Rescuing The Runaway Bride

Without warning the brush started to detangle the ends and then worked its way up slowly. His ministrations were gentle. Even more so than Nana Ruth’s had been. A strange comfort wrapped around her, almost as if Magda had hugged her tight. The only time she had ever seen a man brush hair before had been in the stables as the grooms brushed down the horses. Did Chris see her as a horse that needed to be curried?

The idea stole some of the pleasure from the moment. After all, she didn’t know what he thought about her, or her trespassing on his land. Was he biding his time until he could send her on her way? Would he send her packing on Tesoro tomorrow? She hoped to be better soon, but just having sat through dinner left her feeling worn out. Riding Tesoro for days to get back would be impossible for at least another week. Would the Americano’s patience and hospitality wear out by then? Did he have other reasons for keeping her here?

Did he know Joaquín? If he had sold horses to her father’s hacienda, maybe he had sold animals to others in the area, as well. If he did know him, was he keeping her here until he could get word to Joaquín so that the vile man could come for her? Again she wondered how Papá could ever think that she should spend her life with a man like Don Joaquín. At the very thought, a shudder shook her shoulders.

“Did I hurt you?” His words were soft, and his breath blew across the crown of her head like a warm summer breeze, causing a tingling to spiral down her spine.

“No, no hurt.”

“This next part may be more difficult. You have blood and dirt mixed into your hair. Ca... Which one is it again?”

“Cabello, hair?”

“Sí, ca-bey-yo.”

“I know dirt.” She pointed to the clump of it that had already been knocked loose and lay on the bedspread beside her. “What is ‘blood’?”

“Blood, red water inside you and me.”

“You blood red? Not blue?” Even with the sun-kissed glow on his skin, when he sat at the table she could see the thick blue veins running up and down his muscular arms. The veins were bluer on his wrists, whereas most of the cowboys she had grown up with had dark skin that didn’t show veins. The few people she knew with visible veins had dark purple ones.