Rainbows and Rapture (35 page)

“Russia,” he said, “don’t you remember what happened?” He tensed, wondering if the accident had damaged her brain to such an extent that she had little memory left.

Russia thought for a moment. “A coach teared past me. I got outta the way all right, but then I tripped over Little Purry Puss. He was right behind me, y’see. I tried to jump over him. I remember hoppin’ high in the air, but I don’t recall nothin’ after that.”

“You weren’t hit by the carriage?” Santiago asked in disbelief.

“No. And ’cept fer a powerful headache, I feel jist fine. Is Boppenheimer all right?”

Santiago lifted Nehemiah onto the bed. “Russia, are you sure everything feels—”

“I’ll check her over,” Doc Frazier announced. He gave her another thorough examination and was relieved when he still couldn’t find anything wrong with her. “The headache will go away by itself. All she really needs is rest. Two spoonfuls of this elixir will help her do that.”

Santiago took the bottle and handed the doctor a roll of money. Despite her protests, he picked Russia up and headed out of the examining room. The hotel was a good distance down the street, but he would carry her all the way. As he entered the doctor’s waiting room, he saw the man who’d been so hysterical after Russia’s accident.

“Is she all right?” the gentleman asked, rising from his seat near the window.

“She’ll be fine.”

“I’m not all the way plumb, but I’m pert near,” Russia added, smiling sweetly at the concerned man. “I’m Russia Valentine, and this here’s Santiago Zamora.”

“Ben Clayton,” he introduced himself. “I’m—Miss Valentine, I’m awfully sorry about my carriage. I was coming out of the bank, and my driver was nowhere about. I intended to wait for him inside the coach, but just as I reached it, something scared the horses. In the next second, they were tearing down the street. I’ve—I’ve been waiting here for word of your welfare. I truly regret what happened, and I’m willing to make whatever amends I can.”

Russia waved his apologies away. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do, Mr. Clayton, but quit worryin’. I weren’t hit by your coach, nohow. Failed over my own feet. I do that a lot. Sorry I give you such a scare. I reckon I was layin’ in that street stiller than a plate o’ spit, huh? You the banker here in Whisperin’ Oaks?” she asked, noticing his sophisticated clothing.

“Yes, I am. And please call me Ben.”

“You use our first names, too,” Russia invited him.

“I’m pleased to know you both, Russia and Santiago.”

Irritation rippled through Santiago’s taut frame. He didn’t care at all for the note of interest he detected in Ben’s gentle voice. Interest, he fumed, that was directed at Russia.

He decided the man was a dandy. He was dressed in a fancy striped suit, and there wasn’t a speck of lint on his entire body. Even his shoes were spotless. A sparkling gold pocket watch hung almost to his thigh, and peeking out from within his coat was a derringer that looked more like a child’s toy than anything lethal. His skin was very white and appeared to be as soft as silk. He seemed to have no more physical strength than it took to pick up a roll of money. His hair was smoothed down with some kind of oil that smelled like flowers to Santiago.

Yes, Ben Clayton was definitely a cream puff, just the sort of man Santiago disdained. Worst of all was that the damn pansy couldn’t seem to take his long-lashed green eyes off Russia for a second.

“It’s jist the greatest honor in the whole wide world to meet the Whisperin’ Oaks banker,” Russia gushed, holding out her hand to Ben. “And I bet it jist tickles you all the way down to your gizzard to have Santiago Zamora here in town, don’t it? I mean, what with all that money in your bank and all them zillions o’ robbers creepin’ around all over, I bet you’ll sleep like a little baby tonight knowin’ Santiago’s here fer a while. Santiago hates bank robbers worse’n he hates anything else in the universe. He loves banks, and wakes up ever’ mornin’ swearin’ to protect any bank and banker he might see durin’ the course o’ the day. Ain’t that right, Santiago?”

Santiago had had enough of her singing his praises to the townspeople. He was too worried about her right now to care a fig about what people thought of him. And his irritation with Ben Clayton was a pulsing anger. The man continued shaking Russia’s hand. Santiago had never seen a handshake last so long.

“Yes, it’s nice to have you here, Santiago,” Ben mumbled, his gaze devouring every inch of the beautiful girl shaking his hand. Completely besotted, he closed his other hand over hers, his fingers sweeping lightly over her wrist.

Santiago felt an immediate urge to kill the man. “Russia, we’d best be checking into the hotel now. I’m sure Mr. Clayton is much too busy to—”

“Oh, I’m not busy at all,” Ben said, smiling at Russia. “And I insist on driving you to the hotel.”

“Oh, how nice!” Russia squealed, thereby squelching any refusal Santiago might have had. “I ain’t never rided in a fancy carriage before!”

The plush coach astonished her. As she sank into the thick red velvet seat cushions, she admired the gleaming brass lamps attached to the silk-lined walls. Beside the lamps hung small paintings in gilded frames. She felt as if she were in a fancy parlor instead of in a carriage.

“Tell me, Russia, have you had lunch yet?” Ben asked. “It would be a great pleasure for me to take you. That is, if Doc Frazier said you may be out and about.”

“Oh, I’ll be out and about fer sure.” She touched the gold tassels that held back the crimson curtains at the sparkling windows.

Ben squirmed with excitement. “Then would you care to come with me to—”

“She needs a bath,” Santiago bit out, knowing that was a highly improper thing to say but not caring in the least that he’d said it. He put his arm around Russia’s shoulder, his hand curling around her elbow.

Ben didn’t miss the gesture of possessiveness. “Are the two of you traveling together?” he asked, scowling.

His frown made Russia understand that her traveling with a man who wasn’t her husband had shocked Ben. “Yeah, but it’s all right that we’re together,” she hurried to say, determined to prevent anyone in Whispering Oaks from thinking ill of her and Santiago. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it a’tall. I…um…Santiago’s kin to me. My mother’s third cousin is Santiago’s great-aunt’s nephew’s son-in-law’s uncle.” She paused for a moment, trying to decide if her huge lie made any sense.

“Ah, you’re related,” Ben said, breaking into a huge smile.

She nodded. “Santiago and me are travelin’ together on account o’ we’re lookin’ fer one of our cousins. Yeah, ole Dick Zamora’s been missin’ fer nigh on two months now.”

“Dick Zamora?” Ben repeated. “Odd name.”

Russia searched her imagination for a plausible story. “His real name’s Dickito,” she clarified, thinking “Dickito” sounded very Mexican. “He’s only thirteen, Ben, and he runned off with a band o’ gypsies. Me and Santiago are huntin’ ’em down. We’re a real close family, y’see, and we ain’t gonna rest till we bring little Dickito home to his mama. Ain’t that right, Santiago?”

“Yes,” Santiago answered, anxious to agree with everything she said so he could hurry up and get her away from Ben, who was still eating her up with his hungry green eyes. “And we’re really very tired, Mr. Clayton. It was kind of you to invite Russia to lunch, but I’m sure she’d rather eat in her room. Weren’t those the doctor’s orders, Russia?”

She felt him squeeze her elbow. “Uh—yeah. I’m eatin’ in my room,” she agreed, confused over Santiago’s apparent irritation. “Nice carriage y’got, Ben. What with all this red velvet all around me, I sorta feel like a queen or somethin’.”

Suddenly, Santiago noticed the elegance of the coach. A few other things became obvious to him, too.

Ben the banker. Ben the gentleman. Ben who wore a gold pocket watch and smelled fancy. Ben who more than likely spent his free time reading poetry and studying the poets who’d composed it.

With sudden clarity, he realized exactly
who
Ben Clayton was—the kind of man Russia had always dreamed of finding.

Her Prince Charming.

“Ah, here we are,” Ben said as the coach halted in front of the Whispering Oaks Hotel. He opened the door, stepped down, and held out his hand to Russia.

Santiago carried her out himself.

“Thanks fer the ride, Ben,” Russia said. “You’re grateful fer the ride, too, ain’tcha, Santiago?” she asked, wondering where his manners were.

“Yes,” Santiago hissed. “Very grateful.”

Ben smiled and nodded before getting back into the coach. Once inside, he waved.

Santiago watched the white hand closely. There wasn’t a speck of dirt beneath those manicured nails.

His own were completely black with it.

* * *

Word of Santiago’s spotless character and noble deeds had reached the hotel owner long before Santiago and Russia arrived. The proprietor had already prepared the best rooms in his establishment for his guests. Hot baths, the purest of soaps, and thick fluffy towels also awaited them.

“Your room ain’t as purty as mine, Santiago,” Russia informed him when she wandered through his suite a few hours later. Freshly bathed and wearing a clean gown, she felt good all over. “Mine’s got roses on the wallpaper.”

“Did you eat the lunch I had sent to you?”

“Ever’ bit of it.”

“You should be in bed. The doctor said—”

“I ain’t got that headache no more. I feel fine, and I ain’t goin’ to bed. It’s a purty bed, though. The spread has roses on it, too. You git your bath yet?”

“Yes, and why did you accept two rooms?” he growled. She’d always wanted to sleep with him before now, he fumed inwardly. “One would have been—”

“Jist because ever’body thinks we’re kin don’t mean it’s all right fer us to sleep together,” she pointed out. “Folks here is real decent, Santiago. They’d be shocked near to death if they finded us in the same bed.”

“I don’t give a damn what they—”

“But I do,” she said softly. She examined the gorgeous vase on his dresser. “I like it here, Santiago. I thought maybe we could stay here fer a while.”

“How long?” Santiago bit out.

“Jist a while. And while we’re here, don’tcha think it’d be nice fer folks to treat us with respect and friendliness? It’d be so nice to git treated like that fer a change. If we stayed in the same room, folks’d think I was—well, you know. They’d think I was
that
kinda girl.”

“What?”

She raised a brow at him. “I know that’s exactly what kinda girl I am, but if it ain’t gonna misery you too much, Santiago, I’d ’predate it if you didn’t let on about it. I’ve done what I could to make sure folks here’ll treat you real good, and I’d be thrilled plumb nelly to death if they treated me decent-like, too. I don’t git much decent treatment, y’know.”

He’d have had to be blind to miss the gleam of desperation in her eyes. At that moment, he realized how important her wish really was to her.

She liked it here and wanted to stay for a while
.
A while.
How long was
a while?
A week? A month? A year?

For the rest of her life?

The image of a white, well-manicured hand swept through his mind. He dragged his fingers through his damp hair, stalked across the room, and found the elixir. “Come here and take this, Russia. You’re going to sleep.”

“But I don’t want—”

“Come here and take it, or I’ll pour it down your throat.”

He wasn’t jesting, and she knew it. She took the medicine.

Santiago escorted her back to her room. There, he undressed her. Only by reminding himself repeatedly that she wasn’t well enough for what he had in mind did he succeed in keeping his hands off her.

Naked, Russia climbed into bed. The medicine was working fast. Already her eyelids felt heavy. “Don’t let me sleep long. I wanna have dinner at Mama Melly’s. I’m gittin’ roast beef, mashed potatoes, fried okra, and butter beans. I’m havin’ lemonade to wash it all down with, and then I’m gonna git a piece o’ apple pie and a slice o’ chocolate cake fer dessert. A stick o’ peppermint candy’ll be the finishin’ touch. Call me anything that strikes your fancy, but don’t call me late fer that dinner, Santiago, hear?”

He shook his head. She’d finished a huge lunch only twenty minutes ago, not to mention that she was supposed to be feeling poorly after her accident. He decided then that nothing short of death would tame her ferocious appetite.

He walked to her window and pulled the luxurious damask draperies aside. “What did you think about Ben Clayton?” he asked nonchalantly. His heart pounded while he awaited her answer.

Russia tried to bring Ben’s image into her sleepy thoughts. “Seemed purty nice. Clean. Ain’t ugly. Dresses good. I ain’t never seen a suit fancier’n the one he had on. Musta set him back a penny or two.”

Santiago glanced down at his own clothes. Black. Everything he wore was black. His fingers whitened around the curtains. He looked at his hands and frowned.

Even after scrubbing them hard, they still appeared soiled. Grime was embedded in his thick calluses. Skin had grown over it, and he knew the only way to remove it would be to cut the skin off. While bathing, he’d thought about doing that, but had rejected the idea when he realized that he’d be left with raw places on his hands. He needed those thick calluses; they served a purpose.

Dirt was also still beneath his nails, so far down he hadn’t been able to reach it even with the blunt end of the needle he’d used. Staring at it now, he understood it wasn’t actually dirt. Those were stains. And not even the growth of his nails took them out, because there was always new dirt to create more stains. They were permanent.

He’d worked with his hands for most of his life, would continue working with them during all the years to come, and knew they would never be spotlessly clean.

“I’m sleepy, Santiago.”

Her voice sounded hollow. When he turned to look at her, he saw she was already asleep. He moved to her bedside, pulled the pristine sheets under her chin, then gently swept a lock of her hair away from her eye.

He watched her for a long moment. She was smiling in her sleep. A small, sweet smile of pure contentment. It made him wonder what she was dreaming.