Midnight Rider (10 page)

Ramon ran the cinch strap under the horse's belly, giving himself time to control the fury he hadn't expected. “The girl stays here. She belongs to me.” He pulled the cinch strap snug. “I have already made that clear to the rest of the men.”

Cisco Villegas grinned beneath his heavy black mustache. One of his eyeteeth was missing. The other was capped with gold. “I do not think Miranda will be pleased to hear it.”

Ramon turned slowly to face him, his patience at an end. “Miranda is not your concern. Neither is the
gringa.
I would advise you to remember it.” His hard look spoke its warning and Cisco backed a step away.

“
Si,
Don Ramon. Whatever you say.” Turning on his heel, he walked out of the shadows, heading for the corral.

“I am not certain I like that man,” Pedro said.

“Neither am I,” said Ramon.

“He is a friend of your cousin Angel's, and your brother trusted him.”

“
Si.
I hope he did not misplace that trust.”

“I will keep an eye on him.”

Ramon just nodded. Sliding the heavy Spanish bit between the horse's teeth, he settled the animal's head stall over its ears, then gathered the long braided reins. Shoving a booted foot into a leather
tapadero,
he swung up into the saddle.
“Hasta la vista, compadre.”

Pedro smiled, crinkling the lines in his weathered face. “
Hasta la vista,
my friend.”

*   *   *

Sitting astride his big buckskin horse, Fletcher Austin lifted his dusty brown felt hat and mopped the sweat from his brow with a forearm. “Any sign of them?” he asked Cleve Sanders, his foreman, a rangy, long-boned man with curly brown hair.

“Not a trace. It's the same damn way every time we go after them. They just seem to disappear.”

“Maybe Collins and Ramirez will be able to recover the stock,” Fletcher said, though he didn't hold out much hope. Two days after the raid, the outlaw band had split up, the horses being driven north while most of the men continued east. Fletcher had done the same, sending a small party north in pursuit while his main body of men continued to track the larger group of men, hoping El Dragón was among them.

They had been chasing the outlaws for nearly a week. He was bone-tired and saddle sore and so were his men, but he wanted those horses. More than that, he wanted El Dragón.

The bastard had taken his niece. It was personal between them now.

“Odds are, that stock's on its way to the gold fields,” he said. “There's so much demand for meat, the cattle trails are constantly in use. Collins and his men are at least a day behind them. If the bandits are smart—and so far they have been—they'll stay on the main trail till their tracks are overrun, then cut off somewhere and move up into the hills. There's no way Collins and the others are going to find them, unless they just get lucky.”

“What about El Dragón?”

Fletcher fought to control a sweep of anger. “He's got Caralee. I'm not giving up until she's returned. In the meantime, we'll go back to del Robles and regroup. We'll get some of the local rancheros to join us, get more supplies, and fresh mounts for the men. Then we'll just have to hope something turns up.” Fletcher clenched a meaty fist. “I swear I won't rest till I see that bastard swinging from the limb of a Rancho del Robles oak.”

Fletcher smiled grimly at the thought. It wouldn't be the first time he'd hung a no-good greaser. It probably wouldn't be the last.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

The woman, Florentia Nunez, pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped into the bedroom. She smiled to see Carly out of bed, sitting in the straight-backed chair beside it.

“You are feeling better, no?” She carried a tray steaming with coffee and hot rolled up tortillas, and her plump cheeks held a glow of warmth.

“Yes, I am. Much better. I was wondering … I'd like to get dressed. I was hoping someone might loan me something to wear.” It had been over a week since the don had left. The last two days Carly had prowled around the house, having regained much of her strength, but she had yet to go outside. She wasn't certain they would let her.

“
Si,
of course, senorita.” The housekeeper's nod jiggled several of her beefy chins. “I have already seen to the clothes. I will just go now and get them.” She set the tray down on the dresser and left the room, returning a few moments later with a long, gathered, bright yellow cotton skirt and an off-the-shoulder white peasant blouse. She set them down on the bed, along with a pair of flat leather sandals.

“I hope they will fit you. I borrowed them from Miranda Aguilar, then shortened the skirt a little and took in the waist. Pedro made the shoes.”

“You and Senor Sanchez … you have both been very kind.” She hadn't expected it. She'd been sure she'd be treated badly. “Especially considering that I am Don Ramon's prisoner.”

The rotund woman smiled. “You are Don Ramon's special guest. That is what he has said.”

Special guest. That was almost funny. She wondered what the black-haired devil had in store for her when he returned. “I'd still like to thank you. You cared for me, perhaps even saved my life.”

“That is not completely true. Mostly it was the don. I tended your personal needs, but it was Don Ramon who had the Indian woman brought from the village. He was the one who—”

A knock at the door interrupted what she might have said next. Waddling toward the door, the heavy woman opened it and waved in two young boys carrying buckets of steaming hot water.

Carly surveyed the water and sighed. “
Gracias,
Senora Nunez. I have never seen a more welcome sight.”

“I am only just Florentia, as I have said. And a nice warm bath will do wonders.”

It did. She even washed her hair. She was sitting on the bed, trying to comb out the tangles when a second knock sounded at the door. She glanced up just as the don walked in.

Carly's stomach knotted, but the Spaniard only smiled. It was a different sort of smile than she expected, the same sort he had worn the first time she had met him. An uneasy shiver slid through her.

“Senorita McConnell,” he said, “I see you are feeling much better.”

She looked at his handsome face and her insides twisted. She knew that face, how those handsome features could turn cold and hard, how those eyes could bore into you without an ounce of compassion. Her mind flashed with images of the night she'd been taken from Rancho del Robles, of her brutal journey through the mountains. She imagined what a man like that might do to her next, and a tendril of fear rippled through her. The don must have seen it for the smile slid from his face.

“I am sorry. I did not come here to frighten you. What happened before … it was a mistake. A very bad one. You will come to no harm here. I hope you believe that.”

Carly came up off the bed, angry at herself for allowing him to see her weakness, even more angry at him. “Why should I? Why should I believe anything a man like you has to say?”

“Because it is the truth.”

She remembered the cold nights she'd spent in the mountains, the ruthless way he had forced her to march through the hills. Fear niggled at her insides. Carly lifted her chin. “I don't believe you. You're vile—despicable—an outlaw and probably a murderer. Whatever your reasons for seeing to my care, they only have to do with your own selfish plans.”

His eyes remained fixed on her face. “If I were you, I would feel the same way. Perhaps in time, you will see that is not the way it is.”

Carly pondered that. She didn't believe him, not for an instant. “If what you say is true, why the sudden change of heart? I'm still the woman I was. The woman you despise. The woman you hold responsible for the death of—”

“Do not say it, for it is not so.” The skin across his high cheekbones went taut. A subtle tension moved over his tall, solid frame. “I am the one at fault,” he said softly. “It is not usually my way to blame others for sins of my own making.”

There was something in his eyes, something she had seen there before, a bleakness shadowed by pain, but this time it was not overridden by anger. And it seemed to be directed inward, at himself, not at her.

Carly knew what it meant to lose a loved one. The heartbreak, the hollow place that would never again be filled. Her family was gone. Her sister, her father, her mother. It hurt just to think of it. It bothered her to imagine he might be feeling the same sort of pain, and a sweep of pity moved through her.

She ruthlessly forced it down. A man like the don didn't deserve her pity. He wouldn't even want it.

“Florentia says that I am your guest. If that is so, then I appreciate your generosity, Don Ramon, but I would prefer to end my stay. There is much that needs attending to back at Rancho del Robles, and I'm certain my uncle will be worried about me.”

A corner of his mouth curved up. “You have never impressed me as a fool,
chica.
Surely you must know that I cannot let you leave.”

Carly smiled grimly. “Then surely
you
must know that I am not your guest. I am your prisoner. There is a great deal of difference.”

“Only if you make it so.” He leaned back against the wall, propping a wide shoulder against it. “You will be allowed to roam the compound. There is only one way down and the trail is well guarded. I do not believe you could find your way home even if you managed to escape.”

Carly said nothing.

The don regarded her closely. “I would change things,
chica,
if I could. Unfortunately, it is too late for such a thing. In the meantime, there are good people here, people who will treat you with kindness, perhaps even friendship, if that is your wish.”

“Until when, Don Ramon? How long are you planning to keep me here against my will?”

The don shook his head. Glossy black hair moved against the open collar of his shirt. His neck was lean and corded with muscle, and curly black chest hair sprang up from the vee in his shirt. “I am afraid I cannot say.”

“Is it money you're after? Do you mean to seek a ransom? If you do, you may discover I'm not worth as much as you think.”

His hard features softened, his eyes moving over her with something that might have been pity. It made her feel exposed, naked, as if he could see inside her to the person she really was. The notion frightened her even more than the don himself.

“Ransom is not my intent,” he said.

“Then let me leave. If you wish me to accept your word, then you accept mine—if I'm allowed to leave, I'll tell no one who you are or where this place is.”

Soft laughter rumbled from his chest. “I am sorry, senorita, I cannot do that. Even if I were willing to accept your word, there are others here who would not.”

Carly turned away from him, furious yet oddly disturbed. She didn't trust him. She knew how cold and callous he was. But there was something different about him now, something that reminded her of the man who had given her the rose.

“As your
guest,
” she said tartly, “my time should be my own. If that is the case, I'd prefer that you leave.”

“Whatever you say, senorita.” A faint smile touched his lips. “You may spend your time here in sullen rebellion if that is your wish, or you can make the most of it, learn something about the people of the land you intend to call your home. There is much I could show you, if you would let me.”

Carly eyed him warily. Why was he being so pleasant? She knew the heartless man he was, even if his charm had once again appeared. “I want to go home—Senor El Dragón. That is my wish, and the sooner the better. In the meantime if, as you say, I am free to go outside, I would like to see the rest of my prison.”

Straightening her spine, she crossed the room toward where he stood by the door and tried to walk past, but the don caught her arm.

“As I said, there are good people here, but there are also those who join our cause only because we need them, and they can benefit from the arrangement. They are hard men, ruthless men.”

“Men like you,” she put in coldly.

“Perhaps. But with me you will be safe.” Taking her arm, he led her out the door and into the small
sala
where a couch made of willow branches sat beside a matching willow branch chair. Bright colored pillows formed the cushions, and a woven rug covered the packed earthen floor.

“We will return in time for supper,” the don said to Florentia, who waved in reply as he urged Carly out onto the porch. Dressed in a full-sleeved white lawn shirt and form-fitting black breeches that flared out at the bottom over the toes of his shiny black boots, Ramon de la Guerra exuded virility and strength. Whether she hated him or not, whether he was ruthless or charming, he was the handsomest man Carly had ever seen.

A prickle of warning slid down her spine. She did not intend to ignore it.

*   *   *

Ramon walked beside the petite Americana, admiring the way she looked in the simple clothes of a
paisano.
She had been lovely that day at the races in her peppermint-striped day dress, but in some strange way, he thought she looked even more beautiful today. Perhaps it was the long silky hair she had left unbound, a curtain of dark burnished copper hanging to her waist, or the way her breasts shifted seductively beneath the blouse when she walked, a hint of soft swells rising above the neckline.

Watching the movement of her hips, Ramon felt a tightening in his groin. He was attracted to the woman. He had been since the moment he had met her. More so now that he had seen her spirit, her courage. Now that he knew she was none of those things he had imagined.

At least not yet.

Ah, but she was still a
gringa.
Whatever he felt for her could go no farther than lust, and he would not subject her to that kind of treatment now. Not after what he had done.