Amelia (20 page)

King felt sick all over. He took a deep draw from the cigar, almost smothering himself.

"She knew that her father would not spare her. Perhaps she even hoped that he might inflict enough damage to kill her."

King groaned out loud. The possibilities were tearing at his conscience like knives.

"The gossip will only bring it back. Despite the relative innocence of the situation between you and she." Alan added in blissful ignorance of the true circumstances, "the sordid things that people will say will make her life here hell. At least I can offer her the protection of my name."

"She does not love you," King said harshly.

"Do you think she loves you?" came the short reply, and a coldly mocking smile from Alan's lips to accompany it. "Even if she had loved you before, and I think this possible, she will hate you now."

King was very still. "What do you mean, you think she loved me?"

"You were blind, were you not?" He folded his arms across his chest. "She confessed to Quinn once that she would swoon if you ever smiled at her, as you smiled so easily at every other woman. She dressed to attract your attention, but you never looked at her. And just lately, whenever she was at Latigo, she would shake as if with a fever when you came close. Her eyes were always on you. It hurts her to see you with Darcy, and Darcy knew and made it worse. She taunted Amelia for her feelings, which were all too evident to everyone except you."

Of all the revelations that had come out of the terrible day, this had surely to be the worst. King had refused to entertain any thoughts about Amelia's reasons for giving in to him, for allowing him to possess her.

Now, he was faced with the only true reason she could have had: that she loved him. It was a sobering, sickening thought to have treated her as he had when she cared for him. It had been novelty enough to have a woman want him even physically. He was too aware of his lack of conventional male looks, defensive about his being wanted only for his wealth. Amelia had wanted him because she loved him, and he hadn't allowed himself to admit it. Now, as Alan said, it was a moot point. Because whatever Amelia had felt for him before, she would certainly hate him now.

He threw the cigar down into the dust and stared at the glowing orange tip with eyes that hardly saw.

"You couldn't help your lack of feelings for her," Alan said to placate him. "I didn't mean to taunt you with something you can't help. But you must realize that Amelia is dear to me. I care for her, as I would a beloved sister."

"That will not be enough," King said through his teeth.

"It will be. She and I have many things in common. We will have a pleasant life together, and, eventually, children will bond us even closer."

King wanted to tell his brother the truth then: that a child was already possible even if not probable. But he couldn't bring himself to make that damning confession on the heels of what he'd already done to Amelia. Besides, he thought, a child was really a very distant possibility. It had been quick and not at all pleasurable on her part at the last, did that not guarantee that there would be no issue from the coupling? He sighed. He wished that he knew more about the mechanics of reproduction. He had to believe that Amelia would be spared that terrible consequence. But to let Alan marry her and not know…

"Alan," he began slowly, reluctantly.

"Alan! King! She's awakening!" Enid called softly from the doorway.

The two men followed their mother upstairs, one with hope, the other with anguish.

Brant was standing by the bed, looking oddly perturbed and preoccupied. He glanced at his sons as if to warn them of something.

King reached her side first. He had to know. If she hated him, he had to see it in her eyes, to take his medicine like a man.

"Amelia?" he said softly, wincing at the pain in that soft, gentle face, in those huge, soulful brown eyes.

She blinked once. Twice. "My back is very sore," she said with some confusion. "It is bandaged. Why?"

"You have… had a mishap," King began. "Amelia…"

She stared at him with apprehension and curiosity. He stirred something in her that was frightening. But her eyes were very soft, and his knees went weak at the lack of hatred in her face. He felt like dancing around the room, all his fears and misgivings routed in the wonder of her reaction to him. She couldn't hate him and look at him like that, even if there was a little apprehension in her face. His breath caught in his chest, and he was astonished by the surge of joy he felt. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced in his life, all because Amelia wasn't hating him. She was so beautiful, he thought dizzily.

"May I ask a question?" she ventured.

"Of course," he said huskily. "Anything!"

She hesitated. "Who are you?" she asked softly.

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Q
uinn had made camp midway between Del Rio and Juarez, beside a small stream in a canyon. The girl was quiet and unresponsive, and he wondered if she was brooding about what he'd shared with her or about the man who'd put her in such a circumstance.

"You're very quiet," he remarked as he worked the tin opener on cans of beans and peaches. The beans he poured into the small black frying pan he carried. The peaches he left until the beans were hot. There was a little hardtack as well. He turned that into the pan with the beans to flavor them. "Are you hungry?"

"
Sí
, I think so," she replied. She pulled the serape he'd given her closer around her slender body. "I was thinking about Manolito and what my papa will do to him when he knows what has happened. I think he will slit Manolito's throat!"

"What does your papa do?" he asked. "Is he a
campesino
or a
haciendado
?"

She laughed. "He is a
bandido
," she said.

He started, and she laughed even more. "Ah, that shocks you,
señor
," she said, nodding. "He will not harm you. In fact, he will be most grateful to you for rescuing me from that foul place. Although," she added worriedly, "you must never tell him what we did together. He would… it would hurt him."

"I know. It hurts me," he said heavily. "I have never been with an unwilling woman. I had no idea that you weren't what you seemed to be, or that you had been drugged. I deeply regret it."

"And I," she said. "But all the wishes in the world will not undo it. The Blessed Virgin will forgive us,
señor
. It was Manolito's treachery which will be punished." She crossed herself.

He ran a hand through his thick blond hair and studied her quietly. "Tell me about your papa, Rodriguez?" he asked, deliberately careless.

"He is a good man,
señor
," she said solemnly. "It is not true, many of the things people say of him. He takes care of our people. He feeds and clothes the poor and provides medicines for the sick and milk for the babies. The government lets us starve, and the
haciendados
have no love for us. If it were not for Papa and his brothers, our pueblo would be a place of the dead already."

He stirred the beans. In his pocket, the five-pointed star was uncomfortable. "How did you come to be his daughter?"

"My real father died when I was ten years old," she said, wrapping the serape closer. "I had three little brothers, and my mama was alone. She married again, because there was no money and she had a farm that she could not manage by herself. But the man she married was an animal," she said coldly. "He made my brothers and me into slaves, to do the chores and work on the farm from dawn until dusk. He starved us and beat us, and my littlest brother died. My mama cried, but she did not send him away. And he noticed me." She looked up. "You understand? He… noticed me in a way that was not proper."

"I understand," he said gruffly, because he could imagine what she meant, very well.

She flushed. "He had only just sold some livestock and had a little money. He got drunk in the town and bragged of it before he came home. There were some very bad men in the town. They decided to raid the farm and take the money." Her eyes were wistful. "The barn was set alight by these men, and my mama and my oldest brother were killed." She took a deep breath. "These men decided that I would be as much a treasure as the horses they took from my stepfather. They threw me onto a horse and took me away. They took my little brother, also.

"But Rodriguez heard of what these men were doing and knew that he would be blamed for it, because the burning of the barn was his, how do you say, his trademark. So he set out on their trail and caught up with them when they tried to make the safety of the mountains. He hunted them down and killed them."

"Them, and not you," Quinn remarked.

"Not me. I was crying for my mama and worried about my little brother and what would become of him. This big, stocky Mexican man in a wide-brimmed sombrero came over to me, his spurs jingling in the night with the camp fire behind him making him into a giant. He needed a shave, and his face was heavy, and he had this enormous mustache." She smiled. "But he had the kindest eyes I had ever seen,
señor
. He sat down beside me and held my hand and began talking to me in the Spanish language. I understood not one word—
ninguna una palabra
—of what he said. But he sounded so kind. And when I began to cry again, he cradled me in his arms and I wept, there in that warm prison which smelled of horse and smoke. Later, when I was calm, he brought a man to me who could speak a little English. He explained that I was not to be harmed and that they were going to take me home with them and take care of me, and my little brother, also. I did really cry then,
señor
, because of what I thought would happen to me when they did."

"Did you tell them what your stepfather was like?" he asked.

She nodded. "It was embarrassing for me, but I told them everything. Rodriguez's eyes—I have never seen eyes burn like that! He turned to his men and said something, I have only been able to guess at what. Then he had the man tell me that I would be taken to Malasuerte, in Sonora, and that I would become his daughter and that no hurt would ever be done to me again. I tried to tell him about my small brother. He patted my hand and told me to go to sleep, that all would be well."

She moved closer to the fire. "I did sleep. When I awoke, my brother was curled up beside me." She laughed softly. "It was like a miracle! I could not believe my good fortune. I was in the company of bandits, and I had never been so safe, nor had my little brother. " She paused. "There is not much more to tell. My stepfather was found dead, along with my mother. I never asked what circumstances led to this, and I do not want to know. I mourned my mother, you understand. But from that day, Rodriguez was my father. He has taken care of my brother and me, and although we have been very poor, we have been loved and wanted and needed." She looked at him across the camp fire, her face soft with love. "Rodriguez is Papa, not only to us, but to everyone. That is what we call him.
Papa. Viejo
."

"He is old?" Quinn asked slowly.

"
Sí
," she said. "
Muy viejo
. But he can ride with the best of the young men, and his aim is straight and true. He is the world to us. To me, especially. I would do anything for my papa." Her eyes narrowed. "He will kill Manolito. I hope he does!"

Quinn grimaced. So it had been the girl's brother he had taken into Juarez, to the
barrio
. Fate had dealt him a strange hand. It was a good thing he hadn't told the boy his real mission in Mexico. And now he couldn't tell her, either, that he was sworn to bring in Rodriguez and see him hanged in Texas for his crimes.

"You are troubled," she said perceptively. "Please. It is not your fault. When you found me in that terrible place, apparently of my own free will, it was not unexpected what… what you must have thought. I do not blame you for what happened."

"I blame myself," he said shortly. He poured beans and peaches into a tin plate and handed her that and a fork.

"It would have been someone else, if not you," she continued, gingerly tasting the hot beans and smiling, because they were good. "Perhaps someone less gentle and concerned for my welfare."

Quinn felt his cheeks go hot. "Nevertheless, it should not have happened."

"Just the same I will not let Rodriguez harm you," she said doggedly. "These beans are very good,
señor
."

"Thanks." He made a mental note to hide that star in his boot before they went any further. It seemed that he was going to make the acquaintance of the wily Rodriguez. That he would inevitably have to betray this girl's trust was something he refused to consider.

"What is your name?" he asked suddenly.

"I was christened Mary, but I am now called Maria," she said softly. "And yours?"

"Quinn," he replied.

"Quinn." Her voice gave it a soft accent. "I like it very much. May I have some more beans?"

He lifted the pan and ladled a spoonful onto her plate. Her face was grimy and lined, and there were dark circles under her eyes. But he thought he'd never seen anyone quite as lovely. He wondered what Amelia would think of her.

 

King wasn't certain that he'd heard properly. He leaned closer to Amelia. "What did you say?" he asked, aware of the stares of the others behind him in the soft glow of the gaslights.

"I asked who you were," Amelia replied a little drowsily. "My head hurts."

"You don't know me?" he persisted.

She lifted her eyes again and stared straight into his. He had eyes like old silver in candlelight, she thought. He wasn't handsome. He was very tall and fit, though, and she liked the flat-nailed, long-fingered hand that was absently holding one of hers in its dark grasp. He was deeply tanned. Despite the suit he was wearing, he didn't look like a city man. "Are you a cowboy?" she asked.

"In a manner of speaking." His voice sounded odd. "Do you know any of us?" he asked.

She looked past him. There was a handsome blond man with a mustache and dark eyes. There was an older man, also dark-eyed and a little heavier than the younger ones. There was a woman, too, with silver-sprinkled dark hair and dark eyes. The woman looked as worried as the men.