Midnight Rider (14 page)

It made him feel even worse for treating her so badly.

It made him want her more than he ever had before, more than he had wanted a woman since Lily. Perhaps even more than that.

Sleeping beside her that first night, he had dreamed of being inside her, of burying himself in her soft, wet warmth, of forgetting his responsibilities to his people, his vow to his brother to see Rancho del Robles returned to the de la Guerra name.

He imagined instead making love to her, sampling her fiery passion, the hot desire that for a time would make him forget.

No more grieving for Andreas.

No more worry about discovery, about what he would do for his people when the money from the horses ran out. At least Martinez and the rest of his men had returned to the stronghold safely. The money from the horses would last a good long while but sooner or later it would be gone. Without Andreas, raiding as El Dragón would be far more dangerous. It wouldn't take long to discover he was missing from his rancho whenever the raids were done, that he was the man behind them.

And there was the problem of the girl. He couldn't let her go and yet he could not keep her. If he did, sooner or later, his willpower would weaken and he would take her to his bed.

Madre de Dios,
he wished he knew what to do.

Ramon raked a hand through his wavy black hair then settled his flat-brimmed hat low over his forehead. He would think of something. He had to. He hoped he would think of it soon.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

“Senor Don Ramon!” Lena approached as he walked into the village, Carly right beside her. A few feet away, Florentia stood next to Tomasina and Serafina, waiting for Pedro to arrive with the heavy
carreta
that would return them home.

“The senorita says that you must leave,” Lena said. She looked tired. They all did. Beneath her dark eyes, her cheeks were sunken. She appeared even thinner than she had when they arrived.

“
Si,
it is time we returned, now that your people appear to be out of danger.”

“I could say words of thanks, but they would not be enough. Words cannot repay the debt my people owe.”

“There is no debt. You have helped me; you saved the senorita's life. That is more than payment enough.”

Lena shook her head, her straight black bangs shifting across her narrow forehead. “The white men, for years they have wished us dead. You are different. We will not forget.” She turned to Carly. “May you walk with God, little Wah-suh-wi.”

Carly smiled. “Thank you, Lena. Take care of Two Hawks, will you?”

“He will be running like a deer and into mischief again before the new moon rises.”

Ramon smiled at the women. Working together, Lena and Carly had grown close. She, too, had befriended the boy. Ramon was also fond of Two Hawks. Each time he had come to the village, the boy had raced up to greet him. His fondest desire, he said, was to become a great vaquero. He begged Ramon to teach him, to take him to Las Almas where he could learn the skills of the Spanish horsemen.

Always Ramon had said no.

He had too many mouths to feed as it was; he didn't need another. And yet he felt sorry for the boy. The life stretching before him was dismal at best. But a vaquero was a master horseman. He had his pride to see him through and if he was lucky, he could find work.

Carly looked up at him and he reached for her hand.

“What did she call you?” he asked as he led her toward the cart and the three other women.

“Wah-suh-wi. It is the Indian name she has given me.”

“What does it mean?”

“Sunflower.” She glanced away, looking a little embarrassed. “She says when I smile it's as bright as the morning sun.”

Ramon felt something tug gently inside him. “And so it is,” he said softly. “Exactly like the sun.”

Her cheeks turned pink and her lips curved prettily. She glanced away, then down at the toes of her sandals. “They want us to return, Ramon.” She looked up into his face. “They want us to feast with them. They want to thank us for our help.”

“You would like that,
chica?
” But her excited look told him that she would. He liked that about her, the zest for life she nurtured inside her. The joy in living that was so much a part of his own people, but was often missing in the Americans he had known.

As his words sank in, her smile slid away and the light seemed to fade from her eyes. “Mostly I would like to go home. If you won't let me leave, then yes, I would like to return.”

Ramon touched her cheek. It felt as soft as the breast of a dove. Her color heightened to a creamy pink that reminded him of roses. He thought of the night she had slept in his arms and his body went instantly hard. His heartbeat quickened, making his groin start to throb.

Damning himself—and her—he turned away. “If that is your wish,” he said more harshly than he intended, “how could I not agree?”

Carly said nothing, but her smile was long gone and with it a little of the sun. She turned to Florentia who stood beside the two-wheeled cart the women had arrived in.

“Are we ready to leave?” Carly asked the housekeeper.

“
Si,
Senorita McConnell.” The beefy woman motioned for her to join the others, while Ramon took Viento's reins and swung up into his saddle. “I am more than ready to go. I am looking forward to a night in my own bed.”

“Strangely enough, I'll be glad to get back, too,” Carly said. “If for no other reason than to wash these dirty clothes.” She started to climb up in the wagon, lifting her grimy yellow skirt out of the way, and unconsciously displayed a trim bit of ankle. Ramon clamped his jaw as a second shot of heat rolled through him. Riding forward, he bent down and slid an arm around her waist, tightened his grasp and hauled her up on his lap.

“The cart is too crowded. You will ride home with me.”

She stiffened against him, but he didn't care. If she was going to make him want her every hour of the day, he was suddenly determined she should suffer that same fate as well.

“You do not like to ride Viento?” he whispered in her ear, purposely brushing the small, shell-like rim with his lips.

She stiffened even more, and inside his snug-fitting breeches so did he. He cursed himself but he didn't let her go.

“I like Viento very much.” She shifted to get comfortable where he held her pinned across his thighs. “It's you, senor, at times I find unbearable.”

“Ah. Then I will have to remedy that.” Reining the horse away from the others, he rode off into a copse of trees.

“Where are you going? What are you…?” Her voice trailed off as his hand moved upward, barely brushing the underside of a breast. It was rounded and full, womanly in a way that made him ache to cup it. His fingers itched to shape it, to urge the nipple into a throbbing peak. He wondered if it would be small and tight or large and round, wondered at the exact shade of pink it might be, and heard himself groan. When he pressed his lips against the fluttery pulse at the nape of her neck, tasting the smooth white skin, a shaft of desire knifed through him.

“D-Don Ramon…?” There was a hesitancy in her voice that hadn't been there before … and something else, something he recognized only too well for his own desire mounted with every heartbeat.

“
Si,
Cara,” he whispered softly. “I am here. Do you still wish to know what it is that I want?” Reining the stallion to a halt behind an outcropping of boulders, he turned her in his arms. Her eyes had gone wide and her cheeks were flushed. Tilting her head back, he ran a finger across her soft bottom lip, bent his head, and captured her mouth in a ravaging kiss.

Carly jolted at the contact. She started to struggle, astonished at the Spaniard's boldness, determined to tear herself free, but the hard, demanding warmth of his lips, the soft white heat radiating through her body, made her clutch his shoulders instead. Her breasts crushed into the bands of muscle across his chest and waves of fire slid through her. His tongue touched the corner of her lips, coaxing her to open for him, then he took her mouth with fierce possession.

Carly moaned at the feel of his warm, slick tongue, at the tendrils of heat unfurling in her belly. The arm around her waist felt hard and male and utterly implacable. Dear God, it was just like her dream.

No, it was nothing like her dream. No dream could ever be like this!

Carly shifted in the saddle, her nipples growing hard and sensitive where they pressed against the Spaniard's solid chest. She felt his hand on her breast, kneading it softly through her blouse, making the nipple peak and distend. He cupped it, molded it, charted it with his fingers, then slid his hand upward till he touched the bare skin swelling above the low-cut neckline.

“Ramon,” she whispered, “please…”

A deep growl erupted from his throat. He kissed her again, hot and hard, then tore himself away. He was breathing too fast, staring at her with eyes so dark they looked almost black.

She wet her kiss-swollen lips, unable to stop the small hot shivers racing through her body. “I didn't think you wanted … you weren't supposed to … you said I would be safe.”

A muscle bunched in his jaw. “
Si, querida.
You are right. I was not supposed to do this. It was a foolish, dangerous thing to do.” Turning her around, he settled her in front of him in the saddle then rode wordlessly back to the women rumbling along in the cart.

“The senorita has convinced me to let her ride with you,” Ramon said shortly. Bending over, he helped her slide to the ground, then backed the stallion a few steps away.

Her cheeks were flaming, she was sure, her heart still pounding so loud they could probably hear it, but she lifted her head and squared her shoulders. Walking purposely to the cart, she climbed into the back with the other women. They said nothing as the bay horse pulling the cart perked up its ears and swung once more into motion, hauling the heavy wooden conveyance along the narrow trail that served as road.

Neither did Carly. But her insides still fluttered and her heart continued its unsteady beat. When she glanced at the don, careful to be sure he wasn't watching, she saw that he rode grim-faced, his expression dark and inscrutable.

Was he angry? If he was she hoped his fury would be short-lived. As long as she remained at Llano Mirada, Ramon de la Guerra held her life in his hands. He could set her free, or he could see her dead.

Or he could take her. Any time he wanted. Any way, anywhere. In a few short moments, he had made that perfectly clear.

A tremor ran down her spine, this one cool and not at all pleasant. She hadn't forgotten the brutal man he could be, hadn't forgotten his ruthlessness, his cruelty.

She hadn't forgotten the way she'd felt when he had kissed her.

Dear God, if she gave in to her passions, her uncle would never forgive her. She would no longer be a virgin, and Uncle Fletcher would be ashamed. He might even send her away. She had no place to go, no one to turn to. She couldn't bear the thought of more years of loneliness, yearning for a home or at least someone who cared.

More than ever before, she longed to go back to Rancho del Robles, to the safety she knew she would find there, to the new life she had started.

For the first time Carly realized how badly she needed to escape.

*   *   *

Careful that Caralee would not discover the way, Ramon saw the women safely back to the compound. Sanchez said little on the ride back home, his scowl of disapproval was enough.

“You do not need to say it,” Ramon told him, once they were alone. “I meant only to teach her a lesson. Instead I learned something myself.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“That where the
gringa
is concerned I cannot trust myself.
Sangre de Christo,
Pedro, I cannot remember wanting a woman so badly.”

The old vaquero just laughed. “The Americana has fire,
verdad?
She has beauty, courage, and strength. If I were twenty years younger, even I would be tempted. You must decide what to do with her, Ramon.”

“If I wish to keep my freedom, there is nothing I can do—except be certain that she remains here.”

“Perhaps if you explained things … told her the truth. There is always a chance that you might sway her.”

Ramon just scoffed. “The woman is a
gringa.
She will never take the side of a Californio over her own flesh and blood.”

“Perhaps you are right, I do not know. But I have seen stranger things in my many years of living. I have learned that the truth is a means of persuasion that can often pierce the boundaries of race or religion.”

Ramon just shook his head. Sanchez must be getting old. To believe the woman would listen—that he could trust her to keep his secret—it was insane to even consider it.

Yet the thought began to plague him. He left the next day to return to Rancho Las Almas, determined to keep his distance from the girl. But each night he remembered what it felt like to kiss her, imagined what it might be like to make passionate love to her. And each day he remembered what his old friend had said.

If he could make her understand. If he could make her see the truth about her uncle, he could let her return to Rancho del Robles. His problem would be solved, and sooner or later, he would forget her.

Perhaps he would return to the stronghold and tell her the truth. He had nothing to lose in that.

Ramon shivered to think that he might lose his life if he was ever foolish enough to trust her completely.

*   *   *

The idea came from nowhere, or perhaps from the womanly instincts she'd always had but only recently begun to discover.

She had asked herself, who in the compound would most likely help her? The answer was—no one. All of them were loyal to the don. Who then had anything to gain by aiding her escape? She knew many more of them now. Some of them were mercenaries, as the don had implied when she had first arrived. They were there for a portion of the ill-gotten gains, but she had no money to pay them, and promises were worth very little.