Rainbows and Rapture (34 page)

The woman smiled. “The others are Ezekiel, Genesis, Zebediah, Esther, and Isaiah.”

Russia listened to the kittens’ names carefully. She’d heard those names before. After a moment more of thought, she remembered where. She grinned again. “Sit down here on this step, Santiago,” she instructed, pushing on his shoulder until he complied. When he was seated, she proceeded to bring him
all
the kittens, placing them on various parts of his body.

Santiago had always prided himself on his ability to resist pain. Now, with six scratching and biting kittens hanging all over him, he wondered if he’d been mistaken about his ability. One of them was even trying to eat his earlobe!
Santa Maria,
what he would tell Russia when he got her alone!

“Yeah, ole Santiago Zamora really loves cats,” Russia declared loudly. “Loves your store, too, ma’am. When we was ridin’ in? Well, he said he couldn’t hardly wait to go into your store. Said it was the nicest store he believed he’d ever seed. And as much as he travels, he’s seed thousands o’ stores, so that weren’t no compliment to take lightly, y’know. Sure hope you sell Bibles in this here store, ma’am. Santiago’s got him a powerful hankerin’ to have one. He done give away the one he had, y’see. We come across this real bad man not long ago? Well, Santiago here turned him around with a few passages from the Good Book. Yes, ma’am, this is a man who plumb nelly loves cats, stores, and Bibles. Sometimes I cain’t even go to sleep at night fer wonderin’ what he loves the mostest—cats, stores, or Bibles.”

The woman beamed. Settling her ample body next to Santiago on the porch step, she smiled up at him. “My babies all have Bible names, Mr. Zamora.”

“Uh, yes,” he replied, stinging with pain as one of the kittens began climbing up and down his back.

“I declare,” the woman murmured. “This just goes to show that you shouldn’t believe everything you hear, doesn’t it, Mr. Zamora? Stories about you filter our way every now and then, and I’m ashamed of myself for believing them. And I’m sorry for thinking about how scary you looked when I first laid eyes on you, too. Welcome to Whispering Oaks. And anytime you want to come to my store, the doors’ll be wide open for you. I do, indeed, sell Bibles. I’ll even have your name put on the one you select.”

Russia noticed Santiago’s jaw was moving rhythmically and knew he’d just about lost all patience with the rambunctious kittens. Quickly, she removed their clinging claws from him and got them interested in their frayed string again. “Well, we’d best be goin’ now, ma’am. You be sure to tell ever’body y’know about how much Santiago liked your kittens, hear?”

“Oh, I will! And please call me Lotty. All my friends do.”

“Well, now, ain’t that nice, Santiago?” Russia asked, pulling him up from the step. “Here we jist come to Whisperin’ Oaks, and we’re already on one o’ them first-name basins with Lotty here!”

“Basis,”
he corrected her quietly.

She shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. Lotty, you call me Russia, and call him Santiago. And ever’body else here in Whisperin’ Oaks can do the same. Be seein’ you!”

As Russia sashayed away, Lotty began telling Santiago a few stories about her cats. When she finally finished the tales, he reached up to tip his hat to her before remembering he no longer had one. He had no wish at all to buy a Bible from her store, but he’d for damn sure get a hat. “Good day, Lotty,” he said, then turned to follow Russia, who was now chatting with an elderly man down the street.

Upon arriving at her side, he learned that the man was the mayor of Whispering Oaks and that Russia had established a first-name relationship with him, too.

“Yeah, this is him, Sam,” Russia said to Mayor Spencer. “Santiago Zamora. He thinks the world o’ mayors. He’s always sayin’ that a town without no mayor ain’t really a town a’tall. He’s even thinkin’ o’
bein’
a mayor one o’ these here days. Ain’t that right, Santiago?”

“Uh…yes.” Bewildered, Santiago shook the mayor’s hand.

“Russia’s been telling me all about you, Santiago,” Samuel Spencer said, his gray mustache bobbing as he spoke. “I’d heard many tales about you, but never the one about how you rescued the mayor of Longville from the Comanches. Tell me, weren’t you afraid at all when the Indians disarmed you and made you dodge their barrage of arrows? I don’t consider myself a Coward by any means, but I can’t even imagine the bravery it must have taken to stand up to a brace of a hundred bloodthirsty savages.”

Santiago had never felt more confused in his life. “A hundred?”

“Oh, that ain’t right, is it?” Russia asked loudly. “It was
two
hundred! Yeah, Sam, he faced ‘emall. Arrers nicked him all over, but he didn’t do as much as squint. Catched most o’ them flyin’ arrers with his bare hands, then cracked ‘emover his knee. Them Comanches was so impressed, they up and let him and that mayor go. Once they was back in Longville, the mayor give Santiago the key to the town. It was a solid gold key, but Santiago didn’t keep it. Compassion’s his middle name, y’know. He give that key away to a woman he met who didn’t have nothin’ but the clothes on her back. She was so grateful, she kissed the ground he walked on. She got dirt all over her lips, but she didn’t care none, did she, Santiago?”

“Uh—no. She didn’t care.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Mayor Spencer studied the scar on Santiago’s face, deciding he’d gotten it from one of the Comanche arrows he’d faced in order to save the Longville mayor. He reached out and clasped Santiago’s shoulder. “We’ve been told some pretty awful stories about you, my boy. And you
do
present a rather sinister sight, but now that I’ve met you, I realize those rumors were nothing but a pack of terrible lies. You may be sure I will do everything within my power to set our good citizens straight on the matter. Make Whispering Oaks your home for as long as you like. Good day to you both.”

As they continued walking down the street, Russia had a tall tale about Santiago’s wonderful character and background for everyone she encountered. And each wild story was geared especially for the person she was speaking to. Melly, who owned the restaurant, was deeply flattered to hear that the aromas of her cooking reminded Santiago of his dear, departed mother, who was now being considered for sainthood by the Catholic Church. Melly promised to make him the best meal she could, but declared it probably wouldn’t hold a candle to anything his pious mother might have made.

The Whispering Oaks jeweler almost wet his pants when he learned that Santiago thought the gems in the jewelry-store window far surpassed the jewels in the Queen of Limmindorf’s crown. Never mind that the jeweler had never heard of the country of Limmindorf; the fact remained that Santiago had once rescued the Queen’s crown when a band of outlaws had stolen it during her trip to Texas three years ago. To think that the Whispering Oaks jewelry store sold gems that were more beautiful than those of royalty!

Not even the town’s children were exempt from Russia’s outrageous imagination. They stared at Santiago in pure awe when they learned he’d once captured and trained five hundred mustangs for an orphanage full of children who’d wanted horses of their own.

And everyone out and about in the town that afternoon watched the infamous gunfighter climb up a tall post to rescue a butterfly from a spider’s web. They saw his gentleness, witnessed his compassion for the helpless, and were impressed beyond measure when the harmless creature flew freely out of his huge hand.

What they
didn’t
see was the deep frown of unmitigated aggravation that scored Santiago’s face. They didn’t hear Russia’s quiet but adamant commands that he perform the rescue, nor did they hear his five minutes’ worth of muttered profanities.

As he made the climb down the post, Santiago decided to put up with Russia’s strange behavior until he could get her alone and ask her what the hell she was up to. He would not allow her to stop again until they’d reached the hotel.

But when his feet hit the ground, he discovered she was no longer with him. He scanned the town, finally spotting her a good distance down the street. She was chatting with the minister now. “
Santa Maria
,” he mumbled to himself. “She’s probably telling him I can walk on water.” With a jerky wave of his hand, he made it clear to her that he wanted her to join him. He saw her wave back and watched as she began skipping toward him, Nehemiah trotting beside her. Admiring the way her beautiful hair floated around her as she moved, he felt his irritation begin to fade.

But the loud clatter of wood bouncing on hard dirt and pebbles stole his attention from her. Twisting his head, he saw a gleaming black carriage speeding down the street. It had no driver, and the two thoroughbred horses that pulled it were wild-eyed and frenzied. Santiago realized that in only a few more seconds the conveyance was going to run right into Russia.

“Russia!” he shouted. He began to run, his long legs stretching, pumping, his body straining with power. With every step he took, his fear for her safety grew, giving him further strength, faster speed.

Her scream chilled his very soul. He saw her turn and try to get out of the way of the careening coach, but she wasn’t fast enough.

And neither was he.

Numb terror slid through his veins as the runaway vehicle sped past her. He saw her thrown into the air with horrible suddenness. She landed hard and looked like a discarded heap of something unwanted. A cloud of dust settled over her.

Though he was still several yards away from where she lay, he threw himself toward her, sliding on his knees until he reached her. He wanted to say her name, but the thick fear in his throat stole his voice. His arms shaking violently, he lifted her to his chest, praying desperately that she would open her eyes and tell him she wasn’t hurt.

“Russia.” His lips formed the name, but without sound. He couldn’t even whisper, for there was no breath left inside him. His body slumped over her, a sickening dread gnawing at his insides. For a long moment he couldn’t seem to think rationally. All he could understand was that she didn’t open her eyes. That she was hurt.

And that he hadn’t been there to save her.

“Dear God, is she all right?” a man exclaimed as he ran up.

Santiago stood. Russia’s body hung over his brawny arms like a worn-out ribbon. “The doctor,” he managed to whisper. “The doctor’s office.”

“My horses!” the man shouted in reply. “God, I’m
so
sorry! Something spooked them, and I couldn’t—”

“The doctor,” Santiago repeated.

Lotty lumbered to his side. “This way, Santiago,” she panted, looping her fat finger through his gun belt and pulling him along. “Doc Frazier’s office is right over here.”

In a daze, Santiago followed her.

* * *

No amount of pleading on Lotty’s or Doc Frazier’s part could induce Santiago to leave the examining room. He stood next to the bed, holding Russia’s pale hand, while the doctor searched her body for injuries.

“There are no broken bones,” Doc Frazier announced. “Her heartbeat and breathing are normal, and I can find no signs of internal bleeding. My guess is that she was only knocked unconscious, Mr. Zamora. We’ll wait until she wakes up, and then I’ll know more.”

During the next half hour, Santiago refused to accept any of Lotty’s or Doc Frazier’s attempts to reassure him. He experienced wave after brutal wave of fear.

He never took his midnight gaze away from Russia’s pallid face. He tried to pray for her. But instead of thinking of his own prayer, someone else’s kept whispering through his mind.

He’s the loneliest man I ever come across. I’ll be nice to him fer as long as I’m with him, Miz Mary. But who’s gonna be nice to him when him and me ain’t together no more? He needs somebody so bad. Somebody to love him and not be scared of him. His Princess Charmin’. Please let him find her.

Russia’s prayer. She hadn’t asked for a single thing for herself that day in the church of Rosario, he remembered. Every petition had been for him.

Even now, here in Whispering Oaks, she had continued along those ends, trying to convince everyone she met that he was a man who could be a friend to them all. That he was a man of sterling character, one who should be welcomed wholeheartedly to their town.

And what had he ever done for her? he asked himself, tightening his hold on her slender hand. Nothing. Nothing but lose his patience with her, yell at her, and make her feel as though she had no value whatsoever. She was a whore, and he’d made damn sure she understood how he felt about that.

He refused to be comforted by the recollection that he’d told her he liked her. The fact remained that he’d never once told her that he accepted her for what she was. For what she swore she had no other choice to be.

God. He’d never really hated Russia.

He hated himself.

* * *

When Russia opened her eyes, she saw a swirl of bright colors. They moved slowly, gracefully. “Am I dead?” she whispered. “Am I in heaven?”

Santiago snapped up his bowed head so quickly, a burst of pain shot through his neck and down his spine. “Russia!”

His shout startled her. “Well, now I know I ain’t in heaven,” she murmured. “I always had it figgered that screamin’ ain’t allowed up there.” She blinked several times, smiling when Santiago’s face became visible to her. Raising her hand, she clutched his shirt and pulled herself into a sitting position.

Her head throbbed dully, and for a moment she felt quite dizzy. But the sensation soon passed, and she noticed she was in a bed. The sheets were so white they almost hurt her eyes to look at them.

“I’m Doc Frazier,” the doctor said to her. “How do you feel, Miss Valentine?”

She looked at the wizened man and warmed to him right away. He had a kind smile on his furrowed mouth, and eyes that shone with genuine concern. And Lotty was in the room, too, she saw. The plump woman appeared just as worried as the doctor.

But among the three people who were staring at her, Santiago was the worst off. The man looked haggard. She’d never seen such deep anxiety in anyone’s eyes. “Santiago, you got more wrinkles on your face than a accordion. What’s got into you?”