A timid knock on the door from the hallway cut off whatever the outlaw’d been about to say. “Catarina, are you safe? I thought I heard voices. I—”
Chapelo found his voice. “Go on back to bed, Alberto. Everything’s fine.”
In the ensuing and heavy silence, on both sides of the door, Jacey looked at the man in her room. His forbidding expression dared her to say that she was anything but fine.
“Forgive me, Señor Chapelo, but I must hear this from Catarina.”
Jacey smirked and raised an eyebrow. At Zant. And at Alberto’s courage. Here was help. Still, she eyed the gunman and called out, “It’s okay, Alberto. Go on back to bed.”
After another moment of silence, Alberto said, “Forgive me, Catarina, but I do not think your father would—”
Jacey spoke in unison with Zant. “Go back to bed, Alberto.”
Silence. Then, in long-suffering tones, “Bien, bien. Pero el desperado—Señor Chapelo—esta in mi casa … en la noche … con la hija de Señor Lawless. Ay-yi-yi. Dios mio. Mi corazón no está…” His grumbling voice trailed away with his footsteps.
Jacey had no idea what Alberto was saying, but she’d bet she’d hear all about it come breakfasttime. Right now, she had to deal with Señor Chapelo. Who’d taken a seat in the room’s only chair. He crossed an ankle over his opposite knee, removed his Stetson, and ran a hand through his black hair. Jacey stayed planted on the bed. “What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Jacey made a disbelieving noise at the back of her throat. “Well, I sure as hell could. And was.” She huffed out her breath and then quirked her lips in disgust. “Since when do you seek me out when you can’t sleep?”
“Since you became the cause of my restless nights.” His black eyes warmed. His lids drooped seductively. His voice was a low, husky drawl that climbed over her skin, shivering her.
Oh, Lordy. Jacey barely stopped herself from backing up and clutching at the wall. Or from calling Alberto back. To disguise her virginal qualms and to steady her knocking knees, she put her hands to her waist and cocked her head. “What do you want?”
“It’s not a matter of what I want. It’s what you need.”
That got her Lawless up. “If I come down off this bed, it’s going to be so I can slap your face.”
Chapelo had the nerve to chuckle and shake his head. He even scratched it and then stretched mightily. Like a cat readying for a nap. A wildcat. Who hadn’t eaten in days. And now had his next meal in sight. And knew it wasn’t going anywhere.
“You’re not sleeping here, I can tell you that much.”
“Sleep here? Hell, I don’t intend to. And you won’t be, either. For a while.”
Suspicious but also intrigued, Jacey flopped down to sit cross-legged, Indian style, on her bed. She tamed her ballooning gown around her legs. “Why won’t I? And don’t start again about me leaving Tucson.”
“You are leaving Tucson. With me. Today. But you’re not going home. Just yet.”
Jacey cocked her head to one side. “Has this got something to do with that crazy plan of yours? Because if it does, I’m not—”
“No. Not that. Not directly. You and I are going to catch a thief. One with a lot more explaining to do than just accounting for one keepsake.”
“Such as?”
“Such as why your father killed mine. Such as what he’d need this picture of yours for. Such as why he was there on the day your folks were murdered, and yet you say someone back East did it. Things like that.”
Jacey considered his words and what could be behind them. “Besides that part about your father and mine, what’s your stake in all this? Why do you care? You hate my father. So why would you help me?”
“Damned if you don’t ask a whole week’s worth of questions at once. I care because I think I know who’s behind it all. And why. I’ve been thinking about this all night. And now, come dawn, I’m saddled up and ready to go find out where the trail leads.”
Even though she burned with curiosity to know his conclusions about who and why, Jacey stuck to her convictions. “I’m not riding with you. I don’t want to be around a man who could say the things you said to me earlier.”
Chapelo got that gunfighter look on his face. “You are going with me. Have you forgotten about your shadows, courtesy of Don Rafael? Now, like I said before, we can do this the easy way. Or the hard way. Your choice.”
Jacey clamped down on her bottom lip. She hadn’t forgotten about the trackers. But, dang it, she really didn’t want to be around Chapelo day and night. She was scared more by what she’d allow him than what he’d take. “No way. I’m not going anywhere with you. I can handle this myself. I already know Rooster McGinty lived here, but he’s dead from a fever. And I know all five of the remaining men’s names.”
“Do you know where to look? Do you have the time—what with winter coming on—to wander the desert looking for them, and all the while looking over your shoulder for the next surprise from my grandfather?”
Defeated, she sighed. “Let me guess. You know where every one of them is, and you’re not about to draw me a map, are you?”
“Right.”
“Damn you.”
* * *
“Ahh, Señor Chapelo, I see you won la guerra.”
Zant chuckled, keeping his voice as low as the cantina owner’s. “It wasn’t much of a war, Alberto. I just reasoned with her.”
“Ah, sí. Reasoned. More like threatened, eh?”
Zant nodded. “More like threatened.”
Alberto chuckled, but then turned serious. “Señor Chapelo, you do not intend to hurt our Catarina, do you?”
Slouched against the thick adobe doorjamb to Jacey’s room, and completely occupying the narrow space, Zant folded his arms over his chest. He didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to watch Jacey. With Rosie’s help, she was gathering up her few belongings. Since Alberto was standing behind him, Zant finally looked back at the anxious face of the bartender. “You ever known me to hurt a woman, Alberto?”
“Oh, no, no. But this one”—Alberto nudged his chin toward Jacey, who was down on her knees and pulling her saddlebags from under the bed—“she is different to you, no?”
Zant stared at Jacey’s split-skirted bottom and grinned. “Sí. She’s different. But if I was going to hurt her—even kill her—I’d’ve done it last night when I thought she was J. C. Lawless.”
From the corner of his eye, Zant saw Alberto cross himself. A fatalistic grin claimed his features. But it faded with Alberto’s next words. “You mistake my words. I mean in her heart. You are not going to hurt her heart, are you?”
Zant grunted, ignoring the heavy thump of his own heart. “You really think she has a heart to get hurt, Alberto?”
“Sí. She has a very big heart … with a heavy burden. I would not like to see her in more pain.”
Zant swiveled enough to exchange a serious stare with the fatherly bartender. Something tangible, like a subtle warning, stood in Alberto’s eyes. Zant honored it and said, “I’ll take care of her.”
“Bien. But tell me,” Alberto began, again drawing Zant’s assessing gaze from Jacey’s backside. “Where are you … taking her?”
“Well, she’s bound and determined to find the Lawless Gang, and the man, or men, who stole a picture from her. And I know where the old gang has scattered to, so I’m going along for the ride.”
“Ahh, la pictura. She told me of this last night.” Alberto twisted his mustache and added, “You are going for much more than a simple ride, are you not, Señor Chapelo?”
Zant felt a muscle jump in his jaw. How much had Jacey told him? “Yeah. A hell of a lot more.”
“Bien.”
Zant didn’t know what was so good about it, but at least Alberto wasn’t asking any more questions. He straightened up when Jacey closed her saddlebags and turned to stare at him, her black eyes rounded and wary. He squinted at her, just to keep that bit of fear in
her. “You ready now?”
“Yeah, but I’ve got one more thing to do.” She turned to Alberto. “You got anything around these parts that resembles mail delivery?”
Alberto shrugged. “Mas o menos. More or less.”
Jacey firmed her lips together and appeared to think about something. “Could you hire someone you trust—I’ll pay you back—and have him take that journal and those letters to my sister in No Man’s Land? Here. I wrote down the directions.”
Alberto took the scrap of paper from her, but shook his head. “No money from you. But I will do this thing for you and for your papa. I would be honored.”
Zant watched Jacey nod her agreement and put a hand on Alberto’s sleeve. “I owe you so much, Alberto.”
Alberto put his hand over Jacey’s. “You owe me nothing. Just stay alive.”
Moved more than he cared to admit, Zant repeated, “That’s a real touching scene, but are you ready now?”
Jacey glared up at him. “As I’ll ever be, Chapelo.”
Squinting right back at her, Zant strode into the room, took her bags, slung them over his shoulder, clutched her elbow, and said, “Then, let’s ride.”
CHAPTER NINE
A hard day of riding saw them heading steadily south, following the Santa Cruz River, and then turning more easterly across desert plateaus and dry gullies. Late that afternoon, Zant finally reined in a short distance from a warped-clapboard shack built against the stone base of a rocky abutment.
Mounted on Knight, Jacey turned a dubious eye on the falling-down corral and the gaping, half-rotted door of the one-room cabin. “This is it? This is where Tully Johnson lives?”
She watched Zant shift his weight in his saddle and notch his Stetson up. “Yep. He did five years ago, anyway. Looks empty now.”
Jacey squinted at him. “You’re one heck of a guide, Chapelo, what with your five-year-old information. I could’ve gotten this all wrong by myself.”
Zant spared her a glare before calling out, “Hello in the cabin. Is anybody about? We’re looking for Tully Johnson.”
Silence. A Gila woodpecker ceased drilling a dead juniper to stare at them and then fly away. Watching the bird take wing, they both started, along with their mounts, when a woman’s voice called out from the cabin door. “Who’s lookin’?”
Jacey reined Knight hard and stared at the dirty, stringy-haired woman whose skeletal nakedness was more or less covered by a too-big faded blue daydress which had seen better days. Jacey exchanged a look with Zant, whose expression seemed to mirror her first impression.
He then turned to the woman and said, “Afternoon, ma’am. Name’s Chapelo. And this is Jacey Lawless. We’re looking for—”
“I heard ya. Tully ain’t around.” With that, the woman spat and stepped back inside the cabin. From the dark interior, she yelled, “I don’t want no truck with a Lawless, much less a Chapelo. They ain’t never done nothin’ for me. Now, git.” A steel rifle barrel poked out to glint in the sunshine and back up her sentiments.
“Son of a bitch,” Zant muttered, his inflection suggesting this was the last thing he needed. He turned to Jacey, keeping his voice low. “Let’s see if money makes her any friendlier.” He then called out, “We’ll pay you for your time, ma’am. We just need to talk to Tully.”
“Pay me? What do I need money for? An’ I done tole you—you cain’t speak with Tully. Cain’t nobody speak with ’im. ’Cepting the devil. Tully’s been dead nigh onto three years or more.”
Jacey edged Knight over to Zant’s roan and whispered, “This could be a trick. He might be hiding inside.”
Zant turned a long-suffering look on her. “I think he’s dead, Jacey. And it’s a particular habit of mine never to call a person pointing a rifle at me a liar. But go ahead—call her bluff.”
Thus challenged, Jacey turned toward the cabin. “How’d he die, ma’am?”
“I shot ’im, that’s how. You aimin’ to be next, lady?”
Jacey’s eyes widened. “No, ma’am. Sorry to’ve bothered you.” As she turned Knight away from the cabin, Zant followed suit, but his chuckle only heated her face up more. “If you’re so all-fired smart, Chapelo, where’s Tully’s grave?” she hissed.
Zant nudged his roan into a canter before answering. “She shot him, Jacey. You think she went to the trouble of giving him a proper Christian burial? Hell, she probably dragged him out and let the vultures eat him.”
“Skinny as she is, she should’ve eaten him herself.”
Zant’s eyebrows shot up. “Remind me not to let you get too hungry.”
Jacey didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she asked, “Where to next?”
“Well, I plan on riding back to the Santa Cruz, making camp for the night by its waters, and eating some of that good food Rosie packed. You coming?”
* * *
You coming? As if she had a choice, what with him having the food and the close-held knowledge of where the other four men in the Lawless Gang were. Jacey fussed around their small campfire, laying out her bedroll. Why don’t you call her bluff? Danged near got her shot, was what he did.
Looking up, she searched out the source of her fuming. The big outlaw, sipping his coffee from a tin cup, stood quietly still with his back to her at the river’s shore. With the blood-crimsons and bruised-blues of the setting sun in front of him, he stood as if framed in a picture.
Jacey’s scowl slowly softened into a frown of longing. She couldn’t look away from him. A great sadness swept over her, a sense of loss. Loss of a part of herself. When she could no longer deny it, she admitted that she wanted nothing more than to go to him, wrap her arms around him, and lay her cheek on his warm back. She should hate that feeling. But didn’t. She put a hand over her mouth, as if trying to hold back a sudden queasiness. Why him?
Just then, Chapelo shifted his weight, drawing the seat of his denims tight over his buttocks. She swept her gaze over the man’s broad back, down to his tapering hips and long legs. And knew. He’s got that lost part of me. She shook her head against the sharp prick of awareness and the sinking feeling that told her she cared more than she should, and in all the wrong ways, for the Stetson-wearing, smart-mouthed, swaggering quick draw.
Look at you, a voice in her head taunted. You can’t even stay mad at him, not even when he’s provoked you and threatened you and darn near gotten you killed—or killed you himself. But that was just one side of him, she argued. All the other sides of him showed he felt the same about her. He’d kissed her, followed her, protected her, killed for her. And now, he was here with her, putting himself in danger just to make sure she didn’t run into any herself.
Jacey admitted she’d never been one to think about fate and great celestial designs. And she never saw herself as a pawn in a game of destiny. Not before now, anyway. Because all she could think was … why this man? Why was he the one who stirred her fires? His last name alone made him as forbidden to her as the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge had been to Adam and Eve. And look what happened there.
Shaking her head, refusing to give up any more of herself to him, Jacey steeled her heart, seeking to explain his behavior in other ways. Could he be here with her, and pretending to have … strong feelings for her, just to make sure she didn’t find the keepsake and discover the truth? It could be that he was. And what about that danged plan of his to get her with child? Maybe that too was his real reason for being here with her.
Squatting down, she picked up a handful of gravelly sand, which she allowed to run through her fingers. All right, so she’d guard her heart from his charm. Jacey let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. And almost burst into tears. See there? the voice chided. He’s changing you. Jacey jumped up. She had to get away from him. An inch away from running to Knight and jumping on him and clearing out, she clamped down hard on her back teeth. Just calm down. You can’t go anywhere at night. You’re safe enough with Chapelo, for the time being.
But what about w
hen she got closer to the truth? What then? What if he was the one she sought? Working her lips, biting at them, Jacey aimed a suspicious look at the gunslinger’s back. I’ve got to keep my eye on him, and at the same time, keep him away from me. And, yes, me away from him. Lordy, what am I going to do?
At that moment, Zant turned away from the river and called out to her, “You know what you should do?”
Jacey caught her breath. And let it out. He couldn’t read minds. “No, outlaw,” she called back, “what should I do?”
Without replying, he walked toward her, his muscled legs carrying him effortlessly up the sloping embankment. When he stood right in front of her, towering over her, looking down at her, Jacey realized she was breathless. She looked up, trying to see his eyes under that black hat of his. And caught herself returning his easy grin before she could think to guard against his charm. Instantly sobering, she fussed, “Well? What should I do?”
“For one thing, you should stop calling me outlaw and Chapelo and gunslinger. My name’s Zant. And two”—he pointed with his coffee cup to a point behind Jacey—“you should train some manners into that horse of yours.”
“My horse?” Jacey turned to see Knight’s ears laid back against his head as he showed his big teeth to Zant’s fine-boned roan stallion. She chuckled. “Knight doesn’t think much of that prissy ride of yours.”
“Prissy? You think Sangre is prissy?”
“Sangre? What’s that mean?”
“Blood.”
“You named that animal Blood?” She turned back to stare consideringly at the now-snorting, nostril-flared stallion as he responded to Knight’s bad manners. “Well, maybe old blood. He’s kinda rusty or coppery-colored. But nothing like reddish-orangy new blood.”
She watched as Chapelo pinched his features into a prunish old-man grimace. She’d insulted him. He tossed his empty mug onto the ground by the campfire and stalked over to his stallion. For once, Jacey’s chuckling followed his red-faced retreat. Just maybe her own smart-mouthed, swaggering attitude—so much like his, come to think of it—would be the very thing that kept him at a distance.
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