Touch the Wind by Janet Dailey Page B

obtuse when he waved a hand again toward the washbasin.
    “It’s too small,” she snapped and sat down in themiddle of the floor, pretending to splash water and wash. “I want to take a bath—in a big tub of water. Do you understand?”
    Laughter came from the door. “What are you doing?” Laredo asked with obvious amusement, his blue eyes silently laughing at Sheila.
    Her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. Stiffly, she scrambled to her feet, dusting the seat of her pants as she tried to regain some measure of dignity.
    “Would you explain to this Spanish-speaking imbecile that I want a bath?” she demanded coldly.
    “The plumbing around here is strictly the outdoor type,” replied Laredo, his mouth still twitching in silent laughter.
    “Surely there has to be something around here bigger than that stupid washbasin. Where do you bathe?” Sheila challenged. Then she added caustically, “Or don’t you?”
    An insertion in Spanish kept Laredo from answering her question as he responded instead to his boss. Their exchange was brief, musically fluid, and low.
    “My bath?” Sheila reminded Laredo when their conversation appeared to be finished.
    “Baño,”
came the low Spanish word.
    “That means ‘bath.’” Laredo supplied the translation.
    “At last my message has gotten through,” she sighed impatiently.
    “As I said before, the facilities around here are primitive,” Laredo continued, “but there is a spring we use for bathing.”
    “Am I allowed to use it?” she asked stiffly.
    Her answer came from the leader, who had identified himself as Ráfaga. A dresser drawer was opened and a folded cloth was removed. Ráfaga carried it to Sheila, a used bar of soap atop the coarse fabric of a towel.
    Warily, she took it from his hands, tensing under the aloof appraisal of his dark gaze. He motioned her toward the hall to indicate Sheila should lead the way while they followed.
    Outside the adobe house, a man lounged against a pole supporting a porch-like roof, a rifle in his hand, the muzzle pointed toward the ground. At Sheila’s appearance in the doorway, he straightened, the muzzle swinging toward her as he took a step to block her exit.
    When the other two men appeared behind her, he relaxed his alert stance slightly. He didn’t look familiar to Sheila. She was almost positive he hadn’t been a part of the band that had just ridden in moments ago. Ráfaga stepped ahead of Sheila, signaling her to wait while he spoke to the stranger.
    “Who is he?” Sheila watched the two curiously while Laredo waited with her. “What’s he doing here?”
    “He’s the guard. There’ll be someone outside the door as long as you are here.”
    “For whose protection?” she retorted. “Is Ráfaga afraid I’ll steal another knife and attack him?” She caught the flicker of surprise in the blue eyes upon her use of the bandit’s name. “He told me that was his name,” she explained coolly.
    “Ráfaga? Yes, that’s what he’s called.”
    “You seem surprised.” Her head tipped to the side in a challenge.
    “Only that you got the message across, considering the difficulty you had with ‘bath.’” Amusement glittered in his blue eyes again.
    “‘Me, Tarzan, you, Jane’ is much easier to act out.” Sheila shrugged, knowing it had been even simpler than that. “I don’t suppose that is his real name any more than Laredo is yours.”
    “No, it’s a name given to him by the men.”
    “What does it mean?” Sheila looked at Ráfaga. A panther perhaps, she thought, considering his animal grace and that feline aloofness with a touch of predatory ruthlessness thrown in.
    “I think it translates into”—Laredo frowned as he searched for the English equivalent—“a gust of wind or a flash of light.”
    The descriptive term suggested something fleeting,something that was elusive and volatile. Considering his occupation, it was probably appropriate, Sheila thought wryly, and she wondered if it was