by Sandra Hill
“Ay, mierda! I do not believe my eyes.” Ignacio had crept up on them, and his eyes almost bugged out at the sight of her kneeling in front of Rafe’s naked backside. “By all the saints! You two could not even wait till dark to do the corkscrew.”
Sancho and Pablo scurried up to see what all the commotion was about.
“Can we watch?” Sancho asked in an overeager voice.
“I don’t understand,” Pablo interjected, tilting his head in several convoluted positions. “How do they do it with her—”
“That’s about enough! You’ve all got your minds in the gutter.” Helen stood and put both hands on her hips, glowering at the bandits. “Rafe has a blister, and I need to take care of it. Otherwise, he’ll never be able to ride tomorrow. Untie him.”
Ignacio started to protest, but she added, “Listen, there’s no way Rafe could be this Angel Bandit guy. Did you see the way he rides a horse?”
Ignacio pondered her words, then nodded vigorously. “Sí, he rides like a niña. Heh, heh, heh.”
“Do you people mind,” Rafe protested. “I’m standing here with my bare butt to the wind.”
The gang leader scowled contemptuously at Rafe.
“Are you going to untie him?” Helen persisted. “Even an imbecile can see he’s no bandit.”
“Is someone gonna pull up my freakin’ pants?”
Ignoring Rafe, Ignacio told Helen, “But, señorita, he looks like El Ángel Bandido. And, if he escapes, we will lose the reward.”
“My ass is gettin’ a chill here, guys.”
“Ah, what harm can he do?” Ignacio shrugged. “I have the gun. And he ees a weakling.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“Sí, he ees as useless as a spare prick at a wedding. Heh, heh, heh,” Ignacio quipped.
Helen glared at the vulgarity.
Rafe snarled at the insult.
Sancho chomped uninterestedly on a piece of jerky.
Pablo gaped with undue interest at Rafe’s exposed buttocks.
“If I get pneumonia, someone’s gonna pay.” Rafe threw the words out flippantly, but Helen could see the spark of anger in his blue eyes at Ignacio’s assessment of his prowess, not to mention his vulnerable nudity.
“¡Maldito! He ees a pain in the arse,” Ignacio opined.
“Yeah, isn’t he?” Helen replied sweetly.
Rafe shot her a look that said, “You’ll pay, too.”
Ignacio stepped to her side, about to untie Rafe’s wrists, when he jumped back suddenly, shouting, “¡Miré! Look! Look there!” He pointed at Rafe’s behind.
“Sí! It ees the angel’s mark.” Sancho and Pablo made exaggerated signs of the cross over their chests.
“Angel wings! He truly ees El Ángel Bandido,” Ignacio said in awe. Then, “Thank you, sweet Jesus! The reward ees as good as ours.”
“Those aren’t angel wings,” Helen corrected. “It’s a butterfly.” She traced the outline of the tattoo with her fingertips.
Rafe jerked and growled out to her in a low mutter, “Do you think you could stop touching me, Helen?”
“Oops,” she said.
Rafe’s eyes rolled in his head.
“So, you really are Elena,” Ignacio whooped, directing his attention back to her. “Muy bueno!” He made an obscene gesture with his fat tongue.
Helen barely stopped herself from slugging him a good one. She restrained herself—for Rafe’s benefit, of course. “Mr. Ignacio, are—”
“Villejo,” he interrupted. “My name ees Ignacio Juan Rico Hector Villejo.” His chest puffed out with pride.
“Yeah, well, Mr. Villejo, are you going to let me care for Rafe’s injury, or not? The international rules of combat say that rudimentary medical treatment must be—”
“Chill out, Helen,” Rafe said ungraciously.
Ignacio twirled his mustache speculatively for several moments, then agreed. “We weel untie The Angel for a short time so that you may minister to him.” He laughed, as if at a private jest, adding, “Later, you may minister to me, too.”
Pablo held the front waistband out from his loose trousers and glanced inside. “My balls are turnin’ blue from all the kicks I got today. Do you think you could put some ointment on me, too?” he asked Helen.
“Get a life!”
“Huh?” Pablo blinked with confusion and squinted quizzically at Rafe.
“I think that means, ‘Not now,’” Rafe translated. “Maybe later.”
Pablo’s doleful face brightened.
Helen’s eyes sent icy daggers at Rafe.
“Maybe not,” he added wisely.
“One wrong move and I weel take care of your blister, Señor Ángel,” Ignacio threatened. “With a bullet in its center. Do you understand?”
Rafe nodded.
“Try to escape, and I weel shoot off your balls.”
“Enough already!” Rafe grumbled as Sancho finally released his bindings. “I got the message. Loud and clear.”
I’ll rub yours if you rub mine . . .
Helen was getting increasingly nervous about this whole outlaw scenario. At first, she had viewed them as bumbling idiots. Now, she was starting to get scared.
“Rafe, we have to talk,” she whispered as soon as the bandits stepped away. She’d just put a gauze bandage over his blister after treating it. “Something weird is going on. I think . . . I think we really have traveled back in time.”
“Huh?” Rafe said, assessing her like an escapee from an asylum. “You swallow that blade of grass? Maybe it was loco weed.” He paused in the process of tucking in his shirt and zipping up his pants.
“Listen, this trail we followed today is very familiar to me. I hike in these hills all the time. This is not 2015.”
“You hike?”
She made a clucking sound of disgust at his irrelevant question. “Focus, will you? We’re heading toward Sacramento, but we should have passed several towns by now. And the area is entirely too thick with trees and wildlife. It hasn’t looked this way in . . . well, over one hundred fifty years.”
Rafe’s brow wrinkled, and he bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Actually, I’ve had some weird feelings, too.” His eyes met hers and held. “Let’s be honest here, Helen. Do you or do you not know these yahoos? Is this a military setup?”
“Of course not,” she said indignantly. Then she asked, “As long as we’re being honest, do you swear these men aren’t friends of yours? Or someone you hired to play a prank?”
“You’re obviously not playing with a full deck if you could think that. Why would I hire someone to shoot at me, kick me, tie me up, and force me to ride a monster horse till I get a blister on my butt? I mean, do you really think I’m having fun here?” Rafe braced his fists on his hips and glowered at her with exasperation.
“Then that must mean . . . Oh, Lord! Do you really think time travel is possible?”
“Maybe it’s just a dream,” he suggested.
“Would we both be having the same dream?”
“How the hell do I know? Nah, it’s not a dream. If it were a dream, I know exactly what I’d be doing, and who would be doing it with me.” He gave her a swift, smoldering once-over that needed no explanation.
“You are certifiable.”
“Bet you wish you had your clipboard, don’tcha, babe?” He favored her with one of his devastating grins.
She inhaled to gather patience. “Could we concentrate on the subject here, Captain? Time travel, remember?”
“Are we back to this military rank crap again?” When she refused to answer, he forced a somber expression on his face. “Okay, if it’s not a military maneuver, and it’s not a dream, we must be dead.”
“And this is . . . ?”
“Hell. Definitely hell.”
“Shhh,” she cautioned, pointing to Pablo, who glanced up from where he was stirring something in a kettle over the cook fire. Sancho had his back to them, tending to the other picketed horses. Ignacio
sat with his back against a tree, one pistol laid over his lap. Although his sombrero tilted forward over his face, almost covering his slitted eyes, Helen was sure he was watching them closely. “I don’t think they suspect anything about our coming from the future. But we’d better be careful.”
“Let’s move over toward the creek,” Rafe suggested. “Maybe we’ll find an opportunity to escape.”
“Do you have a plan?”
He shook his head. “We have to keep our eyes open for the right opportunity. There’s no way I can take on all three of them, and we’ll never get away unless we take their guns and horses first.”
“I agree. Timing is everything. The first rule of every good soldier.”
He snorted rudely. “Rules be damned. We’ve got to make our own rules here.” Before she could respond, he yelled over to Ignacio, “Hey, buddy, do you mind if I take a bath?”
Ignacio sat up straighter and Rafe heard the click of the safety being released on the revolver. “Mierda! You don’t need no bath. Sit down where I can see you.”
“Take it easy now. You can keep me in your gun sights. I just want to bathe. I have enough sweat on me to salt a ham.”
“But the blister I just bandaged—” Helen started to say.
“You can redo it,” he said impatiently. “C’mon.”
Helen grabbed a small cake of soap from the kit, along with the ointment and gauze, following Rafe slowly toward the small stream. They both held their arms away from their bodies and moved in a nonthreatening manner so Ignacio wouldn’t be tempted to shoot.
The bandit leader slitted his eyes suspiciously and stood, watching them intently, his guns now aimed at both of them.
“I’m just going to wash up a little, pal. No quick moves. No escaping. A bath, that’s all. Okay?”
Ignacio nodded, sitting back down. Then he called out lewdly to Helen, “You want I should wash your tetas for you?”
She ignored him, turning to Rafe. “Don’t you think . . .” Her words trailed off, and her jaw dropped.
The brute was already taking off his clothes, with total lack of modesty, of course. She got a real good rear view of Rafael Santiago in the buff. Her eyes traveled involuntarily from wide shoulders, down the muscled planes of his back, to a narrow waist and slim hips. Over his well-toned, hard buttocks. And long legs covered with soft-as-silk-looking dark hairs.
Helen liked what she saw. A whole lot.
He bent and took the bandage off his behind, placing it carefully on a rock.
Her mouth snapped shut. “What do you think you’re doing?” Her voice had a shrill, panicky ring to it.
“Taking a bath,” he informed her calmly. “We have to bide our time. Act normal. Wait for the opening. Timing, Helen, remember?”
“Right,” she said, nodding. Maybe I’m the one who’s certifiable.
“Can you throw me the soap?” he called over his shoulder.
She pretended not to be looking. But she had to look when she tossed him the soap.
Which was a mistake. Spinning on his heels to face her, he reached out one arm and caught the bar with the ease of a seasoned pro.
And Helen got a 360-degree picture of the most gorgeous male this side of heaven.
She tried not to gape. In fact, she squeezed her eyes shut.
Rafe laughed.
She peeped.
Another mistake. Now she got a full frontal view of a man who had a knack for turning her knees to jelly and her brain to mindless, who-cares-if-he’s-a-jerk mush.
And he knew it. But Rafe wasn’t laughing anymore. Instead, he studied her as intently as she avoided studying him. Then, as if making a sudden decision, he spun around and walked out to the middle of the knee-deep creek. With a splash, he sat down, bringing the water up to his chest.
“Get back to work,” Ignacio yelled at Pablo and Sancho, who’d stopped gathering firewood and preparing dinner to stare at her and Rafe. “Ain’t you never seen a hombre scrub his hairy arse? Heh, heh, heh.”
“We were just waiting to see if Elena would join him,” Pablo muttered, stomping back to the cook pot. Sancho shuffled off to gather more twigs.
“Hey, this is great.” Rafe sighed loudly, beginning to soap his chest and neck, then his face and hair, ducking under the water repeatedly. “How ’bout joining me?”
Standing near the edge of the bank, Helen shook her head, although she was tempted. Her blouse stuck to her back and underarms. She felt sticky and incredibly hot. “Is it cool?”
“Very. C’mon, Prissy, live a little.” He flicked a handful of water at her playfully.
She glanced back at the three bandits. They weren’t paying much attention, for the moment. “Well, maybe I’ll just wet my feet.”
“Chicken.”
She took off her boots and socks and rolled up her pant legs. Then she waded into the deliciously cool water. “Ooooh, that feels wonderful.”
“Come closer and I’ll show you something that feels even more wonderful.” His eyes danced playfully.
“Behave.”
“Relax, Prissy. There’s no way we’re gonna get those guns right now. We’ll wait until nighttime when these goofballs fall asleep. Even if one of them guards us, he’ll be less alert.”
“Well, I suppose.” She gave in hesitantly.
“Oh, look,” Rafe said suddenly and pointed to the left. In that split second, his hand snaked out under the water, grabbed her ankle, and pulled her forward. She fell backward with a loud splash and went completely under the shallow water. When she came up sputtering, she lunged for him, but he swerved to the side, and this time she went under, face forward.
She was more careful this time when she emerged, slapping wet strands of hair off her face. “We don’t have time for this foolishness,” she chided, sloshing toward him where he sat, cross-legged, arms folded over his chest like a maharajah. She unbuttoned her filthy outer blouse and dropped it into the water. Underneath she wore a regulation green Army T-shirt.
“Would you like to see me float on my back?” Rafe asked, batting his eyelashes boyishly.
“Absolutely not!” she said, horrified.
“Oh, all right,” he replied with deadpan innocence. “Besides, I’d rather check out your . . . ah . . . attributes.” His eyes raked her body boldly.
Helen looked down and almost wept. Her wet T-shirt and slacks were plastered to her body, revealing every nook and cranny from neck to ankle.
“Well, at least one question is answered here.”
She refused to ask what question.
That didn’t stop him. “You’re not wearing one of those Wonder Bra things.”
“Wo-wonder? Whatever are you talking about?”
“I was trying to figure out earlier today if you wear one of those ‘push up-push out’ bras . . . You know, the ones that make up for lacking assets.”
“You wondered about my . . . my body parts?” she stammered.
“Yes. Purely in a scientific manner, of course.”
She sat down in the water and glared at him.
“Okay, so I wasn’t being scientific. But you gotta admit you’ve got some body under all those sexless military clothes.”
“I think this conversation has gotten way out of hand. Drop it right now, soldier.”
“It really is too bad you forgot to tuck a clipboard in your backpack. You could’ve given me a couple hundred more check marks by now.” He shook his thick, black hair off his face and finger combed it back with both hands, presenting her with another marvelous view of his exposed chest and upraised, muscled arms.
Oh, my! She made a low gurgling noise in her throat.
He tossed the slippery soap at her with a laugh. “Wanna share?”
She caught it, then turned away when he stood up, a mere three feet from her, totally, gloriously nude. She refused to look when she heard him padding toward shore and then back again.
“You can look now, Prissy. I’m decent.” He’d brought his shirt, slacks
, boxers, and socks back with him, and sat in the water again with a huge splash. At her raised eyebrow, he informed her, “I’m doing laundry. I don’t want to put these smelly clothes back on.”
God, that sounded good.
“Why don’t you take off your pants and throw me your blouse and socks? I’ll wash them for you.”
“Hah!”
“I won’t peek. Honest.” He made a big production out of making a cross through his chest hairs. She almost reached out to touch the dark curls, just to see if they were as silky as they looked.
“Rafe to Helen. Rafe to Helen,” he mocked.
“Wh-what?”
“I said that I’ll turn my back and keep guard against the tiresome trio. You can keep your T-shirt and panties on.” He seemed really sincere. Then he spoiled the effect by adding, “You are wearing underwear, aren’t you?”
“Get serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious all right. But, no kidding, you don’t need to worry about me, or those three,” he promised, motioning his head toward the three men who were about thirty feet away. “I’ll screen you with my body, and at the least movement from them, I’ll throw your clothes back.”
In the end, despite her better judgment, Helen took Rafe up on the offer. With an eye on the three bandits, Helen managed to bathe and wash her hair. True to his offer, Rafe washed both his clothes and hers, handing them back to her over his shoulder.
She had just bent over, prepared to insert one foot in a wet pant leg, when Ignacio came storming into the water, boots and all. Apparently he’d been watching them the entire time.
Rafe tried to stop him, but he slipped on the wet stones, scrambling to stay upright.
Pointing his gun at her back end, Ignacio raged, “Dios mio! What the hell ees that?”
“What?” she squeaked, holding her sopping slacks in front of her French-cut bikini pants.
“That mark on your ass,” Ignacio growled. “You have the angel’s mark on you, too.”
“Of course she has my mark,” Rafe declared, as if it was the plainest thing in the world. “She’s my wife . . . mí esposa.”
“What?” Helen and Ignacio both said at the same time. Pablo and Sancho sidled up, too.
