Rainbows and Rapture by Rebecca Paisley Page B

motion he made sent that sensual tingle spreading all through her. “Well, muskrats, marigolds, and marinade,” she said to Nehemiah, who was curled up in the soft nest her hair made in her lap, “I ain’t never heared o’ gittin’ all hot and bothered jist by watchin’ a man ride a horse. Next thing y’know, he’ll do somethin’ like scratch his elbow, and I’ll catch on fire! Lordy me, what is it about the varmint that gits to me the way it does? Him and my Prince Charmin’ are about as different as cinders and satin. Still, there’s somethin’ about him…”
    Nibbling at her lip, she cocked her head, her gaze still resting on Santiago. “Jist who the hell could he be, Dilly? Behind that famous name, behind them hard eyes and that varminty temper… behind the legend, who is that man? One minute nice, the next minute mad. One minute hatin’ me, the next minute worryin’ about me, and now actin’ like I ain’t even alive. I’ll be damned if I can figger.”
    She fell into deep thought, but could come up with no logical answer that explained the mystery of Santiago Zamora. “’Course, I ain’t been tryin’ real hard to git to know the man, Rooney,” she realized aloud. “I been lettin’ him ignore the hell outta me on account o’ he don’t never answer nothin’ I say.”
    “Well, I ain’t gonna let him do it no more,” she vowed, nodding. “There ain’t no tellin’ when we’ll find ole Wirt, and if that varmint up there thinks I’m puttin’ up with this damn silent treatment fer weeks to come, he’s dumber’n a barrel o’ hair. I’m gonna make him talk to me, because y’know? I think he’s jist as lonely as me. Yeah, what him and me need to do is make us a fresh start.”
    She urged Little Jack Horner to a faster walk, thankful that Quetzalcoatl was walking so slowly. “Afternoon, varmint—I mean stranger ,” she called up to Santiago. “Things’ve been plumb nelly quiet in my life fer the past days. Why don’t you and me talk fer a while?”
    Santiago adjusted his black hat low over his eyes. She hadn’t said much to him in the past several days, and that had made it easier to ignore her. Now it appeared that she’d decided to end the silence. Ha! He was intent on hating her, hate her he would, and she would not get a response out of him no matter what she said.
    His blank expression made Russia even more determined to make him respond to her. “Name’s Russia Valentine, stranger. That ain’t my real name, though. I got a real name that I keep a secret. I maked up Russia Valentine when this feller called Wirt Avery started follerin’ me.”
    Though Santiago kept his gaze centered on the town ahead, giving Russia no sign that he was listening, he heard every word and wondered what her real name was. Not that he really cared, he told himself.
    Russia gathered up some more persistence, deciding to maintain a lighthearted attitude with the stone-faced, stiff-lipped varmint. “I picked the name Russia on account o’ I always wanted to go to Russia. Did y’know that if you go there, you can see the Black Sea? Somebody tole me about that sea, but I jist cain’t make myself believe it’s really black. Them Russians mighta maked it up jist so’s ever’body else in the world would think they got somethin’ the rest of us ain’t.”
    Santiago rolled his eyes heavenward.
    “Before I decided to be ‘Russia,’ I was gonna be ‘Italy,’” she went on, smiling when Nehemiah began to give her hand a bath. “Italy Valentine. Wanted to go to Italy, too, see, on account o’ I heared that country’s shaped like a boot. Ain’t that funny, a country bein’ shaped like a boot? But ‘Italy’ sounds too much like ‘idiot,’ and I didn’t want folks callin’ me Idiot Valentine. And to tell you the honester’n God truth, I don’t know why I picked ‘Valentine.’ Musta had me a good reason, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what it was.”
    She wished he would