Free Bed of Roses by Rebecca Paisley Page B

died even before Grandfather met her. And Azucar—”
    “She’s the old woman who tries to ravish me every night.”
    “Yes,” Zafiro said, smiling. “Time caught up with her body, but not her mind. She still thinks she is the young seductress she once was. Anyway, when age began to slow down the men, Grandfather brought us all here to these mountains and built La Escondida. We are very alone here. Only the convent and a few tiny villages are close by. Piedra Blanca is the nearest real town. That is where there is a big store. But Piedra Blanca, it is too far from La Escondida.”
    “This place is hidden, isn’t it? I remember seeing you slip inside a concealed—”
    “La Escondida means ‘The Hidden.’ My grandfather fashioned the hidden entrance to keep us from being found. The men, they helped, but it was Grandfather whose cookie was clever.”
    “He was a smart cookie.”
    “How can a cookie be smart?”
    Sawyer shrugged. “It’s only a saying.”
    “You Americans say strange things.”
    “Maybe, but they sound even stranger when you say them.”
    Zafiro chose to overlook his criticism, especially since he tempered it with a smile and continued to shower Mariposa with affection. “My men, Sawyer. The Quintana Gang. You still do not think you have ever heard of them?”
    He brushed his fingers through his hair. “Maclovio said they were famous. I guess I might have heard of them.”
    “But you do not remember. Well, it has been ten years since they rode together.”
    “And you’ve been hidden away here for ten years with them.” Hidden, Sawyer thought. No men, save the gang and maybe a priest or two down at the convent, had ever seen Zafiro in those ten years.
    His finding her was akin to discovering a rare and radiant jewel in the crevices of a hidden mine. No wonder she was so bold of tongue, so totally candid when speaking about sexual things. It was more than likely that no one had ever taught her differently.
    He certainly wasn’t going to be the one to enlighten her either.
    “I will pay you if you tell me your thoughts, Sawyer.”
    “A penny for your thoughts,” he translated. “So La Escondida is truly a den of thieves, huh?”
    “That does not bother you?”
    “If I said it did, would you try to kill me again?”
    His answer made her laugh.
    And Sawyer thought her laughter the softest, prettiest sound he’d heard in a very long while. “Whatever your men did ten years ago doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I don’t think I’m a lawman, but even if I were, I wouldn’t turn them in. What purpose would it serve to put three harmless old men behind bars?”
    There was no mistaking his sincerity. It shone from his golden eyes like sunshine through a crevice, and Zafiro’s relief was of such depth that she reached for his hand, brought it to her mouth, and kissed his knuckles. “Whoever you are, I think you must be a very good man, Sawyer Donovan. Maybe you are a priest?”
    He slid his thumb across her chin and smiled again when he saw her sapphire eyes darken to a dusky blue. Just as she’d been hidden away from the world for ten years, a wealth of passion was hidden away within her.
    A pity he’d be leaving soon. He’d have liked to be the man to free her passion.
    The thought convinced him he was definitely not a priest.
    “Sawyer?”
    “Hmm?”
    “You know, although it is possible that you are a ballet dancer, you could be a farmer. The nuns said you knew a lot about gardening. You could also be one of other strong people. A logger, or a horse rancher, or a—”
    “Fence builder,” he interrupted. “Or a riverboat captain, or a miner, or a cattle breeder, or a soldier. Or maybe,” he said, his eyes wide with mock excitement, “just maybe I’m Santa Claus!”
    Before Zafiro could address his ridiculous guess her men entered the room.
    “He could be a traveling salesman,” Maclovio said. “A schoolmaster, or maybe a gunsmith. But I wish he was a fighter. If he