Heart of Thunder (7 page)

“Yes, thank you. I’m finished here.”

He put his hat on at that rakish angle and, picking up the lantern, took her arm. His hand on her elbow was warm. His shoulder was nearly touching hers, and the nearness of him was unnerving.

“
El hombre
Allston, what is he to you?” he asked abruptly. The bluntness of it stunned Samantha. She wasn’t really affronted, though. And, after all, hadn’t she questioned him as boldly in the coach? But she didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t want to tell him about her feelings for Adrien.

“He is my…escort, he and his sister. I went to school with Jeannette, and we became very close friends.”

Hank was too much aware of his desire at that moment to notice Samantha’s hesitation and the note of evasion in her voice. She had not answered him, not really, for a betrothed could also be an escort. A lover could be an escort. But he did not consider the fact. He could think only of how much he wanted this woman.

She was so close that he could smell her hair. It smelled of roses, and, if he leaned just a little closer, he could—

What was he thinking of? He had only just met her that day. She was a lady and would expect to be treated like one. Ah, if only she were not a lady, I would have her on the ground in two seconds, Hank thought devilishly.

Too soon, they were inside, and he had to let go of her arm. He could not even have that innocent touch anymore.

She walked away from him to get a plate of food, and Hank quickly followed her, then sat across from her at an empty table. The others had eaten. Jeannette
Allston was sleeping in a chair by the fire. Her brother and Mr. Patch were stretched out on benches, and the driver was in the front, seeing to the horses.

Hank was alone with Samantha Blackstone—yet not alone. He wanted to know about her. He wanted to know everything.
Por Dios!
What was the woman doing to him?

“I know why Señor Allston and his sister go to Elizabethtown,” Hank remarked as they ate. “But why do you go there?”

Samantha kept her eyes on her food, afraid that if she looked at him again, she wouldn’t look away. “I’m just going along, you might say. For their company. I don’t like to travel alone.”

“Will you stay in that gold town?”

“Not for long. And you?” she asked slowly.

“I have business farther south.”

He became aware of her evasive manner. Either she wasn’t used to talking very much or she did not want him to know where she was going. But he wanted to know.

“Where will you go when you leave the Allstons?” he asked directly.

“To Santa Fe. My father is sending some of his
vaqueros
to meet me there.”

“
Vaqueros?
” he asked in surprise.

She looked up at him then and grinned impishly. “Yes. My home is in Mexico,
señor
. Did you really think I was from the East?”

“Yes, I did.” He grinned back at her.

“Well, now you know better.”

“We have that in common, then. Yet you are certainly not Mexican.”

“No, I am American and English.”

“I have a sister in England.”

Her brows rose, and she laughed. “And I have a brother there. Another thing in common, eh?”

She was relaxing, and they talked of incidental mat
ters. Now that she was over her nervousness in being near him, she found she liked Hank Chavez, liked him very much. She felt at ease with him. With Adrien, she had to be forever on guard, forever checking her temper, always behaving in a ladylike manner. With Hank she felt comfortable. He made her laugh. He was charming and witty, yet a gentleman at all times.

Why couldn’t Adrien be that way? Why couldn’t he sit there and talk to her, show such an interest in her? He hadn’t even told her good night or made sure she was all right before he went to sleep. Adrien didn’t
care
, that was the plain truth. But she cared about Adrien. That was the problem. She would have to do something to jolt him into caring.

And then it hit her again, the idea she had had earlier. She would make Adrien jealous. She had just the man for it—Hank Chavez. But did she dare use him in that way? He had shown an interest in her. She needed only to cultivate that interest.

The girls at school had taught her the techniques of flirtation, though she had yet to actually flirt with a man—Adrien had never given her the chance. She could practice on Hank. Only a
little
, however. She didn’t want to encourage him, just hold his interest…just show Adrien.

She was excited. It would work! It had to.

“Your eyes are sparkling,” Hank remarked softly, his gaze admiring.

She gave him a weak smile. “Are they? Oh dear, I’m so tired.” She pretended a yawn. “I don’t know how I’ll sleep on these benches. I would be too afraid of falling off to get any sleep.”

“I have a bedroll on top of the coach,” he offered. “Would you allow me to get it for you?”

“Would you? Oh, that would be so nice. I was considering sleeping in the coach.”

His eyes twinkled. “I could keep you company there.”

“No, no! The bedroll will do nicely,” she said hastily, a blush rising.

Was he a gentleman or not? She wondered, uneasy then. He had better be. She wouldn’t be able to do what she was planning if he wasn’t. A gentleman would have to concede gracefully to the better man. That was the way it
had
to end. She would make Adrien love her, and Hank Chavez would go on his way. That was what would happen.

He returned with the bedroll and gallantly kissed her hand, bidding her
buenas noches
. Then he moved off to a bench far away from her, and she relaxed once more. Yes, he was a gentleman. When her plan reached its conclusion, there would be no hard feelings. She was sure of it.

Chapter 7

F
OR three days Samantha and Hank carried on the only conversation in the coach. Mr. Patch joined in occasionally, but Jeannette felt excluded unless they were talking of the East. And they did for a while, when Samantha told Hank about her experiences there.

They talked of many things. Samantha didn’t let Hank know who her father really was, or where she lived. She deftly avoided the particulars, and he didn’t press her.

They spoke of England, and he told her of Spain, and of France, where he had gone to school. At that point, Adrien joined the conversation.

It was working! Adrien frequently looked at her oddly, and she sometimes caught him glancing at Hank with almost a smoldering look. And Hank Chavez did not lose interest in her. He was solicitous, helping her in and out of the coach at rest stops, bringing her meals. It was just what she had planned.

The coach pulled into Trinidad in the early evening of the eighth day. They had already traveled nearly two hundred miles and there were still another seventy-five to go.

Adrien and Jeannette elected to stay at the stage depot. They were conserving money in any way they could. Adrien had spent so much on his mining supplies. Samantha offered to buy them rooms for the night, but they refused, too proud for that. Samantha shook her head. She had known they would refuse. There had been a strain between her and Jeannette ever since the three
of them had talked about money. Jeannette was easily offended by the subject, and had become rigid about paying her way. Samantha was exasperated. Didn’t Adrien realize that, once he was married to her, he would be wealthy? Didn’t his sister’s comfort matter to the man? Jeannette was not used to scrimping—or to sleeping in stage depots.

Her father’s ranch was huge, thousands of acres in Mexico and thousands more across the border in Texas. He had more land than he could handle, but he did use a lot of it. Besides ranching, he grew crops in the fertile valley east of the West Sierra mountains, and his two copper mines were making him richer every year. If only Adrien knew all that. But she didn’t talk of her wealth, so it was possible that he didn’t know. All the Allstons knew was that her father was a rancher in Mexico. Perhaps they didn’t equate ranching with wealth. Adrien would be surprised when they married and she was finally free to tell him.

Hank walked Samantha to the hotel. “Will you dine with me this evening?” he asked before leaving her at the top of the stairs. When she nodded, he caught her hand and squeezed it, then let it go. “I will call for you in an hour.” He went to his room.

Samantha soaked for a long time in a too-small wooden tub, brooding on that intimate gesture. It was something she would have liked Adrien to see, but it had made her uncomfortable because she and Hank had been alone.

She hoped that Hank was only amusing himself with her. It wouldn’t do at all for him to become serious about her. She liked him, but she loved Adrien, and she was not so fickle that she could change her feelings easily—not even for such a handsome, gallant man. For more than two years she had dreamed of becoming Adrien’s wife, and marry him she would.

Hank was at her door precisely at six o’clock, as promised. He had bathed and shaved, and he was wear
ing a suit. The frock coat and trousers were black, but the striped satin waistcoat was in two shades of brown. The ruffled shirt was white. He looked magnificent. Could he have tucked the clothes in his saddle bags? Impossible. He had probably just bought them.

“You look
magnífica
,” Hank complimented as he took in her gray merino dress with the fitted jacket trimmed in black.

Samantha couldn’t help smiling. “I was just thinking the same about you.”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling, the dimples giving a boyish quality to his face. “Shall we go? There is a small restaurant a few doors down the street.”

“Do you mind if we walk awhile first?” Samantha ventured. “Perhaps see whatever there is to see of this town?”

“It is dark now,” he pointed out.

“We can stay in the main street.”

There was hardly any light, only a quarter-moon and an occasional dim glow from a window. They strolled slowly along the wooden walkway in front of the stores. Samantha just enjoyed the feeling of walking, the chance to stretch her legs.

Lord, how she hated traveling by stagecoach! Only three more days. Only? She was seriously considering sending a message to Santa Fe, asking her escort to come to Elizabethtown. She could be done with stages. The
vaqueros
would be on their way, for she had wired her father.

“What do your close friends call you, Samantha?” Hank spoke softly beside her.

She thought of Adrien and Jeannette and answered, “Samantha.”

“You are always called that?”

She looked at him sideways, amused. “Why? Don’t you like my name?”

“It does not suit you,” he said frankly. “You are more
like a Carmen, a Mercedes, a Lanetta. Samantha is so…Victorian.”

She shrugged. “My grandmother
was
Victorian, and she chose my name. Still, you’re right, it is rather formal.”

Then she grinned. “At home they call me Sam, or even Sammy.”

Hank chuckled. “Sam! No, you are certainly no Sam. Sammy is not so bad, though I could still think of better names for one so lovely. Do you mind if I call you Sammy?”

“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “It’s a bit…”

“Familiar?” He shook his head. “You do not consider me your friend, then?”

“Of course I do,” she quickly reassured him. “Oh, I suppose it will be all right. It will just sound funny coming from you. I’m called that only at home, and I’ve only known you for a few days.”

“But you have agreed we are
amigos
.”

“Yes, we are friends. And here I am taking advantage of our friendship.” She had noticed that his limp was getting worse. “Here I am making you walk with me, when your ankle isn’t healed yet.”

He took her arm and steered her back toward the restaurant. “I assure you, it is my pleasure to walk with you…Sammy.”

She grinned impishly. “Even when you are in pain?”

“I do not feel pain when I am with you,” he answered smoothly.

“How gallant! But you really should tell that to your ankle,” she teased.

They reached the restaurant, and his hand slipped from her arm to her waist as he escorted her to a table. As she felt those strong fingers clasping her side, something happened to Samantha. She grew warm all over, and was sure she was blushing seriously. Yet she was not embarrassed.

They ate a quiet meal. It was hard to pretend indif
ference toward Hank, as she had meant to do. He was just too attractive, and she enjoyed his company very much. She found herself glancing at him often during the meal, only to find him glancing at her. He was probably used to having an effect on women, and it thrilled her to have the same effect on such a handsome man.

They walked back to the hotel slowly, reluctant to part company just yet. But it was late, and the stage would be leaving early the next morning.

Hank took her to her room, and Samantha waited in breathless anticipation. Would he try to kiss her?

She didn’t expect him to be so forceful. When she turned to bid him good night, his right arm gripped her waist, drawing her to him. His left hand went to the back of her head and held it so firmly that she couldn’t turn away. She didn’t want to. He was going to kiss her, and she wanted him to kiss her. Just one kiss wouldn’t hurt. She would be sure it was only one.

The force of his lips on hers was shattering, and for a moment she thought she would faint. She felt his body pressing hard against hers, setting her afire. She was no longer herself but a puppet in his arms.

When he let her go, she was plunged into disappointment. She was suddenly cold. But then, as he said good night, the look in his eyes warmed her again.

She entered her room in a daze, leaving her clothes wherever they fell, and crawled into bed, his kiss still burning her lips, her body still trembling.

Chapter 8

T
HE next morning, Adrien intruded into her thoughts, and she felt guilty. Once she had walked up those stairs with Hank, Adrien had ceased to exist. It was as if she had betrayed him, not by the kiss, but by forgetting about him so completely.