Hotter Than Hell

RIDE A DARK HORSE Susan Krinard

WHEN SHE WAS THIRTEEN, SHE DREAMED OF horses.

Most of the girls her age were horse-mad, and Catalina was no exception. That alone would have explained the dreams. But Abuelita, after whom she’d been named, had different ideas.

“It is a sign,” Grandmother had told her. “The women of my line have often been blessed with such omens. You must not forget this, but watch for its tokens in the future.”

Mom had laughed; she’d grown up with Abuelita’s stories, but she had never believed. And Dad had merely rolled his eyes. The Irish, he said, had the same kinds of superstitions. None of it was real.

Catalina believed. She saw the black horse when she slept, his glossy neck arched, his eyes shining with invitation. But she never got close enough to climb up on his broad, powerful back. He ran, and though she chased him she never caught him.

In time she almost forgot about the dreams. There was no room for real horses in Bel Air. Catalina went to law school just as Dad wanted. She married an attorney from the top law firm in Los Angeles, a man of ambition and little imagination. Life was busy and successful and very ordinary until she began having the dreams again.

Then it all fell apart.

Catalina O’Roarke, formerly Mrs. Neal Kirkland, Jr., jumped out of the battered Chevy truck, her new boots raising little puffs from the dusty ground. The ranch house was small and rustic, surrounded by empty corrals and a few scrawny cottonwoods. The prairie stretched all the way to the foot of the mountains; the countryside seemed almost desolate, mile upon mile of nothing but sage, chamisa, and open sky.

It was exactly what she wanted.

“Can I do anything else for you, miss?” the aging cowboy asked.

Cat managed a smile. “I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Then I’ll be headed back to Taos. Turk and Pilar will look after you right and proper.”

He got back into his truck and drove away on the rutted track that passed for a road. Cat picked up her bags and walked to the porch. The boards creaked under her feet. The smell of cooking beans wafted out one of the windows.

She closed her eyes and let the tension drain from her shoulders. “It doesn’t look like much,” Heather had said, “but the place always seems to help me get my head on straight when I can’t take L.A. one minute longer. Just give it a chance.”

Give it a chance. She didn’t have anything to lose.

With a rueful shrug, Cat stepped through the door.

Turk adjusted the buckle under the saddle’s fender and stepped back. “That’ll do ya,” he said. “Perfect fit. And you don’t have to worry about ol’ Kelpie here…he’s the gentlest horse we got. He’s Miss Heather’s favorite.”

Cat shifted in the saddle, already anticipating the sore muscles to come. Seventeen years ago she would have given anything to be where she was now: mounted on a handsome buckskin with the prospect of a long, solitary ride ahead of her.

But she wasn’t thirteen anymore. If she’d had any sense, she would have admitted to Turk that she hadn’t been on a horse in well over a decade. But she didn’t want to admit weakness to any man, even one as inoffensive as Turk. She wanted to be left alone, even if it meant taking a few small risks.

God knew she’d almost forgotten what it was like to take a chance on anything outside the courtroom.

“Like I told you, Mrs. Kirkland—”

“Cat. Call me Cat.”

Turk cleared his throat. “Cat. Like I told you, just stick close to the river gorge and you can’t get lost. Kelpie knows his way home even in the dark.” He scratched his chin. “Still think you ought to take someone along…”

“I’ll be back by nightfall.” Cat pulled on the reins, turning Kelpie toward the barn door. “Please tell Pilar not to wait dinner for me.”

Turk touched one grizzled hand to the brim of his hat, a faintly worried look on his leathery face. Cat pretended not to see.

She started out along the rutted road and then cut across the plain. The sense of vastness she’d felt when she’d first arrived redoubled. The sky was a landscape in itself. She knew the Rio Grande gorge was nearby, winding its way south from Colorado until it became the broad brown river that bordered Mexico and Texas, but there seemed to be hardly any other landmarks except for the Sangre de Cristo mountains rising sharply from the prairie like skyscrapers built of earth and stone.

For most of the day she let Kelpie wander at will, basking in the late summer sun that warmed her face and shoulders. She stopped for lunch in the shade of an abandoned cabin, listening to the wind rattling in the rabbit-brush while she ate her sandwich. A hawk circled in the sky, but aside from him she was completely alone.

She was glad. A good dose of solitude, even loneliness, was just the cure for what ailed her. No more of Neal’s hypocritical lies. No more strict and unvarying routines. Just a sense of freedom she hadn’t felt since childhood.

By late afternoon she was ready to return to the ranch. Kelpie, looking forward to his ration of hay, broke into a trot as soon as she reined him south. Neither he nor Cat noticed the prairie dog town until his hoof plunged down into an unexpected hole.

He staggered. Cat lurched in the saddle and grabbed at Kelpie’s coarse mane. Immediately she knew the gelding was injured. She dismounted and bent to study his near foreleg.

It didn’t seem to be broken, but Kelpie’s limp told Cat that his fetlock had suffered some damage. He wouldn’t be carrying a rider anytime soon. The only thing Cat could do was lead him home as slowly as possible and hope she didn’t get lost in the dark.

Night fell with surprising swiftness. Cat buttoned her coat against an unexpected chill. Kelpie snorted and bobbed his head.

“I’m sorry, boy,” she murmured. “I should have taken Turk’s advice.” She paused to let Kelpie rest. “It isn’t his fault that I’ve had my fill of the male sex.”

Kelpie lifted his head, ears pricked as if he’d heard a sound that had escaped Cat’s ears.

“You’ll tell me I was stupid to trust him, that I should have seen it coming. All the signs were there.” She clenched her fists. “He used me, and then when he got what he wanted…”

Kelpie stretched his neck and nickered. Cat cocked her head, listening. The earth vibrated under her feet. A low rumble beat the air. A blast of wind, warmed by the heat of a dozen bodies, swept over Cat an instant before the horses leapt out of the darkness.

They were every color men had named: buckskin and Appaloosa, chestnut and bay, pinto and sorrel, white and gray. Their eyes glittered with starlight; their hooves flashed like dark jewels. Cat’s heart surged into her throat. She clung to Kelpie’s reins and closed her eyes. The herd rushed on, implacable, parting at the last moment to flow around woman and horse in a swift and savage tide.

An incredible feeling claimed Cat’s body. Her breath came in sharp bursts. She flung back her head, surrendering to sensation. Her legs buckled and she dropped to her knees, dizzy and stunned.

“Are you well, señorita?”

The voice was soft, but it carried through the darkness like a roll of thunder. Cat tried to stand, but her legs refused to obey her commands.

“Hello?” she said, using her courtroom voice. “Who’s there?”

The man seemed to appear little by little, as if the shadows gave him up with only the greatest reluctance. Cat’s first impression was of dark hair and broad shoulders, a lithe and muscular figure that moved with the grace of the horses that had preceded him. He wore the typical uniform of a working cowboy: battered leather boots, scuffed jeans, long-sleeved shirt, sweat-stained Stetson. The jeans fit him like a glove, molding strong thighs and an imposing package.

Cat shivered and looked up. He wasn’t particularly tall. His face was a little too angular to be handsome, but no one could have denied that it was striking. The long, thick hair that trailed from beneath his Stetson was jet-black. His lips were sensuous and slightly curved, his nose a little arched, his eyes…

Oh, his eyes. They welcomed the moonlight like a lover. Pale they were, though she couldn’t make out the color. They stripped Cat naked and left her utterly defenseless.

“Señorita,” he said, touching the brim of his hat. “How may I assist you?”

Cat grabbed Kelpie’s stirrup and pulled herself to her feet, half afraid she might fall without the gelding to support her. The stranger spoke only the simplest of phrases, and yet his faintly accented voice raised goosebumps on her skin.

“It’s nothing,” she said thickly. “My horse…he stepped in a prairie dog hole. I’m taking him back to the ranch.”

“Indeed. Would that be the Blue Moon, señorita?”

His tone was mild and courteous, but the steadiness of his gaze unnerved her. She tried to calculate how much farther she and Kelpie had to go…how far she was from any help at all. She’d never thought to bring her pepper spray. She’d fight, of course, but he was all whipcord muscle and supple strength. She wouldn’t last long….

What in hell’s wrong with you? He’d offered no threat whatsoever. He wasn’t armed. He didn’t even have a horse that she could see.

“The Blue Moon, yes,” she said. “They’ll be waiting up for me.”

He smiled as if he fully recognized the false bravado in her words. “I have no doubt,” he said. He reached for Kelpie’s head. The gelding stood very still. Cat held her breath.

“So, querido.” The man stroked Kelpie’s muzzle, but his gaze remained on Cat. “Shall we see what ails you?” He knelt to examine the gelding’s leg, murmuring in Spanish all the while. “It is not so bad, mi amigo. A poultice, a few weeks’ rest…” He rose slowly. Cat felt as though he were running his hands over her body. “I will guide you back to the ranch, señorita,” he said.

“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.”

“But you are traveling in the wrong direction,” he said. “Those who wait for you will surely worry.”

Was he mocking her? She drew up, all her anger against men spilling into her chest. “I’ll be all right.”

“Will you?” He moved closer. “It is not wise to travel alone, even in a place like this.”

He smelled, she thought, of sagebrush and horses and a unique, completely masculine scent that threatened to overwhelm her senses.

He was dangerous, but not in the way she’d feared.

“If you’ll point me in the right direction,” she said, “I’m sure I can make it the rest of the way.”

His dark brows lifted and his nostrils flared. Cat began to feel hot…hot in the face, in her belly, in between her legs. She could almost feel the pressure of those sensuous lips on hers, the thrust of his tongue, his hands slipping beneath her shirt to caress her nipples….

She swallowed hard. “Thank you, but no. I prefer to travel alone.”

For a moment his pale eyes flashed with something that might have been anger. Then he touched the brim of his hat again and gave a slight, ironic bow.

“As you wish.” He leaned toward Kelpie’s ear and whispered words Cat couldn’t hear. Kelpie nickered and nibbled at the stranger’s sleeve as he withdrew.

“Adiós,” he said, fading into the night the same way he had come. “We shall meet again, señorita.”

The silence was absolute. Even the wind had stilled. Cat pressed her hand to her chest, trying to quiet her racing heart. Remembering the man’s advice, she turned Kelpie around and started in the opposite direction. Two hours later she saw the lights of the ranch house. Turk ran out to meet her.

“Miss Cat! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. It’s Kelpie who’s hurt.”

Immediately Turk lifted the gelding’s leg. “Don’t look too bad.” He glanced up at Cat. “I’ll take care of Kelpie. You’d better get yourself into the house. Pilar’s worried sick over you.”

Cat gladly obeyed. Her mouth was dry as a desert, and she felt more than a little weak at the knees. The housekeeper greeted her with relief and good-natured scolding, which Cat accepted as her just due. She drank the cocoa Pilar set down in front of her and meekly retreated to the guest room.

No bed, no matter how luxurious, had ever looked so welcome. Cat stripped out of her dusty clothes, threw them across a chair, and climbed naked between the sheets. The plain cotton felt incredibly soft against her skin. Every movement awakened strong sensations, as if her nerves had been lit on fire. Her imagination conjured up vivid images of the stranger, spawning pictures of sleek muscle and a strong, angular face.

A face that looked at her out of the darkness, eyes burning with unreserved lust.

Cat tried to close her eyes, fighting the images and the reaction of her body. Finally exhaustion claimed her, and she slid gratefully into sleep.

She had never seen men like these before.

They came boldly into the village, sitting on great beasts with long necks and sweeping tails, the metal on their heads and chests gleaming in the sun. They smiled as they leaped from the backs of their mounts, speaking a tongue she had never heard.

The village headman welcomed them with courtesy and care, for he, too, had no knowledge of this tribe of pale-skinned warriors with their sharp-edged weapons. It was best to be safe until more was known about them.

For her, it was enough to know that a new excitement had come to the village. She watched the men with fascination as they removed the leather chairs from the great beasts’ backs and brushed the creatures’ coats until they gleamed. She stared in fascination as they shed their heavy clothing to reveal skin that surely had never been touched by the sun. She spied on the elders as they spoke with the strangers, and always her gaze was drawn to one among the foreign warriors.

He was tall compared to the villagers, though his hair was as black as that of the people. The shape of his face was different, but she found it handsome in its own way. His eyes drew her most, for they were the color of the first light of dawn.

One day he caught her watching him, though she had done her best not to let him see. He spoke to her in his stranger’s tongue, gently and with admiration in those pale eyes. Sometimes his companions seemed crude and loud, but he was not. She began to teach him the peoples’ language. He was a swift learner, and at last he began to speak the words she had longed to hear.

Too soon it was time for him and his companions to leave the village, to rejoin their tribe. She could not wait for him to return and for the marriage to take place. When he asked her to come with him into the forest, she went eagerly, knowing that what they were about to do would change her life forever….

Cat woke to the glory of an orgasm.

At first she wasn’t sure exactly what she was feeling. She’d almost forgotten what it was like; Neal hadn’t bothered to satisfy her in years. But she felt between her thighs and her fingers came away wet.

Panic sent her heart into overdrive. She sprang up and stood in the center of the room, searching every corner.

He wasn’t there. How could he be? He had been a dream, in a time and place that had seemed alien and yet utterly familiar.

A dream who had walked out of the shadows and into reality.

Cat sank into the chair and began to laugh. There was no reason for the levity except that she felt more than a little loco, and laughter seemed the best medicine for her ailment.

“Señora?”

Pilar was knocking on the door, undoubtedly alarmed by the racket. Cat put on her thick chenille robe and opened the door.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” she said. “I’m all right. I just had a crazy dream.”

The older woman’s brown eyes were skeptical. “You should rest today, Señora Catalina. I will make you a good breakfast…”

“I’m not very hungry. I’ll take a little fruit, if you have any.”

“Si.” Pilar continued to regard Cat in a way that made her feel like a naughty little girl. “You say nothing happened to you last night?”

“Nothing.” Nothing that really mattered, anyway. “I think I’ll go for another ride this morning.”

Pilar sighed and walked back toward the kitchen. Cat showered, dressed in jeans and denim shirt, and grabbed a slice of melon and an apple on her way out the door. Turk wasn’t in the stables. Cat leaned on the corral fence, wondering if she ought to try saddling one of the horses herself. She’d done it a few times when she’d gone to riding camp as a teenager, but that had been a lifetime ago.

As she kicked at the dirt and debated her course of action, she looked up and saw the black horse.

He…and she had no doubt that it was indeed a “he”…stood outside the fence on the opposite side of the corral, unburdened by either saddle or bridle. His coat was a true black, not burned brown like so many dark horses. His mane was a luxurious ebon wave that fell almost to the bottom of his neck, and his tail was held high as a flag. A white star in the shape of a cross blazed his face.

Cat shivered, remembering how a horse exactly like this one had haunted her childhood dreams. He had been so far away then, impossible to catch. Now he stood no more than twenty yards distant, and his eyes—his strangely pale eyes—gazed at her with uncanny intensity.

She never knew why she did what she did then. Without a moment’s thought, she circled the corral and approached the horse, walking slowly and carefully. She still had the apple in her jacket pocket. Her fingers closed around the smooth, polished surface and pulled it out.

The stallion watched her come with elegant ears swiveled forward and nostrils flared. He arched his neck and shifted from foot to foot as if to display his strength and elegance. Cat felt no fear at all. She offered the apple in her extended hand.

He took it with remarkable gentleness, his lips sliding across her fingertips.

“You’re a beautiful boy,” she said, patting his silky neck. “Where did you come from?”

The stallion finished the apple, watching her all the while. He made a low, coaxing sound deep in his throat.

“You must be valuable,” she said. “Maybe I should go ask Turk who—”

The stallion reared, ears flat. Cat stepped back, suddenly aware of his sharp hooves and sheer size. It was almost as if he’d understood her.

“Okay,” she murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The stallion danced, tossing his head and eying Cat with suspicion. After a moment he approached her again, stretching his neck and nibbling her shoulder.

“I sure wish I knew what was going on in that head of yours,” she said. “Are you hungry? I can bring some oats…”

He snorted with contemptuous eloquence. His blue eyes seemed virtually human, the pupil more round than oblong. Cat was eerily convinced that he really did understand every word she said.

“What do you want?” she asked softly. “How can I help you?”

Drawing back his head, the stallion dropped to his knees. There was nothing in the least humble in his posture. He nickered an invitation.

Surely his odd behavior couldn’t mean what it seemed to mean. Cat moved to his side and laid her hand on his back. He rumbled approvingly.

“You want me to ride you?”

He nodded. There was no other word for his reaction. Cautiously Cat leaned across him, enchanted by the muscular curve of his withers and hindquarters. He remained quiet. Cat swung her leg over his back, looking toward the house to make sure no one was watching.

The instant she was settled, the stallion surged to his feet. Cat grabbed for his mane as he wheeled about and began to run.

The horse was kidnapping her. And she had absolutely no way to stop him.

For several minutes all she could do was hang on. The air was crip and cool. The sun was just beginning to peek above the mountains to the east. The stallion galloped straight north, his tail streaming behind him.

Cat caught her breath. The stallion’s gait was so smooth that she felt in not the slightest danger of falling off, even though she had no reins, stirrups, or handy saddle horn. Her initial concern had passed. In fact, she felt an undeniable exhilaration at the feel of her mount’s muscles flexing between her thighs, the snap of her hair, the sense of flying over the earth.

This was true freedom. This was what she’d been seeking ever since those dreams fifteen years ago. She flung back her head and laughed aloud. The stallion twitched his ears to listen and stretched his legs in an even faster pace.

Miles passed in a blur. Cat hardly noticed when the stallion slowed. His coat gleamed with sweat, but his neck was still arched and his sheer magnificence claimed obeisance from every creature that shared his world.

A small grove of cottonwoods crouched over an unexpected green jewel nestled in the brown setting of the plain. Cat thought gratefully of water, even if it wasn’t sterilized and out of a tap.

Another dozen yards revealed a tiny pool and the bubbling of a spring. A pair of pronghorn antelope sprang away from the bank, white rumps flashing. The stallion ignored them and paced to the water’s edge. He twisted his head back to look at Cat.

His message was clear enough. Cat slid from his back, staggered a little as she got her land legs again, and sat down under the shade of a cottonwood. The stallion dipped his muzzle into the pool and drank.

“I can’t just keep calling you ‘the stallion,’ you know,” Cat said. “You’re black as a storm cloud. Let me see if I can remember…” She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. What about trueno? That’s ‘thunder.’ Nice and succinct.”

Trueno bobbed his head. Cat chuckled and stretched out on the green grass. It was well into mid-morning and not by any means hot, but Cat keenly felt the confinement of her clothing. She removed her jacket and scarf, undid the top several buttons of her shirt and kicked off her boots.

She should have been thinking about where she was and how she’d get back to the ranch. She should have asked herself a few more questions about why the stallion had behaved as he had, why she’d climbed onto his back with a complete lack of the most basic common sense.

But she didn’t. She closed her eyes, blissfully relaxed, and dozed while Trueno grazed nearby. Once or twice she woke, noted vaguely that the sun had moved again, and sank back into sleep.

The forest closed in around them, a perfect bower for secret lovers. Firm lips pressed against hers, demanding entrance. She opened her mouth in a cry of surprise and a warm, insistent tongue thrust into her mouth, hungry and caressing. She felt calloused fingers inside her blouse, circling her nipples. She gloried in the heat of a hard, lean body stretched out beside her. Wetness pooled between her legs.

“Sí, my beautiful one,” he said, running his tongue over her lips. With long, lean fingers he pushed her blouse above her breasts. “Muy linda,” he murmured.

She gasped as he bent and took her nipple in his mouth. Dark, unruly hair brushed against her face and shoulders. She whimpered while he suckled her, licking and kissing and grazing her breasts with his teeth.

She was so close, so close to something wonderful. Somehow she knew that if she opened her eyes, the pleasure would stop. If she dared to question, even for a moment, it would all go away….

Cat opened her eyes. The sky was dark and studded with stars. The branches of the cottonwood shivered overhead. And she remembered.

The man didn’t resist as she pushed him away. In one fluid motion he detached himself and settled into a crouch, pale eyes catching moonlight.

Oh, God. She’d seen him before. He was the cowboy she’d met last night. And he had been…doing things to her. While she slept. And in her dreams.

With trembling fingers she buttoned her shirt. Her nipples were wet from his kisses. Her mouth throbbed. She nearly groaned with the intensity of her arousal. She stared at the stranger’s lips and slowly raised her eyes to his.

“Señorita,” he said, his voice husky and low.

Cat scooted away. “I warn you. I can fight. If you try anything—”

He shook his head. “Oh, no, señorita. I will not do anything you do not wish me to do.”

His long hair drifted across his face, softening the angles of his cheekbones and jaw. Cat’s heart was beating hard enough to be heard in California. She had been lying there, doing nothing, believing it was all another dream. But he was real. And she’d wanted him to keep on doing what he was doing, both in the dream and in reality. She still did.

“Where is my horse?” she demanded, her voice cracking.

He stood up. Her eyes were level with his hips. There was no mistaking his impressive erection.

“Don’t worry, querida. He is here.”

Cat glanced around. If the stallion were more than a few feet away, she wouldn’t be able to see his black coat in the darkness.

“Who are you?” Cat demanded. “What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head. She saw that he wore the same shirt as he had last night, but it was unbuttoned almost to his waist. Sleek black hair dusted his chest. His pecs were beautifully developed, his stomach ridged with muscle.

“My name,” he said, “is Andrés. And you are Catalina.”

The sound of her name on his tongue left her shaken. God, he was beautiful. All she had to do was hold out her arms, and he would take her. Just like that. A stranger she wanted with every fiber of her being.

Not a stranger, her heart insisted. You know him. You know him….

“You aren’t afraid,” he said. “You will never be afraid of me.”

“I…” She swallowed. “I’m going to find my horse and leave.”

“It would be far wiser for you to remain here until sunrise.”

He was right, damn him. She couldn’t risk letting Trueno hurt himself as Kelpie had, presuming she could get the stallion to come to her in the first place.

Andrés dropped back into a crouch, his arms draped over his knees. “You will suffer no harm from me, señorita,” he said. “Or is it señora?”

Cat couldn’t quite believe that he was asking her such questions after what he’d been doing. “That’s none of your business,” she snapped.

His smile was devastating. “You are no virgin, Catalina. Your response was…most satisfactory.”

Satisfactory. Cat suppressed a moan. “You…you don’t know anything about me.”

“I know that you deny your own passions, mi gatita.”

“I don’t deny anyth—” Cat stopped, stung with outrage. “Gatita”—kitten—was what her grandmother had called her when she was a child. Andrés whoever-he-was had no right to use that nickname. No right.

“I don’t generally welcome the advances of total strangers,” she said.

“And if I were not a stranger?”

His question compelled her to relive the dream in all its astonishing detail. Why did it seem almost like a memory? Why was part of her so convinced that she had lain in Andrés’s arms in another life?

Cat dug her fingers into the bark of the tree trunk. This was ridiculous. The dream didn’t mean a thing, except that her fantasy life had become a little too vivid. Vivid enough to make her lose her hard-won control. Here she was, holding a normal conversation with a stranger who was clearly crazy and possibly dangerous.

Except he hadn’t hurt her. He’d backed off when she told him to. For all her legal expertise, she couldn’t define the man who crouched before her.

The best thing you can do now is be completely objective. Treat him as a hostile witness.

“Why did you follow me?” she asked.

“Follow you, señorita? But I did not.”

“Are you saying you’ve been here all along?”

“No.”

“How did you get here?”

“On my own feet.”

Hostile, indeed. “Where do you live?”

“I call no place home.”

No horse, no home, apparently no vehicle or significant belongings. But if he were truly an indigent, he’d probably be in much worse shape than he was. No one could claim he was anything but hardy, healthy, and unmistakably virile.

He could still be certifiably insane.

And what’s so sane about the way you felt when he touched you, Catalina O’Roarke?

She folded her arms tightly across her chest. She’d slept through most of the afternoon and a good portion of the night, and yet her legs were growing heavy and her thoughts were sluggish. She was very much afraid that she’d begin to ramble if she tried to keep the conversation going much longer.

“You are tired,” Andrés said. “Sleep, gatita. No harm will come to you.”

Laughter bubbled out of her throat before she could stop it. “I think I’ll stay awake, thank you very much.”

Andrés stretched out where he was and made himself comfortable, resting on his elbow. “You were not always so frightened,” he said.

Cat straightened. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You are from la ciudad, are you not?”

“I’m from Los Angeles. What of it?”

“I have heard that your great cities have no soul, that those who live in them have forgotten the look of the sky and the feel of the earth.”

“That’s crazy.” Careful. “Haven’t you been to a city before?”

“Sí. Long ago, in another place.” His gaze turned inward, remembering. “I had no love for them, even then. It is why I came to this continent.”

“You’re not from Mexico?”

His eyes cleared. “Did your own people not come from Méjico?”

“My grandmother was born there. She journeyed alone to the United States when she was sixteen.”

“Was it she who named you?”

“Catalina was her name.”

“Ah.” He plucked a blade of dry, fringed grass from a clump near his shoulder. “Do you know its meaning?” He twirled the grass between his fingers. “Pure. Innocent. When did you lose your innocence, mi gatita? What is the name of the man who hurt you?”

“No one hurt me.”

“Your eyes betray you, querida. Was he your esposo?”

“The subject is private.”

He got to his feet with that same feral grace and approached her, hands loose at his sides. “He was not the man for you. He mistreated you. He gave you no pleasure.”

Cat blinked, startled to realize that she was on the brink of tears. “He didn’t…It had nothing to do with—”

“You would blame yourself?” He stopped with the tips of his boots touching hers, such gentleness in his expression that she could hardly bear it.

“No. I should never have…I thought I knew what I wanted.”

“And still you do not know.” He lifted his hand, his fingers lightly touching her cheek. “I could teach you.”

Her mind told her to jerk away, but her body held her captive to his caresses. “I came here…to be alone.”

“So alone.” He leaned into her, lips parted. His body pressed her thighs and hip and breast. His mouth closed over hers, tongue seeking.

Cat plunged into a maelstrom of desire. She returned the kiss, panting with excitement. She had no defense when he seized both of her wrists and pulled them up above her head, trapping them against the cottonwood’s trunk. He held her easily with one hand while his other stroked her face, trailed over her breasts and paused to unfasten the button of her jeans.

The rational part of Cat’s brain knew how simple it would be for him to complete what he’d begun while she slept. How easy it would be to give in.

You want it. You want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life.

His fingers slipped under her panties, teasing hot and swollen flesh.

“So wet,” he murmured into her ear. “So ready for me.”

“I…I don’t…”

He traced her lips with his tongue while his fingers circled. “You do,” he said. “Tell me, gatita. Tell me what you want.”

She tried to answer, but he didn’t wait. He withdrew his hand and began to push her jeans down her thighs, working her panties off as he cupped her bottom. He released her hands and held her with the weight of his body while he unzipped his jeans. The heat of his cock caressed her inner thigh, eased over slick flesh, thrust aggressively against her damp curls.

Sanity returned like a blast of icy wind. Panic gave Cat strength she didn’t know she had. A sharp shove was enough to throw Andrés off balance. Cat stumbled away from the cottonwood and stopped, frozen by emotions that demanded more of her than she could ever give.

Andrés turned to face her, his expression unreadable. Slowly he bent and picked up her jeans. He tossed them toward her, and she caught them reflexively.

“I see that the time is not yet right,” he said. “But it will come, Catalina. It will come.”

Without another word he walked into the darkness. Cat pulled on her jeans, fingers numb and trembling. She could think of nothing but getting far away from this place, even if she had to walk all the way back to the ranch. It wasn’t fear of Andrés that drove her. It was fear of herself.

With only the vaguest idea of direction, she began to run, her ears straining for sounds of pursuit. Andrés didn’t follow. After ten minutes Cat’s legs were aching and her lungs burned for air. She slowed to a jog and then a fast walk. The vast sky had paled to sapphire, the stars flickering out one by one.

She estimated that she’d gone about two miles when Trueno reappeared. He trotted up alongside her, neck arched and hooves dancing as if he had nothing for which to be ashamed.

Cat stopped, chilled by the sweat cooling on her body. “Where have you been?” she asked, more weary than angry. “You couldn’t have picked a worse time to disappear.”

Trueno gazed at her without the slightest hint of shame. Cat laughed. “Of course not. You’re only an animal. I was the stupid one.”

The stallion shook his head with broad movements of his neck and shoulders.

“Yes. Stupid. I guess I’ve learned my lesson.” She began walking again, already contemplating what Turk and Pilar would say when she finally appeared at the ranch, windblown and limping from a bootful of blisters. Trueno slowed his walk to keep pace with her, occasionally lipping her collar or nickering in her ear. She pushed his head away.

“Someone must be missing you,” she said. “Go home, horse.”

He cut in front of her, pivoted around and butted her in the chest.

“Sorry. I’d rather walk this time.”

Trueno fell back, pawing at her dusty footprints. She thought he’d finally gone, and an immense weight of sadness collected in the space beneath her ribs. But then the soft clop of his hooves resumed, and she found a little extra energy to keep walking. She spotted the dark band of exposed basalt that marked the deep gorge of the Rio Grande and set her course beside it.

Turk and another cowboy met her around midmorning. The old hand dismounted and hurried toward her, his face long with concern.

“Miss Cat! Are you all right?”

Her skin went hot. “I’m fine.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “Have you been looking for me?”

“Just about all night.” He tipped his hat back on his head and subjected her to a thorough examination. She was almost certain that he knew exactly what she’d been doing…how close she’d come to making a very bad mistake.

“I’m really sorry,” she said, staring at the toes of her boots. “It was very foolish of me to ride a horse I knew nothing about.”

Turk frowned. “What horse?”

She turned around. Trueno was gone.

“It’s a long story,” she said. “I promise I won’t let anything like this happen again.”

Even Turk’s unfailing courtesy couldn’t quite conceal his skepticism. “You’ll ride with me, Miss Cat.” He addressed the other cowboy. “Thanks for the help, John. I’ll take it from here.”

The cowboy waved and rode off. Turk held out his hand, pulling Cat up behind him.

Pilar met them at the house, tight-lipped with concern. Cat found it impossible to meet the older woman’s gaze. She retreated to her room, still trying to make sense of the nonsensical.

It was almost as if her mysterious encounters with Andrés were about much more than just sex. She’d never before been in the least bit tempted to make love with a complete stranger; she couldn’t dismiss the idea that her uncharacteristically wanton behavior had some rational basis.

Dreams aren’t rational. There’s no excuse for you, Catalina O’Roarke.

Night was slow in coming. Cat tossed and turned, imagining she felt invisible hands stroking her body. She got up, threw on her robe and went to the kitchen for a glass of milk.

Someone scratched on the front door.

Cat nearly dropped her glass. She set it down on the kitchen table, crept to the door, and checked the lock.

“Who is it?”

There was no answer. Just your imagination. But she was struck by the uncanny certainty that someone was waiting outside. Waiting for her.

Andrés.

Fear and anticipation held her paralyzed for a dozen heartbeats. She unlocked the door, holding her arm firm against the shaking of her fingers.

The porch was empty. Cat flipped on the light. A small, cloaked figure stood several yards away, dark eyes deeply set in a nut-brown face.

Cat released her breath. “Buenos noches,” she said. “Can I help you?”

The woman only stared. Cat stepped onto the porch, pulling her robe close around her throat. “Necesitas ayuda?”

Gnarled fingers shaped the sign of the cross. “Bruja,” the old woman whispered.

Witch. Cat remembered the word from the childhood stories Abuelita had so delighted in telling her. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“Cuidado conel caballo oscuro.”

“Qué?”

“Ha venido a jugar contigo.” The woman backed away, clutching the crucifix about her neck. “Cuidado. Cuidado!”

“Wait!”

“What is it, Catalina?”

Pilar stood in the doorway behind her, peering sleepily over Cat’s shoulder. “Who were you talking to?”

Cat drew Pilar back inside the house. “An old woman,” she said. “I’ve never seen her before. She came out of nowhere, gave some kind of warning, and then disappeared.”

“What did she say?”

“I didn’t understand all of it. First she called me a witch, and then she said something about a horse. At least I think she did.” Cat repeated the words the old woman had spoken.

“Beware the dark horse,” Pilar translated. “He has come to deceive you.”

All the warmth drained from Cat’s body. The dark horse. “What…what do you think she meant?”

Pilar sat down at the table. “I have heard stories about a black horse that wanders the meseta, a great stallion who has never been caught. Some say he is a ghost, others a demon.” She shook her head. “I myself have never seen the beast, but there is always talk, especially among the old.”

“Why would the old woman come to warn me?”

“I don’t know.” Pilar met Cat’s gaze. “This means nothing to you? Nothing at all?”

“I…may have seen this horse.”

“Ah. Then perhaps you should heed the old woman’s warning.”

“You don’t really believe it’s a ghost or a demon?”

“No. But it does no harm to be careful.”

Pilar returned to her room, preoccupied with her own musings. Cat made another attempt to sleep. Half-formed images of black horses and pale-eyed strangers flickered in and out of her consciousness. They seemed to blend together, hurling her into a dark space suspended between vision and nightmare.

The day of his return was the happiest in her life. His face was darker than she remembered, carved with deeper lines of sorrow, yet the joy came back into his eyes when he saw her. He shed his heavy armor and tight-fitting clothing, putting on the proper garments of the people.

The marriage was arranged as quickly as possible, taking into account the most auspicious days and the advice of the tonalpouhqui. The headman and elders were convinced that Andrés brought good luck with him; they provided him with a house, to which she went when the ceremonies were complete. They lay together on the reed mat, and once again she knew the ecstasy of his touch….

The shout sent Cat bolting from her bed, scattering pillows across the polished hardwood floor. Several moments passed before she realized that the noise had come from her own throat.

The dreams were getting stronger. Cat didn’t know how to stop them. She was beginning to believe they were something more than dreams. But what did they mean? What was that alien world where Andrés wore armor and rode a horse, and who was the girl?

Who am I?

Anxious to banish the alien memories, Cat plunged into the shower and stood under the spray until the hot water was gone. Then she dressed, snatched a piece of freshly baked bread from the kitchen, and looked desperately for a distraction.

It was Turk who provided one. “Morning, Miss Cat,” he said, looking up from the tack he was mending. “Don’t know if it would interest you, but there’s a music festival going on in Taos this weekend. Mostly local stuff…folk and something called ‘world music.’ You’re welcome to take the Dakota into town for a couple days.”

Cat closed her eyes. “Bless you, Turk.” She went back into the house, throwing a few pairs of shirts and jeans into her duffel. After a brief exchange with Pilar—during which neither one of them mentioned last night’s peculiar visitation—Cat settled behind the wheel of the Dakota and drove south on the dirt road leading to State Route Sixty-Four.

Taos was a colorful village, vivid with Hispanic and Native American influence, a little rustic in spite of the thriving arts community that revealed itself in numerous studios and gift shops around the Plaza. The majority of the buildings were adobe or mock-adobe, painted in tones of terracotta, turquoise, and gold. Hollyhocks and blanket flowers graced neatly fenced gardens.

The narrow streets were busier than usual, clogged with out-of-towners arriving for the music festival. Cat found a room in a modest motel at the southern edge of town, tossed her duffel on the bed and headed out to explore.

Though Cat had spent most of her life in the dynamic world of urban Los Angeles, she found Taos no less stimulating. The locals were easygoing and sometimes eccentric, reminding her of people she’d met in Berkeley and San Francisco. The mood was both peaceful and inspiring.

She felt remarkably free as she rambled about the town, stopping as the mood struck her, listening to a Mariachi band in Kit Carson Park and Finnish folk music at an eclectic coffee house. She had a sandwich and iced tea for lunch, browsed shops on the plaza for several hours and then decided to have a drink at a bar off Paseo del Pueblo. She found music there as well; a young, long-haired man perched on a stool in the corner and played melancholy airs on a Native American flute.

Cat claimed an empty bar stool and sat, feeling in great good charity with the world. Though she seldom enjoyed beer, she tried a pale ale from a local microbrewery and found it quite congenial. She’d just started on the second glass when the young flautist stepped down and another musician took his place. She didn’t pay much attention until she heard the first golden strains of the guitar, beginning a melody rich with the distant and exotic sounds of another age.

The voice that accompanied the music sang in liquid Spanish, a voice she recognized even before she turned to see the man who owned it.

Even from his corner, Andrés dominated the room. He sat with one knee drawn up, cradling the guitar like a lover while his fingers danced over the strings. He sang with such intensity and sorrow that every eye in the room was drawn to him, yet he never glanced up from his intricate finger work. The melody curled around Cat like a silken rope, binding her limbs and her loins and her heart.

“Do you understand the song?”

She started, turning toward the bar. The bartender, a man of middle years and a slight Spanish accent, leaned on the scarred wood and nodded toward the singer.

“It is a very old song,” he said. “The words he sings are from an ancient form of Spanish…one only scholars would know today.”

“Really?” Cat said, feeling stupid and confused. “Is he a scholar?”

“He doesn’t look like one, does he? But looks can deceive.” He smiled. “I was a teacher myself, once. Shall I translate?”

“Please.”

The bartender began to recite.

“‘I don’t know how I can reveal to you

the ardent fire

that burns me to the bone

and I can’t see any time or place;

alas, I’m burning in the fire

without any comfort.’”

Cat shivered. She could almost imagine that Andrés was singing directly to her. But surely he hadn’t even noticed her. Surely the fact that they were together in this bar was the sheerest coincidence….

Andrés looked up. His gaze met hers.

“Do you know him?” the bartender asked.

“No.” She heard her own trepidation and deliberately turned her back on Andrés. “Do you?”

“I’ve never seen him here before. Would you like me to ask around?”

“No. No, that’s all right, thanks.” She placed several small bills on the bar and headed for the door.

“Where’re you going so fast, beautiful?”

The man at the table caught Cat’s arm and held on, stopping her in her tracks. He was blond, muscular, and handsome; plenty of women would have been flattered by his attention. Cat wasn’t.

“Excuse me,” she said, shaking him off.

“Hey. No need to be so unfriendly.” He gave her a dazzling grin and patted the chair beside him. “Have a seat. I’ll get you whatever you want.”

“Sorry. I’ve got…things to do.”

“It can’t be all that urgent. Come on.” He grabbed the hem of her jacket and tugged. She lost her balance and banged her hip on the table. The blond looped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Cat could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“I’d advise you to let me go,” she said.

“Advise?” He laughed. “You a lawyer or something?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oooh. I’m seared.” He pushed her into the chair. “You need some loosening up, princess. And I’m just the man to do it.”

“You will unhand the lady, cabrón, or you will regret it.”

The jerk looked up into Andrés’s face with blank incomprehension. “What did you call me?”

“Do you require a translation, pajero?” Andrés glanced at Cat. “Are you hurt, señorita?”

“No.” She scrambled up and backed away. “It’s all right. I was just leaving.”

All her hopes of defusing the situation were shattered when the blond stood up, toppling his chair behind him. He towered over Andrés by a good six inches, and he was nearly twice as wide. “You shouldn’t have stuck your nose where it don’t belong,” he said, flexing his muscles.

“The lady is with me,” Andrés said.

“That so?” He turned to Cat. “This is what you like? Some pansy musician pretending to be a man?”

Andrés met Cat’s gaze. “Go outside, mi gatita.”

“Only if you come with me.”

“When this is finished.”

“That won’t take long,” the blond said. He beckoned to Andrés. “Go ahead, faggot. Just be careful not to hurt your pretty little fingers.”

He had barely lifted his own massive fists when Andrés struck, hitting the blond with a series of punches that snapped his head from side to side as if it were made of rubber. The bigger man crashed into the table and collapsed to the floor, sprawling in an ungainly heap.

The bartender appeared beside Cat. “You’d better get him out of here,” he said, nodding toward Andrés. “I know this guy, and he’s trouble. I don’t want a brawl.”

“Of course. I’ll pay for any damages.” Cat took Andrés’s arm, feeling the muscles bunched beneath his shirt sleeve. “Please, Andrés. Let’s go.”

He regarded her with a wild look and suddenly relaxed. “As you wish, mi gatita.”

Together they left the bar. It had grown dark; the plaza twinkled with lights that rivaled the stars. Cat paused to get her bearings.

“Where shall we go?” Andrés said close to her ear. “Have you a bed, querida?”

Prickles of excitement raced from the back of Cat’s neck to the base of her spine. “Thanks for your attempt to help back there, but it really wasn’t necessary.”

“That cabrón was mistreating you.”

“I could have handled it.”

“Few men are to be trusted by a woman alone.”

She turned to stare at him, challenging her own unease. “Does that include you?”

“Is that not for you to decide, amada?”

The very sound of his voice was a caress. Cat retreated several steps. “I don’t know why you just happened to be here in Taos, but I came to spend some time alone. That’s what I intend to do.”

Andrés searched her eyes. “If that is what you truly wish.”

“It is. Good-bye.” She began to walk away, feeling his gaze like fire licking between her shoulder blades. Only when she was in the parking lot of her motel did she let down her guard. She ran up the stairs to her room on the second floor, went inside and leaned against the door, her breath coming fast and shallow.

It wasn’t a coincidence. She was certain of that. Andrés hadn’t been here just to join the music festival. Either he’d followed her, or he’d known somehow….

And that’s ridiculous. He couldn’t have.

Cat flung herself down on the bed, grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest. No matter where she went, she couldn’t escape: not Andrés, not this feeling that made her wish she’d invited him up to her room and let him have his way with her. She could imagine his lean, muscular body naked beside her, his cock hard and high, his eyes blazing with lust the way Neal’s never had. She saw herself lying on a reed mat beside him, enjoying the pleasures of their wedding night….

She pounded the pillow with her fists. She was wet again, desperate for release that wouldn’t come. It was too early to sleep. She jumped up, paced the small room for a quarter of an hour, turned on the television to some abominable made-for-TV movie, and finally decided on a nice, long, hot shower.

The bathtub was hardly luxurious…one of those featureless molded plastic stalls that was about as welcoming as a tombstone in a graveyard. Cat was too muddled to care. She turned on the spray to its hottest, shed her clothes and stepped in with a sigh of relief.

But her mind would not be still. The water cascading over her breasts and hips made her shiver. Her body was transformed, as if she had become a creature of pure sensuality. She stroked her stomach, suddenly fascinated by the slight mound that had never matched the washboard ideal but now seemed a proclamation of her womanhood. She cupped her breasts, circling her nipples until they rose to firm peaks. She turned her face up into the water and let it cascade over her face while her fingers skimmed down her thighs and came to rest on warm, plump flesh.

Andrés. Oh, God, Andrés.

Her imagination was so vivid that she could almost hear the shower curtain sliding aside, feel the heat of a body behind her, masculine hands resting on her waist and massaging her hips. She could feel his tongue licking moisture from her neck as his cock worked between her parted thighs.

“Mi gatita,” he whispered.

She turned, eyes tightly closed. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her urgently, tangling his tongue with hers. After an eternity of such kisses he bent his head, following the slope of her chest lower, lower, until his tongue found her breast.

“You want more, querida?” he murmured.

“God. Oh, God. Yes.”

He flicked the tip of her nipple and then took her into his mouth. The cool plastic of the shower stall supported Cat’s weight as he suckled, first one breast and then the other, demanding, devouring. He wedged his hands behind her bottom, squeezing, lifting. His cock was trapped between them, hot and heavy. He withdrew to reposition himself and worked her thighs apart. She made no attempt to resist. He rubbed against her, the head of his cock caressing her swollen lips.

“What do you want?” he asked. “Tell me.”

“I…” She gasped as he pushed a little deeper and then pulled back. “Please…” Someone knocked on the door.

Cat came crashing back to reality. She staggered and clutched at the shower curtain to keep her balance. There was no one else in the shower. She was alone, silently screaming for deliverance.

The knock sounded again. Cat half stumbled out of the tub and reached for the towels folded on the rack above the toilet. They were barely big enough to cover her from breast to upper thigh.

The door seemed a million miles away. She leaned against it and looked through the peephole.

“Who is it?”

But she knew even before he answered, his voice all seductive music.

She hesitated for a second, two. Then she opened the door. She didn’t ask how he’d found her, or why he had come. She grabbed his hand, dragged him into the room, and kissed him.

His reaction was everything it had been in her dream. He thrust with his tongue as he stripped the towel from her body and tossed it aside, leading her to the bed. She went willingly, expecting him to shed his clothes and take her then and there. Instead, he knelt at the foot of the bed, pulled her toward him, and spread her thighs. His lips pressed against her vulva, then his tongue stroked over the moist folds of her labia. She couldn’t remember the last time she had experienced such a sensation or wanted it so much.

Andrés licked upward and found her clitoris, already distended and burning with something very near pain. But he didn’t touch it. He kissed her mons, driving her crazy with need.

“You taste of wine and honey,” he purred.

Cat groaned. “Don’t stop.”

He bent and drew her into his mouth. She arched up, demanding more. His teeth grazed her, his tongue fluttered and teased, bringing closer, ever closer to the release she had so desperately craved. He thrust his tongue deep inside her. She spiraled toward climax, higher and higher.

And once again Andrés denied her. He stood and began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his beautifully developed pecs. Cat couldn’t take her eyes from him. He removed the shirt, folded it and draped it over the chair by the window. Then he unbuttoned his jeans. The zipper slid down with a sensual hiss. He wore nothing underneath. His cock sprang free, bigger than even Cat’s fantasies had predicted.

His jeans fell to the floor and he kicked them away. His cock arced high against his stomach, ridged below and capped with the silky-smooth head. Cat’s thighs slackened in anticipation. Andrés knelt on the bed and positioned himself between her legs. He worked his fingers inside her. She bucked and moaned. He stretched out atop her, his cock gliding easily over the slickness of her sex. She strained against him, urging him to end her torment.

Deliberately he rubbed himself over her, glazing his cock in her wetness. His lips closed over her nipple just as they had in her shower dream, circling her breast while he flicked at the aching tip with his tongue.

Cat was delirious with pleasure and pain. She felt a vast, searing emptiness that only Andrés could fill. She lifted her legs higher, praying that his next move would send him thrusting into her. But he held his body still and kissed her mouth with the greatest tenderness.

“Andrés,” she whispered.

He licked her chin. “I told you once that I would not do anything you did not wish me to do,” he said, his voice husky with lust. “Tell me what you want.”

But Cat didn’t speak. She pushed him away and kept pushing until he was forced off the bed. He stood there, uncertain for the first time, his eyes reflecting much more than disappointment.

Cat moved to the foot of the bed, sat on the edge and took Andrés’s cock into her mouth. He gasped in surprise and pleasure. He laced his fingers through her hair and held on as she sucked and licked and tugged, moving his hips as his breathing quickened.

Within a few minutes he was rigid and ready to come. But he drew back, panting hoarsely. He lifted her to her feet, turned her around and laid her face-down on the bed. Strong, calloused hands raised her hips and buttocks, holding her in place.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly.

“Yes. Oh, God…”

He hesitated, and for a shattering moment she thought he was going to leave her. But then, without warning, he drove into her from behind. She moaned his name. He withdrew, taking a firmer grip on her hips, and thrust again. His movements slowed. He pulled out, waited, and then slid inside with astonishing gentleness. He was massaging her to orgasm, but she didn’t want it soft. She’d gone too far.

“Harder,” she begged.

He continued to move with steady strokes. “We have waited so long,” he said. “We can wait a little longer.”

Just when Cat believed she could tolerate no more Andrés began to pump more urgently, rocking her forward with each thrust. She gasped as he reached beneath their joining and rubbed her in time to his driving rhythm. The climax was so overwhelming that she cried aloud, her body glorying in sensations she’d never known before.

Andrés remained inside her. She expected him to soften, but his cock was still firm and full. Somehow he’d brought her to orgasm without enjoying one himself.

“Andrés,” she said, her voice shaking with reaction. “You didn’t…you need to…”

He brushed damp hair from the back of her neck. “I will, mi gatita.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and turned her to face him, adjusting her legs so that she was sitting on his lap with his cock trapped between them.

Cat touched his face from the angle of his cheekbone to the straight line of his dark brows. “I never thought it could be like this.”

“It is not over, querida.”

She found his erection with her fingertips, caressing the velvety head. “Tell me what you want.”

A shudder ran through him. “Forgive me.”

“For what?” She leaned her cheek against his chest. “You’ve given me something…I didn’t even know could exist. Neal…” She bit down hard on her lip, cursing herself for even mentioning her ex-husband’s name.

But Andrés was untroubled. “You have never had a real man before. This I knew when we first met.”

She drew back and met his gaze. “But why me? Why did you seek me out? Who are you, Andrés?”

He put his finger to her lips, lifted her and eased her down onto his cock. She was so wet that there was no discomfort; she felt a tingle as if she might come all over again. But when she began to move, sliding up and down, he stopped her.

With casual strength he rose from the bed, holding her impaled, and carried her to the wall. He clasped his hands around her cheeks and supported her as if she weighed no more than cottonwood down. He held her tight as he entered her, and she recognized with disbelief that she was on the edge of another incredible orgasm. She clasped her legs around his waist, moving with him. He closed his eyes and worked until beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, plunging, grinding, pounding. The glorious pulsing started in the pit of Cat’s belly.

“Let it go,” she whispered. “Come to me.”

For a moment he gazed right into her eyes, and she saw pain and desperation and centuries of suffering.

“Forgive me,” he said hoarsely.

“Yes. Yes. I forgive—”

He stiffened, the muscles of his stomach standing out in harsh relief, his hips slamming against hers. He finished with a cry of triumph, gathering her against him as his shuddering came to an end.

Cat dropped her chin on to his shoulder, breathless and exultant. Andrés kissed her mouth and forehead and carried her back to the bed. He laid her down with her head on the pillow and smoothed the tangled sheets over her, tucking the edges under her chin as if she were a child. Then he backed away, his eyes still full of sorrow.

“Don’t go,” she said, reaching for his hand.

He glanced toward the window. “There is little time.”

“Time for what?” She tried to push the sheets away, but he pressed her back and sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh.

“Perhaps it is over,” he said. “Perhaps there will be no change.”

“What change?”

Instead of answering he stretched out beside her and tucked her head into the curve of his arm. “Rest now, mi gatita.”

Cat realized that she was exhausted, not only by the vigorous sex but also by emotions she couldn’t quite comprehend. A minute ago Andrés had been dominant, guiding and controlling their lovemaking with her full cooperation. But now he was something else entirely: tender, solicitous, and melancholy in a way that made her want to take him in her arms and tell him everything was going to be all right.

“You won’t go?” she asked sleepily.

He kissed her forehead and brushed his fingers over her eyelids. “Sleep.”

The caballos charged into the village, nostrils flared and teeth bared like the fangs of the jaguar ready to slaughter its prey. Their riders were gods of destruction and malice, helmets and weapons flashing as they trampled the villagers who came to meet them.

Itzel stood at the door of her house, mouth open to cry out. No sound would come. Men she had known all her life collapsed into the dust, great gaping wounds spilling blood bright as forest flowers. Women screamed and fled, some falling under the horses’ hooves, others dragged by their hair to be violated and cast aside. Children wept. And yet the conquerors slew on, laughing and merciless.

Filled with despair, she turned to the one who stood behind her. She begged Andrés to stop those with whom he had once ridden, to save the village from their murderous rampage.

But Andrés didn’t move. He stared, his skin the color of bleached bone, his eyes no longer the hue of clear water but swallowed up in obsidian black. He had become like some forgotten stone idol, unable or unwilling to interfere in the fates of men. Only when one of the conquistadores, his hair golden as the sun, drove his huge mount toward the house and reached for Itzel did Andrés act. He pushed her behind him and looked up at the man on the horse. He spoke words in the enemy tongue. Hair-of-the-Sun laughed again, spun his beast about and rode away, his followers behind him.

Itzel staggered from the doorway, her eyes glazed with horror. She knelt beside the lifeless body of her brother and stroked the matted hair from the terrible gash across his forehead. There were a few others left alive; they, like her, wandered from one body to the next, searching for those they had loved.

Much time passed before Itzel turned back to the house. Andrés still waited there, empty as one whose heart had been given in sacrifice to the gods.

She had loved him. She had made the others see that he was not like those he had abandoned. But she had been wrong. He was no different.

“Itzel,” he whispered, his voice a broken husk. But she felt no pity. She came to stand before him, fists clenched at her sides.

“You have betrayed us,” she said.

“No. I…”

“You did not stop them. For this…” She closed her eyes. “For this you must pay.”

For the first time in many suns she drew upon the powers her grandmother and mother had passed to her, powers bestowed by the earth and the sky. “You will suffer as you have watched the people suffer,” she said. “Your kind are bound to the great beasts you call caballos. Now you shall run as such a beast for all the days of your life, walking as a man only at night. But you shall not die. You shall have no relief until one of my blood forgives you for your cowardice this day.”

Andrés heard her, but he did not believe. She saw that in his eyes. But a few minutes of daylight remained; he grew taut, the curse beginning to work its way through his body.

Itzel turned her back on him and walked away, ignoring the wordless cries of agony and terror as Andrés lost his ability to speak with a human voice. The last she heard of him was the drumming of his hooves as he fled into the forest.

Cat shot up in the bed, her heart hammering and her breath locked in her throat. It took several moments before she recognized the room around her.

Andrés stood by the window, his shoulder propped against the wall as he gazed outside. Tension had turned the muscle of torso and buttock and thigh to sculpted stone. He still looked exactly the same as he had in that other, ancient world. Not even his name was different.

He had begged her forgiveness. She had given it, unthinking, never questioning why he had asked. From the very beginning he’d tried to seduce her while revealing as little about himself as he could get away with. Suddenly she had a reason for his behavior.

Incredulous laughter roiled in Cat’s stomach like an over-rich meal. It isn’t possible. But Andrés had appeared only when Trueno had vanished. And the black stallion hadn’t returned until daylight.

Coincidence, no more. Yet the anger from the dream was a bleak knot in Cat’s chest. She felt Itzel’s despair, the agony she had experienced when she’d placed the spell on the man she loved.

If it were true—if, in spite of every rule of logic, Andrés and the black horse were one—then he had deceived her from the first moment they’d met. The only reason he’d have asked her to forgive him was if he’d believed that Itzel’s “blood” ran in her veins. He’d arrogantly assumed that the way to control a female was to give her a good banging. He’d made her so helpless with passion that she’d hand him anything he asked.

Even her love.

She got out of bed, dragging the top sheet from the mattress and wrapping it around her body.

“Trueno,” she said. “It’s almost daylight.”

Andrés looked at her…only for an instant, barely long enough for her to see the flash of shock in his eyes when he recognized the trap she had set. He smiled, though it was too late.

“Mi gatita,” he said. “You have been dreaming.”

“Yes.” She walked toward him, righteous fury flowing through her body. “Very vivid dreams. Dreams of a man who would not defend those who had welcomed him.”

The color drained from Andrés’s face. “Catalina…”

“Don’t lie to me.” She stopped inches away, holding his gaze. “I saw it all. I saw her.”

“Itzel,” he whispered.

“Yes.” She let her heart become a block of ice. “You are Trueno.”

He must have known then that denial would do him no good. “Yes,” he said, despair weighting the word like an anchor thrown to a drowning man.

Cat didn’t falter. “You must have been looking for centuries…looking for someone who could lift the curse. Then you discovered me. Somehow you knew that Itzel was my distant kin. You needed to win my forgiveness by any means necessary.”

“No. It is not so simple, queri—”

“Do you have an excuse, Andrés? She loved you, and you let them destroy everything she cared about.”

“Have I not paid enough?” He reached out to touch her face. “Listen to me. It was five hundred years—”

She jerked free. “Maybe if you’d been honest, if you’d really tried to atone…but you set out to use me instead.”

“No. When I first saw you…your grace, your strength…I could not help…could not help but—”

“It’s too late, Andrés. I won’t play.”

“Catalina. I beg of you…” His voice thinned, and he grabbed at his throat. His skin began to ripple as if every muscle and tendon beneath were attempting to assume a new shape. He fell against the wall, pushed away violently and staggered toward the door, his hands extended before him.

Cat rushed after him, ready to take back every word she’d spoken. But Andrés flung open the door and rushed onto the landing. He stumbled downstairs into the parking lot. Cat dashed back into the room and threw on jeans and a shirt. She practically fell down the stairs. The black stallion stood trembling among the trucks and SUVs, his coat shining with sweat.

“Andrés!”

He looked toward her, ears flat against his head, and spun on his hind legs. Before she’d taken another step he’d set off at a wild gallop toward the weedy field that backed the smattering of motels, fast-food joints and garages to the west. Dawn had just broken; cars on the road were sparse, and only a few early-rising souls noticed the saddleless horse charging across the street.

Cat slumped, cursing her pride and the implacable judgment that had driven him away. Even if she got right into Turk’s truck and drove as fast as she could, she knew she’d never catch up with him. He could cover terrain no vehicle could manage. And he had every reason to run and keep running until sunset found him human again, friendless and alone.

There was no reason in the world for him to come back. She’d given him not a shred of hope.

And all her hope had gone with him.

She checked out quickly, tossed her duffel in the truck and drove back to the ranch by a circuitous route, indifferent about when she arrived or what she’d do once she got there. She pulled up in front of the ranch house well after noon, as weary as if she’d walked all the way from Taos.

Turk tapped on the window. She rolled it down and summoned a smile.

“Back so soon?” he asked. “Thought you might be spending the weekend in town.”

“I had a good time, but I think I may be coming down with something. If I have to be sick, I’d rather be sick in my own room.”

“Sorry to hear it, Miss Cat. I’ll put the truck away.” He opened the door for her and took her place in the driver’s seat. Cat looped the duffel over her shoulder and plodded toward the house. Pilar met her in the kitchen, the housekeeper’s hands and lower arms coated with flour. A ball of pie dough sat on a wooden board beside the sink.

“Catalina!” Pilar hastily washed her hands and dried them on a thick cotton towel. “How was the festival?”

“It was fine.” Cat dropped into a chair and stared at the pretty bouquet of wildflowers Pilar had set on the table. “I just…got a little lonely.”

“Ah?” Pilar rubbed at a patch of flour left on a fingernail. “Did you find no one to keep you company?”

The inevitable blush burned Cat’s cheeks. Pilar nodded gravely. “I saw the change in you the night Kelpie came back lame. I see it even more strongly now. Who is he?”

Cat found that she had no desire to pretend any longer. “I met him that night. He helped with Kelpie, and—” She broke off, unable to describe how she’d felt that first time. “He was…is…unlike any man I’ve ever known.”

“What is his name? Where does he live?”

All of Pilar’s questions were logical, but the answers would tell her nothing. “His name is Andrés,” she said. “I don’t think he has a home.”

“Yet he has won your heart.”

Pilar’s words, so simple and blunt, stopped the air in Cat’s lungs. She tried to stand and fell back again, her muscles gone weak and useless.

She’d known Andrés all of three days. It just wasn’t possible to fall in love so quickly. But she’d never believed in curses or men who could change into horses, either.

“He was not what you expect to find when you came to us,” Pilar said.

“No.”

“Your mind tells you to stay away, yet you cannot.” The older woman placed a plump hand on Cat’s shoulder. “Has he done you some wrong, this Andrés? A wrong you can’t forgive?”

How could Pilar possibly have guessed? Andrés had betrayed Itzel. He’d let her people die while he stood by, refusing to intervene. His punishment had been no less than he deserved.

But that isn’t why you turned on him. It isn’t what happened hundreds of years ago that matters, is it? It’s what he did to you, how he deceived and manipulated you….

“Perhaps you came to us for a reason,” Pilar said. “Not only to find love, but to free yourself from your own past.”

And to free Andrés as well.

Cat jumped to her feet. “I have to go out, Pilar. Don’t expect me back before dawn.”

The housekeeper nodded, smiled, and returned to her pie crust. Cat grabbed several bottles of water and a chunk of cheese from the refrigerator, fetched a blanket from her room and ran outside to look for Turk. When she didn’t find him, she saddled a mare and placed the blanket, food and a supply of oats in a pair of saddlebags she hung over the mare’s hindquarters.

Rosie was more than ready to cooperate with Cat’s eagerness to be gone. Cat rode north toward the Colorado border, certain that Andrés would head away from civilization. She paused at five to drink and eat and rest the mare, refusing to give up hope.

By eight the sun was beginning to set. Cat had no idea how far she’d gone; the countryside had hardly changed, and she’d encountered only cattle, horses, and a few pronghorn antelope. Her legs ached, and Rosie was beginning to droop.

Cat dismounted at the foot of a small hill, stretched, and left Rosie to graze while she finished off the last bottle of water. Her heart was a leaden weight in her chest. She couldn’t continue with only the supplies remaining in the saddlebags; when morning came she’d have to turn around. The chances that she’d find Andrés were growing smaller by the moment.

Wearily she spread the blanket on the brown grass and lay down. She had just closed her eyes when Rosie nickered softly. Half afraid to hope, Cat opened her eyes again.

The stallion stood at the top of the hill, the plume of his tail stirring in the evening breeze. Cat rose, adrenaline rushing through her body.

Come, she begged silently. Come to me.

For a handful of minutes it seemed he would turn and flee. But slowly, hesitantly, he started down the hill, head lowered and ears pressed flat. He stopped several yards away, his eyes filled with that very human sadness.

“Andrés,” Cat whispered.

His ears flickered, but he came no nearer. Cat offered her upturned hands.

“I was wrong,” she said. “You’ve paid enough. It’s time you had a second chance.”

The stallion lifted his head. An eldritch light sprang up around him, gilding his coat and crackling the grass under his hooves.

Cat was never sure what she saw then. Andrés changed; four legs became two, and the ebon mane became a shock of thick, dark hair. He stood naked before her, still silent, still waiting.

Love and desire tangled in Cat’s mind, one inseparable from the other. She, too, had been transformed.

“We forgive you,” she said. “I forgive you, Andrés. Be free.”

He began to shake, and she realized he was laughing. His voice boomed in a cry of triumph and joy. He opened his arms and she walked into them, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of his body.

“Mi gatita,” he said, taking her face between his hands. “Gracias. Gracias desde el fondó de mi corazón.” He searched her eyes. “How may I repay you?”

In answer she kissed him, her hand wandering between them to stroke his erect cock. “If you really want to repay me,” she murmured, “don’t make me wait a second longer.”

She took his hand and led him to the blanket. He removed her clothing with something like reverence, worshiping her body with lips and tongue. But when he parted her thighs to enter, she rolled over and pushed him onto his back.

“It’s my turn now,” she said, and mounted him with a groan of pleasure.

That night she had the ride of her life. And when it was over and they lay together gazing up at the fading stars, she knew Itzel was at peace.

“Stay with me,” she said. “Stay with me forever.”

He traced her lips with his fingertip. “Forever is a long time.”

“Not nearly long enough.”

“You hardly know me. How can you be sure—”

“Let me show you just how sure I am.”

And they rode together, bound as one, until they could ride no farther.