Ann Major - Marry A Man Who Will Dance

Gringas. He hoped his macho tíos were right when they said that gringas were even hornier than most men. Even the pretty, young ones. His uncles were always telling him that a real man screwed every pretty girl he could. Once, anyway. This girl had black curls and big boobs and the whitest, softest skin he’d ever seen on any girl, even a guera.

He had to ditch Caleb—and fast.

With seeming casualness, Roque began unbuttoning his loose white shirt. When Caleb was within earshot, Roque said, “Didn’t I tell you not to follow me unless I invited you along?”

“Can I…”

“Daddy said I wasn’t supposed to go near you! So—no!”

The sparkle went out of Caleb’s face and he looked down. “It’s a free country,” he said sullenly, kicking rocks. “Since when do you care what Daddy says?”

“Since this!”

Roque peeled his bloodstained cotton shirt off, and Caleb winced at the blood-crusted wounds crisscrossing Roque’s already scarred brown back.

His little brother loved him…so much. In his own way, every bit as much as Mamacita did.

Caleb—the favorite son. The perfect son. The white white son.

“Why don’t you ever just tell him you’re sorry, Roque, so he’ll stop?” Caleb demanded in a soft, worried voice.

“’Cause I’m not. ’Cause I hate him for always thinking I want to hurt you.”

Caleb gasped. “You’re dumb. If—”

“Don’t say that!”

“So dumb, your dumb zipper’s half open! If you hadn’t mouthed off, I could’ve explained and your back wouldn’t look like hamburger meat.”

Roque fumbled with his fly until he got the zipper up.

His father had grown angrier at each stroke. Caleb was the one who had run forward and risked the chain himself by grabbing their father’s hand. Not the cowboys. Not even Pablo, the ranch manager…Pablo, his friend. They’d just stood there, their boots planted in the thick dirt, their black heads hung low, some of them snickering nervously.

“I told you to get lost. I came here to be by myself so I can think.”

“I won’t say anything. Think away.” Caleb circled him, his green eyes almost popping out of his freckled face as he edged closer to get a better look at his brother’s bloody back.

Roque wadded his shirt into a ball and pitched it angrily into the pond. Nothing was working out. He glanced toward the trees. No sign of the brazen girl, who had stolen his clothes yesterday.

Caleb squatted down and rocked back on his heels. “He beat you even worse than last time….”

“I said scram.”

“You didn’t have to smart off.”

“Git—Daddy’s pet.”

Caleb, who was fourteen, rubbed his glistening eyes in shame. Then he shook his head proudly making his blond bangs fly.

Suddenly hoofbeats rumbled. Both boys swiveled when the strange, sorrel horse shot out of the forest, interrupting their standoff. The mare stopped when she heard them, her chest heaving. Her ears were pointed straight at them.

“That’s the Keller girl’s horse,” Caleb said.

La princesa. Roque had seen her once or twice. She was very white, plain, and ever so haughty.

“Not anymore. Be quiet and watch this.” Roque whistled to the mare.

Her friend must’ve ridden over. He’d steal her horse to pay her back for stealing his clothes.

The mare tore a mouthful of grass out of the ground. Watching him, she began to munch warily.

In long graceful strides, Roque moved through the grass toward her.

“What are you going to do?”

“Get lost, kid. You’ll only get in my way.” He paused. “If Daddy catches you with me, he’ll beat me. Is that what you want?”

Caleb went so white every freckle stood out. His thin shoulders sagged. Roque was stunned when his own dark heart twisted with remorse.

“Get,” he said.

“Who wants to catch a dumb old horse anyway,” Caleb said.

Roque really felt chagrined when Caleb turned his back on him and started walking home.

“Caleb…”

Roque forced himself to let it go. “I’m a real jerk, kid,” he muttered to himself. “Just like Daddy! The sooner you get that, the better for all three of us. When I go home this time, I’ll stay there. I’ll forget I ever had a gringo brother. I will! If it’s the last thing I ever do, I will!”

Catching her horse soon distracted him from his guilt trip. It wasn’t long before Roque had the reins and was stroking the mare’s dark nose with the flat of his hand. She was leaning her head into his every touch, nuzzling his open palm.

“Friends?” he whispered when he mounted her.

A dazzling white smile crept across Roque’s lean, tanned face. He made a clicking noise. “Where’s your sexy mistress, girl?”

If only she would be as easy to seduce as her horse.

Ritz was running down the caliche road when she heard the violent thunder of hooves thudding behind her.

She turned. Roque Blackstone was galloping Buttercup straight for her, stirring up thick clouds of white dust. His hair streamed like wet black ink back from his dark face. His wet shirt was plastered against his lean body. His eyes flamed a savage, incandescent green.

With a yell, she tried to run faster. Just when she thought he’d surely trample her or grab her up by the hair and scalp her, the furious pounding stopped. Then Ritz was enveloped in dust so thick, she had to put her hands up over her tear-filled eyes as she began to cough.

Buttercup snorted and stomped the earth.

When she could breathe again, Ritz sprinted for the gate.

“Whoa, girl! Whoa!” yelped a harsh, male voice. “You can’t outrun me or my horse.”

She stopped. “My horse!”

“Yours?” He laughed, the soft, velvety sound jeering her. “Who the hell are you?” His green eyes raked her skinny body.

He was looking at her, his eyes burning, challenging her the way all those other boys challenged Jet.

Oh, if only I were as gutsy as Jet—

Roque Moya had a peculiar effect on her. Last night she’d felt all grown up and on fire. Suddenly she felt strange, almost gutsy. Almost pretty.

“Ritz Keller! That’s who!” she snapped, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“You really think you’re somebody, don’t you? A real princesa?”

Up close his eyes were so fierce, she felt consumed by their unholy fire. “I’m not scared of you, Roque Blackstone!”

Liar.

“So, you know who I am?”

She almost stopped breathing when he smiled. Jet would have smiled back and said something clever.

“You’re a Blackstone—the worst of a bad bunch. You flunked…”

His face twisted. “If you don’t like us, what the hell are you doing on Blackstone land, Meeez Know-it-all Keller? Where’s your pretty friend?”

“Jet?”

“Are you like her? Did you come to watch a meens swim naked and steal heez clothes?”

“Man?” she corrected, tilting her nose in the air.

He flushed.

Sassily she put her hands on her hips. “You’re no man.”

“Like you’re some expert—”

“You’re just a stupid, mean boy nobody likes. Not even your father!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Last year he sent you home…to Mexico ’cause… ’cause…”

Roque swore violently under his breath, first in Spanish and then in English. “’Cause a bad girl told my father she liked me…too much—Four Eyes.”

“Well, I don’t like you.” Ritz stuck out her tongue.

He laughed. “Most girls do. That gets boring after a while.”

“You are too conceited to believe.”

Another quick burst of his male laughter made her heart skitter.

“I’m not boy-crazy…not like Jet.”

“Jet.” He purred. “So, that’s her name. She is pretty, your boy-crazy friend. Older. She follows me.”