she was heavily escorted, but a lot of good it did when she got it into her mind to race ahead of them,” Kingsley said angrily. “She’s just too damn hardheaded. She knew the danger, yet she still challenged Ramón to race.”

  “Ramón?”

  “Baroja, a neighbor. Possibly my future son-in-law,” Kingsley explained. “The two of them raced away from Samantha’s escort and were taken by surprise.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Hank asked tightly.

  So! Ramón Baroja was a possibility for son-in-law? Samantha had lied to him, then, calling him a childhood friend. What else had she lied about?

  “Ramón was shot, but he’s recovering. The poor boy is devastated though, blaming himself.”

  “As well he should, if he was foolish enough to let your daughter leave her escort.” Hank remembered Ramón Baroja well. He had never been a child to take responsibility seriously.

  Kingsley frowned. “Yes, well, you don’t know my daughter. I’ve never been able to control her, so I can’t blame Ramón for being unable to.”

  “Forgive me, Señor Kingsley,” Hank said quickly. “I did not mean to judge. I sympathize with you. I cannot imagine what you must be going through. It must be agony. I pray these bandidos will not harm the girl. They probably want the ransom and nothing more.”

  “They don’t want money,” Kingsley said brusquely. “I wish they did! These scum demand I leave Mexico! Can you believe it?”

  “I have heard of such things before,” Hank replied smoothly. “Perhaps you have angered this bandido in some way?”

  “I’ve never met him!”

  “Then why?”

  “They say he hates gringos, but thousands of us have settled in this land. It makes no sense that he should single me out, unless it’s my land he wants. We’re ideally located here, near the border.”