Until the Day Breaks (California Rising Book 1) by Paula Scott Page B
Authors: Paula Scott
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idea. He’d not once winced or acted in any pain today. She stared at the wounds on his back with wide, shocked eyes. He’d been terribly beaten. The sight of his injuries appalled her. Had his uncle done that to him on account of her?
Trembling all over, she tucked the bottom of her shirt back into her pants as she turned away from the only half-naked man she’d ever seen and walked out of the undergrowth growing in abundance along the creek.
Their horses were tied together with a long rope in the open field. The buckskin mare Rachel rode would have bolted away when she approached, but Roman’s palomino stallion refused to run, holding the other horse in check.
A whistle from the trees caused the palomino to trot away from her, dragging her horse to where Roman walked into the clearing. His shirt was back on, his jet-black hair wet and slicked away from his unsmiling face. He untied the horses, rolled up the rope, and bridled both of them. After swinging up on Oro, he rode over to her, leading her mount. His shirt clung to his wet skin outlining muscles Rachel now intimately knew the strength of, even injured, he was unbelievably strong, both physically and in will and constitution. She couldn’t believe how unaffected he was by all those bruises on his body.
“Do not try to return to your father without an escort. The way would be too dangerous for you,” he told her flatly.
She could see he’d misunderstood her approaching the horses while he was at the creek. “I only wanted my Bible.”
He got off Oro and took her by the elbow. “I will return your Bible tonight when we reach my hacienda.” He led her to the buckskin and lifted her without fanfare into the saddle. His eyes revealed not an ounce of emotion, good or bad.
When he turned away to mount his own horse, Rachel saw blood seeping through his wet shirt.
“Your back is bleeding.” She gathered the reins in both hands, keeping a firm bit on the mustang and her feelings.
He settled into his saddle. “It is nothing.”
“I didn’t know you were hurt so badly.”
“Would you have surrendered to me on account of my wounds?” His gaze bore into hers.
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He nudged his horse ahead, leaving her to follow.
Her horse naturally fell in behind his. For the following hours, they rode in silence as she watched the blood dry on his shirt. During that time, she prayed for him. He was like two different men. One protective, caring, and tender, the other driven by demons.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A flock of chickens scratching in the dirt near the porch greeted Roman and Rachel when they arrived at the hacienda late that afternoon. Antonio came and took their horses away after Roman removed their possessions from the saddlebags. The two-story adobe with its red tile roof stood amid a grove of towering oak trees. Blooming magnolia trees thrived around the house. An olive grove flanked the home on one side, and a vineyard spread out along the opposite end of the sweeping residence. Roses of Castile and jasmine climbed the whitewashed walls. The creek they’d been following for hours flowed behind the estate, farther down the hill from the impressive dwelling.
“Most of the house servants are with my family at your father’s rancho. When they return, you will see this place is not so quiet.” Roman released Rachel’s elbow inside the front door and allowed her to look around.
The furniture, though sparse, had been shipped around Cape Horn from Spain. Religious paintings adorned every room. Rachel walked up to each painting reverently, taking her time regarding the biblical images beautifully painted by some talented artist.
“My mother brought the paintings with her from Spain. She cherished them.” Roman stepped to Rachel’s side, where she studied a scene of the Madonna and baby Jesus on a donkey being led by Joseph. The painting bore a title, but the words were in Spanish.
“What does this say?
“Out of
Trembling all over, she tucked the bottom of her shirt back into her pants as she turned away from the only half-naked man she’d ever seen and walked out of the undergrowth growing in abundance along the creek.
Their horses were tied together with a long rope in the open field. The buckskin mare Rachel rode would have bolted away when she approached, but Roman’s palomino stallion refused to run, holding the other horse in check.
A whistle from the trees caused the palomino to trot away from her, dragging her horse to where Roman walked into the clearing. His shirt was back on, his jet-black hair wet and slicked away from his unsmiling face. He untied the horses, rolled up the rope, and bridled both of them. After swinging up on Oro, he rode over to her, leading her mount. His shirt clung to his wet skin outlining muscles Rachel now intimately knew the strength of, even injured, he was unbelievably strong, both physically and in will and constitution. She couldn’t believe how unaffected he was by all those bruises on his body.
“Do not try to return to your father without an escort. The way would be too dangerous for you,” he told her flatly.
She could see he’d misunderstood her approaching the horses while he was at the creek. “I only wanted my Bible.”
He got off Oro and took her by the elbow. “I will return your Bible tonight when we reach my hacienda.” He led her to the buckskin and lifted her without fanfare into the saddle. His eyes revealed not an ounce of emotion, good or bad.
When he turned away to mount his own horse, Rachel saw blood seeping through his wet shirt.
“Your back is bleeding.” She gathered the reins in both hands, keeping a firm bit on the mustang and her feelings.
He settled into his saddle. “It is nothing.”
“I didn’t know you were hurt so badly.”
“Would you have surrendered to me on account of my wounds?” His gaze bore into hers.
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He nudged his horse ahead, leaving her to follow.
Her horse naturally fell in behind his. For the following hours, they rode in silence as she watched the blood dry on his shirt. During that time, she prayed for him. He was like two different men. One protective, caring, and tender, the other driven by demons.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A flock of chickens scratching in the dirt near the porch greeted Roman and Rachel when they arrived at the hacienda late that afternoon. Antonio came and took their horses away after Roman removed their possessions from the saddlebags. The two-story adobe with its red tile roof stood amid a grove of towering oak trees. Blooming magnolia trees thrived around the house. An olive grove flanked the home on one side, and a vineyard spread out along the opposite end of the sweeping residence. Roses of Castile and jasmine climbed the whitewashed walls. The creek they’d been following for hours flowed behind the estate, farther down the hill from the impressive dwelling.
“Most of the house servants are with my family at your father’s rancho. When they return, you will see this place is not so quiet.” Roman released Rachel’s elbow inside the front door and allowed her to look around.
The furniture, though sparse, had been shipped around Cape Horn from Spain. Religious paintings adorned every room. Rachel walked up to each painting reverently, taking her time regarding the biblical images beautifully painted by some talented artist.
“My mother brought the paintings with her from Spain. She cherished them.” Roman stepped to Rachel’s side, where she studied a scene of the Madonna and baby Jesus on a donkey being led by Joseph. The painting bore a title, but the words were in Spanish.
“What does this say?
“Out of
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