Kim Harrison - Hotter Than Hell

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.