Heart of Thunder by Johanna Lindsey
“Rufino?”
“Of course Rufino!” she shouted, wanting to shake him. “Who else would be chasing me?”
“But he is not chasing you.”
Samantha looked behind her to see Hank on the porch, leaning lazily against a post, watching her. She stared at him hard, damning him for making her so frightened, and he stood there as if nothing had happened, making her seem ridiculous.
“Where were you running to, señorita?”
She sighed irritably, letting go of him. “I don’t know. And don’t call me señorita anymore. Formality is out of place here. Call me Sam. He does.”
“Sam! No, no—”
“You call me Samina and I swear I’ll break your nose!”
Lorenzo stepped back, his dark eyes confused, and Samantha groaned. What was the matter with her, taking her anger out on him?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I had no call to snap at you like that. He’s got me to where I don’t know what I’m doing or saying anymore.”
“What has happened…Sam?”
“He…”
She looked at the house again. Hank was still there on the porch, waiting confidently, knowing she would have to come back.
“I can’t be alone with him anymore, Lorenzo,” she said softly, and she turned pleading eyes on him. “He…he’s crazy.”
“What has he done?”
“What hasn’t he done!” She gripped his arms. “Please, Lorenzo, let me stay with you.”
“But he has said you must stay with him,” Lorenzo reminded her gently. “We have already been through this, little one. I will not go against him simply because you do not wish to be near him.”
“It’s more than that, damn it!”
“Come. We will straighten this out.”
He took her arm, holding tightly when she tried to jerk away. “Lorenzo, for God’s sake, don’t take me back to him!”
“You are being silly,” he said impatiently.
“Silly!” At that point, Samantha lost her temper completely. “He raped me!” she shouted, not caring that her voice carried to Hank. “And he would have again, just now, if I hadn’t run away!”
Lorenzo’s fingers bit into her arm painfully, making her wince. “That is a harsh accusation, mujer! If you lie, to have me fight your battles—”
“Do you think I would admit such a degrading thing unless it was true?”
Lorenzo’s grip tightened more, and then, abruptly, Samantha held her breath, watching rage taking over his expression. He swore vehemently and started toward the house with an angry stride.
Samantha stayed where he had left her, staring after him. Lorenzo was going to fight for her! She hadn’t expected that. Nor was she relieved. Could he win? If he couldn’t, she would still have Hank to deal with, and he would be furious with her for turning his man against him.
Hank was ready for Lorenzo, standing on the porch with his legs apart, braced and waiting. Lorenzo charged up the steps, swinging furiously at Hank, but Hank ducked and threw himself at Lorenzo. They landed in the dust at the foot of the steps, Hank on top, straddling Lorenzo, but throwing no punches.
Samantha stared. Nothing else happened. Where was the fight for her honor? Hank was saying something to Lorenzo, and she moved toward them to find out what lies he was telling. But when she reached them, they were standing up, dusting off their clothes, and she heard only the last of it.
“She will agree?” Lorenzo asked Hank.
“She will.”
“She will what?” Samantha demanded, hands on hips, her emerald eyes shooting daggers at Hank.
“Ah, so you have come back on your own, eh?” Hank said. He spoke calmly enough, but there was a message in his eyes.
Samantha saw the anger he couldn’t hide. She didn’t care. “What lies did you tell him, Hank?”
“No lies.”
“You denied raping me?” she yelled.
“Rufino did not deny it.” Lorenzo spoke up, uncomfortable. “But he will make it right.”
She stared at Lorenzo, aghast. “Would you explain that ridiculous remark?”
But Lorenzo said nothing further. He couldn’t meet her angry gaze any longer and moved off quickly, leaving her with Hank.
“What the hell did you tell him, Hank?”
“You will find out soon enough,” he replied curtly.
“I want—”
“Silencio!” He cut her off brusquely. “We leave this place now. There is no time for your questions, nor do I wish to appease your curiosity.”
“Leave?” she gasped. “But you said we had to wait until—”
“I have changed my mind.”
“You’re taking me to my father, then?”
“Más adelante se lo explicaré,” he snapped impatiently.
Samantha stared angrily at his retreating back as Hank bounded up the steps and entered the house, apparently expecting her to follow. He wasn’t going to answer any questions.
She knew she ought to be delighted to leave, but instead she was worried. This was too sudden, and Hank’s refusal to explain anything made her wary.
What was the man up to now?
Chapter 28
THEY camped out on the open plains that night, making no attempt to conceal their presence. Not even the large boulder they stopped near could hide all of them and the horses too, and Hank seemed not to care.
Over the fire, Inigo cooked a delicious meal of roasted chicken with frijoles and quesadillas, good enough to rival Maria’s fare. Samantha sat near the fire, feeling more secure close to the light. The same three men who had brought her to the mountains were with her again, but Hank was there, too. It made a big difference. Even with the others around, she didn’t feel safe with Hank.
He hadn’t spoken a word to her since going into the house that morning to gather his gear. She had, heaven knew, little to gather. She wore the peasant blouse and skirt he had provided for her and left her ruined leather skirt and vest behind. Her empty gunbelt was strapped to her hip now—useless, but she wouldn’t leave it. Above the holster the gold buckle of her belt worn over the blouse gleamed in the firelight. Fine leather boots poked out from beneath her skirt, and she had put on her silk blouse to use as a jacket. It would provide little warmth if a strong wind picked up, but it was better than wearing the short-sleeved, low-necked cotton blouse alone.
She had been forced to ride El Rey with Hank all day, since no horse was provided for her. Her body was stiff and sore. Hank had made her sit before him in the saddle, and she had determined not to relax against him, for which she was paying already.
She looked at him. He sat across the fire, finishing his meal. He had never got around to telling her the second alternative, but she wouldn’t ask, not when his first idea was so shocking. Of course, he might have been bluffing, meaning only to scare her.
Samantha finished the last of her wine and set the cup aside. She watched Diego as he picked up his bedroll and moved off behind the boulder, and Inigo as he cleared the frying pan. Lorenzo was taking a swig from a flask of tequila. When he put it away, turning toward her, he wouldn’t meet her gaze. He hadn’t looked at her all day. Why had Lorenzo suddenly been so pacified by whatever Hank told him? She wanted to question him, but he seemed so disturbed, no, embarrassed by the whole affair. But embarrassed for whom? For her?
Inigo finished cleaning and moved off around the boulder as Diego had done. Then Hank got up and began spreading out his bedroll by the fire.
“Did someone bring a blanket for me?” Samantha asked hesitantly.
But neither man looked at her or answered. Lorenzo was watching Hank, and then he rose, too, and left the area.
“Lorenzo, where are you going?” She jumped to her feet. “Lorenzo!” She did not want to be alone with Hank!
“Leave him be, Sam,” Hank said so softly she hardly heard him.
Lorenzo had not gone around the boulder, but was walking away. After a while she couldn’t see him anymore.
“They will all sleep away from us.”
“Why?” she cried.
“Cálmese.”
“Speak English, damn you!”
“I said calm yourself.”
“Give me a reason to!” she demanded, her eyes wide.
Hank came around the fire toward her, but she backed away. “What is it you fear, Sam?”
“You know.”
He shook his head. “Tell me.”
“You and your crazy ideas about babies!”
He stopped as Samantha continued to retreat. “Ah, so you took me seriously, eh?” he asked, amused.
“Of course not.” She tried to sound convincing but failed. “I just don’t like the fact that the others are giving you this…privacy. They stayed near me when I traveled with them before. Why have they gone off?”
“You have me to watch over you now. It takes only one man to see that you do not escape.”
“But—”
“I want to sleep, Sam, and I can’t until you settle down.”
“Are you going to tie me up?”
“Do I have to?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t,” he said agreeably. “I have a blanket for you.”
He went to his bedroll and picked up a blanket, holding it out to her. Samantha hesitated. Instinct told her not to trust him. She couldn’t run, though. She was still in his power, even out here on this vast plain. As much as she hated it, there was nothing she could do about it.
But she didn’t have to seem cowed. Raising her chin, she walked forward purposefully, ignoring the twinkle in his eye. When she reached him, she snatched the blanket away. His deep chuckle grated, but she didn’t let it show. She turned away, intending to bed down on the other side of the fire, as far from him as she could.
She was startled when his hands caught her shoulders and he pulled her back, forcing her down onto his bedroll.
“You lied,” Samantha said bitterly when he fell down beside her and put his hand on her skirt. “You said you wanted to sleep!”
“And so I will—afterward.”
“After you make a baby?” she cried, her eyes riveted on his face.
“After I give you pleasure, Sam.”
“You’re crazy if you think I get pleasure out of being raped!”
Hank chuckled. “Now who is lying dulzura? There was never any rape.”
“Bastard!”
She went for his face. Hank slapped her hand away, then quickly caught both wrists and held her hands above her head.
His eyes were cold steel, his mouth fixed in a hard line. “I like my face the way it is,” he said icily. “You scar it with your nails as you did my chest and I swear I will give you equal scars. Think about that, Sam, before you use your claws again.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “You’re cruel, Hank. You leave me nothing.”
“And what did you leave me when you stole my heart?” he asked softly.
She stared hard at him, searching his eyes, seeing only naked honesty.
“You have your heart back. It’s whole and hard and vengeful. Besides, you stole my innocence, which I can’t get back. You came out ahead, and still you want revenge.”
“This is not revenge,” he whispered. “You make me ache with wanting you. Does it not satisfy you to have such power over me?”
“No! I suffer because of you!”
“You do not know what it is to suffer, Samina. Even when I took you in anger, I never hurt you. You were more upset that day with the truths I told you about Adrien than with me.”
“But you do not take into account my feelings. I hate you.”
“But when I make love to you, you forget that.”
“I don’t!” she gasped.
He grinned at her and with his free hand caressed her cheek. “I am not blind to what happens to you when I touch you, querida. Why must you pretend so hard?”
She looked away from him, and a deep flush spread up her neck.
“There is passion in you,” he continued huskily. “You cannot fight it. You feel it with me. I strip your pride away, and that is the only thing you suffer. But your pride returns later, so you need not lose it if you do not wish to.”
He kissed her and she had no retaliation. He had got inside her, discerned all the truths she had thought hidden from him. He made her feel weak, vulnerable—not because of his strength, but because of his knowledge of her. How had he come to know her so well?
She kissed him back, and he made her seek his lips, leaning back, forcing her to strain for him. Not until she had reached her limit and her shoulders were trembling with effort did he move her head back to the ground and cover her lips with his. He was relentless in passion, fiery and wild, and her desire matched his. She stayed with him, movement for movement, her body drawn by strings he pulled, until at last there was sweet, pulsing release.
The first thought that entered Samantha’s mind when clear thought returned was that she hadn’t marked him this time. But then his movements caught her attention. He was rubbing his left shoulder and wincing.
“Gata! Your teeth are as sharp as your claws. It is not safe making love to you!”
Samantha burst into laughter, and Hank’s expression darkened as she laughed harder. She had marked him after all, bitten him and not even remembered it.
“I would remember the position I was in if I were you, before you amuse yourself at my expense,” Hank warned softly.
She sobered instantly. “I’m sorry.” She touched his shoulder. “You want me to have a look at your wound?”
“I will see to it myself, thank you, just as I have seen to all the other wounds you have given me.”
“Well, if you don’t want my help, then how about letting me up?”
He grunted and moved to the side, but threw an arm over her so that she couldn’t rise. “You will sleep here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed.
“I am quite serious, Sam. You will share my bedroll. It is softer than the hard ground.”
“I don’t care how soft it is,” she replied haughtily. “I would rather sleep in a bed of cactus than be near you.”
“I do not give a damn what you prefer,” he sighed. “I want you next to me, and there will be no more discussion of it. I won’t have you slipping off while I sleep.”
He fastened his clothing, then bent to fix hers. She tried to stop him, to do it herself, but he shoved her hands away.
“You’re impossible!” she hissed, and turned away from him as soon as he finished.
Hank drew the cover over them and settled down behind her, curving his body to hers and dropping one arm around her. “When you are angry, you are like a jewel. You sparkle and shine—for me, eh? You are my alhaja.”
“You say these things to annoy me, don’t you?” Samantha asked stiffly.
“Sí.” He chuckled. “It delights me to stir your temper. But do you know what delights me more?”
“I don’t want to know!” she retorted coldly, then asked, “What?”
His fingers brushed a nipple as he answered, “It delights me to see your eyes smolder with passion when—”
“Oh, shut up, damn you!”
She put her hands over her ears, but she could still hear his voice as he continued to taunt her. “Next time I want you, you will not put up so much fuss, eh?”
She didn’t answer, wouldn’t let herself be goaded. To hell with it. Tomorrow would see her one day closer to her father and to the time when she would see the very last of Hank Chavez.
Chapter 29
SIX days before, they had left the mountains. They had passed the Kingsley ranch—if it still was the Kingsley ranch. For all Samantha knew, her father had sold it already. She felt so dismal with that thought as they circled well around the ranch, to the east, then rode on toward the border.
Hank was in no apparent h
They were only a day’s ride from her home when they rode into a small village. Samantha had long since given up her stiff posture in the saddle, but she was still tired. She didn’t know anyone in this village, but there was a church, so they were probably decent people. The possibility of finding help entered her mind. It would only be a matter of speaking to one person without Hank’s knowing, so when Hank pulled up before a cantina and dismounted to go inside, she took hope. She waited outside with the others, who were all still on their horses. The street was dark that night, though scattered lights issued from a few houses, and a torch burned in front of the church down the street. This was a small working pueblo, and most of the people would be in bed already.
It was twenty minutes before Hank returned and lifted Samantha off El Rey. Lorenzo and Diego followed them into the cantina, while Inigo led the horses away to shelter.
It was dim inside the small saloon. A candle flickered at the end of the serving counter near a stairway, toward the door, while at the other end of the room a fire burned under a large pot of food. A woman of indeterminate age bent over the fire, adding fuel. There were only a few tables in the room. A white-haired man slept at one, unaware of the travelers’ arrival.
The Mexican woman at the fire turned when they entered, smiling. She motioned them to a table and said that food would soon be ready. Diego and Lorenzo sat down, removing hats, setting saddlebags and rifles aside. But Hank took Samantha to the stairs, taking the candle at the end of the counter to light their way.
His hold on her elbow was firm as they climbed the narrow stairs.
“Will we stay the night here?” she asked before they reached the top floor.
“Yes. There are only two rooms, but Señora Mejia has kindly given us her own.”
“The woman downstairs?”
“Yes. She runs this place herself. A widow.”