Nan Ryan (26 page)

The hair suddenly lifted on the nape of Virgil’s neck.

He swallowed hard and his chest tightened. It struck him that this slender woman was dangerous. Plenty dangerous. More dangerous than all the killers and thieves he had faced over all the years put together. She was, he realized with a shudder, capable of stealing something no Mexican bandit, or ruthless renegade, or hostile Apache could touch.

His heart.

And he couldn’t let that happen. He was far too smart for that. His natural distrust of females had been fueled by a never-ending parade of delectable, deceitful ladies. He was yet to be proven wrong by a member of the fair sex. This particular Jezebel was just like all the others. Only more dangerous, more deadly. He would, from here on out, keep her strictly at arm’s length.

The silent woman that Virgil meant to keep at arm’s length was presently vowing to herself that she would
never
speak to the brutish Texas Ranger again, much less let him touch her.

Princess Marlena kept that vow for hours. Even when they stopped to water the stallion at a willow-fringed pond, she didn’t speak to him. Didn’t say a word.

Sullen himself, Virgil never noticed. He made no attempt to engage her in conversation. He didn’t want to talk to her any more than she wanted to talk to him.

Without a word, Virgil crouched down on his heels, filled the canteen, and handed it up to her. She took it, quickly turned the canteen up to her parched lips, and drank thirstily. As she drank, Virgil stretched out on his belly, levered himself forward on braced forearms, and dipped his dust-flecked, bearded face into the clear, cool water.

The princess lowered the canteen, glanced at him. His eyes closed, lips open, he lapped at the water like a big sleek cat. Princess Marlena pressed the cool canteen to her hot, sticky throat and watched him, appalled and helplessly fascinated. Again and again his tongue came out from between his parted lips to dexterously lick up drinks of water.

Staring, the princess’s own lips fell open and her breath grew shallow. She tried to look away, but couldn’t. There was something staggeringly sensual in the way he was lapping and swilling and sipping the water.

Her pulse beginning to quicken, her cheeks coloring hotly, the mesmerized princess frowned with rising discomfort. Why couldn’t he just drink out of the canteen like anyone else? And when was he going to get his fill? Did he mean to lie there lapping at the water for an eternity?

Virgil abruptly stopped drinking. But he didn’t lift his head. He ducked it completely underwater and turned it rapidly from side to side, then stayed there, fully submerged. When several long seconds had passed and he hadn’t surfaced, the princess grew alarmed. Surely he couldn’t hold his breath that long. Nobody could. Not even Virgil Black. Dear Lord, he was drowning!

She dropped the canteen and anxiously stepped forward. But just as she reached out to grab at his shirt, Virgil’s wet head broke the surface. The princess quickly jumped back, not about to let him know she had been concerned.

From beneath lowered lashes she watched as he levered himself up, sat back on his booted heels, and raised his hands to push his wet hair straight back off his face. Beads of water glistened in his black beard and clung to his long dark eyelashes. His soaked shirtfront was stuck to his skin, clearly delineating the steely muscles of his chest and even the tiny twin points of his chilled flat, brown nipples.

The princess felt faint. She was momentarily overcome with a strong desire to sag to her knees before him, sweep his soggy black shirt apart, lean to him, and kiss that magnificent chest until the heart beneath her lips pounded with passion.

Instead she turned on her heel and rushed away, cursing herself for her shameful moment of weakness. Determined that he would never know about it.

Breaking the silence, Virgil called after her, “If you’re planning on a bath today, Red, now is the time and the place. There are no streams or brooks where we’re heading.”

The princess spun around to face him. “And if I take a bath here, just where did you plan on being?”

“You know damned well I have no intention of letting you slip away again.”

“Are you saying that you intend to stay right here and watch while I—”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Her hands went to her hips. “I would go the rest of my life without taking a bath before I would allow you to spy on me!”

“It’s your decision,” he said, shrugging.

“Yes it is! Besides, what good would a bath do without a change of clothes? I am sick and tired of wearing your smelly things. I want my own clothes back.”

“You should have thought of that before you went running off to join the Apaches.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Everything,” he said. “Your clothes and underwear were rolled up and packed behind the saddle on the gray mare.”

She huffed. “And you had to go and give them the mare!”

She turned away once more, firming her resolve to speak no more. To never speak to him again for as long as she lived!

Without another word passing between them, they got back on the trail. The princess maintained her silence as the hot June sun lost its sting and began to slide toward the blue shadows of the San Andres rising behind them.

But, despite her best efforts, she found it next to impossible to keep quiet when all at once they rode into the luminous world of pearly sand that she had glimpsed earlier from the high country promontory outside Cloudcroft.

The dazzling white sands of New Mexico!

Staring in wonder at the huge swirling lake of ivory sand, Princess Marlena stayed still as long as she possibly could. Enchanted, she shaded her eyes with her hand and stared at the unbelievable sight surrounding them.

Glittering dunes and the bright sun formed black-and-white shadow patterns on the shifting sands. The princess gazed, enthralled at dunes that were miles wide, some rising to fifty and sixty feet above the floor of the basin. Virgil narrowed his eyes against the glare from the great hills of snow-white sand. The gypsum crystals, shinning like millions of diamonds in the summer sunlight, were almost blinding.

But he had seen it before. Many times he had crossed this huge lake of pristine sand. He had no need to look now. He purposely lowered his heavy lids, let his thick, spiky eyelashes filter out some of the blinding light. Head bent, chin sagging slightly, he slumped comfortably in the saddle.

Half-dozing, he nearly jumped out of his skin when the princess, no longer able to contain her childlike excitement, suddenly shouted, “Captain, can we stop?”

Blinking, mentally shaking himself awake, Virgil said in a low, flat voice, “No.”

“Please, oh please,” she entreated, forgetting her vow to not talk to him. “This place is soooo extraordinarily beautiful I can’t believe it’s real. I want to stop and scoop up some sand to take back to Hartz-Coburg.”

“We’re not stopping.”

“Only for a minute,” she pleaded. “Just long enough to collect some of the sand for a souvenir. There is nothing like this in my kingdom and I really—”

Irritated that even at this late date she still refused to drop the royal princess pose, Virgil interrupted, “Your ‘kinkdom.’ What’s that?”

“Kingdom! I speak perfect English!” she snapped, taking offense.

“Sure you do,” he said in a bored, flat voice, “when you forget yourself and drop that fake accent.”

“My accent is not fraudulent! I have told you a dozen times that I am—”

“Sure, sure,” he cut her off.

Exhaling with frustration, Princess Marlena again fell silent. Clamping her teeth tightly together, she swore that these glittering white sands over which they rode would turn to snow before she again exchanged words with the rude Ranger.

When the sun had completely disappeared and a big early moon rose from behind the ragged peaks of the Organ Mountains, the princess still gazed with wonder on the silvery fairyland. In all directions the sands spread out in a ghostly glittering world of pure white.

When Virgil abruptly drew rein on the leeward side of a towering white dune where a stand of tenacious cottonwoods clung to the dune’s shifting sands, the excited princess forgot herself again.

“Can we camp here tonight?” she asked, unable to hide her enthusiasm.

The idea greatly appealed to her. If they spent the night here, she could, whether he liked it or not, collect some of the beautiful white sand for a keepsake.

“We’ll see,” he said, noncommittal, sounding like a stern parent.

Her hopes were raised when he dismounted, then reached for her. She followed when he led the stallion through the sparse stand of cottonwoods.

“What? What is it?” she asked, when he shook his dark head.

“Water,” he said. “There is none here.”

“Oh, is that all? It doesn’t matter!” She rushed the words. “The canteen is still nearly full, and I’m not very thirsty so—”

“I was thinking of Noche,” he said, turning his head to look at her. “I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you that the stallion
is
thirsty.”

“Oh, well, yes, of course … I—” She looked all around. “Surely there’s a stream where we can …”

“No,” he said decisively. “We’ll ride on. Once we leave the White Sands, we’ll find water and make camp.” Terribly disappointed, the princess said, “Well, can’t I at least collect some sand?”

“We’ve nothing to put it in.” He shook his head, dismissing her. “Come on. Time’s wasting.”

In the saddle again, the unhappy princess made mean faces at the back of Virgil’s dark head. She wanted to cry when the great carpet of white abruptly ended and they rode out into the dismal dusty desert.

Less than half a mile from the eastern edge of White Sands, they made camp. It was, the princess decided, not such a bad place to spend the night. It was so dry and forbidding, nothing could live there. Which meant she could spread her blanket safely away from the Ranger and not have to worry about the danger of predators.

Except him, of course.

He was the most threatening predator in the entire desert.

The strained silence between them continued, lasted as darkness fell and the night fully came. Through unspoken, but mutual consent, they slept apart. That is, they spread their blankets away from each other. Neither slept much. Neither could fall asleep knowing that the other was lying stretched out in the moonlight a few short yards away.

So near but yet so far.

The moon had gone completely down before either of them finally went to sleep. At dawn, Virgil awakened as a few pale streaks of gray appeared above the eastern mountains. He rose silently, tiptoed over, and glanced down at the princess. And his breath caught in his throat. She was sleeping soundly, her ginger hair a blazing cloud around her face. She looked like a beautiful child whose fair good looks were slightly marred by days spent under a too harsh sun.

His long legs suddenly weak, Virgil noiselessly crouched down on his heels and studied her as if she were a fragile work of art. Her long lashes rested in feathery crescents on her sun-reddened cheeks. Her small well-shaped nose had a markedly defiant tilt to it, which he found tremendously appealing. And her mouth. God that mouth. The smooth, soft lips, partially open now over small white teeth, were exquisite. The bottom lip was pleasingly full, and the top was fashioned into a perfect cupid’s bow.

Virgil licked his own lips as he gazed at hers.

Unbidden came the graphic recollection of how those lips had tasted when they made love in the rainstorm. The sweet, intoxicating scent of her came back to make his senses reel, his heart slam against his ribs.

He was almost grateful when a distraction suddenly presented itself. Something moved in his side vision. Virgil’s head swung around. A scorpion sidled across the sand. It’s tail raised, claws extended, it was heading directly for the unsuspecting woman. He glanced back at the princess’s face. She hadn’t stirred.

He rose to his feet, brought his heel down on the advancing scorpion, killing it instantly. He looked around for signs of other pests, pocket mice or kangaroo rats or lizards. Seeing none, he turned and hurried away. He had a little errand to take care of before she awakened.

Cursing himself for being a fool, Virgil hurriedly went through the gear, found a near-empty half-pint bottle of Old Crow whiskey, swigged down the last of the fiery contents, made a face, wiped his mouth, and set out toward the White Sands carrying the empty bottle.

He returned before she awakened. Again crouching down beside her, Virgil boyishly held one hand behind his back, meaning to surprise her. He shook her gently. The princess’s eyes opened to see him looming above, and for a sleep-dazed second she started to reach up, take his bearded face in her hands, and draw it down for a kiss.

But she quickly came fully awake.

“Get away from me!” she said hatefully, “and stay away from me.”

“With pleasure,” he rejoined, rising quickly to his feet, keeping his hand behind him. “Get the hell up, we’re getting out of here.”

28

“
Her Royal Highness
, Crown Princess Marlena of Hartz-Coburg.”