Indeed, Mateo was a different man when surrounded by his mighty black stallions. He was even more masterful and all-powerful—a god in the forty-two-foot ring that was his professional domain. The memory of their one night of tumultuous love-making remained with Charlotte, waking and sleeping. But she found it difficult to equate this magnificently self-assured master of the horses with the tortured soul whose moon madness had claimed them both. Once that night was past, Mateo had never spoken of what had happened. He even seemed not to remember that he had taken her to him during those dark, stormy hours by the light of the full moon. But often when she turned toward him quickly, she would catch him gazing at her with a look of love and wonder in his dark eyes. Charlotte stood at the edge of the outdoor ring now, watching as Mateo, poised on the Black Devil’s back, prepared to execute a new maneuver. He was a marvel. As he initiated his move, she thought once more that he must surely have invisible wings.
