Kim Harrison - Hotter Than Hell

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.