The knee-high grass gave way to shorter alfalfa and clover fields, which had been recently cut. Long rectangular bales of hay lay in neat rows, reminding Cait of soldiers standing at rigid attention. Dominic halted, squinting toward the east.
“There, can you see it? That dust cloud?”
Cait pulled her mare to a stop and shaded her eyes. “Yes. What is it?”
“Let’s head that way. That’s where the gauchos are singling out the calves from their mothers.”
They swung into a gallop, and the fields became a blur of green beneath the horses’ pounding hoofs. Laughter sprang from Cait’s throat as she moved in unison with each stride of the mare. Once she felt her horse tense and spotted an armadillo dashing madly for the safety of his hole. Such holes could spell disaster for an animal, and she wisely followed Dominic, who seemed to know the safest route through the unfenced fields.
As they neared their destination, Dominic moved upwind from the clouds of dust created by the cows mooing plaintively for their recently removed calves. Holding pens made of maroon-colored fence posts kept the bawling babies away from the rest of the milling herds. Gauchos expertly swung their lassos to prevent single animals from breaking away from the main group.
They slowed to a stop, and Cait reached down to pat Dirah. Dominic swung his leg over the saddle and rested lazily atop the gelding. He waved to one gaucho and turned to Cait. “That’s Giulio, the manager of this herd and majordomo over the rest of the gauchos. He’s been with us since long before I was born.”
Cait smiled, admiring the foreign flavor of the costume. She was used to cowboy hats, narrow-toed boots and long-sleeved shirts. Instead the gauchos wore a black beret tipped cockily to one side of their lean, spare features. The glint of metal drew her attention, and she asked, “What are they wearing around their waists?”
“Coins. It’s a statement of a gaucho’s total monetary worth. You can see it’s a very wide belt, and most of them keep an assortment of items in it, including a façon or dagger. They use that to kill or skin an animal, to fight with or as a skewer over a fire to hold their meat. It’s an all-purpose weapon.”
“Is it true they are hot-tempered?”
Dominic shrugged. “Seventy years ago, they had a reputation for being fierce. Did you know they helped to build Argentina’s independence? A long time ago, the word gaucho meant outcast or a lost animal. But ever since they rendered their services to General Martin de Guemes, they’ve been considered heroes. Without them, we’d have a monarchy. So the name became a compliment instead of an insult. These are men who live by a fairly simple code, mi leona. In the past they killed for honor or in the heat of passion—but never over money. Nowadays only the stories are passed on, and the men are a relatively tame lot.”
“That’s a shame.”
Dominic grinned. “Do you think so? I don’t think you’d like being married to one.”
She returned the smile. “Why not?”
“For one, they used to live in mud-and-grass shacks. A bed was made up of animal skins, and a chair was constructed of a set of horse skulls or hip bones. Sometimes they’d find an ostrich egg or bring home vizcachas for a change of diet.”
Cait wrinkled her nose. “What is a vizcacha?”
“A cross between a rat and rabbit, which grows to be about two feet long. It tastes pretty good, despite the ugliness of the thing.” He laughed. “Back then, water was very scarce and the people never took baths. The women had to live in those huts, with little more than a shapeless gown to wear and no shoes.”
“You’re right. I’d never make a gaucho’s woman.”
“Watch that gaucho single out that calf,” he said.
Cait straightened up in the saddle, watching the dust-caked horse and rider spurt out of the herd. The gaucho pulled the boleadoras from around his waist, swinging the two balls that were suspended from a long leather strap above his head. In an instant he had loosened the bola, and Cait watched in admiration as the calf went down, two of his legs wrapped expertly by the bola. “He’s good,” she admitted.
Dominic agreed. “On the plus side, a gaucho is probably one of the hardest-working professionals in Argentina. Gauchos are of Indian extraction, and no one can hunt, trap, trail and herd better than they can. I know that sounds chauvinistic, but that’s their code.”
Cait laughed. “You mean they wouldn’t like me to go out there and rope one of those calves for them?”
“Not in the least. They think a woman’s place is at home, raising the children.”
She smiled, appreciating the timing of the gauchos’ movements on their well-trained horses. Their baggy black trousers and rope-soled sandals looked strange, but Cait realized those wiry, high-cheeked men could probably outwork ranch hands from Colorado. “You seem to enjoy this sort of work.”
Dominic lifted his leg over the gelding, and they turned back the way they had come. “Yes, I do. Look, there’s Giulio. He’s been with us since before I was born, and he became a sort of foster father when I was very young. My real father had his business in BA, and I saw him only on weekends. I probably rode more with Giulio than I ever walked the first seven years of my life.”
“When you talk about him, Dominic, I hear a special sound in your voice, almost as if you were back in that time.”
He shrugged, reaching out to press a kiss to her hand. “Giulio made me see the difference between money and power, and what it was like to be my own person.” He smiled, drinking in her attentive features. “And that’s where the rub between my father and me began. I saw my mother alone five days of a week, sometimes more, because he was in the city. I saw Giulio ride back to his home every night, into the waiting arms of his wife and six children. At five years old I knew which lifestyle I wanted.”
“Did you spend a lot of nights at Giulio’s home?”
“Yes. Far too many, according to my father.”
She returned his carefree smile and felt a surge of pride. “So when did the friction begin?” she asked.
“When it was time for me to go to a private school instead of the local school, where all my friends were. I should amend that. My father felt I shouldn’t have friends among the poor, only among the rich and affluent.” Dominic rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a rueful sidelong glance. “I found out very quickly that rich kids were shallow and manipulative, compared to the farm friends I grew up with.”
Cait nodded and closed her eyes, languishing in the warming rays of the setting sun. Curtains of heat rose from the land like filmy drapes waving lazily in the breeze. Sharing the past with Dominic seemed natural, and Cait realized how much he had entrusted her with. It spoke of the seriousness of their relationship and she felt a thrill of happiness. She watched him ride with an ease born of having done it all his life.
“I hear that nasty word again,” she teased.
“Manipulate?”
“Yes. I thought you had grown to dislike the word, because of your marriage, but I can see now it happened much earlier.”
He laughed. “And with that knowledge, you’d think I would have recognized those very traits in Alicia. But I didn’t. I fell hopelessly in love with her. But I had no business getting married.”
“You said it had been arranged?”
“Yes. It was the only thing I let my father ever talk me into, and what a disaster it turned out to be. After the divorce he grudgingly acknowledged I was the best one to run my life. I know he feels responsible and guilty for shoving the marriage on me.”
Cait noticed a slight tremor in his voice when he said “Alicia.” A tiny alarm went off in her head, and she frowned. “For all the problems she seems to have caused, you sound as if you still love her.” It was posed as a statement, but Cait felt the question in her own unsure voice.
She looked intently at Dominic and found herself melting each time she took in his strong face and golden eyes, each time she felt the strength of his hard, muscular body against her own. She sighed, her hea
rt thudding.
“I hated her for a long time, Cait. And until very recently it seemed I was still attracted to that kind of woman. That’s why I had a hell of a time with you. None of the women I knew, would ever dream of laughing freely or crying openly. When I made love to them, it was like making love to a carefully timed machine that was rigged to make the proper response or the proper rejoinder at the proper time.” He studied her. “Now do you understand why I blundered in so brazenly with you at the beginning? You were so damn lovely, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. All I knew was that I wanted you. All my usual lines backfired with you.” They laughed.
“I was absolutely mortified at your insolence! I thought this couldn’t be happening—not on my job!”
“You changed me, though, querida.”
Cait leaned across the saddle, her lips touching his strong, sun-warmed mouth. “No more than you gave me life, darling,” she whispered tremulously.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said. “Let’s stop and give the horses a well-earned rest. It’s time for a siesta, and all gauchos halt their work and make maté now.”
Cait dismounted, loosened the hat she wore and placed it on the saddle horn. There were no trees in sight for as far as she could see, only the gently waving grass. Dominic hobbled both horses, cleared a spot in the ground, dug a small hole, and placed some bits of dried grass beneath a few lumps of charcoal. Cait sat cross-legged upwind from the small fire.
“You didn’t tell me you were a boy scout,” she teased.
Dominic brought the saddlebags over and laid them by Cait. “I’m not. I used matches, not a flint. Here, this is for you.” He handed her an oblong hollowed-out gourd. It was delicately surrounded by filigreed silver at the base and sported an elegant handle. “No one,” he instructed seriously, “should ever drink yerba maté without a gourd and bombilla, or straw. It is the custom of Argentina to provide guests with just such equipment, but nowadays, except when it is a very special person, maté is served in a china cup, with a saucer.”
Cait marveled at the beauty of the gourd, which fit comfortably between her hands. “It’s lovely, Dominic. But what do I do with it?”
He poured water from the canteen into a well-used, blackened teakettle that he placed above the fire on a hook suspended from an iron stake in the ground. He sat back on his heels, satisfaction lining his face. “It’s about time you got steeped in the customs of Argentina, mi leona. Very few foreigners experience this custom. Here, crumble this small handful of maté into the bottom of your gourd.”
Cait cautiously sniffed the dark-green leaves and did as she was instructed. “I feel like I’m going through an initiation ceremony.” She laughed.
“In a sense, you are. A very pleasant one, however. Here, the water’s beginning to boil. Set the gourd down and watch what happens.”
The water hit the bottom of the gourd, and a frothy green foam erupted and spewed over the sides. Cait wrinkled her nose. “Is it safe to drink?”
He poured his own, returning the kettle to the hook and adding more water. “I know it doesn’t look very appetizing. Just add a teaspoon of sugar to it.”
Cait stirred the maté, watching the foam slowly subside. She copied Dominic as he put his bombilla into the tea, and took her first tentative sip. Surprised, she declared, “It’s not so bad.”
“Good. Now come here and sit by me. I have a fable to tell you.”
She slid into his awaiting embrace, amazed at how well their bodies always seemed to fit together. The sun was dipping closer to the horizon, and the bright whiteness of the day was dissolving into faint rose.
“Do you know what you did by drinking the maté?” he murmured.
“No,” she replied huskily, her pulse leaping crazily at the base of her neck.
“Whether you know it or not, querida, you are now part of Argentina’s soul. There is an old Indian legend involving CaaIari, who is the spirit of all yerbales, or yerba maté trees and groves. Many hundreds of years ago, an old couple had a very, very beautiful daughter, and the love they held for her made them flee to the safety of the forest to protect her from marauding tribes. Unknown to them, a god disguised as a foot-weary traveler asked the old man and woman for food and housing for the night. Naturally they complied, and when the god discovered their undivided loyalty to the girl, he made the daughter immortal. Her spirit now resides in all maté groves, which she guards dutifully. When people drink yerba maté, she erases the hunger or pain they feel, and enables them to face all adversaries and dangers with courage. All who drink will come back to her land without fail.” He leaned down, kissing Cait’s cheek tenderly. “So you see, you are now my prisoner. I’ve tricked you into staying in Argentina.”
Cait smiled and sipped more of the fragrant tea. “At least for the duration of the project, huh?”
Dominic laughed, his arm tightening around her. “Longer than that if the maté legend is true, querida.”
Her pulse quickened. She was too content to explore the hidden meaning of his whispered words. The silence lengthened between them, and she finished the last of her yerba maté, setting the gourd down before them. Dominic massaged her shoulders, and she leaned back in response.
“You’re just like a cat,” he growled, “arching against my touch. Tell me, are you getting hungry?”
“Very much.” She grinned, turning to meet his open gaze. “I like scrambled eggs.”
Dominic managed a sour smile, getting to his feet and then lifting her from her sitting position. She settled against his fragrant male body, content to stare pensively into his golden eyes. “I had something more than eggs in mind. Like I said, it’s time you were properly introduced to Argentina. Tonight I’m going to make empanadas. You can help if you want.”
She grinned. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
They rode back toward the fiery crimson-and-saffron-colored sunset, meeting several dusty gauchos on tired horses at the juncture of the hay fields and the long-stemmed pampas grass. By the time they reached the stable, Cait was starving. After unsaddling their mounts and rubbing them down, they held hands and walked to the coolness of the small house.
After a quick hot shower, Cait joined Dominic in the kitchen. Her dark hair fell loosely about her shoulders, and he leaned down, kissing her mouth with delicious slowness. She broke away, laughing. “I thought you were hungry!”
He grinned, releasing her and putting two onions in her hands. “I am. Come on, you chop the onions and I’ll throw the rest of this together. How are you at rolling out pastry dough?”
Over two hours later Cait lay with Dominic in front of the fireplace, on a rug of spotted llamas’ wool. The warmth of the flames lulled her into a blissful doze, and she leaned back into his cradling arms, thoroughly content. Darkness had followed quickly on the heels of the glorious sunset, and now, in the late fall, approaching winter was sweeping down off the mighty Andes, rapidly cooling the flat pampas.
Dominic leaned forward, his mouth brushing her robed shoulder. “Happy?” he murmured.
“Mmm, very,” she answered drowsily. She closed her eyes, nestling against his broad shoulder. “If anyone had told me happiness like this was possible I would have said that was crazy.”
“Me, too.”
Cait smiled. Whatever it was—and she knew it was love—was working the same spell upon Dominic. “What had you imagined as a future yourself?” she asked softly.
“Loneliness interspersed with work.”
“Me, too.”
It was his turn to chuckle. “Are we opposite bookends?”
“No, we’re just pessimistic about—” She was suddenly afraid to say it…to say that one four-letter word that had made her world change from shades of gray to brilliant rainbow hues.
“Cat got your tongue?” he teased, nibbling playfully on her earlobe. “I never thought that would happen.”
Cait grinned, pulling away. “Then you say it,” she challenged.
Domini
c captured her hand and pulled her toward him. “Say what?” he returned huskily. “That you make my day seem lighter and my night a fantastic dream?” He kissed her palm, looking up into her emerald eyes.
Her heart thudded strongly.
“I don’t feel like a prisoner anymore,” she whispered, leaning down and finding his waiting arms.
“Never again,” he promised, covering her lips with a gentle exploratory kiss.
His moist breath fanned across her face, and she touched his mouth tenderly, tasting the bitter sweetness of the wine on his lips. In an almost lazy gesture, he nibbled her ear, placing small nips down the slender expanse of her neck to her throat. As he pulled the robe away with maddening slowness, she knew without a doubt she had never experienced such urgency as he was provoking within her now.
His entire body tensed and quivered as she rolled back, fitting herself against his frame, thrusting her hips forward to meet him. Dominic growled, his eyes narrowing, his breath harsh as he pinned her beneath him. “I want you,” he said thickly, his mouth claiming her parted lips in a bruising, plundering kiss.
Cait felt the last vestiges of the silken robe being jerked impatiently from her arms, and she made a small mewling sound of contentment as she reached up, pulling him against her. His hands caressed her taut, expectant breasts, and he leaned over, tasting the salty velvet of her heated skin. He took a nipple, suckled her.
Cait moaned, arching upward, her fingers digging into his steel-like shoulders, her body trembling with anticipation…with longing so intense that a slow ache began throbbing throughout her. His mouth sought her own, his tongue exploring the depths of her and tangling victoriously with her own. His other hand glided tantalizing down her form, across her hip bone, sliding between her waiting thighs.
This time she didn’t want him to be gentle or hesitant, as he had been before. This time she wanted to experience the uncontrolled power of Dominic. “Take me…” she pleaded, gripping his powerful shoulders. “Now…please, don’t wait…”
When Tomorrow Comes Page 12
