Heart of Thunder (11 page)

“
Mon Dieu!
What has happened to your mouth—and your neck?” Jeannette gasped after Samantha slid off her horse and stomped over to her.

“What are you talking about?” Samantha stopped in her tracks.

“Blood is smeared from your mouth to your neck! And…” She walked around Samantha. “There is blood on the back of your neck and in your hair. What has
happened?
”

“It is not my blood, so it doesn’t matter!” Samantha snapped, and she went to find the canteen of water that was always by Adrien’s tent.

Jeannette followed, her face tight with concern as she watched Samantha wipe viciously at the blood on her face. “It is his blood, then?”

They both knew who she meant. “Yes!”

“What did you do to him?”

Samantha’s head snapped around, and she stared fiercely at the petite blonde. “What did
I
do?” Her tone was contemptuously cutting. “You haven’t asked what
he
did! All I want to know is how you could leave me alone with that bastard.”

“Samantha!”

“Samantha nothing!” she stormed. “You knew how improper it would be to let me ride back alone with him. Yet you insisted on staying here. You insisted Adrien was sick. He better damn well be sick, Jeannette,” she warned darkly. “Where is he?”

“Not far,” Jeannette replied, alarmed. “He went up the creek a little way.”

“Adrien!” Samantha shouted toward the creek. “Adrien! Get down here!”

“Samantha, please. Tell me what happened.”

Samantha turned on her friend, her eyes narrow. “I’m beginning to wonder if you didn’t contrive the whole thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“
You
were the one who invited Hank along today, and I know you don’t even like him. And then you managed to leave me alone with him. Did you do it on purpose? Were you hoping he could make me forget about your brother?”

Jeannette paled and was about to stammer out an
answer when Adrien appeared. “What is all the shouting? Samantha, why have you come back here?”

“To see you, Adrien.” She managed a calm answer.

She found she was looking at him in a new light, Hank’s accusation taunting her.

“What did you want to see me about?” Adrien asked cautiously, her mood warning him to keep his distance.

“You seem wary of me, Adrien,” she said in a deceptively soft voice. “Why do I make you nervous?”

“You don’t,” he denied, even as he backed farther away. “What has got into you, Samantha?” he demanded.

“Nothing that a little honesty wouldn’t help,” she replied with calm purpose as she caught his hand, drawing him close to her. “Kiss me, Adrien.”

He jumped back, snatching his hand away. “What is the matter with you?” he gasped.

“Nothing,” she said evenly, “but if you don’t kiss me this minute, Adrien, I’m going to think there’s something wrong with you.”

He was looking at Jeannette helplessly, when suddenly Samantha grabbed his head and pulled his face down to hers. She had to do the kissing herself. It was a disaster. Adrien was repulsed. He kept his hands at his sides. His lips were stone cold. There was absolutely no feeling in him.

Samantha let go of him slowly, and he stood back, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. She was not shocked. She wasn’t thinking about him. All she could think of was the time she had wasted loving and wanting him.

“You bastard!” she raged.

“Samantha—” Jeannette began, and Samantha turned on her.

“You Judas! If you had just told me the truth! I told you last night that I loved him, and you had probably guessed before. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“
Chérie
, this is not…something we can admit to,” Jeannette said helplessly.

“You could have told
me!
You knew how I felt.” Tears sprang to Samantha’s eyes, and she couldn’t stop them. “I would have been hurt, but at least I would still have my virtue. And now I don’t—because you had to lie to me and play matchmaker instead. You served me up on a platter to that devil, Jeannette.”

“Samantha, I am so sorry,” Jeannette said sincerely. “I could not know that Hank Chavez would take advantage of you. You must believe that.”

“It’s too damn late for either of us to be sorry.”

“What is this about Hank?” Adrien finally spoke up. “What have you done to him?”

Samantha started to laugh hysterically. “Oh, God, it’s just like you to think I’m the villain.”

Adrien pivoted around and stalked away, and at that moment Samantha didn’t know which of the two men she hated more.

“Samantha—” Jeannette tried again.

“No!” Samantha snapped, and headed for her horse, throwing back at her friend, “There’s nothing you can say that will help now, Jeannette. I’m returning to town, and I sincerely hope I don’t see either you or your brother again before I leave here.”

Samantha rode off then, her anger and bitterness burning hotter than ever. When she reached town, she changed hotels, moving to the best Elizabethtown offered.

She spent the rest of the afternoon brooding. What could she do about Hank Chavez? She had quickly understood that she hated him more than she hated Adrien. She couldn’t let Hank get away with what he’d done, get away with seducing her and then mocking her. No matter how much she might have hurt him, he had had no right to hurt her so badly.

It was not the loss of her virginity that was eating at her, keeping her anger aflame. That had been his
revenge, simple and over with. Hank had felt she deserved it for having hurt him, and perhaps she could even forgive him for that. After all, she knew what hurt was. And though she wished it had not happened, she shamefully admitted that she had found pleasure in their union. Somehow, her body had responded.

But Hank’s parting taunts had truly shamed her. She could not stand his knowing what a fool she was. Hank knew that she would never have the man she loved.

Had loved
. Samantha felt only pity for Adrien now. She was disgusted with herself. That she could be so stupid! That she had belittled herself, always thinking that it was her fault if Adrien didn’t notice her.

All that ate at her. That was why she wanted so desperately to get even with Hank. Only she didn’t know how. She didn’t know the first thing about tracking a man. She could hire someone else to do it, but she didn’t even know how to find the sort of man who would hunt another down.

There was nothing she could do except hope that she would meet up with Hank again one day. And there was a way to make that a possibility—by posting a reward.
Wanted, alive
. And she did want him alive, so that she could see him horsewhipped for the despicable bastard he was.

In order to post a reward, she would have to have a reason. Robbery would be the easiest to explain. If the law ever caught up with him, they would hold him until she could identify him. Then she would have him released and take the law into her own hands. A few of her father’s
vaqueros
would help her.

She felt better just thinking about her revenge. She had a plan, something she could act on first thing in the morning, so she went to sleep easily…only to dream about Hank Chavez.

Chapter 12

F
OUR days later, Samantha and her six-man escort rode out of Elizabethtown in a cloud of dust. She was quite a dramatic sight, a wide-brimmed brown hat perched daringly atop her tightly wound red hair. In a brown leather skirt split down the middle and a matching vest over her white silk shirt she made a stunning picture. She looked just like a female cowboy, right down to her spurred boots and the gun holster clinging to her thigh. Her skirt had been made in order to accommodate it, and to make riding astride easy.

She had thanked Manuel profusely for bringing her riding outfit along with him, and she was just as pleased with the horse he had brought her. A frisky black stallion, El Cid had been just a colt when she left home three years before. Now he was powerful and sleek, and she would learn to love him as she had loved Princesa, her spirited white mustang who had died just before she left for the East.

That first week, Samantha insisted on putting as much distance as possible between her and what she thought of as the place of her shame. But soon Manuel did some insisting of his own and slowed their pace, explaining that he would not bring home
el patrón
’s
niña
exhausted and bottom-sore from hard riding.

They rode only about twenty miles a day after that first week, a pace the horses could keep to easily. They stopped in every town, and Samantha checked each to see if her wanted posters on Hank had been put up. They usually had.

She became jumpy and irritable around strangers. Every time she saw a tall, black-haired man in dark clothing, her pulse raced and her hand moved to her gun. The frequent reminders of Hank didn’t help her to forget him. And she had meant to forget him. It wasn’t fair! He was supposed to be haunted by her, not the other way around.

The day they crossed the border into Mexico was a day of rejoicing, though they still had a week of riding before reaching Kingsley land. But the days did not seem so long anymore. They were riding on familiar terrain—the flat plains, the rolling hills—and always there were the beautiful Sierra mountains in the distance.

How she loved that mountain range. It was framed outside her bedroom window at home and was the first thing she saw every morning. Seeing it each day now made her feel as if she were home already, and just out riding the range with the
vaqueros
as she used to do. They had often spent nights out on the range, and went off on her own for whole days, exploring caves and gullies and finding narrow mountain paths traveled for centuries by the Indians, magnificent hidden valleys, old village ruins. It had been a fascinating life.

Samantha sighed. She wasn’t so young anymore, and she no longer felt quite so adventurous. She had grown up a lot in her three years away from home. And, she thought ruefully, she had done most of her growing up in the last month.

They arrived at the ranch in the middle of the afternoon, halfway through the second week in April. It was a sunny, warm day. The sprawling one-storied house of stuccoed adobe and stone welcomed Samantha, but her father, standing by the front door impatiently waiting for her to dismount, made her heart leap with joy.
She ran to Hamilton Kingsley, throwing herself into his arms.

For several moments, she couldn’t let go of him. Here was safety. No one could hurt her when these arms were around her. This man spoiled her, pampered her, loved her. Oh, it was wonderful to be home!

At last she leaned back to get a good, long look at him. He looked the same, and she found herself terribly pleased by that. Her father was still the broad-shouldered, robust man she had fought so hard at first, yet had come to love so well.

He laughed, but his eyes were filled with tears. “Well, daughter, do I pass inspection?”

She laughed, too. “You haven’t changed.”

“But you certainly have. You’re no longer my little girl. I never should have sent you to school. Damn, but it’s been too long, much too long to have you away. I’ve missed you,
niña
.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” Samantha knew she was going to cry. “I’m sorry I stayed away longer than I really had to. I regret not coming home sooner. I regret it more than you could ever know.”

“Here now,” he said gruffly. “Let’s not have tears in those pretty eyes. Come inside.” He led her inside to the enclosed patio at the center of the house. “Maria! Our little girl’s home!” he bellowed. “Come see how she has grown!”

The kitchen, off the patio, which was planted with flowering shrubs and vines, was where Maria could usually be found. The plump Mexican woman came running from that direction, and Samantha met her halfway, under the large arched hallway entrance. Maria had changed just a little. There was a little more gray in her coal-black hair. But when she folded Samantha in her pudgy arms, she felt just as soft and cushiony as she always had.

“Look at you. Look!” Maria scolded. “You have grown too much,
muchacha
. You come home a woman.”

“Prettier?” Samantha grinned, teasing.

“Ah, now I know you have not changed at all. You still try to tease compliments from me, eh?”

“And you still won’t give them.”

“Not so!” Maria gasped with indignation. “How this girl lies. Is this what they teach you in that fine school?”

Samantha suppressed a grin, as did her father. “Now, now, Maria, you know she’s only teasing you,” he said.

“She knows, father,” Samantha added. “She just has to make a big to-do about it.”

“
Ay!
I will not listen to insolence from one so young,” Maria said with mock severity.

“So young? And here I thought you said I had come home a woman. Make up your mind, Maria.”

Maria threw her plump arms into the air, conceding in frustration. “I am too old for your antics,
mi niña
. Leave an old woman alone.”

“I will do so only if you promise to make
arroz con pollo
for dinner,” Samantha replied, her eyes twinkling merrily.

Maria looked at Hamilton sharply. “Did I not tell you she would ask for
el pollo?
It is her homecoming, and I cannot even give her her favorite dish—because of that devil,” she spat in very real disgust.

“Maria!” Hamilton said in a warning voice.

“What is this?” Samantha asked, frowning. This exchange was unusual. “Aren’t there any chickens?”

Maria ignored Hamilton’s warning look and answered angrily, “Not a one,
niña
.” She clicked her fingers. “Like that, they are gone.”

“Disappeared? You’re saying they just vanished?”

Maria shook her head. “Your
papacito
, he gives me dirty looks,” she said huffily. “I am saying no more.”

Samantha watched her walk back toward the kitchen and then turned to her father. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing, Sammy,” Hamilton said smoothly. “You know how dramatic Maria is.”