by Jake Logan
Slapped in the face by her raw anger, he stepped back a few steps and reset his hat. He felt weak-kneed, as if he had only half of his usual strength. Was he dying? How could he tell? He had no fever other than the warmth on his face from the sun’s rays that bore down so relentlessly on him.
He searched around for a man to question, since the women in this place took such affront at his asking after a bruja. Several men turned their backs at his questions, and some threatened him for even asking about such a person.
A woman came to her doorway and beckoned him to come over. She had the image of a mature woman. Not the fairylike thinness of a barefoot girl making ballerina strides over a field of wildflowers, but with the ripeness of an apple, polished and handsome. All of her firm movements under the dress’s material invoked the power of seductiveness. With her sleepy, deep brown eyes, she looked like a woman freshly arisen from a bed of all-consuming sex.
“Can you help me? Someone has cast a spell on me.” His knees threatened to sag when she stood on her toes and reached up to look underneath his eyelids. She raised each of them as if to search for something hidden behind them.
“Have you ever had a spell cast on you before?” she asked, with a voice that sounded like smoke.
“Not like this one.”
His sleeve caught by her long hand, she guided him inside, out of a swirling dust devil. As the door closed, he felt as if he had escaped something that had been clutching him. “My horse—”
“He is in no danger. I can care for him later.”
“Am I under a spell or a curse?”
She looked him up and down, then nodded slowly. “Someone, I fear, has been poisoning you.”
“I wondered about that. Am I coming into its forces or am I going away from it?”
“I would say that you have been in the grasp of the power for some time, and only away from the source have you felt the bad effects it holds on you.” She showed him the blankets on the floor to sit upon, then she took her place before him. She wasn’t a teenager, but her smooth face and pert lips told him she wasn’t used up either. “How long have you been away from that source?”
“Two days, I guess, if Consuela was the one putting the spell on me.”
“What have you drank since then?”
“Canteen water and some whiskey. I had a pint in my saddlebags.”
“We must dump them. They are most likely laced with her poison.”
He agreed, for the first time thinking of those items as a source of his problem. “She might have planted some in it. I never saw her do it.”
His gaze met her brown eyes. The woman sat cross-legged face-to-face with him and acted as if she felt deeply concerned about him and his plight.
“What will cure me?”
“Ah, some rest first. Then we will see if you are strong enough that you can will her powers away.”
He took off his hat and she accepted it. Then she balanced on her knees in front of him, and when she took away his kerchief, her proud breasts under the dress brushed against him. She pushed his vest off his shoulders, then helped him stand. He toed off his boots and shed his pants. With his clothing on her arm, she rose and hung them neatly on wall pegs, his run-over boots in a neat row underneath them.
“Now lie back down.”
He obeyed her and looked up at her ceiling, the exposed timbers as well as the brush and wattle of the roof. She returned with a brass jar and told him to roll over onto his stomach. Then with her powerful hands and the cool, oily liquid, she began to knead his tight back muscles. Within seconds, he became so relaxed he feared he must be falling through space. As though a rug had been pulled out from under him, he was in free fall, hurtling from space toward a faraway, hazy earth, and in moments was sound asleep.
When he awoke he discovered several soft candles set in a ring around him. Was he in San Antonio? No, he could hear the wind gnawing at the corners of the jacal. He was somewhere two days’ ride southwest of there.
“Ah, the big man is awake,” the woman said and took a seat on the pallet in a flutter of the ruffled hem of her skirt. Her bare legs flashed exposed as she sat upon them.
Slocum rose up on his elbows and nodded. “How long did I sleep?”
“A day and night.”
“My horse?”
She gave a head toss toward his saddle, pads and bridle stacked by his clothes. “I said I would care for him.”
He settled back and grinned at her. “The only thing you can’t do is empty my bladder.”
“Ah, you can go to the back door and go outside in the alcove.”
He nodded, rose somewhat stiffly and went to the back door. Grit stung him and the wind howled passing by. But the main force of the whooshing air couldn’t reach him behind the shelter of the adobe wall stacked high with dry desert firewood under a palm-frond roof.
When he returned she made him lean forward and put a thin poncho over his head that reached his knees, and she tied the sides. Then she stepped back to look at him. “You are covered.”
“Was that important? That I am dressed. You showed little interest in my manhood when I got here.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “I am still a woman.”
“Tempted?”
“Mother of God, when you got undressed, I saw immediately why that woman wanted you.” She shook her head in disbelief that he didn’t already know that for a fact.
He laughed and sat down again on the blanket pallet.
“Are you feeling better today?”
“Much better.” He no longer saw elephant-sized legs on dancers or the antics of such fat monsters acting seductively toward him. Was what he’d seen only his imagination, or was she really an elephant-like creature who had cast a spell, making him believe she was Cleopatra?
“Do your ears still ring with small bells?”
“I hear the wind.” He couldn’t recall hearing any small bells, only church ones.
“No. Most men under such spells say they heard small silver bells the whole time.”
“Thank God I didn’t have them too. I was crazy enough as it was.”
“You are a strong man or you would never have escaped her powers.”
“Will they come back?”
“Sometimes—sometimes when you are worn out and tired they will try to come back to take you over again. When you don’t have the will to fight them.”
Slocum winced at her words. When he needed his senses the most, they could fail him. A man who lived on the edge of the law needed all of his powers in the toughest situations. That was when he must have them, and not the depleting lost feelings of the days before. Despite the heat in the room, he shuddered and goose bumps pricked the backs of his arms.
“Is that from the residues left behind in me?” he asked.
She nodded. “You know what I mean? If you get drunk, the next day you drink some water and it occurs all over again.”
He recalled that happening.
“Much the same. But if most of it is gone, your body can win a war against it when you’re strong.”
“Do you have medicine I could take to ward it off?”
“If I knew what she had used.” She shrugged. “But I might give you the wrong thing and make it worse. You are doing fine for now.”
“But an amigo of mine needs my help. A bandit has taken his wife and I need to help find her.”
“It will be dangerous for you, being so freshly away from her. Her strength will wrestle with yours—she could defeat you like she did two days ago. You were very close to being eaten up.”
Slocum made a pained face at her. “How would I have acted?”
“You have seen men seated on the ground in Mexico holding out a tin cup and unable to walk?”
“Sí.” He’d seen them all over that country, even in places like San Antonio. “But I thought they were faking. Too lazy to work.”
“No, señor, they have been possessed by some vicious brujas, and since they could not hav
e them, they in turn destroyed these men mentally and physically.”
Slocum narrowed his eyes at her. “But I told her I’d be back.”
“Obviously”—she hunched her left shoulder and made a face—“she does not believe you and has shed her wrath on you for leaving her.”
He dropped his chin and considered his condition. What this woman had just said did not inspire much confidence in him.
“I have some cabrito and beans ready for you. You must be hungry.”
“I can eat anytime.”
“Good, then drink some wine. Red wine will calm and clear your thoughts.” She poured him some in a goblet and handed it to him. The rich grape product did ease his tongue and went down well.
She moved closer and scrubbed the stubble on his cheek with her palm. “Maybe if I shave you, it will cheer you up.”
“Oh, I’m cheerful enough, and I’m grateful. Why do these people of the village hate you so?”
“I am unsure, except they know I am a bruja and as such I could cause trouble.”
“You have a man?”
“I have you.”
He nodded that he’d heard her and finished his wine. She poured him more and for the first time used her brown eyes to flirt with him. It made him feel much better. He couldn’t have raised a hard-on only two days ago. At the moment his shaft felt ready to spring to life if she acted the least bit excited about doing it. Feeling back to normal was reassuring enough.
The goblet raised, he toasted her. “Here is to the greatest doctor I have ever known. Gracias.”
“They call me Angela.”
“Slocum.”
“Nice to meet you too, big man.” Angela laughed and raised her eyebrows. “Now I am the one who is on the defensive. I can see why she wanted you so confused that you would go back to her.”
“Hell, I can’t do that to McCarty. I should be down there right now helping him.”
She shook her head. “For the moment that man is no concern of mine. Do you remember me rubbing you down? I know you are a man of steel. Your body is bound in corded muscles. I bet you made her faint many times when you had sex with her.”
“Most of the time.”
She nodded and smiled confidently at him. “Should I shoot off the starting gun for us?”
“No hurry.”
“What would you like me to do first?” Her hand on his shoulder, she rose to stand on her bare feet.
“Dance for me,” he said.
The reflective light from the fireplace drew shadows of her on the plastered wall. She raised her arms snakelike toward the ceiling until they were circling as high as she could reach on her tiptoes, then she clapped them together. Whirling round and round she dipped lower and lower. She was turning at such a high rate of speed, he had no idea how she could do it.
Unable to resist the temptation, he caught her in his arms and pulled her down onto the blanket beside him. His mouth closed on hers, and he felt the ripple of pleasure move over her. His hand felt her breast through the material of her blouse. He’d never in his life been in such a blur that he could recall.
In instant response, her tongue touched his lips, then probed his mouth. Sex with Consuela had been good, but Slocum realized that getting involved with a woman as mysterious as Angela was an entirely different situation. Their mouths told of their needs with wet kisses.
Still short of breath, Angela uttered a moan when his hand slid over the slight swell of her belly and under her waistband, then serpentlike sought the V between her legs. Belly to belly, they sought a needed closeness to be one.
With her blouse pushed aside, he kissed her pointed naillike nipples as if tending them, and then his lips covered her mouth. By then she was trembling all over, and when free of his kisses, she gulped for more air. After exploring her all over with his hands like he couldn’t get enough of her smooth skin, he rose above her.
She pulled him down on top, spread her legs apart and gathered her skirt, and when his erection entered her, she clutched his upper arms. He stroked forward, falling into the rocking rhythm as old as time of man and woman giving pleasure to each other.
In the growing fervor, she raised her butt off the blanket to meet his charge, and the muscles inside her began to close on him. Their wild friction heightened their excitement until his volcano erupted, and he felt her clutch him as their world flooded and they collapsed on the blanket.
“Oh.” Angela sighed and swept the dark brown hair from her face. “No wonder she tried to keep you under a spell.”
Braced over her, Slocum smiled, and for the first time in days, he felt like himself again.
She raised herself up on the pallet and listened.
“Horses,” she said and looked perplexed as she and Slocum separated and rose to their feet.
His fist was filled with his .44, which he’d grabbed from the nearby holster, but she put her hand out to stop him. “I’ll go see who they are.”
He set down the gun and quickly pulled on his pants.
She straightened her clothing on the way to the front door.
“Who’s there?” he asked.
With a shake of her head, she looked out from the partially opened door.
2
She eased the door shut behind her. “They are only vaqueros. They come to visit some putas in this village.”
“No problem?”
“They won’t bother us. I am sorry they interrupted us.” She helped smooth the shirt he’d buttoned, then she traced her fingertips over his chest.
He swept her tight against him and kissed her. “Not your fault.”
“Where will you go now?” She tossed her slightly waved hair back over her shoulder.
“To see my amigo and help him.”
“May I go along with you?”
He thought about it for a split second. “It may be dangerous for you.”
She smiled. “I am not afraid.”
“Where can we get you a horse?”
“My neighbor has one. She would sell it cheap. Five to seven pesos?”
“Is it any good?”
“Good enough to ride out of here on.”
“I have some money.” He dug in his pants pocket for it.
“Let me go buy it. She will ask too much for it from you.”
He agreed and counted out ten dollars. “I can wait here,” he said. “But not too long.”
With a wink, she shared a grin with him, then hurried off to secure the horse—he sat on the pallet and drank more wine. The wind was still blowing strongly outside. She soon returned through the back door.
He scrambled up and went to see her purchase. There was another woman who’d come back with her standing in the porch area. Dressed in a wash-worn dress, a rawboned woman with a square jaw and none of Angela’s beauty held the reins while Angela put woven pads and a Mexican saddle on the gray horse.
“Valrey, meet Slocum,” Angela said and quickly cinched the girth on her horse.
“Here, can I help?” Slocum asked, nodding to the woman.
“No, I have it done. I must go get your horse now.”
Before he could protest, Angela hurried off. Slocum and Valrey were left alone with only the wind still protesting at the corner of the shedlike porch.
“She is a good woman. She says a bruja has you in her spell.”
Slocum chuckled. “I guess she did have anyway.”
“Angela is a good one to help people. She has helped me. My first man was killed in a train crash. She found me another: Martino.”
“He is a good man?”
“Oh, yes, very.” She blushed. “He wears me out when he comes home from his job deep in Mexico.”
“Does he work down there?”
“Sí, in the San Phillipe Mines. He sends me money and takes good care of my other children from my first marriage.”
“Does he come home often?”
“No, no, it is a long ways down there and back. But he comes home often enough that I a
m always pregnant.” She cradled the bulge of her low belly in both hands and grinned at him.
“You must be blessed then,” he said to make small talk.
Angela returned with his horse and he tossed on the pads and saddle. Then he began to buckle it down.
“I will get some bedding and food,” Angela said.
He agreed and dropped down the stirrup. Valrey came over and spoke to him, looking off at the gust-swept, dusty desert. “If she is ever not here next time, come to my casa. I am not as pretty as her but—you know what I mean?”
He nodded. “That is very kind of you to offer.”
She shrugged. “Someday you may see your way back here, huh, hombre?”
Then Angela was ready. She tossed the blanket roll for him to tie on behind his cantle and hung two sacks of things over her horse and then bound them on.
In a flash, she hugged her friend and kissed her cheek, then she ran to her horse, ready to ride out.
“Good-bye,” Slocum said to Valrey and pulled down the brim of his hat. Then he swung Jocko, his big bay horse, around.
They set out in the dust storm toward the southwest. His biggest dread was that the storm might increase, shut off all their vision and cut off their chance to get to his friend’s place.
With his head bent into the gritty blasts and hers under a scarf, they moved through the sharp wind that cut a swath out of Mexico. They reached Villa Verde by sundown.
“Ah, mi amigo Slocum,” the patrón, Don Juarta, said from the lighted front porch. “My men will take your horses. And to you good evening, señora.” He bowed and swept his hat on the floor to her.
“Gracias,” she said, looking all around as if to take everything in.
“Her name is Angela,” Slocum said, giving his reins to the man waiting for them, who held his sombrero over his heart.
“Ah, such a lovely lady. Welcome to my hacienda, Angela. Tomorrow I will show you the entire ranchero.”
“I am afraid that we must continue in the morning to Mitch McCarty’s. He sent for me. A boy said someone had kidnapped his wife.”
