A Husband Returned: Men of Wicked Sorrow, Book One

by Wynne Roman

  The man pushed his hat back enough on his greasy hair to share a look of anticipation. “Verás cuando esté listo.”

  Nathan shook his head sharply. “No comprende.”

  “Later.” The man tried again. “You will see when he is ready.”

  “Where is he?”

  The other man grinned and nodded toward the house. The other men shifted, circling around their spokesman and looking much the same. Dirty, unkempt, uncaring. Harley moved to make his position as effective as possible when two men faced five.

  “Mariah!”

  Nathan shouted his wife’s name and moved to dismount when the cock of multiple pistols halted him in place.

  “Stop,” muttered Harley from his place next to Clancy’s haunch.

  The men around them laughed. “Listen to your amigo,” the spokesman advised with another smug grin. “He is sabio. Wise.”

  Nathan ignored him and shouted Rye’s name again.

  No reply came until finally a male voice called out in a silky voice. “Is that you, Nathan Fairchild? Are you calling for your pretty little wife?”

  Nathan didn’t recognize the voice, but he didn’t need to. His insides went cold all the same. This man, whoever he was, meant to harm Mariah.

  “Who are you, and what do you want?” he demanded in a shout, and not for the first time.

  Again, no response was forthcoming. Tension soared until the air around him felt thick, and Nathan tried again. “You have no business with my wife.”

  He caught his breath when movement behind the screen door warned of activity in the house. Seconds later, Mariah appeared just inside the open doorway with a man who was at least Nathan’s own size looming behind her. He had an arm slung around her waist to hold her in place, and his other hand splayed over her mouth to keep her from speaking.

  Nathan’s heart sank into the depths of his belly, and yet it pounded like it was going to burst.

  “Mariah! Are you all right, sweetheart?”

  She couldn’t answer. He knew that, but he had to ask the question all the same. The shadows spread by the house’s interior prevented him from seeing anything well enough to reassure himself of her condition.

  He waited as long as he could, his frustration building until the command burst from him. “Let her go.”

  “On the contrary.” The man inside the house laughed mockingly. “Meeting your wife has been very informative.”

  “Let her go, you son of a bitch!” He shouted to repeat the demand, but the man made a grand gesture of shaking his head.

  “Not yet, hombre. Not yet.”

  “Mariah? Sweetheart?”

  Nathan’s voice came out too sharp, too anxious, and he forced himself to swallow as he sought some semblance of control. Fear for Mariah made him reckless, and he knew better.

  He tried again. “Mariah!” There. That sounded better. Indifferent. “Are you all right?” he asked again.

  He didn’t care that she couldn’t speak. He would keep asking until he got some sort of response.

  Nathan fought to hold himself steady, but finally the man leaned down to whisper in her ear. Not meaning to, Nathan clenched his fingers around the reins he’d held so loosely. Clancy’s head pulled back, the movement carrying with it a reminder of just where he was and what he faced.

  He forced himself to relax, and the horse blew out a soft response. After a moment, Mariah nodded.

  “Who are you?” Nathan demanded, again, and with a sharp shake of his head. “I keep asking the same goddamn questions, and you won’t answer. Who are you, and what do you want?”

  “Ah . . .” The man chuckled in clear satisfaction. “The very same questions your wife asked.”

  “And the answers?”

  Silence descended for a heartbeat, two, even three. Finally, so slowly as to look insolent, the other man lifted a shoulder. “You want to know who I am? My name is Cruz.”

  Cruz? The name meant nothing to him. Nothing about the man or his band of outlaws registered any familiarity. So, who was this Cruz, and why the hell had he targeted the Sangre Real? More than that, why come to the Double C? What made him enter the Double C ranch house and take Mariah as his hostage?

  “All right, Cruz.” Nathan tried to sound reasonable, but even he heard the edge in his voice. “What is it that you want?”

  That arrogant, self-satisfied laugh came again. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told your pretty little wife. I want trouble for the Fairchilds until the end of your days.”

  30

  The pronouncement confused Nathan as much as it seemed to satisfy Cruz. He shook his head. “What has my family ever done to you?”

  “The fact that you don’t know the answer to that question is sorry enough.”

  Nathan frowned, searching through his mind for some explanation. If he didn’t understand, how could he convince the man to let Mariah go?

  She stood still, not struggling against her captor. Her calm self-control relieved Nathan; surely she would be safer that way. Still, he could see her eyes even through the distortion of the screen. They were wide and pleading with him.

  He tried again. He had to.

  “Come out here. Let my wife go, and we’ll talk.”

  Cruz laughed cynically, as did the mounted men surrounding Nathan and Harley. “Sí, hombre,” Cruz chuckled. “I’ll let your wife go, and then you’ll agree to talk to the Mexican pendeja?”

  “Yes.” Nathan kept his voice steady.

  “And I am to believe you?”

  “Yes.”

  Cruz snorted an unmistakably disbelieving sound. “¿Verdad? Truth? Does the son of Jordan Fairchild have more honor than the father?”

  Cold spread through Nathan like a virus. Jordan? What the devil did he have to do with any of this? He was dead and buried, and good riddance, many thought. He’d been the devil’s surrogate when he was alive, but how could his sins still haunt them years later?

  “Yes,” Nathan said again, emphatically this time. “I have no love left for Jordan Fairchild.”

  “You disrespect your father?” Cruz seemed to be testing him.

  “My father disrespected me.”

  Mariah had begun to nod, as though agreeing with Nathan’s claim, or perhaps encouraging the conversation. Cruz shifted, seeming to peer down at her, and leaving Nathan to hold his breath for a few seconds.

  Yes. He would agree to any discussion—anything at all—if it meant that Mariah would be freed.

  “Hmm,” Cruz murmured. The man was tall enough to tower over Mariah, allowing Nathan to see the way he cocked his head to one side.

  Was he considering it? Could Nathan do more to convince him?

  Finally, Cruz nodded. “I suppose there is a truth that should come out.”

  Movement pushed the door wide as the man thrust his shoulder against the screen. The hinges gave a familiar squeak, and then Mariah stumbled out onto the porch ahead of her captor. They didn’t come all the way, merely far enough that their bodies held the door wide open—and to reveal the man who held Mariah hostage.

  “Son of a bitch,” Harley muttered under his breath.

  Nathan had no words. He could only stare in shocked wonder. Cruz stared back revealing no expression at all.

  Jesus Christ on the throne.

  Nathan blinked, but the image remained exactly the same. Moments dragged out as Cruz stood unmoving, and Nathan watched a mirror image of himself as a younger man. Much as he had looked perhaps ten years earlier. Cruz’s hair was a deep brown, his complexion a bit darker, but everything else about the face was the same.

  “Who are you?” Nathan’s voice sounded all too hoarse, but he could do nothing to change it.

  “I told you. My name is Cruz.”

  “Who is your—what’s your surname?”

  “Pecado.”

  Nathan shook his head silently, leaving a moment for Cruz to speak. “I took it for myself.”

  “It’s not from your father?”

 
; Cruz shot Nathan a disbelieving look as one of the outlaws laughed. “¿Es éste estúpido?”

  Estúpido. Nathan knew that word. Stupid.

  “I chose it,” Cruz said without emotion. “It suits me. It means sin.”

  Sin.

  No one needed to say another goddamn word. Cruz’s face, his attitude, his targeting the Sangre Real, his presence on the Double C. Nathan understood it all in an instant.

  “Jordan was your father.”

  “And your mother was not mine,” Cruz agreed easily. It was old news to him.

  Nathan considered the younger man and all the things he didn’t say. Clearly, Jordan had impregnated another woman at some point during his marriage to Carolyn—and perhaps others, as well. Who could guess how many Fairchild children might inhabit south Texas and northern Mexico? Jordan had frequented brothels and taken mistresses throughout most of his married life, as far as Nathan knew.

  So why did the arrival of Cruz Pecado surprise him so?

  “How old are you?” Nathan asked.

  “Nineteen. You have nearly ten years on me.”

  “Yes.” Nathan nodded, somehow not surprised that the younger man knew that much.

  Mariah moved, just enough to catch his attention and remind him of the more pressing problem. First, he would gain his wife’s freedom, and then he would solve the puzzle of Cruz Pecado.

  “You can see that Mariah had nothing to do with any of this. Let her go and we—”

  “Weren’t you listening, hombre?” Any softness in Cruz’s expression disappeared in an instant. “¡Dios, no! I have one bargaining chip to get you and your brother to talk. I won’t release it to—”

  “You might want to rethink your position.”

  Gabriel. His unmistakably deep voice sounded granite hard and left no room for negotiation. Moments later, Bonham stepped up behind Cruz and rested the barrel of his pistol firmly against the back of the man’s head.

  Nathan blinked, struggling for understanding. Where the devil had the Segundo come from? The briefest explanation was that he’d talked to Wylie or reckoned something was up when Nathan and Harley had lit out for the Double C.

  It didn’t matter. Nathan would get the explanation later, when Mariah was free and they had time to sort out the details. At the moment, other concerns pressed in on them, such as the nervous shifting of the outlaws who still encircled Harley and him. The air carried a sudden and overwhelming agitation that hadn’t been there before.

  Bonham’s arrival—and his gun—were complications for which the outlaws hadn’t planned. The tension in the air told Nathan all he needed to know. Hell, he hadn’t thought to even hope for anything of the sort, and now that it was Gabriel . . .

  Leave it for later, he told himself as he worked to rein in his frustration. If it frees Mariah, the devil himself can have a hand in keeping her safe.

  “Now,” continued Gabriel, sounding undisturbed, as though they were loitering in the saloon and sharing a bottle of whiskey. He stood perhaps an inch or two taller than Cruz and had the muscled build of a seasoned man. For once, Nathan was glad of it. “Let the lady go.”

  Bonham’s tone and last words left no room for disagreement, and still Cruz opposed him. “No. She guarantees my safety.”

  “Are you so sure about that?” Gabriel asked, as the unmistakable click of a gun’s hammer being notched split the air.

  Goddammit! Nathan swallowed the word, suddenly praying that Gabriel had enough good sense to hold off on advancing another threat. This was too much too soon. It couldn’t work in their favor—could it?

  “Bonham—” he started but other words were lost in the sudden shifting of men and horses all around him. Steel cleared leather, and in the blink of an eye five outlaw guns were pointed at the trio on the porch.

  “Stop!” Nathan spoke again, his voice sharp and furious. “This isn’t going to solve anything.”

  “There’s no stopping this, hermano,” Cruz stated grimly. “Been expecting it since the day I decided to shake up your little world.”

  “No one has to die. Particularly Mariah. Just let her go—”

  “No,” Cruz snapped again. Nathan didn’t miss the way the younger man tightened his grip on Mariah. Gabriel stayed with them, moving in much the same way, and some unreadable emotion passed over Cruz’s face. Nathan struggled to make sense of it, but the translation eluded him.

  Was it resignation? Acknowledgement? Permission?

  Cruz jerked suddenly, pulling his body aside and dragging Mariah with him. Gabriel reacted, turning his gun toward the men on horseback, but a gun barked seconds before Gabriel took his own shot.

  Nathan saw every movement occur as though it happened at half speed. Gabriel, Cruz . . . Mariah. He saw the very instant that a splash of red bloomed just below her shoulder, and he recognized the surprise in her sudden cry. Her eyes flew wide, and then his wife collapsed in Cruz Pecado’s arms.

  Chaos exploded all around her. Mariah heard the unmistakable sounds of men and horses and gunfire, but she couldn’t quite understand it all. Her upper chest, a place just under her shoulder, burned like wildfire, and it took everything within her to breathe through the sudden pain.

  Confusion warred with acceptance as she tried to make sense of exactly what had happened and how she had come to be lying . . . where? She blinked, looked from side to side, and tried to orient herself.

  She had gone down with Cruz. He’d scooted away.

  She blinked again. The back porch. She lay on the wooden floor as the world erupted around her.

  “Mariah!”

  Her name rent the air for an instant, an unholy scream that sent chills up her spine—or was it her mind playing tricks on her? How could she make sense of it, when all she could hear were indistinguishable shouts of men and squeals of horses, all disrupted by more gunfire?

  She remembered the last moments when she’d been standing. Cruz had held her before him much like a human shield, and Gabriel had come up behind them. Words had been exchanged, but they had seemed futile. Nathan had bargained for her freedom, Cruz had refused, and Gabriel had tried to break the stalemate. Then the world had gone mad.

  Mariah struggled for breath. Her chest hurt and her head pounded.

  “Don’t move, beautiful.”

  She blinked as strong hands cradled her head. She blinked again and recognized Gabriel as he knelt next to her.

  She tried to lift a hand, but even that produced another stabbing spike of pain. She grunted. “Where is . . . Nathan?”

  Something dark, even regretful flashed in Gabriel’s brilliant blue eye, but when he blinked it was gone. “He’ll be here in a minute, beautiful. Just stay still.”

  “But—”

  “Shh.” Gabriel uttered a soft croon and bent low. “Don’t move.”

  She growled a soft sound of disagreement, desperate to sit up so she could search through the melee for even a glimpse of her husband.

  He’s all right, she told herself with bracing encouragement. After everything, God would not be so cruel to allow Nathan to be hurt again.

  “Rye? Baby? Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

  He was there. It was his voice. “Nathan,” she gasped.

  He knelt on the other side of her, opposite Gabriel. His expression looked drawn, his gray eyes dark with undisguised worry. She tried to reach for him with better success; he crouched on her uninjured side.

  “No, don’t move.” But he took her hand.

  “What happened?”

  “Don’t worry about that, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

  Did he know what that meant? She couldn’t say for sure. If things didn’t quite make sense to her, could he be confused, as well?

  She allowed herself a small shake of her head. He needed to know the truth. “I was shot.”

  His face softened. “I know, honey. I know.”

  She tried to concentrate as his eyes closed, but that made her want to do the same. It relaxed
her somehow.

  “No, sweetheart. Open those beautiful violet eyes.”

  She did as he asked, blinking several times, and then taking in his handsome face and strong body. Why was it that some lightness seemed to be missing from him?

  She blinked again. “I like looking at you.” She sighed. “But you look . . . worried.”

  He smiled softly. “I like looking at you, too,” he whispered as he leaned forward and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead.

  Hands tightened in her hair, reminding her that they weren’t alone. Gabriel had gotten to her first, and he cradled her head against his leg. He wouldn’t like the show of tenderness between Nathan and her, but solving that seemed beyond her at the moment.

  “Now, I need you to be brave, sweetheart. I’m going to lift you up and carry you to bed while we wait for Ethan.”

  She closed her eyes, smiling slightly as the promise of their soft bed teased her. “Mmm. That’s good.” Her smile died suddenly. “Who’s Ethan?”

  “Tristan hired him. He has medical training. From the war, remember?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t really, but she couldn’t maintain her interest long enough to ask about it.

  “Are you ready?”

  “For what?”

  He shook his head. “Hold on.”

  His arms went under her back and her knees, and then he heaved himself to his feet. Mariah gasped as a new wave of pain surged through her, but it almost seemed worth it as Nathan cradled her close.

  “There, there, sweetheart. Just relax.”

  She let out a careful breath. “Yes. All right.”

  “Now, I’m going to take you inside.”

  Her eyelids drifted closed. “Will you stay with me.”

  “Of course. I’ll hold you until Ethan gets here.”

  “Hold me?” She found herself smiling dreamily at the thought. “Like you hold me at night?”

  “Not quite like that. We have to be a little more careful than that right now.”

  She wanted to consider the implication of the statement, but a growing need to sleep stole her ability concentrate. Only one concern carried any urgency with it.

  “We’ll be careful,” she agreed. “But . . .”