Carly said nothing, just stared at him as if she tried to see inside his mind. It was something he would not let her do.
“Do you ride with me, senorita?”
“Maybe I would… if I knew how to ride.”
He grinned at that and nodded. “Si,I had forgotten. That is what you said the day of the horse race. Perhaps then, that is the reason you preferred to walk all the way to Llano Mirada.”
At the teasing in his voice, Carly couldn’t help but smile. “You’re a hard man, Don Ramon, but at least you have a sense of humor.”
“As do you, Senorita McConnell, I am happy to say.” He captured her hand and started forward. “The village is not far. You will travel with me. As to your riding, we will begin your lessons tomorrow. You said once that you liked horses. If you wish to remain in this country, it is past the time that you should have learned to ride.”
She had to admit the notion held a strong appeal—it was a necessity if she meant to escape. She had wanted to learn since her arrival at Rancho del Robles. Her uncle had promised to have someone teach her but the opportunity never seemed to present itself.
And she had seen the Spaniard ride. She had never seen a finer display of horsemanship.
“Ruiz!” the don called out when they reached the split log corral. “You have saddled Viento?”
“Si,Don Ramon.” The young vaquero smiled. “And a gentle mare for the senorita.” He was wiry, shorter than the don, but handsome, with a pleasant face and intelligent dark eyes. He had brought her food and water on the difficult journey through the mountains. Perhaps he would help her again.
Carly smiled up at him. The don saw it and frowned.
“You may put the mare away,” he said brusquely. “Senorita McConnell does not yet ride. She will begin her lessons tomorrow. In the meantime, bring Viento to me.”
The young man nodded and hurried to do the Spaniard’s bidding. “Ruiz works with Sanchez and Ignacio. They are in charge of the remuda, the horses we keep here in the stronghold. He is the youngest of the vaqueros—which does not mean that he is a fool.”
Thinking of the smile she had given him, Carly flushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“These men are loyal to me,chica.There is no one here who will help you.”
Her spine went stiff. “The boy was kind to me in the mountains. More than I can say of you. He is pleasant to look at and if I wish to smile at him, I will.”
Ramon’s frown darkened. “You are under my protection, Senorita McConnell. As long as you behave yourself, you will remain so. Seducing one of my vaqueros is not behaving—do I make myself clear?”
“Of all the gall! I suppose you consider seducing that young woman I met yesterday ‘suitable behavior.’ I suppose you think that is perfectly all right.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I am a man. It is different for me.” He had the audacity to smile. It was so bright and charming it made her stomach flop over. “But I am glad to see that you are at least a little bit jealous.”
Carly opened her mouth to deny it, to fling some scathing retort, but the big black stallion arrived just then, fresh and dancing at the end of its tether, tossing its beautiful head and stamping its feet. Carly took an uneasy step away.
“Do not be afraid. Viento is eager for the journey, but he will not harm you.” He lifted her easily up on the saddle then gracefully swung up behind her. Feeling his arm around her waist just beneath the swell of her breast, his warm breath close beside her ear, she shivered and not with the cold.
“The sun is out,” he said, “but perhaps your illness lingers.” Before she could stop him, he had called for Ruiz to bring her a shawl from the house, then wrapped it protectively around her shoulders.
“Better?”
Carly simply nodded. All she could think of was the dream she’d had last night. Of riding with the don on his big black horse, of the fiery way he had kissed her, of the feel of his hands on her body. She wondered how far it was to the Indian village and suddenly wished that she had declined to go with him.
***
The ride was even more unnerving than she had first thought. Hard male thighs pressed against her bottom and the muscles across the Spaniard’s chest flexed seductively as he handled the magnificent horse. They rode out through the guarded pass that she had come in through, but before they reached the bottom, he turned off onto a different trail and headed into a thick grove of trees.
Beneath the heavy growth of branches, the sun directly overhead, she couldn’t tell north from south, east from west, and suddenly she realized that was exactly what he had planned.
She stopped trying to figure out where she was and relaxed against him, then straightened again to avoid the touch of his hard-muscled chest against her back. She was more than a little bit grateful when the don drew the stallion to a halt on a rise overlooking the village.
It sat in a clearing surrounded by pine trees, fifteen to twenty dome-shaped, mud-and-willow-branch huts interwoven with tule reeds. A larger hut partially set into the ground stood at one end, atemescal,the don said the Spanish called it, a sweat hut, the place the Indians also kept their weapons. Great baskets as tall as a man were nestled in the trees for the storage of acorns and seeds.
“These are Yokuts mostly,” Ramon said, urging the stallion forward. “From the big central valley to the east. There are also Miwok and Mutsen—Costanoans, they are called—Coastal Indians who once ranged near the sea.”
