Reese (23 page)

Reese gathered Mary to him, tucked the blanket around them both, and held her against his chest as they drifted toward sleep. The reassuring cadence of his breath past her ear, his arm across her waist, and his palm cradling her stomach made her sleep more deeply than she ever had before.

Who would have thought sleeping in a stranger's arms could be so soothing? But then Reese wasn't a stranger anymore.

Mary awoke in the darkest hour just before dawn, and he was still there. Waking up in a man's arms was even better than going to sleep in them.

She had to stop thinking this way, since she'd promised him one night only. She needed to keep that promise—for both their sakes. The sisters had told her little of men and less of marriage. But one thing she
had
overheard was how children were made—or near enough. A woman must endure—Mary stifled a giggle at the endure part—many trips to the marriage bed for the sake of giving her husband a child.

Recalling the ecstasy of her single trip—albeit not to a marriage bed—made Mary think it a good thing that many such experiences were needed to make a child.

Nevertheless, once was all she would have. No child would come from that. Only the joy of the memory, which she would cherish for the rest of her life.

Mary stole out from under Reese's arm. Mumbling, he turned away. She smiled and wished that she could keep him there forever. But he'd told her he could not stay, and she'd said she understood. She would not cling and beg, adding to the burdens that haunted his heart. Mary Margaret McKendrick could take care of herself.

She kissed Reese on the brow, a whisper so as not to awaken him, then dressed and slipped from the house. Sitting on the back porch, she stared at the midnight sky. Dawn would break soon. The sun trembled at the edge of the earth.

The last breeze of night brushed her face and iced her tears. She rubbed them away. She'd wanted one night, and she'd had it. How could she have known that touching Reese once would make her ache to touch him forever?

She heard nothing—not a breath, not a shuffle—to indicate she was not alone. But the world went dark, and Mary never saw dawn break the sky.

* * *

Reese kept his eyes closed until the door clicked shut. The moment Mary had awakened, he had too. He'd been sleeping with one ear cocked for so long, even in the bed of a good woman, while sleeping better than he had in years, he still listened for the telltale whisper of danger.

The danger this morning had been in the way she moved so as not to awaken him. If Mary didn't want to face him, Reese couldn't blame her. He would let her slip out; then he'd do so himself. It was the least he could do for this woman who had let him cry in her arms and had still taken him into her bed, then into her body.

He was the fool who should have stopped this, though Reese couldn't say he was sorry. Mary had soothed his raging soul, given him back a tiny part of himself he'd thought dead and buried with the others.

He'd had women since then; he'd had sex. But sex with Mary was different.

Reese had no illusions there'd be other nights. What else did sneaking out before dawn mean? So whatever had happened in this bed would be his only such experience. There would never be another woman like Mary.

He could not stay. She knew that. She said she'd never marry. He knew better. She thought she wasn't pretty. She couldn't see past the elegant nose on her face. She hadn't been out west long enough to know that even if she'd been hound ugly, women like her were more valuable than gold to lonely men trying to make an empire out of nothing. So, eventually, another man would give her children, and Reese could not stay around to watch.

Children.
He sat up so fast his head whirled. Damn! Sometimes he was too stupid to live. Last night, in the aftermath of one of his embarrassing episodes, he had not had the strength to resist her. He'd denied himself any warmth, any friendship, any comfort, for so long that at his weakest moment he hadn't been able to deny himself any longer.

He was a selfish bastard. He'd never said he wasn't. However he would not leave here until he made sure Mary did not carry his child.

But what if she did?

He would marry her. He'd give her the best that he could—protection, money, his name, then his absence and word of his death. Because Mary deserved much better than him.

For now, he would dress and slip from the house before the sun came up. If anyone saw him, he'd have to kill them.

As he left Mary's bedroom, Reese gave a snort of derision. He'd never killed needlessly, and he wasn't about to start now, no matter how cranky he felt.

In the hall, he hesitated. Sneaking away was something you did when you were embarrassed. While he might be mortified at his lack of control where Mary was concerned, he could think of
what
had passed between them with nothing but joy.

So Reese trolled the house, and when he could not find her, he began to worry. He peeked onto the front porch. She wasn't there. He went to the back porch. She wasn't there, either, but she had been, and so had someone else.

Pinned to the floorboard with a knife, directly in front of the door, was a note.
We have your woman. Come and get her. Alone. Past the river and the trees. Go west. We'll find you.

Reese leaned his head against the door. Because he had touched her, they had taken her. But how?

He pulled himself upright, placed his hat on his head, and patted the guns at his hips. No time to waste on how. There was only time to get Atlanta and ride west. Alone.

He had no illusions he would survive the day. Mary was bait in a trap set just for him. Take out the leader and the rest would run. He'd be the victim of his own philosophy.

Reese had once said he did not sneak, but he did so now. From the back of Mary's house to the stables, where he saddled Atlanta and led the animal into the darkness, then away from the town. By the time the watch changed and his men realized he wasn't in his room, or anywhere else, Mary would be safe.

Or they'd both be dead.

* * *

Mary had heard stories of soldiers who'd slept with the reins of their horses in their hands, yet awakened to discover the Comanches had stolen every single animal. She understood now how such stories could be true. El Diablo had come to Rock Creek, knocked Mary on the head, and escaped with none of the six any the wiser.

"Reese will rescue me." Mary stared El Diablo in the eye. "That's what he does."

Terror might pound beneath her breast and in her sore head, but she'd be damned if she'd let him see it. She tightened her lips and hugged herself to prevent the shiver that came despite the midday sun blazing on her uncovered head.

"But,
senorita,
" he said in his annoyingly perfect English, "that is what I am waiting for."

A trap! How could she not have realized it? Mary cursed herself again for being taken, though how she might have avoided it she had no idea.

El Diablo sat on his horse and peered back the way they had come. When she'd awakened, he'd allowed her to sit up in front of him, instead of slung over the saddle like a dead body, at least until they'd gotten here—wherever here was. Then he'd looped a rope about her neck and shoved her to the ground.

She'd also heard of Comanche prisoners being made to run behind their captor's horse; if they fell, they were dragged until they died.

That shiver came again. Mary filled the silence so that she wouldn't keep listening to the memories of all that she'd heard. "Where are the rest of your men?"

"They are animals who have not been near a woman in many weeks. I need you alive and sane. If I let them near you, neither one would be true for very long."

The image his words conjured made Mary's mouth go dry, and she had to swallow a few times before continuing. "You don't think that you can take Reese alone,"

That black gaze flicked over her again, and though El Diablo's face never moved, a sneer colored his voice. "No?"

"No."

He shrugged. "I don't mean to
take
him anywhere."

Mary didn't like the sound of that. Perhaps if she kept El Diablo talking, she might distract him enough to give Reese a chance.

"Reese thinks there's something in Rock Creek that you want."

El Diablo returned his gaze to the land. "Reese is a smart man."

"So there is something?"

"I have told my men Rock Creek is golden."

"Gold?" Mary frowned. "I don't think so."

"One man's gold is another man's yellow rock."

"What does that mean?"

"Think about it,
senorita.
Perhaps you will understand before you go back where you came from."

"I'm not leaving."

He threw his poncho over his shoulder, revealing a gun slung across his chest. "We shall see about that."

The distant sound of hoofbeats made Mary spin about. The rope scraped her neck, but she didn't care.

Reese was coming.

* * *

The old Indian must be half-crazy. He just stood out in the middle of nowhere, backed by a tiny grove of trees, with Mary on a leash. Reese had seen them for miles. No doubt El Diablo had been watching him for twice that long.

Reese had figured El Diablo would take Mary to his hiding place—a cave or a canyon nearby, or perhaps over the border into Mexico. He'd feared by the time he reached her, she would be dead, or worse. He couldn't understand why the old man was waiting for him all alone. But Reese would take every gift he was given.

He reined up in front of them. A quick glance revealed Mary unhurt except for the welt on her neck from the rope. When their eyes met, she took an involuntary step toward him, and El Diablo yanked her back.

Her hand went to her throat, but she didn't cry, and she didn't beg. Reese gritted his teeth to keep from jumping off Atlanta and cutting her free. He returned his attention to El Diablo, keeping his hands in plain sight. Moving too fast around a wild thing would get you killed.

"How did you manage to take her?"

"I have been watching you."

"You think I don't know that?"

El Diablo dipped his head. "I was not so foolish as to come when the one who is like me was watching."

"Sullivan."

The old man lifted one boney shoulder. "I can disappear into this land so completely white eyes cannot see me at all."

Reese doubted that, but he
could
understand how a single old man could slip in and out in the dark–as long as Sullivan wasn't on guard.

"Let her go," he said.

"That was my plan. Her for you. She has been safe with me."

Her neck was raw and might carry a scar but in truth Mary was lucky. El Diablo could have done nigh onto anything to her, and Reese would have done whatever it took to get her back. From the smirk on the old man's face, he'd known that all along.

Fool!
Reese berated himself. He had put Mary in danger because he could not stay away from her; he could not stop kissing her, touching her, needing her. Was he any better than Rico, who took every woman who fell at his feet into his bed? Reese had touched Mary with love and brought her nothing but hate.

"Her for me." Reese nodded. "All right."

"No!" Mary lunged against the rope, choked, coughed, then glared at him. "It isn't all right."

"Don't start to manage things now. I know what I'm doing."

"He's going to kill you."

"I figured that out all by myself." Reese just didn't plan to let him. First he had to get rid of Mary, then he'd see what he could do about the old Indian. "I'd do the same thing. Take out the leader and the rest run."

"But they won't run!"

He narrowed his gaze, willing her to shut up. She was right; they wouldn't run. They'd avenge him first. But if El Diablo didn't think his plan was working, he might kill Mary too, and that Reese wasn't going to allow.

"They will," he said. "I'm the only thing holding them here. You didn't think it was one hundred and fifty dollars, did you?" He turned away before she could answer. "I want Mary to take my horse and head back to Rock Creek."

"You don't trust me?" the old man asked. Reese snorted. "What's to keep me from riding after her once we've finished our business?"

"Whatever's kept you from killing her so far." Reese tilted his head. "The soldiers?"

El Diablo sighed. "There is only so much trouble they will ignore. Killing the schoolteacher would bring too much attention."

"And you don't want attention. Why?"

"Gold," Mary blurted. "He says there's gold."

"Since when did a Comanche care about gold?"

"Since I discovered how important it is to the white eyes. They will do anything if they think gold is involved. Enough talk." He flipped his weathered hand at Reese. "Drop your guns."

Reese dismounted and unbuckled his belt.

"Don't," Mary said. They both ignored her.

"Throw them over here." Reese tossed the guns near El Diablo's horse. "Get her gone." The old man threw Mary's rope at Reese.

She ran the short distance separating them. Unable to put her arms around him because of her bound hands, she placed her cheek against his chest. Reese held her for one moment, kissed the top of her head, glanced at El Diablo, and found the man watching.

Mary looked up at him, and he kissed her. What difference did it make now if El Diablo knew he would do anything for this woman? The damage was done. If he had to die today, at least he'd do so with Mary's taste still on his lips.

He broke the kiss. Staring into her panicked gaze, he cut the bindings at her wrists and the noose about her neck. "Get on Atlanta and go home."

Anger replaced the panic. "No."

"I don't mind dying for you, Mary, but I'll be damned if I'll let you watch me do it."

Her mulish expression didn't change. Perhaps he would have to tie her to the horse. Reese turned toward El Diablo to ask for more rope and caught a hint of movement in the trees.

Hell, had the old man brought the rest of his crew? If so, Reese had no chance of getting out of this alive.

A single shot whizzed past the Comanche's head. Reese caught the surprise on the old man's face before he disappeared from the saddle.