“Oh, I will! And please call me Lotty. All my friends do.”
“Well, now, ain’t that nice, Santiago?” Russia asked, pulling him up from the step. “Here we jist come to Whisperin’ Oaks, and we’re already on one o’ them first-name basins with Lotty here!”
“Basis,” he corrected her quietly.
She shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. Lotty, you call me Russia, and call him Santiago. And ever’body else here in Whisperin’ Oaks can do the same. Be seein’ you!”
As Russia sashayed away, Lotty began telling Santiago a few stories about her cats. When she finally finished the tales, he reached up to tip his hat to her before remembering he no longer had one. He had no wish at all to buy a Bible from her store, but he’d for damn sure get a hat. “Good day, Lotty,” he said, then turned to follow Russia, who was now chatting with an elderly man down the street.
Upon arriving at her side, he learned that the man was the mayor of Whispering Oaks and that Russia had established a first-name relationship with him, too.
“Yeah, this is him, Sam,” Russia said to Mayor Spencer. “Santiago Zamora. He thinks the world o’ mayors. He’s always sayin’ that a town without no mayor ain’t really a town a’tall. He’s even thinkin’ o’ bein’ a mayor one o’ these here days. Ain’t that right, Santiago?”
“Uh…yes.” Bewildered, Santiago shook the mayor’s hand.
“Russia’s been telling me all about you, Santiago,” Samuel Spencer said, his gray mustache bobbing as he spoke. “I’d heard many tales about you, but never the one about how you rescued the mayor of Longville from the Comanches. Tell me, weren’t you afraid at all when the Indians disarmed you and made you dodge their barrage of arrows? I don’t consider myself a Coward by any means, but I can’t even imagine the bravery it must have taken to stand up to a brace of a hundred bloodthirsty savages.”
Santiago had never felt more confused in his life. “A hundred?”
“Oh, that ain’t right, is it?” Russia asked loudly. “It was two hundred! Yeah, Sam, he faced ‘emall. Arrers nicked him all over, but he didn’t do as much as squint. Catched most o’ them flyin’ arrers with his bare hands, then cracked ‘emover his knee. Them Comanches was so impressed, they up and let him and that mayor go. Once they was back in Longville, the mayor give Santiago the key to the town. It was a solid gold key, but Santiago didn’t keep it. Compassion’s his middle name, y’know. He give that key away to a woman he met who didn’t have nothin’ but the clothes on her back. She was so grateful, she kissed the ground he walked on. She got dirt all over her lips, but she didn’t care none, did she, Santiago?”
“Uh—no. She didn’t care.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
Mayor Spencer studied the scar on Santiago’s face, deciding he’d gotten it from one of the Comanche arrows he’d faced in order to save the Longville mayor. He reached out and clasped Santiago’s shoulder. “We’ve been told some pretty awful stories about you, my boy. And you do present a rather sinister sight, but now that I’ve met you, I realize those rumors were nothing but a pack of terrible lies. You may be sure I will do everything within my power to set our good citizens straight on the matter. Make Whispering Oaks your home for as long as you like. Good day to you both.”
As they continued walking down the street, Russia had a tall tale about Santiago’s wonderful character and background for everyone she encountered. And each wild story was geared especially for the person she was speaking to. Melly, who owned the restaurant, was deeply flattered to hear that the aromas of her cooking reminded Santiago of his dear, departed mother, who was now being considered for sainthood by the Catholic Church. Melly promised to make him the best meal she could, but declared it probably wouldn’t hold a candle to anything his pious mother might have made.
The Whispering Oaks jeweler almost wet his pants when he learned that Santiago thought the gems in the jewelry-store window far surpassed the jewels in the Queen of Limmindorf’s crown. Never mind that the jeweler had never heard of the country of Limmindorf; the fact remained that Santiago had once rescued the Queen’s crown when a band of outlaws had stolen it during her trip to Texas three years ago. To think that the Whispering Oaks jewelry store sold gems that were more beautiful than those of royalty!
Not even the town’s children were exempt from Russia’s outrageous imagination. They stared at Santiago in pure awe when they learned he’d once captured and trained five hundred mustangs for an orphanage full of children who’d wanted horses of their own.
And everyone out and about in the town that afternoon watched the infamous gunfighter climb up a tall post to rescue a butterfly from a spider’s web. They saw his gentleness, witnessed his compassion for the helpless, and were impressed beyond measure when the harmless creature flew freely out of his huge hand.
What they didn’t see was the deep frown of unmitigated aggravation that scored Santiago’s face. They didn’t hear Russia’s quiet but adamant commands that he perform the rescue, nor did they hear his five minutes’ worth of muttered profanities.
As he made the climb down the post, Santiago decided to put up with Russia’s strange behavior until he could get her alone and ask her what the hell she was up to. He would not allow her to stop again until they’d reached the hotel.
But when his feet hit the ground, he discovered she was no longer with him. He scanned the town, finally spotting her a good distance down the street. She was chatting with the minister now. “Santa Maria,” he mumbled to himself. “She’s probably telling him I can walk on water.” With a jerky wave of his hand, he made it clear to her that he wanted her to join him. He saw her wave back and watched as she began skipping toward him, Nehemiah trotting beside her. Admiring the way her beautiful hair floated around her as she moved, he felt his irritation begin to fade.
But the loud clatter of wood bouncing on hard dirt and pebbles stole his attention from her. Twisting his head, he saw a gleaming black carriage speeding down the street. It had no driver, and the two thoroughbred horses that pulled it were wild-eyed and frenzied. Santiago realized that in only a few more seconds the conveyance was going to run right into Russia.
“Russia!” he shouted. He began to run, his long legs stretching, pumping, his body straining with power. With every step he took, his fear for her safety grew, giving him further strength, faster speed.
Her scream chilled his very soul. He saw her turn and try to get out of the way of the careening coach, but she wasn’t fast enough.
And neither was he.
Numb terror slid through his veins as the runaway vehicle sped past her. He saw her thrown into the air with horrible suddenness. She landed hard and looked like a discarded heap of something unwanted. A cloud of dust settled over her.
Though he was still several yards away from where she lay, he threw himself toward her, sliding on his knees until he reached her. He wanted to say her name, but the thick fear in his throat stole his voice. His arms shaking violently, he lifted her to his chest, praying desperately that she would open her eyes and tell him she wasn’t hurt.
“Russia.” His lips formed the name, but without sound. He couldn’t even whisper, for there was no breath left inside him. His body slumped over her, a sickening dread gnawing at his insides. For a long moment he couldn’t seem to think rationally. All he could understand was that she didn’t open her eyes. That she was hurt.
And that he hadn’t been there to save her.
“Dear God, is she all right?” a man exclaimed as he ran up.
Santiago stood. Russia’s body hung over his brawny arms like a worn-out ribbon. “The doctor,” he managed to whisper. “The doctor’s office.”
“My horses!” the man shouted in reply. “God, I’m so sorry! Something spooked them, and I couldn’t—”
“The doctor,” Santiago repeated.
Lotty lumbered to his side. “This way, Santiago,” she panted, looping her fat finger through his gun belt and pulling him along. “Doc Frazier’s office is right over he
re.”
In a daze, Santiago followed her.
* * *
No amount of pleading on Lotty’s or Doc Frazier’s part could induce Santiago to leave the examining room. He stood next to the bed, holding Russia’s pale hand, while the doctor searched her body for injuries.
“There are no broken bones,” Doc Frazier announced. “Her heartbeat and breathing are normal, and I can find no signs of internal bleeding. My guess is that she was only knocked unconscious, Mr. Zamora. We’ll wait until she wakes up, and then I’ll know more.”
During the next half hour, Santiago refused to accept any of Lotty’s or Doc Frazier’s attempts to reassure him. He experienced wave after brutal wave of fear.
He never took his midnight gaze away from Russia’s pallid face. He tried to pray for her. But instead of thinking of his own prayer, someone else’s kept whispering through his mind.
He’s the loneliest man I ever come across. I’ll be nice to him fer as long as I’m with him, Miz Mary. But who’s gonna be nice to him when him and me ain’t together no more? He needs somebody so bad. Somebody to love him and not be scared of him. His Princess Charmin’. Please let him find her.
Russia’s prayer. She hadn’t asked for a single thing for herself that day in the church of Rosario, he remembered. Every petition had been for him.
Even now, here in Whispering Oaks, she had continued along those ends, trying to convince everyone she met that he was a man who could be a friend to them all. That he was a man of sterling character, one who should be welcomed wholeheartedly to their town.
And what had he ever done for her? he asked himself, tightening his hold on her slender hand. Nothing. Nothing but lose his patience with her, yell at her, and make her feel as though she had no value whatsoever. She was a whore, and he’d made damn sure she understood how he felt about that.
He refused to be comforted by the recollection that he’d told her he liked her. The fact remained that he’d never once told her that he accepted her for what she was. For what she swore she had no other choice to be.
God. He’d never really hated Russia.
He hated himself.
* * *
When Russia opened her eyes, she saw a swirl of bright colors. They moved slowly, gracefully. “Am I dead?” she whispered. “Am I in heaven?”
Santiago snapped up his bowed head so quickly, a burst of pain shot through his neck and down his spine. “Russia!”
His shout startled her. “Well, now I know I ain’t in heaven,” she murmured. “I always had it figgered that screamin’ ain’t allowed up there.” She blinked several times, smiling when Santiago’s face became visible to her. Raising her hand, she clutched his shirt and pulled herself into a sitting position.
Her head throbbed dully, and for a moment she felt quite dizzy. But the sensation soon passed, and she noticed she was in a bed. The sheets were so white they almost hurt her eyes to look at them.
“I’m Doc Frazier,” the doctor said to her. “How do you feel, Miss Valentine?”
She looked at the wizened man and warmed to him right away. He had a kind smile on his furrowed mouth, and eyes that shone with genuine concern. And Lotty was in the room, too, she saw. The plump woman appeared just as worried as the doctor.
But among the three people who were staring at her, Santiago was the worst off. The man looked haggard. She’d never seen such deep anxiety in anyone’s eyes. “Santiago, you got more wrinkles on your face than a accordion. What’s got into you?”
“Russia,” he said, “don’t you remember what happened?” He tensed, wondering if the accident had damaged her brain to such an extent that she had little memory left.
Russia thought for a moment. “A coach teared past me. I got outta the way all right, but then I tripped over Little Purry Puss. He was right behind me, y’see. I tried to jump over him. I remember hoppin’ high in the air, but I don’t recall nothin’ after that.”
“You weren’t hit by the carriage?” Santiago asked in disbelief.
“No. And ’cept fer a powerful headache, I feel jist fine. Is Boppenheimer all right?”
Santiago lifted Nehemiah onto the bed. “Russia, are you sure everything feels—”
“I’ll check her over,” Doc Frazier announced. He gave her another thorough examination and was relieved when he still couldn’t find anything wrong with her. “The headache will go away by itself. All she really needs is rest. Two spoonfuls of this elixir will help her do that.”
Santiago took the bottle and handed the doctor a roll of money. Despite her protests, he picked Russia up and headed out of the examining room. The hotel was a good distance down the street, but he would carry her all the way. As he entered the doctor’s waiting room, he saw the man who’d been so hysterical after Russia’s accident.
“Is she all right?” the gentleman asked, rising from his seat near the window.
“She’ll be fine.”
“I’m not all the way plumb, but I’m pert near,” Russia added, smiling sweetly at the concerned man. “I’m Russia Valentine, and this here’s Santiago Zamora.”
“Ben Clayton,” he introduced himself. “I’m—Miss Valentine, I’m awfully sorry about my carriage. I was coming out of the bank, and my driver was nowhere about. I intended to wait for him inside the coach, but just as I reached it, something scared the horses. In the next second, they were tearing down the street. I’ve—I’ve been waiting here for word of your welfare. I truly regret what happened, and I’m willing to make whatever amends I can.”
Russia waved his apologies away. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do, Mr. Clayton, but quit worryin’. I weren’t hit by your coach, nohow. Failed over my own feet. I do that a lot. Sorry I give you such a scare. I reckon I was layin’ in that street stiller than a plate o’ spit, huh? You the banker here in Whisperin’ Oaks?” she asked, noticing his sophisticated clothing.
“Yes, I am. And please call me Ben.”
“You use our first names, too,” Russia invited him.
“I’m pleased to know you both, Russia and Santiago.”
Irritation rippled through Santiago’s taut frame. He didn’t care at all for the note of interest he detected in Ben’s gentle voice. Interest, he fumed, that was directed at Russia.
He decided the man was a dandy. He was dressed in a fancy striped suit, and there wasn’t a speck of lint on his entire body. Even his shoes were spotless. A sparkling gold pocket watch hung almost to his thigh, and peeking out from within his coat was a derringer that looked more like a child’s toy than anything lethal. His skin was very white and appeared to be as soft as silk. He seemed to have no more physical strength than it took to pick up a roll of money. His hair was smoothed down with some kind of oil that smelled like flowers to Santiago.
Yes, Ben Clayton was definitely a cream puff, just the sort of man Santiago disdained. Worst of all was that the damn pansy couldn’t seem to take his long-lashed green eyes off Russia for a second.
“It’s jist the greatest honor in the whole wide world to meet the Whisperin’ Oaks banker,” Russia gushed, holding out her hand to Ben. “And I bet it jist tickles you all the way down to your gizzard to have Santiago Zamora here in town, don’t it? I mean, what with all that money in your bank and all them zillions o’ robbers creepin’ around all over, I bet you’ll sleep like a little baby tonight knowin’ Santiago’s here fer a while. Santiago hates bank robbers worse’n he hates anything else in the universe. He loves banks, and wakes up ever’ mornin’ swearin’ to protect any bank and banker he might see durin’ the course o’ the day. Ain’t that right, Santiago?”
Santiago had had enough of her singing his praises to the townspeople. He was too worried about her right now to care a fig about what people thought of him. And his irritation with Ben Clayton was a pulsing anger. The man continued shaking Russia’s hand. Santiago had never seen a handshake last so long.
“Yes, it’s nice to have you here, Santiago,” Ben mumbled, his gaze devouring every
inch of the beautiful girl shaking his hand. Completely besotted, he closed his other hand over hers, his fingers sweeping lightly over her wrist.
Santiago felt an immediate urge to kill the man. “Russia, we’d best be checking into the hotel now. I’m sure Mr. Clayton is much too busy to—”
“Oh, I’m not busy at all,” Ben said, smiling at Russia. “And I insist on driving you to the hotel.”
“Oh, how nice!” Russia squealed, thereby squelching any refusal Santiago might have had. “I ain’t never rided in a fancy carriage before!”
The plush coach astonished her. As she sank into the thick red velvet seat cushions, she admired the gleaming brass lamps attached to the silk-lined walls. Beside the lamps hung small paintings in gilded frames. She felt as if she were in a fancy parlor instead of in a carriage.
“Tell me, Russia, have you had lunch yet?” Ben asked. “It would be a great pleasure for me to take you. That is, if Doc Frazier said you may be out and about.”
“Oh, I’ll be out and about fer sure.” She touched the gold tassels that held back the crimson curtains at the sparkling windows.
Ben squirmed with excitement. “Then would you care to come with me to—”
“She needs a bath,” Santiago bit out, knowing that was a highly improper thing to say but not caring in the least that he’d said it. He put his arm around Russia’s shoulder, his hand curling around her elbow.
Ben didn’t miss the gesture of possessiveness. “Are the two of you traveling together?” he asked, scowling.
His frown made Russia understand that her traveling with a man who wasn’t her husband had shocked Ben. “Yeah, but it’s all right that we’re together,” she hurried to say, determined to prevent anyone in Whispering Oaks from thinking ill of her and Santiago. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it a’tall. I…um…Santiago’s kin to me. My mother’s third cousin is Santiago’s great-aunt’s nephew’s son-in-law’s uncle.” She paused for a moment, trying to decide if her huge lie made any sense.
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