BEAUTIFUL AMANDA WAS naked in his arms and she was the busiest woman! Savage lay back and let her have her way with him, drawing responses from his body he could scarce believe. This gorgeous woman whom all San Rafael believed to be the finest of ladies, was an animal in bed—and he loved it.
Now she was shaking him. She was stronger than he could have guessed, but what was that odd smell, that voice ...?
“Wake up, companero, wake up! I have the answer!”
The answer?
Savage didn’t even hear the question. Then he realized he’d been dreaming, that someone was shaking him and yelling at him.
Someone was in his room without his knowing it!
He lashed out with one hand and clawed for his gunbelt with the other.
Yaqui Joe’s sorry head raised above the footboard of the bed, and he was nursing his jaw.
“Amigo, why do you attack your great companero?”
Savage was sitting up now. “What in hell’s name do you want?” He stared at the hotel window. “It’s still dark outside. Judas, but you’d better have a good reason, horse thief—”
“Marry her.”
Savage blinked, slowly lowering his cocked gun. “What?”
Yaqui Joe rose like an apparition, a pallid figure in the reflected moonlight.
“The great idea came as I paced the floor. Beautiful Amanda has the gold, you marry her, and under Mexican law, what belongs to the woman belongs to the man she marries. So, you marry, you take the gold legally so they cannot hang us, and we ride like the very wind—”
“Wind? You’re full of it. You call me crazy? You’re insane.”
Savage threw himself out of bed. He was bird naked, which was the only way he knew how to sleep. He took a cigar from a tin box on the bureau, scraped a vesta into life on the wall, lighted up and stood in the French doors looking over the darkened town.
He was thinking of Amanda, particularly her beautiful ripe body.
So far he’d played the game straight. Although he was lured down here by the prospect of making some serious money, he still felt he’d kept his nose clean and done what was expected of him to help Yaqui Joe get his greedy paws on old Uncle Ignacio’s loot.
Well, Uncle Ignacio had done a real good job of leaving them with egg on their faces.
They’d heard the old bastard had maybe developed a last-gasp crush on Amanda, and who could blame him?
But plainly it had been a lot more serious than that, and now the storekeeper’s daughter stood to become independently wealthy while Yaqui Joe, Cousin Francesca and, most importantly, Clint Savage were left holding the bag and looking pretty silly.
Savage would rather be broke than that. He grimaced. Who was he trying to kid? Right now, he was both broke and feeling a bit like a fool.
“Amigo.”
He didn’t turn. “What?”
“What is wrong with my plan?”
“What’s right with it?”
“I do not say you marry the lovely señorita and take all her money, just enough for Francesca to buy a small house, for me to buy a fine horse and for you to—”
Now he turned. He was scowling hard.
“Horse? What are you talkin’ about? What horse?”
“You could forget the horse?” Yaqui Joe was shocked.
Savage was not at his best at this hour, even so he remembered.
“By Judas, you’re a moron,” he growled, taking his pants off the back of a chair and climbing into them. “Here we are tryin’ to figure what we do about maybe gettin’ a corner of the loot your dopey uncle should have left you, and all you can think about is a rich man’s horse that he wouldn’t sell to you if his life depended on it.”
“I would offer Don Luis much dinero.”
“Look,” Savage said, sitting to pull on his boots, the cigar jutting from his teeth, “let’s concentrate on Amanda and the dinero and forget about fancy horses.” He went still a moment, elbows resting on his knees, eyes blank. “Marry her? I mean, that’d be a pretty low thing to do, wouldn’t it? When a man intended dippin’ into her bank account and gettin’ gone, wouldn’t it?”
It was rare indeed that Yaqui was asked his opinion on anything, which was maybe just as well considering his reply.
“Do you not lust for the beautiful one, amigo?” he asked slyly, overlooking the morality of his suggestion.
Savage felt that old familiar feeling and drew hungrily on his cheroot. He might honestly deny love, but not lust. He’d lusted hotly for Amanda’s firm and nubile body from the moment he set eyes on her. He wondered vaguely now why he had not as yet made a serious attempt to lure her to his bed.
So much to do, so little time.
“I think she lusts for you, amigo.”
He was back to the French doors. There was a hint of pink in the east and the tall steeple of the church was visible against the lightening sky. Another hot one coming up. He wished they were going out to the Sister Nina for the cache today, but the attorneys had to complete their paperwork before Amanda was officially entitled to take delivery tomorrow.
“You reckon?” he heard himself say.
“I am sure of it.”
Savage turned, blinked in surprise when he saw Yaqui Joe haul a fat gold watch from his pocket, click the lid open and consult the time.
“You clown,” he snapped. “Who’d you lift that from?”
Yaqui Joe looked hurt.
“You know I only ever steal horses.” He held up the piece; it looked like real gold. “This is a gift.”
“Bulldust it is.” Savage snatched the piece away, studied it, felt his eyes widen. Inscribed on the inside of the gracefully curved lid were the words; To Clint from Amanda, with affection.
Savage felt his jaw sag. He couldn’t help it. And looking from the watch to Yaqui Joe’s smirk and back again, he was forced to recall the number of times Amanda should have been paying attention to him, hanging on his every word. But she was off chatting to the Mex, laughing at his puerile wit, even encouraging him to play his lousy guitar.
And now a gift, and not any cheap gimcrack either. A gold watch!
What the hell was going on here?
“Well, I think mebbe she likes me just the little bit,” Yaqui Joe said by way of explanation, running fingers lovingly over the piece’s smooth surface.
“But why?” Savage sounded genuinely puzzled, and this seemed to sting Yaqui Joe into saying more than he may have wanted.
“Perhaps she likes me more than she likes you?”
“You’re loco.”
“Then where is your watch?”
That did it. Savage headed for the door. He didn’t intend spending the day jammed up in a town with strange people for company. Times like this a man needed the wide open spaces, a good horse beneath him and solitude.
And one thing to be said for this part of Colonia Federico Province, once you got away from the towns there was enough solitude to suit anyone.
Her father had shrunk!
This was Amanda Buell’s impression as she entered the store just after dawn. She was accustomed to her father bustling about the place on his way to the next dollar or thousand. That was how he’d always been, and it was a shock to find him slumped on a stool behind his counter, sucking on his pipe and blinking at her as though she were a stranger.
“What’s wrong, father?”
“Nothing, nothing at all.”
Buell lied. Today he was no longer the head of the family over which he’d ruled for almost thirty years.
This was a man who equated wealth as the single, most important thing in life. Coming a close second was social standing.
He’d been the money-maker, and had never ceased his fight to climb higher up the social ladder.
Everything had changed overnight.
Not even the attorneys seemed to know just how much gold the miner had stashed out at his Sister Nina—but they insisted it was substantial.
This meant his daughter was now rich in her own right, and with his fawning respect for money, he was forced to acknowledge her new position of power and even superiority.
So he slumped and sucked his tasteless pipe and meekly enquired about her plans.
Her response was typical. “Who makes plans, father?” she said airily, shedding the coat she was wearing against the day’s early chill. “Would you like to fix me some coffee?”
Buell blinked. Always it was Amanda who made the morning coffee while he concentrated on the serious matters of the day before the first customer arrived. Was this her none-too subtle way of telling him that he was yesterday’s man?
Maybe he should have taken a stand, but what sort of crackbrain would go out of his way to get himself on the wrong side of someone who had just come into a fortune?
It was just a question of whether or not she wanted her coffee with cream.
Seated on opposite sides of the counter with their steaming mugs, they talked easily enough, with Amanda holding the floor.
Having queried the wisdom of making plans, she now revealed she already had some in mind.
She was certainly going to take care of Francesca, her childhood friend whose innocent expectations had been totally trashed.
“And what of Yaqui Joe?” Buell asked pointedly.
“Oh yes,” she smiled, “the beautiful brother ...”
“You reckon he’s beautiful?” Buell was critical of any potential suitor who might come his daughter’s way apart from Rodrigo Vega. He’d been trying to get Amanda and Rodrigo to announce their betrothal for a long time, despite Amanda’s tepid interest in the man and Don Luis’ strong opposition.
The don wished for his son to wed a Mexican and someone of impeccable bloodlines; stunning good looks simply were not sufficient credentials in that hoary old snob’s criteria.
But things could be different now Amanda was rich. Buell only wanted to see the backs both of Yaqui Joe and Clint Savage, both of whom were displaying too much interest in Amanda, interests which he regretted to note, she seemed only too eager to return.
“Jose is a very impressive man, father.”
“Looks like the worst kind of trouble if you ask me. Why do you think men wear guns like that, honey? To shoot something for supper? And what about the women? You’d think they were on heat the way they chase after Mr. Yaqui Joe. And as for that Savage—”
“I’d rather you didn’t say anything about Clinton, father.”
His jaw hung agape. Had he been missing something here? While he might grudgingly acknowledge that the strapping Yaqui Joe might exert some masculine appeal, the man called Savage was like a walking mistake.
And yet Amanda liked the evil-smelling runt. He was aware of that from the start. She found him cute. Buell found the fellow about as cute as a sudden unsolicited attack of dysentery. Whoever first said there is no accounting for some tastes must have had his daughter in mind.
Buell sighed. He felt he should be jubilant over his daughter’s good fortune, yet all he could do was see problems and uncertainties.
And speaking of problems ...
The rider coming into sight was making his way across the almost empty square. There was no mistaking the tall, wide-shouldered figure in the black hat and colorful serape, nor the big sorrel dancing with eagerness beneath him.
Buell swiveled his head to see his daughter move to the window, mug in hand, to watch the man they knew as Yaqui Joe Martinez travel past the soft splashing fountain.
Amanda was licking her lips.
Her father rested his jaw in his cupped hands. He looked up as the girl laughed.
“It’s all right, father. You’re allowed drool over something that’s not good for you without actually getting to eat it, you know.”
It was all too much for Barlow Buell, who took himself off to supervise the off-loading of some goods in back, leaving Amanda to make herself another mug of coffee before checking the books.
She might be rich and her life might be changed forever, but she was still involved in her customary routine.
She wondered if she shouldn’t be more excited about her stroke of luck, smiled as she thought of old Ignacio and how she had laughed at his devotion and protestations of love. All along he had obviously been sincere.
There was a twinge of guilt that Francesca and Jose had missed out on their inheritance, but there was enough Buell in her blood not to concern herself over much. You played the cards as they were dealt—there was no other path to tread.
Hearing the swift clatter of hooves, she looked up, wondering if Yaqui Joe had forgotten something. She stiffened as the rider sprang from the saddle and thrust his assured way through the doors to stand there with the sun casting his shadow long and thin across the floor.
Rodrigo Vega looked striking this morning, but then he always did. Immaculately dressed in black and silver, he looked every inch his father’s son and heir to its kingdom— the great Vega hacienda, the sheep, cattle and horses by their thousands, the naked power and wealth which had been handed down through three successive generations of Colonia Federico Vegas.
Her father’s unqualified choice for a son in law, her suitor and, at least until Francesca’s brother had come to town, the best looking man in the province. That was Rodrigo Vega, the only difference about him today that she was aware of was the smile. He was not a smiling man, this arrogant, even cruel young man, but there was certainly a big grin on his face as he greeted her, took her hands in his and broke the news.
“I do believe you’ve done it, Amanda. Aren’t you clever?”
“What do you mean?”
“Broken the patron’s resistance to our betrothal. Don’t you understand? Your inheritance. If old Ignacio was worth as much as they think, then you are wealthy in your own right, and father has already admitted that he might be ready to drop his objections.” Vega paused with a frown as she moved away, placing the counter between them. “What is it? Aren’t you happy?”
“I certainly am not, Rodrigo, and I think it presumptuous of you to take it for granted that all I’ve been waiting for all this time is for your father to approve of me. I never said I’d marry you and certainly don’t consider this mercenary jubilation on your part any sort of a proposal.”
Vega’s face fell. He knew Amanda to be willful, independent, unpredictable and at times almost eccentric. Yet now as anger leaked into his eyes and he arched his back beneath the silver-trimmed waist jacket, he wasn’t finding her any of these things, believed he understood exactly what lay behind her words.
“So, it’s true ...” he said slowly, tight-lipped and narrow of eye. “Blood of the Virgin, I—”
“What is true? What are you talking about?”
He stretched across the counter to seize her by the wrist.
“It’s that cousin, isn’t it? Yaqui Joe. The one who attacked the Don and the hombre you have been seeing so much. I swear to God that you have fallen for him, or why else would you be speaking this way.”
“Let me go, you’re crazy. Do you want me to call my father?”
For a moment it seemed he would strike her. He controlled himself with immense effort, tugged his flat-brimmed hat low over his eyes and lunged from the store. Amanda watched him fling astride his beautiful horse to take off across the square, scattering burros, chickens and people. She imagined Rodrigo Vega would gallop home to seek the comfort of his family, but he actually had a different destination. A peon had stolen and killed a Rancho Tejano cow overnight, and Vega had broken away from the small party dispatched by the Don to deal with the matter, to race into town to see his girl. He was now headed for the adobe out along the Rio Lazaro. He’d never felt more in the mood to deal with some low-life cow thief.