Until the Day Breaks (California Rising Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Oro shoulder to shoulder with her, the way he herded wild mustang mares. She continued to ignore him, and his frustration grew.
    Finally reining his horse to a halt, he stepped down from the saddle in front of her. The damp, foggy air caused a lock of fair hair, escaped from her shawl, to curl against her rosy cheek. Roman restrained himself from tucking the silky strand back under her head-covering. Her eyes were wide with trepidation.
    “Who did you meet at the river?” He knew his voice was curt, but couldn’t help himself. She must know that each time she left the hacienda’s protective walls, she was in danger of being eaten by an animal or carried away by an Indian.
    She hesitated for only a moment. “God.”
    “God? Really? No man waited for you there?”
    “Only God was there.” Her guileless blue eyes probed far too deeply. “Do you not pray to the Lord?”
    Roman looked toward the river for a moment to escape her penetrating gaze. He removed a cigarillo from his shirt pocket and set about lighting it. “I pray for the Americanos to leave California.”
    “You do not like Americans?”
    “I’ve killed Americanos.” He puffed his cigarillo to life.
    She said nothing until he leveled his gaze on her. “Why?”
    “When the Americanos rose up in Texas, I fought for Mexico. I’ll fight the Yankees again when war comes here.”
    “Why do you entertain war?”
    “There is nothing entertaining about war.” He blew smoke between them. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down one bit, but none of her gentle manner escaped her. Or him. Her sweetness took him aback. Sighing, he set his gaze on the distant horizon. “I hope to see California govern herself. Mexico does not deserve her, and America will only pillage her.”
    “Not all Americans are greedy.”
    He turned his eyes back to hers, longing to shake the innocence from her. “I haven’t met a Yankee yet who can be trusted. Greed rules them all.”
    “I think you trust no man. Not just Yankees.” Her words, though kindly spoken, incensed him further.
    “You know nothing about me.”
    “You are wounded and sick, yet you pretend to be strong and whole.” She pointed to his leg. “There is blood on your trousers.”
    He looked down at his soiled pant leg, his ire growing. “Are you a healer?”
    To his surprise, she bent down and touched the dark stain on his pants with her fingertips. With her head bowed and covered by the dark shawl, she appeared a servant at his feet. The pressure she put on his thigh with her hand intensified, sending shooting pain through the aching wound. Had he not been so proud, he would have stepped away from her. “What are you doing?” he asked impatiently.
    “You have an infection. Your flesh is on fire. I’m praying for God to heal you.” She did not remove her hand from his leg. Instead, she put more pressure on the bandage under his pants. The sensation of her touch deepened. Heat climbed up his thigh, flooded his midsection, and pooled in his chest. For a moment, he found it hard to breathe.
    Dragging in a fortifying breath, he grabbed her by the shoulders and abruptly pulled her to her feet. His wound pounded in a rhythm that matched his thudding heart. He felt out of sorts and held on to her for a moment to steady himself.
    “How did you acquire the injury?” She put her hands on his upper arms, as if knowing he needed her strength. It almost seemed like an embrace between them.
    After a stunned moment, he pushed away from her, gently but urgently. He’d never been superstitious like so many Californios, but something about this woman was otherworldly. His wound vibrated as if it had a pulse of its own now. As if she’d poured something into him. A spirit of some kind. He needed to get away from her.
    “Let me help you.” She reached out, but he jerked back. Was it his fever from the infection making him so perplexed in her presence?
    With a last look at her standing there with the sun rising behind