Golden Roses (23 page)

It was the old dream, her secret self budding. No longer would she awaken wondering at the meaning of illusions, for illusion had become reality. In Cord’s arms she had found her dream.

Still rhythmically stroking, Cord raised his head to gaze down at her and smile. “We loved each other all along, Amber, but we got sidetracked. Later, there is something I’ve got to tell you about me—my past, why I was so afraid to love. I’m still afraid, but right now, this is what we both need.”

He spread her thighs, bending her knees, and positioned himself between. Clutching her tiny waist, he thrust himself inside her, and she gasped as the last shred of her innocence was taken.

“All of me,” she whimpered, wrapping her arms about his broad back to pull him closer. “Take all of me, Cord.”

“I will, honey, I will,” he panted, “and I’ll give you all of me.”

She felt the explosion coming from deep within to spread like a hand of fire. Her cry of delight was so intense that Cord covered her mouth with his, lest the other women in the house hear. Then he took himself on to ultimate glory, filling her with the hot flow of love.

She lay beside him in wonder, gratified, fulfilled. “It is everything I thought it would be,” she whispered, her fingertips touching his lips. Then painful memory shot through her, and she murmured, “It seems a sacrilege to be lying here, in Armand’s bed.”

“I think he would laugh about it. He laughed at a lot of things, you know. Death was one of them.”

He stroked her belly. “How soon will you feel up to traveling? I’d like to head for the border as soon as possible. I’d like to settle my score with Valdis, but it’s more important to get you away from here.”

“But I can’t leave yet,” Amber told him quickly. “I have to tell you something, Cord. Dolita and I hid in the Indian village where her uncle lives. There’s a little boy there. Oh, Cord, it’s horrible.” She went on to explain, then stopped as she saw the grim expression on his face.

“What is it, Cord?” She sat up to stare at him. “Why are you looking at me like that? I want to go back to the village and get him, take him away and love him.”

“No, Amber. Leave him,” he said. “Some things are better left alone and this is one of them. You can’t interfere.”

“But—” she started.

“His father was a Mexican. I know the story.” He got up and began pulling his clothes together. “You aren’t going back there. We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Cord, don’t tell me what to do! I won’t be bossed around by you or anybody and—”

“The boy is Armand’s son.”

She stared, uncomprehending. “You…you aren’t serious. Armand would never father a child and abandon him.”

“Armand didn’t know.” He turned and looked at her. “The only reason I know is because he told me about an Indian girl he had loved. They sneaked around for about six months, and then all of a sudden, she just quit coming to see him. He didn’t dare go to her village, because he knew it would mean trouble for her. He never knew she was going to have a baby, never knew she died. He just thought she dropped him because they could never marry.”

“But how did
you
know there was a baby?” she asked indignantly.

“I was in a bar one night, and a drunk was mouthing off about Armand’s bastard. I asked a few questions and started putting two and two together. No one ever said anything to Armand. They didn’t dare. Nobody wanted to get tangled up in that mess. Had he known, he would have gone after the kid, and it wouldn’t have worked out. The Indians might even have killed him. So I never told him. I figured if it was meant for him to know, he’d find out sooner or later.

“You have to understand something about Armand,” he went on, calmer now. “He was a romantic sort, and he fancied himself in love with lots of women. That’s the reason I never took the courtship between you two seriously. I figured it was another one of his great romances, and that you were so desperate you were grabbing for anyone who would protect you.

“Besides,” he added, grinning down at her, “I knew what was going on inside me, and I could feel the same thing happening to you. We were both fighting it, but we were falling in love.”

She shook her head in wonder, then asked, “You said you were afraid to love. You were going to tell me why.”

He frowned. “I don’t think the time is right. One day, I’ll tell you. For now, just understand when I say that I’ve made up my mind I’m going home and clear up a big misunderstanding. I’m no coward when it comes to defending myself and those I love and believe in, but I must admit to a fear of my own self. It’s time I put fear behind me. I’m ready to go home. And you’re going with me.” He gave her a nod, then got up and moved to the door. “I’m going to tell Jualina to get some clothes together for you. We can buy a few things once we cross the border. And don’t worry about Dolita. I’ll talk to her. She can come with us or go back to her uncle’s village. I think she’d be safe there.”

He left her, and Amber lay back to stare up at the ceiling. She could not leave the boy, especially now that she knew he was Armand’s son. Why, he was all that was left of Armand. And he was helpless. She knew she would never give herself a moment’s peace if she did not take that poor child from his miserable existence—Armand’s son or not.

Dolita reacted happily to the news from Cord. She said to Amber, “Señor Cord is a beautiful man, and if you let your heart go, he will make you very happy.”

Amber smiled at Dolita but said nothing.

All the rest of that afternoon, Amber lay in Armand’s bed, her mind floating from sleep to wakefulness, her thoughts moving from Valdis to Allegra, from Armand to the child he never knew he had, and from the cruelly leering Gerras to Dolita’s frightened face. At last, she allowed herself to think of Cord, to admit all she felt for him, to know how terribly she would long for him if they were parted again.

But they would be parted. This she knew. For Cord would not, perhaps could not, understand what she felt about the little bastard boy. There wasn’t any point in trying to explain. She would simply have to go and take the child. Maybe she would meet up with Valdis on the way, or maybe she would be lucky for a change. But whatever the consequences, she would not ride across the border with Cord unless Armand’s child was there, too. She wouldn’t. She just couldn’t.

Amber tossed fitfully. It meant lying to Cord and sneaking away from the ranch by herself. It meant running—again, and being alone just when she had found her love.

Maretta Alezparito clenched her teeth until her jaws ached. “You are telling the truth?” she asked of the old farmer who stood before her, head bowed as he twisted his straw hat in his gnarled, wrinkled hands.

“I tell the truth,” he told her. “I heard you were offering a reward to anyone who could tell you the whereabouts of the American señorita. I saw her with a Mexican girl creeping in the brush along the ridge above Señor Mendosa’s hacienda. Señor Mendosa’s servant came out to wave, and they ran to her, and she took them inside.”

“You have done well.” Maretta let out her breath in satisfaction, then snapped her fingers and one of the vaqueros guarding her stepped forward. “Pay him,” she ordered. “This is the information I have been waiting for.”

The vaqueros took the old man outside, and Maretta whirled around the room in jubilation. She had known that, sooner or later, someone would spot the bitch. Now she would have her revenge. This time her simpering mother was not around to come to Amber’s aid.

Her mother. Despite their mutual dislike, Maretta felt sadness at her death. And she believed Valdis was telling the truth. Someone else had killed Allegra and blamed Valdis. True, Valdis had done many ruthless things, but to shoot his stepmother in cold blood? No. It was not possible. She would be glad when he found the real murderer and returned home to clear his name. Until then, she would do her best to keep the ranch running smoothly.

She smiled slyly. Valdis was going to be quite angry when he learned how she had dealt with the lawyers, arranging to buy the Mendosa land from Armand’s estate for herself, for now she owned important property. No longer would he dictate to her! For the first time in her life, she had a position of power, and she intended to use it.

But first, she had to avenge Armand’s death, and the moment was at hand. She rang for a guard and gave him a message, then retired. She wanted to be rested, to savor every moment of her new life.

Chapter Nineteen

Amber told Cord she was resting in preparation for their long trip. Kissing her deeply, he smiled and said he had much to do, gathering the belongings he would take on the pack mule that would accompany them. There would be time for loving later. It might shock Jualina, he said, if they slept together that night, so he went to his own room.

Amber cried, hating to lie to him this way. She sat in a chair before a window in Armand’s room, watching the sky change from brilliant cerulean to pale apricot, then ashen and pink, and finally to darkest ebony. She breathed a sigh of relief as the moon rose, casting a pearly glow all over the night. She would need that light.

At last, it was late enough. Cord would be in bed. The house was still. She dressed and made her way stealthily to the room where Dolita was sleeping. Awakening her, she warned her not to make a sound, then told her, “Hurry and get dressed. We are leaving.”

“I do not understand,” Dolita protested.

“I’ll explain later. Please, Dolita. Hurry. We’ve got to make our way in the dark. I’ll go and get two horses ready. Meet me in the stable.”

Within moments, Dolita was hurrying into the stable to where Amber waited with the bridled horses. There had not been time for saddles.

“Now tell me why you have gone mad,” Dolita demanded harshly. “Why are you running away from Señor Cord when you love him? When he loves you?”

Amber looked at her accusingly, for surely Dolita had known the truth all along. “I know who’s the father of that little boy.”

“How…how did you find out?” she gasped, crossing herself. “Mother of God, who would tell you such a thing? Señor Hayden? But how did he know?”

“He knew. He never told Armand, so Armand didn’t know. But I know, and now I’m going back there and get that child.”

“No, no.” She shook her head wildly. “They would never let you take him. Even though he is despised, he is part of their tribe, and they would never allow him to leave.”

Amber mounted her horse. “They aren’t going to know about it till it’s too late. I’ll take my time, pretend to be hiding there. They will let me stay. When the time is right, I’ll do it. I must, for Armand…and for the child’s sake.”

“But Señor Cord is going to be furious,” Dolita protested, waving her arms. “You cannot do this.”

“I’m doing it. Now, please, tell me if you’re coming with me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Dolita mounted. “Very well. If this is what you insist upon, then I have no choice but to obey you. You did not desert me last night. You may have saved my life. I will help you—but I still think you are mad.”

They moved cautiously, waiting until they were a safe distance from the house before prodding their horses into a trot. The ground beneath was rough and covered with small rocks, making sharp chipping sounds as the hooves rhythmically touched down. Turning her face against the cool night wind to look at Dolita, she saw that the girl looked frightened. “Please,” Amber whispered, stretching to give her arm a reassuring pat. “It’s going to be all right Really.”

Dolita said nothing, but her expression was grim. It would take time to get to the village, and it was very dark despite the moonlight. Many things could happen.

They entered a narrow arroyo. Cactus and scrub brush growing above on the mountainside blotted out the moonlight in patches now and then, causing them to fall into total darkness.

Suddenly, a shrill cry split the silence, and Dolita gasped and reined her horse to a sudden stop.

“Dolita, it’s a coyote,” Amber called softly. “Or some other wild animal. And it was a long way off.”

“Not a wild animal. Not a long way off.” Dolita peered into the shadows, trembling. “It was a human—and not human.”

“Human and not human?” Amber laughed nervously. “Really, Dolita, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Realizing that Amber was not slowing down, Dolita kneed her horse on.

They rounded a bend…and froze. Ahead, illuminated by the ghostly crimson glow of a torch, was the bloody dripping head of a cockerel, nailed to a crude wooden cross. The silent breeze gently ruffled its feathers. Dolita crossed herself, but Amber could only stare, transfixed.

Concentrating solely on the cross, the women did not see the two faces watching them from the ridge above, faces painted blood red, wide white circles drawn about the eyes and downward to circle noses and mouths.

Chapter Twenty

Maretta closed her eyes and lifted the glass to her lips, draining the contents in one long swallow.

She was only mildly startled to hear the soft clink as the fresh carafe of sangria touched the rim of the bathtub, and she didn’t bother to look around. This maid was so much more obedient and attentive than that stupid Dolita, she thought with satisfaction. Here she sat in her wonderful tub, the girl hovering nearby to make sure her glass was kept full.