Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance Read online

  “Are you ready, Mr. Farrell?” their hostess inquired, opening the door.

  “Of course. Get some rest, darling.” He smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips. “No dreams of mountain lions this afternoon. You’re in good hands here.”

  “I’ll try,” she admitted, feeling the rush of emotion that swept over her every time this man touched her. She shivered. What if she really were Mrs. Farrell? A real home, a ranch, children? She’d never considered any of those things.

  Clutching the pillow close to her, she thought about children, a baby. Could she truly be a mother? As the door closed and she heard footsteps moving down the hall, she felt tears well up in her eyes.

  Enough of that, Raven Alexander, she chastised herself. You promised the Grandfather that you’d find the treasure. You don’t have time to think like a woman.

  All she needed was food, sleep, and getting her ankle well. A few days might not make that much difference in what happened, but she had no way of knowing that. She’d already allowed too much time to come between her and her mission. Now she was a potential land buyer pretending to be a wife, when she ought to be climbing the sacred mountain.

  Raven stood in the middle of the room and cleared her churning mind. It had been too long since she’d felt the presence of the spirit world. She’d lost sight of her goal and allowed herself to become involved in a relationship that was becoming too personal. Tucker Farrell had been sent only to get her to Luce, not become her husband.

  But later, maybe after they’d found the treasure, a husband might be nice.

  The tub was made of shiny copper and filled with steaming hot water. Once Raven settled for a long, soothing soak, the servant girl named Rosalita, who’d filled the tub, continued to dip out the cooling water and replace it with more kettles of hot.

  Raven lay for as long as she dared, then came reluctantly to her feet and with help from Rosalita hobbled to a chair by the window, where a small table had been set up. After settling her charge in the chair and planting Raven’s injured ankle on a stool stacked with pillows, Rosalita poured liquid from a jar into her hand and began to massage the ankle. The medication had the scent of wintergreen and some other pungent herb Raven couldn’t identify. Soon Rosalita’s firm application of the medication brought a healthy blush and a tingle to the skin of Raven’s injured ankle.

  “Rosalita, tell me about the fiesta.”

  “It is to announce the engagement of the señora’s only daughter. Everyone will come.”

  “A wedding. A new beginning.” For a moment Raven thought of her grandfather. He had left this world to be reborn in the spiritual one. She knew that his people had seen to the burial customs, but she regretted not being there. And she knew that she would always miss him.

  “You are sad, señora?” Rosalita questioned.

  “Yes. But it will pass. I plan to enjoy the fiesta tonight. I suppose Señor Hildalgo and his wife are pleased to be gaining a son-in-law.”

  “He is a fine young man and this will be a glorious event.” Rosalita told her how everyone for miles would come. Neighbors, townspeople, and every man, woman, and child on the ranchero. “Señora Hildalgo is very generous,” she confided as she kneaded Raven’s ankle.

  “And the groom, what does he do?”

  “He is the son of the largest landowner in the area. They have been promised since childhood.”

  “When will they marry?”

  “The banns will be posted soon, and the wedding will take place in late summer.”

  “And do they love each other?”

  Rosalita looked at her in surprise. “Of course. Why would they not?”

  Raven didn’t answer. She’d have to think about that. Her own four sisters had never been promised to anyone. There had been no eligible men in the Front Mountains of Colorado where they’d lived, not until Sabrina had rescued the four Confederate soldiers captured by the army at Fort Collins and brought them home to work in her papa’s mine.

  They hadn’t known these men since childhood, but they quickly fell in love with each other. And there was Tucker. She hadn’t known him since childhood, but she’d always known that there was something, someone out there waiting for her. Now she knew that it was Tucker, her cougar.

  Finally Rosalita stood up, washed her hands in the tub, and removed the cloth from the table, revealing a plate of broiled chicken, cheese, and fruit.

  Washed down with cool milk, the food was quickly gone, and Raven’s attention was drawn to the courtyard outside the hacienda window. In the mountains the air was still cold; snow still lay in the crevices. But here the spring flowers were in full bloom. Tables were set up around a tinkling fountain, and servants were covering them with colorful cloths. Musicians were already tuning up on a raised platform at the end of the patio.

  Fiesta, the banker had said. She hadn’t thought too much about it then, so anxious was she to convince him to advance funds against their nuggets. Everybody in the territory would be here. Now Raven wondered how wise they’d been to take part. Surely Tucker would see the potential problems. They’d better discuss the possibilities.

  Just then she saw a half-familiar male figure cut through the courtyard and disappear beneath the balcony. Who was the man? She’d seen him before, but she couldn’t remember when.

  Moments later she heard footsteps in the corridor and finally sounds inside the maid’s room Señora Hildalgo had offered to Tucker.

  Raven badly wanted to speak with him, but she couldn’t be certain when Rosalita would return for the tray. She’d better wait until she had a better sense of what was happening.

  A soft knock and the opening door admitted Rosalie. As she cleared away the tray she inclined her head toward the huge bed and smiled.

  “Yes,” Raven eagerly agreed, “that is a good idea. A nap. I’ll take a nap before the fiesta.”

  Rosalita immediately put down the tray and turned to assist Raven to the bed. Gently testing the ankle, Raven was pleased that it was much better; she could even walk on it. The hot water and medicinal rub had been very effective.

  Raven leaned back and stretched. She was used to sleeping on the ground, but a soft bed was nice too. Moments later Rosalita left the room, closing the door gently behind her. At almost that same moment, Tucker walked in from the other room.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, pleased to see that her color was quite good and the welcome in her eyes was undisguised.

  “The ankle is almost well. I’m glad you came. I needed to talk to you. Do you think that Señora Hildalgo believes that we are married?”

  “Of course. Why shouldn’t she?” Tucker took one look at Raven’s hair curling damply against her face and at the delicate sleeping gown she was wearing and wished he’d waited until later to see her.

  The bed in which Raven lay had a brightly embroidered canopy and gauzy hangings that were tied to the posts. His gaze wandered to the tub, still filled with soapy bathwater. On the floor was a colorful woven rug, and flowers graced the table by the window. Raven was such a contrast, sleeping beneath the stars one night and occupying a Spanish hacienda the next. She was magnificent on a horse, but she was just as appealing here.

  “Are you feeling better?” Tucker asked.

  “I’m stronger. By morning I should be able to travel.”

  “Good. We’ll ride out, let them think we’re looking at land and that we’ll return.”

  “Aren’t we taking a big risk attending a fiesta here? Suppose there is somebody who saw you in the cantina?”

  “One of the bandits?” he asked in surprise. “Why would they be guests here?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought I recognized a man I saw earlier.”

  “Who was he?” Tucker asked, puzzled at the revelation.

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t know. Rosalita said that everybody in the territory will be here. I only caught a glimpse of him. But I’m worried. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “Look,
Raven, I escaped a necktie party the last time I was here. I’m not a bit worried this trip. I’m a respectable married man now.”

  “Yes, you are,” she said shyly, holding out her hand. “You’ve never said, Tucker. Have you ever been married?”

  Tucker took her hand, allowing her to draw him down to the bed. “Not likely. I never stayed in one place long enough.”

  “Indians travel from place to place, moving their camp to find food and water, but they marry.”

  “But I’m not an Indian.”

  She gave him a long, searching look, then, as if satisfied at what she saw, she slipped her fingers inside his and brought his hand to her lips. “Does it matter that I am part Indian, Tucker?”

  When she kissed his knuckles, he blanched, unable to believe the intense wave of need that swept over him. “Don’t be foolish.” He drew his hand away.

  “Good.”

  “Now,” he continued, taking charge of the situation, “don’t worry about the party tonight. I think we deserve a night of fun before we look for the treasure again. We’ll eat too much and dance too—”

  Raven let out a wistful sigh. “I don’t think so, Tucker. I’ll attend the fiesta and I’ll watch you and all the eager young señoritas, but I doubt I’ll do much dancing.”

  “Then neither will I,” he said with firm resolve. “But you won’t be going if you don’t get some rest. The evening doesn’t begin until late, so I want you to take a nice long nap.”

  He stood up and turned purposefully toward the door, then retraced his steps. “Raven,” he whispered. Then he kissed her, lightly, tenderly, before he left the room.

  Once Tucker shut the door, Raven wanted to jump out of bed and go after him. Then, just as quickly, she wanted to cry. Tucker might be reassured, but everything about her usual calm demeanor was unsettled. To her surprise, being alone was just as bad as having him beside her. The ache of wanting him was like an annoying catch in her side that refused to go away.

  She didn’t expect to sleep, but she did. When she was finally awakened by a knock on the door, the afternoon sun was low in the sky.

  “Are you ready to dress, señora?” Rosalita entered the room with some brightly colored fabric draped over her arm. “The señora thought you might like to borrow a Spanish dress for the fiesta. This belongs to her daughter.”

  Raven fingered the red blouse that matched the bold designs of the skirt. A pair of matching sandals, a fringed shawl, and combs and ribbons for her hair completed the ensemble.

  “I don’t know. Are you certain that the other guests will be dressed like this?” She hoped her question didn’t give away her ignorance. She’d never worn such colorful garments.

  “Oh yes, señora. You will be beautiful.”

  Before Raven could change her mind, Rosalita had produced a ruffled petticoat and undergarments. With the young servant’s assistance, Raven donned the bright garments. The banker was right. She no longer looked like an Arapaho. She looked like a Spanish lady.

  “Let me arrange your hair,” Rosalita insisted, drawing up the front sections and anchoring them firmly with the Spanish comb. “Now, some color for your cheeks and lips, and a fan.”

  Raven looked at herself in the mirror and gasped. The face looking back at her was nothing like the Alexander sister who’d left Denver and even less familiar than the Indian girl who’d left the train for Santa Fe.

  With Rosalita to lean on, Raven started toward the door. At the head of the stairs, she caught sight of Tucker looking up at her, his face frozen in surprise.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “Uh—no. It’s just that you’re—you’re even more lovely than before, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

  If he thought she looked different, her transformation was nothing compared to the change in him. He was wearing a short black jacket, trousers with a red stripe down the side, and a matching red silk shirt. His hair, still damp from his bath, was drying in curls across his forehead and around his face. The blue of his eyes had heightened, catching the light of the candles in the corridor and reflecting them like stars.

  “You can walk?” he asked.

  “I can hobble,” she admitted, trying to conceal the pain of her weight against the bad ankle.

  “Not tonight.” He climbed the stairs, lifting her in his arms as easily as if he’d never been hurt.

  “Your ribs?” she whispered.

  “Didn’t bother you before, when you were tormenting me on the upward climb. Besides,” he countered and walked down the stairs, “they’ve missed you.”

  Outside, the sound of horns and guitars broke across the courtyard, followed by laughter, a clicking in rhythm with the music, and the clapping of hands.

  “Señora Farrell.” Mayor Hildalgo came forward to take her hand and plant a kiss across her knuckles. “You are truly a Spanish lady now. Come and watch our daughter and her fiancé dance for our guests.”

  Candles graced every surface of the courtyard, including the outer walls. Colorful paper animals hung from the trees, and blindfolded children with long sticks were poking at them.

  “Who are the children?”

  “They belong to our friends and the workers on the ranchero. Everybody is welcome at a fiesta.”

  Raven wanted to ask what they were doing, but held back for fear of revealing her deception. Fascinated with the picture of color and movement everywhere, she commented instead, “They look as if they are having a grand time.”

  “My wife makes certain that the animals contain many toys and candies. Once the children break through the paper shell and the candies fall to the ground, you’ll really see them scrambling.”

  From the back of the house, brightly dressed servants, led by Rosalita, brought great trays of food and drink to every table. Suddenly the music stopped and two dancers burst into the center of the courtyard. The woman was petite, very young, and beautiful in her ruffled yellow and red satin dress and Spanish combs. The man, also small in stature, was dark skinned and handsome. He was dressed like Tucker, except his clothing was solid black.

  The man and woman positioned themselves before Señor and Señora Hildalgo’s table, as if waiting for a signal to begin.

  “Good evening, Padre,” the young woman said, her eyes full of joy.

  “You will honor us with a dance, my querida?” he asked, pride bursting from his face.

  “Si, if you permit.”

  “Then dance, Evita.”

  Moments later the slow staccato music and the sultry movements of the dancers began. Teasing, rejecting, showing their desire with their bodies and their faces, the young couple moved their feet in time with the click of something the woman was holding between her fingers.

  As if they were enacting the mating game of two wild creatures, she tempted and tantalized the man until at last he caught her and jerked her to him. The tempo increased, pulling Raven along. She didn’t move. She didn’t have to. Her inner spirit embraced the feeling and the rhythm. At the height of the dance, she realized she was holding her breath. Letting it out in a long stream, she glanced at Tucker, who wasn’t even pretending to watch the dancers. His gaze melded to hers.

  He was such a glorious man, every inch of him male, every inch of him caught up in the mood of the occasion. He would never tease as the dancer was doing. He’d take what he wanted with the force of his desire and make the woman want it just as badly.

  Raven’s heart raced. Her blood pounded in her ears and suddenly it was happening again. Though there was a space between them, she could feel his touch. The music grew wilder. The other guests watching began to blur, and she could feel Tucker’s breath against her hair, the heat of his body hot against her.

  And she knew as she looked at him that he felt it too. His lips parted and he drew in a long heated breath. Then he smiled and she felt her heart lurch.

  “Not now, Spirit Woman,” he said, though he never moved his lips. “Our time will come, but not yet.”
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  And she felt the response of her body. The quick, hot pulsing of her blood seared under her skin and made her feel as if she were on fire.

  The music and the dancing made normal conversation impossible. Raven leaned closer to Tucker. “What is it called?” she asked, not so much to know the answer, but to hear his voice.

  “The fandango,” he answered, his mouth only inches from her ear.

  They were talking about the dance, but Raven knew that their thoughts were on each other. She wanted this man in a way that she’d never known. And he wanted her as well. Tonight she couldn’t think about the future. She could only think about being here, with Tucker.

  She shivered.

  He moved his chair closer to prevent others from hearing their conversation. “It’s the dance of courtship.”

  “And seduction,” she added in a breathless voice.

  Tucker’s eyes, now black as midnight, never blinked. “They’re the same, aren’t they?”

  “No. One is for the moment. The other is forever.”

  Then the frenzy of the music came to a climactic ending when the dancer dropped to his knee. His partner haughtily slapped him across his cheek with her fan and dramatically turned her back.

  “Not always,” Tucker said, his expression turning dark and dangerous. “Sometimes it leads to rejection.”

  12

  Tucker and Raven met the bride, who was polite and gracious but who only had eyes for the man she was to marry. Her fiancé was pleasant to Raven, but seemed particularly interested in Tucker, though he didn’t linger to talk. Tucker and Raven shared in the rich, spicy food and the wine, which flowed generously, signifying the banker’s prosperity and position.

  Raven knew she was out of her element here. She resented being diverted from her mission. She would have preferred to remain in her room, but it was impossible to watch the dancers and listen to the lively music without being drawn into the joy of the young couple. Their happiness set off an odd kind of longing in Raven.

  Now that she understood what they were feeling, it was even harder to ignore the smoldering excitement that arced between her and the handsome blond man who was so attentive to her needs. He towered over every other man there. Both his size and his coloring set him apart.