Love and Honor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 7 (7 page)

She dismounted and leaned against a jutting rock, enjoying the splendor around her. How she wished that she knew for certain she would never have to leave. Her mother hadn’t said anything about going back to America since the embassy ball, but that didn’t mean she had changed her mind.

Kit’s mind drifted back to the ball…and she cursed herself for once again feeling a sensuous, warm flash of desire as she thought of Kurt Tanner, despite her dislike of the man. Oh, he was arrogant! The nerve of him kissing her right there on the dance floor, but the worst had been the way he had boldly caressed her nipples, staring down at her with knowing, laughing eyes.

Kit had not seen him since. She did not want to, ever, but she had been curious enough to ask Carasia about him. She learned that his ranch was not far away. It was north of Valencia, between Sagunto and an area called the Castellon de la Plana, sometimes called the Costa del Azahar for the sweet fragrance of the orange blossom that drenched the countryside. Carasia had delightedly told her that
Señor
Tanner was said to own over two thousand acres of land, extending from the shores of the Mediterranean eastward to the section the Phoenicians had called Spagna, meaning “the hidden land”, because of the menacing mountains along that rugged coast. It was the region beyond where
Señor
Tanner raised his prize cattle.

“He is very, very wealthy,” Carasia had said, “one of the richest men in all of Spain. He has
mucho
gold…and many women.”

Carasia had giggled, but Kit had not been amused. When Carasia saw her look of disgust, she asked what was wrong. Kit told her about the dance and the kiss, but not the way he had touched her so intimately.

“
Caramba!
” Carasia had squealed. “What I would not give to have such an
amante
!”

She had then lowered her voice to an intimate whisper. “They say he knows how to make a woman happy beyond her wildest dreams. They say the richest women in Europe have tried to buy his love, but of course, he is above that. They say that for a time he was engaged to a princess from Denmark, a golden-haired beauty with blue eyes and the face of an angel.”

Kit had cursed herself for her curiosity, but she could not resist asking, “Why didn’t he marry her?”

Carasia felt superior with her knowledge of Kurt Tanner, and airily disclosed, “Her name was Princess Nedjelja, but he called her Nebula, because, it was said, he found her to be as beautiful as a star. Near Sagunto, there is a place where the ramparts of a medieval castle extend for over a kilometer across the hilltop of an ancient acropolis. You can see the beginnings of the new castle he was going to build for her there when they married.”

Kit wondered what it would be like to be so loved by a man. She quickly pushed such thoughts aside and pretended only mild interest. Shrugging as though it didn’t really matter, she asked, “So? What happened to the great romance?”

“No one knows for sure, but it must have been something terrible, because they say
Señor
Tanner forbids anyone to mention her name. It is as though she never existed.” Carasia’s eyes glittered as she hurried to share her gossip. “My aunt is his housekeeper, and she said there was a portrait of Princess Nedjelja on the wall above the big stone fireplace. One morning when she went to work, the portrait had been slashed to ribbons.”

Curious, Kit had asked, “Why is
Señor
Tanner living in Spain? He’s an American.”

“There’s a story about that, too.”

Kit had sighed, again pretending that she really didn’t care. “Well, you might as well tell me the rest, I suppose.”

So Carasia had told her the rumor about how
Señor
Tanner was said to have been a wanderer, and happened to be in Texas at the same time as Francisco Madero, who had just escaped from jail in Mexico. The two became friends, and Tanner had aided Madero in his successful attempt to unseat Porfirio Diaz and become President of Mexico. Afterward Tanner could have stayed on in Mexico, an important friend of the government, but revolution and politics were not to his liking. Madero had understood and rewarded him for his loyalty and help by deeding him over a thousand acres of valuable land in Spain. Tanner had, in a short while, become one of the wealthiest ranchers in the country.

Kit now chided herself for dwelling on Kurt Tanner again. The sun was high, and she’d wasted too much time thinking about the brazen
Señor
Tanner already!

She mounted Belle and was about to ride on when she saw vaqueros in the meadow below. She paused, curious, when she heard excited shouts. Then she saw two riders galloping side by side across a clearing to where a man waited to mark the finish line. She watched as one pulled ahead of the other to win the race.

Kit trotted Belle down the slope. She had many friends among Doc Frazier’s vaqueros and always enjoyed riding with them. She had even raced with them, winning often, because Belle was quite a horse. Suddenly the idea of having fun with them was more inviting than her intended ride to the river.

Kit approached at a fast clip. Catching sight of her, one of the men yelled to the others, “
Hola! Señorita
Coltrane!”

They all turned to greet her, surprising her with their enthusiasm. Doc Frazier’s foreman, Riguero, cried excitedly, “
Señorita
, you must win back our gold for us. He has beaten our best!”

Kit dismounted, pushing her felt hat back on her forehead and loosening the lanyard beneath her chin as she looked around. She saw several men she didn’t recognize, wearing smug expressions. Her old friends seemed quite upset. “Maybe,” she said quietly, “you’d better tell me what this is all about.”

“They come, these strangers,” Riguero said with an accusing wave toward the strangers who stood watching in amusement, “with their leader. They challenge us to race, and he beats us and takes our money. You can win it back for us.”

Kit frowned. She had dash-raced many times, but never for money. If Doc Frazier knew what his vaqueros were up to, he would not like it one bit. “I don’t think so,” she told him curtly.

“But you must,
señorita
,” another of the vaqueros spoke up. “Belle is the fastest horse on the ranch, and you ride her so well. You are our only chance!”

Kit sighed in disgust. “Why did you race for money in the first place? You know that Doc would never approve.”

“You do not understand,” Riguero bid her with an angry glance at the strangers as they laughed among themselves. “The strange
hombre
, he comes in with his horse and says he is the best. He goads us. Makes us feel like cowards if we do not accept his challenge. And so we do, and we lose.”

“Well, was it a fair race?” Kit wanted to know.

Doc Frazier’s vaqueros nodded reluctantly. Shuffling their feet, they exchanged miserable glances.

“Well, then, let it be a lesson to you not to bet in the future.” She swept the strangers with an angry look. “Especially with people you don’t know anything about.”

“Maybe when you know them, you will like them.”

Kit whirled about to see a man behind her astride a horse. It was not the rider who caused her to stare in wonder, even though her first glance told her he was not an average vaquero. Doc’s men did not wear bandoleers—cartridge belts crisscrossed on their chests. This man looked formidable, was perhaps a true
bandido
—but it was his horse that caught Kit’s attention. He was the finest animal she had ever seen.

The man leaned forward in his saddle to stroke the great horse’s neck proudly. Flashing gleaming white teeth from beneath a bushy black mustache, he grinned knowingly and said, “Ah, you like the horse,
si
? He is one fine animal,
si
?”

“Beautiful,” Kit breathed in admiration, “absolutely beautiful.”

“Allow me to introduce myself.” The man removed his sombrero and gave her a sweeping bow from the saddle. “I am Galen Esmond, and I have to tell you never have I met so lovely a
señorita
in all of Spain.”

“
Gracias
,” Kit responded quietly, unimpressed.

Then she asked brusquely, “Why did you come here and goad these men into betting their hard-earned pay?”

To the delight of his men, who were chuckling as he spoke, he pretended innocence. “Ah,
señorita
, do not judge me so harshly. I am but a poor
gitano
—a gypsy, wandering through Spain. I come here, and these men, they goad me to race them.”

Frazier’s vaqueros shouted in protest, and Kit waved them to silence. Galen Esmond spread his hands in mock despair. “Is it my fault they do not recognize a fine horse, and do not realize they have no chance to beat me?”

Kit said, “I don’t believe they challenged you, any more than I believe you’re just a poor, wandering gypsy. I
can
believe, however, that they’ve never seen a Hispano before. There aren’t that many in Spain, because few people can afford them.”

“Aha!” he cried, looking around at his men in pretended delight. “The
gringa
knows something about horses, and I thought she only knew how to do what
gringas
do best—wag her tongue!”

His men laughed again, and Kit bristled, quickly informing him, “I know much about Hispanos,
campesino
. They’re quite rare, the result of breeding Spanish Arab mares to English Thoroughbreds, producing a horse with more pronounced Arabian characteristics than the average Anglo-Arab. It’s intelligent, has great courage, and is known for an agility that makes it a popular competition horse in every branch of equestrian sports. The Hispano can take the challenge that an ordinary horse can’t.”

Esmond threw back his head and laughed. “
Mi Dios!
The
señorita
knows her horses!” Then he abruptly fell silent, turning black, penetrating eyes on her as he challenged, “Why did you not teach your
compadres
about such a fine horse,
señorita
? Then they would not be so
estupido
as to think they can race against my Hispano and win.”

Kit met his cold, condemning stare with one of her own. “Do not call them
estupido
because they have confidence in their own horses,
hombre
. After all, that’s what you were counting on to get them to bet so you could take their money.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, exchanging amused glances with his men. “Are you also so
estupido
as to have such confidence in your own horse,
señorita
?”

“
Si, hombre.
” The sound was like the hiss of the prairie rattler.

He threw back his head and laughed, “Ah, so you are not
estupido
! You know my horse is tired after so much racing. Naturally you wish to race him now. You would easily win.”

“Race any horse against me you wish.”

His grin faded. He swung his right leg up and over the saddle, landing with both feet on the ground. He commanded to no one in particular, “Bring me the fastest horse. I will show it takes no special horse to beat a mere
gringa
!” To Kit, he snarled, “What shall be your stake? You do have money to wager, do you not? Galen Esmond does not waste his time for nothing.”

At that, a ripple of laughter went through Doc Frazier’s vaqueros. Riguero called gloatingly, “She is a Coltrane,
hombre
, and her family has more money than you will ever see.”

Galen Esmond’s insolent gaze did not waver as he coolly said, “So be it,
rica gringa
. Name your wager.”

“All the money you have taken from my
amigos
,” Kit replied.

Galen pulled a cheroot from his shirt pocket. He bit off the end, spat, and lit it, his narrowed black eyes fixed on her. He had already given away much of his winnings in payment of old debts, but it made no difference—he was confident a
gringa
could not beat him. Finally he shrugged, his lips curving in a taunting grin beneath his bushy black mustache. “So shall it be,
señorita
. Only make sure,” he added with a wink, “that you have the money, for I can think of other ways you can pay me.”

His men laughed raucously. Kit seared them with a look of contempt, then mounted her horse. Galen’s friends quickly chose the fastest and strongest horse, and led it to him. He swung up into the saddle and followed Kit to the starting line. Riguero stood to one side, holding his gun up in the air. “You both know the rules. To where Carlos stands—” he said.

“No!” Galen interrupted harshly. “We circle him and come back here. The
gringa
thinks she is such a great rider—let her prove it!”

There were a few cries of protests. “That would be nearly two miles,” Riguero pointed out.

“Does the
gringa
object?”

Kit said that she did not, adding saucily, “Let him feel he tried very hard to win!”

Everyone laughed at that—except Galen and his men. “Let us begin,” Galen snarled. “I wish to join the rest of my
amigos
at the cantina to celebrate such a rich morning.”

Riguero asked Kit anxiously, “Are you ready,
señorita
?”

She laughed. “Oh, yes, Riguero. Quite ready.”

“
Uno…dos…
” And then he fired the gun.

The horses charged forward side by side, and a cheer exploded from Galen’s men as his horse bolted ahead. He pulled away by inches, then half his length, then a full length. Kit had raced the course many times. She knew her horse, knew when to let her out. She held back, fighting against Belle’s thundering plea to let her go, let out the reins, let her overtake the pompous, arrogant
hombre
.