Chapter 7

 

The next day was a fine one, warm and sunny without the debilitating humidity that would become more apparent as the days grew longer and hotter. Sabrina joined her father and Brett as they lingered over breakfast, discussing the possibility of growing sugar on the Rancho del Torres.

Surprised at the topic and the discovery that it was the reason behind Brett's visit, Sabrina listened as the two men talked, but she found her thoughts wandering. Why hadn't Alejandro mentioned the idea of growing sugar to her before now?

During the past few years, there hadn't been any major decision made concerning the ranch that Alejandro hadn't asked her opinion on first, and she was perplexed that he hadn't done so this time. She was not angry, not even piqued, but confused. She had understood that one of the reasons Alejandro had solicited her views about the running of the ranch while she was still a child and had encouraged her less than womanly pursuits was that he had been training her for the day when she might have to run the ranch alone. She had grown used to being consulted about the disbursement of their fortune—the cattle they would sell, the horses they would buy, the crops they would grow—and yet now it was clear that without a word to her, Alejandro was embarking upon an ambitious scheme that would commit a large amount of their land, time, and money.

She glanced at her father, a slight frown marring her forehead. Why? Why had he been so... so secretive about the sugar project and Brett's impending arrival? It didn't make sense. Unless it was Brett's influence upon her father....

Her frown deepened and she shot Brett an assessing look. This morning there was no sign of the previous day's bandit. His face was freshly shaved, his clothes were clean and unrumpled, but she couldn't quite shake the memory of that bearded, dangerous male who had confronted her yesterday. She had sensed an air of lawlessness about him. But now, oblivious of her, he was involved with explaining the cultivation of sugar to Alejandro, his handsome face relaxed, the green eyes lacking that disturbing cynical gleam.

Why was he here? she wondered again. Nacogdoches had nothing to offer him. Perhaps he had lost his fortune and was here to swindle her father? Knowing her thoughts were unworthy, she writhed with embarrassment that she had even considered such ideas.

Ashamed and a little angry with herself, she set about being as charming and welcoming to their guest as possible. After a prolonged breakfast, the three of them wandered about the grounds near the hacienda, Sabrina on her very best behavior; later in the day, after siesta, they all walked down to the stables.

The del Torreses were noted breeders of both horses and bulls, and as the three of them ambled from one corral and stable to the next, there was much to hold Brett's interest. Unlike most ranches, Rancho del Torres had many facets; the fortune that Sabrina's grandfather had brought from Spain with him had allowed the family far more license to follow their own inclinations than was normal. Their wealth had grown since the first day Enrique del Torres had stepped forth in the New World. There were warehouses and wharves in New Orleans, a cotton plantation in upper Louisiana, silver mines and land in Mexico. With almost unlimited wealth behind them, they lived a life very different from that of most of the settlers who came to the Americas—the majority of the Spanish settlers were only able to eke out a meager living in the untracked wilderness, but the del Torres family lived in baronial splendor. They were able to indulge their fancies, so it wasn't surprising that the del Torres ranch was meticulously maintained, or that their stables contained some of the finest imported Spanish broodmares and stallions to be found west of the Mississippi River. Most of the breeding stock for the bulls, too, had come originally from Spain to Mexico in Enrique's time, and looking with an experienced eye at the size, the breadth of shoulder, the powerful haunches, and the wicked horns on some of the huge black beasts, Brett decided that not even in Spain had he seen such magnificent animals.

Idly he asked, "Do you sell them just for breeding, or do any of them end up in the bull rings in Mexico City?"

Alejandro's face creased in a wide smile. "Would you believe, amigo, that last year I was able to sell several to a marquess in Madrid? It was, I think, the height of my ambition—del Torres bulls bred, born, and raised here in the province of Texas returning triumphant to the land of their ancestors. Ah, yes, but I was pleased. But to answer your question—most of them are used by breeders here in Texas to improve their own herds, although some are used locally in the bull ring."

Brett looked surprised. "Bull ring? Bullfights, here?" he asked, one eyebrow rising skeptically.

"Si, here," Alejandro replied. A twinkle in his eyes, he added, "A Spaniard is a Spaniard no matter where he is, and where he is, you can be assured that there are bullfights. It is a passion with us! Shall I arrange one for you while you are our guest?"

Brett nodded, his gaze on some of the powerful beasts as they trotted and snorted in a huge corral nearly half a mile away from the horse stables. "I'd like that."

Like the del Torres fortune, the ranch was huge and far flung. It comprised nearly fifty thousand acres of almost tropical lushness, and it would have been impossible to view it in one day. The majority of the lands were still in virgin wilderness, and it was only near the hacienda and outbuildings that the civilizing hand of man was revealed. Most of the cattle and horses roamed freely throughout the seemingly endless acres of the ranch, numerous vaqueros keeping watch over them. Only the finest, the prize animals that were used to maintain the excellent standard of the del Torres herds, were kept in the corrals and paddocks that sprawled out some distance from the hacienda.

After days in the saddle, Brett found it a pleasure to stretch his long legs, the leisurely walk through the stables and barns just what he wanted. His arm was still in the sling, but he would have discarded it this morning if Bonita hadn't been so outraged at the notion. It still ached some, and as the hours passed and the ache became more pronounced, he decided wryly that she had been right—it was much too soon to lay the sling aside.

Sabrina noticed the faint look of pain about his mouth, and aware that it was probably caused by his wound—the wound she had given him—she asked with compunction, "Is your arm bothering you? Have we walked too far for you? Would you like us to return to the hacienda so that you can rest?"

If Brett had been on the point of flagging, nothing could have stiffened his spine more effectively than her contrite words. Pity, he thought sourly, he could do without, and to be viewed as an object of pity by the little devil who had given him the wound was at once amusing and annoying. He chose to be amused though, and, a crooked smile curving his mouth, he said, "Infant, I may be years older than you, but I am not in my dotage! My arm does ache a little, but it's nothing that you should bother your pretty little head over. Besides, you should be pleased—you meant to cut deep."

Sabrina's lips tightened. Well! See if she ever offered him sympathy again! He could die for all she cared!

The day turned out to be one of mixed enjoyment for her. She found the conversation stimulating, and as she was nearly as knowledgeable about the ranch as Alejandro was, she frequently took part in the discussions. Brett's infuriating attitude though, did nothing for her temper. Being mocked, teased, and treated as if she were a child, a brainless child, considerably lessened her enjoyment of the day. No one had ever treated her as he did. Even her father, in his most paternal moments, listened, if not always intently, at least with interest, to what she had to say. Brett merely smiled indulgently as she spoke and then turned away to converse with her father about the very thing she had just explained.

But if she found Brett's attitude infuriating, she was also unbearably conscious of his tall form next to hers as they walked about the stables, of the way he smiled, of his deep, husky laugh and the attractive crinkles that formed near his eyes when he grinned. She was irritated with herself for being so very aware of him, and a dozen times during the day, she scolded herself, telling herself that she was not seven years old! She was not to be charmed into a childish adoration as had happened in Natchez. Remember how that particular incident ended, she reminded herself, the humiliating spanking Brett had given her vivid in her mind.

The following days sped quickly by as Brett and Ollie settled down in the del Torres hacienda. Alejandro was an exemplary host, and his home was both luxurious and delightful. There was not even the barrier of language to make his guests feel uncomfortable—Alejandro and Sabrina spoke excellent English, and Brett and Ollie had picked up the occasional Spanish phrase in their travels.

By the time the visitors had been at the ranch five days, Brett's wound had healed sufficiently for Bonita to decree that the sling was no longer needed. With a mocking gleam in his eyes and suspect meekness, Brett laid it aside.

Sabrina had grown so used to that scarlet sling that the morning he joined them for breakfast on the patio without it, she was startled.

"Your sling?" she inquired.

Brett grinned. Seating himself across from her, he helped himself to a warm tortilla, slathering it with butter and blackberry jam. Lightly he said, "Your guardian angel has decided that I don't need it any longer—thank God! I was afraid she was never going to let me be rid of it."

Alejandro, who was seated next to Sabrina, laughed. "You must make allowances for Bonita—she is a thwarted mother and cannot help but cluck over us all."

His mouth full of tortilla and jam, Brett rolled his eyes and nodded energetically.

Instantly defensive, Sabrina said stiffly, "You should be grateful for her care—she is well known for her success with the ill."

Swallowing his mouthful, Brett retorted, "I am not, as you can see for yourself, ill. As I told you at the time, I've survived worse wounds."

Sabrina snorted and buried her nose in a cup of hot chocolate, wishing perversely that he didn't look so disgustingly vital as he sat across the table from her. Five days of his company had done nothing to resolve the turmoil within her. One moment she was drawn to him, and the next she was certain that she had never met a more arrogant, condescending swine in her life.

Alejandro had no such problems, and more and more Sabrina found herself pushed into the position of onlooker. It was with Brett that Alejandro discussed the day's events, Sabrina supposedly amusing herself with womanly tasks. It was Alejandro and Brett who rode out to inspect the possible sites for the sugar cane—Sabrina spent the day indoors writing out the invitations to the fiesta they were to give on Saturday to introduce Brett to their friends and relatives. Brett seemed to dominate all of Alejandro's waking hours, and while Sabrina could make excuses for her sudden rejection—they were men, they hadn't seen each other in a long time, Brett was their guest—she still couldn't help but feel forlorn and a little resentful. She could deal with Brett's intrusion into their lives; it was her exclusion she had trouble coming to grips with.

Alejandro was orchestrating his attempt at matchmaking badly. Not wishing to reveal his fond desire, or to appear to throw Brett and Sabrina into each other's arms, he did the exact opposite. He kept them apart, inadvertently banishing Sabrina from her common routine and his company.

Alejandro took much pleasure in the company of a man he would have been proud to call his son. He adored his daughter and he would no more have hurt her than he would have cut off his right arm, but he wouldn't have been human, or Spanish, if there hadn't been times when he dreamed of a son. As Sabrina had grown older, he had put aside such dreams, delighted with her quick intelligence and her boyish skills. But in Brett's very masculine company, Alejandro lost his head a little and the dreams came back. His current absorption in that young man was understandable. Sabrina's growing resentment and bewilderment were also understandable, and Alejandro would have been horrified if he had realized what he was accomplishing.

This morning began as a repeat of other mornings, Brett and Alejandro discussing the day's plans while Sabrina sat in silence. Gritting her teeth, she tried to stem her rising temper. It soon became apparent that she was again to be left to her own devices, presumably feminine ones, when the two men rode out to view various sites for the sugar mill.

Determined not to allow the situation to continue, when there was a brief halt in the conversation, Sabrina said firmly, "I'll come with you. If we are to go into the sugar business, I think I should begin to learn about it, too."

Alejandro looked at her, taking in the mulish slant of her chin. Realizing how much she had been excluded of late, he smiled guiltily and said weakly, "But of course, chica. Your company is most welcome, and you are right—you should know what is planned." To her outrage, he glanced across to Brett, and almost as if seeking approval, he asked, "It is a good idea, don't you agree?"

Brett shrugged. "If you think she should come along, I have no objections." Rising to his feet, he added, "I'll walk down to the stables and see that her horse is saddled and brought along with ours. Shall we meet in front in half an hour?" Not expecting a reply, he glanced at Sabrina and asked, "A half hour will be sufficient for you to make ready? Women are notorious for always being tardy."

Sabrina smiled tightly. "Some women."

Brett inclined his head mockingly. "As you say."

Her eyes smoldering, she watched as he sauntered out the back gate and disappeared. Not trusting herself to speak, she hastily took a gulp of her chocolate, and setting the cup back down in its saucer with a clatter, she said flatly, "I'll go change. I wouldn't want to keep the arrogant beast waiting!"

When she returned, barely fifteen minutes later, she was defiantly attired in the rust-colored calzoneras, and her glorious hair was subdued in a long, thick braid, just a few unruly tendrils curling near her temples and neck. There was a set expression on her usually merry face as she stalked toward the patio.

To her pleasure she found Carlos sitting at the table with her father. Her features softening, she said warmly, "Buenos dias, Carlos! What brings you here this early in the day?"

Carlos smiled, his black eyes roaming appreciatively over her slender body. "I would like to say that it was your own lovely self," he began teasingly, then, his face and voice becoming somber, he said, "but unfortunately that is not true. As I've just told your father, the bandits have struck again, and this time, they've murdered their victims."

"No!" Sabrina cried, shocked. "When did this happen? Who was murdered?"

Alejandro answered her. His face troubled, he said heavily, "Last night they attacked the Rios rancho and killed Señor and Señora Rios."

Sabrina's fist clenched. "Curse these devils! Something must be done to stop them!"

Alejandro nodded, but it was Carlos who spoke. "Si! It is time that we took action against them!" he stated grimly. "My father is inviting everyone to our hacienda tonight to discuss the problem."

They continued to speak of the outrage for a few minutes more before Carlos finally rose to his feet. Regretfully he said, "I cannot stay longer. There are others who must be notified of tonight's meeting." Glancing at Sabrina he asked, "Walk with me to my horse?"

Eager to escape a possible reprimand from Alejandro for her clothing, she agreed. Carlos had tied his horse behind the foliage-covered lattice, and upon reaching the animal, he commented, "Your servant arrived yesterday with the invitation for the fiesta to welcome Señor Dangermond. We are looking forward to meeting this americano."

Sabrina made a polite reply, but Carlos knew her well, and there was a note in her voice that made him look at her keenly.

"Who is he?" he asked. "I didn't realize that your Tia Sofia had an adult son. Madre was most surprised when she read your invitation—his visit had not been mentioned previously."

Sabrina shrugged. "He is Tia Sofia's stepson. And I suppose the topic of his visit never came up before." Not for the world would she reveal how surprised she had been at Brett's arrival!

His curiosity evident, Carlos prodded, "Will he be staying with you long?"

Again Sabrina shrugged. "I don't know."

His gaze sharpening, Carlos questioned, "Is he handsome? Will the ladies adore him?"

"I don't know," Sabrina repeated unhelpfully.

Dissatisfied, Carlos frowned. "What do you know about him?" he finally demanded with exasperation.

Neither one of them was aware of the tall man who was approaching, or that upon seeing them he stopped abruptly. Before he could make his presence known, Sabrina spoke.

She had recognized the reason behind Carlos's probing, and while not normally a vain young woman, the knowledge that he was jealous of Brett gave her pleasure. The past five days had been disruptive ones for her, and Carlos's jealousy acted as a balm upon her lacerated emotions. Smiling, she said teasingly, "I know that you are far more handsome than he is." She wasn't lying either; Carlos was handsomer, with his perfect features and genial manners. But there was something about Brett....

Pleased by her words, Carlos relaxed, his eyes on her soft mouth. "And?" he questioned huskily.

Sabrina did not encourage Carlos's attempts to flirt with her, but Brett's arrival had awakened feelings within her that she didn't yet know how to control—didn't even exactly understand—and she eyed her cousin speculatively. He was handsome, his olive skin smooth and unblemished, his eyes flashing pools of ebony, and she knew that he held her in great affection—that at the slightest sign from her, he would boldly cross the distance she had always kept between them. Would Carlos kiss her as Brett had? she wondered. And more importantly, would his kiss unleash all the wild, turbulent feelings she had experienced when Brett had kissed her? Surprising both of them, she blurted out, "Would you kiss me?"

Carlos recovered himself instantly, and his eyes filled with an ardent light, he murmured, "With pleasure, querida. With pleasure."

His mouth was warm and tender on hers, his arms strong and possessive as he crushed her against his hard chest. He even smelled faintly of tobacco and horses as Brett had, but for Sabrina there was no breathless ecstasy in his touch. She felt nothing more than a mild enjoyment in his embrace, and gently, when he would have deepened the kiss, she stepped back from him, her eyes shadowed.

Carlos was breathing rapidly, and there was a faint flush on his cheeks. "Querida, you must know how I feel about you!" he began, but Sabrina put her fingers up to his mouth, silencing him.

Ashamed at the way she had used him, appalled at how little his kiss had affected her, she whispered regretfully, "Hush, mi amigo I should not have asked such a thing of you. It was unkind."

He started to protest, but irritably aware that this was not the time or place, he muttered, "We shall talk of this later."

Sabrina smiled at him repentantly, shaking her head. "No. You must forget my foolishness—what just happened changes nothing between us. It cannot."

He looked at her for a long moment and then swung up onto his horse. Sending her an unsmiling glance, he said, "For the moment I will bow to your wishes. But it will not always be so. Remember that!"

Unhappily she watched him gallop away. Carlos was her friend, and she had taken advantage of that friendship, she thought wretchedly. If only Brett had never kissed her, this wouldn't have happened! It was all his fault!

She spun on her heel, intending to return to the courtyard, when she caught sight of the object of her thoughts leaning against the mottled trunk of a large sycamore tree. She froze and glared at him, wondering how long he had been there.

The expression in his eyes was hard to define as he walked up to her, but his voice was filled with mockery. "Lover's spat?" he inquired.

"That is none of your affair!" she snapped. "And if you were any sort of gentleman, you would have made your presence known." Her breasts heaving beneath the thin cotton shirt, she demanded, "How long were you there?"

"Long enough," Brett returned dryly. "Who is he, infant? Someone your father doesn't approve of? Is that why you were sneaking out here to meet?"

All the resentment that had been simmering just under the surface erupted. "How dare you!" she hissed. "That was my cousin Carlos, and we weren't sneaking anywhere! He'd been to see my father, and I was merely saying goodbye!" Her eyes glittering like golden stars, she said hotly, "As for my father's approval—there has long been talk of a marriage between us." Just why she told Brett that information she wasn't certain, nor was she certain why she didn't tell him that Carlos would never be more than a dear friend to her. But she had, and slyly, insistently, she questioned her reasons. Had she told him because women married, not infants? Might the knowledge that she was old enough to talk of marriage make him see her as a woman? And if Carlos could be moved to jealousy, could Brett? She knew that last idea was ridiculous—didn't he treat her with barely concealed tolerance?

Brett's face was unreadable as he stared down at her, his thumbs hooked in the broad leather belt around his lean waist. "Marriage? Aren't you a trifle young?" he drawled.

Her fingers curving into claws at her sides, she said tightly, "I will be eighteen in less than four months."

"Such a great age," he teased, a gentle smile hovering on his lips. He flicked a tanned finger down her smooth cheek. "Don't rush into anything, infant—even eighteen isn't that old. You'd still be a babe."

A challenging sparkle in her amber-gold eyes, she said breathlessly, "Carlos didn't think I was a babe... neither did you when you kissed me."

A muscle twitched in his jaw, and his smile vanished. "No, I didn't," he admitted. His eyes narrowed as an ugly thought occurred to him, and he demanded, "Is that what you were doing? Comparing us? Seeing which one of us treated you less like a child?"

Sabrina's eyes were huge as she stared up at his dark face, a guilty flush staining her cheeks as she realized that she had indeed been comparing them. Not deliberately perhaps, but she had wanted to know if Carlos could affect her the same way that Brett did. Attempting to brazen out the situation, she gave what she fervently hoped was a sophisticated shrug and returned carelessly, "And if I was?"

Since he had kissed her in the meadow, Brett had purposely kept his distance from Sabrina. He had made himself as derisive as possible, doing everything he could to destroy the desire to do the exact opposite. Discovering that he could not help responding to her warmth and charm, he battled daily not to succumb to the increasing surge of attraction he felt for her. At night in his rooms, he dreamed of her, her bewitching smile beckoning him toward untold delights, her slender body driving him half mad with longing. But waking each dawn, he would deny the images and yearnings of the night. The painful lesson that all women were false too deeply ingrained for him to forget it, he swore that he would not be drawn into the treacherous enchantment that she represented.

The sight of Sabrina in the arms of another man, however, had stunned him, sending a savage flood of conflicting emotions through his body. He was at once grimly satisfied that she was proving to be as vainly flirtatious as he knew women to be, but there was also an odd sense of betrayal, of crushing disappointment and some other powerful emotion... jealousy? Stung by his thoughts, he jerked away from pursuing them further.

Already angered by his reactions, Sabrina's flippant words were too provocative to ignore. A glitter in his jade-green eyes, he reached for her, yanking her against him. His mouth inches from hers, he snarled softly, "If it's comparisons you're making, add this to your samples!"

Ruthlessly his lips came down on hers, and the touch of that warm, hard mouth engulfed Sabrina in a maelstrom of intoxicating, bewildering sensations. Ah, but it was sweet to have him kiss her again, to be once more in his arms, to have that taunting mouth moving so urgently on hers, to feel the thunderous beat of his heart against her breast. She was hazily aware that she had wanted this to happen. She pressed her slender body closer to his, seeking more than this savagely gentle assault upon her senses. Unknowingly she slid her arms up around his neck, her head tilted backward as she shamelessly offered herself to him.

At her surrender, Brett's anger vanished, and he forgot everything but the bewitching soft body in his arms. All the hungry desires that he had kept leashed sprang free, and his arms tightened around her, crushing her fiercely against him. His mouth moved with increasing demand across hers, but it soon wasn't enough, and he commanded, "Open you mouth to me. I want the taste of you on my tongue."

The words sent a quiver of excitement through Sabrina, and when his lips touched hers, she obediently opened her mouth. His tongue plunged hotly between her parted lips, filling her mouth as he slowly, sensuously explored the inner warmth.

Stiffening with shocked, pleasurable astonishment, Sabrina wondered giddily what he was doing to her. Her knees felt weak, her head was swimming, and there was an increasingly painful yearning in her loins that the touch of his probing tongue in her mouth only intensified. Her nipples were unbearably sensitive, and she moaned softly, wanting incredibly for him to touch her there, to feel his hard, knowing hands on her breasts.

Brett had been weeks without a woman, and his body was one long ache of desire. His manhood was hard and throbbing between their bodies, his blood thundering in his brain, and Sabrina's artless response to his lovemaking nearly smashed his control. Nearly made him forget who she was, who he was, and why it was both ungallant and dangerous to be kissing her this way. He might treat women callously and with contempt, but he had made an ironclad vow ages ago never to choose his ladybirds from among the female relatives of his friends. Nor was it his custom to share his bed with young girls like Sabrina; his preference ran to older, experienced women who knew what they could expect from him: skilled lovemaking and generous settlement—no emotions.

Realizing how close he was to throwing scruples to the winds, with a smothered curse, he thrust Sabrina from him. His breath labored, he muttered, "I think that was sample enough, don't you?"

It took Sabrina a moment to slide back into reality, to leave behind the sensuous world she had glimpsed in his embrace. She stared up at him blankly, her mouth swollen from his kiss, her eyes still drowsy with desire, but then the import of his words sunk in.

For a second she glared up at him, and then before he could guess her intentions, she drew back her arm and slapped his dark face as hard as she could. "You blackguard!"

He touched the cheek she had just slapped, and mockery creeping into his eyes, he said mildly, "For an infant, you certainly pack a wallop!"

Sabrina gritted her teeth and said thickly, "Don't call me 'infant'! I am not an infant!"

He suddenly grinned and murmured, "I'll have to admit—you certainly don't kiss like an infant!"

Choking back a gasp of fury, Sabrina spun on her heel and stormed through the gate into the courtyard. Fortunately it was empty, and as she marched toward her room, she wondered blackly how she was going to endure Brett's infuriating presence for an indefinite amount of time. She was either going to explode with rage—or murder him.