The girl lay flat on her back with her knees splayed wide. Her body rocked back and forth in a steady rhythm while that swine Hartman grunted and heaved on top of her. The coat had bunched up beneath her, no longer cushioning her buttocks. Rafael knew her skin was getting scraped raw against the cobblestones.
Her features had twisted into a mask of horror and pain, but she made no sound. Rafael had to admire that. The girl might be just a slut from the band of travelers camped down on the small stretch of public land by the river, but she had guts.
Hartman reared back and gave one final grunt. A moment later, he pushed up from the girl. After a cursory shake and a wipe with a cloth he pulled out of his coat pocket, he fastened his pants.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “I think I just had myself a virgin.”
A hush fell over the group of men as they stared at the crimson stains on Hartman’s white handkerchief. A few exchanged alarmed glances. A slut was a slut, there for the taking. This girl had charged up, claiming kinship with the ragged children from the camp. Her hair fell in a wild tangle about her shoulders and dirt streaked her face. She looked like a loose woman, her clothing brazen and her blouse already torn.
But what if they had been wrong?
“Matt, what are you waiting for?” Hartman called. “You’re next.”
“The girl’s bleeding.” The burly foreman tensed his shoulders and turned to address the others. “Everyone leaves her alone.”
Hartman shrugged, appearing unconcerned. He stepped toward the girl. She hadn’t moved since he pulled away from her. Hartman poked his polished black shoe into her hip.
“Get up,” he ordered. “Put your clothes on.”
Dry eyed, the girl drew herself up and dressed, carefully slotting her legs into the denim pants and easing the fabric past her hips. Rafael could only imagine the pain that burned inside her, as well as on her damaged skin.
Hartman dug in his pocket and pulled out a fistful of coins. He tossed them on the ground by the girl’s feet. “That should cover the damage.”
She looked at him. Then she drew her head back and spat at him. Because of the difference in their height, she caught him in the chest.
Hartman bellowed out a roar and delivered a hard slap across her face. The girl stumbled and fell. Sprawled on the ground, she touched a hand to her cheek, and then she slowly gathered herself once more. Standing still before Hartman, she locked eyes with him.
Rafael waited, holding his breath. Finally, Hartman turned away. In that moment, Rafael had a premonition. Even in her damaged state, the girl had succeeded in staring Hartman down.
The avenging angel had arrived, and it was not in the shape of a gunslinger, or an incorruptible man of the law. It was a slip of a girl, with a will of steel.
“You,” Hartman called out, pointing a finger at Rafael. “Halfbreed. Take her back to the travelers’ camp. And the whelps, too.”
Rafael nodded. “Yes, Mr. Hartman.”
He walked up to the girl and took her arm. As he set off, tugging her along, she followed without any attempt to resist. After a few steps, the girl faltered.
“I’m dizzy,” she muttered. “I think I’m going to faint.”
He caught her in his arms just before her legs gave. His limp grew more pronounced as he carried her across the cobbled courtyard. Rafael gritted his teeth against the pain. It could be nothing compared to her suffering.
The two children trailed behind, the boy carrying the dead dog. The little girl was crying with muffled sobs. The men had forgotten about the children the instant Hartman had forced the woman to strip off her clothing, and the ragged pair had been forced to witness a brutal rape.
Rafael brushed aside the lingering feelings of guilt. There was nothing he could have done about it. And there was nothing he could do now to change what had happened. Regret was waste of time.
“How far is your camp?” he asked the boy.
“’Bout a half-mile.”
Rafael nodded. He would have to take his horse. With his bad leg, the distance was too great to carry the injured girl.
The little girl had stopped crying and spoke up. “That man hurt her. We’ll give her medicine, although she isn’t one of us.”
Surprised, he asked, “Is there a doctor with you?”
“We are the Snakebite Medicine Show,” the boy announced proudly. “We have medicine that will cure everything.”
Rafael turned to the little girl. Despite her grief over the dog, she seemed the brighter of the two children. “You said she isn’t one of you?”
“We’ve never seen her before,” the little girl said firmly. She looked up at Rafael. “She stopped that man from shooting us, the way he shot Prince.”
“Yes,” Rafael said softly. “She did that.”
The girl hesitated. “That man hurt her.”
“Do you want us to take her?” the boy asked. “We can give her medicine, and she can stay with us and work on the show.” He peered up at the unconscious girl. “She’s real pretty.”
Rafael managed a ghost of a smile. “I’ll take care of her. You two run along. Don’t tell anyone what that man did to her. She wouldn’t want people to know.”
“We won’t,” the boy promised. He turned to the little girl. “Come, Mary. We have to bury Prince.”
Rafael watched the children as they hurried off, already chattering. He thanked God for the resilience of youth that protected them. With a sigh, he adjusted the weight of the girl in his arms and set off for the stables. Perhaps those children seemed resilient because they had witnessed so much suffering and injustice they no longer reacted to it.
****
Rafael rode without holding the reins, steering the horse with his knees. He would have preferred to ride bareback, to spare the girl any discomfort from the horn of the saddle as he cradled her across his lap, but he didn’t want to leave his saddle behind. He tried to hold her high against his chest.
Her lids fluttered open, and she looked into his face. Her eyes were a clear blue, like the summer sky. In that moment, Rafael finally understood the old Indian expression which meant that a man and a woman belonged together.
He had looked at her.
He had looked at this woman, had seen her beauty, her courage, and the purity of her spirit, and now she was in his blood. He prayed she would let him make up for what Hartman had done to her. If she didn’t, the passion he felt simmering inside her might stay locked up forever.
“Who are you?” she murmured.
For a fleeting instant, he considered giving her the false identity he had created to hide behind—that of Rain Cloud, a halfbreed Apache. Instead, he said, “My name is Rafael De Santis. My parents used to own this ranch. I grew up in the white house you just saw.”
He knew that he was putting his life in her hands but he wanted no secrets between them. He also wanted her to know that he was a man of position and education, although his instincts told him that when this girl fell in love, the background of the man wouldn’t matter to her.
“Are you hurting?” he asked when she didn’t speak again.
“Yes.”
“He didn’t conquer you,” Rafael told her quietly. “He may have taken your innocence, but he couldn’t take your dignity.”
“He took my future.”
Rafael asked what she meant, but the girl closed her eyes and refused to answer. They were almost at his barn when her lashes lifted once more. “Those children?” she asked. “Did they get away?”
“They went home,” he reassured her. “They had wandered over from the traveling medicine show camped a mile or so down the river.”
“A medicine show?” She spoke in a dull monotone. “I’ve never seen one.”
“I’ll take you there when you’re feeling better.”
“That might be never,” she replied, tensing in his arms.
“We are at my place.” He gave a command, and the horse knelt down on its front legs, allowing Rafael to
slide out of the saddle without releasing the girl from his arms.
Curiosity sparked in her eyes. “Did you teach him to do that?”
“That and many other tricks. I’ll show you another time.”
She kept glancing up at him as he shouldered the double doors open and carried her into the barn. It was the site of the old homestead where his grandparents had lived, after his parents acquired more land and built the big white house closer to the river.
During the battle for ownership, Hartman had torched the house, but the cement well built around a natural spring remained intact and provided a supply of clean water. Rafael had fixed up a simple dwelling in the barn that had escaped the flames. Hartman allowed it, since most of the men preferred not to have a halfbreed in the bunkhouse.
He lowered the girl on the narrow cot in the corner of the cavernous room.
“Do you live here?” she asked, studying the uncluttered space.
“Yes,” he replied. “Where do you live?”
“Philadelphia.”
Puzzled, he frowned at her. “Philadelphia?”
“Yes. I’m here visiting Circle Star.”
Alarm stirred in Rafael’s mind. “Circle Star? You know someone there?”
“Susanna Talbot…McGregor. I know her from Philadelphia. I’m Claire Vanderfleet. My father is Judge Vanderfleet.”
Rafael took a step back. His gaze swept over the girl, took in the milky skin under the smears of dirt and the graceful limbs hidden beneath the rough clothing. Horror and pity welled up inside him as he understood she was the gently bred daughter of an affluent home, exposed to a brutal attack that had stripped away her innocence. The girl’s comment that Hartman had taken her future suddenly made sense.
Rafael started toward the door. “I’ll get you a doctor.”
“No,” she cried. “No doctor.”
“You need someone to care for you.”
“No.”
“I’ll go for Susanna.”
“No.” She reached one slender arm out to him. “Don’t leave me alone. He might…” She paused, drew a shaky breath and continued, “…Someone might come.”
Rafael strode across the floor, back to the girl. He curled his fingers over hers in a comforting gesture. He could tell her hand was trembling. “I’ll only be gone ten minutes,” he promised. “I’ll go back to the ranch and send someone to fetch Susanna.”
Her blue eyes pleaded at him. “Will you come back?”
“In just a few minutes.”
Fortunately, he hadn’t unsaddled his horse yet. He quickly vaulted up again and raced to the big house. Some of the men milled about the yard, cleaning up the trash. Luck remained on his side, for he saw old Miguel Pereira standing apart from the others, scrubbing the cobblestones with a tall broom.
Rafael eased the horse up to him, leaned down in the saddle. “Come with me,” he said under his breath. “I need your help.”
The old man glanced up. “I’ll meet you behind the stables.”
“You’ll need your horse.” Rafael told him.
Miguel replied with a silent nod. After a few moments, he propped the broom against the wall and eased away, appearing to be in no hurry.
Rafael waited behind the stables until Miguel rode out on a dun gelding he must have saddled at record speed. The old man gave him a level look. “In case it saves time, I know who you are. I’ve known since you came back.”
Rafael nodded. “I thought you might. I wasn’t sure.”
“What is it?” Miguel’s expression clouded. “Is the girl hurt bad?”
“She’ll be all right, but it turned out she’s a society girl from back East. A guest at Circle Star. Her father is a Philadelphia judge.”
“Son of a bitch!” Miguel burst out.
Rafael glanced around. Satisfied they had attracted no attention, he continued, “Can you ride out to get Susanna McGregor and bring her over to the barn at the old homestead?” He recalled the girl’s vehement refusal to see a doctor. “Tell Susanna to send for the sheriff and the doctor, but they must wait at Circle Star.”
Miguel crouched low in the saddle. “If we are lucky, Hartman will hang for this,” he said before setting off down the gravel track.
When Rafael got back to the barn, the girl lay curled up in a ball on the cot and refused to be drawn into a conversation. She wouldn’t even acknowledge his presence. He covered her with a blanket. Then he pulled out rickety wooden a chair, one of the two he had in the barn, and settled down to wait.
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Chapter Nineteen
Santiago’s big muscles bunched and flexed under Susanna as the horse thundered through the desert in the midday heat. Pete Jackson and Garrett and Ramirez followed in her trail of dust. As a child, she’d been to the old De Santis homestead many times, so she knew the way, and of the four of them she had the fastest horse.
If they were right, if Hartman had been behind the attempt to kill Connor, they had reason to fear a trap, but with Connor away in San Francisco it seemed unlikely. Moreover, Susanna had recognized Miguel Pereira—the old man who had delivered the message about Claire—and she placed her trust in him.
For one frantic moment, she thought she’d lost her way in the monotony of the barren landscape. There was no house. No flower gardens. Merely an old barn and some blackened stone ruins. Then she spotted the well and saw the sunlight glint on the brass handle of the pump. Memories flooded back of how she had drawn water from the well to pour over the larkspurs and lilies and lupines Mrs. De Santis grew, and she knew that she had come to the right place.
Pete Jackson and Garret and Ramirez caught up. They remained in the saddle, their horses prancing about as the men scanned the landscape with vigilant eyes, their actions confirming that they suspected they were under threat.
The double doors to the barn opened and Rafael De Santis stepped out.
“Where is she?” Susanna yelled, too frantic even for a greeting.
“She’s inside,” Rafael said. “She won’t talk to me.”
Susanna dismounted in a single leap. Rafael took the reins and tied Santiago to the stake by the entrance while she darted past him into the shadowed interior. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the lack of light. She took in the simple furnishings—an iron stove and a rough wooden table and a pair of rickety chairs. On a cot by the wall, a small shape lay huddled under a patterned blanket. Tangled golden curls spilled from beneath the covers.
Susanna hurried across the floor. From the corner of her eye, she could see Rafael step into the barn. He remained standing by the entrance, silhouetted against the sunshine, one shoulder propped against the doorframe. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to overhear the conversation, but she didn’t have the time to argue with him.
First, she needed to see how badly Claire was hurt, and then she would have her friend moved to Circle Star. She wanted Claire at home, where a doctor had already been summoned, and where an army of reliable men could defend them if the need arose.
****
Claire heard the sound of arriving horses, and then she could hear voices. She tried to close her mind to it, tried to hold on to the blessed numbness that allowed her to endure.
Although she didn’t want to, she found herself listening to the rapid patter of feminine footsteps across the floor. Through the coarse wool blanket, and through the sturdy fabric of her coat, she felt a light touch on her shoulder.
“Claire, it’s me. Susanna.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Claire huddled her arms tighter around her body in an attempt to ward of the chill that had settled deep inside her.
“You don’t have to. I know what happened. One of the men told me.”
“They all watched.”
“I know.” Susanna’s voice fell to a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
A tiny crack appeared in the wall of terror and pain around Claire, and she recalled the sound of galloping horses a moment ago. “You shouldn’t ride at su
ch speed,” she said. “Think of the baby.”
“Right now, I’m more worried about you than I am about the baby.”
The chill inside Claire grew deeper. The warmth of a blanket wasn’t enough. The warmth of friendship wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. She expected nothing would ever get her warm again. Nothing would ever break through the strange barrier of unreality that had risen between her and the world. As far as she was concerned, her life was over. She would spend the rest of her days simply waiting for death to release her.
She turned around, carefully guarding the raw skin on her buttocks. “I want you to do something for me,” she told Susanna.
“Anything,” Susanna replied.
“I want you to write to my parents. Tell them there was an accident. I fell off a horse and broke my neck. Tell them that people are buried quickly here, because of the heat. It was impossible to delay the funeral to allow them to come.”
Silence fell in the cavernous room, endless seconds slipping away. Finally, Susanna spoke in a strained tone. “I can’t do that. It would break their hearts.”
“Knowing the truth will be worse.” Claire frowned, trying to make her friend understand. “Can’t you see? I was supposed to make a great match. Now I’m worthless on the marriage market. For all I know, I might bear a bastard child for the man who raped me.”
Claire paused, and when Susanna didn’t respond, she went on. “Can’t you see? It’s better for everyone if my parents think I’m dead. They’ll be spared the shame, and I’ll be able to start a new life without having to worry about them.”
“I can’t do it,” Susanna said quietly.
“You’ll have to. I can’t. They would recognize my handwriting.”
“We’ll get you justice,” Susanna told her. “I’ve sent for the sheriff.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Claire, be sensible. If you’re going to start a new life, you’ll need money. Burt Hartman is a wealthy man. Make him pay. Once he finds out about your family connections, he’ll pay. He’ll want to hush things up to protect his reputation.”
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