and they got underway, the riderless mare docilely following the big stallion over the barren tablelands.
“Feeling better now?” Luiz said against Amy’s tousled hair.
Enclosed in his arms, Amy curled her fingers around the saddlehorn and leaned her head against his left shoulder. Sighing, she said, “Much better, thank you. When I’m with you I always feel good. And safe, so safe.” Smiling, she glanced up at him.
“Safe?” he repeated. “Ah, querido , I am not sure about that. You are so beautiful, so tempting. My father says, ‘ La mujer es como el vidrio , siempre está en peligro. ’ ‘A woman is like glass, always in danger.’”
Amy laughed. “Even if that were true, I would only break if you dropped me abruptly. Or threw me away. You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
He laughed. Then sobered and said, “Amy, if the time comes when one of us is to be tossed away and forgotten, it will be me.”
Amy’s hands automatically came back to clutch at the hard-trousered thighs cradling her own. “No! Don’t talk like that. I could never give you up. Could never forget you.”
He smiled, pleased, wanting to believe her. While she turned and rained reassuring kisses over his cheek, he laughed and imagined, not for the first time, how wonderful it would be when they were married, living here-together on the wild, beautiful land they loved, the land that would belong to them.
He was surely the luckiest person ever born. The two most precious things life had to offer would one day be his.
Amy.
And Orilla.
When the sweethearts reached the tall stand of willows guarding their river redoubt, they laughed and raced to see who could get undressed first and into the cold, clear water.
Rolled up behind the cantle on Amy’s black mare were the cut-off knee-length buckskins and the heavy denim shirt that she had used for swimming those first few weeks she was home.
Now they remained where they were.
On a hot afternoon a couple of weeks ago, Luiz had turned to Amy as she started to disappear into the privacy of the willows and said, “Would it offend you if I stopped wearing a shirt and these heavy trousers when we swim?” He plucked at the sides of his hot, heavy pants.
Wondering what he had on underneath, she had shaken her head. Swiftly he had whipped off his shirt, unbuttoned the heavy trousers, and sent them to the ground. He kicked them aside and stood there, smiling at her, wearing nothing but a skimpy suede breechcloth.
It was the first time Amy had seen him without his shirt, much less without his trousers. Holding her own folded bathing attire in her arms, she stared openly at him. It seemed gloriously strange that his chest and legs were as bronzed as his face.
She had seen her father hurriedly wash up in the kitchen on occasion. While his face and throat and his heavily muscled arms were sun darkened, his chest, where a shirt always covered him, was pale. Tonatiuh, unlike her father, had no hair on his chest. It was smooth and hairless and beautiful. He was long waisted. His gleaming torso tapered into corded ribs and a flat, hard belly. His legs were long, the thigh bones strong-looking beneath the coppery skin. The briefness of his breechcloth afforded revealing glimpses of his firm bronzed buttocks.
Like the innocent she was, Amy blushed, realizing that what most fascinated her was that part of his anatomy which was barely concealed beneath the skimpy loincloth. She felt her face go crimson when her eyes fell on a tiny string of leather tied atop his bare hip. It struck her that with one quick jerk of that loosely tied knot, Tonatiuh would be totally naked.
Her embarrassed gaze flew up to his face.
Stammering, she said, “I … ah … I’ll go put … my—”
“Don’t,” he said, and took a step toward her. “You’re wearing underwear, aren’t you?”
“Certainly!”
“Then why not swim in it? When you get out, the sun will dry it within minutes.”
She stood there for a
“Feeling better now?” Luiz said against Amy’s tousled hair.
Enclosed in his arms, Amy curled her fingers around the saddlehorn and leaned her head against his left shoulder. Sighing, she said, “Much better, thank you. When I’m with you I always feel good. And safe, so safe.” Smiling, she glanced up at him.
“Safe?” he repeated. “Ah, querido , I am not sure about that. You are so beautiful, so tempting. My father says, ‘ La mujer es como el vidrio , siempre está en peligro. ’ ‘A woman is like glass, always in danger.’”
Amy laughed. “Even if that were true, I would only break if you dropped me abruptly. Or threw me away. You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
He laughed. Then sobered and said, “Amy, if the time comes when one of us is to be tossed away and forgotten, it will be me.”
Amy’s hands automatically came back to clutch at the hard-trousered thighs cradling her own. “No! Don’t talk like that. I could never give you up. Could never forget you.”
He smiled, pleased, wanting to believe her. While she turned and rained reassuring kisses over his cheek, he laughed and imagined, not for the first time, how wonderful it would be when they were married, living here-together on the wild, beautiful land they loved, the land that would belong to them.
He was surely the luckiest person ever born. The two most precious things life had to offer would one day be his.
Amy.
And Orilla.
When the sweethearts reached the tall stand of willows guarding their river redoubt, they laughed and raced to see who could get undressed first and into the cold, clear water.
Rolled up behind the cantle on Amy’s black mare were the cut-off knee-length buckskins and the heavy denim shirt that she had used for swimming those first few weeks she was home.
Now they remained where they were.
On a hot afternoon a couple of weeks ago, Luiz had turned to Amy as she started to disappear into the privacy of the willows and said, “Would it offend you if I stopped wearing a shirt and these heavy trousers when we swim?” He plucked at the sides of his hot, heavy pants.
Wondering what he had on underneath, she had shaken her head. Swiftly he had whipped off his shirt, unbuttoned the heavy trousers, and sent them to the ground. He kicked them aside and stood there, smiling at her, wearing nothing but a skimpy suede breechcloth.
It was the first time Amy had seen him without his shirt, much less without his trousers. Holding her own folded bathing attire in her arms, she stared openly at him. It seemed gloriously strange that his chest and legs were as bronzed as his face.
She had seen her father hurriedly wash up in the kitchen on occasion. While his face and throat and his heavily muscled arms were sun darkened, his chest, where a shirt always covered him, was pale. Tonatiuh, unlike her father, had no hair on his chest. It was smooth and hairless and beautiful. He was long waisted. His gleaming torso tapered into corded ribs and a flat, hard belly. His legs were long, the thigh bones strong-looking beneath the coppery skin. The briefness of his breechcloth afforded revealing glimpses of his firm bronzed buttocks.
Like the innocent she was, Amy blushed, realizing that what most fascinated her was that part of his anatomy which was barely concealed beneath the skimpy loincloth. She felt her face go crimson when her eyes fell on a tiny string of leather tied atop his bare hip. It struck her that with one quick jerk of that loosely tied knot, Tonatiuh would be totally naked.
Her embarrassed gaze flew up to his face.
Stammering, she said, “I … ah … I’ll go put … my—”
“Don’t,” he said, and took a step toward her. “You’re wearing underwear, aren’t you?”
“Certainly!”
“Then why not swim in it? When you get out, the sun will dry it within minutes.”
She stood there for a
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