Ride The Wind (Vincente 3) (6 page)

Acting on a strong hunch, Reese had camped
near the road south of Dallas for three days. He'd
watched the people who came his way, but none
of them were the Miller brothers. One of the
men he spoke to was able to give him a good
description of the two older brothers.

For all he knew, the Millers might already
have turned Miss Vincente over to Graham Felton. But he was gambling that the meeting
hadn't yet taken place. Felton would be cautious,
knowing that the whole state of Texas would be
searching for the Vincente woman. Reese expected him to meet with the brothers and then
decide where the woman was to be exchanged.

He was also gambling that the Miller brothers
would attempt to sneak into Dallas by swimming their horses across the Trinity River rather
than taking the ferry, where people might recognize them.

Reese shaded his eyes and judged it to be the
noon hour. If none of the Miller brothers had
shown up by evening, he'd ride into Dallas and
see if he could pick up their trail from there.

It was late afternoon when he saw the dust of
a lone rider approaching. He urged his horse behind a thick cedar bush, waiting and watching.

As the rider drew near, Reese guided his horse
into the man's path and aimed his rifle at his
heart. "Stop where you are," he commanded in
a harsh voice. "And don't move."

The stranger pulled back on the reins and
looked at Reese, seemingly undaunted. "If it's
money you're after, you won't get much from
me, mister."

Reese shook his head. "Don't want your
money I'm after information." He could see a
strong resemblance between the stranger and
Mrs. Miller. They had the same shape face, the
same color eyes. And this man fit the description
of the older brother, Earl. Reese could tell a lot
about a man just by looking into his eyes. While
Mrs. Miller's eyes had been honest and heavy
with sadness, her son's eyes held a mendacious expression, and there was something sly and deceitful in the dark depths.

"Unbuckle your gun belt and drop it to the
ground," Reese ordered. "Then carefully ease
that rifle out of the holster and drop it, too."

Earl Miller looked into the stranger's hard,
cold eyes and knew he meant exactly what he
said. Slowly he unbuckled his gun belt and let it
drop. He then unholstered his rifle and pitched
it to the ground.

Reese motioned with his rifle. "Dismount
slowly, but keep your hands where I can see
them at all times."

Earl did as he was told, although he had trouble removing his foot from the stirrup with his
hands in the air. Reese encouraged him by cocking the rifle and leveling it right between his
eyes.

"Damn it, what do you want from me?"

"Let's start with your name. Who are you?"

Earl's eyes narrowed. There was something
going on that he didn't quite understand. If the
man didn't want his money, what did he want?
No one could know that he'd kidnapped the Vincente woman-he'd been too careful in covering
his tracks. But what if he was wrong; what if this
man was a lawman? What if he had found out
about the kidnapping and tracked him?

"Keep those hands up," Reese ordered when
Earl dropped one arm.

Earl stared directly into the stranger's eyes.
He was no coward, but he read something in
those silver depths that warned him the stranger
wouldn't hesitate to shoot him dead.

"And if I don't feel like telling you my name?"
Earl asked recklessly, testing the stranger.

Reese shrugged with indifference. "Then
you'd only be hurting yourself." Without hesitation, he aimed his rifle and fired.

Earl let out a cry of pain, followed by outraged
cursing. He grabbed his ear and blood poured
through his fingers. "Damn it to hell! Why'd you
go and shoot my ear, you bastard?"

"So you'd know I'm serious," Reese replied in
a voice as hard as steel. "You might want to remember that I always hit what I aim at." The
rifle moved to Earl's heart. "Now I'm only going
to ask you one more time," Reese warned.
"What's your name?"

Earl licked his dry lips, and in spite of the
chilled air, sweat popped out on his upper lip.
There was no doubt in his mind that the rifleman meant what he said. And he had a feeling
that the man already knew who he was, so he
didn't dare lie to him not with that rifle aimed
at his heart. "Name's Earl," he said hurriedly.
"Earl Miller." His eyes hardened, and he won dered if he could reach the derringer that was
hidden in his sleeve before the man could pull
the trigger. "Who are you, and why d'you want
to know my name?"

Reese leaned forward, cradling the rifle across
his arm, and said softly, "Earl, I'm your worst
fear."

Earl could no longer look into those cold, penetrating eyes. "I don't even know you. What've
you got against me?"

With the creaking of saddle leather, Reese dismounted, keeping his rifle trained on Earl Miller. "Let's just say that you have something that
belongs to a friend of mind, and he wants it
back."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Earl
could feel the metal of his hidden derringer
against his bare flesh. If he could keep the man
talking and distract him, he'd have a chance at
a clear shot, but he'd better aim for the heart
because if he didn't kill this man, he'd be the one
to die. "What does your friend think I have that
belongs to him?"

Reese moved a step closer, and Earl took a
step back. "Let's not waste time on meaningless
conversation, Earl. You have a woman who
doesn't belong to you, and you're going to take
me to her, right now." He took another step toward Earl. "But first I want you to tell me about your deal with Graham Felton and where in Dallas you are supposed to meet him."

Suddenly the color drained out of Earl's face.
He looked almost comical with blood streaming
from his ear and his teeth clenched in fear.

Earl knew in his gut that he had no choice but
to tell the stranger everything. "Why didn't you
just ask me what you wanted in the first place?
You didn't have to go and shoot me."

Reese smiled, but it was not with humor; it
was a smile that sent chills down Earl's spine.
"It seemed the right thing to do at the time, Earl.
I didn't think you'd talk until I proved to you that
I am dead serious."

Earl glanced into the cold gray eyes and
quickly looked down at the ground. "If you'll put
that gun down, I'll tell you 'bout the woman."

"I have been called many names in my lifetime, Earl, but `fool' was never one of them. Now
answer me this have you and Felton ever met
before?"

"No. But you know so much already, I'm sure
you know that, too."

"Where is Saber Vincente? Take me to her."

Earl paled even more and extended his arm at
an angle so the hidden derringer slid into the
palm of his hand. He was fast, but not fast
enough. The rifle fired, knocking him backward
and slamming him to the ground.

Earl tried to move when the stranger bent
down to him, but he was paralyzed. "It's bad,
ain't it?" he said with a gasped.

"Yep. You're gut-shot, Earl. You don't have
long to live. Looks like I'll be meeting with Felton in your place. I would have preferred to go
after the girl, but you forced me to do it the hard
way. Care to tell me where you were going to
meet Felton?"

Earl stared into the other man's clear silver
eyes and shivered. "Go to hell."

"Not today, Earl that's where you'll be going." He watched Earl's body twitch, and the
man's last breath came out in a gurgled sigh.

Reese mounted and guided his horse toward
Dallas.

Reese tried to put himself in Graham Felton's
place and think as he would. What did Felton
want with Miss Vincente? There was always ransom, but Felton didn't need money. Perhaps he
had a grudge against the Vincente family? That
was the most likely possibility. Noble Vincente
had probably made many enemies over the
years; men of wealth and power often did. It
could be that Felton merely wanted the woman
in his bed.

Reese's only knowledge about the Vincente
family was what he'd heard from other people. Noble Vincente was like a king, ruling a ranch
that was larger than some countries in the
world.

Reese's lip curled in scorn. He could imagine
what Saber Vincente was like: soft, beautiful,
lofty, and full of her own importance. She had
probably always been surrounded by servants,
and didn't have to put her foot forward without
someone else's help. She was exactly the kind of
woman Reese had always detested. He'd met
them before, even bedded them on occasion, but
they had always left him cold. He wanted a
woman who would think and do for herself; not
some decorative ornament who needed to be
pampered and coddled. That kind of woman
would be just right for Matthew; in fact, Matthew was the sort of man who needed a woman
of pure bloodlines, a wife he could show off to
his eastern friends and say, "I own her look but
don't touch."

No matter what kind of woman she was, Miss
Vincente didn't deserve what had happened to
her. And he would do all in his power to get her
back for Matthew.

It was growing dark when Reese rode into
Dallas. His gaze roamed lazily across the buildings as he speculated where the meeting was to
take place. He knew it would be one of the saloons, but which one? There were three.

Dallas, unlike many of the towns in Texas, had
prospered after the Civil War. There was a
wagon and carriage factory, a bank, and a newspaper office. Dallas was the center of the buffalo
trade, and there were rumors that the railroad
would soon cut through the town, bringing even
more prosperity.

Reese stopped before the Lucky Seven Saloon
and stared at it for a moment-it was too
crowded, too noisy. No, Felton would choose a
less frequented saloon for his meeting with Earl.
Now that he knew that the two men had never
met face-to-face, he had the edge he needed to
approach Graham Felton. If he played his part
right, he just might get Matthew's woman back
for him without getting himself and her killed
in the bargain.

Reese bypassed another rowdy saloon, then
dismounted before the Blue Dog. He tied his
horse to the hitching post and shoved open the
bat-wing doors, entering the darkened interior.
It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness. The man who was playing the tinny piano
was singing off-key, and it grated on Reese's
nerves. He smelled the stale tobacco smoke
mixed with the unpleasant odor of unwashed
flesh and the sickening aroma of cheap perfume.
There were two cowboys bellied up to the bar,
their arms draped around gaudily dressed women, and three men sitting at a table playing
cards. He decided that none of them was Felton,
although they might be his men, since they
watched Reese's movements closely.

Reese's gaze fell on a man sitting alone at a
table at the back of the room, and he drew in a
cautious breath. That was probably Graham Felton. With his jaw clenched firmly, Reese moved
through the saloon to the solitary gentleman.

As Reese approached, the man didn't look up
or acknowledge his presence in any way, so
Reese slid into the chair across from him.

"I didn't hear anyone invite you to sit at my
table."

Reese picked up the whiskey bottle and took
a deep drink before answering. "I see they serve
you the good stuff."

"It's the best. And I don't take kindly to anyone
inviting himself to a drink of my private stock."

Reese shoved the bottle back toward the man.
"If you are who I think you are, you'll talk to me.
I have something you want."

Now the man did look up at him. "You'd be
Earl Miller."

Reese nodded, studying the man and looking
for any indication that he was suspicious. Either
Graham Felton believed him, or he was a damn
good actor. Felton was in his late thirties or early
forties-it was hard to tell for sure. He was of medium height and had light brown hair with
gray at the temples. His eyes were such a light
shade of blue that in the dimness of the saloon,
they seemed colorless. His face was pockmarked, and he had a hooked nose that looked
as if it had been broken more than once.

Felton leaned back in his chair and eyed Reese
with equal directness. At last he asked, "So you
got the woman?"

Reese nodded.

"Where is she?"

"Now, I'd be a fool to tell you that until I got
my money, wouldn't I?"

Graham's eyes flickered, then narrowed.
"You'd be a fool to try and play games with me.
You'll never get out of this saloon alive if you
cross me. Every man you see in here, including
the piano player, has been hired by me."

Reese smiled slightly. "Now why would I want
to cross you, since I went to so much trouble to
come here in the first place?"

"If you came to ask for more money, or to tell
me that the woman's dead, or that either you or
one of your brothers has sullied her, you are as
good as dead."

"I want her unharmed as much as you do. But
I don't know why you want her so bad. What's
so special about her?"

"I don't make it a habit to explain myself to a small-thinking thief like yourself." He stubbed
out his cigarette and met Reese's gaze. "Where
is she?"

"Where we agreed I'd take her."

Graham nodded. "Las Lomas."

Reese's brow furrowed as he mulled the name
over in his mind. Las Lomas was a ghost town
a hundred miles east of Fort Worth. He knew it
well, since he'd once driven a herd of cattle right
through the town streets.

Felton took a drink from his glass, then
shoved it away. "It's a four-day ride from Las
Lomas to the border. Cross the Rio Grande at El
Paso and look for the first saloon you come to
when you cross the border. I know how long it'll
take you to get back there from here. I'll give you
two weeks from today to deliver the woman, and
not a day more. After that, you'll not be able to
find me I'll find you."