She eyed him coolly. “A Chapelo helping a Lawless? Why would you do that?”
“It’s not out of love. And believe me, I never thought I’d live long enough to see it, either. But then”—Zant looked her up and down—“I never figured the Lawless I’d face would be a woman.”
She pulled herself up, as if insulted. “When it comes down to that day, Chapelo, my being a woman won’t be your worst problem.”
Zant looked deep into her eyes, not speaking until she blinked first. Only then did he lower his voice to a throaty drawl. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
She raised her head a proud notch. A telltale vein throbbed at her temple. “How do I know this isn’t a trap? After all, the man is your kin. And this Rafferty is in your employ.”
Zant chuckled in a way that had nothing to do with humor. “Not my employ. I wouldn’t hire that son of a mule to dig me an outhouse. But this isn’t a trap. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“Why should I?”
A huffed-out breath preceded Zant’s terse words. “I didn’t have to involve myself, did I? And I didn’t have to come here to warn you, did I?”
She slowly shook her head, as if judging his words against his actions. “I suppose you’re right.”
Zant’s eyebrows rose with his words. “I know I’m right. And the way I see it, gringa, we can do this the easy way, or do it the hard way. And the hard way will be with you tied up and thrown over your horse. So, it’s up to you. I’m riding to Sonora for some answers. You coming?”
“Do I have a choice?” She raised a hand to shade her eyes as she stared up at him.
She was so damned little. And so damned ornery. Zant took a deep breath around the sudden tightening in his chest. “No. I don’t guess you do. You’ve got five minutes to get what you need for a hard three-day ride. I’ll wait right here for you. Then we’ll join Blue and Rafferty at the hotel.” Zant considered her a moment. “Do I have to tell you to stay close to me on this ride?”
Her eyes widened. “No.” And then narrowed. “Just try to stay downwind for me, if you would.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Two nights out, and just this side of the Mexican border, the four of them and their horses once again set up a rough camp in the cool desert night. With the silver-dollar moon throwing the encircling saguaros’ tall shadows across them, it seemed to Jacey that they were surrounded, much as if they sat in the middle of an Indian powwow. All they lacked were the drums.
She looked up at the night sky. Pinholes pricked in black cloth and then held up to a light. That’s what the stars in the sky looked like. Like a bad dream, like none of this was real. Without warning, a shiver escaped her.
“You cold, Miss Lawless?”
Jacey jerked her head to her right, to Blue, and shook her head. “No.”
“You’re shivering.”
Jacey stared at the blond man for a long moment. “Don’t you have something better to do than watching me to see what I might do next?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, lowering his gaze to his coffee mug.
Jacey let out a breath. Now why’d she go and be mean to him? Of the three she rode with, Blue was the least obnoxious. Hadn’t he come near to tripping over his own feet trying to help her unsaddle Knight and then set up her bedroll—both nights—before Chapelo’d warned him off? Speaking of Chapelo, where was he?
Looking around, she saw him wiping down that danged high-strung roan stallion he rode. As she watched Chapelo’s practiced and loving motions, and noted again how big and finely formed he was, just like his horse, his words from yesterday morning mixed themselves up with Mr. Estrada’s revelations, and they all came back to Jacey in a tumble.
Bestirring herself when she realized she was watching the man’s every move—the same thing she’d accused Blue of with her—she pivoted back to face the campfire and poured herself a cup of strong black coffee. She settled back with it, bracing her spine against Knight’s saddle and stretching her legs out in front of her. Somehow, staring at the mesmerizing leap and crackle of the flames helped her sort out her thoughts. And kept her from having to look at Rafferty’s ugly face directly across the campfire from her.
Focusing on what she already knew, she realized it was a whole lot and not very much, all at the same time. Because all she had were events and no answers, and no one thing to tie them all together. Except perhaps those letters and journal that Papa’d given to Mr. Estrada—on the day he killed Kid Chapelo and rode away from his outlaw days. The two events had to be connected in other ways.
And what about the spur rowel she’d found with the frame fragment at home? How’d they fit in? Had she jumped to the wrong conclusion and then hightailed it here for no reason, like Glory thought? Could be. Because when—and why—would an old gang member have come calling? The broken spur and piece of frame indicated a scuffle. Anybody’d who’d scuffled with Papa wouldn’t have gotten away alive. And Mama and Papa had died together. Papa’d been lying atop Mama, as if he’d been trying to protect her from the bullets.
As if that weren’t enough to chew on, she had to consider that Kid Chapelo rode in the old gang. But he was dead. Well, his son certainly wasn’t. Could it be he wanted revenge? Or maybe this Don Rafael, Zant Chapelo’s grandfather, did. What had Chapelo said … she was a present for him? What did that mean?
Jacey shook her head at the convoluted mess in her head. And then realized, with a start, that at some point she’d again turned to watch Chapelo. Only now he was looking back at her. With his hands still resting on the roan, and a knee bent, he was soberly considering her. Jacey had the crazy thought that maybe she’d said some of her thoughts out loud.
That had to be why her heart was pounding and she felt all hot under her arms and at the back of her neck. She licked at her lips to wet them. But for the life of her, she couldn’t look away from Chapelo’s deep and disturbing black-eyed gaze. Jacey felt as if his hands had been on her, stroking her, instead of his horse.
Do you hear yourself, Jacey Lawless? Never in all her born days had she ever had a thought like that about a man. Unnerved, she set her mug down, sloshing the hot coffee over her hand. She yelped and wiped her hand on her skirt. What was wrong with her? Just then, Chapelo’s words filtered through her consciousness. Do I have to tell you to stay close to me on this ride? Jacey remembered making some smart remark about him staying downwind from her.
But now all she could do was stare at his bedroll next to her own. That was a mite too close, pardner. Without preamble, Jacey got up and tugged his blankets more to the west of her southerly placed roll. Then, hands to her waist as she surveyed her handiwork—and ignored Chapelo’s chuckle behind her—she figured that was much better. Now the four of them were aligned north, south, east, and west around the campfire.
Now, how was that much better? Jacey stopped herself just short of knuckling her own head. How could moving a bedroll keep her safe from these three yahoos out here in the birthplace of nowhere?
She couldn’t believe this. What in the world was she doing here? And then she remembered—for Rosie’s and Alberto’s sakes. Going back to her own bedroll, Jacey sat down heavily and stared at her boots. For the sake of a day-old friendship, here she was on a dusty, almost deserted trail heading for Mexico with three men she had no reason to trust.
Under cover of her lowered lids, she considered her trail partners. For the past two days, Rafferty and Blue had flanked Knight as they fanned out behind her. These men, she reminded herself, were hired guns for a man who wanted her dead. Rafferty she knew only too well. And Blue was the handsome, yellow-haired man she recognized from three days ago at the cantina. He’d handled Knight and had laughed at Chapelo when she bloodied his nose. He couldn’t be all bad.
Just for completeness’ sake, Jacey cut her gaze over to Chapelo. His back was to her, but she didn’t allow herself to linger on his broad shoulders and long legs. Because this man was the grandson of the shadowy Don Rafael, who
seemed to be the one pulling all their strings right now. And she ought still to be mad at Chapelo. After all, he’d hustled her out of Tucson without giving her a chance to tell Alberto and Rosie that she was leaving, much less where she was going. And who she was with. He’d barely given her time to saddle Knight, pack a few things in her saddlebags, and change her clothes.
She lifted her mug of coffee to her lips and stared right through Rafferty when he sent her a leering look and winked and made little kissing sounds at her. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he scared her. Jacey, if this isn’t a trap, as well as one of the most reckless things you’ve ever done, then I don’t know what is, she berated herself.
“Knock it off, Rafferty. Leave her alone.”
Jacey jerked her head in Chapelo’s direction. She hadn’t even heard him walk up. Only a second ago, he’d still been fiddling with his roan. Danged thoroughbred acted like it was too good to be strung on a remuda line between two saguaros with the other mounts. Jacey grinned to herself, remembering how Knight had bared his big teeth this afternoon at the prissy animal when it highstepped around a gila monster and bumped into the black gelding.
“What’s so funny?” Chapelo lowered his saddle onto his bedroll and then followed it, stretching out. With the casual elegance of a reposing panther, he crossed his long legs at his booted ankles and supported his weight on a bent elbow as he turned toward her and stared. And waited for an answer.
Jacey sobered and shrugged, lowering her gaze to follow her own motions as she set the mug next to her on the blanket. “Nothing. I can’t think of a thing to laugh about.” She then looked over at Chapelo and caught him looking her up and down. First Blue, always Rafferty—and now Chapelo. “Do I fascinate you or something?”
A soft chuckle came from the bedroll to her left. “Don’t flatter yourself, Miss Lawless. I’m just trying to see your father in you.”
Caught off guard by his words, Jacey blinked and looked away. One after the other she looked into Rafferty’s and Blue’s eyes, those two being suddenly alert at Chapelo’s words. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her father with these men. But what choice did she have, if she wanted answers?
After a moment in which she composed herself, she peered over at Chapelo, noting his steady gaze and strong, unshaven jaw. “I take it you’ve met my father?”
“I was never introduced, no. But I’ve seen him.”
Just for something to hold on to, Jacey once again picked up the tin mug of cooling coffee, took a sip of its bitterness, and then gripped it tightly. “You saw him? When?”
“A little over five years ago. In Santa Fe. I was no more than a raw kid with a gun back then.”
“Santa Fe?” Jacey thought about that. Something about Santa Fe. Then it came to her. She leveled a mean-eyed look on the man. “I remember that trip. I was sixteen years old when Papa came back with a graze-wound to his arm. He said he never saw who took a shot at him.”
Chapelo raised his head and showed her the leering grin of a wolf. “Is that so? Well, that’s too bad. Only seems fair that a man know who’s shooting at him.”
Oppressive heat still rising from the desert sand commingled with the night’s cool air to race a hot chill over Jacey. Chapelo’d all but said that he was the one who’d shot at Papa back then. Rage built slowly. She fought to control it, seeing as how she was outmanned and outgunned. She’d have to proceed cautiously. But only until such a time as the odds were more in her favor.
For once, Jacey settled on careful questioning rather than taking rash actions that could see her dead. “I guess you think you have good reason to want to see my father dead, don’t you?”
“Think? No, Miss Lawless. I don’t think it. I know it. And I’m betting you know why. Did your father tell you about him and the Kid?”
“Some. Not all. Not the why of it. I just know they didn’t get along.”
“No, they didn’t.”
“Do you know why they didn’t?”
“Like you, I’ve been told some things over the years. And I had five years in a Mexican prison to sit and wonder about it.”
“Five years? What’d you do?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders and tugged his hat down firm on his wide forehead. “Some folks said I robbed a bank and killed a man. I didn’t. At least, not that bank and not that man. Just was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Jacey could only stare at him. Close up, he didn’t look to be much older than her or maybe even Blue, but he’d robbed banks, killed men, and spent five years in prison already? He was truly an outlaw among outlaws. Clearing her throat and swallowing, she picked up the threads of their conversation. “How’d you get out? From prison, I mean. Did they catch the real robbers?”
Now he laughed, but it was at his own expense. “No. Don Rafael finally located which prison I was in and paid my way out. A month ago.”
This Don Rafael he hated so much had apparently hunted all over Mexico to find his grandson and then had paid his way out? That didn’t sound like a man who didn’t care, which was what Chapelo’d said more than once. Then, something else he’d just said struck Jacey. A month ago? He’d just gotten out of prison a month ago?
She now realized that somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d been wondering—contrary to what Hannah’d written—if Chapelo was somehow involved in Mama’s and Papa’s murders, as well as in stealing the keepsake portrait. But he couldn’t be anything but innocent. Because he was still in prison when they’d buried Mama and Papa. She looked over at the big man at her side. He’s innocent. Relief, as terrifying in its intensity as it was in its unexpectedness, swept over her. He’s innocent. Then her next thought dashed her giddiness. Was he telling the truth?
Jacey swept her gaze down the hard length of him. No spurs. She just couldn’t get past that. Rafferty and Blue wore spurs. Not the right kind, though. What kind were Chapelo’s? If he was lying about being in prison, then everything else about him was a lie, also. She made a mighty leap to the conclusion that his spurs were his father’s old ones. And he couldn’t wear them because … they were broken. Just thinking about the spurs made the piece of one around her neck suddenly feel too heavy against her skin. “Why don’t you wear spurs, Chapelo?”
“Spurs?” His voice and raised eyebrows let her know he thought she’d asked a dumb question. “Why? Is it the law now, that a man has to wear spurs?” He rose up to look around Jacey. “Why didn’t you tell me, Blue?”
Blue chuckled. “Didn’t know, pardner.”
Despite the creeping heat invading her cheeks, Jacey persisted. This was important. “There’s no law to it. It’s just that most men wear ’em.”
Chapelo settled back down to his original position and picked up a pebble, which he lobbed at her. It hit her on her thigh, but she ignored it. Chapelo grinned. “I used to wear spurs. But it seems mine are missing.”
Jacey’s stomach muscles contracted. “Missing? How do a man’s spurs come up missing?”
Chapelo leaned in closer to her. “For someone who doesn’t like to be questioned, you’ve sure got your nose in my business.”
Stung but still determined, Jacey countered with “Just trying to make conversation, Chapelo.”
He leaned back again. “Fair enough. When I’d need them—and I didn’t all the time—I’d wear my father’s old silver spurs. The ones every member of the Lawless Gang wore.”
Her mouth dry, her palms wet, Jacey said, “I’ve seen ’em.”
“I figured you had. Well, I didn’t have them on when I got thrown into jail. But when I got out and went home, and thought to look for them, they couldn’t be found. So, I don’t wear any. Happy now?”
Jacey nodded, knowing in her heart that another piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place. For as sure as she was sitting in the prickly desert at night and being all sociable-like with three killers, the piece of spur around her neck belonged to Kid Chapelo. Only he was long dead. And
Zant had been in prison. Jacey gave him a sidelong glance. Or so he said.
But satisfied for the moment with his spur answer, Jacey went back to what he’d originally said. “You see my father in me yet?”
He snorted his opinion of that. “Yeah. In that hot head of yours.”
Jacey grinned, despite herself and her circumstances. Everyone said she had her father’s temper. “How about in my gun arm?”
Chapelo chuckled at that. “Your gun arm? You’re just spoilin’ for a fight with me, aren’t you? What’d you ever shoot besides targets and maybe a bird or two?”
Smirking inside, her answer already in her head, Jacey first made a dramatic show of shifting her weight around on her bedroll, rubbing her hand under her nose, and looking off into the darkly silhouetted and sagebrushed distance … before she finally turned back to him. “Well, you, for one. I shot you.”
That got him. Lines appeared to settle on his face, around his mouth, and at the corners of his eyes when Rafferty and Blue chuckled at his expense. Shooting the two men a warning glare that did nothing to stifle them, he turned his glare on Jacey. “You missed me more than you shot me.”
“That wad of bandaging poked up against your sleeve doesn’t look much like I missed you.”
“Were you aiming for my arm?”
“No. I was aiming for your heart.”
“Then you missed me.”
Jacey allowed him his point. She gave herself over to the distant howl of a coyote, to the answering yowl of its mate, and to the nervous stamping coming from the tethered horses. But in the end, not able to stand letting him have the last word, she turned to him again. “I won’t miss next time.”
He burst out laughing. His hilarity slowly transformed itself into a wolfish grin. “Make sure. Because I never do miss what I’m shooting at, Miss Lawless.”
Rafferty’s guffaw, a raw sound that somehow put the lie to Zant’s words, rang out. Jacey turned to stare at him across the campfire, and knew that Blue and Zant were, too. The ugly hired gun cut his pale gaze from one to the other of them but finally settled on Zant’s face. “Never? You say you never miss what you’re shootin’ at, boy?”
Jacey's Reckless Heart Page 7