“Brown! White! No, tan! I don’t care! Yes, I care! A star! Git me one with a star on her head! Hurry, Santiago, they’re gittin’ away!” She began to jump up and down.
“Stay here.”
“The hell I will!” she shouted, already pulling her dress over her head and her boots onto her feet. Santiago was about to catch a wild mustang! She wasn’t about to miss witnessing the unmatched skills that had made him a legend in the eyes of other mustangers. “I’m climbin’ up on that ridge o’ rocks over there so’s I can see the whole thing!”
Santiago watched her scurry to the mound of large rocks. “Watch for Quetzalcoatl!” he shouted to her. “He’ll be coming back here once I’ve got your mare!” Shaking his head when she fell over a thick root on her way to the rocks, he urged Quetzalcoatl into a canter and finally into a ground-eating gallop. Even with a rider, the stallion caught up with the racing herd easily and soon outdistanced the bulk of it.
Santiago began running the herd, knowing that the strongest and fastest mares would lead and the others would lag behind. Then his choices would be narrowed.
After about fifteen minutes, he saw that there were only three mares who had successfully kept up with the lead mare. One was an Appaloosa, one was a bay, and the other was pitch black with one white stocking and a blazing star on her forehead. The astonishing length of her silky mane reminded Santiago of Russia’s hair.
He studied the black carefully, liking what he saw. She was small but exceedingly strong, and young enough to be Russia’s companion for a good many years to come. Her eyes sparkled with intelligence, and Santiago appreciated her excellent lines and surefootedness.
Because she was ahead of the herd, it wasn’t hard to isolate her from it. Santiago kept Quetzalcoatl racing beside her, gradually coercing his mount closer and closer to her. She kept moving over, and soon she’d moved over so far, she was no longer part of the herd.
Looking over his shoulder, Santiago noted the master stallion’s agitation, but he knew the horse was too wary of him to attempt to rescue the mare. And because Santiago hadn’t tried to steal the entire herd, the stallion would accept the loss of a single mare.
Keeping Quetzalcoatl close to the black, Santiago uncoiled the rope bridle but didn’t toss it. He didn’t believe in capturing a horse by roping any more than he believed in wearing spurs. He saw such things as cruel and unfair to the horse.
He would capture the mare the way he’d always caught these beautiful animals. He would simply mount her.
His leap to the mare’s back was quick and smooth. He threw his torso upon her neck and swept his right leg over her. In mere seconds he was riding her. His weight slowed her considerably, and before she had time to react, he slipped a loop of rope over her head and behind her ears, tightened it, then threw another loop around her nose, securing that one also. That accomplished, he took hold of the ends of the rope and the mare’s flowing mane.
She responded with renewed vigor and raw strength. Bucking violently in an attempt to rid herself of the man on her back, she snorted and shook with rage.
Her mane and Santiago’s powerful legs were his only means of staying mounted. It wasn’t easy, and the fact that it took all his expertise assured him the mare was just as strong, sturdy, and spirited as he’d suspected.
Although the flimsy noseband was his way of guiding her, he let her have her head for another quarter of an hour. She galloped furiously, her hooves beating the earth and sending dirt clouds flying all over Santiago. Then she slowed, reared, and bucked before taking off into a full gallop again. But no matter what device she tried, she was unable to pitch her rider. Finally, she slowed to a loping canter that soon faded to a brisk trot.
When Santiago sensed the beginnings of her surrender, he cooed Spanish words of assurance to her and gently tugged the ends of the rope. He knew there was a wealth of fight left in her, but he would do nothing to destroy that highly desired spirit. And so, when she began bucking and rearing again, he simply stayed mounted and continued speaking softly.
It was another half an hour before she slowed to a walk. Soon she stopped completely and stood there snorting her displeasure over what was happening to her. Santiago rubbed her shoulders firmly, all the while murmuring tender words. He even smiled at her when she turned her head and fixed her lovely black eyes on him.
The hardest part of the battle was won. Man and mare then began the journey back to where woman, stallion, and cat awaited them.
* * *
Russia fell in love with the mare the moment she saw her. Smiling with excitement, she couldn’t decide who was more magnificent—the beautiful mare or the wonderful man who rode her.
“Santiago,” she whispered. He’d been gone for only an hour and a half. When he’d left, he’d been chasing a herd of wild horses. As she’d watched him, she’d pondered the fact that he’d seemed just as feral as the horses he chased.
She trembled at the memory. Never, not for as long as she lived, would she forget how he had looked riding with that thundering herd. With his long black hair whipping behind him, his heavily muscled body stretched low over his stallion’s neck, his thick legs fairly wrapped around Quetzalcoatl’s barrel… He’d been a vision of sheer strength and awesome mastery. The sight had disarmed her.
Santiago, she thought, the name echoing within her. He didn’t belong to her; he never would. She knew that with all her heart. But she was proud of him. So proud, she wanted to tell the whole world about his incredible abilities.
She smiled then, remembering that his skills were already legendary.
Santiago reined the mare to a halt several yards from where Russia and Quetzalcoatl stood. “Come meet your mare, Russia,” he said quietly. “Walk slowly and hold out your hand, palm up.”
Russia wasn’t sure she wanted such a quick introduction. “Ain’t it better if she jist watched me from a distance fer a while?”
Santiago grinned. “Though we weren’t aware of it, the herd has been doing something just as good as watching us, Russia. They smelled us long before we found them. Your mare is already familiar with your scent, and as you can see, she’s not at all alarmed to be so near you. Now come talk to her.”
She approached the mare cautiously, stopping when the horse snorted and pawed the ground.
“Easy, Russia,” Santiago murmured. “Talk to her. Say nice things to her. She won’t understand the words, but she’ll sense the emotions behind them.”
Though he spoke to her, Russia saw he was looking at the mare. Her heart reacted immediately. He was so sensitive to the mane’s feelings. While most men used harsh means to capture and train horses, Santiago’s methods were gentle. Watching the mare now, she knew kindness, understanding, and patience were the best ways to tame wild steeds. The men back in the Hamlett Saloon were right. Santiago did speak horse.
It was obvious to her that he had a deep love for the mustangs. Did he even realize that he was now demonstrating the very gentleness he’d believed had died inside him?
Smiling inwardly at her poignant thoughts, she clucked to the little mare. “I’m namin’ her Little Miss Muffet. That’s sorta like Little Jack Homer. They’re both characters from nursery rhymes. Little Miss Muffet sat on this tuffet, y’see, and— What is a tuffet, anyway?”
Santiago shrugged.
“Thought you knowed English real good,” she taunted sweetly.
Santa Maria, how he loved that impish grin of hers. It lit her up from inside. Like a merry flame inside a pretty lantern.
“Well,” Russia continued, “whatever a tuffet is, Little Miss Muffet sat on it, and this spider come. He sat down beside her, scared the hell outta her, and she runned away. When can I ride her? I know more ridin’s gonna cripple me up worser’n I already am, but I cain’t wait to git on her.”
“You aren’t afraid at all?” he asked, not missing the bright excitement in her beautiful eyes.
Russia felt as though sparkles were flashing all over her skin. He
sat tall and straight and confidently upon the mare, like he’d been born on the horse’s back, had lived there his whole life, and knew of no other place to be. With a man like Santiago Zamora helping her, why on earth should she be afraid?
“I ain’t scared,” she told him, never taking her eyes from his. “I know you ain’t gonna let nothin’ bad happen to me. I trust you, Santiago.”
Her declaration astonished him. He doubted he’d met a single person in the past sixteen years who trusted him.
And now he had.
He didn’t know how to answer Russia. He glanced away from her, seeing everything around him without seeing a thing.
“Santiago?”
“I— You’ll need a saddle and bridle,” he hurried to tell her. “We’ll stop at a small town called Whispering Oaks. I haven’t been there in years, but I’m sure it’s still there. We can get your tack there. I’ll begin training the mare there, too. It’ll take only a few days.”
Russia nodded and looked back at her horse. Her hand outstretched, she closed the distance that separated her from her mare and was delighted when Little Miss Muffet gave her palm a quick but thorough sniff. “She likes me.”
Still trying to accept the deep, sweet feelings her trust in him brought, Santiago was glad to turn his attention back to something he could understand. “She’ll like you more after she knows you better. There’s something else you have to do, Russia. You won’t like it, and neither will she, but you have to do it.”
“What is it?”
Santiago tightened his legs around the mare. “Cup your hands around one of her nostrils and blow into it as many times as she’ll let you. No animal is completely comfortable around something or someone strange to her. She’s been acquainted with your scent, but now you have to make sure she’ll never forget it. Once you do what I say, she’ll really and truly be yours.”
Russia stared at her mare. “She ain’t gonna bite my face, is she?”
“I’ll pull her away if I see even a glimpse of her teeth.”
“Promise?”
“You said you trusted me,” he reminded her softly, waiting to see if she would prove she really did. After all, he mused, blowing into a wild horse’s nose just because someone told you to do it took a great deal of trust.
Without further hesitation, Russia curled her hands around Little Miss Muffet’s nose. She took a deep breath and blew hard. The mare snorted right back at her, scaring Russia so badly that she backed away and tripped over Santiago’s saddle behind her. Sprawled on the ground, she prepared to let loose a string of curses, all of them intended for Santiago, who was laughing so hard he could barely stay mounted.
But before a single swear word escaped, Little Miss Muffet ambled over to where Russia lay. Stopping beside her new mistress, she bent her head and gently butted Russia’s shoulder.
“She’s yours now, Russia,” Santiago announced, dismounting. He held out the rope for her to take.
Profoundly touched, she rose and accepted the gift. The gift of the magnificent mare.
The gift from the magnificent man.
Chapter Fourteen
Santiago knew Whispering Oaks could be reached by nightfall; the town lay only a day’s ride away. But as he rode, Russia cradled in his arms, he found excuse after excuse to slow the journey. Nehemiah was “restless.” The horses were “exhausted.” Russia looked “pale.” It was too “hot” to hurry.
And finally it was too “dark” to continue.
“It ain’t dark, Santiago,” Russia argued, staring at the splendorous sunburst escaping from within a tremendous mass of white clouds.
He dismounted and lifted her out of the saddle, careful to set her down well away from the bed of flowering prickly thistle. “It almost is.” Late afternoon sunshine fairly blinding him, he realized his statement was ridiculous, but he didn’t give a damn.
He was happy. Plain and simple. And while attending to the horses for the night, he realized why.
Chasing and capturing the mustang yesterday had given him an unequaled thrill. He not only admired the stouthearted breed, he also loved it. And now he had two mustang beauties under his care.
There was another beauty he would attend to as well. The one created from rainbows and rapture. He smiled, still affected by that pretty description of Russia.
God, he was surrounded by pleasures: the noble steeds, miles of wide open space canopied by a gorgeous Texas sky, and best of all, a very special woman.
Yes, Whispering Oaks could definitely wait. Courting Russia could not.
Russia, perched on a large, sun-warmed rock, almost toppled off it when she saw what Santiago had begun to do. The man was undressing, and dusk hadn’t begun to fall! She was about to warn him that someone might ride up and see him naked when it suddenly occurred to her that she was seeing him naked, too.
That, of course, made his state of undress all right.
She felt a rush of desire when he approached her. They were going to make love now. She knew it. Standing, she waited for him to take her in his arms.
Santiago walked right past her, smiling knowingly when he noted the telltale blush on her cheeks. Beneath the shade of a small cluster of acacia trees, he proceeded to lay out his bedroll. For added softness, he piled Russia’s thick quilt upon his blankets.
Highly aroused by the sight of his bare, muscular body and the fact that he’d made their bed, Russia started for him. But just as she neared him, he turned, found her bag of belongings, and withdrew from it her scarlet satin gown.
She stopped abruptly. “What— I— Do y’want me to put that on, Santiago?”
He spread the shimmering dress on the top of the downy bed he’d made. “No, I want you to lie on it.”
“Lie on it? But why?”
He raised an ebony brow. “Because it’s soft. The saddle wasn’t. Take off your clothes.”
His command set a fire within her. She licked her bottom lip. “We’re gonna make love now?” she asked, hope edging her voice.
In a way, yes, he replied silently. “We’re going to eat.”
Disappointed, she resigned herself when she realized Santiago was obviously too hungry to think about love-making right now. Still, she wondered why he’d ordered her to take off her clothes. “We’re eatin’ nekkid?”
He arched a brow, her question creating a heaviness below his belt. “Yes.”
“Why?”
He took a deep breath, harvesting whatever bits of patience he still possessed. “Do you have to question me about everything I say and do? Take off your clothes.”
“Tell me why first.”
Damn her for not cooperating with her own seduction! “Russia, just do what I say!”
“Well, wicked wagons o’ walleyed wasps, Santiago, y’ain’t gotta yell at me!”
It took him but two long strides to reach her. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the satiny bed he’d made. Before she had time to object, he struggled with her clothes. Only when she was completely naked did he retrieve his knife and the heavy bag of food Zeferino Sanchez had given him in Rosario.
Russia wanted to pound him over the head with the bulging sack. “Santiago—”
“Shut up and lie still.” He opened the bag and peered inside.
“Well, ain’t you jist the big biscuit in the pan,” she quipped. “Bossy as all git-out. If you’d jist tell me what the hell all this is about, I’d—”
“I already told you, we’re going to eat. Now close your eyes.”
“Close my—”
“Or I’ll blindfold you.”
“But—”
“Very well,” he muttered, reaching for his saddlebag and the neckcloth within it. “You’ve given me no choice.”
She’d have had better luck wrestling a stone mountain than she had trying to keep him from wrapping the cloth around her eyes. “I ain’t never in my life—”
“Shut up, Russia. And don’t even think about taking off the blindfold.” Delving into th
e bag, he brought out a bright red apple and cut it into slivers. He held one piece under her nose.
She felt it touch the sensitive skin above her upper lip. Its unique fragrance told her exactly what it was. “Apple.”
Still determined to make love to her senses, he was intent on leading her on to greater heights of awareness. “Smells good, huh?” he asked slyly.
Since she couldn’t see the fruit, it did seem to smell stronger than an apple usually did. She imagined it would be crunchy and sweet and straight from the beautiful orchards surrounding Rosario. She saw it in her mind, and knew the peel was a deep, enticing red and that inside, it was stark white.
Suddenly she couldn’t wait to taste it. It was only an apple, but at that moment it seemed to her to be some kind of rare delicacy. She still couldn’t understand why she had to eat naked and blind, but decided it really wasn’t that hard to do. “Lemme have it,” she whispered, parting her lips.
Santiago glided the bit of fruit across her bottom lip, moistening it with apple juice. “Lick it.”
The fragrance of freshly cut apple and Santiago’s husky voice wafting through her, Russia began to feel the soft beginnings of an odd but pleasurable awareness. As bidden, she swept her tongue across her bottom lip. The flavor of the wonderful apple filled her mouth. She’d eaten many apples in her lifetime, but couldn’t remember one that tasted as absolutely delicious as the one Santiago tempted her with now. She opened her mouth wider, hoping he would slide it in.
He slipped the fruit between her lips but didn’t let go of it. Instead, he slid it out slightly, then in again. In. Out. Slowly, gently.
The rhythmic, incredibly sensual motion quickened her breath. “All,” she whispered. “Give it all to me.”
He complied. “I’m watching you, Russia. I’m looking at you all over.” He wondered what that bit of information would do to her, and studied her carefully for signs that would tell him.
Russia stopped chewing, unable even to swallow the sweet juice that filled her mouth. I’m watching you, Russia.
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