Lady Outlaws

by Lady outlaws (NCP) (lit)

  “Brandi,” Sara said. “We’re both his ancestors. I’m not sure how that’ll pan out but it’s the reason he’s helping us. And do you know what else it means? Regardless of his success on accumulating frequent flyer miles between time zones, we won’t ever get the option.”

  “Makes my question moot, I suppose,” Brandi said, “But would you leave if you could?”

  Sara glanced down at the loosely sewn dress. “Beautiful,” Maria said, over and over, expressing great pride in her work. “You beautiful wife. You make Romano happy man.”

  “Does that answer your question?” Sara said. “Without Romy, yes, I’d hunt this Professor down, grab him and not let go till he sucked me through that wormhole with him. Not now. I love Romy with all my heart. And there are worse places than 1885 to be in love.”

  Brandi was dumbstruck. Was this the same friend who reluctantly accompanied her on a Western holiday, grumbling about dust and heat as opposed to deck chairs and cocktails?

  “Well?” Sara smiled. “I’d ask you the same question but I suppose the answer’s a given. This must be a dream come true for you.”

  “All except the running. That’s going to change though. After your wedding we’re headed for California. Devon thinks the bounty hunters won’t follow us there.”

  “Has he told Romy?” Sara looked startled at the revelation. “Maybe we should all go together. You heard them last night. There are raids back and forth all the time. This is too close to the border for my comfort.”

  “Up, up,” Maria said, getting Sara to lift her arms. The dress, half stitched, was pulled over her head. Sara made a fuss over how well the project was going. Those who didn’t understand her words certainly understood her expression and blushed gratitude.

  “The letter’s in my bag.” Sara wiggled into her skirt and blouse, leaving the women to finish sewing the perfect wedding dress.

  Brandi followed Sara down the hall to the bedroom assigned to her and Romy. And she felt a little jealous about the ornate room. “This is nice,” she commented as Sara rummaged through the old carpetbag.

  “Here it is.” Sara unfolded the crisp paper and handed it to Brandi.

  “I-am- your g-g grandson.” Those were the capitals. Put together it screamed out from the white page. “He’s telling you he’s your great, great grandson.” Her heart thumped wildly to the message

  “And yet his name is Fault,” Sara added. “What does that tell you?”

  “Somewhere along the lineage our children marry, eventually producing the Professor.”

  Sara nodded. “Bit of a brain buster, isn’t it? How could someone who existed with us be a descendent? I mean, we were nearly a hundred years from now and in actuality by then we’ve been dead for decades. If that’s not a story line for the X-Files, I don’t know what is.”

  “I’d really like to meet this guy,” Brandi said.

  “He’s being very careful that we don’t meet him. There must be a reason for that, too.”

  Brandi folded the letter. Her fingers were trembling again. Sara was the one who seemed brave, resolved to their deepening situation. “You’re handling all this well,” Brandi said aloud.

  “I want to survive,” she said stoically. “Neither of us can afford to wig out. It’ll only make things worse.”

  “Have you told Romy? About us, I mean?”

  “Duh. Like that would help.”

  “Oh, Sara. What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to be strong, and we’re going to live our lives with the men we love, so fate can run its course, like it seems bent on doing. That’s all we can do.”

  “Do you think it’ll be that simple?” Brandi asked.

  “No. Not in the least. But we’re going to give it a damn good try.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  Sara was again rummaging through her bag. Exasperated, she flipped it so that the treasured contents scattered over the surface of the bed. Makeup, toiletries, the only items they had to remind them of where and when they came from. “My camera,” she said, annoyed. “It’s missing.”

  Brandi laughed at the concern. “So? Not like the corner drug store has the facilities to develop the film anyway.”

  “That’s not the point. Someone must have taken it.”

  Brandi shrugged. With all the odd occurrences that were happening to them a missing camera seemed trivial. Funny how little things could trigger a deeper dread.

  “I don’t think in the great scheme of things a missing camera is going to make a blind bit of difference.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Sara said. “Once upon a time I had hoped when I got married that I’d have an album of pictures to thumb through. Who’d have thought this would happen, eh?”

  “Who indeed.”

  * * * *

  It seemed as though the whole village turned up for the wedding. Brandi and Devon sat together in a place of honor at the front. She glanced over her shoulder often to see the many friends arrive to show support and respect, to say nothing of curiosity, and although it was standing room only, there was a hush within the walls of this sacred place. Antonio stood with Romy at the altar, the two of them dressed in shimmering black clothes; both wore red sashes around their hips. Antonio sported a jeweled sword, a sign of power and wealth. He was their padrino, or sponsor, holding the gifts, a delicate rosary and several gold coins, to be presented as part of the ceremony. It was a proud moment for both of them. They stood tall and straight, cutting two very dashing figures.

  Maria escorted the bride, the dress a thing of beauty, white cotton, yards of lace, and perfectly fitted. A murmur of awe erupted as Sara strolled towards her groom carrying a massive bouquet of flowers. Romy’s face flushed as he drank in the vision of her. Even Devon gaped, taking Brandi’s hand as the ceremony began.

  It all seemed very serious: the priest bowing and praying, chanting his blessings in Latin. Brandi stifled a smirk. Sara didn’t have to worry about not understanding. These peasants wouldn’t understand either, it was all merely a ritual. When Antonio passed coins to Romano, Sara’s brow wrinkled with curiosity. Romy gave them to the priest. Brandi’s first assumption that it was a payment for services was sorely mistaken. The priest chanted a blessing over the coins and passed them back to Romy. He turned and muttered to Sara, in English, for she nodded, following the direction to cup each hand. Romy poured the coins into her hands and placed the small container on top. It was a symbol of total dedication, just as the white ribbon wrapped around their necks symbolized union.

  Brandi sniffed back a sob, resting her cheek on Devon’s arm. “This is so romantic,” she sighed.

  Devon kept whatever emotion he might have been feeling well under wraps. He sat straight and still, his expression rarely changing, but at least, Brandi mused, he wasn’t tense from the strain of worry. This was a day all their lives had changed. Hopefully for the better.

  The reception was held outside. Banquet tables were covered with spiced foods, exotic fruits, cakes and cookies. Liquor flowed. The children squealed with delight as each made an attempt to knock open a heart shaped piñata that had been strung from a long branch of a tree. Coincidently it was Rosa, Romy’s daughter, who cracked into freedom the sweets hidden inside while a swarm of tiny fingers groped for the treasures.

  Antonio made an eloquent speech, raising a glass to the bride and groom. Sara and Brandi exchanged smiles. Neither could understand the rapid flow of Spanish. The many guests, however, cheered, and Romy kissed his new wife often. Finally he unraveled his end of the white ribbon from his neck, securing it completely round hers.

  An armed guard was leading a decorated Taboo through the celebrating crowd. The horse was to take them to an undisclosed location for their honeymoon. And it took no imagination to guess at a few lewd suggestions between men as to how that would proceed. The jokes were received in the good nature in which they were meant.

  Brandi stole a few moments with Sara before she was to leave. �
��I guess my choice of holidays worked out well after all,” she whispered. “This would never have come about on a cruise ship.”

  “Well, we’ll never know, will we?” Sara said with only a hint of her former cynicism. She was far too happy to let anything ruin her mood.

  “How long is this honeymoon going to last?” Brandi teased with a wide grin.

  “Forever, I hope.”

  “Have fun.” Brandi gave her friend a tight hug. “See you when you get back.”

  “Don’t leave for California without us,” Sara warned. Romy helped her to get up onto the horse’s blanketed back, springing with ease behind her. As flowers and red beads were tossed at the departing couple, Brandi felt her heart break with delight. Lost within the well-wishing crowd she finally let the tears roll down her cheeks.

  * * * *

  “Oh, Romy. This is beautiful.”

  The cottage, situated between the village and Antonio’s compound, was only one room. Yet it contained everything they could possibly need and more. Food and wine on the table, chairs draped with a change of clothes for both of them, and vases of flowers in each corner had filled the room with a perfume that smelled divine. And the bed! Great care had been taken in draping lengths of lace over and around the four posts, forming a white canopy curtain. Candles had been lit on the shelves on each side. They flickered in the puff of dry air from the open window; shimmering surreal light glowed over the embroidered sheets within. A cloud for an angel wouldn’t have been more striking.

  “Maria,” Romy said. “She forgets nothing.”

  “You have a wonderful family,” Sara sighed, drifting through the room. She poured them each a glass of red wine, and turned to see her husband staring at her from the doorway.

  “Your family, now,” he said, eyes brimming with happiness.

  “Aren’t you coming inside?” Sara held out the glass for him, coaxing him to draw close.

  He did. Taking the glass from her hand he placed it back on the table without drinking. “I have much to thank you for.”

  Sara cupped his jaw with her palm and his lids fluttered closed, slow motion to the caress. He shivered and drew a deep breath, voluptuous lips parting to exhale.

  “What is it?” she asked, her voice lowering in response to the sultry sensation. Something was on his mind. He seemed troubled.

  “I have been married ... before.” Huge brown eyes drifted across her face.

  “I gathered that,” she said.

  “You’re not angry?”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she scolded.

  He heaved relief. “It’s just I didn’t talk to you ... about Rosa.”

  The success of their evening depended suddenly on this conversation getting out of the way. “She’s a very pretty little girl.”

  Romy grinned with pride. “Si. She is. Her mother was very pretty, too. She died giving birth to Rosa.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Sara consoled.

  Romy took the glass from the table and drank most of the red wine in one gulp. A sound, uttered in anguish, escaped from his throat. “I was younger then,” he went on. “I did not react so good.”

  “What happened?” Sara picked up her glass, sipping while Romy exorcised the one demon that gripped his heart.

  “I drank and I fought. I showed no honor.” He bowed his head in shame, long black hair flowing over his chest. “Then I left. If not for Devon I might have been lost.”

  “Friends are like that,” Sara said warmly. “They’re nice to have around.”

  “Si, they are. A wife is nice to have, too.” His gaze dropped down her body. “Very nice.”

  The gaze lingered. Sara wondered if there was more he wanted to say. When silence followed she reached for his hand and placed it gently on her breast. “I love you, Romano.”

  His chest swelled. “Sara,” he whispered, folding her into his embrace. “My beautiful little rabbit. You will never need to run again.” Lips sprinkled wet kisses over her throat. Tipping her chin the kisses dropped, while fingers loosened the thin strings of the bodice. The gentle prelude was welcoming, even though she yearned for the sensation of his hard muscles against her flesh. That would follow. They had all night.

  Letting her arms fall to each side, she submitted to his unwrapping. He focused solely on his hands, manipulating string and buttons, tugging the material from her shoulders. A sensual delight glazed over his dark eyes once she was exposed; he peered at her naked breasts, taking a step back while shrugging from his shirt. The sash that adorned his waist unwound, and he draped it over her shoulder and neck. Silk. It was soft, and cool, and the feel of it on her skin induced the fine hairs on her body to erupt to attention. A half smile touched his mouth.

  Sara wiggled from her dress that was caught on one hip. Underneath the pillow of material she slipped from the tight shoes. Freedom. All she wore was the slinky sash, which betrayed a shiver of excitement that cascaded down her torso. Romano, frozen before her, didn’t move until she whispered his name. Then his eyes snapped up. The glaze was gone. A wild fierceness was its replacement.

  As though she were as weightless as the soft hue filling the room, he carried her to their bed. The curtains flowed, parting with ease as he lowered her onto the blanket. He paused, crouched over her, his black hair tickling her cheek as a small shiver erupted from the strain of holding back. Seconds ticked away while he drank in every contour of her face. She ran her forefinger over the swarthy skin, reflecting the smile that expressed the love that overflowed from within. Then he lowered, an inch at a time, lips parting, baptizing her mouth with a deep, fulfilling kiss.

  Heat. Hair. The heavy scent of his flesh. His forearms tensed as his whole body flowed over her. She writhed beneath the supremacy, not to escape, but to encourage. The kiss grew hungry, the sash twisted round his wrist, the only material connection between them. A palm burned into the curve of her breast, followed by a tongue that found the nipple. A feral groan told her he was pleased and she sighed in return, the only way she knew how to express she, too, was bathed in pleasure.

  Arms kept her pinned to the bed, wide muscle flexed through each shoulder as Romy ran wet streaks from a flickering tongue across her stomach. Sara groped the wrist that clung to the ball of her shoulder, tightening her clasp around the bone. Their fingers entwined, the sash damp. Arching her spine was automatic.

  He stroked, lightly, his fingers dancing. So intense the waves of euphoria she tipped her cheek to push her lips against his hand that held the silk. They had been intimate before, made love to each other with sincere devotion, but this! The newness was explosive. It was as though she had never been touched, had never been kissed. And when she gazed down the length of her body to watch her lover, he lifted his eyes with a sultry wickedness.

  He was teasing her and taking too much delight in doing so. Methods of revenge were lost within a mind soaked with lust. Damn him! He knew. He smiled, reading her expression. All she could do was snarl. It had the distinct sound of a whimper.

  When he pulled completely away from her flesh she was too startled, too consumed, too wanting to lay docile.

  Like a wild, lithe cat he stretched full length on the bed. Their right hands held fast. She barely noticed his clasping fingers, like a steady heart beat. The silk necklace unraveled as she rolled, squashing her breasts into his thrashing chest. This was the time she could evoke revenge for his sexual taunts, but the sight of the long, hardened body, waiting and wanting, was making her too drunk to think. Instinct prevailed. If she was to call out for mercy then so was he.

  He understood. Their gaze locked and the swallowed hard. No smiles now. “Make love to me,” he pleaded, his voice thick.

  Straddling his groin she lowered, taking a sadistic glee in a contortion that twisted his lips. “Oh,” he moaned, driving up to hasten their union. So immediate was his thrust she no longer needed to tease. A flush had risen throughout her body and she felt dizzy, flopping slightly, bracing the heels of each hand on the bed�
��s surface.

  His subservient pose didn’t last long. With a mighty heave he leaned up, his jaw working furiously, mouth washing her chin and lips, a purr of steady moans vibrating into their tightly gripped bodies. She danced into him, waves of sheer ecstasy culminating from the attempt to push farther, harder. When she inhaled she took in the perfume of his hair and the sweat that was glistening on the surface of his flesh.

  “I love you,” he muttered as his mouth furiously continued to reach every spot on her chin and neck. His English was mixed with Spanish, the tone soft and promising as he encouraged the dance into his body. “My wife,” he sighed. “My beautiful wife.” Arms clenched against her now moist sides.

  Aching to answer his gentle coos her lips parted to speak, but the culmination of their lovemaking was too near. She gripped tightly and cried out with the pleasure. When she finally forced heavy lids to open, she saw he was watching her expression, feeding on the bliss she had found within his arms.

  He twisted, throwing her weakened form to the bed, without breaking the intimate contact, and found release. The hard body stiffened, the mass of silken hair shivered as an unashamed cry of pleasure filled the room. And as he, too, weakened, and lay quietly over her body, she cradled him, finally finding the voice that previously failed. “I love you, too, Romano,” she whispered, strumming the tips of her fingers over his wet shoulders.

  Twilight slowly covered the world outside, gently silhouetting the room with tiny shadows from the flickering candles. An intense peacefulness overflowed in her heart. This was a perfect beginning to their life together.

  Chapter Eight

  Brandi steered Devon up the steps, her arm round a body that alcohol had rendered rubber. She was tired and a little drunk herself, so the skill she exhibited in maneuvering his lumbering frame might just have won her a place with Cirque de Soleil.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” she said. “One more step. We’re almost inside.”

  He took the step, tipped to one side, and stumbled, falling flat on his back. For a moment he just lay there. Brandi was convinced he had finally passed out. If he had, however, she’d have to recruit some ranch hands to help carry the dead weight to the bedroom, but he rolled onto his side and laughed.