Savage Enchantment

by Parris Afton Bonds

  But when her valise had been loaded into the boot of Simon's private coach and she was alone with the ranchero, she could only hiss her disgust. "How dare you presume! Su novia! I'd rather be in a nunnery than engaged to you!"

  Simon chuckled, lighting up the thin cigar, glad that the Tempest had brought him a new supply. The Virginian tabacco outranked the flaky, black Mexican tobacco any day. He exhaled slowly, savoring its flavor, before replying.

  "You're not exactly levelheaded, are you, Miss Summers? Seems to me someone as badly in need of emplyment as you appear to be should have a more biddable nature." He smiled. "More like a docile mare, ma'am, than a spirited filly."

  Kathleen bristled. "You aren't so levelheaded yourself, Señor Reyes!"

  The slashed brow raised questioningly, giving him a savage look.

  "Who will you find to replace me as tutor for your Indians?" she explained.

  Simon frowned. Damn, what was wrong with him? ... kissing the little minx like he hadn't seen a woman in a month. He should've known better than to drink all night at La Palacia. Of course, he might blame the last few nights' state of intoxication on the strain and tension of recent days -- in addition to the little sleep he had had. Gemma had been acting like a woman possessed, demanding more, until he had left her in the early hours of the morning, finally satiated.

  There was a dull throbbing at his temples, no doubt made worse by the tangle with the bespectacled woman who sat across from him. One brown hand came up to gingerly rpbe the fresh marks scraped along one cheekbone. A hellcat, she was. Well, he certainly asked for the mess she got herself in. Now, what in God's name would he do with her?

  Across from him, Kathleen saw the finely chisled lips curve in a smile that did not match the cold harshness of the green eyes; green like she had never seen before -- green like the odd vegetation that dotted either side of El Camino Real. "Chollo cactus," Father Marcos had called the spiny plant.

  "I don't like getting something other than what I paid for, ma'am -- and I did pay for your passage out here. However, as you've so cleverly pointed out, I'm now without a tutor -- and, for some insane reason, you want the post. You'll therefore work out your passage fare for me ... until another tutor can be brought out. And I expect you to obey me just like my other employees do, or --" He shrugged.

  "Or what, Señor Reyes?"

  "I've never had to threaten my employees, ma'am. They're smart enough to know my word is law at del Bravo. I hope you're just as smart."

  For one wild moment Kathleen repented her precipitous action in exchanging places with Robert. Yet she was free of her father's authority and Edmund's narcissism. And she had survived that hideous night at La Palacia. Surely she could survive anything now. At least she would have a roof over her head and food in her stomach. She only needed to endure the ranchero's autocratic demeanor for a half year. Six months was little time to wait.

  "I understand you perfectly," she replied at last. She turned away to gaze out the window, determined to say nothing as the coach hurtled on its way south toward the next mission, a day's journey away.

  Sometimes, as the coach rounded a hairpin curve, it seemed to Kathleen that the wheels were only a breath away from a headlong fall to the sea-swept rocks below. And when the coach swayed precariously, she would have to catch the window sash to keep from tumbling into the arms of the man across from her. But the rough ride seemed not to bother him in the least.

  He stretched out his legs on the seat opposite, so that beneath the calzoneras -- the fitted trousers that flared out when unbuttoned to lend themselves to riding -- brown leather boots rested indolently on the plush seat of the Concord-made coach, only inches from her.

  Kathleen pretended to watch the rolling breakers of the Pacific, which, as the coach descended once again to the shoreline, rolled up almost to the edge of the King's Highway. But occasionally her eyes slid over to the arrogant man dozing across from her.

  There was something about him ... but then, it was really difficult to say what, to judge him with the flat-brimmed, tow-crowned hat pulled low over his closed eyes. Except that he was younger than she had at first supposed -- perhaps nearer thirty. And there was an aura of danger about him -- confirmed by the flintlock pistol thrust into the waist of the pants, gleaming as diabolically in the dimness of the coach as had his green-flecked eyes gleamed in the dimness of the abbot's study.

  The long eyes opened at that moment, catching Kathleen's gaze on him. Instantly she looked away toward the coastal mountains that lay along the shoreline like some sleeping giant, dark and formidable-looking, as was the man across from her. Vexed, she bit her lower lip. It would be insufferable for the man to believe mistakenly that he interested her!

  "I suppose you can ride a horse?" he asked, in a half-lazy drawl.

  "Of course!" she snapped. She could also tell him that she had been told she had an excellent seat by her riding instructor, the best in Boston. Everything had been the best -- for she had been a marketable commodity. Her father had been grooming her to take her place in society as Edmund's wife for nearly fourteen years. Fourteen years of suffering Edmund's malignant glances and soft hands.

  "Good. Since you were foolish enough to want the post offered to a man, I'm sure you won't mind if we skip the night's rest in San Buenaventura. We'll leave my coach at the rancho station there and ride on to del Bravo. I can't afford to be away too long."

  "That would suit me perfectly. Spending the night in the same room with you would be the last thing I want."

  She saw the reckless slant of his lips and could have bitten her tongue.

  "Oh?" he drawled. "I had the distinct impression, Miss Summers, you somehow enjoyed my presence back there at Santa Barbara."

  Kathleen's purple eyes were as frosty as chilled grapes. "You're detestable! You're-your're no gentleman!"

  His own eyes hardened, and he said, "I never did claim to be one, if I remember rightly. And you're making a mistake, ma'am, if you try to play the lady with me. Do you deny that you're running away from a lover? That you've hardly docked and your name's already the scandal of Santa Barbara?"

  Oh, dear God, why had she ever told those two busybodies such a tale? She had only meant to shock them with the story that she was a politician's mistress -- to keep the old maids from prying further. But now that she was confronted by the lie, she'd choke to death on it before she'd deny it. Let him think the worst of her!

  "I find this conversation tedious," she said, turning back again to the window and fixing her attention on the seagulls crying stridently overhead.

  Simon exhaled the smoke of the cheroot, so that the smoke drifted in a mystical haze between them. "I admire your aplomb, ma'am. I just hope your performance as a tutor is as good."

  Kathleen's gaze flickered to the green eyes that studied her. There was no mistaking his meaning. The ranchero would dismiss her without a qualm, should she not prove herself.

  If she didn't succeed there, could she truly bear the life she would face should she be forced to return to her father ... the revulsive pawing of a perverted husband ... or worse, if she refused to marry Edmund, the fate her mother had suffered ... to spend the rest of her days shut away in solitary confinement?

  The vision of her mother, the last time she had been permitted to see her, rose like a specter before Kathleen's eyes. The vacant stare from eyes like marbles -- eyes that had once been full of gentleness. The saliva that dribbled from lips that once must have been soft and passionate ... passionate enough to welcome a Spanish lover as a buffer against the cold, calculated cruelty of her husband.

  Involuntarily, Kathleen shivered. "You'll find me quite capable, señor," she replied mechanically.

  Simon frowned, his dark brows drawing together to meet in a straight line above the high bridge of his nose. Damn it! Why should he be disappointed that she hadn't risen to his bait? What had he been expecting, anyway? Certainly not that distant aloofness following on the heels of her fiery outburst. H
e should never have agreed to hire her.

  No matter ... she'd be on her way with the arrival of the next tutor.

  Chapter 7

  She could not help but be piqued by Simon Reyes's indifference to her. It was a great contrast to the young men who had courted her in Boston with whispered words of adoration and confessions that they would surely die of heartbreak should she not accept their proposals.

  Of course, Kathleen was shrewd enough to know that the courtships were not for herself alone. Her father's wealth and political power were added incentives. But that part of her life had ended the year before, with Edmund Woodsworth's formal request for her hand. And if she did not want Edmund to take possession of her as he lasciviously had her father, then she would have to consign herself to whatever way Simon Reyes chose to deal with her in the interim.

  Simon napped the rest of the afternoon, his arms crossed and his chin resting on his chest. But Kathleen found the journey too exciting, if not jolting, for sleep. El Camino Real was packed with travelers: couriers carrying mail; padres with pack mules, poking along beneath their burdens; heavy wooden-wheeled carretas carrying hides, "leather dollars," for illegal trade with foreign vessels.

  But by the time the sun, red like a hot coal, hovered just above the sea, and billious black clouds, foretelling of a seasonal storm, climbed steadily on the eastern horizon, Kathleen earnestly wished she could take back her retort about not sleeping in the same room with Simon -- and every other traveler wo elected to stay the night.

  Her stomach growled embarrassingly with hunger, and she ached between her shoulder blades and on the seat of her buttocks. The thought of a bed, even if it were the way station's customary tabletop, seemed more precious to her than water to a bedouin. Nothing could seem worse than the prospect of mounting a horse and riding throughout the long night.

  At last the coach rolled into the dusty pueblo of San Buenaventura, which was little more than a motley collection of mud-brick huts and the now-abandoned mission, its wooden-belled tower inhabited by a multitude of pigeons and swallows.

  Like an excited child, Kathleen leaned her head out the coach's window as the whip drew the team of six horses to a halt outside the small adobe rancho station. On either side of the rancho's splintered wooden door were hung lanterns, already lit against the rapidly descending darkness, their pools of light roaming over the hard-baked earth with each gust of wind.

  When the postillion opened the door, Kathleen turned to awaken Simon and found his steady gaze once more on her. Was he puzzled by her, or amused -- or something else? she wondered, turning away quickly to descend from the coach.

  Inside, the main room was hazy with smoke, and the only light came from two or three wax candles that sputtered in their wall fixtures. To one side a tin basin rested on a bench where the travelers could wash up. Eagerly Kathleen reached for the tallow soap in the side dish.

  "Careful," Simon warned, beside her. "The soap'll curl the hide off a buffalo."

  In spite of her tiredness, Kathleen smiled, unaware of the way the wide, gay smile subdued the sharp angles of her square jawline; or of the effect it had on others. "My skin feels like a buffalo's right now."

  However, she passed up the luxury of soap and settled for splashing her face and hands clean with the tepid water before drying them on a roller towel that had obviously seen better days.

  Finishing her toilet, Kathleen looked up to find Simon still standing within the doorway, his narrowed eyes sweeping the room, as if by habit; taking in everything revealing nothing. When a short monkey-faced man hurried forward, it seemed to her that Simon relaxed imperceptibly. But despite the easy posture, the lean and powerful frame contained a leashed strength that made her uneasy.

  "Señor Reyes!" The little owner greeted Simon with a happy smile. "We were hoping you'd get here. Old Carmela has even prepared your favorite dish of chilaquiles, though my patrons" -- he jerked his kinky-haired head in the direction of the travelers gathered on the benches about the long wooden tables -- "they have almost devoured everything. Like vultures."

  "Or cóndores," Simon said, his long eyes half closed but watching the proprietor attentively.

  "Exactamente, señor."

  "Well, we'll eat whatever's left, Juan -- and a little of your wine. Then we'll be on our way."

  "But, señor, you're not planning on riding out tonight? Una grande tormenta is brewing like a bruja."

  "There isn't time to wait, amigo. Can your son saddle two of my horses? The quarter horse and the Morgan."

  "Con mucho gusto, señor. I, myself, feed and groom your horses. They are too fine to allow my lazy hijo around them."

  After the owner hurried away, Kathleen dropped to one of the benches at the nearest vacant table. She dearly wanted to stay the night, even if it meant sleeping on the table. But she'd drop in her tracks before she'd show feminine weakness by requesting this of Simon. And she doubted whether he would have been gentlemanly enough to accede to the request anyway.

  Wearily she looked up to find his light eyes on her. "You can still change your mind."

  Kathleen's shoulders straightened immediately. "I can manage."

  "As you wish," he replied, and swung his long legs over the bench on the other side of the table, seating himself as Juan bustled into the main room with two platters. His son, a thin youth with a pockmarked face, set two chipped glasses before them and filled the glasses with wine, the sight of which made Kathleen's mouth dry with thirst.

  Simon lifted his glass in a toast. "May the California winds sing of your beauty and the valley grasses dance for your smile."

  Kathleen was not sure if he was mocking her or playing the gallant caballero. "Does that come from Texas or Mexico?" she asked defensively, wondering if the tale of the Mexican president's wife being his mistress was true.

  Simon's lips met together in a tight line. "Neither. It's a line from a Shoshone Indian song."

  "Oh," she said, somehow regretting her spitefulness. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence broken only by the intermittent conversations of the other travelers, mostly rancheros on their way to Santa Barbara or Monterey, the capital of the province.

  But she was well aware of Simon's intent regard, and at last boldly met his gaze, which had come to rest at the high neckline of her black dress, now coated with dust from the day's journey.

  "Is there something about me you find fault with?" she asked icily.

  Simon crossed one booted leg over the other and took his time lighting up another cigarro. "Since I didn't expect a female tutor, you'll have to be content without a sidesaddle. I take it you didn't bring anything suitable for riding astride?"

  Reluctantly Kathleen shook her head. It was just one more opportunity for him to prove how inadequate she was for the job.

  Simon grimaced but motioned to Juan. "Can you spare a pair of your son's calzones -- and a camisa?"

  Sí, Señor Reyes. Un momento, por favor."

  Simon turned back to her and said brusquely, "You can change in the back room."

  Kathleen's square chin shot up. "I'll not dress like a boy!"

  Simon's voice was cool and detached, so that the other travelers knew nothing of the tension that hung over the table where the ranchero and the fair-haired woman sat. "You'll do what I tell you, ma'am ... unless, that is, you care to find work here on the coast. I'm sure the soldados would be most appreciative of your charms. Maybe you could even try La Palacia. Or, if you want, you could return to wherever you came from ..." He shrugged and let his voice dwindle off insinuatingly as Juan's son came into the room with an armful of clothing.

  "Well?" he asked, raising one dark brow questioningly. "What's it to be?"

  She put out her hand for the clothing. "You don't give me any choice, do you?" Hadn't she once said the same to her father?

  Simon's laugh was as bitter as her voice had been. "Few people get choices out here, ma'am. You take what life deals you and play the hand the best you can ... as I'm
sure you'll learn to do. I've no time to pamper some lady of the evening. If you can't handle the post, I'll ship yu back." He ground out the cigarro in his empty plate. "Now get dressed while I see to the horses."

  Furious, Kathleen took the clothing and, whirling, went to the room Simon indicated. Other than the silver-mounted saddle hung on a peg and a striped serape rolled up against one wall, there was only a bed with a mattress of "prairie feathers" -- grass ticking. Then Kathleen beneath the bed the one luxury she had been hoping for, a porcelain chamber pot.

  Fumbling with her skirts, she dropped the lace-edged pantalettes and at last relieved her aching bladder, before hurrying to change. She yanked at the buttons of her bodice, detesting the ranchero even as she obeyed his command to don boy's clothing.

  The loose camisa fitted her more like a short dress than a shirt, and the baggy pants she had to roll around her ankles. A riata served as a belt for her narrow waist, and huaraches hugged the slim feet. When she was dressed, she rolled the kid slippers and pantalettes in her dress.

  Hesitantly she opened the door and slipped along the wall, hoping she would not attract the attention of th eothers in the outer room.

  Once outside, in the swaying light of the lanterns, she saw a sardonic smile curve th elong line of Simon's lips. "It looks like my tutor has now changed to un muchacho."

  "Let's hope you can remember I'm your tutor -- and that's all."

  Simon laughed. "If you could see yourself, you'd know you have no worry in that direction. Now let's get going before the storm breaks."

  At the corral Juan stood waiting, holding in one hand the reins and a sturdy black Morgan. Simon took the yellow slicker strapped to the cantle of the quarter horse. "Put it on."

  "No!" Kathleen said, rebelling at wearing the hot, sticky garment.

  "Suit yourself," he said, and swung the large cape over his wide shoulders like a greatcoat.

  She noticed that her valise was slung over the saddle of the Morgan. But rather than delay Simon, who now wore an impatient frown, by hauling down the valise and repacking her dress, she turned to Juan and handed him her clothing.