“Sí. Like Rosie.”
When Rosie stared at her and smiled, Jacey knew she was expected to give her name in return. But it was too soon for that. So, instead, she just said, “Well … thank you for checking on me.”
Rosie nodded. “I will thank my father for you. It was he who sent me.” She then cocked her head as she looked Jacey up and down. “He says there is something about you, something he knows.” In another quick change of mood, she roused herself with a dismissive gesture and laughed. “You must think us loco, eh? Por nada—it was nothing, my seeing to you. You would do the same for me, no?”
Jacey almost said no right back to her. She knew she wouldn’t have come to check on this girl, had she been the witness and not the one thrown. But she caught herself and nodded. “Yeah.”
Rosie put her hands to her slender waist and grinned. “You are lying to me, mi amiga. It is written on your face.”
Jacey stiffened. “I wouldn’t be calling me a liar, if I were you, sister.”
The girl ducked her head in apology. “I meant no harm. Perhaps I should go now. My father will be worried.”
Finally. But when she turned away, Jacey surprised even herself when she called out. “Wait!”
Rosie faced her again and raised her finely arched black eyebrows in a wordless question.
Jacey firmed her lips into a frown. “That man … back there. You said he’s not so bad. How do you know him?”
Rosie’s expression changed to one of amused disbelief. “I know him from my father’s cantina, where I work. But I also know him by his reputation. The nose you bloodied belongs to Zant Chapelo. And he will not soon forget it.”
And he will not soon forget it. Jacey’s stomach wrenched at those words, but she focused on the man’s name. What with Rosie’s heavy accent, all Jacey could do was frown and repeat, “Saint Sha-pellow? What kind of a name is that? He didn’t look or act much like a saint to me.”
Laughing, Rosie wagged a finger at Jacey, which upset Knight into snorting and backing a step or so. Jacey reined him in and frowned at Rosie’s amusement. “Did I say something funny?”
“Sí. Very funny. That one—he is no saint. The holy cross itself would fall off the wall at San Xavier del Bac if Zant Chapelo were to darken the mission’s door.” She made the sign of the cross on herself.
Jacey watched her go through the motions and swallowed. If all that was called for, then the man was pretty bad, no matter what Rosie’d said a minute ago. Something wasn’t adding up here. And now that she kept repeating the name in her head, kept sounding it out, his name was beginning to sound familiar. Too familiar.
Saint Sha-pellow. Saint. No, she said it more like Sant. Sha-pellow. Sant Cha-pellow. Zant Chapelo. Zant Chapelo? Jacey jerked upright and stared straight ahead, barely able to get a breath past her aching lungs.
“Señorita, what is it?”
Jacey held up her hand. “Hold on a minute. Don’t say anything. And don’t leave.” Staring at Rosie, but not really seeing her, Jacey gave herself over to the memory which flooded her with Papa’s voice. She again heard him talking about Kid Chapelo. The Kid rode with Papa in his outlaw days. But Papa’d always talked the man down, said he was a hothead, had a real nasty streak. The way Jacey remembered the story was the Kid had forced Papa to—
A sinking feeling, like she’d been exposed to too much heat, swept over Jacey. The Kid had forced Papa to shoot him dead. Papa had killed Kid Chapelo. Oh, Lordy.
But Papa never would say exactly what had happened to make them draw on each other. He and Mama would just exchange a serious look when it came up. Could this Zant—a man she’d just humiliated—be some of the Kid’s family?
Jarred by that thought, and blinking as if just waking up after a long sleep, Jacey focused on the quietly attentive Mexican girl in front of her and dismounted as she spoke. “Rosie, where’s this Chapelo from?”
Rosie shrugged as Jacey approached her. “Sonora. Just across the border in Mexico. His abuelo—his grandfather—is a very important man there. He owns mucha tierra—much land. And much cattle. Very rich. Do you know him?”
Jacey nodded before she could stop herself. So this Chapelo is from Meh-hi-co, pronouncing it for herself as Rosie’d said it. Papa’d said something about the Kid and Mexico. But what? Not able to come up with it, Jacey again focused on the girl, shook her head, and cleared her expression. “No. No, I don’t know him.”
Rosie cocked her head and pointed that wagging finger at Jacey. Again. “Sí. You do know him. You are not a good liar, mi amiga.”
Jacey put her hands to her waist. “I tell you what, Rosie—one more time you call me a liar, and you better be danged sure you’re armed and ready to back it up. Now, what’s that other name you keep calling me?”
Rosie smiled. “‘Amiga’? It means ‘friend.’ I’m calling you my friend. You do not tell me your name”—she shrugged with graceful nonchalance—“so I must call you my friend.”
Jacey snorted her opinion of that. “You’ve no cause to call me friend. You don’t know me.”
Rosie laughed. “Eh, you are a hard one, no, mi amiga?”
“No,” came Jacey’s immediate response. Then she frowned. “I mean yes. Yes, I am.”
Her words denied it, but Jacey was intrigued by this notion of a friend. Especially someone who knew the lay of things in these parts. So, making her mind up, she quelled the tiny voice of protest in her head, a voice that warned she knew nothing of this girl, and stuck her hand out. “Sorry for being so rude a minute ago. I’m pleased to meet you. My name’s Jacey Lawless.”
Rosie’s smile, which began when Jacey stuck her hand out, ran away from her face. The girl slowly lowered her hand to her side and stared wide-eyed at Jacey. “Madre de Dios.” She then crossed herself—twice. “Ay-yi-yi.” She shook her head slowly and blinked more than once. Then, looking all around, she whispered, “We got to get you out of here. Ahora—now! You and your caballo must come with me.” She reached out toward Knight’s bridle.
Jacey could have kicked herself. She should have listened to that voice in her head. Not surprised but still stung by the girl’s reaction, Jacey stepped back. “Me and my … caballo aren’t going anywhere—with you or anyone else.”
Rosie firmed up her expression, even narrowing her eyes like a mother to her naughty child. “Sí—yes, you are. If Zant Chapelo learns that a Lawless bloodied his nose, he will kill you.” For emphasis, she drew her finger across her throat, like a knife slitting it.
Jacey raised an eyebrow at this bit of theatrics. She’d just learned two things. One, the Lawless name still held sway in Papa’s old stomping grounds. And, two, it meant something to Zant Chapelo. She was right, then—he was related to Kid Chapelo. Closely related, she’d bet. Does he have on his spurs? she wondered.
But out loud to Rosie, she challenged, “So you think he’d slit my throat? Well, you tell him for me that had I known it was a Chapelo sticking his hand down my blouse, I would have killed him right then and there. Better yet, I would’ve let my … caballo stomp him to death before he ever got the chance.”
Rosie began backing up and shaking her head. “No. I cannot tell him these things. You do not understand this man, mi amiga.”
Jacey advanced a step on the girl, holding Knight’s reins tighter than necessary as he trailed behind her. Pressing Rosie, hoping she’d reveal more about this Chapelo, Jacey taunted, “Maybe I’ll just tell him myself.”
Rosie shook her head with enough emotion to swing her unbound, waist-length black hair all around her. “You cannot. I say this for your sake. You are as good as dead if you challenge Chapelo. And it will not matter to him that you are a woman—because you are also a Lawless.”
“Good. Because it won’t matter to me that he’s a man. Or a Chapelo.”
Rosie didn’t end her retreat until the afternoon’s sunshine spilled across her. Jacey, undecided about following her or not, stayed deep in the alley’s cool shadows. Frowning, she
tried to keep Rosie in her sight as folks ambling by stepped between her and the other girl. Finally catching sight of her, Jacey saw Rosie look both ways out in the crowded street and then elbow between two sombreroed misters and return to the alley’s mouth.
Looking mighty vexed, the Mexican girl leaned toward Jacey and spoke in a low hiss. “Por favor—please. If you won’t come with me, then you must leave Tucson now—while you can. Forget that he is here.”
Her comeback to that already on the tip of her tongue, Jacey opened her mouth. But the words never left her throat because Rosie darted a glance to her left, gasped, and abruptly turned around, only to smack into two bonneted women behind her. What happened next was blocked from Jacey’s view by the passing crowd. Frustrated, more than a little concerned, she kicked at the sandy ground in frustration.
And then froze when Rosie reappeared at the alley’s entrance, just as suddenly as she’d disappeared. Only this time, she wasn’t alone. Zant Chapelo was with her. Shock sucked the juice out of Jacey and dried her mouth. The man’s back was to her, but if he turned the slightest.…
She didn’t even dare finish her thought as, hand over her own mouth, she helplessly watched the scene between Chapelo and Rosie. The man, who no longer moved or spoke as if drunk, stood with one knee bent and his thumbs hitched in his gunbelt. “Did you find who you were huntin’, Rosie?”
Jacey didn’t hear Rosie’s answer because her mind was screaming, Rosie’d followed her, and he’d followed Rosie. But how long had Chapelo been standing off to a side before Rosie’d spotted him? Long enough to know she’d been speaking to someone in this very alley?
Fear-induced sweat meandered down Jacey’s spine. Her heart pounding, her clothes clinging damply to her, she forced her attention back to the scene before her. She saw her new friend grab Chapelo by his arms—effectively holding him in place. Relief swept over Jacey with the thought that the man probably would not have left his back open to a bullet, if he thought he wasn’t alone with the girl. She relaxed and lowered her hand to her side.
God bless Rosie, she was flirting outrageously. And obviously protecting Jacey’s presence. That said something about the Mexican girl. “Señor Chapelo, shame on you. Why are you following me? You better not let my father know you do this. He will get his gun to you.”
Señor Chapelo didn’t say anything for a moment. But when he did, his tone of voice clearly said he wasn’t the least bit sidetracked. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we? Where is she, Rosie?”
When Jacey was suddenly nudged forward, as if in answer to the man’s question, she swallowed a startled breath and clamped her hand back over her own mouth. Who—? But then she remembered who was behind her. Knight. She quickly stepped back farther into the shadows, pulling down on the reins and putting a hand over the gelding’s muzzle to keep him quiet. If Zant Chapelo turned around right now, she would be trapped. And from what Rosie’d told her, he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her.
With that thought, her gaze slipped down to the man’s hip. That was a pretty big Colt strapped there. She then looked him up and down. He was big, too. That sinking feeling swept over her again. He was really big. Why, his shoulders came close to rivaling the alley’s width. His lean waist tapered to narrow hips and muscular legs under his close-fitting denims. He was most certainly a powerfully built man. He looked like he could snap her in two with one hand. Then, biting at her bottom lip and fingering the bit of broken spur on the silver chain around her neck, she looked to his boot heels.
And sucked in a breath through her dread-pinched nostrils. No spurs. On her way into town, Jacey’d observed that nearly to a man, the gunslinger types she’d passed wore spurs. So why wasn’t Chapelo sporting any? She glanced up at the back of his head, as if she could read his mind for her answer. But all she saw, under a wide-brimmed black felt hat, was hair as black as her own that lay over his shirt’s collar.
Zant Chapelo. He had more reason to want her dead than she did him, she figured. After all, if he wasn’t the thief she was after, then she had no quarrel with him. But, on the other hand, she was Jacey Catherine Lawless, daughter of J. C. Lawless—the man who’d killed his kin, maybe his father. And like Rosie’d said, it probably wouldn’t matter to him that she was a woman, if it was vengeance he was after.
Suddenly wanting to be as far away from Zant Chapelo as she could get, Jacey looked back over her shoulder to the other open end of the alley. She swung her gaze back to Knight, then to Chapelo, and then back down to the alley’s exit. And slumped. She didn’t dare try backing the cantankerous gelding all the way to the next street. The big horse, never too well behaved for long, wouldn’t go without a fuss if she forced him blindly backward.
And Zant Chapelo was kicking up enough of a fuss right now for both of them. Jacey forced a calmness on herself that she didn’t feel, and listened to Chapelo’s raised voice. “Dammit, Rosie. I saw you take off after her. I swear I’m not going to shoot her. Just tell me where—”
“No, I will not. I mean—I cannot. I do not know where she is.” Rosie, all but lost to view on the other side of the big man, didn’t sound the least bit afraid of him. But then again, she wasn’t the one who’d bloodied his nose and then turned her back on him. And her last name wasn’t Lawless.
Chapelo exhaled noisily, effectively signaling his disgust. “Fine. I’ll find her myself. But when you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”
Rosie didn’t say anything. Jacey figured that wasn’t a good sign. Shouldn’t she have been protesting that she didn’t know where she was, that she wouldn’t be seeing her? “Tell me this, Señor Chapelo. This muchacha—what do you want with her?”
Again, Chapelo took his time answering. In those few seconds, Jacey’s heart didn’t beat—she was sure that Rosie’s question was a tactical error. To add to her mounting dismay, Jacey was sure she could hear the wheels turning in the man’s head.
He chuckled—and proved her right. “Just as I thought.” He nodded several times, and moved his hands from his gunbelt to cross his arms over his chest. “We both know you know where she is. Now, why don’t you do me a favor and just tell me?”
Rosie backed up a step. “No. I cannot. I do not know. I must go now.” With that, the little barmaid turned. Chapelo grabbed at her, but he was no more successful in keeping her there than Jacey’d been. With a flash of color, she was gone.
Surprisingly, Chapelo didn’t give chase. He simply put his hands to his waist and muttered, “Damn.” Then, he stepped out of view, going back the same way he’d just come.
Exhaling, Jacey slumped against the adobe wall behind her. Flexing her knees, she leaned her head back against the sundried bricks’ warmth and closed her eyes. That was close. Too damned close.
Just then, Knight snorted and whinnied out his impatience. Jacey sucked in an agitated breath and grabbed for the horse’s bridle. In the next instant, she came close to jumping out of her skin when, right behind her, Chapelo asked, “What’s wrong? Can’t find anyone to poke in the nose?”
CHAPTER TWO
Her heart pounding, her bones liquefying, Jacey jerked around.
Chapelo snaked a big hand out and grabbed her arm. His grip was tight, painful. “Uh-uh. You’re not going anywhere, little lady. You and I’ve got some unfinished business to attend to.”
Almost before the whiskey-scented words were out of his mouth, Jacey had her Colt out and the tip of the barrel jutting into the soft flesh under his chin. With his combined scents of sweat, liquor, and male flaring her nostrils, she cocked her gun with more canyon-sized bravado than she felt. “Take your hand off me. That’s twice I’ve had to tell you in one hour. I won’t warn you again.”
He let go of her. Like he would a scorpion. And raised his hands high. “Easy does it, ma’am. No harm intended.” His voice was somewhat garbled, having to talk around the business end of a Colt like he was.
“Yeah, I’ll just bet. Now, you listen carefully to me. We don’t have an
y unfinished business between us. So don’t follow me anymore. And don’t try to find me. In fact, if you see me coming up the street, you cross to the other side. Now … do we understand each other?”
In the gray-black shadows, Jacey thought she saw the man grin. With a Colt stuck up under his chin, he grinned? That chilled her more than any January blizzard back home could. She stepped back, keeping her gun aimed at his heart. Chapelo kept his hands raised while he answered. “We understand each other, gringa. Completely. There’s only one problem.”
Jacey cussed herself for letting her danged curiosity get the better of her. “What problem is that?”
“I don’t know what you look like—other’n black hair and one hell of a right hook. But hell, that describes me, too. Now, that being the case, how will I know for sure it’s you, so I can cross the street? All I’ve seen is your backside, lady, and right now I can’t see you clearly for your hat and the shadows in here.”
Jacey quirked her mouth. “Sounds like a personal problem, Chapelo.”
She’d said his name. Mistake. In the ensuing quiet, Knight again whinnied out his impatience. Passing conversations, mostly in Spanish, wafted into the alley. The sounds of laughter and distant gunfire joined them. Wagons creaked by, horses’ hooves thudded in the dusty street. And the rising heat between her and this man’s closeness permeated every pore.
“So you do know who I am.”
Jacey’s mind raced to what Rosie’d said about him. “Everyone knows Zant Chapelo.”
Now he chuckled. “So it seems. But I don’t know you.”
“And you aren’t goin’ to, either. Now, leave this alley the way you came in. You walk straight across that street so I can see you. And while you’re walking, you count to one hundred before you turn around.” Already playing with fire, Jacey lit another match. “You can count that high, can’t you?”
He made a choking noise and then laughed out loud. A clear, ringing, masculine sound that made Jacey jump. “I can. And higher, if need be.”
Jacey's Reckless Heart Page 3