He bent to kiss her, softly at first, then harder. He crushed her to him, moaning when her breasts flattened against him. Seeking a response from her, he slipped his tongue between her lips, plunging it into her mouth, then withdrawing it. He knew she would recognize the erotic rhythm and answer it in kind.
Russia was so overcome by the raw sensuality of his kiss, she remembered nothing at all of what she was supposed to do. She had no idea how many times she’d been kissed, but this kiss…this kiss had a ruthless demand behind it. It burned and melted away the memories of every man she’d ever known. Languid pleasure drifted through every part of her. Giving herself up to the unfamiliar feeling, she let her body go limp, content to allow the experience to go on forever.
Her total lack of a response puzzled Santiago. She withered in his embrace like a flower too delicate to be touched. Dammit, she was a whore, wasn’t she? So why the hell did she kiss like a virgin? Determined to force a reaction from her, he deepened the kiss even further, and was completely mystified when all she did was make little mewling sounds.
He pulled away from her, frowning at the luminous expression in her eyes. She looked like a maiden who’d just been kissed for the very first time! Santa Maria, she was even trembling! “Are you a harlot, or an innocent who enjoys playing the part of one?”
When she didn’t answer, he slipped his hands into the bodice of her gown and freed her breasts. The unveiled sight of them heightened his need for her. God, they were beautiful. So white, so soft. For a girl as slender as she, they were incredibly full. Cupping them, he rotated his palms against them, feeling her nipples stiffen. That was a start, he mused, bending to take one rosy crest into his mouth.
The pleasure he gave was almost unbearable to Russia. It rolled through her body in deep waves, drowning her in the most delicious sensations she’d ever felt. It sapped her strength, and she felt drugged by the sweet feelings.
“Russia,” he mumbled, hoping to snap her out of whatever daze she was in. He waited for her to put her arms around him. For her to touch him. For her to do anything.
Instead, she became weaker, her head falling against her shoulder. “Dammit! What’s the matter with—”
The remainder of his question died in his throat. He stared unblinking at the ring lying between her moist breasts. He hadn’t noticed it before. He did now.
The ring. Sixteen years had passed since he’d last seen it. Memories of a long-ago night burst into his mind. The sight of the ring made them more vivid than they’d ever been before.
The brothel. The one-eyed man. Graciela. The knife.
“Where,” he whispered harshly, “did you get that ring?”
His instant and total change of mood baffled her. “A man give it to me.”
He took her slight arms in his hands. “Did he wear a black patch over his right eye?”
She nodded.
Santiago bolted to his feet, staring down at the ring. He never suspected he’d one day have the means to find the man who’d once worn it. Slowly, he raised his hand to his face, touching the scar on his cheek and contemplating the fact that now he had the opportunity to find the man who’d given it to him so many years ago.
God. Those years. Each of them filled with violence and bloodshed, each of them pushed into the next by deep-seated hatred and a profound sense of betrayal that drove him relentlessly.
Bitterness slashing at his patience, he yanked Russia up to him. “Tell me everything else you know about him. How long ago did you see him? Did he tell you where he was going?”
“I—he—” She broke off, a sudden realization coming to her. Santiago Zamora possessed an interest in the one-eyed man. An extraordinary interest.
She smiled. Tossing her hair off her shoulders, she pulled the bodice of her gown back over her breasts. “Well, now, Zamora, s’pose you and me talk about this fer a spell. I ain’t one to give stuff away fer nothin’, y’know.”
The full measure of her confidence having returned, she ambled over to the table next to the velvet-draped window, grinning again when she saw it held a platter of shiny red apples and bright green grapes . Her empty stomach leaped with joy as she picked up a bunch of the grapes and crammed a handful into her mouth.
Santiago stared at her back and couldn’t remember ever having felt such potent rage. The little twit was actually taunting him! No one had ever done that to him. “I want information about the man who gave you that ring, and I want it right now!”
She turned to face him, her cheeks bulging with grapes. Unable to talk, she shook her head.
He stalked toward her.
She swallowed several grapes whole.
He stopped before her, grabbing her shoulders. “Who gave you that ring? Tell me, dammit!”
“Y’mean tell you things like his name and where he was when I meeted him?” she slurred, drops of grape juice dribbling from one corner of her mouth. “Things like where he tole me he was goin’? Things like exac’ly where you could find him if you had a mind to look fer him?”
“Yes!”
She smiled a slow smile. “Find Wirt Avery first.”
He sucked in a deep breath, totally astonished at her nerve. “You’re blackmailing me?”
She swallowed the grapes in her mouth, then threw back her head and tossed another one into the air, her lips parting to catch it. It bounced off the end of her nose. “Yeah, I’m blackmailin’ you.” Nonchalantly, she cast another grape toward the ceiling.
Santiago snatched it from the air, then seized the rest of the grapes from her hands. With one powerful motion, he pitched them across the room.
She watched them splatter against the wall. “Heared tell you was the most dangerous gunslinger in the country, but if you think I’m scared of a feller who throws fruit at the wall, you’d best know right here and now that I ain’t. ‘Sides that, you ain’t even got them gleamin’ guns on. You ain’t no dangerous gunslinger, Zamora, you’re a near-nekkid grape slinger.” She giggled at her own joke.
He was so astounded over her flippant attitude, he couldn’t speak. Gone was the intimidated girl he’d carried into this room. Standing before him now was a self-assured and impudent woman! One who not only refused to give in to his demands, but actually dared to make fun of him! Such a thing had never happened to him before. He didn’t know how to react.
“Russia,” he finally said, his voice low and heavy with warning, “don’t antagonize me. You’ll regret it.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “You’re a conceited varmint, Zamora. Anybody ever tell you that? One day you’ll fracture that pride, though, when you fall over your own bluff.”
Santa Maria, did the girl possess even a shred of fear? How could she stand up to him the way she was doing? “I am not bluffing!”
“You gonna find Wirt Avery fer me, or ain’tcha?”
His first impulse was to wipe that smug grin of hers right off her face. But as the bright twinkle of the ring caught his eye, he knew she’d won. If he let this opportunity to find the man who’d given her the ring pass by, he’d never get another chance at the bastard. “I’ll find him,” he said, his hands tightening into fists.
Satisfied, Russia turned back to the fruit platter and popped more grapes into her mouth. “Gimme my money now. I reckon a hunnerd dollars’ll be enough.”
“A hundred dollars? Why the hell should I give you—”
“Look, Zamora,” she snapped, shaking a grape at him, “I been in your room fer near about half a hour. I could’ve entertained two quick men in that time. I’d have charged ’em both fifty dollars and maked me a hunnerd. I ain’t never seen the inside of a schoolhouse, but I learned myself to add real good, so don’t go thinkin’ you can cheat me outta one damn cent, hear? Now gimme my money.”
Santiago couldn’t believe her gall. He’d had no intention of paying for her services in the first place, and he’d be damned if he’d give her any money when they hadn’t even done anything! “I already paid the hotel ow
ner for the destruction you caused in the lobby, and you want more money? Go to hell.”
She picked up the rawhide string around her neck and began to swing it, making sure the ring circled right in front of his eyes. “Then I reckon me and the one-eyed ring man’ll git outta your life ferever.”
Hips swaying, she sashayed to the door. As she reached for the knob, a money pouch flew a mere inch past her face. It smacked against the door, spilling gold coins at her feet. She turned to see Santiago raking his fingers through his hair.
“Tell me about Wirt Avery,” he snapped.
She knelt to gather the coins back into the leather bag. “I figgered you’d see it my way,” she said sassily, rising from the floor. “Let’s see…Wirt’s got him some pale blue eyes and a big nose. Y’know, I always thought that with that nose o’ his, he could take one breath in the mornin’ and it’d last him all day. He—”
“I can’t track a damn nose!”
Good Lord, the man was loud! “Well, ever’ hair on him is red, and his beard’s always got food in it. He don’t never wipe his mouth when he eats, y’see. I once seed him put four boiled eggs in it all at one time. He thought them eggs was hard-boiled, but they wasn’t. When he bited down on ’em, they gushed all outta his mouth, and he walked around with dried yolk in his beard fer nearly—”
“What else?” Santiago roared. Dammit! He’d received countless physical descriptions of the men he was to hunt down, but never one like the: one Russia was giving him now.
Russia tapped a finger on her chin. “He has thin lips. Y’know, I always heared it said that thin lips is a sure sign o’ inborn meanness. He’s a ugly bastard, Zamora. So ugly that I reckon when he looks into a mirror, his reflection throws up.”
Santiago’s impatience climbed steadily. “What about his build?”
She lifted a strawberry curl, brushing it across her throat. “He ain’t as tall as you, but he’s strong. Fat, but strong. And he plumb nelly stinks. He don’t never take a bath, y’see. I take baths. Some say baths’ll kill you, but I don’t agree with—”
“Santa Maria, I don’t give a damn about what you think about baths! Tell me—”
“He spits. He’s good at it, too. So good, I reckon he could drown a housefly at ten paces. I hate to see folks spit. You don’t spit, do you? Because if you do, I’d plumb nelly ‘predate it if you didn’t do it around me.”
He didn’t spit, but since it bothered her, he decided that maybe he’d pick up the habit. “Why is Avery following you?”
Russia felt sudden fear claw through her. Heinous memories claimed her mind. She closed her eyes against them, but could still feel, see, and hear them. She could even smell them. They almost gagged her.
Come to Wirt, darlin’. Come to yer sweet ole Wirt.
“Russia, why is he following—”
“I don’t know!” She opened her eyes.
Santiago watched her wring her hands and recognized the unmistakable glint of terror in her eyes. He wondered what the man had done to her to cause such fear, then decided he didn’t really give a damn. “I’ll set out at dawn.” He struck a match and prepared to light a cheroot.
“And I’ll go with you.”
He stared at her for so long, the match sizzled down and burned the tip of his finger. Furious, he shook his hand in an effort to lessen the pain. “The hell you are! If you think I’m going to search the countryside with you tagging along behind—”
“I ain’t gonna sit here like a wart on a pickle waitin’ fer news o’ the hunt, hear? You do it my way, or the deal’s off.” She drew the ring to her mouth, smoothing it across her lips.
Only by summoning up superb determination did Santiago manage to subdue the urge to wring her lily-white neck. She’d won again, and he hated her all the more for it. He swore to find Wirt Avery faster than he’d ever found any of his prey before. “Meet me in front of the livery at dawn. You do have a horse, don’t you?” Santa Maria, let her have a horse, he thought. The idea of her riding in the saddle with him was the most obnoxious thing he could think of.
“I have Little Jack Horner,” she informed him merrily.
“Fine.” He rolled his eyes at her horse’s ridiculous name. “Now get out.”
“One more thing before I go,” she told him, her hand on the doorknob. “You gotta pay fer ever’thing while we travel. I ain’t got no money.”
“I just gave you a bag of gold!”
She glanced at the bag in her hand. “Well, yeah, but y’don’t ‘spect fer me to spend it on food and lodgin’, do you? I need this here money to buy some stuff. My flower wreath ain’t no good no more, and I need stockin’s. Maybe I’ll buy a new dress, too. A purple one with gold lace all over it. And I lost my Saturday panties, so I reckon I’ll have to buy more—”
“All right! Now get out!”
She smiled sweetly at him, then blew him a kiss. “Buenas night-o, grape slinger.”
When she was gone, he could still smell her. The entire room was filled with the scent of peppermint.
Russia Valentine. She was clumsy. And odd. Sarcastic and ridiculously fearless. She was the most irritating person he’d ever come across. And dammit, he’d actually agreed to let her accompany him as he searched for Wirt Avery!
Santa Maria, what had he gotten himself into?
Chapter Three
Weary and disheartened, Wirt Avery slid off his horse, withdrew a bottle of rum from his saddlebag, and shuffled to a large moonlit rock. Staring at the somber sky and night shadows, he drank until the stars were chased away by the first rays of dawn.
Anguish ripped at every nerve in his huge body. “Ain’t fair, losin’ ever’thing… Nothin’s fair.” He flung the empty whiskey bottle away, watching as it landed in a thick patch of lemon mint. Black-and-yellow butterflies in search of nectar flitted around the purple blossoms.
Staring at the butterflies, he pulled out his gun. “If I cain’t have what I want, you cain’t have what you want, neither.” He shot at the flowers until there was nothing left of them.
His shots disturbed a pair of sparrows that had been busy attending to their nest of eggs in a small scrub oak nearby. The birds took wing, circling the tree and squawking loudly.
Sneering, Wirt raised his revolver again and blasted the nest from the tree. It fell to the ground, spilling its eggs. Listening to the continued screeching of the sparrows, Wirt heaved himself off the rock and approached the eggs. With the heel of his boot, he crushed each of them, then looked up at the darting birds. “Now ya don’t got nothin’. Ya gotta start all over again, jist like me.”
He stuffed his gun back into his belt, scratched at his groin, and took a small tin locket from his shirt pocket. A flick of his thumb opened it.
Peering up at him was a face so beautiful to him, it was a moment before he could control his emotions. “Mine.” Touching a finger to the painted image’s long red-gold hair, he took a deep, shuddering breath. “Jist ain’t fair.”
With misery still surging through him, he mounted his horse and headed for a speck on the horizon.
The distant town of Hamlett.
* * *
The sky was pink, with swirls of orange and yellow streaming through it, when Santiago walked out of the Hamlett Hotel. Crossing the street, he cast a sideways glance at three men who were watching him from in front of the mercantile. When they slid their hats low over their eyes and looked at the ground, he shrugged and headed for the livery.
What he saw there made him frown. Parked in front of the building was a small, bright purple cart. Red and yellow flowers were painted along its wood-planked sides, and a cluster of silvery bells hung suspended from its seat. An ancient ox was hitched to it. Santiago looked at it twice to make sure what he thought he saw was real.
The animal was wearing a sombrero! Upon further inspection, Santiago saw that the hat was attached to the ox’s head by means of a long blue sash that was tied in a perfect bow around the beast’s thick neck.
&
nbsp; An exceedingly uncomfortable thought came to Santiago. Refusing to believe it, he shook his head. No, it couldn’t be, he decided. Russia had said she had a horse. Reassured, he sauntered into the stable and found Russia chatting with the stableboy.
Though he made no sound at all, she felt his presence immediately. When she looked up and saw him, she nearly lost her breath. He filled the doorway completely. Dressed in black from head to toe, his shirt stretched tightly over his broad chest, guns gleaming in the waning light of dawn, he presented a formidable sight.
Memories of last night drifted through her mind. Try as she did, she couldn’t stop remembering what he looked like without that black shirt. The recollection of his naked chest was so distinct, it seemed to her she was actually seeing it. His muscles. His smooth brown skin. The way his long ebony hair had looked as it brushed across his wide shoulders.
She recalled the way his lips had felt on hers. The way he’d kissed her, with such urgency, such driving demand. And the way his mouth had felt on her breast…the way his tongue had circled, the way he’d suckled, and the way her body had reacted.
Even now her body warmed, trembled, and yearned for something completely unknown to her. Her eyes stung with the need to blink, but she kept them open, half afraid Santiago would disappear from sight if she closed them. Blushing, she tried to smile at him, but couldn’t get her lips to do much more than quiver. “Mornin’,” she murmured.
He didn’t bother to return her greeting, but studied her attire, noting all the patches on her faded blue-and-white gingham gown. Worn boots peeked out from beneath the hem of her skirt. One had a small hole in the toe. Perched on her head was a frayed straw bonnet. Multicolored flowers pointed skyward from the hat, and nestled among them was a bird made of crimson velvet. Santiago thought it the most ridiculous hat he’d ever seen.
But as ragged as her outfit was, he couldn’t help noticing that it did nothing to detract from her beauty. In a most enticing way, it molded around her full, firm breasts and hugged her tiny waist. And though her hat was shoddy, it adorned the most luxurious hair Santiago could ever remember a woman having. It looked like streams of golden honey pouring all down her body. Even in the dim stable it shone, and for the first time since meeting her, Santiago noticed it wasn’t pure blond. Shots of red glimmered through it, as if it were made of fire.
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