“Name her whatever you like,” Chimera said, and hurried to soothe the nervous Pegasus. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful, but why should I ride that vicious beast when I have this gentle and loving one?”
The camel lunged for Sterling, his yellow teeth barely missing Sterling’s upper arm. “Riding Medusa seems a hell of a lot safer than riding that humpbacked monster,” he muttered. He started to argue, to try and convince Chimera to accept Medusa, but he knew it would do no good. If Chimera chose riding a stinking, ill-mannered camel over a gorgeous and excellent mare, there wasn’t a thing he could do to change her mind.
He reached for her, wanting to give her a reassuring hug. In the next second, before she quickly turned from him, he could have sworn he’d seen the glitter of unshed tears in her eyes. “Chimera—”
“Look, Sterling! I picked this black horse,” Snag called. “His name is Blackbeard. Chimera read us a story about that pirate. He was the meanest pirate alive. He even put little fire sticks in his beard to scare people! When I grow up, I’m gonna to be a pirate. I’ll be even meaner than Blackbeard! I’ll torture—”
“You’ve made a good start already,” Sterling said, and watched Snig fall off the same horse he’d tried mounting a few minutes ago. He yearned to talk to Chimera, but what with the boys here...comforting her over whatever strange worry she had would have to wait until he could do it properly. “I take it you’ve chosen the buckskin, Snig?” he asked as the boy mounted again.
“Yep,” Snig said, and managed to stay mounted this time. “I’ve named her Bitch. She’s a real bitch, and—”
“You are not going to name her Bitch,” Sterling announced. “That’s not a nice name.”
“Well, she ain’t a nice horse. She—”
“She is so a nice horse. You’re making her nervous with all your fumbling and falling, and she’s merely reacting. Now think of another name, or I won’t let you have her.”
Snig sighed angrily. “All right. I’ll name her...Delilah. Delilah was a real bitch, you know. She cut off Sampson’s hair, and when it was cut off, he wasn’t strong no more. A real bitch, that Delilah. She—”
“Fine.” Sterling smiled in spite of the concern he still felt for Chimera. “Delilah she’ll be. And what about you, Snug? Do you like the gray?”
Snug fondled the gray horse’s muzzle. “Yep, but he sure is fat. Reckon he likes to eat. Because of that, I’m namin’ him Henry. Chimera said that King Henry loved eatin’ so much, he’d eat till he threw up. He—”
“But your horse is a mare,” Sterling cut in. “Will you give your lady horse a male name?”
“Aw, dammit!” Snug mumbled. “I had my heart set on Henry.”
“How about Henrietta?” Sterling suggested. “And watch your dirty mouth.”
“Henrietta? Too sissy,” Snug disagreed. “Well, name her for something you like,” Sterling said. “Like Mischief, or Torment, or Aggravation, or—”
“Pickles!” Snug interrupted excitedly. “I like pickles, but we don’t hardly get any.”
“Pickles?” Sterling repeated. “But she’s gray. Almost silver. Pickles are green.”
“I know!” Snug shouted. “Silver Pickles!”
“Sterling,” Chimera said, her voice subdued. “I’m going inside now.”
“Chimera—”
“Do you like the names we picked out, Sterling?” Snig asked. “They’re good ones, huh?”
Sterling watched Chimera until she was out of sight before returning his attention to the boys. “Blackbeard, Delilah, and Silver Pickles. Excellent names.” He walked to where Archibald was admiring the calves. “I guess that leaves the chestnut mare for you, son.”
Archibald shuddered visibly.
“She’s the sweetest tempered of the bunch,” Sterling said gently. “Gain her trust, and you’ll have a loyal friend. What will you name her?”
In response, Archibald hobbled out of the barn. Sterling followed and watched him disappear into the cabin. He wondered if it would take a miracle to straighten out the boy’s crippled mind. And there was Chimera’s strange behavior too. She’d acted totally out of character, and he knew damn well it was more than the deaths of her pets that was bothering her. Would it take a miracle to help her too? “Miracles do happen,” he whispered, Father Tom’s teachings coming to mind. “We begin them, and God finishes them.”
Miracles. Were they really farfetched? he wondered. Just because he’d never seen one happen didn’t mean they were impossible. If he tried, could he begin a few of them?
He winked at the sky. Chimera might have lost her confidence, but Sterling, at that moment, was starting to feel the beginnings of his.
“Half my men are gone!” Everett screeched, and kicked a tin bucket across the yard. “Damn fools, all of them!”
Willard looked up at the spell tacked to the barn. The long, pitch-black strands of hair that hung over it sent a shiver down his spine, and when he focused on the blood smear, sheer horror made him look away.
“You find the livestock, Hal?” Everett demanded of the ranch hand who rode up.
“Some. Apaches more’n likely got the rest, sir.”
“Did you find Madame Sin?” Everett asked anxiously. Hal tugged at his neckcloth. Mr. Sprague’s pride and joy was that white female monster of a horse. “No.”
Everett felt his face heat with fury. He waved Hal away and turned back to Willard. “Go get that girl. Her champion will come after her, and—”
“The witch?” Willard gasped. “Mr. Sprague—”
“She’s no witch!” Everett grabbed Willard’s collar. “This was a trick! That man she’s got living with her did it! Do you really believe that slip of a girl could have caused all this damage? It would have taken a man to pry the lock off the ammunition room!”
“She could if she was magic.” Willard gulped. “Mr. Sprague, last night Bud said he seen an Indian. I didn’t see nothin’ but a silver horse. Pale silver. It was a ghost horse. That witch—she turned herself into a horse, then disappeared! And now Bud’s gone too. Sir, I think she changed him into somethin’. Some kind of animal maybe. She—” His eyes widened at the sight of a small brown mouse scurrying across the yard. In its mouth it held a half-smoked cheroot. “Bud!” Willard scrambled after the mouse, and caught it. “Mr. Sprague! It’s Bud! Only Bud rolls his smokes like this!”
“Oh, of all the—Willard, mice are always running around eating garbage!”
“But—”
“Shut up and go get that bitch! When her damn bodyguard comes to her rescue, he’ll die for his efforts!”
“But Bud—Mr. Sprague, this mouse—”
“May I remind you, Willy, that you are a wanted man?” Everett warned. “I could blame all this destruction on you, you know. I could have you arrested both for the Texas murders and the damage to my ranch! You’ll go get that longhaired bitch, or you’ll hang for crimes you never thought of committing! And if you try to escape me, Willy, I’ll have you hunted down to the ends of the earth. I’ll see your black soul in hell if you dare disobey me!”
“Mr. Sp-sprague,” Willard stammered, desperate for some excuse as to why he couldn’t go for the witch today, now. He tucked the mouse into his shirt pocket, buttoned it, and looked at the demolished ammunition room. “But—but what about arms, sir? Me and the men, we only got what’s in our belts, and since it’s been some four days since you passed out ammunition, we ain’t got much. And there ain’t no more in case we run out.”
“Apaches!” Hal shouted as he rode back into the yard. “McPhearson spotted ’em near the ole rock canyon. Could be they’re just lookin’ for more stock, sir. Cochise ain’t with ’em, and McPhearson said they don’t look like they’re comin’ this way, but there ain’t no tellin’ what them savages have in mind, and with no ammunition—What are your orders?”
Everett’s shoulders slumped. A blown-up ammunition room. The loss of stock and his prize horse. Half his men gone. And now Apaches. He glanced at th
e bloodied spell and the night-black hair that flowed around it. His skin grew clammy, but he ignored the hint of fear and faced Willard again. He wished there was another man besides Willard he could count on, but Willard was all he had. Still, why the hell did Willard have to be so damn superstitious?
It was a damn shame the long-haired girl’s bodyguard was on her side and not his, Everett firmed. The witch’s protector had skill and superb wits too. Men like that were rare. It was almost regrettable the man would die. Almost.
“Willard, take some men with you and go to town for ammunition and arms. And if you value that yellow-spined hide of yours, get back here fast. If something else happens around here because you dally, you can be sure I’ll bring that damn spell up there to reality myself!”
Sterling lay on his mat and watched the firelight dance on the ceiling, thoughts of the triplets making him smile. They’d learned to ride in an amazingly short time. They had no saddles at all, and for bridles they used hay strings. Yet despite the deficiency of proper tack, they rode very well. The boys were fearless, and that courage had stood them in good stead. Archibald, however, was another matter. The boy was still scared to death of horses. Sterling was determined to get him on one as soon as possible.
Thoughts of horses made him think of Everett Sprague. The man didn’t possess many anymore. Sterling smiled again. Sprague had not retaliated, and Sterling knew it was because he had few mounts and no ammunition. The man was probably waiting for a new supply of arms, and what with Apaches skulking behind each rock, it was more than likely the bastard had decided to see what the Indians were up to before he sought revenge.
Sterling had seen at least a dozen Apaches in the past weeks. They’d made no hostile moves, and they’d fled as quickly as they’d appeared. But Sterling remained wary and confused. Why hadn’t they attacked? Surely they’d seen the horses and other livestock. They had to know he was the only man around. And it stood to reason they’d spotted Venus and the strange amulet. Chimera had insisted that the charm remain exactly where the poor mother wanted it to be. The Indians would recognize the talisman instantly, and if they’d seen Venus, they’d seen her amulet.
It didn’t make sense. The name Apache was enough to strike terror into the hearts of everyone who heard it, and the Apache had taken great pains to live up to their fierce reputation. They’d already murdered or scared away all other nearby settlers. Only Sprague and Chimera remained in the vicinity. It stood to reason they’d left Sprague alone because of the army he had at his command. But Chimera was defenseless against them. So where were the warriors? The bloodcurdling war cries, the lances, arrows, and clubs? Just why the hell hadn’t they bothered Chimera and the children?
Chimera. He turned his head and watched her through slitted eyes. She sat quietly by the fire, mending his purple shirt. It was so odd what had happened to them both, he thought. He’d come here a sarcastic cynic, and she’d been a teasing optimist. He reckoned he was still sarcastic, and the cynic in him hadn’t disappeared completely, but he sure did laugh a lot now. He found something to laugh about every day, and he’d also found that laughter was the best cure for cynicism.
Chimera, with her bubbling faith and outlandishly wonderful perspective on things, had been good for him. He still had doubts about things, but Chimera’s example had taught him how to keep bitterness and discouragement from overwhelming him.
But she herself... He pondered her change in attitude. She’d stopped teasing him. She rarely smiled, and even when she did, Sterling saw she forced herself to. Her sparkling optimism had faded to dull resignation. Yes, she’d resigned herself to something. Had she become a cynic? And if she had, had he done it to her?
He shifted uncomfortably upon his pallet. She’d been a shining influence on him, but he, apparently, had been a negative one on her. For months, she’d dealt with his dark moods. She’d accepted it all and had given freely of that special magic she had. That outrageous happiness and indomitable faith.
The time had come for him to return the favor. He could never leave until he’d redressed all the things he’d done wrong. “What’s the matter with you, Chimera?”
His sudden question startled her so much, she pricked her finger with the needle. She stared dazedly at the drop of blood. “Matter? Nothing.”
Sterling propped himself up on his elbow. “I learned a quote from one of your books last night. It goes: ‘It is sweet to mingle tears with tears. Griefs, where they wound in solitude, wound more deeply.”
“Seneca,” she whispered, still staring at her bleeding finger.
“Chimera,” Sterling said gently, “tell me what your grief is, estrellita.”
“I—Nothing. I have no grief.”
Dios, she was stubborn! He rose and stalked toward her. Grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her out of her chair. “Tell me about this mood of yours,” he demanded.
She saw the anger in his eyes and swallowed. “Mood? It...it must be the moon. I read somewhere that the moon is a powerful mood-changer. I share a strong affinity with the moon, you know. It must be the moon picture on my belly.”
He stared at her. If she was telling the truth, the triplets were saints, and Archibald was a charro. She was lying through her perfect white teeth. His grip on her shoulders tightened. “I don’t believe you, Chimera. You’re keeping something from me. Something very important to your well-being, and that, you deceitful wench, isn’t fair.”
“Let me—”
“Go? No. Not until you know how deeply you’ve disappointed me. Chimera, when it was I who had the problems, the misery, you did everything you could to rid me of them. I finally told you things I had no intention of telling you, things I’d never spoken about to anyone else. You know everything about me there is to know.
“And yet,” he said, “when it’s your turn to open up...when it’s time for your darn to break, you won’t let it. You begged for my trust, and now you withhold yours from me. You are the epitome of the word ‘unfair.’”
He released her and she returned silently to her chair. When he saw her bow her head, he felt guilt rumble through him. He hadn’t meant to get mad at her but just hadn’t been unable to hold his temper at her refusal to share her problem with him.
With a deep sigh, he dragged his fingers through his hair, pulled up another chair, and sat down beside her. “I’m sorry, estrellita. I just want you to talk to me, that’s all.” When she only returned to her sewing, he felt his frustration rise again, but subdued it. Anger would get him nowhere.
He took a long moment to think, a new idea dawning. Why not try extreme patience? He smiled and wiggled his bare toes in front of the hearth. “Do you believe in miracles, Chimera?”
She looked up at him and was instantly mesmerized by his silver eyes. How many days did she have left to look into those wonderful eyes? And sweet heaven, would she ever stop missing them, missing him?
“Well, do you?” he asked.
His strong, deep voice swirled through her; a voice she knew would sing through her forever. “Do I what?”
“Believe in miracles.”
“Miracles?” She frowned in confusion.
He leaned toward her and waved his hand in front of her eyes. “Hello in there,” he said, his mouth only inches from her eyes. “Anyone home?”
She smiled. “Miracles, huh? Well, I suppose I believe in them.”
“Do you know any quotes about them?”
“What?”
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Chimera, where are you? It’s obvious you’re not here.”
“I—What did you say about a miracle?”
“Quotes. Do you know any quotes relating to miracles?”
She tried to think of one, but she could only concentrate on the man beside her, could only fantasize about the absolute bliss of having him beside her forever. Her throat tightened with the sorrow of knowing her fantasy would never come true. “I...I can’t seem to think of any quotes tonight, Sterling.”<
br />
“I can,” he said smugly, and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve learned quite a few of them. Sometimes I read those books of yours at night before going to sleep.”
“Really.”
“Don’t you want to know which ones I learned?”
“Yes. Yes, all right. Which ones?” she asked tremulously. With all her being she wished she could sit in his lap and rain kisses all over him. From head to toe. Everywhere. The thought heated her blood. She bent her head and stared at her lap, glad her hair shielded the crimson blush warming her face.
But Sterling saw the rosy stain before the curtain of her black tresses closed around it. He suppressed a grin. “Miracles, I think, can be thought of as fantasies that haven’t yet come true. If the things we want in this world could easily be gotten, they couldn’t be called fantasies. Miracles are not easily gotten either, so am I right in assuming they’re fantasies until they come true?”
Fantasies? she repeated silently. Had he guessed her fantasy of being with him forever? “I suppose so.”
“All right. So let’s say miracles are fantasies. Fantasies are wishes, dreams. Desires. And Chimera, did you know that ‘When desire dies, fear is born’? Baltasar Gracian.”
Could he see how afraid she was? How each day that dawned frightened her because she was sure it would be the one of his departure? His concern for her was obvious, but then, Sterling always showed compassion whenever he deemed it was needed.
No, she would not allow him to know the full depth of her anxiety. The holy sisters, as kind as they’d been to him, had manipulated and shamed him into doing what they wanted him to do. She knew him well enough by now to realize that the reason the nuns had succeeded was because Sterling’s conscience was too strong for him to ignore. And as much as she longed for him to stay, she refused to shame him into it.
He was getting much too close to the truth, she realized. She had to refute his point before he made it. “Dreams and fantasies, Sterling?” she bit out. “‘I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy.’ Shakespeare. Vain fantasy.”
Moonlight and Magic Page 23
