side, he assisted her into the dress, making sure the poultice stayed where it was supposed to. “I don’t give a damn how bad the bites sting you,” he flared as he jerked her around and began buttoning the back of her frock. “But like I already told you, I’m sure as hell not going to be slowed down while you stop to dig at yourself.”
He finished fastening the dress, gritting his teeth when he found himself giving a final pat to the last button. Dammit to hell, he was acting like her lady’s maid! “Get that damn ox hitched.”
“Thought you said you wasn’t gonna talk to me,” she commented snippily before strolling toward Little Jack Horner.
Her smug statement and leisurely gait further angered Santiago. “Hurry up!”
She stopped. “But if I walk fast, I’ll wipe off all the medicine.”
Mother of God, how she angered him! “Madre de Dios, como me enojas!”
The deep scowl, on his face told her he’d said something mean to her. He’d probably insulted her. Well, she’d just insult him right back! “Yeah? Well, you’re dumb. So dumb you’d pro’bly water your garden with whiskey to git stewed tomaters! If ignorance is really bliss, you oughta be the happiest feller in the whole damn world!”
“You—”
“Shut-up-o!” she yelled in her Spanish. “I ain’t-o takin’ no more lip-o off you-o! What-o do you think-o about that-o, Senior Zamora-rio?”
He couldn’t find the energy or the patience to inform her how ridiculous her attempt at Spanish was. Fuming, he stormed to the ox and performed the task of hitching the beast to the rig before gathering all of Russia’s belongings and throwing them into the bed of the cart. That accomplished, he stalked back to Russia. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the wagon and placed her in the seat. “You get out of this cart one single time today without my permission, and I’ll—”
A loud meow cut him off. His anger mounted when he looked down and saw Nehemiah and the piece of dried horse manure the cat had dropped on his boot.
The look of pure adoration in the cat’s eyes soothed Russia’s distress and made her smile. “Well, look what Maffy-Lou brung you this time, Zamora,” she cooed.
“Pinche gato,” Santiago swore vehemently as he went to collect his equipment and ready Quetzalcoatl. “Hijo de la pinche…”
Listening to his continuous muttering, Russia patted the empty space beside her and rubbed Nehemiah’s ears when he jumped onto the seat. “That’s Spanish Zamora’s talkin’, Prince Pooty, and I’m plumb nelly sure he’s goin’ on and on about what a good cat you are. I don’t reckon he’s ever got such a fine gift like the one you jist give him. He’s pro’bly gonna have it gilded in gold so’s it’ll last ferever. Ain’t that right-o, Zamora-rio?”
The thought of gilded horse manure was so obnoxious, it made Santiago even angrier. Still mumbling choice epithets, he mounted. Wishing he were anywhere else but where he was, he urged Quetzalcoatl into a full, ground-eating gallop.
Chapter Five
The small town of Rock Springs was within view when Russia began to wonder if Santiago would ever talk to her again. “Varmint,” she whispered.
Three days had passed since he’d sworn to ignore her, and true to his word, he’d barely glanced her way. While they traveled, he rode well ahead of her. At night, he made his bed on the opposite side of the fire, refusing to answer what little she said to him. The varmint had broken his promise not to feed her, though. She’d feasted on leatherlike jerkey, stale bread, and warm water.
“Varmint,” she whispered again.
Staring at his broad back and the charcoal hair that spilled over his wide shoulders, she rolled the reins between her fingers. Though he was quite a way ahead of her, she could see how tall and straight he sat in the saddle. His lower torso rocked back and forth to the rhythm of Quetzalcoatl’s smooth gait.
The slight
He finished fastening the dress, gritting his teeth when he found himself giving a final pat to the last button. Dammit to hell, he was acting like her lady’s maid! “Get that damn ox hitched.”
“Thought you said you wasn’t gonna talk to me,” she commented snippily before strolling toward Little Jack Horner.
Her smug statement and leisurely gait further angered Santiago. “Hurry up!”
She stopped. “But if I walk fast, I’ll wipe off all the medicine.”
Mother of God, how she angered him! “Madre de Dios, como me enojas!”
The deep scowl, on his face told her he’d said something mean to her. He’d probably insulted her. Well, she’d just insult him right back! “Yeah? Well, you’re dumb. So dumb you’d pro’bly water your garden with whiskey to git stewed tomaters! If ignorance is really bliss, you oughta be the happiest feller in the whole damn world!”
“You—”
“Shut-up-o!” she yelled in her Spanish. “I ain’t-o takin’ no more lip-o off you-o! What-o do you think-o about that-o, Senior Zamora-rio?”
He couldn’t find the energy or the patience to inform her how ridiculous her attempt at Spanish was. Fuming, he stormed to the ox and performed the task of hitching the beast to the rig before gathering all of Russia’s belongings and throwing them into the bed of the cart. That accomplished, he stalked back to Russia. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the wagon and placed her in the seat. “You get out of this cart one single time today without my permission, and I’ll—”
A loud meow cut him off. His anger mounted when he looked down and saw Nehemiah and the piece of dried horse manure the cat had dropped on his boot.
The look of pure adoration in the cat’s eyes soothed Russia’s distress and made her smile. “Well, look what Maffy-Lou brung you this time, Zamora,” she cooed.
“Pinche gato,” Santiago swore vehemently as he went to collect his equipment and ready Quetzalcoatl. “Hijo de la pinche…”
Listening to his continuous muttering, Russia patted the empty space beside her and rubbed Nehemiah’s ears when he jumped onto the seat. “That’s Spanish Zamora’s talkin’, Prince Pooty, and I’m plumb nelly sure he’s goin’ on and on about what a good cat you are. I don’t reckon he’s ever got such a fine gift like the one you jist give him. He’s pro’bly gonna have it gilded in gold so’s it’ll last ferever. Ain’t that right-o, Zamora-rio?”
The thought of gilded horse manure was so obnoxious, it made Santiago even angrier. Still mumbling choice epithets, he mounted. Wishing he were anywhere else but where he was, he urged Quetzalcoatl into a full, ground-eating gallop.
Chapter Five
The small town of Rock Springs was within view when Russia began to wonder if Santiago would ever talk to her again. “Varmint,” she whispered.
Three days had passed since he’d sworn to ignore her, and true to his word, he’d barely glanced her way. While they traveled, he rode well ahead of her. At night, he made his bed on the opposite side of the fire, refusing to answer what little she said to him. The varmint had broken his promise not to feed her, though. She’d feasted on leatherlike jerkey, stale bread, and warm water.
“Varmint,” she whispered again.
Staring at his broad back and the charcoal hair that spilled over his wide shoulders, she rolled the reins between her fingers. Though he was quite a way ahead of her, she could see how tall and straight he sat in the saddle. His lower torso rocked back and forth to the rhythm of Quetzalcoatl’s smooth gait.
The slight
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