Dorothy Garlock (17 page)

From where she sat on the porch Jacy could distinguish the harsh, angry words coming from the front of the house. It seemed the argument was about the windmill and where Burr was building it. After a while he came out of the house, showing no signs at all that he had been involved in a violent argument. He glanced up at the hat above the door.

“I guess she didn’t see it.”

Jacy’s eyes twinkled up at him. “She liked that hat a lot.”

“She can still wear it, if she likes it so much.” He started to walk away.

“Señor,” Jacy called. “If you see Bucko, will you tell him to come to see me here? I’m going to teach him to play chords on the guitar.”

Burr paused and turned back. “Whose idea is this?”

“Johanna’s. But she’s too busy, and she didn’t want to disappoint him, so she asked me to do it. Don’t you approve, señor?”

He squatted on his heels beside her. “Yes, I approve. I approve of anything that’ll help Bucko. Ben and I have been teaching him to read, and he can write some. I don’t suppose you’d take on that chore, too?”

“Johanna is a much better teacher than I am, but I’d like to try.”

“Perhaps I’d better ask Luis first.” His teasing smile turned to deep, soft laughter when the crimson tide flooded her face.

“Señor!”

Burr got to his feet. “Call me Burr. And, Jacy, speak English to Bucko.”

“
Sí
. . . Burr,” she said as he began to walk away.

Briefly he turned, flashed her a smile, and said, “I’ll round up your pupil and send him up.”

*  *  *

Bucko was an interested if not a talented pupil. Jacy showed him how to pluck the strings, but his small fingers pinched and pulled. She soon discovered that Bucko liked the sound that came from the strings—any sound; the louder the twang, the better he liked it. Finally she gave up and allowed him just to play with the instrument. Physically, Bucko was the size of a seven-year-old; and although he was unusually bright, he was emotionally immature.

“Bucko,” she said suddenly.

The wide blue eyes that looked at her were so like Burr’s that she was startled. Now was the time to ask him about his mother, but the words wouldn’t come. The thin little body, the bent ankle, and the sad look on his face touched her heart. She decided she couldn’t do it—couldn’t awaken memories better forgotten.

“Would you like me to teach you to read?”

“Burr teach me to read,” he said in halting English.

“You can read? Well, in that case we can play a game where you read a little and write a little. We can start tomorrow. Would you like that?”

“Sí, señorita!”

It was the mention of a game that caught his interest. It was a trick her papa had used.
How wise he was,
Jacy mused.
I wonder how he would have handled old Mr. Macklin?

They sat on a big flat rock, the sun warm on their backs, and Jacy showed Bucko how to lace his fingers together to form a church, to lift his thumbs to form a steeple, and to fold back his hands to show the people.

She was explaining the purpose of the steeple when she saw Luis. She looked up and there he was.

“Buenos días,
Jaceta.
Buenos días,
Bucko.”

Jacy’s heart beat a mad tattoo against her ribs. She got to her feet, but found herself standing so alarmingly close to the head-tossing stallion that she sat down again.

“Good morning.” Her voice was slightly breathless.

Luis moved the restless horse back a few steps and looked down at her, almost as if he knew the reason for her momentary confusion. She expected him to say something, but instead he simply sat there as still as his restless mount would allow and looked at her steadily.

He wanted to tell her that he had thought of her every minute during the long ride back from El Paso, that she was nothing like any woman he’d ever known. She was warm and sweet and gentle; lovely beyond compare. But couldn’t say any of those things to her yet. He would have to move cautiously, wait until the time was right, lest he frighten her.

Jacy found words at last. “You’ve been away.”

“
Sí,
” he said softly.

Bucko carefully laid the guitar on the boulder.
“Puedo cabalgar Rey?”

“Speak English, Bucko,” Luis said gently.

“Ride on King, Luis?”

“Sí.”
Luis was still looking at Jacy. “I came for your teacher,
hombre.
I want to take her to my hacienda. But first you may have a ride on King.”

He spoke a soft word to the horse, who ceased his restless movements and stood perfectly still. Bucko limped forward, and Luis bent from the saddle to grasp him and lift him up to sit in front of him. The usually quiet boy was laughing, almost shrieking, in his excitement. He grabbed great handfuls of King’s mane, and Luis withdrew his supporting arms and allowed him to hang on by himself. The big horse, as though aware of his responsibility, walked slowly and evenly along the trail. In a moment they were out of sight and Jacy allowed herself to relax.

Luis’s words echoed in her mind. He had come for her! She fervently wished her wildly throbbing heart would behave so that she could think. After a quick glance down at her wrinkled skirt, she looked away, not wanting to see her protruding abdomen. She smoothed her hair and reached around to feel if her hair ribbon was in place. She closed her eyes tightly, and a quiver ran through her slender body. Even with her eyes tightly closed she could still see his face, which was like a sculpture she had seen in one of her papa’s books. She could hear him talking to Bucko before they came back into view.

“I have not forgotten,
vaquero,
about the pony, but you must grow some so you will not fall as you go racing like the wind.” He stopped the horse beside Jacy and dismounted, allowing Bucko to sit alone atop the big horse. He looked so small on the powerful animal that Jacy became anxious. Luis saw her concern and sought to reassured her.

“King will behave, señorita, so you need not worry.” His voice was deep and quiet, speaking fluidly in his own tongue.

Jacy felt her heart race wildly once again. His voice was a part of his undeniable attraction and Spanish did its deep, soft tones far more justice than English.

Luis lifted Bucko from the saddle and set him on his feet.

“
Hombre,
” he said seriously, “I have an important job for you. I need a man I can trust to take a message.”

“I can do it, Luis. I can take a message. I am a man to . . . to . . .”

“To trust,” Luis finished for him. “I know that, Bucko.”

The child nodded his head gravely.

“Go and tell Señorita Jaceta’s sister that she is going with me to my hacienda, that she will be safe with me, and I will return with her before the sun goes down. Do you understand?”

“
Sí,
Luis,” he said proudly and turned to leave.

“Bucko,” Jacy called. “Will you take the guitar to Johanna?”

Luis picked up the instrument and handed it to the boy.

“Be careful,
vaquero,
and do not fall on it,” he cautioned.

When they were alone, Jacy found herself more tongue-tied than ever. Her mind went blank and she couldn’t think of anything to say. Her eyes sought his face and found him staring at her. Her face colored and she looked away.

“I like to look at you, Jaceta.”

The softness in his voice brought her eyes back to him briefly before a swift new wave of color filled her cheeks.

“Do you mind,
querida,
for me to look at you?”

Her heart gave a lurch. He couldn’t have said what she thought he had:
querida
—beloved. She bowed her head and shook it.

“You will come with me?”

“
Sí,
” she finally managed to say; then, “Is it far?”

“Not for King. Will you ride with me?”

She shook her head. “Can’t we walk?”

“It is too far for you, Jaceta.” He looked down at her, a speculative glint in his eyes. “Do you not ride?”

“Not . . . very well,” she said, not wanting to admit to a fear of riding since she had returned to consciousness on the back of her abductor’s horse.

“I will teach you.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no, not . . . now,” she said hastily. “I can’t . . . I can’t! Not like . . . this.”

He swung easily into the saddle, and Jacy felt a flash of fear that he would ride away.

“Do not be foolish, my little Jaceta,” he scolded gently. “Later I will teach you. Now you will ride with me on King. Come,” he invited softly. The horse tossed his head, blew, and pawed the earth. Luis spoke sternly and the stallion stood motionless again. Luis’s hand was extended and he smiled, a challenging smile that was reflected in the bright gleam of his eyes. “I would not let you be hurt,
mi pichon,
” he assured her. “You need have no fears up here in front of me. Give me your hand. Come, I will not let you fall. I promise you.”

Jacy responded to the persuasion of his quiet, seductive voice, and obediently she reached out and put her hand in his and placed her foot on his boot. She let out a small cry of surprise as she was pulled swiftly up in front of him. A strong arm encircled her while the horse shifted restlessly in protest at the extra weight. Another sharp word from Luis and the horse stood still again. Then he adjusted her position so that she was sitting across his lap.

The nearness of him was something she hadn’t anticipated. She could feel every nerve in her body responding to his lean hardness. She pressed close to his chest, and his powerful arms not only held her safely in front of him but controlled their lively mount as well.

“You like it up here,
pequeña
?” He spoke close to her ear. She nodded a little uncertainly, for she had to cope not only with the unaccustomed sensations of being on horseback again but with the effect of his tender words and the physical intimacy of the way in which he held her.

“I don’t know,” she said, then looked down to see how far she was from the ground and immediately shut her eyes.

He laughed at her timidity. “
Tímida,
” he teased as he put his heels to the flanks of their mount. The animal responded willingly, and before she realized it she wrapped her arms about Luis and buried her face against the warm, sensual comfort of his chest.

“Querida mía!”
His voice vibrated with tender concern. “I will let nothing hurt you.”

Jacy dared not look up. Her face was pressed against his shirt, and she kept it there, not wanting him to see the tears that had filled her eyes when he had called her his beloved. She was aware of the smooth easy stride of the horse as he carried them easily across the open ground, and of the wind that stirred her hair. She ventured a brief, hesitant peek at the trees going past and realized that they were not going fast. She raised her head and the wind lifted her hair and cooled her cheeks. She looked into his eyes and smiled. Her fear was gone now in the sheer exhilaration of the ride. She tightened her arms around Luis, hugging him, her face nestled against his strong body.

Jacy would have been content to go on like that forever. They didn’t talk, and looking up at Luis she no longer felt shy. His eyes held hers and her heart thudded heavily in her breast. He brushed the hair gently from her forehead and she reached up and placed her palm against his face. He turned his lips into it, his eyes holding hers.

“Does it make you happy to be with me, Jaceta?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Jacy could feel his heart beating strongly and she could see the throbbing pulse at the base of his strong, brown neck; she was mesmerized by it and didn’t answer.

“Jaceta?” Strong fingers lifted her chin.

“
Sí,
Luis. Very happy.”

He continued to look down at her and ran his fingers lightly over her mouth and down her cheek; his hand cupped the back of her head and he held her firmly against him.

“Mi bella querida!”
he whispered, then repeated it in English. “My beautiful beloved.”

Jacy squeezed her eyes tightly shut as tears welled and glistened brightly on her dark lashes. Her heart swelled and she thought she would choke with the effort of keeping the sobs from her throat.

“
Querida mía,
you weep,” he said anxiously.

Her eyes still closed, she shook her head, swallowed convulsively, and tried to control her quivering lips. Luis lifted her chin, then wiped the tears from her cheeks with his fingertips.

“Why?” he asked hoarsely. “Why weep, my little Jaceta?”

Unable to answer and knowing she owed him an explanation, she took his hand and placed it on her abdomen. She was vaguely aware that the horse had stopped. The fingers lifted her chin again, gently but insistently, and she could feel his warm breath on her wet cheeks.

“Look at me,” he urged.

Jacy opened her eyes, but tears blinded her. She tried to wipe her cheeks with the back of her hand, but he moved her hand away and held it in his.

“Weep if you must, my Jaceta, for you have been truly sinned against.”

She turned her wet face into his shirt, and her voice when it came reflected the misery in her soul.

“I . . . I’m . . . soiled!”

As his arms tightened about her, the flood of emotion she had kept in check for so long broke. She cried as though her heart would break. Luis held her tightly against him and stroked her hair until she was quiet.

“
Dulce, dulce,
” he crooned against her hair. “You are immaculate!” He tilted her head against his arm and his eyes devoured her face. “Believe me,
amante,
you are as unblemished as the babe unborn.”

Heavy lashes lifted from tormented eyes only inches from his, and the look she saw in them brought a great swell of joy within her. She was too confused to hide her secret feelings, and her eyes glowed with love.

“You could . . . love me?”

“Can and do,
amada!
” His eyes laughed at her, and she cherished a joy she had never expected would be hers. If at this moment he had asked for it, she would have given him her soul. “Somehow I knew when I first saw you that we were meant to be together.”