Jacey's Reckless Heart

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  “I can’t rightly tell you, Mr. Estrada. I was at home and only two years old when all this went on. You were here. Did you question him?”

  Alberto stopped his pacing to pull himself up as stiff and as tall as he could. “Señor Lawless was not one to be questioned.”

  Jacey put up a placating hand. “I meant no offense. I was just wondering what might have been going on here when he gave you these. Do you remember anything about that day?”

  Alberto nodded vigorously. “I remember everything. It was the day the Lawless Gang broke up. Your father gave these things to me—which I never read, such is my respect for your father. He told me good-bye, and I never saw him again.”

  Jacey frowned. “Was he alone?”

  “Sí, señorita. Very much alone.”

  Into the ensuing silence, her head still lowered as she read, Rosie cooed, “Aah, pobrecita—poor little thing. Listen to this. Seth writes that Laura had mucho trouble bringing the niña into the world. He says this is her first, and he is very scared because they are traveling alone.” Rosie shook her head and quickly scanned the page. “But wait, he says on the next day that the baby is doing fine, and so is Laura.”

  Jacey stared at her new friend’s beaming face. “I’m glad for them. But I still don’t know who they are, what my father was doing with their letters, or what happened to these folks.”

  Rosie shrugged her shoulders. “It may forever remain a mystery, mi amiga.”

  Jacey’s frown reflected her dislike of a mystery. “Well, flip to the last thing this Laura Parker wrote. Maybe that’ll tell us something.”

  “As you wish.” Rosie carefully turned the cracked and yellowed pages, the brittle edges of which tended to break off at her touch. She turned past a page, looked over two or three more, and then turned back again to the one she’d thumbed. “Here we are. Laura writes that the baby is a week old now.” Rosie read for a minute and then looked up, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “She loves her baby very much. She says she has only one nice thing to give to her little daughter when she grows up. A ruby necklace.”

  Jacey frowned. “Ruby necklace?” She turned to Alberto, a question on her face.

  “There was no necklace.”

  Jacey narrowed her eyes in thought. Just then, Rosie waved a hand at them, even as she kept her gaze on the yellowed pages. “Oye. Listen. This is not good. They approach Apache Pass on this day.”

  “Apache Pass? Through the San Pedros? I traveled those mountains myself coming here, but I did it with a wagon train for company. I wouldn’t go through those gullies and slopes alone today, much less twenty years ago and without the protection of Fort Bowie.”

  Jacey’s words were no more out of her mouth than Rosie and Alberto were crossing themselves and mumbling prayers. She almost joined them before she caught herself. “What does this Laura Parker woman write after that?”

  Rosie looked at Jacey. “You asked me to read to you the last thing. That was it. They were approaching Apache Pass. And Laura was scared for them.”

  For some unaccountable reason, Jacey’s stomach did a flip-flop and she had to swallow thick saliva. She started to speak, but the words came out on a croak. Clearing her throat, she started over. “Then something bad happened to them and … their baby in Apache Pass?”

  “Sí.” Rosie nodded grimly, staring hard at Jacey. “Something bad.”

  With abrupt movements, Jacey unfolded her legs and got up from the bed. She gathered up the journal and letters and set them on the table. Silence followed her to the window. She stood staring out at the hot, dry, bright and quiet morning. “And Papa ended up with their letters and that journal.”

  “Sí, mi amiga.”

  “He’d never hurt those folks. I know my father.” Jacey spoke as if she hadn’t heard Rosie’s soft words. Locking her knees to keep her moment of doubt from sending her limply to the floor, Jacey stood with her arms crossed defiantly over her chest. Finally, she turned back to Alberto and Rosie. “I need some fresh air. I’m going out to check on Knight. Alberto, can I ask you to put these … papers away again for safekeeping?”

  Two sets of black and sympathetic eyes stared back at her for the longest of brief seconds. Then Alberto became animated. “Sí, querida.” He then turned to his daughter. “Venga. Come,” he chirped, holding his hand out. “We must open la cantina.”

  Rosie jumped up and preceded her father out of the room. Alberto stepped across the threshhold, but then he abruptly turned back to Jacey and put a hand over his heart. “There is one more thing. It could be nothing, or it could be muy importante. I tell you this now, so that you might have a care for yourself, chica.”

  With that, Alberto paused dramatically before saying, “On the day that your father gave these things to me, he also killed Kid Chapelo.”

  * * *

  Zant edged closer to the low adobe wall that surrounded the tiny courtyard beside Alberto’s cantina. Although he’d had to practically hogtie Blue to get him to stay behind, it hadn’t taken much prodding to get Rafferty to tell him where the Lawless woman was. Send her my regards, he’d said, tell her he owed her for the lump on the back of his head. The ugly bastard thought it was pretty damn funny that Zant had been shot by a Lawless, just like his father. One of these days, Zant promised himself, he was going to have to kill Rafferty.

  Zant unclenched his jaw and relaxed his stomach muscles. One day, but not this day. Today was reserved for reckoning with a Lawless. With that thought, he bounded quietly over the adobe wall. And then stood still, staring straight ahead. At first, given her costume, he thought it was Rosie stretched out in a chair, her sandaled feet crossed at the ankles and resting on the cracked-tile fountain’s rim. But on stepping closer to her and looking down at her face, he realized it was her. The Lawless woman.

  Zant’s gut tightened as a tormented grimace claimed his features. Her almost child-sized jaw was bruised and swollen. That son of a bitch. He ran a hand over his mouth, fighting back the faint images of his young mother looking the same way. More than once. Breathing deeply, Zant focused on the girl in front of him. That damned Rafferty could’ve killed her.

  And just what are your plans for her?

  Zant squelched his twinge of conscience. He didn’t know what his plans were for her. All his life he’d known what his plans were for her father—the man who’d killed his father and thereby left his mother brokenhearted. But for the man’s daughter? Well, whatever he intended, it sure as hell wasn’t hitting her. His hand strayed to the butt of his Colt. Or shooting her.

  Why not? Those are two things she’s already done to you.

  Zant barely stopped himself from turning around to see who was taunting him. What was this new voice in his head?

  Just then, her sleepy sigh caught and held Zant’s attention. He eyed her long black hair, which draped unbound over her wooden chair’s back and trailed almost to the ground. He made a fist to stop himself from reaching out to stroke its silky length. Her face, in repose, was just as Blue said—that of an angel. Thick black lashes, pink cheeks, ruby mouth. That face was no place for a bruise.

  Zant’s anger only increased as he scanned his way up and down her length. Her hands were folded over her flat belly, and her chest rose and fell in even breaths. She didn’t seem to be hurt anywhere else. But with Rafferty, it was hard to tell.

  A bee buzzed in lazy circles around Zant’s head. Somewhere a dog barked, a horse nickered. The morning sun beat down, its heat made bearable by a soft breeze. Zant exhaled sharply once he decided what to do next. Too bad, though, because she sure made a pretty picture, what with the morning surrounding her with peacefulness and quiet.

  Zant reached out a booted foot, hooked a chair leg, and broke the reverent moment when he slowly tilted the chair over. Her squawk accompanied her windmilling arms and widened eyes and flying skirt as she hit the dirt with a dust-raising thump. Flat on her back and spread-eagled, half-stunned, the Lawless woman stared up at him, apparently not
comprehending what had just happened.

  Zant nonchalantly set her chair out of his way, drew his Colt, and squatted on his haunches beside her. Using his gun’s barrel, he tipped his hat back and then pointed the Colt at her forehead as he cocked it. “Morning, Miss Lawless. I see you’re not armed.”

  To her credit, she recovered from her shock and look of naked fear to settle her features into taunting lines. “Morning, Mr. Chapelo. I see you’re not dead.”

  Surprised at her pluck, under the circumstances, Zant chuckled. “Yeah, lucky for me your aim was off.”

  “Depends on where you’re sitting. Who told you who I am?”

  “Rafferty.” Then, using his gun as a pointer, he indicated her bruise. “He give you that jaw?”

  She stared up at him, her black eyes radiating a wary bravado. “I couldn’t say. The ugly polecat didn’t introduce himself.”

  A guffaw escaped Zant before he could guard against it. “Well, his name’s Rafferty.”

  “Rafferty. I’ll remember that.” Her eyes narrowed to slits as she edged up onto her elbows.

  Tough, that’s what she was. Tough as boot leather. He wondered just how far below the surface that toughness ran. When Zant realized he was grinning down at her and not saying anything, he sniffed and cleared his throat. Might as well come to the point and strike some fear into her heart. “Kid Chapelo was my father.”

  She didn’t even blink. “I figured as much. Is that what all this is about?”

  Zant clenched his hand around his gun. She might be all soft and womanly on the outside, but on the inside, she was one tough, cool gunfighter. Everything about her was a dare, a line drawn in the sand, a chip on a shoulder. Just waiting for someone to step over the line and knock it off.

  Looking at her, Zant decided he just might be the one to do it. This Lawless woman needed to be brought down a notch or two. “Yeah, that’s what this is all about. But not like you’re thinking. I’ve got no quarrel with you personally.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “Is that so? Then why’d you pull my chair out from under me?”

  “For my nose and my arm. Paybacks are hell, aren’t they?” With that, he pulled his Colt out of her face and rose to his feet, stepping back. He reholstered his gun and held his hand out to her, offering to help her up.

  She shot him a look that said she’d as soon bite his hand as take a hold of it. Zant chuckled again and shook his head, putting his hands to his waist as she rolled to her side and stiffly came to a stand. “Tucson’s tough on its women,” he felt compelled to add.

  She nodded. “I’ll give you an amen to that.”

  About shoulder-high to him and slender, but rounded in all the right places, she looked him right in the eye. Without knowing he was going to do it until it happened, Zant again smiled at her. She immediately looked down at herself and began shaking the dust out of her hair and brushing off her skirt. When she did, her loose hair cascaded forward, framing her face in its night-black sheet. Zant swallowed hard and just watched.

  Done with her grooming, she finally met his gaze and proceeded in a very businesslike manner. “All right, Chapelo. What’s it going to take to make you go away? I didn’t come all the way to Tucson to be sidetracked by some two-bit gunslinger like yourself.”

  “Two-bit gunslinger?” Insulted, and instantly over his growing fascination with her, Zant glared at her. “You got a mouth on you, lady, you know that?”

  The Lawless woman huffed out a breath. “Yeah, I do. Now state your business or move along because my patience is wearing thin. I’ve been thrown from my horse. I’ve been beat up and bruised up. And now I’ve had my chair pulled out from under me. And all in less than twenty-four hours. And all having something to do with you, the way I see it.”

  She then eyed him critically and sniffed the air in front of him. “At least you smell better today.”

  Beyond insulted, Zant shook a finger at her as he bellowed. “I’m about an inch away from turning you over my knee and pounding some respect into that backside of yours, girl.”

  The Lawless woman twisted her mouth into an awful frown. “You just step up and try it, Chapelo.”

  Zant fisted his pointing hand and came near to gnawing on his own knuckles. All hot and blustery, he threatened her with more words. “I’m not going to take any back talk from a Lawless pup. It’s not you, but your father, that my quarrel’s with. But that can change in a heartbeat. Now, I’m only going to say this once, so you listen up. You mount up—today, right now—and get on back home. Because Tucson’s not big enough for both of us.”

  The Lawless woman cocked her head slightly to one side and planted her hands at her waist, looking like a frame-ready picture of sass and vinegar. “Then why don’t you leave?”

  Blinking and baffled, Zant truly didn’t know what to do next. He’d never been faced with this before—a kitten arching its back and showing its tiny claws to a snarling wolf. Knowing he was dangerously close to flinging his hat to the ground and stomping it flat out of sheer frustration, he decided to point out the obvious to her. “Lady, has it occurred to you that I’m more than twice your size—and armed?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve noticed. But you’re also bluffing. If you were aiming to do something, you’d have done it yesterday.”

  “Why, I ought to just let—” was as far as he got before he reached out and grabbed her by her arms, yanking her to him. A part of his mind registered how delicate, how wrenchingly vulnerable her warm and slender arms were. “I didn’t come here this morning to shoot you. But I’m getting awful close to doing just that. Now, shut your mouth and listen to me. Because the last thing I want to do is save your skinny butt, lady. But it looks like I’m going to have to do just that. And for no other reason than to spit in the eye of Don Rafael.”

  A frown flickered over her face. “I don’t know any Don Rafael. And I don’t know what your beef is with him, either. But I do know I won’t be your pawn in some game you’re playing. Nobody uses me—no-how and for nothing, you got that? If my skinny butt needs saving, I’ll do it myself.”

  “Not this time, gringa. You’re in way over your head.” Angry breaths pushed in and out of Zant’s lungs, giving him a noseful of her warm and clean smell. Being this close to her, looking deeply into eyes as black as his own, feeling her breath on his neck.… Just the idea of Rafferty getting his hands on her again sickened him. Don Rafael had gone too far this time.

  “All right, you got my attention. How am I in over my head, Chapelo?”

  Relieved that she was willing to listen, Zant freed her and stepped back.

  “That jaw of yours was no random act. Rafferty meant to kidnap you last night, but apparently Alberto stopped him somehow. And now he and Rosie could die for helping you. Because Rafferty won’t forget. He’ll kill them both for interfering.”

  The Lawless woman gasped and went wide-eyed. “Kill them?” She then set her features in hard lines. “Interfering with what? What’s this all about?”

  Zant huffed out a breath. “It’s all about you. And me. Somehow.”

  She shook her head. “Just like everything else that’s happened to me since I rode into this one-horse town. Why don’t you tell me where this Rafferty is, and I’ll go settle my score with him myself?”

  “I’m going to do better than tell you where he is. I’m going to take you to him.”

  She stepped back. “Like hell you are. You some kind of messenger boy, Chapelo?”

  “I don’t messenger for anybody. Right now, I’ve got Rafferty tethered on a short leash. But I don’t know how long I can hold him. So, I’m riding for Sonora today with him. And you’re going with us.”

  She took another step back. “You’ve been out in the sun too long. Because you’re plumb crazy if you think I’m going anywhere with you and that Rafferty skunk.”

  Zant took a step toward her, surprising himself with the depth of his fear for her safety. “And Rosie and Alberto’ll be pushing up sagebrush if
you don’t. Make no mistake—your cooperation with me is the only thing standing between them and Rafferty. Now get your gear and saddle up that devil you call a horse. We ride this morning.”

  “Now, just hold on a minute, Chapelo. You’re not giving me time to think. I’ve got my own business to attend to right here in—”

  “It’ll just have to keep. Because you’re up against Rafferty now. The man is a paid tracker. And a damned good one. He tracks people, and he kills them. He’s been following you since you left home.”

  She stood stock-still, as if someone had hammered her into the sandy ground. All the color drained from her face. “I never saw—Following me? Why?”

  “I don’t know the whole story yet, but he’s supposed to be taking you to Don Rafael in Sonora. But Alberto fouled him up. Rafferty doesn’t like being fouled up. That means he doesn’t get paid. He was on his way here this morning to right things when he saw me. I told him I’d get you to come willingly. If you don’t, Rosie and Alberto are as good as dead. Maybe even you, too.”

  She digested that for a moment and then turned those big black eyes up to him. “Why is this happening?”

  At her look, which was laced with no small amount of fear, Zant blew out a breath and shook his head. “I don’t rightly know. I just know who’s behind it all.”

  “Meaning Don Rafael? You don’t care too much for him, do you?”

  “No more than he cares for me.”

  “Well, who the heck is he? I think I have a right to know. He did cause me to be sporting this lump on my jaw.”

  “His full name’s Don Rafael Calderon. He’s Spanish nobility. He’s rich as hell. He’s a mean son of a bitch. And he’s my grandfather.”

  The Lawless woman stilled and stared up at him, her black-eyed gaze relentless. “Your grandfather?”

  “Believe me, I’m not any happier about it than you are. But that being the case, Miss Lawless, the only way for you to save yourself and the Estradas is to ride with me to Sonora. Under my protection.”