Texas Pride: Night Riders (25 page)

“Why would Maxwell set fire to his own house?” Carla asked as they drew near.

“He would not, but Laveau would.”

“Why?”

“To hide something.”

“What?”

“Maybe Maxwell’s body. Hold my horse,” Ivan said to Carla as he slid from the saddle. “I must see if Maxwell is in the house.”

The horses, fear of fire bred into them over centuries, sidled nervously. “You can’t go in there,” Carla protested. “The whole house is on fire.”

“I see something in the doorway that looks like a body.”

The heat hit Ivan with a powerful blast, but he was certain there was a body in the doorway. He didn’t know if the man was alive, but he had scant seconds to get him out. Ignoring the feeling that he was entering an inferno, he staggered up the steps and reached for the man. Taking a firm grip on his hands, Ivan pulled him across the porch, down the steps, and into the yard. As soon as he was out of the reach of the flames, he scooped up handfuls of dirt to smoother the fire that was burning the man’s clothes. Once the fire was out, he turned him over.

“It’s Maxwell.” Carla’s voice was infused with horror at seeing the smoldering remains of a man she’d known. His hands and face had been burned so badly he was almost beyond recognition.

“He’s been shot. He’s badly burned, but he’s still alive,” Ivan said.

“We have to get him to a doctor,” Carla said.

“Get diViere,” Maxwell murmured. “He stole everything.”

“We’ll get you to a doctor,” Ivan said.

“No!” The word seemed to exhaust Maxwell. He struggled for breath. “Do you think I want to live looking like this?” he asked, his voice a faint thread. “Get diViere. I won’t care if I die as long as you get diViere.”

“Where did he go?” Ivan asked.

“Follow the wagon tracks.” His strength gone, Maxwell slumped back.

“Do what you can for him,” Ivan said to Carla. “I’m going after Laveau.”

***

The cloudless sky was filled with a million flickering stars, but the pale light from a half moon turned the flat and endless plain into a soundless study in silver and grey. The sandy soil under Ivan’s horse’s hooves shone a white silver. The silence was broken only by the pounding of his horse’s hooves, the squeak of leather, the clink of metal. The feeling of isolation, the sense that he was the only living soul on a plain that stretched endlessly in all directions, gave rise to spectral images in his imagination. The sparse grass, dark and withered, made him think of silver-grey fingers, twisted by arthritis, thrusting out of an inhospitable earth. Twin dots of ruby red—the eyes of cows that followed his passage—glowed like the eyes of horned demons. The course of a dry arroyo gaped before him like the menacing entrance to a black abyss. Even the cactus and sage took on the appearance of a scattered army of lilliputian avengers.

Shaking his head to dislodge these fantasies, Ivan concentrated on following the tracks. He’d learned a lot about tracking during his five years in Texas, but in the dim moonlight, it was virtually impossible to tell if Laveau had made the tracks, or if they’d been made by someone else at an earlier date. He was reassured by the knowledge that few people had a reason to drive a buggy across the open plain at any time. He was less assured of his mount’s ability to catch up with a fresh horse, even one pulling a buggy loaded with the pillage from several raids.

He debated whether it was more important to capture Laveau or reclaim the stolen treasure. He was certain Laveau would abandon the treasure rather than allow himself to be captured. He had to know that in shooting Kesney and Maxwell, he’d stepped outside the safety net provided by the Reconstruction government. It might be difficult to convince a Texas judge to attach much importance to a stabbing that had taken place in California, especially since the woman had recovered, but no judge could ignore two attempted murders in his own jurisdiction.

Ivan worried whether his horse had enough strength left to catch up with Laveau. From the time Ivan left Carla’s ranch that morning, he rode the animal hard all day. His stride had lost its spring, his breathing was not without effort, and Ivan didn’t know how much farther he had to go before he caught sight of Laveau. The man always seemed to be just out of sight, just out of reach. If Ivan had been a person to take the dimmest view of everything, that could be seen as a metaphor for the surviving Night Riders’ attempts to capture and bring to justice the man who’d betrayed them.

The situation was even more frustrating because rather than disappear, Laveau seemed to be baiting them, circling along the periphery of their lives long enough to disrupt them, then vanishing before anyone could lay hands on him. The protection afforded him by the Reconstruction government, a regime as corrupt as it was onerous, was particularly galling.

A movement in the distance caught Ivan’s attention. He held his breath in anticipation, fearful his imagination was playing tricks on him. However, a few moments later he was sure. There was a horse and buggy ahead. A saddled horse was tethered behind. Ivan had every reason to believe Laveau was the driver. With great reluctance, Ivan urged his horse into a fast canter.

His horse stumbled, nearly went to his knees. He recovered quickly, but Ivan knew he couldn’t continue this chase much longer. If he didn’t catch Laveau soon, he wouldn’t catch him at all. He leaned forward, putting as much of his weight as possible over the withers, where it was easier to carry. He had drawn close enough to make out some of Laveau’s distinguishing features before Laveau realized he was being followed. He took a single glance behind him then applied the whip to his horse.

The plain appeared flat, but there were enough rocks, shallow depressions, and obstructing plants, living and dead, to make driving a buggy across it challenging. Attempting it at a gallop was foolhardy. The buggy bounced and lurched so violently Laveau was tossed about like a puppet on a string. At one particularly bad bump, a pair of saddlebags Ivan assumed were filled with some of the stolen treasure were thrown from the buggy. Moments later a second pair followed. The look of naked rage on Laveau’s face as he glanced back told Ivan that Laveau was aware of what was happening but knew he couldn’t stop. Ivan wondered how much more was in the buggy. Laveau struck his horse with several vicious lashes of the whip, but the frightened animal couldn’t pull the careening buggy any faster.

Ivan’s horse was slowing. He couldn’t drive the animal any harder without doing serious damage, possibly life-threatening injury, but he couldn’t just give up and let Laveau get away. He knew it was difficult to hit a target while on horseback, especially one that was bouncing about as much as Laveau, but he pulled his rifle from its holster, took aim, and fired.

He missed. Probably because the moment he fired, the buggy lurched violently, and the left wheel came off. It flew about twenty feet through the air, hit the ground, bounced about five feet, before landing on the ground again and rolling about fifteen feet before coming to a stop.

Meanwhile, Laveau jumped from his seat. When he reached inside the buggy, presumably to grab what stolen property was still there, Ivan fired another shot at him. That missed as well, but it served its purpose. Laveau abandoned his effort to salvage any of the treasure. He mounted his horse and rode off at a fast gallop.

Ivan pulled his exhausted horse to a stop. Dismounting the animal, which trembled badly from his exertions, he knew he would only get one shot at Laveau’s rapidly vanishing figure. Steadying the rifle on his shoulder, he took careful aim then squeezed the trigger.

He could see Laveau lurch to one side just before he and his horse disappeared in the distance. He had hit Laveau, but he hadn’t brought him down.

Damn!

***

“Kesney said I could be his foreman,” Danny said to Carla and Ivan. “He said if I was going to marry his daughter, he wanted to make sure I was smart enough to run the ranch and take care of her.”

Beth pouted. “I think it’s wonderful Papa is giving Danny a job, but he’s forcing us to wait two years to get married. Do you think that’s fair?”

“It’s not a long time, and you
are
rather young,” Carla said.

“But I love Danny. I always will,” Beth insisted.

The four of them were sitting in Myrtle’s parlor. Danny had endured a long interview with Kesney, while his daughter waited nervously for her chance to talk to her father. Danny seemed relieved and happy. Beth’s pretty smile was marred by a trace of petulance. Carla thought it was good Kesney was requiring Beth and Danny to wait two years. It would give Danny time to discover if his infatuation was really love. And she hoped it would give Beth time to mature into a young woman who didn’t always think of herself first. It would also give her a chance to learn the difference between what was expected of a young wife as opposed to that which would be tolerated in a spoiled daughter.

“If you love him that much, you won’t mind waiting,” Carla said. “Besides, you’ll see him every day. It’ll be practically the same as being married.”

Beth didn’t look convinced, but Carla was content to leave that to Danny and Kesney. She had a much bigger worry. She had to talk to Ivan, and he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. She didn’t like it either, but after having gone over it again and again in her mind, she couldn’t make any other decision.

Myrtle entered the parlor. “Time for you to scram,” she said to Danny. “Your father is sleeping,” she said to Beth. “I think you should be here to sit with him when he wakes up. So if you want some time with your young man, you’d better get it now.”

Danny and Beth wasted no time in leaving.

“They’ll get over this silly infatuation inside a month,” Myrtle said. “After that they’ll have a chance to see if they can love each other enough to get married.”

“Don’t be so cynical,” Carla said.

“I’ve been married twice. I know how it works.”

“Were you in love?” Carla immediately regretted asking.

“Yes, but not with either of my husbands.” Myrtle’s gaze focused on Carla. “That’s a mistake I hope you’re smart enough not to make. Now,” she said, turning to Ivan, “what are you going to do about running for sheriff? And don’t tell me again that you’re going to Poland and taking Carla with you.”

Despite Ivan bringing in the stolen items, the citizens of Overlin might never have believed Riley and his men were behind the thefts if Maxwell Dodge hadn’t lived long enough to divulge the whole scheme, which had been conceived and set in motion by Laveau diViere. The joy of the Mexicans when they came to retrieve their cherished gold and silver deepened the citizens’ guilt for having been so badly duped. When it turned out that the gold chain Bricker had been wearing was the only stolen item that wasn’t in the saddlebags Ivan brought back, even the most reluctant doubters were convinced.

Under Ivan’s supervision, all the disputes about ownership of various items had been worked out satisfactorily, and he went from being a local hero to a virtual demigod. They would have made him sheriff on the spot, even though the old one hadn’t resigned. Others wanted him to take over Maxwell’s position. Ivan’s response had been to retreat to the safety of Myrtle’s parlor.

“Ivan and I need a few minutes to ourselves,” Carla said to Myrtle.

“Take all the time you need,” Myrtle said. “I have more than enough to do in the kitchen.”

Knowing what she had to say, Carla found it almost impossible to look Ivan in the eye. He was everything a woman could want in a husband—handsome, kind, strong, thoughtful, smart, and respected. There didn’t seem to be anything he couldn’t do. He had enough charm for two people, and his smile was practically a lethal weapon. Most important of all, he loved her and wanted to marry her. How could she tell him she couldn’t go with him to Poland—that she couldn’t marry him?

Ivan looked at her with a sweet smile that melted her heart. It was filled with compassion and understanding, but no sadness. “I know what you feel you must say.”

“You probably do,” Carla replied, “but I have to be the one to say it. I love you more than I thought I could love any man, but I can’t go to Poland with you. I thought I could, but I can’t. I
want
to go, but I can’t. I keep telling myself if I loved you enough I could do anything, but deep down inside I know I would end up making both of us miserable.”

“When did you decide?”

“I’ve changed my mind at least a dozen times a day, but yesterday I finally knew for certain. I was with you when we found Kesney. I rode with you to free Beth and capture the thieves. I rode with you to find Maxwell. It wasn’t so much what I did but that we did it together. Since you’ve been here, we’ve done
everything
together. I will always want to do everything with you.”

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She tried to hold them back, but they poured from her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. She started to wipe them away with the back of her hand, but Ivan used his bandana to dry her cheeks.

“I don’t know how to live any other way. I would try, but I would end up miserable and making you miserable. If you tried to give me only half the freedom I have here, it would be impossible for either of us to be accepted in your society. I would be a misfit, and you would be blamed for marrying a woman who was unfit by birth and station to be a princess. I can’t let you be cut off from your family. Poland is your country, your heritage. I could never be happy knowing I had purchased my happiness at your expense.”

She knew what she had to say next. She also knew she should face Ivan when she said it, but she couldn’t. Looking into his eyes, knowing the happiness she was giving up, would make it impossible for her to form the words. She dropped her gaze to her hands, which twisted in her lap, and uttered the words that would end any chance of happiness.

“You have to go back to Poland without me.”

Ivan had known for several days this moment was coming. It had only been a question of who would say the words first. He had been a fool to think Carla could be happy outside of Texas. He’d been an even bigger fool to think she could have been anything but utterly miserable in Poland. She would have tried to be the kind of wife his family expected. Even if she had succeeded—and he doubted that was possible—the role she would have been expected to play would have squeezed the life out of her. He didn’t know if he would have been more heartsick watching this happen or leaving Texas without her. But that didn’t really matter because he knew both of these options were impossible for him. There was only one choice he could make.

He looked at Carla, her head down, her hands clenched and twisting in her lap, and his heart went out to her. She had been willing to twist herself into a knot for him only to realize it was impossible. And now she was sacrificing her chance at happiness for him. Knowing that in this moment of her greatest unhappiness she still thought of him first caused him to love her even more. What kind of man would give up such a woman for the sake of a title, even if that title had come with an enormous estate and great power? He knew many such men who would. Ten years ago he would have been one of them, but near poverty, four years of a brutal war, and five years as an ordinary Texas cowhand had changed him.

Nothing could diminish his pride in his family and its contributions to Poland’s history, but he deserved no special honors or privileges because of what others had accomplished. Even more important, he realized he wasn’t the one to carry that heritage into the future. That required a man whose heart and soul were firmly anchored in Poland. How could he be that man when his heart would forever be in Texas? No one and nothing would ever be as important to him as the woman who sat beside him, this wonderful, unbelievable woman, who was determined to put his happiness before her own. She was stronger and braver than he because he couldn’t have done it.

He claimed her agitated hands and calmed them with his own. They were roughened and chapped by work, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way. That’s who she was, this exceptional woman who’d chosen to love him despite so many reasons to wish he’d never been born. She didn’t need a title, wealth, or social position to affirm her nobility. It was bred into her. It was as much a part of her as the color of her hair and the tilt of her chin, the firmness of her principles, or the depth of her love for him. She was his princess, the only one he ever wanted. If necessary, he would spend the rest of his life making her believe that.

“I have known this was coming,” he said. “It was foolish to—”

Carla didn’t let him finish. “I would try.” She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “You
know
I would try, but it wouldn’t work. Everyone would hate me and blame you for marrying me and forcing them to pretend to like me.” She laid out her entire reasoning process. “It wouldn’t work,” she said when she’d finished, her gaze downcast once more, “no matter how much both of us tried.”

“That is why neither of us is going to try.”

She looked up, her expression bleak. “I’ve been trying to tell myself I had to let you go, that I had to be ready to say good-bye, but I can’t stand even thinking about it. It would be bad enough if you left right now. Today. No matter who buys your half of the ranch, it will kill me if you wait until your year is up.”

Ivan put his finger to her lips to silence her. “Even when you said you would go to Poland with me, I knew it was impossible. I was so desperate to marry you I tried to tell myself we could find a way to make it work, but I realized it could not be. Yet I knew it was impossible to leave you. That’s why I’m going to stay and run for sheriff. And if you’ll let me, we can run
our
ranch together.”

For a moment, Carla stared at him as though she hadn’t understood what he’d said. Then she started as though stabbed by something sharp.

“But your family is depending on you. You can’t abandon your position as prince. You said your family has always been important to Poland.”

Ivan laughed. “My family has been taking care of itself for ten years without my help. I have two nephews who appear only too eager to step into my position.”

“But they can’t be the prince because you’re still alive.”

“My sisters will not care. All they want is the position as head of the family.”

“But they can’t be the head of the family. You are. You—”

“I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life.”

Both turned to see Myrtle standing in the doorway, looking like a schoolmistress facing two very unsatisfactory students.

“If Ivan wants to stay here, you have no right to try to send him back to Poland,” she said to Carla. “He’ll do a lot more good here as sheriff than he will parading around a drafty castle wearing clothes that would shame a proper man.”

“But he has duties to his country and responsibilities for his family.”

Looking thoroughly disgusted, Myrtle turned to Ivan. “Can’t you do something to shut her up?”

Ivan thought of several possibilities but chose the one that appealed to him most. He kissed Carla. He kept on kissing her when she tried to talk. He kissed her when she tried to push him away. And he kissed her when she gave in and kissed him back.

“It’s good to know some men know how to put an end to female nonsense,” Myrtle said. “I’ll be in the kitchen in case she has a relapse.”

Ivan decided Myrtle’s departure was no reason to stop doing something he was enjoying so much so he kept right on kissing Carla. She tried to talk, but failing in that, she gave up and concentrated on kissing Ivan as thoroughly as he was kissing her. In that way they passed a thoroughly satisfactory quarter of an hour.

“Are you sure?” she asked when he finally broke their kiss.

“As sure as I have ever been about anything.”

“But what about your family?”

“My going back would make them more uncomfortable than my staying here. I have changed. They have not.”

Carla’s frown was replaced by a dawning smile. “You really mean it? You
want
to stay here more than you want to go back to Poland?”

Ivan kissed the end of her nose. “I love you. I want to marry you. If that means I have to stay in Texas, then that is where I want to be.”

Carla threw herself at Ivan with such force he was knocked flat on the sofa. She covered his face with kisses.

“I understand your enthusiasm,” Myrtle said from the doorway, “but I won’t have any of that carrying on in my house.”

Carla sat up, surprise mingled with chagrin in her expression. “It’s not what you think. I was—”

Myrtle’s sudden smile was stunning in its intensity. “After what that man just did for you, if you
didn’t
kiss him hard enough to drive him half out of his senses, I’d be heartily ashamed of you. Just be glad I’m not thirty years younger. You wouldn’t have a chance. Now I
am
going to the kitchen. Be as outrageous as you dare.”

Carla smoothed some wrinkles in her dress. “Do you think she’s really gone to the kitchen?”

Ivan glanced at the empty doorway and laughed. “What do you think?”

“I think if we don’t want her dragging a preacher here so we can be married within the hour, we’d better lock her in the kitchen.”

“I heard that.”

Carla burst out laughing, but Ivan didn’t think that was such a bad idea. It was impossible for Carla to become his wife too soon.

***

Five
years
later

“… Anika is finally content with her son’s engagement to the only daughter of a wealthy count. Ludmila’s husband’s ascent to his great uncle’s title and fortune means the family can now take its rightful place in society, but that does not mean we do not miss you, my son. I cannot understand why you insist on farming cows. If that is what you must do, we have plenty of cows in Poland. They are much nicer than any cows you have to chase with a rope, though I cannot imagine why you must chase anything with a rope. You should have your servants bring them to you.

I remind you again that you are still Prince Poniatowski. No one can take your place, especially now that you have two sons. I must come to America and that place you call Texas. It must be a very strange place, indeed, if boys who grow up there have no desire to be a prince.”

Your loving mother,

Krystina Stanislas

Princess Poniatowski