Dust Devil by Parris Afton Bonds Page B

. to, to that monster that is devouring Indian children!”
    “ The children do not stay.”
    In a stunning moment of revelation she understood then what he did not say, that he spirited them away.   That explained why Navajo children were rarely seen working at the Castle.
    “The question is . . . will you?”
    "The pretty girl with your sister — Adala — are you two to marry?”
    He did not appear perplexed by her abrupt subject switch and replied calmly, "It is so arranged by our parents.”
    Rosemary recognized that whatever questions she asked of Lario, she would learn little from his answers and would have to be content with what he wished her to know. Doubtless, he disliked her as much as she did him; that he, incredible as it seemed to her, possibly felt she was beneath his disdain. And at that, she smiled, relaxing her emotional defense ever so slightly.
    "How long will it last — the sandstorm?” she asked.
    Only the narrowing of his lids alerted her that he was at once on guard against the almost pleasant, conversational tone of her voice. "By morning it should blow itself out.” He rolled to his stomach, stretching out as far as the confining space would allow, and rested his forehead on his arms. His shirtsleeve muffled his voice. "You will need to rest. We will leave early for Cambria.”
    "What makes you think I have decided to return?”
    "Because you are a practical woman, Senora — or else you would not have come so far for a man you did not know.”
    "You mean because love was not involved? Then are you not also a practical person?” she challenged. "Marrying because your parents made an arrangement — instead of marrying for love?”
    His dark gaze swung up to hers, its arrow thrust pinning her where she sat. "And what makes you think I am not?”
    "Well, I thought — ” Rosemary tore her gaze from his and fixed her eyes on the red-pink bleakness without. "I’m sorry — I did not mean to become personal.”
    "Why, Senora ? Are you afraid of becoming too personal with the lowly Indian?” he derided. "Give the animals a few scraps, and you’ve done your good deed!”
    "That’s not true!”
    “Oh?  I have watched you descend from the Castle, a basket of fruit or knitted clothing on your arm to give out like the padre giving blessings to us heathens.”
    And he had hated her for it , she realized, hated her for her impersonal charity.  When he laid his forehead on his crossed arms to sleep, she was caught short at the sense of rejection she felt.
    As the night approached and grew colder, she huddled within his blanket, shivering. She knew he must be as cold or colder. Yet she hesitated in awakening him. Had fear and conditioning made her truly the hard and impersonal woman he had described? Had it prejudiced her so harshly?  I have, indeed, been a fool .
    Softly she crawled to him and stretched out beside his long frame, spreading the blanket over both of them. But the cold of the rock beneath continued to seep through her tattered gown to chill her.
    Then he startled her by turning over and drawing her into the warm cocoon of his arms. At her conditioned resistance he said, "I will not hurt you, Senora .” Then, "I wondered when the cold would overcome your fear.”
    She heard the maddening amusement in his voice. "I am not afraid,” she began but broke off her angry flow of words. "Aye, you’re right, Lario,” she said more slowly. In the night’s darkness, where his all-knowing eyes were hidden from her, her admission was made easier. "I am afraid of you, and I don’t know why . . . because you have been nothing but courteous.”
    His voice was muffled in her hair. "Maybe you are afraid, Senora . . . of being a woman.”
    Her breath caught, and Lario continued softly, "I would do nothing that you did not want . . . for then I would find no pleasure.”
    Pleasure. The word taunted her. Did such a word exist in the realm of the woman’s sexuality? Even the word "sexuality” was