Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose - By Tessa Berkley Page 0,5
the water, she groped for the cork. Still fumbling with the stopper, she rose and moved toward the path. As the incline increased, she heard the sounds of hoofbeats and voices raised in surprise. Mary Rose stopped. Her hand still fixed upon the mouth of the canteen, she listened. Another shout. This time there was no mistaking her brother’s cry of alarm. A tremor of terror ran through her. A frantic horse neighed, and the air was shattered by the blast from a gun.
“Daniel!” she cried out, rushing forward, dropping the canteen.
In her haste, her feet slipped on the clay. With a bone-jarring drop, she fell to her knees. Clawing at the ground, she scrambled to her feet and finished the climb. But as she burst into the open she ground to a halt. Heart pounding in terror, she gazed at the ragtag group of renegades surrounding the wagon. A whiff of smoke drifted up from the barrel of a rifle as a man turned away. A pair of legs with thick hobnail boots protruded from the back of the wagon.
“Run!”
Daniel’s shout startled her. She glanced in his direction as he wrenched his arms free and threw himself toward the man with the gun.
“Daniel!” She charged forward. A shrill Apache war cry stopped her. A menacing face flashed before her, and a gun butt thudded against her cheek. The wind knocked out of her, she fell to her knees, trying to remember how to breathe.
“Mary Rose!” Daniel’s shout brought her to her senses. She needed to run!
Clambering to her feet, she heard a rifle fired. Something hot slammed against her shoulder, shoving her backward. Her feet grew rubbery. She stumbled over them repeatedly. Turning, she grasped for the cottonwood and fell short.
Cloth ripped as the branch caught her sleeve while, in the distance, she heard Daniel’s voice shouting her name. Someone was running toward her. Then another shot echoed, and his shriek shattered the air. Her breath came in hard gasps at the thud of a body hitting the dirt. The beat of her heart thundered in her ears, drowning out all sounds, and Mary Rose could feel herself fall as her knees folded.
The ground was where the sky should be. Beyond the gathering darkness, a woman cried out. At the last moment, she realized the voice was her own. The wind flew from her lungs as her shoulder collided with the earth. Pain ripped through her left side. She could feel her body slide, greased by the soft soil. Bits and pieces of sound drifted over her, filtered by her own ragged breathing. She was dying.
Her vision narrowed. As the darkness closed in, she heard a deeper voice, eerily familiar, say, “I told you, not the woman.” With a deep, ragged breath, she let the beckoning emptiness become her friend, and she embraced it.
Chapter Two
A hot breeze stirred the southwest Texas air, and beads of sweat curled lazily past the bones of Trace’s back. He could feel the full strength of the sun as it pressed its rays upon the earth. The moisture gathered along the sides of his face clamped the stray ends of his shoulder-length hair to his skin. Removing his hat, Trace Castillo lifted his head to glance at the sun hanging overhead. The heat turned the leather of his saddle into a hot griddle. Yes, a cold drink, a fine woman, and some shade would be in order. Perhaps they could make him forget the conversation he’d had with Rand Weston. But where can I find such a willing woman?
Those words conjured up the beauty from yesterday. He wished he hadn’t gotten close enough to see those blue eyes spark when he told her man to put her on the stage. Now the vision of her haunted him, and he wondered if he’d used good reasoning. He ran his hands along the inside of his hatband and recalled the tilt of her lips as they pulled into that pout. No doubt she thought it gave her power over men. Maybe other men, but not him.
Those lips, he decided, may have looked like heaven but would be lethal poison to kiss. Experience had taught him the bitter lesson of what a woman hell-bent on power could do. No good would come of dwelling on a woman like that. He sighed. Ever since his entanglement with Amelia, he had avoided such women. Sought pleasure, yes, but he’d vowed never again to be placed under a spell.