She had just bent over, prepared to insert one foot in a wet pant leg, when Ignacio came storming into the water, boots and all. Apparently he’d been watching them the entire time.
Rafe tried to stop him, but he slipped on the wet stones, scrambling to stay upright.
Pointing his gun at her back end, Ignacio raged, “Dios mio! What the hell ees that?”
“What?” she squeaked, holding her sopping slacks in front of her French-cut bikini pants.
“That mark on your ass,” Ignacio growled. “You have the angel’s mark on you, too.”
“Of course she has my mark,” Rafe declared, as if it was the plainest thing in the world. “She’s my wife… mi esposa.”
“What?” Helen and Ignacio both said at the same time. Pablo and Sancho sidled up, too.
Ignacio’s mean eyes narrowed. “I ain’t never heard of El Angel Bandido gettin’ hitched.”
“Well, the little woman and I got married this morning,” Rafe lied baldly. “In fact, this trek to the mountains was supposed to be our honeymoon. No, no, don’t feel the need to rush out and buy us a wedding gift.” Beaming at her like a besotted dope, Rafe waded over and put a wet sleeve around her equally wet shoulder. Meanwhile, she still clutched her slacks to the front of her body. “Isn’t that true, cupcake?”
She tried to wriggle out of his embrace.
“No, I do not believe you are married,” Ignacio asserted, scratching his head with the barrel of one gun while trying to get a closer view of Helen’s fanny.
“Just play along with me,” Rafe whispered in her ear. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Hah!”
“Really. Mexicans are almost always Roman Catholic,” Rafe explained rapidly, shielding her surreptitiously with his body. “Very religious, and superstitious. Adultery is one of the biggest no-no’s in the Church.”
“Are you Catholic?”
“Sometimes. Put your pants on and stop arguing.”
“Who’s a Catholic? What adultery?” Ignacio looked dazed by the whole conversation.
“How can you be a sometimes Catholic?” Helen asked as she struggled to get into the wet pant legs.
Rafe waved her question aside as unimportant.
“Were you religious when you were a gang member?”
“No, I was more like a lost lamb. Get back on the subject!”
“And now you’re not lost anymore?” She was truly perplexed by this apparent dichotomy in his character.
“Well, sometimes I still get lost,” he said with a grin.
“Stop whispering,” Ignacio ordered. “What were you saying to Elena?” he demanded to know of Rafe.
“Nothin’,” Rafe lied. “I was just sticking my tongue in her ear. She likes that. A lot.” He gave Ignacio one of those man-to-man looks.
Helen gasped with indignation.
Ignacio practically salivated.
“Ain’t that true, sweetheart?” Rafe asked, daring her to disagree. She’d only got her one leg in the pants so far. He slapped one palm familiarly over her mostly bare right cheek.
She nodded, meanwhile grinding her heel into his instep.
He dropped his hand with a groan.
“Get out of the water,” Ignacio ordered, waving his gun.
“They are married?” Sancho asked dolefully. “I knew it! Just my luck, there weel be no corkscrew today.”
“No corkscrew! No corkscrew!” Pablo wailed. “You promised, Ignacio. You said, if I stopped bellyaching, I would get my turn tonight. You said — ”
“Shut the hell up!” Ignacio roared, then turned angrily on Rafe. “Show me the marriage certificate.”
“Sure thing,” Rafe said. “It’s in my backpack.” Then he gave Ignacio a considering scrutiny. “You did remember to bring my backpack, didn’t you? It was lying on the ground back where Sancho wrestled me in the dirt and tied my wrists.”
When all three bandits looked at each other and realized that no one had picked up a pack, Rafe shrugged as if to say, hey, it wasn’t his fault.
“You do not have proof of thees marriage?” Ignacio asked, clearly not buying Rafe’s story. “Then Elena will do the corkscrew with us till you give us that proof.”
“Oh, but I can give you proof,” Rafe inserted glibly, “when we get to Sacramento tomorrow. The padre at the mission can verify the marriage. You know Father Fernando, don’t you?”