Authors: Leigh Greenwood
She had heard many different languages from her window. She recognized French, German, and Italian, but there were others. She wondered how people of so many different nationalities had all ended up in Arizona. There must be something here that attracted them, kept them here, but she couldn't see what it was. If she had known what Arizona was like, she'd never have agreed to marry Rudolf.
But then whom would she have married? There were no other men of suitable rank who weren't old, fat, and greedy for her money. There weren't any men like Luke Attmore in the aristocracy. There must have been back in the days when the ruling dynasties were no more than lusty young men dreaming of wealth and power. Over the centuries, that youthful vigor had been bred out of them, or bored out of them, or just drained away. There were no young men left who caused her heart to race, her blood to warm, her gaze to pause.
She'd been taught to consider herself part of a special class of people, a class of such pure blood, so privileged, it would be impossible to think of marrying out of its ranks. Those who rebelled were shunned. Those who followed the rules were rewarded with wealth, power, privilege, position, and the comforting belief that they were the most favored of God's creatures.
For a long time Valeria had accepted that belief without question. Even the revolution and the deaths of her parents hadn't entirely destroyed her faith in the system that had upheld her family for more than a hundred generations.
The first man to ask for her hand had been a drunk, a womanizer, a gambler, a liar, and completely incapable of inspiring anything but disgust in Valeria. She felt fortunate to be marrying Rudolf, even if it meant coming to America. At least he was young and attractive. She had had every hope she would learn to feel admiration for him, if not affection.
But that was before she met Luke Attmore.
Even though she'd disliked him immediately, she now understood that she had also recognized in him the kind of man the founders of the house of Badenberg must have been. Except for his looks. If all the gloomy portraits that adorned the walls of the various palaces where she'd grown up were any proof, no one in her family could claim half the looks Luke Attmore possessed. After their first encounter, Valeria had tried to tell herself looks didn't matter, that nothing could compensate for a personality as cold and rude as Luke Attmore's.
But she couldn't get him out of her mind.
He'd held an entire town in his control, yet no one appeared to be afraid of him. He hadn't killed anyone or raised his voice. What was it about this man that caused everyone to pay such attention to what he wanted?
The search for an answer plunged her so deep in thought she didn't notice that two hours had passed until the coach turned and headed toward the river. It came to a halt within a hundred feet of the dappled shade of those trees with the rustling leaves.
"You have thirty minutes to rest," Luke announced. "Don't waste it sitting in the coach."
Chapter Six
Valeria didn't have to wait for him to open the door. Hans practically fell out of the coach, then scrambled to his feet to offer his assistance.
"Next time you'd better let me do that," Luke said. "You're liable to break your leg. You wouldn't want me to have to set it for you."
Hans blanched.
Valeria knew Hans wasn't a man of physical strength or courage, but his loyalty was unquestionable. "At least he's a man of honor," she said to Luke.
"I yield to no one in my admiration for Hans," Luke replied.
Valeria didn't know what to make of that. As far as she could tell, Luke didn't respect or value anyone. "Please help Elvira down," she said to Hans. "She's suffering more than I am."
"Then I'd better get you both in the shade as soon as possible," Luke said.
Cactus unlike anything she'd seen until now and grass thicker than she'd seen since her train rolled out of San Antonio filled the space separating them from the shade. She couldn't possibly drag her skirts through all of that.
"What are you waiting for?" Luke asked.
"I can't wade through all of that," she said, gesturing at the uneven ground and thorny vegetation.
"Unless you come down off your high horse, you won't be able to leave that ranch house until they carry you out in a coffin," Luke grumbled. Then, without warning, he swept her up in his arms and started toward the trees.
"Put me down!" Valeria cried.
He put her down right between a towering cactus with several upstretched arms and a big bush covered in tiny, greenish-gray leaves and an unbelievable number of thorns.
"I didn't mean here," she said.
"You said to put you down. I did."
"You shouldn't have picked me up."
"I thought you wanted to reach the shade." "I do, but-"
He swept her up and headed off again. "You've got to learn to say what you want the first time. Not everybody is going to stand around while you dither."
"I suppose you mean yourself."
"You're paying me to stand around."
"I hadn't noticed you standing anywhere for more than a few seconds. Do you always snatch up women before they can make up their minds?"
"No, just ex-princesses who don't like it. Most women out here can't wait to be snatched up. They can be the devil to get rid of."
There was so much in that group of sentences to take exception to, she didn't know where to start. She waited
too long and lost her advantage. They reached the trees, and he set her on her feet.
"If I were you, I'd unbutton that dress and try to cool off. You can wade in the water if you like, but drink first. It's not so good once you stir up the mud."
"I'm not going to drink that water," Valeria exclaimed.
"What water are you going to drink?"
Surely he couldn't expect her to drink from a river. The idea was revolting. "You must have a water barrel you filled before we left town."
"It's on one of the wagons."
She turned to look back across the tangle of thorns and rocks and saw Elvira being carried by Zeke. Elvira looked as white as he was black.
"Zeke won't harm her," Luke said. "But it would help if she didn't look so petrified."
"She's no more used to being picked up and carried by strange men than I am."
"But her fear is caused by prejudice. I saw how she looked at Hawk. He'll stay away from her, but Zeke will torment her. He was a slave. He hates all white women except Isabelle."
"Isabelle?"
"The woman who adopted us."
"All three of you?"
"There were ten of us."
"Poor woman."
"Nobody would cross Isabelle. She could be mighty tough when she wanted."
Valeria couldn't imagine a woman tough enough to handle these three men, even as boys. She watched, hardly daring to breathe, until Zeke set Elvira down.
"I'll be back for you in a little while," Zeke said, a big grin exposing white teeth.
Valeria thought Elvira would faint.
"I've got to check the wagons," Luke said.
Hans and Otto arrived as Luke left, Otto wiping his forehead with his handkerchief.
"I've never though I'd be thankful to sit in the woods," he said. He tottered over to a fallen tree and settled on the trunk. "You'd better sit while you can. We'll be back in that infernal oven soon enough."
But Valeria didn't want to sit. She made her way through the sparse undergrowth toward the water. She hated the West, but the creek beckoned to her. She knew it was supposed to be a river-Luke had said it was the San Pedro River-but the water didn't seem more than a few inches deep. If she hadn't seen a leaf float by, she wouldn't have been able to tell there was any current.
Maybe it was the profound stillness, but she didn't think she'd ever felt more at peace in her life. It was odd that such a feeling should settle over her in the heart of an alien and fiercely dangerous land. Even the birds seemed to have fallen quiet.
Moments later the mules crashed through the undergrowth about a hundred feet downstream, shattering the quiet. They waded into the water to drink.
"I told the men to water them downstream," Luke said.
Valeria nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice. "I appreciate that, but I don't want a drink."
He waded a short way into the river, squatted down, scooped up some water in his hands, and drank.
"It's good," he said, "the best you'll find until you reach the streams up on the Rim."
"Thank you, but I don't want any."
He scooped up more water and came toward her, water dripping from his hands.
"Here, taste it. You can't condemn what you don't know."
She backed away. "I don't want any."
"I thought you royal people were supposed to have courage and an adventurous spirit."
"We do, but-"
"You look like inept cowards to me. You get thrown out of your homes and have to run six thousand miles before you can stop. Then you're afraid to take a swallow of water. That's the definition of a rank coward if you ask me."
"I didn't run," Valeria snapped. "I was sent."
"Then what's your excuse for being afraid of everything around you?"
Talking to this man did no good. She either had to show him or save her breath. "I have the courage to do anything you do," she said.
She pulled his hands toward her and drank. She wouldn't have admitted it for the world, but it was the sweetest tasting water she'd swallowed in many a month.
She'd drunk most of the water before she realized her lips were touching the inside of Luke's palm. Then she became aware she was holding his hands. There was something intimate about her lips touching his skin. She hadn't intended it to happen-she'd been so angry, so goaded, she hadn't considered what she was doing-but what could be more intimate than holding a man's hands, her face lowered to drink the water caught in his palms?
She'd never had any discernable reaction to the casual touch of the many men who'd danced with her or held her hand. But Luke's touch, his presence, gave rise to a very strong feeling. She couldn't describe it exactly, but she did know it was an attraction. It would be hard for any woman not to be attracted to a man like him, but Valeria hadn't expected herself to feel this tug, this curiosity to know what it was like to touch him, to be near him, to be held in his arms. He was rude, rough, and completely lacking in any respect or consideration for her. His clothes showed signs of heavy wear and too much washing. But for everything about him that repelled her, something attracted her more strongly. And it was not just his provocative good looks.
She figured it must be the heat. Nothing else could cause her to feel so peculiar.
"Have another drink," Luke said. "We won't stop again until dark."
He withdrew his hands from her grasp and turned back to the river before she could reply. She felt abandoned. Stupid. No woman in her right mind could feel abandoned with the man practically within arms' reach. But it wasn't his physical nearness that affected her so strongly. He had brought her water. He had waded into the river, caught the water in his hands, and brought it to her. That might seem ordinary to other women, but it had never happened to her. Servants brought her food and water. No man of her rank had ever been concerned enough with her needs or wants to take care of them himself. Luke Attmore had, and he didn't even like her. These Americans were a strange breed.
"We're lucky the winter rains lasted longer than usual this year," Luke said as he returned, water dripping from his hands. "I didn't look forward to digging for water every night for the next hundred miles."
Valeria chose to drink rather than respond to Luke's statement. She felt like a peasant drinking from an ordinary man's hands, but she preferred it to water drunk from the finest teacup in her uncle's priceless collection. Which just went to show how desperate a person could be when thirsty. She preferred that explanation to the alternative.
That she was attracted to Luke Attmore.
She didn't want it to be true. She was a princess, he a hired gun. There was no common ground between them.
She finished drinking and looked up into a blinding smile.
"You've got water dripping from your chin," Luke said. "What would the secretary of royal etiquette say about that?"
Before she could look for a handkerchief, Luke touched her chin with his finger, brought it all the way up until it reached her lips. Shivers chased each other through her body until she felt her legs grow weak. When he put his finger to his lips and drank the drop of water, Valeria was certain her legs would go out from under her.
"Do you have a handkerchief?" he asked.
She couldn't answer, not even nod her head. "It's a good thing I do."
He dug his hand into pants she had been certain were too tight to allow access to his pocket. He withdrew a handkerchief and wiped the moisture from her chin. "We can't have a princess dripping water from her chin," he said. "What would the servants think?"
Anger flooded through her, and she slapped his hand away. He was making fun of her. "They wouldn't think anything," she snapped.