Turquoise Dreams Read online

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  The Wild Rose Press

  www.thewildrosepress.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Elizabeth Hanawa

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Quotes

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Also available

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  Turquoise

  Dreams

  by

  Betty Hanawa

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Turquoise Dreams

  COPYRIGHT ©

  2008 by Elizabeth Hanawa

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2008

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Tawny's and Leslie's encouragement

  and Ben, as always.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Quotes

  "Betty Hanawa's books are all recommended reads and TURQUOISE DREAMS has found a spot on my keeper shelf."~Lori, eCataromance

  The suspenseful, humorous way the tale is told is very hot and spicy. TURQUOISE DREAMS definitely raises the level of heat to volcanic. With this grand erotic paranormal romance as an example, I can definitely say that I'll be reading more of Betty Hanawa's books in the future.~D.S. Shadows, Romance Reviews Today

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  "Hoo-boy, looks like the Ramirez Woman's Curse has struck the Calvertons again. Guess we don't get no High Society party.” The clatter in the diner paused momentarily at the booming bass of the biggest gossip in town. “Yep, appears to be that Calder Calverton's third engagement has bit the dust."

  Nita Ramirez Gonzalez's heart tripled-thumped. A member of the third generation of Ramirez women since The Curse's so-called inception, she didn't want believe in it.

  But if it did work, she sure didn't want to admit the hope that Call might not be getting married.

  With a straw, she stirred her iced tea, then sucked up some. The honey-sweetened, lime tartness eased her dry mouth. Maybe the thoroughly chilled tea would also cool the heat flashing through her. She had to get over this insane attraction for Calder Calverton. Her fantasies were getting completely out of hand, especially for someone who was practically a brother to her.

  In the style of voice used every Friday night under the football stadium lights, the self-appointed announcer proclaimed the play-by-play to the other patrons as if they couldn't already see for themselves what was happening outside the diner's windows.

  "Calder has left his truck and is heading to the diner door. No hoity-toity New Yauwk Cidee woman in sight. Boy looks madder than a snake. I do believe we're about to find out who won the kitty."

  Nita hunched into her booth. She hoped the burly Border Patrol officers sitting in the booth behind her hid her from Call. She peeked around the curtains imprinted with the ubiquitous Southwest design of turquoise, bronze and peach. Matching geckos sprawled across the cream above the zigzags. The material held the odor of years of fried food trapped in its fibers.

  Dust puffed from beneath the soles of Call's boots and swirled hurriedly out of his way.

  The familiar pull of fantasy that happened lately whenever she thought of Calder took Nita from the here-and-now and threw her over the edge of ... somewhere else.

  Dust puffed from beneath Call's horse's hooves and swirled hurriedly toward her. Instead of peeking through musty curtains, Nita stood on the cliff's edge and peeked through the manzanita bushes to watch Call ride across the valley floor.

  He tied his horse in the sparse shade beside the creek and climbed through the scrub brush to where she waited in the shadow of the mountainside. He tossed his saddlebag and a blanket to the ground.

  He towered above her. However, unlike most men, he didn't use his height and build to intimidate. Nita knew whatever was going to happen between them, he would keep her safe from his people and her own.

  Looking into blue eyes that matched the summer sky behind him, she saw wonder and awe and a bit of apprehension. She'd seen that look once in the eyes of fawn in the woods. She'd promised Call she would be here. She was here.

  "Brought some food.” Despite the brusque tone, his rough voice slid through her to settle in a warm pool between her legs. “Hungry?"

  Nita shook her head. She couldn't eat. She didn't think she could swallow.

  Call's gaze slipped to her lips. Her mouth suddenly went dry.

  She lifted her own canteen, and her fingers trembled when she tried to unscrew the cap. He took the canteen from her shaking hand. The thick calluses covering his fingers from work with cattle and horses rubbed gently against her skin.

  How would those fingers feel against the more tender flesh of her body? She'd felt his hands on her through the heaviness of her clothes. Would she be able to carry forward her plan to feel him against her skin? She knew she could no longer bear to push him away in obedience to her mother's and the priest's commands.

  He deftly untwisted the cap, then helped her hold the canteen to drink. Her hand looked small against his. Her fingers had their own calluses and nicks from her work. She did not have the soft, pretty, dove-white hands of the other girls he knew, the daughters of his father's friends.

  Nita drank, easing the dryness in her mouth and throat. Yet the dryness returned when she looked into his eyes.

  He lightly ran his index finger across her lower lip then down her chin. “Got a bit of water dripped on you."

  He capped the canteen and set it with his saddlebags.

  Approaching her the way she'd seen him move toward a skittish colt, his finger followed the elusive drip of water down her throat and across her collarbone to skim the top swell of her breast.

  Nita shivered, yet she felt no chill. Heat whipped through her, making her as dizzy as sunstroke. This time she did not pull away from his touch but took a deep breath to give his finger permission to further explore her breast.

  "You're sure you want to keep going?” The soothing tone he used to gentle horses really held no question. He knew she was ready, with the same surety she did.

  For months, they had been meeting. First meetings developed from the curiosity of two different families of very different cultures.

  In the span of time, her family had been here for generations. Apaches had roamed the area. Apaches who married into or were assimilated by the Spanish conquistado
rs and mission priests supplanted by the Mexican rancheros.

  Call's skin, almost as deep brown as her brothers', was bronzed by the sun, not by heritage. His family had run cattle in the area for but a single generation.

  Gradually, inevitably, their meetings changed to the curiosity of male and female differences.

  Now she wanted to become one with him.

  He spread the blanket on the cliff floor, the back of the mountain watching over them. “Let's just sit a bit."

  She allowed him to take her hand and lead her down but surprised both of them by boldly sitting on his lap instead of demurely beside him. She put her mouth on his and felt his lips smile under hers.

  She didn't want his smile. She wanted his taste. She tentatively flicked her tongue across the smile. The warmth of his exhale slid into her, and she hesitated a moment. Their last time together, he had taken command at this point and pushed his tongue into her mouth as though he were dying of thirst and her mouth was a well of clear, cool water. This time he seemed to be waiting.

  Gathering a bit more courage from the co-mingled bloods of her ancestral heritages, Nita began an exploration of his mouth. His tongue welcomed hers, wrapped around it in a wet, dark hug. How could wetness kindle fire? Yet, the thrust and stroking of his tongue ignited a blaze that flared throughout her.

  She ran her hands across his cotton shirt, trying to maintain a purchase on reality. She clung to his neck. If she let go, she'd flare into ash. His arm supported her back. Beneath the thin cotton of her blouse, she felt his arm muscles, strong from holding cattle during the branding season, from rescuing orphaned calves. His scent smelled of warm horse, of lye soap lightly scented with juniper, of the crispness of sunlight, of the earth. She needed to be closer to the scent of him.

  The heat burned through her. Her clothes grew too tight. She needed the cool air against her scorching skin, the touch of his skin on hers.

  She broke the kiss and tugged her blouse loose from the waistband of her skirt. He helped her remove the blouse, leaving her in her chemise.

  Nita ducked away from his seeking mouth and struggled with his shirt's fasteners. He simply yanked the shirt over his head and discarded it. She spared a brief glance to his shirt landing on top of her blouse. The dampness between her thighs grew wetter, hotter, when she realized in but a short time, he would cover her body with his the way his shirt covered her blouse.

  She turned to meet his eyes. The light blue had darkened to the deep slate of a summer storm-tossed sky. Despite the lightning of man-lust blazing in them, his eyes still held the calmness Nita trusted with all her heart. She knew at any time she felt unready, she could tell him to stop and he would do as she asked. Each step of this would be her choice. No matter what decision she made, he would bear her no ill will or force her to go beyond where she could tread.

  But this she wanted. This man. No other. From this day forward, no other man would have her. She did not need the priest's blessings. Here on the side of the mountain, the sky and the earth blessed them. The sun would give her the father's kiss she would not receive from her father. The wind would give her the mother's caress she would not receive from her mother. To this man, with his turquoise eyes and sun-bronzed skin, she would belong from this day forward even beyond death.

  His blunt fingers fumbled with the ribbons of her chemise in his eagerness.

  "Wait,” she said, reluctant as he to end the contact of his hands when they brushed across her nipples.

  She felt the heavy weight jutting against her thighs with a life of its own as though it were searching blindly through his trousers for the dampness of her bloomers. She shifted to sit on his saddlebags and removed her boots.

  Some day, in the far hoped for future, she would see those fine lines crinkle with age around his eyes and mouth and know she'd given him the smiles that embedded them into his face. But for now he followed her lead, removed his boots and stockings, and set them next to hers.

  She untied the waistband of her skirt and petticoat. Then she stood and let them drop to the blanket.

  His eyes grew wide with wonder and pleasure. He loosened his belt, but before he could fully unbutton his pants, a sudden shyness swept her and she lowered her eyes to the earth.

  His hand swept her hair from the crown of her head to its full length past her thighs. He touched nothing but her hair.

  Then his hand stroked her face from temple to her chin. “It's fine. We can stop."

  "No.” She lifted her chin, firmed the nervousness from her jaw, and her eyes met his. “I want this. I want you."

  "And I want you.” He took her left hand in his. “I found something for you."

  He opened her palm and placed a nugget of turquoise in it. The raindrop shape held the color of the deep summer sky with golden sunlight traced across it like Father Sun's beams in blessing. Its blue matched his love-filled eyes.

  "I found it in the caves. I kind of wonder if it's part of the vein that your Indian grandfather told you about."

  The turquoise throbbed in her hand. The years blew through her, connecting her to the past when, in darkness and pressure, the stone formed into a piece of the sky.

  "I'm going back into the caves to find another piece. I want to make them into rings for us when we marry."

  She'd heard her brothers talking late one night when they thought she was asleep. Amongst the laughter and coarse jokes, they gave each other advice on the quickest way to get between a woman's legs. Most of them agreed with her middle brother's suggestion. “Promise them marriage. They drop their drawers fast then."

  "Sí,” her oldest brother agreed. The bitterness in his voice lanced Nita's heart. “Then they assure themselves you will marry them when there is a baby on the way."

  Her eyes met Call's. His eyes held no deceit.

  Nita clutched the nugget and looked through the dark veils around him hiding the future. Her half Apache grandmother had taught her some of women's magic, the way to focus to see parts of the important things of life.

  Finally, she saw a vision through the darkness. Despite the years of passage, he still remained young. His love for her shone strong. She searched the future line for children. She did not want him to have the bitterness her brother had for his wife. She saw no children that took away the love he carried.

  The veils shut down again, leaving her standing on the mountainside in the sunlight in front of him. She knew her monthlies well. This time there would not be a child.

  As for the future...

  His love for her would remain strong. No unplanned child would diminish his joy of her.

  She carefully set the turquoise nugget near their clothes. Then she undid the last button on his pants and pushed them past his hips. He stepped out of them and kicked them to join her skirt and petticoat.

  Amazed at the sight of his manhood straining the front fabric of his drawers, she caught her breath, then said, “Sit, please."

  Knowing he watched her, Nita slowly rolled down and removed first one stocking, then the other. She untied her chemise and let it hang open. Then she untied her bloomers. As she started to tug them past her full hips, shyness struck again.

  She looked into his eyes. They held no disappointment, only the same steadfast calmness and strength she'd grown to love.

  Easing down the bloomers and shrugging off the chemise, Nita tossed both pieces onto their pile of clothes to stand proudly in the sunshine.

  In this vision, Nita had the thick bones and short stature of her more distant heritage. Her hair furred darkly on her arms and legs, puffed under her arms and at the middle of her legs. She did not have the dove white skin of his father's friends, those blonde and red-haired girls he danced with at parties.

  But she was the one on whom his eyes sparkled, as sunlight on a creek bed.

  He stood and approached as slowly as he would to a small frightened animal.

  "You are beautiful.” His breath was sweet in her nostrils. He placed a roughened palm
on her breast as he untied his drawers and let them drop.

  She'd seen a man's male member before. She'd cleaned dirty diapers, caught an inadvertent glimpse of her brothers urinating in the chaparral, even cared for her grandfather in his dying days.

  She'd grown up on a ranch. Cattle, horses, dogs, cats—all had bred before her eyes.

  Nothing had prepared her for this.

  The heat that had scorched through her at his kisses, at the touch of his hands through her clothing became no more than the slight sting of a hot coffee cup against her palms compared to the wildfire that now consumed her. Thick and long, with pulsing dark blue veins, his member grew even as she watched. A tiny bit of moisture gleamed jewel-like on the tip. Her own moisture flooded between her legs. She tightened her inner muscles in a futile effort to relieve the aching need without her fingers. She needed to touch him, to have him touch her.

  As though her hand belonged to someone else, she watched herself reach forward, slowly drag her fingers the length of his shaft and catch the glistening drop on her fingertip. She studied it then licked it off her finger. It tasted of salt, the beginning essences of the world. She closed her eyes to savor the flavor of him.

  At the touch of a finger between her legs, her eyes snapped open. As slowly as she had, he slid his finger between the folds, much more gently than she rubbed herself. He held his hand to study his finger now wet with her fluid, then slowly licked it, savoring her as she had savored him.

  She widened her legs to silently ask him to touch her again. Instead, he simply looked at her with a slight smile to remind her she was the one to set the pace.

  "Touch.” Her breath caught at the audacity of her request.

  "Touch what?” She heard the laughter hiding in his voice. Wicked man.

  "Touch me again."

  "Where?"

  She wanted to grind her teeth in frustration. She took his hand and placed it between her legs. “Touch me here. Please. Now."

  His finger strokes, first tentative and gentle, grew hard and rougher as she ground herself against his hand. Wildfire streaked through her the way the fires burned on the mountainside after a lightning strike. She would not be able to bear this. She could not bear this to ever stop. She reached higher and higher within herself, barely aware of her body except for the part he continued to slide his fingers in and out of.