“It’s been months since I’ve shared a bed with a woman,” Nisoni repeated, younger and more direct. “And you’re alone too. We can see it in your eyes.” Refugio felt her heart pound in her chest. It wasn’t fear; it was something else. Something that had lain dormant since her husband had been buried in the Bacadechi cemetery. “What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice firm, though her legs trembled.
Goklaya stepped forward. The ground seemed to tremble. « We don’t want to force you. We Apaches don’t force any woman, but we’re offering you a deal. We’ll protect you. No one will touch you again. Not the rural police, not the bandits, not the enraged Jaqui. In exchange, you’ll give us the comfort a man needs after spending six months with death as his companion and feeling no tenderness. »
Refugio let out a dry, bitter laugh. Two Apache giants asking for his permission as if they were petty tax farmers. « The world is going mad. » Nisoni smiled for the first time. His teeth were as white as fresh corn. « We are not petty tax farmers. We are men who know that a woman is master of her own body. But we also know that you have been sleeping with ghosts for three years. »
« Three years without anyone holding you close or making you forget you’re alive. » Refugio remained silent. The wind lifted her black skirt. She remembered the nights spent alone under the covers, biting her lip to keep from crying out the name of a dead man. She remembered the emptiness. « What will happen if I say no? » she asked finally.
“We will leave,” Goklaya said simply. “And we will never return. But if you say yes, we will have dinner with you tonight, and afterward, anything you want—nothing you don’t want.” The widow looked at the horses, the rifles, the bodies of these men who seemed sculpted by the ancient mountain gods.
And she felt something she hadn’t felt since before the war, a pure, animal desire, without guilt. « Come in, » she said finally, opening the door wide. « But first, you must bathe. You smell of death and horse sweat. I have a copper tub and well water. And there are beans with red chili peppers. We’ll see after that. » The Apaches smiled like children. They went into the cabin. The door closed.
That night, the September full moon bathed the lands of Sonora in a cold silver. Inside their hut, their refuge, water heated over the hearth. The warriors shed the few clothes they wore. Their bodies bore the marks of battle, scars from bullets, spears, and knives. Even Nisoni lacked the feathered serpent tattoos on his arms.
Goklaya wore the lightning bolt symbol on his chest. Refugio watched them unabashedly as she poured hot water into the bathtub. She had never seen men like this. Her husband had been tall, yes, but thin, almost frail at the end with tuberculosis. These men were living mountains. Goklaya stepped in first. The water barely reached his waist.
Refugio brought his grease soap and a sponge. He took her hand and sat her on the edge of the bathtub. « Wash me, » he asked, « I want to feel your hands before I feel all your love. » She obeyed. Her hands trembled at first, but then grew steady. She traced his broad torso, his shoulders, his stomach as hard as stone.
As he moved lower, he felt the force of his desire. Refugio swallowed. Nisoni watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame, his eyes blazing. When Goklaya had finished, it was Nisoni’s turn. The young man burned with impatience. Refugio felt his own body respond to his slightest touch.
It had been so long. They ate dinner in silence: beans, freshly made tortillas, dried meat brought by the Apaches, and mezcal that Refugio had kept since her husband’s death. They drank, they watched each other. The air was heavy with promise. Then Refugio got up and went to the bedroom. The two warriors followed her like wolves. The bed was large, made of mesquite wood, with a wool mattress that creaked under the weight of the three of them.
See more on the next page
Advertisement
