Felipe stared into the gray light of dawn. No point trying to sleep any longer; it was time to rise. Not that he’d slept much last night. He could hear her breathing, each and every breath, all through the night.
And he’d listened for other things. Things that might be stalking her. Like the lion.
But he’d heard nothing but her breathing.
He threw the blankets aside and pulled on his clothes as quickly as he could. If those bright eyes of hers ran across his bare skin, he’d never be able to hide his response.
Once dressed, he settled back on his heels to start the fire and put the coffee on, his mind gritty with tiredness. Her bedroll shifted, but he was careful not to look.
If he caught sight of her bare skin… Again, there’d be no hiding his reaction.
He poked at the fire, though it didn’t need stoking. How would they get along today, after last night’s discussion? He didn’t want to think on her accusation of meanness. Hadn’t he held her hand for comfort?
His fingers flexed with the memory, his palm prickling with the remembered sensation of her hand.
All right, so he got angry with her—but it was because he was terrified for her. He just couldn’t make her understand that.
The rustling from her bedroll grew louder. He pushed up from his crouch. “I’m going to check on the horses,” he said.
That would give her enough time to get dressed.
When he came back, she was sitting by the fire, completely covered. He offered her a mug of coffee and they proceeded to pack in complete silence—almost as if the other wasn’t there. But he knew she was. He always knew she was there, even when he didn’t want her to be.
They rode single file up the old Cahuilla hunting trail he’d pointed out. Franny was in the lead, while the dogs roamed through the brush, hunting for a scent. The higher they went, the cooler it got, marking their altitude in degrees of chill.
His gaze flicked over every feature, searching, searching, searching. But nothing caught his eye. The landscape was somehow more menacing for being so tranquil. Somewhere, hidden out there, was the creature they were hunting. A creature that might be hunting them.
Franny was as sharp-eyed as he was, searching to their right as he scanned the left. She sat her horse easily, confidently, as at home in the saddle as he was.
After a few hours, she pulled her horse to a stop and turned to face him. “Maybe we should turn east,” she called. “The dogs haven’t come across anything and it’s almost noon.”
Felipe studied where they were and how far they’d come. And where a lion might like to hide. But there was nothing except a condor making lazy circles above them, its wings almost too massive to fly.
“We ought to keep to this trail for a little longer,” he said. “We’ve only been riding five hours and lions like to roam far.”
She nibbled at her lower lip, thinking on that. “You’re right. Let’s keep to this trail for say, another two, three miles, then turn east if the dogs haven’t found anything.”
Good Lord, an easy agreement from Franny. He glanced back up at the condor above them. No, still a bird—pigs weren’t flying, then.
They continued on in silence, listening to the calls of birds, the singing of insects, and the wind through the pines. His nerves were stretched tight under his skin, as he watched and wondered when and how they’d come across the lion.
She drew rein. “Did you hear that?” she whispered harshly.
He stopped his own horse and his ears strained to hear. But there was nothing.
She was on his right. If the lion was close, was coming between him and her, could he get her behind him in time? Could he get a shot off before the animal leapt for her?
His heart thumped against his chest. No. He’d have to spur his horse for the lion and pray that gave her enough time to get a shot off.
The silence went on.
“What did you hear?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.” She was as motionless as a predator sighting its prey. “I don’t hear it anymore.”
The quiet stretched between them, unbroken. Then came a deep rumbling and popping from under the mountain, a subterranean giant clearing its throat.
Felipe waited for the ground to begin to shake. Those kinds of noises usually announced an earthquake on the way.
But everything remained quiet.
“Tahquitz,” she breathed with some reverence. “We’ve awoken him.”
Felipe shook his head. Of course she’d believe that an Indian spirit demon inhabited the mountains. “You shouldn’t listen to all of Jacinto’s stories,” he told her. “It’s only hot springs, deep inside the earth.”
“And how would you know?” she countered.
“I read about it in a book.”
She made a scoffing noise. “Jacinto’s people have been here since the dawn of time. I’d believe him over a book.” She nudged her horse forward, clearly finished with Felipe’s ridiculous explanations.
He followed, thanking God it hadn’t been the lion. One more day and he would take her home. Just one more day…
Not a mile later, the dogs went wild, yapping and baying. They danced around tracks in the dirt that were painted with a smear of blood, sounding their excitement to all who could hear. The large paw prints were heading north.
They’d found a trail.
Felipe looked to the peak of Mount Portola. They would be heading into high, rough country if they continued north.
He turned back to Franny to find her already pushing her horse into the brush, following the dogs.
Reckless girl. He went to yell at her to come back, then stopped.
She was heading the direction he would have, not wasting any time letting the scent grow colder. She was doing the right thing—not that he’d admit that.
He urged his horse after hers.
His horse shied at first, no doubt unsettled by the scent of blood and lion, but went forward at the press of his heels. The dogs raced ahead, wiggling through redshank and sagebrush and leaping over and across rocks, almost as excited as Franny.
She was leaning over her horse’s neck and urging him on with her heels, energy crackling off her.
If they weren’t tracking a lion, he might purely enjoy the sight of her enjoying herself.
His horse took a short jump over a gap in the trail and he bobbled in the saddle, since he was thinking on Franny rather than his riding. She looked back at the little grunt he couldn’t completely suppress, her white teeth flashing as she smiled and her eyes gleaming. He couldn’t help but grin back. Her smiles could be too exuberant to resist sometimes.
They followed the dogs in silence, only the creak of leather, hoofbeats, and the horses’ breathing between them. Of the lion there was no more sign, except for the scent trail the dogs sniffed out.
Perhaps he ought to ride ahead. But then if the lion came from behind, he might not be able to turn in time—
“Oh, look at that.” She pointed out something in the brush.
There, hollowed out from the sagebrush by the passage of who knew how many grizzlies, was a tunnel.
“It’s a bear trail,” she said softly. “Do you think we’ll see any?”
“Lord, I hope not.” He didn’t care for the wonder in her voice—meeting a grizzly would be nothing wonderful. “Besides, there are no more grizzlies in California.”
But if he imagined hard enough, the unseen end of that tunnel might open up onto some fairy California. One where bears still roamed beyond the mountains and humans were the imaginary things.
“According to whom?” Clearly she didn’t believe it.
“Well, I remember my father saying he hadn’t seen them for several years. But that newspaper man, Mr. Hearst? He claims he caught the last one almost twenty years ago. Calls it Monarch and displays it in a cage there in San Francisco.”
“That’s terrible.” A wealth of sadness turned her words gray. “They should set him free.”
“They can’t. He’s too old. He wouldn’t last very long back in the mountains.”
“Still.” There was a strange waver to her voice, one that caught at the rhythm of his heart, tangling it in her words. “Better five minutes of real freedom than a life in a cage. Don’t you think?”
She was wrong. But then, she’d never lost everyone she’d loved. She had her family with her—whereas he only had memories.
He didn’t answer, just nudged his horse forward after the dogs. The pack trotted on tirelessly. There was no sign of the actual lion, but the scent trail remained strong enough to follow. Eventually, they’d come across the lion.
Let the shot be clear and quick. Let it end before she’s ever in danger.
The dogs followed the trail for hours—all the way up to a sheer drop-off.
Some of the curses she’d suggested to him earlier wanted to slip past his lips, but he held them back.
The dogs tracked back and forth, noses low to the ground, searching, searching, searching, but they kept coming back to that drop-off. He couldn’t see any likely escape route for a lion.
Franny looked about as well, spinning her horse in a slow circle. A bighorn watched them from a high perch almost fifty feet above, his horns curling around his ears and a remarkably disdainful look on his face.
“Where the hell could it have gone?” Her voice held as much frustration as he felt. “Not even a cat could survive that drop.”
He refrained from commenting on her language. “Big cats are canny.”
“I’m going to look over the edge.”
“No!”
She blinked at him, her brows coming together, her mouth opening—
“Just wait before you sound off.” He held up a hand. “That cliff looks unstable. Let me look over the edge.”
“You weigh more than I do. It’s more likely to crumble under you than me.”
He twitched his upper lip. She had a point. “How about this? You look over the edge, but I hold onto the back of your skirt.”
She pondered that, a spark of something coming into her eyes. Definitely wariness, yes, but also a strange awareness. Perhaps she didn’t want him touching her.
“All right,” she finally said.
She dismounted and came right to the edge of the cliff, barely giving him time to grab her waistband.
As his fingers curled round it, the heat of her body seeped under his skin, spread to his bones. He forced his breathing to stay even and thanked God she couldn’t hear the race of his heart.
“See anything?” The lion. This is all about the lion. Not his unwanted lusts.
She kept looking, moving closer to the edge than he liked. Her waistband bit hard into his fingers. If the cliff gave way, he prayed his grip would be tight enough.
“Nothing.” Disgust twisted through the syllables. She backed away from the cliff and into him, his fist nestling into the small of her back as she did.
He released her waistband as if were a scalding kettle.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
He rubbed his knuckles, trying to dissipate the heat of her left there, her apology a knot embedded in his gut.
He scanned the scenery. Where had that cat gone? The likeliest route was to the east, up a massive tumble of boulders that looked as if they’d been used as shooting marbles by some giant.
She was staring at the boulders as well. He could tell by the forward jut of her shoulders—she was ready to start climbing.
“How’s this?” he said before she could head off. “We leave the horses here, since that climb”—he jerked his chin to the east—“won’t be possible with them, and we work the dogs up and down this drop-off until just before sunset.”
She nodded, then began to climb. No arguments, no insisting she could track all night. Two easy agreements from her in one day? Next thing he knew, the sun would be setting in the east.
He followed behind her. The climb was more difficult than he’d expected, his thighs and calves burning with the effort. But she just kept going and going, never flagging. Every so often she would turn and reach out a hand to help him, pulling him up behind her. They were of a height, but he weighed considerably more than she.
He was amazed at her easy strength. Not that in his experience ladies were feeble—housekeeping was not for the weak of arm or back—but it was a surprise to see her scramble and climb with no hint of fatigue.
Perhaps she was a new Diana, a goddess whose entire being was strong, focused, pure. Or perhaps he was letting his fancy run away with him.
With every clasp of her hand on his, images of last night, his hand over hers while a carpet of stars winked overhead, flashed behind his eyes. He was careful to hold on just tight enough to not slip out of her grasp and not one bit tighter.
Careful not to grasp her hand in any way that could be mistaken for holding it.
He almost slipped the once. She was pulling him up behind her, their hands tight together, but not too tight, her skin golden in the afternoon sun—and in the middle of their joint scramble, she winked at him.
The command formed in his brain: Tighten your hand on hers, tense those arm muscles, pull her down into you—but he squashed it before it could reach his limbs.
And had a moment of admiration for his self-control.
Her self-control hadn’t been disturbed. She grasped his hand as readily and easily each time as she had the first. He was the one making too much of it, as he always had. She was only thinking of that lion, not of his hand in hers.
But there was no sign of the lion, and the dogs found no new scent trail. The sun began to sink below the peaks as they kept on. It would be full dark soon. They needed to get back to the horses and get a fire lit and—
Franny’s foot slipped from beneath her. She went skidding to her bottom, banging her elbow against a rock, yelping when it hit.
He scrambled to her as fast as could, but the dogs reached her first, licking at her face as she got to one knee. He arrived a second later, his stomach flopping in his throat.
Was anything broken? If she was seriously hurt, how would he get her to help in time? What if she couldn’t sit a horse?
Idiot. Shouldn’t have given in to her, should have taken her right home—
She got to her feet before he could help her, rubbing at her elbow.
“Is it broken?” He prayed it wasn’t—but if it was, he could take her back.
She straightened her arm with a wince. “No. Just bruised.”
He rubbed at his forehead. He wouldn’t put it past her to hide a serious injury if it meant she could keep hunting this lion. He’d have to keep a close eye on that elbow, along with the rest of her.
“It’s time we headed back anyway. We’ll tie a wet cloth around your elbow in camp.” A frown twisted her mouth, but he spoke before she could protest. “I’m not saying it’s broken or that you’re not brave. Just that a wet cloth will ease some of the pain.”
She dropped her gaze, almost as if she regretted her frown. “Thank you,” she mumbled with more graciousness than he would have expected.
No arguing with his decisions, thanking him for his concern—oh yes, he’d definitely need to watch out for winged swine.
She brushed past him as she headed back, eyes low and still cradling her elbow. As she did, her clothes slid against his. Gooseflesh rose along his arms.
And broke out all over as he watched the sway of her hips as she walked away.
Franny stretched her entire length as hard as she could, enjoying the aches that snapped in her arms, legs, and back—in her everything, really.
All day out of doors, climbing and tracking and just plain moving? It had been heaven. She was so tired and fulfilled she didn’t have the slightest urge to fidget.
Which would have made Felipe happy, had she told him. Instead, she sat quiet and loose and watched him watch the fire across from her.
He was staring into the flames with a pensive, almost sad expression—the one he often assumed when he thought no one was looking.
As soon as someone’s gaze turned to him, he’d don his mask of kindly, friendly Felipe. At least, she thought it was a mask, since he wore a different face when no one could see.
With an expression that sad… “Are you thinking about your family?”
She probably ought not to ask, but if she stopped asking things she ought not to, she’d have nothing left to ask.
The Ortegas had been tight knit, always happy and smiling in each other’s company. Then, over the course of a single week, only Felipe was left. Mother, father, three sisters—all gone. Almost as if they’d been blown away on a puff of God’s breath.
Except for Felipe, who’d come to live with her family.
He’d never let too much of his sadness show—he’d been kindly, friendly Felipe from the very beginning. Always grateful for what he was given.
He shifted, his broad shoulders pulling at the fabric of his shirt. “I was actually thinking of them.” As strained as the seams of his shirt.
An answering tension pulled at her heartstrings. “I miss them too. Especially your mother.” Felipe’s mother had been kinder to her than her own.
“It still feels if they passed only yesterday.” His jaw was strained, the firelight painting the ridge of it in gold. “I was just going over my memories of them. I’m the one with the most stories about them, so I remember, when I can. To keep them fresh.” He linked his hands over his knees, the left tightly circling his right wrist, as if enclosing something within the hollow there.
He’d never before confessed such a thing. As if it were yesterday—how it must hurt. And he never let on. She had a sudden urge to cross over to him, to touch his arm in the hopes that the simple comfort would ease his obvious pain. Her legs and arms fairly ached from holding back.
He held his pain tight and close—but she saw it and it cut at her. How did she comfort a man who thought her a pest, who’d rather have comfort from anyone other than her?
Then it came to her, and right from his very own words.
She stared into the fire, needing a moment to ease the ache in her own throat.
“I’m not certain if I’ve told you this story,” she began, “but your mother was once very kind to me when I needed comfort.”
“Truly?” Tentative. Warm.
Encouraged by his tone, she went on. “I remember your mother was so gracious. Not many people had time for my pestering, but she was always happy to answer my questions and listen to my stories. Or at least, she pretended to.” A happy memory, that.
“She wasn’t pretending,” he said, solemn and true.
Franny bit her lip and blinked hard, never looking away from the flames. She mustn’t cry—this story was for him.
“I do remember her saying once how much she looked forward to your visits,” he went on. “How she enjoyed your liveliness.”
She rubbed at her nose, took a steadying breath. A wonderful memory—she would give him one of those. “This one particular time I’m thinking of, I was about eight.” About two months before his family had passed. “I wanted to go with you and Juan to hunt rabbits, do you remember that?”
“I think I do.”
“Well, I asked to go on quite a few expeditions with you two, so I don’t expect you’d remember this exact one. And do you know what you and Juan said?”
“We likely said what we always did when you asked to come along: no.” A shadow of something that looked like guilt passed over his face. But it was only a trick of the firelight. He always had enjoyed telling her no.
“You two said that a girl couldn’t hunt, that I’d get hurt, that I couldn’t do it.” She couldn’t help the irritation that snuck into her words with that recitation.
His throat worked as he swallowed. “That does sound familiar.”
“I was pretty upset at being left behind, so I decided I would run away.” She shrugged. “Silly, I know, but I thought that if I proved I could survive on my own, you’d have to let me come along.”
She smiled at the memory of herself, carrying a pack containing her most prized possessions—rocks, feathers, and the like—and no food, water, or clothes, heading down the road. “I was walking by your old house, with my little pack, sniffling, when your mother came across me. I told her the whole story and I remember very clearly what she told me in response.”
Such wonderful words his mother had given her. “She said, ‘Franny, you can do anything those boys can, if you apply yourself. Don’t let anyone tell you different.’” Warm comfort rose in her, same as it had the day his mother had spoken that. “I remember her exact words, as if it had been yesterday.”
Those words had been the compass of her life. Certainly her own mother had never said such things to her.
Whenever anyone had told her that she couldn’t, that ladies didn’t do this or that—especially when Felipe said those things—she remembered his mother’s words and applied herself to doing that very thing better than anyone else.
If not for his mother, she wouldn’t be here, tracking a mountain lion, confident in her ability to bring it down.
“I do remember that.” Heavy and slow, as if it was just coming back to him. “She came to me later that day to talk about it.”
He remembered? “What did she say?” She wanted more of the memory now, needed to preserve all of it.
His jaw tightened. “She said, ‘You should be nice to Franny.’”
She pulled a ragged, shocked breath. After all these years of wishing once, just once, he would show her the same kindness he demonstrated to the lowliest creature—and his own mother had commanded him to be nice to her?
His eyes were liquid with apology, no doubt remembering when she had all but begged him to show her the consideration he showed others. But she didn’t want his apologies, any more than he wanted her comfort. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from him, but it wasn’t that.
She thought of his hand on hers, that thumb rubbing across her skin, the dark velvet stretched between them.
She didn’t think she wanted that either. No matter how her body ached at the memory.
He rose as if to go to her. “Franny, I—”
“Well, then.” She cut him off, rising to her feet. If he touched her now as he’d done before, she might—
“I’m tired,” she announced, more to stop the dangerous track of her own thoughts than to stop him. “I’ll be turning in, then. Another long day tomorrow.”
She went to hide in her bedroll, because if he did apologize, she wasn’t sure what she would do.
She certainly didn’t know what she would do if he didn’t.