by Connie Mason
For the second time that night Julie couldn’t disguise her body’s reaction to Rod’s expert lovemaking as she yielded fully to the searing need which he had painstakingly built with his hands and mouth. She gasped in sweet agony as she joined him in his race to the stars, their cries of joy mingling in a tuneless melody. Afterwards, Julie lay contentedly in Rod’s arms, a deep feeling of peace soothing her tormented soul. Would sex alone be sufficient to build a life upon, she wondered in the few moments before she fell asleep? If only he could learn to care for her …
6
Looking back over her shoulder at the mission barely visible now in the distance, Julie felt herself grow warm as she remembered the blazing passion Rod had brought her to last night within those crumbling walls. In the privacy of their darkened room he had been like another man, tender, demanding, making certain her own desire had peaked before allowing his own release. Not only once, but many times during the night when she thought it impossible to become aroused again, she had found herself being catapulted into a maelstrum of uncontrollable desire by his all consuming hands and mouth.
Upon arising this morning, her childish dream of their marriage becoming anything more than a mockery came crashing down around her. Rod’s callous disregard shattered her fragile hopes for a new beginning as he wordlessly dressed and left their cell-like room to prepare for the last leg of their journey. Was he so anxious to see his father—or Elena—Julie could not help but ask herself. Not anxious to meet either one of her faceless foes, Julie dawdled until Rod appeared, angrily berating her for the delay. As a consequence (or punishment), Rod hurried her from the mission after a hasty goodbye to Padre Juan without allowing her breakfast. After the strenuous exercise of the night before, if Julie ever felt the need for sustenance it was now. But rather than give Rod the satisfaction of hearing her complain she suffered hunger pangs in silence, occasionally casting murderous glances in his direction.
As they journeyed farther and farther away from the mission Julie could not help but notice Rod’s tenseness, or the way his keen eyes darted about continually, alert and watchful. Finally she could no longer hold her tongue. “Is something wrong, Rod? Are we in some kind of danger?”
Rod started sharply at the sound of her voice, as if suddenly aware that he was not alone. “Perhaps,” he allowed reluctantly. “Padre Juan told me before we left the mission that Joaquin Murieta and his banditos have been active in the neighborhood recently. Only last week a group of Anglos traveling to San Diego were robbed. One of them swears it was Murieta. Shortly afterwards Murieta appeared in a small village not far from here to distribute food to oppressed Mexicans.”
“I … I don’t think I’ve heard of Murieta,” Julie said, glancing about fearfully. “Who is he?”
“If you were a romantic, you might call him Robin Hood,” informed Rod, his voice holding a note she could not decipher. “He is well known for robbing from the rich to give to the poor.”
“Then he can’t be too dangerous,” scoffed Julie, relaxing.
“Don’t be fooled, querida. Murieta is not above murder now and then. And most of his followers are ruthless mercenaries bent on rape and plunder.”
“How … how do you know so much about him?” questioned Julie, suddenly curious.”
“At one time I knew Joaquin Murieta as well as I know my own family. He was my friend. He lived on our rancho in a small casa with his wife, Rosita, and his brother. His … his sister, Maria, worked at our hacienda.” His words etched subtle lines of tension across his handsome features, puzzling Julie.
“Murieta has a wife?” she asked, amazed. “What made him turn to a life of crime?”
Rod was quiet a long time, carefully considering whether or not to relate all the grisly details to Julie. Finally, he shrugged, and said, “Joaquin was a vaquero on our rancho. One day my father sent him to San Diego for supplies and he took Rosita and his brother with him thinking to make a family outing of it.
“They camped along the road the first night and their fire attracted a group of Anglo miners taking the southern route to San Francisco. They … they took a liking to Rosita; she was young and very beautiful, and insisted that Joaquin share her. A fight ensued. Joaquin and his brother were tied to a tree, whipped, and made to watch while the five men raped Rosita. Joaquin passed out and when he came to he found Rosita dead and his brother hanging from a tree. He would have suffered the same fate had the miners not thought him already dead from their beating.”
“Oh, Rod! How horrible!” cried Julie, tears turning her blue eyes misty. “That poor man! No wonder he turned bandit.”
“The myth surrounding his image has spread until his name evokes a romantic aura of rescuing ladies in distress and giving to the poor.”
“Is none of it true?”
“I suppose some of it could be. He certainly is handsome enough.”
“If you were such great friends, why are you so concerned about meeting up with him?” questioned Julie.
“It’s been ten years, querida. A man changes with the company he keeps.”
“What ever became of his sister, Maria? Is she still on your rancho?”
Rod turned stony, his stern face belying his inner turmoil. Maria, he thought, the very name dredged up painful memories he thought had died long ago. But do memories ever die, he wondered bleakly? “I don’t wish to talk about Maria, Julie,” he said cryptically. “I will only say that Maria is no longer employed by my father.”
Julie sensed his withdrawal and immediately sought to change the subject. “When will we be on your property?”
Rod chuckled, his eyes twinkling mischievouly. “We have been on Delgado land ever since we left the mission.”
Julie gasped, her eyes sweeping the endless vista. “So much?” she asked.
“Nearly 70,000 acres,” replied Rod proudly. “Have you noticed the cattle grazing on those hills?” She followed the direction of his outstretched arm and nodded. “They all bear the Delgado brand.”
Julie was about to reply when a loud grumble of protest from her empty stomach drew both their attention. A bright crimson stained her cheekbones and she tried to act as if nothing had happened. From the corner of her eye she caught Rod grinning at her. His amusement at her obvious discomfort caused her to bristle angrily.
“Are you hungry, querida?” Rod asked, feigning grave concern.
“You’re damn right I am, Don Rodrigo!” exploded Julie, bringing an outburst of laughter from her husband. “You use me all night, keep me from sleeping, then expect me to go all day without nourishment! What kind of man are you?”
“Obviously a thoughtless one, querida,” grinned Rod roguishly. “But I wonder who used whom? Your enjoyment was as great as mine.”
“You’re despicable, Rod,” sniffed Julie, anything but amused. “I’ll bet you had a big breakfast.” She deliberately chose to ignore his gibe about her enjoyment of his lovemaking.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” he admitted shamelessly. “But seriously, I did not mean to starve you. I was so anxious to get an early start that I was forgetful of your needs. Forgive me. I hope to remedy my thoughtlessness right now. Rosa prepared a basket of food for our lunch and I can see I’d better stop immediately or be serenaded by your growling stomach.”
Pulling off the trail Rod halted the wagon beneath the shade of a large rock and sprang lightly to the ground. He helped Julie from her perch and both promptly disappeared in opposite directions to relieve themselves. It was obvious that Rod was well acquainted with every inch of ground they traveled for Julie soon stumbled upon a small stream. Uttering a cry of delight she knelt to bathe her face and neck in the clear cool water. It felt delicious, emboldening her to unbutton her bodice and splash the refreshing liquid on her chest and into the hollow between her breasts. Then, glancing surreptitiously in all directions, she gave in to an impulse and removed her bodice altogether, undoing the strings of her chemise so that it gaped open to reveal her breasts. Happi
ly she began splashing water on her exposed flesh.
“Caramba! Today is my lucky day,” came a harsh voice from behind.
Julie whirled, clutching frantically at the gaping edges of her chemise. “Who … who are you? What do you want?”
“I have been watching you, señorita, and if you lower your eyes you will see for yourself what I want,” laughed the man coarsely.
Against her will Julie’s eyes dropped to the huge bulge straining against the man’s dirty trousers, leaving her no doubt as to his salacious intent. Though short in stature the man gave the impression of great strength. A wide sombrero shadowed his small eyes but a droopy mustache did not conceal huge yellow teeth as his lascivious grin raked Julie’s exposed breasts. He had a villainous face with a scar that pulled up the corner of his mouth into a snarl. His gunbelt held a pistol on either hip and he wore a bandolier slung over one shoulder and across his barrel-like chest.
Julie gulped convulsively several times before finding her voice. “My … my husband is nearby. He will be here at any moment.”
“Do you think Pedro is a fool, bruja? I do not travel alone. Your husband will be detained long enough for me to enjoy you. If he becomes quarrelsome, he will be disposed of. Then mi amigos can also have their fill of you.”
“No!” screamed Julie, more terrified than she had ever been in her life. She willed her legs to move, knowing that her chances of escape were almost nil.
Laughing raucously, Pedro grabbed at Julie, catching her about the waist. She kicked and screamed as his dirty hands fondled and played with her breasts. His foul-smelling breath nearly gagged her as he tried unsuccessfully to capture her lips. Outraged, Julie drew blood as she bit down hard on his lip. With a cry of disgust Pedro threw her to the ground and fell heavily atop her, fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers. “Enough, puta!” he shouted angrily. “Save your strength, you will need it.”
Julie closed her eyes and prayed. Suddenly, the answer to her prayer came in the form of six-feet four of snarling, enraged manhood as she felt Pedro’s immense weight leave her body. When she opened her eyes Rod was helping her from the ground, his voice gentle. “Did he hurt you, querida?”
Julie looked to where Pedro sat shaking his shaggy head groggily. “N … no. You came in time.”
Just then a movement caught her eye and she screamed. Rod turned, crouching low as Pedro’s pistol barked. The first shot missed. The second never left the barrel. A tall, dark man stood to the left of them. At his command Pedro reluctantly sheathed his weapon, but not before his scathing look warned Rod that they were far from finished with one another.
Rod turned slowly to face his savior.
“Buenas dias, Don Rodrigo,” the man said, the glimmer of a smile curving his soft, sensual lips.
Though Julie could not understand all the Spanish words she had picked up enough the last few days to follow their conversation.
“Buenos dias, Joaquin. It’s been a long time, amigo,” answered Rod.
From where Julie stood she could see a group of silent men flanking their leader. She hadn’t expected Murieta to be so handsome. In comparison to his band of bandoleros he was immaculately dressed in leather pants and short jacket. Of course, the inevitible gunbelt hugged his slim waist. Though swarthy, he was extremely attractive and Julie could easily see how romantic tales were spun around his exploits. A thin mustache graced his upper lip and his smile revealed a complete set of white teeth. His graceful build reminded her of a sleek tiger, his stance proud and defiant.
“Nearly ten years, Rodrigo,” Murieta countered. “Much has happened in that time.”
“What do you want, Joaquin? Why are you in this area? On Delgado land? Have you come to steal our cattle?”
“If I could, amigo, I would ruin your father for what he did to Maria. Have you forgotten her so soon? Did she mean so little to you? Your father, the almighty el patron, decided his son was too good for a lowly mestiza, a woman of mixed Spanish and Indian blood, whose heritage rendered her unfit to become a Delgado.”
Rod listened intently to Murieta’s long tirade, seemingly unmoved until he mentioned Maria. “You’ve seen Maria?” he asked, apparently shocked by his disclosure. “You know where she is? You’ve spoken to her?”
“No,” Murieta answered, unsmiling. “Like yourself, I searched for her but never found her. One day, though, I’ll find her, and discover for myself why she ran away. And if your father had anything to do with her disappearance.”
Rod seemed to crumble inwardly and Julie was amazed that the mention of a mere woman could wrought such change in him. Her gasp caught Murieta’s attention for the first time and he turned to study her, his fathomless ebony eyes missing nothing of her disheveled appearance or expanse of exposed flesh. Reluctantly his gaze left her as Rod said, “I only hope she has found peace where she has gone.”
“It’s rather late for that, isn’t it, amigo?” sneered Murieta derisively.
“Por Dios, Joaquin! I was young, a mere boy. What did you expect of a lad barely eighteen?”
“I expected him to defy his father for the sake of the woman he loved!”
“Madre de Dios! I searched! You know that! Even when my father forbade it I kept right on searching for her! I wanted to marry her! I loved her!”
“Had you truly loved Maria you would still be searching for her.”
Julie could not stifle the cry that escaped her lips. Once again Murieta’s appraising gaze fell upon her. “Who is this woman, Don Rodrigo? Surely you do not bring an Anglo servant to your hacienda? If she is your puta I commend you on your excellent taste but I question your sanity. I know Doña Elena well enough to know she will not be pleased to welcome such a woman into your home. Your bride-to-be is known to all for her fiery temper.”
Rod’s eyes flew to Julie, seeing for the first time the state of her undress, the expanse of exposed flesh she could not hide with the tatters of her chemise, and he hastened to her side, placing his own jacket about her quaking shoulders. He deliberately spoke in English for Julie’s benefit.
“Julie is my wife. Padre Juan married us yesterday.”
Murieta looked as if he had been struck by lightning. “Your wife! An Anglo?!” He laughed raucously, as if at some private joke. “You have indeed grown up in ten years, amigo, if you are brave enough to bring home an Anglo bride. I would like to be there to see your father’s face when you present her. An Anglo bride,” he repeated gleefully. “Ah, Rodrigo, fate has intervened to deal a blow from which Don Diego is not likely to recover. The irony of it all.”
Rod glowered angrily. But with Murieta and his men facing him with drawn weapons there was nothing he could do. “What do you intend to do with us, Joaquin?” Rod asked, his arm curving protectively about Julie’s slim shoulders.
“Contrary to your beliefs I am not a monster like Pedro, here,” he motioned toward his scowling lieutenant. “Neither do I harm beautiful women. But if I were you, amigo, I would guard my wife well. I am almost persuaded to win her from you.”
On graceful catfeet, Murieta slinked forward until he stood before Julie. With one finger he tilted her chin upwards until her wide blue eyes met his. Strangely, Julie felt no fear. There was no menace in his gesture.
“Would I be able to steal you from your husband, niña?” he asked gently. Instinctively Rod’s arm tightened around her. Murieta smiled wryly. “I think, Rodrigo, the little one means much to you. Be careful, amigo, your father once took someone from me I loved dearly, see that he doesn’t do the same to you.”
“You need have no fear for my wife, Joaquin,” bristled Rod, surprised by the sudden flare of jealousy he felt toward the bandolero.
Reluctantly, Murieta dropped his hand and stepped aside. “You are free to go, Don Rodrigo. I will not harm you or your lovely bride,” he smiled beguilingly at Julie. “Vaya con Dios.”
Taking Julie’s small hand Rod edged past the fierce Pedro toward their wagon nearby. Before he drove off, he tu
rned to Murieta once again. “Will you tell me if you find Maria?”
“Perhaps, amigo.” Rod had to accept the vagueness of his answer. “Take your woman and get out of here.”
Without another word, Rod flicked his crop across the horse’s rump and they shot forward. Julie could not help but glance over her shoulder as they drove off. Joaquin Murieta and his men had already begun to melt back from where they came but one man still stood staring intently after them, his wide sombrero completely shading his face. Julie had noticed him before but was so intent upon what was happening between Rod and Murieta that she hadn’t the time to delve into her strange feeling when she first noticed his eyes upon her.
Though the bandito was dressed much like the other bandoleros there was something hauntingly familiar about him, his stance, the set of his shoulders, even though the striped serape he wore effectively concealed his form, making it difficult to tell whether the man was fat or slim. Shrugging, Julie turned her attention on the road, certain that she could not know one of Joaquin Murieta’s bandoleros.
They rode in silence for several miles, Rod withdrawn and thoughtful, Julie intensely curious. Finally she could stand it no longer. “Tell me about Maria, Rod,” she asked softly.
Rod scowled darkly, at first reluctant to reveal that which was so painful to him. At last he shrugged and began the tale Julie had gained only bits and pieces of during Rod’s and Murieta’s conversation in rapid Spanish.
“I was just seventeen, nearly eighteen, Maria was twenty. She was beautiful, with large doe eyes and a sweet smile,” Rod began wistfully. “Joaquin’s father, an impoverished Spanish hidalgo, was forced from his land when he couldn’t prove his boundaries and sought work with my father. They were given a small casa on our land. Joaquin’s mother was dead but his father soon took a beautiful Indian mistress, Maria’s mother.
