by Pam Crooks
Like the way he smelled. Warm and male. Wind and saddle leather. He made her realize, too, how intimate, so very private it felt with just the two of them hidden in the trees.
She took a step back.
“You have no reason to be afraid of me,” he growled with unexpected roughness. “What Woodrow did to you has nothing to do with me.”
She knew it didn’t, not like she once did.
“Well.” She tossed her head. “What does Ander know? He’s just a little boy, and all we learned from him was that the man who gave him the note was very likely Woodrow Baldwin.”
“Did the man who took Allethaire have yellow hair?”
The vision of the cowboy assailed her memory. There’d been so much chaos. So much fear. But never would she forget what he looked like.
“Yes,” she said.
“At least we have a name, then.” Trey’s jaw hardened. “That’s something.”
“Yes.” Falling somber, she crossed her arms.
“Is Mikolas Vasco your brother, Zurina?”
She stilled at the low, cold timbre of his tone. This, then, was the true purpose in his coming. To hunt Mikolas down. To exact justice for Allethaire’s kidnapping and what seemed to be his partnership with Woodrow for the crime.
She braced herself. “Yes, but—”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“He doesn’t live up here with you? Or herd sheep somewhere close?”
“No. Not anymore.”
The harsh glint in the coppery depths of Trey’s eyes revealed his skepticism.
“Whatever you’re thinking about him, you’re wrong,” she added.
“Am I?”
“He wouldn’t hurt anyone, most especially a woman.” Not like your father hurt my mother. Her mind screamed the words, but she bit them back. It was more imperative to convince Trey of Mikolas’s innocence, or at least her conviction of it. “He wouldn’t kidnap anyone, either. Not ever.” Mikolas knew about kidnapping, what it was like. The horrors of such an ordeal, and—
“No way for you to know that for sure, Zurina.”
“Of course, I know it for sure! He’s my brother.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”
Her lips clamped tight. She refused to reveal how many weeks it’d been. He’d only find fault with whatever she told him.
Trey grunted knowingly. “Long enough for him to steal WCC cattle or conspire with Woodrow for ransom?”
The words cut through her. It was all she could do to stand here and listen. To breathe through the pain.
“He would never do those things,” she gritted.
“Five thousand dollars is a helluva lot of money, sweetheart,” he drawled. “Men have betrayed for much less.”
“Mikolas wouldn’t betray anyone.” Her hands curled into fists. How could she convince Trey? A man who despised sheepherders? “Are you going to tell me he wanted our flock killed, too?”
A moment passed.
“It doesn’t make sense to me, either, Zurina,” he said roughly.
“Because it couldn’t possibly be true.”
His grim silence revealed he didn’t quite believe her. He would think she was covering her brother’s whereabouts. Protecting him. And maybe… maybe she could understand him thinking that way.
“Everything I tell you, Trey, is the truth. This I promise to you.” She paused and dared to open her heart to him. “It’s very painful for my father and me not knowing where he is or what he’s doing.”
He appeared to digest her admission. And war with it. “I’ll find him, Zurina. And when I do, if he’s guilty, I’ll even the score with him. Woodrow, too. They’ll both pay for everything they’ve done.” He paused, as if to drive his point home. “Everything.”
“My brother wouldn’t hurt anyone. He has honor. Principles. He wouldn’t want to bring shame to his family and the Basque people.”
“He already has. Can’t you see? Unless—”
“Zurina!”
At the sound of Uncle Benat’s booming voice, she whirled with a gasp. Trey’s glance jerked over her shoulder.
Sure enough, there her uncle was. Standing on the edge of the thicket with Papa and Deunoro, all three of them holding their old rifles.
And each one was pointed at Trey.
Chapter Nine
Trey never heard the three Basques approach. He should have.
Now what was he going to do?
He wasn’t much worried about the artillery they pointed his way. They had no reason to shoot him, at least not yet. It was Zurina who concerned him.
She appeared aghast at their animosity, as if their less-than-friendly behavior embarrassed her.
Trey couldn’t much blame her. He wasn’t kin to their behavior, either, but he might as well make the best of it.
“Mornin’, gentlemen,” he said. Or was it afternoon? He’d lost track. “No need for those shootin’ irons, is there?”
“Ander tells us Trey Wells is here.” A short, squat man with a protruding belly that strained his shirt buttons glowered. With that fur above his lip, he looked as fierce as a bitten boar. “He talks to Zurina, the boy says. After what happened to her, to Gabirel, we will fight to keep her safe.”
Zurina emitted a sound of dismay and angled her body in front of Trey, as if to shield him from harm. “I am safe with him, Uncle Benat. Please put your rifle down.”
Trey stepped forward, too, and smoothly nudged her aside. He took the privilege of reaching behind her and clasping her hip to keep her from moving in front of him again.
She stiffened beneath his touch. He half expected her to bolt, but she didn’t. For appearances’ sake, most likely. Might be she thought if she made a show of resistance, all three Basques would unload their cartridges on him.
He relaxed. Some.
Relaxing made him aware of how natural it felt to stand beside her, his hand on her hip, learning the soft curve on her body—
And where did that thought come from?
He snatched his hand away.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he said firmly. “I need her help. Nothing more.”
“I think it is best we are left alone, Mr. Wells.” Trey had never known Gabirel Vasco to be anything less than respectful, but now, his expression showed how Trey’s presence troubled him. “Please go.”
“You’re looking better,” Trey told him, not budging and going for a change of subject. “Better than when I saw you last.”
He meant it. At least now the man had the strength to walk. His cheeks weren’t so pale, either.
But sadness drooped his eyes, showing the grief from the sheep he’d lost, his worry over Mikolas, too, and the thoughts pulled a good dose of sympathy through Trey.
“He’s better because of Dr. Shehan’s good care. Isn’t that right, Papa?”
Zurina pinned Gabirel with a pointed look, which Trey took to mean her father needed to be reminded it was through Trey’s arranging that he received medical treatment. Trey didn’t want the gratitude—nor did he want the man to be an enemy. They’d always had a decent working relationship.
“He is not wanted here, Zurina.” The third man waggled the barrel of his rifle. “He is trouble we do not need.”
Her dark head whipped toward him. “Deunoro, you’re wrong. He has news about Mikolas. That is why he’s here.”
For a moment, no one moved.
“Mikolas?” Gabirel croaked, lowering his weapon.
“Yes. But first, it’s only right that I make introductions so Trey—Mr. Wells—knows who he is talking to,” Zurina said curtly. “Already, we waste too much time.”
Trey took the initial step toward the heavy-set one, standing in the middle, and extended his hand.
“Trey Wells,” he said.
“He is my uncle, Benat Ibarran. Papa’s brother and Ander’s father,” Zurina said.
The Basque made no attempt to return Trey’s h
andshake. Gabirel elbowed him in the ribs. Finally, the rifle lowered, and he reciprocated.
“I know who you are,” Benat muttered.
Zurina indicated the third Basque. “Deunoro Ugarti, my cousin on my mother’s side.”
The sun had etched lines into Deunoro’s craggy face, making him appear older than his years. Was an easy guess the man herded sheep for a living, and the suspicion directed at Trey meant his resentment for cattlemen was deep-seated. The massacre of the Vasco flock didn’t help matters any.
But Deunoro took Trey’s hand, muttered something between barely moving lips and shook with a firm grasp. Trey considered the gesture a victory of sorts. They’d all made it clear as rain he was an outsider. The enemy. He didn’t much know if the feud would ever get better.
Still, he was here, and they hadn’t shot him yet. Could be they were finally beginning to understand that Trey had no intention of stirring up trouble and that they needed each other to find Mikolas and Allethaire.
“Let us go into the cabin,” Gabirel said. “We will talk more there.”
“Not much time for talking,” Trey said and handed him the ransom note. “When you see this, you’ll understand why.”
Gabirel took the note with his good arm. Reading it, he paled and made a fast Sign of the Cross. “God help us.”
“What is it, Gabirel?” Benat took the note. He sucked in a loud, shocked breath.
“What? What?” Deunoro snatched the paper. The next moment, his features crumpled, and he beat at his chest with his fist. “This cannot be!”
“The words lie!” Gabirel swayed, as if he hovered on a faint. “My son would never do anything so terrible as this. Kidnap a woman? Demand money for her? Threaten to kill her? Never!”
Zurina hurried toward him and slipped her arm through his. “He writes his own name, Papa. It’s the same as it has always been. There’s an explanation, but we just don’t know it yet. Come. Can you walk? We must get you inside so you can rest.” She gently, firmly, turned him and coaxed him back to the cabin. “Uncle Benat, Deunoro. Come with us. Another glass of wine, and you’ll feel better and think better, too. Come.”
She was the rock in their storm. Trey marveled at her control, her logic, her ability to care for them in their shock and grief.
Like lost ducks, they followed. Knowing they didn’t much care what he did, Trey followed, too.
“I must find him.” Gabirel sounded frantic. “I must hear with my own ears how he comes to demand this money.”
“Papa, he didn’t kidnap Allethaire. We were there, remember? We know he didn’t.”
“Mikolas would never hurt us.” Gabirel spoke with vehemence. “We are his family. He knows how important the sheep are to us.”
“Of course, he does.” Not once had she doubted it. Zurina squeezed his arm in assurance.
“Who is this Woodrow Baldwin? Who else is with him? What spell do these men cast on my son that makes him do this evil?”
“I don’t know, Papa. I wish I did.”
Zurina threw a glance back at Trey. If she thought he had any insight into the man’s identity, she thought wrong.
“I’ll do what I can to find them, Gabirel,” he said from his place at the end of their line. “I’ve got a posse rounded up who want answers, too. Just like you do.”
“You won’t find Mikolas easily.” Zurina dismissed his plan. “Do you not think we have searched every place he could be?”
Her certainty of his failure rankled. “He’s somewhere, Zurina.”
They reached the cabin, and keeping a careful hold on her father, she pulled the door open. “Watch your step, Papa.”
The four of them went inside. Not invited, Trey held back. He wasn’t sure he’d be welcome if he entered the privacy of the Vasco home; he was all but sure no cattleman had ever stepped foot over the threshold before.
Impatience rolled through him. He couldn’t glean information if he was left out of their conversation, and without information, he’d never find Allethaire.
He couldn’t leave until he spoke with the Basques. With Zurina. He’d give her a few minutes, then knock on the door and demand to be let in. He’d make them talk to him.
He heaved a frustrated sigh, hooked a thumb in his hip pocket and slid a glance around the place. Zurina’s home was small, for sure. Barely big enough for one person, let alone a family. Near as he could tell, she didn’t have a husband in her life. He guessed she lived here with Gabirel, and since she’d never mentioned having a mother, Trey had to assume it was just the two of them.
He wouldn’t let himself dwell on her not having a husband. Yet his thoughts did just that.
Dwelled on it.
They turned curious as to why no man had claimed her yet. She was beautiful. Spirited. Loving and strong. And those dark eyes of hers. Shiny, like black diamonds. Long, thick hair—how could any man resist wrapping the silky strands around his fist? Slide them slow and easy through his fingers?
His groin stirred with a slow, steady warmth that felt illicit. Unfair to Allethaire. She held no place in his heart, not anymore, but he corralled his lusty thoughts to something safer, nevertheless.
The yard.
Well-tended, the rough grass clipped even. A few straggly flowers popped up along the crude foundation, but it was a lone rosebush growing a few yards from the door that snagged his attention.
He never claimed to be a horticulturist, but this bush was finer than most. Obviously, someone showered the thing with tender care. Pruned, full and thriving, the bush produced striking red blooms. So many loaded the prickly branches, they sagged under the weight.
The roses looked out of place here amidst the plainness. Every day, the Basques faced the challenges of living in the harsh hills, raising sheep and eking out a mundane existence. They couldn’t afford to be extravagant, but this rosebush was one exception.
For some reason, those deep red petals reminded him of Zurina. Beauty against plainness. As if she was destined for greater things but was denied them by the shackles of her heritage.
Helluva shame, for sure.
Giving into impulse, Trey went over and snapped off a stem. One of the nicest. Full of richly shaped petals.
The perfect rose.
A reminder of Zurina.
When he left, when he found Allethaire, when Woodrow and Mikolas accounted for their crimes, he would have it. A symbol from the time he’d known her.
“My father gave the bush to my mother when I was born.”
Zurina’s quiet voice yanked Trey from his ruminating. He turned.
She stood outside the cabin’s door. “It cost him a fortune. He had it shipped all the way from New York.”
Trey stood there, holding the stem, feeling stupid from being caught thieving something so frivolous. He twirled the rose between his fingers. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all. They’re meant to be enjoyed.” Her gaze lingered over the bush. “How Mama managed to keep the roses growing out here always amazed me.”
“A labor of love.”
“Yes.” Zurina drew in a breath, sadly let it out again. “She died earlier this spring. She would’ve loved seeing the roses in full bloom again.”
Zurina’s revelation startled him. The realization they’d lost a parent within weeks of the other, that her grief was as raw as his, turned his chest heavy with sympathy.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
He hoped she knew he meant the words. His own mother died shortly after he was born, and his father never found another woman he deemed worthy enough for marrying, leaving Trey to grow up with only one parent. Zurina had had two. Still, he knew how mothers had a special closeness with their daughters.
Like fathers had with their sons.
“Thank you for saying so,” she said quietly.
He forced his mouth to smile. “Reckon she’s watching you from the Pearly Gates, making sure you water the bush for her.”
Zurina’s mouth curved, too. Sad still.
“That would be like her, yes.” She hesitated. “Allethaire told me your father was killed.”
He swallowed. “Yes.”
“A terrible thing.”
“The worst.”
He breathed in against a shaft of pain. The ugly and sharp reminder of how Sutton’s life had been taken from him before his time.
Trey angled his head away and railed against the unfairness. He hurt, and only revenge would ease it.
Yet here he was, squandering valuable time talking to Zurina. Delaying the score he was determined to settle, knowing full well the terms of that ransom note weren’t going to change while he stood here with her.
“No one deserves to die from such violence—no matter how many sins he commits,” she said, not looking at him.
An odd comment for her to make, he mused. And she voiced no condolences.
He expected as much from her. It seemed to be her way to show compassion like that.
But she merely opened the door. “My father wants to talk to you. Please come in.”
A vague sense of disappointment swirled through Trey. Strange how he needed to hear her sympathy. To feel himself surrounded by her commiseration.
But he shook off the need. The weakness. He had more immediate matters to tend to. Like what to do with the rose in his hand.
He frowned.
“It’s a shame the blooms will be wilted when you give them to her,” Zurina said.
Before Trey could correct her and make clear he didn’t intend to give it to Allethaire like she thought, Zurina went inside. For lack of a better idea, he made quick work of clearing the thorns, then stuffed the flower into his shirt pocket, hiding it from sight.
Trey pulled open the door. Once inside her cabin, he helped himself to a curious look around. Not much to see except for the table, stove and sideboard which took up most of the interior space. Across the room, brightly colored striped fabric curtained the openings to what would be the sleeping quarters. A picture of the Mother and Child hung on one wall; beneath it, several candles burned on a small polished table, the top of which was covered with a delicate-looking crocheted doily. In the corner stood a weaving loom and a basket with balls of yarn. The scent of fresh-baked bread hung in the air. Brewing coffee, too.