Slocum's Breakout (10 page)

“The time to make a good escape is when they least expect it. I returned to their prison, tail between my legs like a whipped cur, and they thought I was defeated. They became careless and I escaped before they had even returned me inside the walls.” Murrieta rocked back in his saddle and held out his leg, pulled up his pant leg and showed where the skin had been cruelly abraded. “I got off one leg iron, and the rest was easy.”

“But you had to get away from their search parties,” Slocum said.

“You wonder if I had a way to freedom and denied it to you and Valenzuela? No,” Murrieta said. “Luck favored me. I got to the Bay and found a boat. It leaked, but I rowed hard and found a fog bank. I continued to row, but when the fog lifted, I saw I had rowed back almost to where I had found the boat.” He chuckled. “It was then that my strength almost fled, but I refused to surrender. I rowed across the Golden Gate and lost myself in San Francisco. Once there . . .” He shrugged eloquently.

Slocum figured Murrieta had plenty of friends there willing to get him back to his village. They might even have ridden with his father, though Procipio would be hesitant about making that claim since he obviously wanted to be thought of as law-abiding.

Slocum wondered how much of the law Murrieta actually followed as they rode into his town. The adobe buildings were pockmarked from bullets, and the men who came out were all heavily armed. This might be an outlaw hideout rather than a simple farming village. But farther to the east Slocum saw fields of beans growing. Acequias had been built for irrigation, and farm tools were stacked near many houses. Whatever the truth, it was more complicated than casually looking around would ever reveal.

“You are tired. Hungry, too, eh? Come into my house, and we will see to your needs.”

Murrieta dropped to the ground. A young boy of ten or twelve rushed out to take the reins. He took Slocum's, too, and led the horses away. The rest of Murrieta's gang had disappeared among the houses. Anyone riding up now would think this was nothing more than a sleepy farming community rather than an armed camp.

Slocum ducked his head low as he entered Murrieta's house. The smell of brewing coffee made his nostrils flare. His belly rumbled loudly enough for Murrieta to hear.

“Sit. We eat simply but well.” He dropped a china plate in front of Slocum and ladled out beans. A tortilla was added. Slocum had already wolfed down a mouthful when Murrieta put a cup of coffee near his hand.

“How is it you came to this part of California?” Murrieta asked.

Between mouthfuls, Slocum recounted his travels up from the drought-stricken South. He was feeling more human by the minute. When he'd polished off a second plate of beans and two more tortillas, he was feeling downright sociable.

Movement behind him, though, sent Slocum reaching for his six-shooter. He hesitated when he saw a woman silhouetted in the doorway, the morning sun shining through her dark hair and completely erasing her face. But there was no disguising the curves and the lithe way she moved.

“Lo siento,”
she said. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“I don't usually sit with my back to the door,” Slocum said. “Getting careless.”

She spoke in rapid Spanish to Murrieta. Slocum followed some of it but not much. There was trouble of some kind between two of the villagers.

“I must go make peace. Maria will keep you company.” With that, Murrieta left, pushing past the woman.

For a moment, Maria hesitated, then came in and stood by the table.

“Is there anything more I can give you? It looks as if Procipio has fed you well.”

“Not his cooking,” Slocum said. “Yours?”

“Oh, no, not mine.” Maria looked away and actually blushed.

“But you wish you could cook for him?”

Her fiery eyes fixed on Slocum. This time there was no shyness.

“He is not for me. He is not for any in the village, though he claims there is someone down south. Procipio hints at a family.”

“So he doesn't fool around with any of the women in this town?”

“Never!”

Maria pulled up a chair and sat next to Slocum. Their knees brushed. She did not pull away, and he damned himself when he didn't draw back. She was beautiful, but he ought to have had his fill of beautiful women after Conchita. Something about Maria's forthright, open manner appealed to him. But he had never questioned Conchita's honesty either, until he had broken José out of San Quentin and returned to their house. Then it had been too late to do anything about her lying ways.

“You want to ask me something,” Slocum said. “Murrieta did, too, but he never got around to it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You don't live here—”

“No!”

“And you just happened to bring news of two men fighting that Murrieta had to referee. I think there was more to it. You wanted to come to find out if he had asked me something.”

“Everything Procipio has said about you is true,” she said. “He said you were very smart.” She looked down at his Colt. “And that you were a gunfighter.”

“Not much of either these days,” Slocum said. “You're not wanting to hire me as a gunman, are you? I don't sell my gun.”

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head and causing a halo of raven's wing dark hair to float about her head. “You went into San Quentin to rescue another, no?”

“That's true,” Slocum said, wishing it wasn't. “I'm not doing that again.”

“But there is one inside who does not deserve to be there.”

“Your lover?”

“I have not had a lover in many months.”

“Brother?”

“
Un primo
, a cousin.”

“He's in jail?”

“Where Procipio was. Where you were. San Quentin.”

Slocum said nothing as he studied the lines of her face. She had high cheekbones and lips meant to be kissed. He had done that before, and it had landed him in a world of trouble. But Maria was so innocent looking.

“Innocent.”

This unsettled him. It was as if she had read his mind.

“That was what I—”

“Please, you must help Procipio—and me.” Maria moved closer and reached out. Her small hand rested on his. He started to pull away, but she gripped down with surprising strength.

Slocum had been in the same position before, but Conchita had made her plea after she had ensnared him with her wiles. Maria made her desires known up front.

“You are a very powerful man,” she said softly. “I am drawn to men such as you.”

“Killers?”

“Lady killers,” she said, smiling. What might have been a wicked smile carried that shyness and a hint of anticipation to it that Slocum found irresistible. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, and he saw from Maria's reaction that many of those raced through hers, too.

He kissed her.

He kissed her and damned himself for being a fool. Thinking with his
cojones
, Murrieta had said, and it was true and Slocum didn't care.

They both stood, still awkwardly kissing. Then they flowed into each other's arms, her soft, yielding body pressed hotly against his. If Murrieta had wanted Maria to convince him to do whatever it was, he wouldn't return—or he might to “surprise” them and blackmail Slocum into joining what would be a crazy plot.

If Murrieta knew nothing and returned, he might consider this embrace to be worth killing Slocum over. The man obviously took his duty as
alcalde
seriously, and protecting the citizens, especially the lovely young señoritas, would be a priority.

All this crossed Slocum's mind, and he didn't care. Maria's lips tasted like honey against his. Her fingers began exploring, moving up and down his back, pressing into his spine, then working higher to cradle the back of his head.

His own kiss deepened, and his tongue invaded her mouth. Their tongues dueled erotically, causing them both to breathe faster. He felt her heart trip-hammering through her breast crushed against his chest. He pulled her even closer, as if their bodies could merge this way. But they couldn't. Not like this.

He reached down and caught at her skirt, lifting it high. For her part, Maria worked frantically on his fly. He stroked over her bare legs, moved up, and found the curves of her taut ass. When he realized she was having difficulty with his fly, he squeezed down on her rump, then abandoned her flesh to shuck off his gun belt and then pop open his fly. Barely had he sprung out, erect and ready, when her groping fingers circled him and tugged him in obvious need toward the spot still hidden by the roll of her skirt.

She lifted a leg and hooked it around his waist. This positioned them properly for him to slip back and forth and then find the lust-slickened slit that opened to accommodate him fully. As he entered her, a tremor passed through her from head to toe. She shivered deliciously and clung even more fiercely to him. With a tiny hop, she jumped up so both legs circled his waist.

He held her and turned about, supporting both their weights. Leaning back caused him to sink balls deep into her, then bending forward, he pulled out enough for her to sob out, “No, in, I need you in me!”

Moving awkwardly at first and then finding the right rhythm, he moved in and out of her as she clung to him. But he wasn't able to thrust the way he wanted—the way she wanted, too.

Her moans grew louder until he spun about and sat her down on the table. This allowed her to give up her grip around his waist and hike both feet to the edge of the table. From here, Slocum pistoned forward, sinking fully. Then he withdrew. Slowly. Every inch of his retreat caused a new ripple of desire to pass through her. He felt the heat within his loins and the pressures mounting as he made love to this lovely woman. She leaned back, supporting herself on her elbows, as he continued to lever his hips forward furiously, then withdraw slowly. This motion soon caused her to cry out in carnal release.

Slocum continued for a minute longer and then knew he was going to get off at any instant. His body took over and he moved erratically, driving forward and pulling out in a rhythm dictated more by his own arousal than a desire to pleasure her.

He shoved forward, gasped, and spilled his seed. All around his hidden length, she crushed down on him, milking him, squeezing the last possible thrill out of their lovemaking as she could.

He stepped back and looked at Maria. Her face was flushed, and she had a smile that could only be described as angelic.

“You are so good,” she said in a shaky voice. “I knew it would be like this.”

Before Slocum could answer, he heard Murrieta outside arguing with someone. He quickly buttoned up and turned as the
alcalde
came back into the small house.

Murrieta looked at him and Maria curiously but did not show any displeasure. From his distracted expression, he might still be settling some dispute all the way across the village. Slocum was glad for that because he found Maria's presence equally distracting.

She had spun about and landed on her feet on the opposite side of the table.

“They can never settle their own feuds,” Murrieta said in disgust. “I do not know why I do this, this judging so others can lead peaceful lives. All it brings to me is trouble.”

“But some trouble is worthwhile,” Maria said. Her response might have been to Murrieta's woes, but Slocum knew she directed it to him.

“If it doesn't get you killed,” Slocum said, “it might be worth it.”

“It won't,” Maria mouthed.

Slocum wasn't sure he believed her.

“The banker Galworthy is responsible for our woes,” Procipio Murrieta said. “I care little that Valenzuela stole from the bank. He only beat me to it!”

“You ought to care, and not because the vault is empty. If the banker gets his dander up, he's likely to come after your property. You said you hadn't made the mortgage payments for a spell,” Slocum pointed out.

“The crops are meager,” Murrieta said, shrugging in resignation. “We do what we can but must have more water. We survive—barely. The times I am sent to prison do not help either. The entire village suffers.”

Slocum looked from the man to Maria, who stood in the doorway. The afternoon sun lit her like an actress on a stage. Slocum listened to Murrieta with half an ear, his thoughts more on Maria and their brief time together. He thought he had learned his lesson with Conchita but now wasn't so sure. Maria was different—except she wanted something from him, too. She had mentioned the man in San Quentin put there by the banker, who now would be coming after others in this sleepy town with no name.

Slocum had a horse, he had his freedom, and if he had half a brain, he would leave when Murrieta and the others went to sleep that night. From everything he had seen, the village was less a farming community than an armed camp. Somehow he had left the company of bank robbers and thieves and now found himself amid rebels with Murrieta the leader of a peasant revolt. This wasn't his fight, no matter what payment Maria so willingly offered.

Still, he couldn't take his eyes off her. She was gorgeous.

“. . . put into prison as a warning for us. Do not fight, that is the message.”

“Prison?” Slocum's attention snapped back to what the
alcalde
was saying.

“Atencio is scheduled to be hanged. The banker railroaded him. Atencio is no more guilty than any of us, but Galworthy chose him as an example.”

“Galworthy's the banker,” Slocum said, piecing together the snippets he remembered hearing. He had to leave before he got himself involved to the point where he could never dig out. “What is Atencio supposed to have done?”