“Goddamn it, Goddamn it, Goddamn it!”
Franny looked over her saddle at Felipe, her mouth falling open at the words coming out of his mouth. “You never swear.”
She knew he’d be angry when she found him—she had said she wouldn’t follow—but he was never this angry. Not even when he’d grabbed her arm. A chill trickled down her spine.
“You make me swear!” He gestured wildly at her, the rifle clasped in his hand. “You… ungh!” His free hand curled into a fist. She was glad the horse was between them, the cold running along her spine deepening. “You promised!”
She bit her lip. “Yes, well, about that…” Guilt coiled round her heart. She’d never broken a promise to him before. But breaking this particular promise had been necessary.
His face fell into his hands and the anger vibrating within him made her stomach twist. She came slowly around the mare to stand next to him, stepping as quietly as if approaching a snarling dog. “Do you want to swear at me some more?” she ventured.
He shook his head, but didn’t raise it.
“Maybe say… mierda?”
He shook his head.
“Or… pinche guey?”
Now his shoulders shook, but she wasn’t sure if he was laughing or crying. She hoped it was laughter.
“Or even… chinga tu madre?”
He lifted his head, his eyes dry and his mouth tight. No laughter then. But not quite as frightening as before. “Where did you learn that?”
“The same place you did,” she said. “From Jacinto.”
He scrubbed at his face, his body stilling as his ire ebbed. “I’m taking you to your brother,” he ground out. “I don’t know what you thought you were doing, sneaking up here, but you’re going to be his problem, not mine.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “No.”
He wasn’t taking her to Juan. Juan wouldn’t hesitate to truss her across the back of his horse and haul her home. Felipe, for all his threats, had never physically restrained her. Except for the once…
She shook that off. Even if her brother let her stay with him, he might bring down the lion first, and she’d be left with nothing.
Whereas Felipe… Well, he was a competent hunter, but no more.
She had a much better chance of getting the cat herself if she were with him. And if Felipe saw her bring down a lion, he could never again question her competence.
That was best kept to herself though. Men got tetchy when you questioned their hunting skills. Or outshot them. She’d seen it many a time before, when she’d done exactly that.
“What?” he said to her refusal. Stark and shocked, to match his expression.
She widened her stance. “No. I’m not going with you. These dogs are coming with me and we’re going after the lion. You can come with us. Or you can go home.”
He’d never leave her alone in the high country, not if she was hunting a lion—and she was willing to use his better nature as a means to get her way.
As if to prove her point, the dogs all came to her side in a show of canine mutiny.
“I could have shot you, thinking you were a lion.” He sounded as angry and sad as if he had shot at her. “Did you think of that?”
“But you didn’t.” For one heart-stopping moment though, when the dog appeared out of the brush and he hadn’t, she’d feared just that would happen.
He watched her for a long moment, his breathing harsh and his shoulders hunched. “What do you think you’re doing? You were told no. You promised me you wouldn’t do this. Your parents must be ill with worry.”
She clenched her stomach as his accusation hit. “I left a note.” It sounded rather insignificant, when she said it aloud. But she wouldn’t think of any of that right now.
This time was for her. This one last time, before her mother had her forever.
“A note?” He threw his hands up and shook his head. “A note. Why are you doing this? Are you trying to ruin my life?”
That was too much, even from him. “I’m doing it because my life is ruined! When I return from this, I’ll never be allowed to leave my room again.” She shook her fist at him, a horrid mix of resentment and guilt and tears making her limbs quiver. “I want this, this one last accomplishment, before I’m entombed in that house, forever under my mother’s rule.”
She set her jaw, let her fist open and close, willed herself to be rigid with anger and not shaking with suppressed tears. She must be as bold and resolute as any man if she meant to have her way on this hunt.
He pivoted away, but not before she saw his mouth soften. “You don’t know the first thing about hunting lions.” It was grudging, but less harsh than his previous words.
“I read President Roosevelt’s memoirs on the subject.”
“Roosevelt. I should have known your obsession with him was behind this,” he sneered.
Felipe always grew prickly whenever she mentioned the president. Almost as if he were jealous of the man. When he turned back to her, his mouth was flat and tight, his brow dark with displeasure.
She knew that look—he wanted to tell her no. He wanted to so badly.
“You really will go off on your own if I refuse, won’t you?”
He didn’t sound angry—only curious. Which was curious in itself.
She nodded solemnly, holding his gaze, the tension slipping from her own shoulders.
He let loose a deep sigh. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but… we’ll stay out for one day.” He held up a long finger. “One. Day. If we don’t come across the trail by tomorrow, I take you home. Agreed?”
She didn’t want to agree. Not for just one day. She nibbled at her lip as she considered how to answer.
She did want him with her. For all her brave talk, hunting this lion alone seemed more frightening than with him by her side.
“All right,” she conceded, with less grace than she might have, considering she was getting her way. But she wouldn’t lie and pretend to be entirely happy.
His expression went sour, his lips pursing beneath his mustache, but he kept quiet. No doubt he couldn’t wait until tomorrow, when he could march her home and lock her up. But if they found the trail first…
A buzzing took hold of her at the thought, and she bounced on her toes to let it out.
One last day of freedom. She wouldn’t let it go to waste.
Felipe went for his horse. “There’s an old hunting trail to the southeast of us,” he called back to her. She followed, her mare and the dogs trailing behind. “We’ll try that tomorrow. I suppose we should make camp for the night.”
Camp. The word suddenly became a finger poked right into her breastbone.
She was going to make camp. With Felipe.
If camp was a finger against her breastbone, Felipe was a finger trailing along her spine, shivers quivering in its wake.
Perhaps she hadn’t thought this through as well as she might have. She’d been on camping trips with him before, but her father and brother and others had always been along as well.
To be alone, sleeping in the open, with a man she had… feelings for was not an aspect she’d considered. She wouldn’t do anything improper, and he certainly wouldn’t do anything, but she squirmed beneath her skin anyway.
He marched on ahead of her, the roll of his hips entirely unconcerned.
Well, she could be that way too. Or at least pretend to it.
When they arrived at his horse, Felipe began to unload his saddlebags, assembling the ingredients for their dinner.
She started the fire and tried to ignore the rustle of his limbs. But starting a fire could only hold so much of her attention. He held all the rest.
When the kindling caught, she leaned back on her heels and brushed her palms. “Do you want me to get us a rabbit or a quail for supper?” She directed her question to the fire. This was a camping trip like any other. No need to stare after him and reveal her disquiet.
He made a noise that could have been yes or no. A noise of decided disinterest.
All right then. “Well, the dogs worked hard today, so they deserve a little fresh meat. I’ll see what I can find.” Too loud, but she had to fill this awful silence somehow.
He grunted.
Let him be taciturn. She had game to hunt.
The heft of her rifle in her hand as she waded through the brush was reassuring, a familiar thing among all the unwanted emotions befuddling her. She moved lightly through the chaparral, crouching low. Juan’s dogs trotted eagerly in front, as quiet as she, ready to do the work they were trained for.
The dogs went suddenly still. She halted and searched for what had caught their attention.
The lion?
Oh, wouldn’t that be something to bring back to Felipe…
But it was only what she’d come to find—a rabbit. Nice and fat, too.
She slowed her breathing as she brought the rifle up to her shoulder, her gaze locked on the animal. She sighted the rabbit and for an infinite moment everything seemed suspended in time: her, the dogs, the rabbit. Unmoored from the forward motion of the world.
She pulled the trigger.
The rabbit leapt high into the air, its legs giving a wild, desperate kick. The dogs were off in a burst of legs and flying dirt, yelping. But their mad rush was unnecessary.
The animal was dead before it hit the ground.
The dogs laid it at her feet as gently as they would a pup. The only signs of the rabbit’s fate were its wet fur and a hole where its eye once was.
That shot was rare, a tricky piece of shooting that had taken years of practice to perfect.
Not even Juan was as accurate as she with a rifle.
She brought down two more rabbits—one for herself and Felipe, and the other two for the dogs. The pack of them headed back to camp with loose limbs and easy strides, the happy roll of hunters who’d been successful.
She ended up looping around the camp, returning to it from the south.
Felipe was staring determinedly to the north, the direction she had left from. No doubt worrying over whatever trouble he thought she’d gotten herself into.
“We’re back,” she called.
His face loosened into relief when he saw her.
The way he constantly assumed the worst, that she would fall, be injured—even die—was irritating. Every other man in her life trusted in her skill. Every one except him.
“I shouldn’t have let you go alone,” he said. “Not with that lion out there.”
“I’m fine.” Exasperation had her blowing a hard breath. “And I had the dogs—you were in more danger than me without them.”
“I’m not worried about the danger to me.”
Those words kindled a warm sensation within her, even with his rough tone. She ignored the feeling and threw the rabbit at his feet. “I got two more for the dogs.”
He smiled at her then, but it was one of strain and force.
He couldn’t even be pleased she brought them fresh meat. Hateful man.
“I’ll help you clean them,” he offered.
She didn’t answer, simply tossed him another rabbit.
They set to the task in silence. She cleaned and spit the rabbits with quick, fierce movements. Something between them seemed to abrade her skin, making her teeth clench and her muscles tense.
Once the rabbits were turning over the fire, she looked about the camp, trying to find some task to keep her hands occupied. If she didn’t find something to do, she might start pacing to dissipate her nervous energy. If she did that, Felipe was sure to remark on how irritating he found her pacing. Given her mood, she was sure to snap back. Then they would both be circling and nipping like two curs around a bone, and they needed to be concentrating on this lion—
“Food’s ready.”
Eating. Yes, that would be a perfectly fine use of her time. If her mouth was full, she wouldn’t be expected to converse—and Lord knew he didn’t want to converse with her. Not if he couldn’t scold her.
They ate in silence. And though her gaze was firmly on her plate and she tried to keep her thoughts solely on her food—she felt him. He was across the fire from her and she knew, just knew, he was moving and eating and breathing and it was a crawling across her skin and under it as well, this unwanted knowledge of him.
Being alone with him was more difficult than she’d expected. It was hard enough to ignore her body’s response to him on the rancho, even though she’d done it for years, but here, with nothing to distract her—
“The rabbit’s good,” he said out of nowhere.
She jumped and dropped her spoon, though his voice was low. He didn’t bother to look up at her, simply pushed a bit of rabbit meat about his plate.
God forbid he should have to look at her.
“And your shot was clean—cleaner than I could have done,” he went on.
“Thank you.” She gazed into her plate as her face warmed. Praise from Felipe. Which made her breasts tighten shamefully against her chemise. The lion. She had to concentrate on the lion. “How far is this trail you mentioned?”
“Only about an hour’s hike from here.”
They stared into the fire, the silence stretching between them uncomfortably, a physical thing growing thicker and thicker with each breath.
Annoyance scraped at her. There was no need to sit here dumbly. They had plenty of topics to converse on—ones that wouldn’t make her think of bare skin and his breath caressing hers as he praised her once more.
“We’ll need to check that windmill and pump in the north meadow on our way back,” she said. There, they always had ranch work to discuss.
He stared into the flames, his hands looped over his knees. “Should have checked on the way up.” As if he too were searching for things to say. “We’re having a wet spring. It’ll be good for pasture come the summer.”
“Yes.” Ranch work, the weather—what was left to discuss? She looked up at the angle of the sun over the mountains. Much too early to roll herself in her blankets and pretend to sleep.
A pack of coyotes began their eerie yipping, each taking up the call in turn, until they seemed to be entirely surrounded. One of Juan’s dogs raised his head and growled, the hair on his back coming up.
“Quiet,” she ordered the dog. “They won’t come near us.”
He settled. But the coyotes went on, making the hair on her own neck rise. Such a strange call they had…
“How do you think the round up is going?” His wistful question broke the spell of the coyote circle.
Of course he was worried about the rancho. He took his duties as foreman seriously. Though the rancho would be Juan’s one day, Franny doubted her brother could do as fine a job as Felipe.
“Jace is helping. I’m sure everything is going well.” She was wistful, too. “My last roundup and I’m missing it.”
“You know,” he said slowly, as if he wasn’t certain he should be saying it, “you don’t have to stay at home. You could get married, have a house of your own.”
She snorted. He made it sound as if she had a line of suitors out the door and only had to pick one to be freed. “No, thank you. Be under a man’s rule? I’ll take my mother instead. Besides, what man would have me? I know what you all say about me behind my back.”
His brows drew together. “What do we say?”
“You know.” She laughed, only forcing it a little. “That I have a penis under my skirt.”
She’d heard it more than once, at barn dances and school exhibitions and barn raisings, when the men thought she couldn’t hear. It hadn’t hurt to hear others say it—not really—but it did hurt to imagine Felipe saying it.
His expression darkened, his body going rigid. “No man’s ever said that in my presence.” His voice went low and harsh. ”And if he did, I’d…”
“You’d what?” she prompted. The growl in his voice had her toes curling. He couldn’t mean he’d defend her from such things. Would he?
“I’d make certain he didn’t again.”
Oh Lord. She could well believe him when he said it like that. Felipe, defending her, fighting with her rather than against her…
No. That was only imaginings. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I don’t care what people say. They can talk about what’s under my skirt all they want.”
She repeated that silently. Let them all talk—she didn’t even want to be married. Not to any of them.
Which raised the question—why wasn’t he married? He’d walked out with Ines Obregon for a few years there, but nothing had come of it. Likely because of everything that had happened with Isabel and Joaquin—Ines’s brother.
It was odd, because Ines was everything a man could want in a wife—cooked a fine supper, kept a sparkling house, and loved children.
Certainly nothing like an irritating hoyden.
But once Felipe stopped walking with Ines, another lady hadn’t come to take her place.
No, now on Sundays he went to Mass with the family, shook the hand of every man there, exchanged friendly words with everyone, and when he arrived back at the rancho he disappeared. The rest of those Sundays he must have had only himself for company.
She peered across the fire at him, as if that alone could tell her how he spent that time.
He was staring right back, eyes hooded.
He looked intense. Intent.
On her.
Her lungs stopped. It was just a trick of the firelight. She mustn’t add to his expression what she wished to see.
But she did want to know why he’d never taken a wife. They’d never be alone like this again—it was her only chance to find out. And her curiosity was a powerful thing.
“Why didn’t you ever get married?”
He didn’t seem surprised by the question. “Never found a lady I wanted to marry, I suppose.”
She tried to imagine him married, smiling that smile he gave everyone but her at some faceless girl, bending down to kiss her as he came home for the evening… and her stomach rolled hard.
“What?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
She smoothed the sourness from her expression. “Nothing.” She had her answer, such as it was. Time to move on. “How long do you think it will take to come across that trail tomorrow?”
“If we catch the trail tomorrow.”
She snapped her teeth together. He was always trying to ruin things for her. “You don’t think I’m capable of anything.”
“I do think you’re capable.” Funny how he never showed it. “But I also think you’re capable of getting yourself hurt or killed with some of the things you try to do.”
“Why? They’re no different than the things you or the other hands do.”
His face twisted in puzzlement. “I don’t want you to be hurt.”
As if that made his treatment of her any better. As if that was a proper excuse for his beastliness. “And when am I hurt?” she cried. “I ride, I rope, I brand, I hunt. Yet I’m still here, sound of limb.”
His hand sliced through the air. “When are you hurt?” He jabbed again. “How about that rope burn you got just last week? Or when that heifer knocked you down the week before that? Or when you nearly stepped on that rattler last month?” He raised his eyebrows challengingly. “I can go on, you know.”
She stared, her mouth hanging open. How had he remembered all those trivialities? Most of them she didn’t even remember.
“These things don’t happen in the house,” he continued. “Which is where you belong.”
“Lucky for you I’ll be stuck there forever when we return,” she snapped, willing the heat of her anger to burn away the tears that threatened. “You finally got your wish.”
Anger, irritation, harsh words—all too familiar for them. This was what she should be feeling for him. Not that yearning he didn’t reciprocate.
He shook his head, the gesture weighted with resignation. “You simply can’t see it my way, can you? Your father lets you do whatever you like. But I’m the one who has to ensure that whatever you like isn’t dangerous.”
“I do the same things you do every day. I didn’t ask you to mind me. In fact, you can just leave me alone from now on. I don’t need you or your worry.”
He shook his head. “I can’t. You don’t understand.”
Her fury sparked and spit. “I don’t care. I’m going to bring down this lion. And then you are going to let me be. I don’t want your concern—it’s not even concern, is it? It’s just plain meanness.”
“Mean?” He sounded surprised. No, shocked. “No one’s ever called me mean.”
Her throat went tight. “No, you’re never mean to anyone else. You’re so nice to everyone. No, worse than that, you’re kind to everyone.” The tears were burning down her throat, and she wasn’t certain she could stop them. “Everyone except me. You save all your meanness for me.” Her voice went wet and wobbly and shame burned at her, that she was so weak in front of him. But she couldn’t stop herself from asking, a lament straight from her heart, “Why?”
Why do you hate me? And why do I yearn for you any way?
“Franny.” There was a wealth of sadness in it, such that she hardly recognized her own name. “I—”
“No.” She didn’t want any more excuses, any more protests about keeping her safe. “Forget I said anything. Everyone has someone who rubs them the wrong way, and I happen to be that person for you. It doesn’t matter.”
She couldn’t let it matter, or it might tear her in two.
“You’re upset, I know, and—”
“Not any longer, I’m not.” It was dreadfully rude to keep interrupting him, but she was tired of this circling with him, going over and over the ground of their shared frustration. “I must be overtired from today.”
“Franny, I’m not being mean, I’m—“
“Just stop it!” She straightened up, her hands curling into fists. She couldn’t listen to him go on like this, she just couldn’t. “For once, could you please listen to me and just stop?”
The moment stretched out, the fire crackling between them, the air charged with heat and sparks—and their mutual awareness.
Finally, he gave a stiff nod. “If that’s what you want.”
Her answering nod was a mere jerk of her chin. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to turn in. We have a long day tomorrow.” She turned to her bedroll, pretending to be absorbed in arranging it, blinking away the burning behind her eyes.
A rustling behind her—him, moving—and once again, she felt him. His motions, his breath, his heat—every bit of it ran across her skin, though there must have been a foot between them.
Then, to her surprise, he caught her hand.
He is holding my hand.
How many times had they touched before?
As many times as there were stars overhead, each and every one of those brushes as distant and brief as those bright pinpricks above them.
But this touch?
This touch was the dark velvet stretched between the stars.
“Francisca.” Her heart beat wildly at her name so soft against her ear. Had he ever called her that? She couldn’t recall; her brain was too fevered. “I don’t want you to be unhappy.” He punctuated that with a light squeeze of her fingers.
He didn’t want anyone to be unhappy. He didn’t mean anything specific to her. He was Felipe: he helped everyone, wanted everyone to be happy. She was only a part of everyone to him.
Which meant she was no one to him.
“I’m not unhappy.” True—she most certainly wasn’t unhappy right now. With the easy slide of his thumb across her knuckles and his breath tickling her ear and every inch of her electric with it, she was quite beyond unhappy.
“You are. If you want to get this lion, I promise, we’ll do our best.” Another squeeze, which somehow managed to squeeze her lungs too. “But I won’t do anything that will put in you in undue danger. If you were hurt and I couldn’t prevent it…” His voice died, as if he didn’t dare complete that thought. His thumb rubbed again, his sigh brushing along her hair, and all the breath left her lungs, burning as it wheezed past her throat. “All right?”
She nodded, her mind and voice strangely blank, the only tangible thing the pressure of his hand on hers.
Then he released her.
The entire world came crashing back in—the wind in the pines, the call of the birds, the hum of the insects drowning her in sensation. She straightened so quickly he jumped back.
“I need to walk,” she muttered. “I’ll be back. Don’t worry.”
“Wait.” A command from him, one that she actually obeyed.
She turned to find him holding a hand out to her. She wanted to clasp that hand, to experience the uneasy delight of his skin against hers again.
“You can’t go off on your own,” he said. “The lion.”
Of course. The entire reason she was here.
She started back for her bedroll, then hesitated. She couldn’t simply pretend to sleep, not as wound up as she was.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll take myself off for a bit.” His voice caught awkwardly. “So you can prepare your bedroll.”
That was silly, since her bedroll was already arranged. Her cheeks flamed when she realized what he really meant.
Undressing. He was leaving so she could undress for bed. She was going to be undressed—well, without her skirt and shirt—next to him. All night long.
Would he be undressed?
No, he wouldn’t. And yet, her mind wouldn’t release the image of him entirely nude…
She fussed with her blankets, praying that he couldn’t see her burning flush. “Fine,” she squeaked past the frog in her throat.
He moved away, but not very far. She could hear him breathing after his footsteps had stopped. Breathing a little too hard, as if he’d hurried away.
Well, she wasn’t breathing too easy herself. She stripped off her shirt and skirt as fast as she could, the night air cold on her bare arms and shoulders, nipping through her chemise.
She rolled herself into her bed and shut her eyes tight. “I’m ready,” she called out. Although she wasn’t—not ready to sleep next to him all night.
He came rustling back, his breathing slower. Deeper. She heard the hiss of the fire as he poured some water on it, then the acrid scent of smoke filled her nose.
More rustles, which might have been him getting into his bedroll. Or taking off his clothes.
She squeezed her eyelids even tighter, her lashes dragging across her cheek.
“Good night,” he called softly.
“Good night.” She never let her eyes open.
And never let her imagination release the image of his nude limbs tangled in his blankets, no matter how it kept her awake.