by Janet Dailey
A mask was drawn over the vaguely boyish features, making them hard and unrevealing. “I can’t answer that, Mrs. Townsend,” Laredo replied stiffly.
“For God’s sake, call me Sheila!” she declared in agitation. “I don’t want to be reminded of Brad!”
“I didn’t intend to, Sheila.” Laredo relaxed slightly.
“When the money is paid, will I be released?” she asked, quickly taking advantage of the hint of compassion in his tone.
“I don’t know why you wouldn’t be, if the money was paid.” He shrugged and began walking.
It was hardly a satisfactory answer, and Sheila sighed dispiritedly. Far off in the distance there came a lonely wail. She stopped, listening intently to hear the sound again.
“What was that?” she murmured.
Laredo glanced to the south. “A train—the Chihuahua-Pacific railroad, which runs from the Mexican side of Presidio, Texas, through the Sierras and Copper Canyon to the Pacific coast. When the wind’s right, you can hear its whistle echoing through the mountains.”
“How far away is it?” An eager note crept into her voice.
“As the crow flies, I don’t know, maybe not far, but a hundred miles of rough terrain if you tried to get there on foot. You wouldn’t make it, Sheila,” he remarked dryly.
Her mouth tightened. She refused to acknowledge that it had crossed her mind to try to reach it should she be provided with the opportunity to escape. Laredo stopped.
“Let’s try changing the subject,” he suggested, striving to lighten the brooding atmosphere. “Tell me, are there any more at home like you?”
“I’m an only child,” Sheila retorted, “which is good for you, since my parents would pay anything to have me back safe.”
Laredo let her sarcasm sail over his head. “I have a younger brother. He’s a natural athlete—basketball, track. His junior year in high school he made the All-American list as a quarterback. His coach thought a college scholarship was almost guaranteed when he graduated.” Laredo became pensive. “I wonder if he got it.”
“You miss your family, don’t you?” Sheila commented softly, suddenly feeling an accord with him.
For a moment she felt him start to withdraw, preparing to deny her assertion. Then he smiled, a mischievous light dancing in his blue eyes.
“Do you know what I miss?” He seemed to laugh at himself silently. “A hot butterscotch sundae with mounds of whipped cream, nuts, and a cherry on top. I dream about it at night. Sometimes I get such a craving for it that I think I’ll go out of my mind if I don’t have one.”
“That is a severe case of sweet tooth, I think.” Sheila smiled.
“Yeah.” Laredo nodded in agreement, his sparkling eyes holding her gaze. “It’s gotten worse since you came here.” As if he had suddenly realized what he had said, he turned away, letting a space widen between them. They were walking among the horses now and Laredo slid a hand over the rump of a chestnut. “So you are an only child?”
Sheila hesitated, then let him change the subject. “That’s right. Spoiled and pampered, one of those rich little brats, as Brad used to say.” His name slipped out before she could stop it.
“Meaning it affectionately, of course.” Laredo smiled.
“No.” She caught the gleam of her wedding ring in a downward glance. “Meaning it enviously, I think.”
“Is that part of the reason why you aren’t exactly grieving for him?” He studied her profile.
“Brad was really more interested in my money than he was in me. He enjoyed the sense of power it gave him,” Sheila answered flatly.
“Why are you telling me that?”
When Sheila glanced up, he was watching her with a hint of skepticism in his look. A breeze teased her hair and she pushed it away from her face.
“I don’t know. Maybe because you told me about your family. Or maybe because I had to admit it out loud and hear the words,” she answered slowly. “Maybe I want you to be my friend.”
“Why?” Laredo persisted.
“Because I remind you of hot butterscotch sundaes, I suppose.” She tried to tease him out of his interrogative mood. “Does it matter why?”
“It could.” He ran an eye over her. “You might want to twist me around your finger.”
“Could I?” Sheila tipped her head to the side, deliberately provocative.
There was a mocking quirk to one brow before Laredo looked away. “You have the ammunition in all the right places.”
Behind his dry tone, Sheila sensed his reluctant acknowledgment. She wasn’t surprised that he found her attractive.
But it was something he only implied that interested Sheila. Although Laredo had tried to sever the ties with his family and his country, he hadn’t succeeded in cutting all the threads. And Sheila represented a link to home, regardless of how much Laredo insisted that he belonged here.
How she could forge the link stronger and persuade him to transfer his loyalties from the band to her? Using sex was the likely answer, but she shied away from it violently.
Their strolling pace had carried them to the far edge of the meadow. A movement on Sheila’s left caught her eye. A small boy was scurrying to his feet, a mop of black hair falling into his dark eyes. The rusty-brown poncho he wore seemed to drown him, as did the baggy tan trousers.
Hesitantly, he dipped his head in an uncertain greeting. “Buenos tardes, Señora, Señor.”
“Buenos tardes.” Sheila repeated the phrase with a faintly curious smile.
Laredo added his greeting to hers. “We have come far enough,” he said, changing their direction to re-cross the meadow. “We’d better start back.”
“Are there many children here? I’ve heard them playing outside.” She gazed toward the scattered collection of adobe brick houses, seeing movement but unable to distinguish figures at this distance.
“A dozen or so, all tolled, I guess, counting the Indian children,” Laredo shrugged.
“Indians?” Sheila frowned.
“There were a couple of families of Tarahumara Indians living here when we came,” he explained. “They keep pretty much to themselves.”
Sheila didn’t ask for conversation as they retraced their path. He had told her as much as he was going to. She supposed she should congratulate herself for getting Laredo to open up as much as he had, although the information certainly didn’t benefit her.
Chapter 9
A new guard was on duty when they reached the house. The broad, flat features were blandly carved. He tipped his head downward in a deferential nod of respect as Sheila walked by him. It was the first gesture of courtesy she had received since arriving at the canyon hideout.
The bemused light in her eyes drew a comment from Ráfaga when she entered the house. Immediately, she felt her fur ruffle and turned to Laredo.
“What did he say about me?” she demanded.
“He merely commented that you looked better for the walk,” Laredo answered.
“You can tell him that all prisoners need a little exercise,” Sheila retorted. “And you can also tell him that I’d like a bath this afternoon while the sun is still high enough to warm the pool. I’ll get my soap and towel so you can take me. I’m sure he wouldn’t trust me to go there by myself.”
She stalked toward her room, the moment of good humor vanishing the instant she had come in contact again with Ráfaga. Slamming the dresser drawer, Sheila heard the low murmur of voices in the other room. The voices stopped their Spanish exchange when she returned.
“I’m ready,” she announced.
“I have a couple things to do,” Laredo replied, setting his Stetson atop his head. “Ráfaga will take you.”
The fuse of her temper igniting, Sheila flashed, “Who doesn’t he trust? You or me?”
“Maybe both.” Laredo grinned. “He knows it’s a hell of a long time since I’ve been with a blonde.”
“Isn’t it enough that I have to suffer the indignity of not being allowed to bathe in private? Can’t
I be permitted to choose who has to watch me?” she fumed.
Laredo glanced at Ráfaga’s expressionless face and shrugged to Sheila. “Orders.” The one word was his only explanation.
The knuckles on the hand clutching the towel stood out clearly as Laredo gave her a brief and mocking nod before he walked out the door. Sheila glared at the bronze mask concealing Ráfaga’s thoughts, tremors of primitive rage quaking through her.
“Well, peeping Tom, are you ready?” she challenged sarcastically.
Compressing her lips in a tight line, Sheila turned and walked through the door left open by Laredo. Ráfaga followed two paces behind, letting her retrace the path to the spring-fed pool without his assistance.
At the pool, he moved to the same tree that had supported him before and leaned a shoulder against it. Her breathing was labored, constricted by her temper. She had no desire to put on wet clothes again when she finished bathing. Turning her back to him, Sheila began tearing at the knotted front of her blouse.
“Do you have some perverted kind of libido that gets turned on watching a woman undress and bathe?” she demanded huskily in frustration. “Or do you just get a kick out of humiliating me?”
She pulled the blouse off and tossed it to the ground. Her creamy-white shoulder blades felt the touch of his gaze as it traveled down her tapering back to her slender waist. Her finger trembled with the zipper of her slacks.
“You are a sadistic monster to put me through this.” Her voice quivered. “You should be quartered and hung out for the buzzards to eat. I wish you could understand what I’m saying so you’d know what an inhuman savage I think you are . . . obnoxious and vulgar and loathsome and—” Sheila ran out of words to describe her hatred.
The zipper freed, her slacks slid down around her ankles. She stepped out of them, her nakedness staining her cheeks crimson-red. A second later, Sheila dived shallowly into the pool. She surfaced almost immediately, the icy temperature of the water stealing her breath.
Pushing the wet strands of hair from her eyes, Sheila glanced back to the tree. Ráfaga was sitting at the base of it, his stained brown hat pulled low over his eyes. Sheila could feel his disturbingly intent look as she moved to the bank and the bar of soap in the grasses at the water’s edge.
When her bath was finished, she walked boldly out of the water, not attempting to cover herself with her hands. Picking up the towel, she quickly began rubbing herself dry, feeling the warmth of embarrassment and refusing to give in to it.
“Take a good look.” She had a strong urge to throw the towel in his face. “Maybe it will help stimulate you for your nightly visit from Elena.”
At the sound of his mistress’s name, Ráfaga rolled to his feet, amusement glittering in his eyes, but he didn’t approach her. Fighting a sudden attack of nervousness, Sheila stepped into her slacks, half-turning away from him.
The silky material of her blouse clung to her damp skin. As he moved toward her, Sheila’s poise was shaken. Her fingers began struggling to draw the material into a knot.
Before she could succeed, he was calmly pushing her hands aside and pulling the front together with his steady fingers. As he tied the knot, his knuckles brushed the swelling curves of her breasts. Sheila flinched at his touch. The grooves on either side of his mouth deepened in mockery.
“Can I help it,” Sheila murmured tightly, her air of bravado overshadowed by his closeness, “if your touch, makes me feel I should wash again?”
Her flesh was tingling from the contact Indifferent to her acid tone, Ráfaga studied the yellow tongues of flame lighting her eyes. They stood silently, the air crackling between them, with Sheila almost daring him to touch her again.
She longed to push him into the icy pool. He seemed to read her thoughts, because his dark gaze darted to the glass-smooth surface of the pool, then back to her face, amusement glinting again in the ebony-black depths of his eyes.
Irritation seethed near the surface as they started back to the solitary adobe house set apart from the others. Sheila led the way, aware of Ráfaga directly behind, despite the animal silence of his footsteps. Sheila controlled her temper. She knew he was dangerous.
The afternoon walks with Laredo became a daily routine. She looked forward to them as eagerly as a child looks forward to a candy treat. They offered a break from the suffocating boredom of the house and the disturbing presence of Ráfaga.
Never in her life had Sheila been so idle. There had always been something to do to fill the minutes. Here, there was nothing to do but wander through the house when she was alone and wait for the afternoon walks with Laredo. After a week, the monotonously empty existence had stretched her nerves thin.
At the end of a walk, Laredo commented, “You look exhausted, Sheila. Haven’t you been sleeping well at night?”
“Not particularly.” A fine tension honed her answer.
The blame rested with Ráfaga. Elena’s visits to his bed weren’t necessarily nightly, but it was almost worse for Sheila to listen to his steady breathing through the thin wall of her bedroom.
“Why don’t you lie down and take a nap?” Laredo suggested. “You look as though you could use one.”
“I don’t need a nap!” Sheila stalked through the door he held open for her.
The air around her seemed to vibrate like a tuning fork. Her agitation increased at the sight of Ráfaga sitting at the table cleaning his rifle.
“What I need is to get out of here! How much longer is it going to be before you hear from my parents? Or have you already?” Sheila demanded, turning to Laredo.
“I can’t answer that.”
“You can’t answer that.” Her hands rested on her hips as she mocked him. “You can’t answer anything unless he pulls your string. Why don’t you ask his permission to find me a new set of thumbs to twiddle? I’m getting tired of the old ones.”
“You’re bored, is that it?”
“Bored? My God, is that the understatement of the year.” Sheila breathed disgustedly and pivoted away, encountering the aloof appraisal of Ráfaga’s dark gaze.
“The walks—” Laredo began.
“—occupy maybe two hours of the day,” Sheila interrupted. “What am I supposed to do with the other twenty-two? Sleep them away?”
There was a grim look about his mouth as Laredo breathed in deeply and glanced at Ráfaga, as if asking for his advice. Sheila listened impatiently to the exchange in Spanish.
“What proposal has Solomon of the thieves and murderers made?” Sheila demanded.
A half-smile touched Laredo’s mouth, as if he found her kitten claws amusing. “He agreed that you have too much time on your hands. Since you have to stay in the house, he’s decided you should take care of the cleaning and help Elena with the cooking.”
“He’s decided!” Sheila choked indignantly. “It’s not enough that I’m a prisoner here; now he expects me to be his maid, too!”
“You have to admit it will pass the time.” Laredo’s mouth twitched with amusement. “And you do live here, too. You should contribute something to the housekeeping chores.”
“I should, should I?” she challenged angrily. “If this place was spotless, it would still be a dumpy hole. And as for cooking, I don’t know how, at least not in these primitive conditions! Besides, any food I set in front of him would be spiced with poison!”
“He’ll take his chances.” Laredo dismissed her threat with a shrug.
“Elena won’t like having me in the kitchen,” she flashed.
“He’s made his decision. You’ll help,” he concluded.
When Elena learned of Sheila’s change of status, her Latin temper exploded with spontaneous combustion. Ráfaga refused to listen to her stormy protests and silenced her with a threateningly low comment.
The fragile truce that had existed between the two women was destroyed. Again there was the hatred born of jealousy in the brunette’s eyes as she put Sheila to work doing menial tasks, berating her in Spanish when s
he didn’t understand.
During the preparation of the evening meal, the two men took ringside seats at the kitchen table. Laredo watched with undisguised amusement while Ráfaga merely observed with disinterest.
Simmering at the abusive tone constantly snipping at her, Sheila slammed the plates on the table, glaring at Laredo when he chuckled softly. “So help me,” she muttered tightly, “if that bitch doesn’t stop yelling at me, I’m going to ram a tamale down her throat! You better tell your boss to do something about shutting her up before I do it for him!”
“Temper, temper,” Laredo mocked quietly.
“In about two minutes, you’re going to find my temper, because I’m going to lose it!” Sheila retorted.
A torrent of more unintelligible orders rushed from
Elena. Sheila pivoted, her hands clenching into tight fists at her side. A sharp word from Ráfaga closed Elena’s mouth with a snap. Resentment snapped in her malevolently dark eyes as she thrust a plate of boiled meat and a knife into Sheila’s stomach.
Setting them on the table, Sheila gripped the knife handle. “I can’t make up my mind who to use this on,” she murmured.
“I don’t think Elena knows you aren’t to be trusted with a knife,” Laredo commented with a crooked smile.
Sheila returned the smile with false sweetness. “On second thought, I know exactly who to use it on—your implacable boss. I would like to carve out his heart and have it here on this plate instead of the meat.” The gleaming blade hovered about the stringy-looking meat. “Then I could cut it in thin pieces, or maybe it would be so hard I would have to chop it up in large chunks.”
“You are bloodthirsty.” Laredo laughed as Sheila laid the knife blade on the meat to cut it thin, then moved it to slice a larger chunk.
Bronzed fingers closed over her hand. Sheila tensed as Ráfaga shifted her hands so the blade rested on the thinner cut. She realized he had merely been directing her on how to cut the meat.
“Gracias.” She gave him a saccharine smile. “I would rather cut your heart in thin slices. It would take longer.” Starting to slice the meat, she glanced at Laredo. “Why didn’t you translate what I really said?”
