Beyond the Broken Road, page 8
He glanced to the small oak tree. “Trogon.”
She snapped her head around to look at him. “Trogon?”
He narrowed his eyes, looked again at the bird. “Elegant Trogon. A male. They’re the colorful ones.”
“I’ve never seen a bird like it.”
“I’ve just seen them in the mountain canyons of southern Arizona and Mexico.”
“I’ve never even heard that name.”
“So, you didn’t expect I’d know it either, or… did you think I lied about its name?” She could see she had offended him.
“I... uh no, I know you wouldn’t… about that.”
He dropped his cigarette to the dirt and ground it out, then looked at her, those blue eyes so intense. His lashes were thick making his eyes seem almost to be outlined by kohl. “So, Abby, where do we go this morning?”
“You’d really let me go home?”
He nodded.
She felt irritated. She didn’t want to have to admit even to herself that she was choosing this. "You're no gentleman," she said finally, having decided one thing for sure--a gentleman wouldn't have put her in such a spot.
He laughed. 'You got that one. So what's it to be?"
She glared at him. "I said I'd marry you.” The next thing would be him insisting she ask him to marry her.
"You don't look like a happy bride," he said, tying the food bag to his saddle.
She groaned. “You want a smile. Here. Here’s a smile.” She forced a wide one onto her lips and didn’t know whether she was pleased or irritated when he laughed.
“Well,” she said, “this is hardly going to be a typical wedding, one of the more unusual probably in the annals of time."
"In the what?"
"In forever," she snapped.
He smiled, that strong, blatantly male face dangerously close to her again. She wished she could look at him and not find her toes curling, her belly tightening. She wished she could look at his chest and not remember it uncovered. Wished she wasn't wondering what lay beneath the pants.
"If you don't look a little more satisfied when we get to the priest," he said, mounting Satan and doing a battle for control before he could finish, "he won't marry us."
"What do you mean?"
"We're not Catholics. He's not going to like it at best. Father Marcos is a good man, as far as his kind go. He’ll do it if he thinks it's what you want. If he doesn't, it's forget it."
"Oh." She mulled that over. She didn't want to forget it. Crazy as it seemed, she wanted to see this wedding through, even though she had no idea what would happen afterward. She forced a smile on her face. "Will that do?"
He laughed. "You look like a squirrel who just ran across a polecat, but yeah, if that's the best you can do, it'll have to be enough." He shook his head as he gigged Satan in the side and headed off to the west.
"Aren't you concerned I'll ride off?" she asked as she pulled her mount even with his.
"What for?"
"I mean... I could run away."
He nodded. "You could."
"Don't you care if I do?"
"I told you I won't force you into this."
"Riding off with a man alone pretty well did that," she said. "I couldn't hold my head up in Tucson if I went back now." She knew she didn’t care about any of that, but he couldn’t. She decided a little guilt for him was in order.
"For what it was worth, I offered you my name," he said, not looking over at her.
"I... know." She felt like crying. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be when she got married, and yet how many women found it any different? Women married for money, position, because they had to, convenience. She’d even read of mail-order brides, who had come west with no idea what kind of man they’d be marrying. How many women were wed for love or passion? At this point, she wasn't sure where her own reason for a wedding would fit among the various possibilities, but she was determined to go ahead with it. He wouldn't dare back out now.
"How far is this place?" she asked, still sore from the long ride the day before.
"Maybe twenty miles."
She suppressed her groan.
In the late afternoon, they crossed the Santa Cruz River and rode into the settlement. Sam told her a little of its history as they rode. Although not as impressive as the showier San Xavier up near Tucson, the little mission was lovely with its soaring design, quiet, peaceful setting that belied its history. It had been occupied and abandoned several times due to Apache depredations. Father Marcos had moved in officially or otherwise and re-established it--at least for a time. The Papago camped around the fringes helping with the restoration work and attending services, their children receiving classes in a small structure alongside the mission.
As they rode into the central courtyard, Father Marcos, a man of middle years, garbed in a plain brown robe, walked out to greet them, urging them to dismount and come into the living quarters. Abigail managed a smile as she was introduced to the balding missionary; then he turned to Sam, and the two spoke fluent Spanish with no attempt to stop and translate for her. She was feeling sorry for herself and abandoned by the time they turned and looked at her.
"He wants to know if you want to marry me,” Sam said.
Abigail smiled as she met the small priest’s concerned eyes. "Sí," she said, nodding with what she hoped was an emphatic manner.
Father Marcos's grin broadened. "I no think Sam ever marry. "You muy bonita."
"Gracias," she said grateful for her sporadic attempts to learn Serafina’s language. Father Marcos patted her hand, then nodded.
Soon he and Sam were engaged in another conversation, which lost Abigail until Sam took her hand and put it on his arm, leading her into the dimly lit sanctuary. She had assumed they would wait, eat, perhaps get married in the morning, but she saw that was not how it was to be.
She would be married in a dirty, leather riding skirt, torn blouse, boots, her hair straggling out of a braid and to a man she barely knew, other than that he was probably some kind of desperado. She was to be married by a priest who spoke barely any English. Well, at least she wasn't doing what was expected by her society. How that was going to benefit her-- on that she couldn't predict.
She shook her head at her own foolishness, but as the priest said the words, when he looked toward her, she nodded, smiled, and said, sí. In moments, Sam bent to a kiss that barely brushed her lips. The priest laughed and patted Sam on the back as he smiled again at her. Sam signed the certificate before handing it to her. With her own name, she finalized the event.
"Father Marcos would like us to eat with him." Sam looked at Abby questioningly. She was nearly starving, having eaten little for two days. Anything the priest might offer would be very welcome, and she nodded her agreement. Besides, she felt nervous at the thought of being alone with her new husband. Would he immediately expect husbandly rights? He'd said he would not force her, but it was not force for a man to have sex with his own wife.
After they'd eaten a light meal of potatoes and roast lamb, the priest again made Sam an offer which he translated for Abby. "He invited us to spend the night here."
She looked up at him with a feeling of panic. Even though she was exhausted, she said, “I’m not ready for bed.”
“I'll sleep on the floor tonight,” he reassured her.
She swallowed. "That wouldn't be right.”
He grinned. "When I share your bed, it’ll be because you’re begging me to."
“Begging?” She lifted her eyebrows.
“You will want me to be there so bad that you can’t do anything but beg.” His voice was husky, little above a whisper.
“You are pretty confident of yourself.”
“About some things.” He turned to the priest and accepted the lodging. He then told Abigail he'd play a little chess with Father Marcos, but she could go on to bed.
Moments later, Abigail was ushered by an Indian woman into a single room with a dirt floor and adobe walls, a simple flat roof, furnished with one double bed and a dresser upon which set a candle, a basin of water, and a pitcher. The windows had no glass in them, but they did have wooden shutters she could close. To do so would make the room stifling hot. She opted instead to blow out the candle, stripping down to her chemise and washing in the darkness.
Lying in bed, she wondered what would her life be like in the morning. Would Sam keep to his word and not force her to have sex with him. Did she want him to keep to his word? She was torn between desire for the man, curiosity about sex itself, and the fear that the act would be painful and take her to a place from which she could not return.
How long before Sam would join her? He'd said she'd have to ask him to join her on the bed, but the floor looked awfully hard. Surely he wouldn't sleep there when he had a choice. She tucked the sheet around herself, making a little nest that would protect her only so long as he allowed it to be so.
She had drifted off to sleep only waking when the door creaked open. "Sam?" she asked.
"It’s me, Abby."
She had never liked that nickname but something about the way he said it, those dark, husky tones, made her change her mind. "How... how did the chess game go?"
"He beat me. First time too. My mind wasn't on the game."
She shrank further against the wall, leaving as much of the bed as possible for him. She heard his rustling, knew he was dropping clothing.
"There water in here?" he asked.
"The girl brought in fresh," Abigail said. He then moved unerringly in the dark to the dresser, and she heard the sounds of water splashing. She imagined the water droplets rolling down his body and wondered how much clothing he'd removed. Judging by the silvery sheen of his skin, in the scant moonlight, it looked as though he'd removed everything. She swallowed hard again and tried to still her trembling.
The next sound she heard was his taking a blanket from the bottom of the bed and lying down on the floor.
"What are you doing?" she asked, leaning forward to make out the shape of his body on the blanket.
"You begging me to join you?” She could hear the amusement in his voice.
"No."
"Then, I'm sleeping on the floor. See you in the morning."
She stared down at his still form and couldn't believe he was going to sleep on the floor on his wedding night. Did that mean he didn't desire her-- that he found her unattractive? For the moment, she forgot her own fears and her hope that he would do exactly as he had done. The question for her now was—why had he?
CHAPTER 7
Abigail and Sam were up Sonoita Creek between the Santa Ritas and the smaller mountain range when the storm clouds began to build across the valley.
"Summer rains are coming early this year," he said, pointing to the dark thunderheads building against the Tumacacoris from whence they'd come.
"You think the storm will come our way."
"From the direction of the wind, I'd put chips on it."
"I like storms," she said, "but not when I'm out in them."
"Man or woman doesn't respect an Arizona thunderstorm is a fool. No shelter here either." They were out where it was too open, no protection from lightning strikes. The trees were scrub oak and juniper, the pines spindly and of no account.
"Maybe we can out ride it."
He smiled at her. "Maybe so." He spurred Satan and saw similar burst of speed from Belle. Riding hard, he and Abby headed for the pass that would lead into his valley. He realized he'd never told Abby where they were going, but he guessed maybe seeing it was the best way.
They varied the speed of their horses, giving them a respite, when possible, but keeping as much distance as possible between themselves and the fast-moving storm. The wind blowing behind them picked up force. Sam pulled up his horse. "You have a slicker?"
“Just my jacket.”
He reached into his bag and pulled out his long slicker handing it to her.
“Use this.”
"What about you?" she asked.
"I'll be all right. Not the first storm I've weathered. Put it on. We're going to get wet." Behind them, he saw the flash of lightning and seconds later the first angry boom of thunder. He waited as she put on the coat, pulling the brim of his own hat down to keep the wind from sucking it away. Overhead the sky darkened, giving it the look of prematurely arriving night. "Keep low," he said and for the first time, sent her horse ahead of his. She would know where they were heading when she saw it, up and over the rise.
The rain began falling, at first not heavily, then with more force. Within moments Sam was soaked to the skin. Nothing he could do about the lightning. He’d had it hit close before, knew it could kill, but wasn’t anything a man could worry about. Just how it was with life. Hit one and not another. He trusted in his luck where it came to that. Not so sure about where it came to the woman riding ahead of him.
They followed the cut between Red Mountain and American Peak and then came out into his valley. He urged the horses to pick up speed again. It was all or nothing.
At the highest ridge, already soaked and even knowing Abby hadn't fared much better, Sam couldn't resist reining in Satan for just a moment. When she realized he wasn't right behind her, she pulled her own horse to a halt, looking back at him. "What’s wrong?" she yelled.
Lying in front of him was the San Rafael Valley, his valley, rolling grasslands for as far as the eye could see, year-round water. Room to graze a thousand head of cattle. His ranch reached from where he had stopped to the border of Mexico and east to the Canelo Hills. He never rode over this rise and saw it but what he didn't feel a surge of pride. Even now, with a threatening storm overhead, there was something new added to it. He was bringing home the woman to the ranch, the kind of woman who could make it a home. Foolish man. He knew it, but the dream would not be denied.
"Is something wrong?" she repeated, reining her horse even with his.
"No, just wanted you to see something. In front of you is my ranch.” He leaned forward and pointed to a sprawling ranch house on a small rise, dimly visible through the driving rain.
He saw the surprise in her eyes as she gaped. "Your land?" He knew she couldn’t have expected he’d own anything. Or if he had, she probably figured a shack like where they’d left her old boyfriend. He pointed out the lengths of the land and saw her trying to take it all in.
He smiled as he watched her. She was so beautiful with the rain running down her cheeks, the look of amazement in those beautiful dark eyes. The flash of a distant bolt of lightning outlined her finely boned face. Her hair had come out of the braid again, straggled wet around her face, as the hat brim was unable to protect her from the driving storm. She had the kind of face that a man would never tire of looking at.
He should have ridden on, but he wanted this moment. He thought about how it’d be to continue surprising her with things. There was so much he could show her if she would let him. He did enjoy her beauty, but it wasn’t all he wanted from her. She was a fulfillment of something, a dream long ago put aside and now resurrected.
Ignoring the storm, he pointed out what could be seen. "The barns are below the house. Can't see them from here. Pond's over there. A year-round stream feeds it. The house is big, porch all the way around."
"It looks amazing," she yelled against the storm, "but do you think we could go there before we drown?"
He grinned at her practicality. Of course, she couldn't know what he was thinking. Hell, he didn't want her to know just yet. He spurred Satan into a run as they headed out onto the grasslands, pounding across the open country, the rain and wind at their backs. Beneath his thighs, Sam felt the throb of Satan's powerful muscles as the stallion covered the ground in mighty heaving strides. Sam didn't mind the rain soaking him as it did his land. Both could use the cleansing.
As he and Abby rode into the ranch yard, he saw Ollie and Rock come out of the bunkhouse, followed by the others who then stood on its porch. Things were going to change, and Sam knew the men wouldn’t like it. They had used the house more than he should have let them even before. He would have to enlarge the bunkhouse. They would now find the big house off-limits. That was for Abby.
Up until now, the ranch had been mostly a front for his real business as he'd run only a few hundred head of cattle. Soon that would change. If he got his dream, he would fully stock it. Someday this would be a home, a place to raise sons and daughters.
He reined in Satan by the front of the house and had dismounted in time to help Abby down from her horse. He knew she was capable of it, but she’d also had a lot of time in a saddle where she wasn’t used to it.
"This is your home?" she asked, and he nodded. He saw the frown on her face and looked at the house with new eyes. It should have been painted, he guessed. There was no light coming from it. Surely, she would see the potential, but as they walked up the steps to the porch, he felt a sudden unease that she wouldn't.
For Sam's purposes, that isolation had been perfect. No close neighbors to ask questions. Would Abby see it that way or would she hate the loneliness, miss her friends, miss the conveniences of living in a town? His love of this place had gone beyond its being a sanctuary, a place to hide. It had represented an unnamed future, a future to which he hadn't dared put words until Abby had said she would marry him.
He opened the door for her but didn't attempt to carry her across the threshold. She was holding herself stiffly as though at any moment she'd cry. He didn't know if he'd done something wrong or if she was just exhausted.
Lighting a coal oil lamp, he tried to see the place through her eyes. The furniture was plain, leather couches, large wooden sideboards, and cupboards in keeping with the big scale of the rooms. He'd bought Indian rugs to cover the floor, and he saw them as primitive, not the kind of thing she was used to. No fine antiques, no wallpapered walls, no fancy crystal lighting fixtures. It was plain and simple. The stone fireplace almost covered one end of the parlor. In front of it was a long, leather sofa. Along the wall with the big window was a big desk, plain, no ornamentation.
