Rainbows and Rapture (13 page)

He inclined his head when she arrived at his table.

“Ain’t you got no manners, Zamora? You’re s’posed to stand up when a lady gits to the table.”

“Tell me when one arrives.”

Tapping her nails on the back of a chair, she gave him her meanest look. “I’m hungrier’n a woodpecker with a sore pecker, and here you are with a empty plate in front o’ you. Sittin’ here like you ain’t got a care in the world. Fergit about me, did you?”

He leaned back in his chair and pretended to flick a speck of lint off his black breeches. “Now that you mention it, you haven’t crossed my mind since I left the room.”

She wrinkled her freckled nose at him. “You’re the garlic on the breath of life, Zamora.”

He felt a flash of humor cross his face and quickly turned his head lest Russia see it. He hated the hoyden, yes, but her outrageous expressions amused the hell out of him. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll be arrested?” he asked, looking up at her.

The oh-so-slight smile on his lips caught her full attention. The smile softened his rugged features and flickered brightly in his coal-black eyes. It seemed to reach all the way to her heart, bringing her a warm, inner glow.

“Russia?”

When he said her name, every nerve in her body responded. His deep voice brimmed with richness. She thought of plush, earth-brown velvet again. And gold. Pure and sumptuous gold, too. She could even imagine herself lying in the thick velvet. And the little pieces of gold were raining down all over her.

Santiago watched as her blue-green eyes darkened. The sensual message he read in them pulled at his masculinity, making him remember the way she’d felt in his arms. All soft. All quivering.

She’d wanted him then. She still did. She could deny it for an eternity of eternities, but all the proof he needed smoldered in those beautiful eyes of hers.

In that instant, he knew that whatever strange fear it was she insisted she felt of him, whether it was real or not, he’d find a way around it.

Tonight he would have her. Tonight…

“Russia,” he said again, hearing the huskiness of his own voice, “aren’t you afraid you’ll be arrested?”

“What?” She blinked several times and finally succeeded in escaping the spell of his devastating sensuality. “I— No. I ain’t afraid.” She lowered her hand, smoothing her daisy across the butt of his Colt.

He looked down, saw what she was doing, and frowned. “Do you expect me to shoot the marshal if he comes for you?”

She stuck the daisy behind her ear and sat down. “Yes, but don’t kill him. I think he’s a real coward inside, Zamora, so you don’t gotta threaten him with death. A little nick on his earlobe oughta do the job. Jist be sure to warn me before you pull the trigger so’s I can turn my face away. I don’t know how much blood there is in a earlobe, but even if it’s only a drop, it’ll make me sick.”

She lifted her heavy mass of hair and dropped it so that it fell down the back of her chair, almost touching the floor. That accomplished, she folded her hands beneath her chin and batted her lashes at him.

Struggling not to smile at her unmitigated gall and obvious belief that he would do exactly as she told him to do, he rubbed his hand over his stubbled cheeks, hiding the beginning of a grin. “Russia, if the marshal comes for you, I can promise you that I won’t do a thing to stop him. You burned down the hotel, and he told you never to come back here again. Here you are, so—”

“
You’re
the one who was so hell-bent on comin’!”

“If you’d told me what happened here, I’d have figured out something else to do.”

Her shoulders slumped. “So you really won’t help me if the marshal comes?”

“I won’t lift so much as a finger.”

“I’ll hang.”

Actually, he didn’t think she would. He felt sure the marshal had only threatened the noose to keep her from returning to Rock Springs. “I’ve seen men hang before. It looks to be a quick death.”

She took a quivering breath. “I heared a story one time about a feller who was fixin’ to git hanged. His friend rided into town jist in time and shooted the rope in half. Then the man who was gonna git hanged jumped off the hangin’ contraption and rided off with his friend. You wouldn’t do that fer me, Zamora?”

He pretended to consider her question. “I’ve never shot a noose before. I’d probably miss. If I did, you’d still hang, and I’d more than likely hang right along with you.”

“You wouldn’t neither miss!” she yelled at him, oblivious of the stares her shout brought. “You could shoot the balls off a flea, and he wouldn’t never even know he’d been gelded!”

Caught off guard by her outlandish proclamation, he widened his eyes. He tried to resist the mirth rumbling inside him, but failed. It had been years since he’d heard the sound of his own laughter, but as it escaped him now, he was reminded of how good it felt.

“I ain’t never heared you laugh before,” Russia said.

“You laugh real nice, but it’s jist my damn luck to hear you laugh at
my
expense.”

“Maybe you won’t hang, Russia,” he said, one last chuckle slipping from him. “Maybe you’ll just go to jail.”

She cocked her head and nodded. “And you’ll come and break me out with dynamite, is that the plan?”

He shook his head.

“Then you’ll bring me a file baked in a cake.”

“I’ve never baked a cake in my life.”

“I might be locked up fer fifty years.”

“And for fifty years, the world will be safe.”

She started to argue further, but bit her tongue when a waitress approached the table.

“Will—will there be anything else, Mr.—Mr. Zamora?” the young girl stammered. Her hands shaking, she placed two covered plates in front of him.

He felt the tops of them, was satisfied that they were warm. “You did put double portions on the plates, didn’t you?”

She nodded, doing everything she could to avoid having to look him in the eye. “We—we even added a bit extra,” she blurted out nervously. “There’s probably enough food there for three people.”

He glanced at the plates again. Only Russia could eat so much food at one sitting. He slid them toward her. “I was going to bring this meal up to the room, where you could have eaten in safety. Now you’ve been seen by half the townspeople. Eat. And enjoy. After all, every person doomed to hang is entitled to one last good meal.”

She threw him a disgruntled look and removed the coverings from the plates. The sight of the generous helpings of food made her forget her risky situation. On one plate there was almost a whole fried chicken, mountains of fresh vegetables, and half a loaf of bread with butter dripping all over it. The other held a huge slice of moist cake with fluffy white icing. Her smile split her face. Preparing to eat, she reached for a fork and knocked over the jar of flowers.

Santiago shook his head as the water flowed over the table and the flowers fell to the floor. With a cheroot clenched between his teeth, he dug into his pocket, withdrew money, and held it out to the waitress. “The change is yours.”

She took a step backward and reached her arm way out to accept the money, the tips of her fingers barely touching it.

Russia swallowed a mouthful of food and took a moment to think about what she was seeing. The waitress was obviously terrified of Santiago. He’d done nothing but eat and try to pay for the food, and the girl was shivering with fear.

It irritated Russia. “Maybe he should throw the money to you,” she suggested to the waitress. “Lord only knows what kinda poison he’s got spread all over his hand. If it gits on you, you’ll pro’bly die.”

The girl’s face whitened before she leaned forward, snatched the money from Santiago’s hand, and scurried back toward the kitchen. Russia noticed the cluster of cafe employees waiting there for her. When the girl reached them, they put their arms around her. As if having served Santiago a meal had been a horrible ordeal, they lavished concern upon her before gently ushering her into the kitchen.

Russia looked at Santiago. “Now that they’re safely outta your sight, they’re pro’bly askin’ that girl if you threatened her in some sorta way. Maybe they’re even praisin’ her fer how brave she was by waitin’ on you.”

He shrugged.

The sound of loud whispering stole Russia’s attention. She turned back to the kitchen and saw that the cafe employees were now spying on Santiago from a crack in the kitchen door.

Her gaze returned to Santiago. His arms were folded across his chest; his face registered boredom. Her first thought was that he was totally unaffected by the situation.

But when she glanced into his eyes, her opinion changed. She saw no sign of the glitter of rage she was accustomed to seeing. There wasn’t even a spark of irritation in them.

But there
was
a glimmer. A somber, barely there flutter of light that made her think of heartache.

Her own eyes widened. Santiago was sad. The surprising realization hit her so suddenly, it was a moment before she could focus on the reasons for his pain.

She looked toward the kitchen again. The employees were still staring at him. Anger exploded inside her. Without a second’s worth of thought, she threw her napkin to the table, stood, and marched to the kitchen, yanking the door wide open.

Several people fell flat on their faces. The others retreated into the kitchen.

“Jist where the hell do you folks git off, treatin’ Zamora like that?” Russia shouted. “He didn’t do nothin’ a’tall to none o’ you! He come in here to eat, not murder people! All’s you got to go on is what you’ve heared about him, and y’don’t doubt one word o’ none o’ them gory tales! Shameful’s what it is! See these bites?”

She pushed up the sleeve of her dress, revealing several ant stings. “Do y’think a cold-blooded killer would take the time to put prickly pear all over these here bites? That’s what Zamora done! He—”

“Miss Valentine.”

When she heard the familiar voice behind her, she felt her face drain of color. “Marshal,” she squeaked, her back still to him.

“I warned you against returning to Rock Springs.”

She raised a hand to her neck, her fingers closing around her throat. As slowly as she was able, she turned to face the tall and lanky lawman, Marshal Cobbett Wilkens. The expression in his small eyes told her he had
unsavory
plans for her. Her heart pounding, she threw a look of desperation toward Santiago’s table.

Her heart ceased to beat at all when she saw it was empty. Only his cheroot, still smoking in the ashtray, remained as evidence he’d even been there.

Marshal Wilkens grabbed her arm, then took a moment to glance around the cafe, satisfied to see that everyone was watching him. Throwing back his shoulders, he yanked Russia closer to him and felt a lurch of excitement when her lush breasts met his chest. “Will you come peacefully, or do I have to drag you?” he asked loudly. Smugness mingled with his growing desire as he heard murmurs of admiration coming from all around him.

“Either way I’ll git there, won’t I?”

“Don’t doubt it for a minute,” he replied, leading her out of the cafe and smiling and waving to the people they passed.

Russia decided he was enjoying the attention he was receiving because of her arrest. It seemed to her that arrogance oozed out of his every pore. “Y’know, Marshal Corn Cob,” she spat, “if you was to ever change your faith, it’d be on account o’ you no longer thought you was God.”

“Shut up!” He gave her arm another strong yank.

Russia ignored him and concentrated on trying to find Santiago. But dusk had fallen; a few stars were already twinkling in the darkening sky. It wasn’t easy for her to see, but it was imperative for her to try. Her gaze swept over every building lining the street. But she caught no sign of Santiago and wondered where he’d gone so quickly.

Russia, if the marshal comes for you, I can promise you that I won’t do a thing to stop him.

His declaration blazed through her mind. He’d left her. She knew he had. True to his word, he wasn’t going to help her. He wanted no tangle with the law and had packed up, abandoning her to the hangman’s noose.

She stumbled into a pothole. On her knees, she moaned and felt assaulted by uncontrollable fear.

The marshal started to pull her to her feet. “Get up, or I’ll drag—”

“Marshal Wilkens!” a man shouted as he raced up. “The bank! Mr. Emerson! Four men— Where’s Deputy Barnes? I’ll go find him! I’ll—”

“Hold on, Cecil!” Marshal Wilkens admonished, tightening his grip on Russia’s arm and jerking her up from the ground. “What—”

“Bank robbery,” Cecil said, panting. “Four men—Marshal, it’s the Baylor brothers. I was leavin’ the livery, and I seen all four of ’em with my own eyes! Not but five minutes ago, Mr. Emerson was closin’ the bank, and they forced him back inside. He— God, Marshal, his wife was with him, and they got her, too! Them murderin’ bastards say they’ll shoot Mr. and Miz Emerson dead if they don’t get some dynamite! And poor Miz Emerson—she’s fixin’ to have that baby any day now! What if she starts havin’ pains? What if—”

“Dynamite?” Marshal Wilkens yelled. “What—”

“To open the safe!” Cecil screamed, pulling at his sideburns. “Mr. Emerson done sent the safe keys over to your office! You know how he don’t like takin’ the keys home with him. The Baylor brothers, they want dynamite, and if they don’t get it, they’ll kill Mr. and Miz Emerson! And they’ll do it, too, Marshal. They killed six people over in Snide Junction just last month!”

Marshal Wilkens shivered with an ominous chill. No one had to tell him about the Baylor brothers. For over a year they’d been wanted for every crime it was possible to commit, and no one had ever come close to catching them. They were inhuman killers, all four of them.

And now they were in his town. He felt as if he were falling into a bottomless gulf of fear. “The Baylors.”

“Worst thing about it, Marshal,” Cecil continued wildly, “is that them Baylors
lie!
What if you get ’em the dynamite and they
still
kill Mr. and Miz Emerson?”

Marshal Wilkens hung his head, staring at the ground without seeing it. “Deputy Barnes rode over to Gladesboro for a county meeting, I don’t…I don’t know what to… I can’t—”