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firm no, and she froze, squatting on the floor with her hands wrapped tightly around her knees, her head bent in submission.
Rayna, who had never been afraid of anything, could hardly believe what she was seeing. Witnessing a display of hopelessness and fear like this was more than she could bear. Acting with the same instinct she had used to tame the menagerie of wild animals that were her only friends at Rancho Verde, Rayna slid to her knees, gathered the tail of her nightgown in one hand, and crawled into the room, heedless of her startled parents.
“Rayna! No, don’t!” Collie called out in alarm, but Raymond placed one hand on her arm.
“Let her,” he counseled.
Rayna ignored them both. The frail Apache raised her head, and her eyes widened. Her fear seemed to ebb away, replaced by cautious curiosity. She lowered her knees to the floor and sat upright, motionless but poised for flight as Rayna came closer and finally mirrored her position on the floor only a few inches away.
They studied each other for a long moment. The Apache looked terrible and smelled even worse, but Rayna ignored the odor; she knew from experience it was nothing a good hot bath couldn’t cure. The hard part would be earning her trust enough to get her into a tub. It was the supreme challenge to the adventurous five-year-old, and there was nothing she liked more than a challenge.
“My name is Rayna.” The healthy blue-eyed blond child placed a hand on her own chest. “Rayna.”
The solemn little Apache mirrored the movement, but made no sound.
Rayna smiled. “I am your sister.”
The little girl’s matted black hair spilled over her shoulder as she cocked her head to one side. Timidly, as though she feared she might be punished, she reached out and touched one of Rayna’s golden curls. A fearful glance darted up to the adults nearby, but they only watched, and she grew bolder, her curiosity getting the better of her fear. Wrapping the lock of hair around her hand, she tugged gently and seemed mystified when nothing happened.
Puzzled, she raised the curl to her face and sniffed.
Rayna had to lean forward to keep the lock from being pulled out of her head, but she patiently submitted to the examination. “She’s never seen blond hair before, Mama,” she said quietly without looking at her parents.
“Rayna, be careful,” her mother cautioned.
“Oh, she won’t hurt me,” she replied confidently. “You won’t hurt me, will you?”
The little Apache studied the lock of hair and the child it was attached to.
Finally she released it and gathered a handful of her own hair into a tiny fist.
Tears appeared in her dark eyes, and her chin quivered. “Pr’ncess pretty?”
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Prologue
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Collie gasped and glanced at her equally amazed husband, but Rayna never took her eyes off her sister. “Princess very pretty.” She held out her hand. “Come.”
Dark eyes darted again to Raymond, and when he nodded his head the little Apache took Rayna’s hand.
Collie breathed a sigh of relief. “Raymond, you send for Gatana while I heat some bathwater. It’s going to be a very long night.”
Her prediction proved to be something of an understatement.
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Constance Bennett—Moonsong
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1
New Mexico Territory, April 1882
“They’re laughing at us, Samson, and it’s all your fault,” Rayna Templeton muttered as she trudged through the gates at Rancho Verde leading her Appaloosa stallion. Samson whinnied what could have been an apology, but his mistress suspected that he wasn’t at all sorry he’d thrown a shoe for the second time this week. For the last four miles Samson had been quite content to poke along unencumbered by his rider, but Rayna was disgusted and bone-deep weary. She was also covered with dust from her wide-brimmed felt hat to the toes of her leather boots. Since dawn she had been scouring the countryside for calves that had escaped the spring roundup, and now she wanted nothing more than a hearty meal and a hot bath.
But first she had to get past the cowhands who had gathered at the corral to poke fun at her.
“Out fer another stroll, Miss Rayna?” Charlie McGinty hollered, making no attempt to hide the smirk on his weathered face.
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“Yes, indeed, Charlie,” she replied facetiously. “The air is so invigorating at this time of year I just don’t seem to be able to resist.”
While Charlie scratched his head, apparently trying to figure out what
“invigorating” meant, Flint Piper took his turn. “Didja pick any pretty wild-flowers, miss?”
Everyone guffawed at that, and even Rayna had to bite back a smile. Dainty pursuits like picking posies were as foreign to her as words like “invigorating”
were to Charlie. “No, Flint, I’m afraid the verbena and Indian paintbrush are past their prime. There’ll be no flowers on Mother’s dinner table tonight.”
“That’s too bad,” Flint replied. “Miz Collie’s gonna be mighty disappointed.”
Rayna stopped and affected an air of sadness. “No more so than I, Flint.
You all know how much I adore a pretty bouquet.”
The men were still laughing at that when someone else called out an admonition against strolling in the sun without a parasol. He earned a back-slapping guffaw because he’d done such a good impersonation of Rayna’s mother. The object of their mirth put an end to the laughter by dusting her hat on her trousers, sending up a cloud of dirt that set everyone to coughing.
Chuckling, Guillermo Rodriguez jumped off the top rung of the corral fence. “All right, vaqueros, the fun is over. The sun is high and there is still work to be done.”
“Not the least of which is shoeing this horse,” Rayna muttered to the range boss as the other men scattered. “Something has to be done about that new blacksmith, Gil. I knew he was too good to be true when he showed up last week looking for a job. I can do a better job of shoeing horses than he can, and that’s not saying much.”
Rodriguez grinned. “Do you want the job, señorita? I am sure Señora Templeton would be happy to know that you are working closer to home instead of being out on the range every day.”
Rayna slanted an exasperated glance in his direction. “Don’t you start on me, too, Gil.”
“Oh, but the men, they love to tease you, señorita.”
She patted Samson’s neck. “That’s because a walking target is easy to hit.”
He laughed and held out his hand for the reins. “Here, I will take care of Samson—and the blacksmith.”
Though normally Rayna stabled her own mount, she handed the reins over gratefully. “Thank you, Gil. And by the way, I struck gold this morning. I rounded up ten head and drove them into the corral above Diablo Canyon.
There are two maverick calves and a sleepered yearling in the bunch.”
“Bueno!” he said, his eyes shining with respect. A sleepered yearling was a calf with an earmark but no brand—indicating that the animal had escaped spring roundup for two years in a row. That usually meant the herd he traveled 7
Constance Bennett—Moonsong
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in was quite wild, and single-handedly corralling a wild herd was no small feat.
“I will send Flint and Charlie out now to bring them in for the brand.”