Jacey's Reckless Heart

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Jacey heard but dismissed his praise of her, so intent was she on making her point. “Maybe Hannah can take care of herself. But not Glory. She’s the baby. She doesn’t have the first idea how to—”

  “Oh, hell, Jacey.” Zant pulled back and shook his head. “Glory’s got to be near twenty years old. She’s not a baby. And she was raised by the same parents you were. Are you going to tell me that if someone threatens her, she’ll just lie down and die without a fight?”

  Jacey turned her head away from him. Focusing on the shimmering heat ripples dancing above the desert floor, she weighed his words. Grudgingly, she admitted that he was right. Glory would fight … if she got a chance, if she saw the trouble coming. Calming some, but still hating the fact that he’d kept this from her, she turned back to him.

  He appeared to sense her inclination to cooperate, because he relaxed and released Knight’s reins. “That’s better. Now, our only chance for all three of you is to”—he looked away from her—“to stop Don Rafael.”

  Stop Don Rafael. A clamminess swept over Jacey, raising the hair on her arms. She knew what those words meant. There was only one way to stop a man like Don Rafael. And that was to kill him. Anger and betrayal bled from her. For once in her life, she looked outside herself. She considered what those words meant to Zant and the enormity of what he was prepared to do for her. She watched his troubled profile, his narrowed eyes, his working throat.

  Like the spark that becomes the flame, awareness built in Jacey, until it burst forth fully ablaze. The dignity, the horror of sacrificing one’s self … one’s heart … for the sake of another.… She closed her eyes, shook her head. It was too awful. The price was too high. Would she do the same thing for him, if their situations were reversed? Could she kill Papa for Zant? Jacey hung her head in shame. No. And if he killed Papa, no matter how much he might deserve it? Why, she’d hate him to her dying day. Just like Zant would hate her if he killed his grandfather for her. Just like he would hate her if she killed Don Rafael.

  Tears clogged her throat. She couldn’t allow him to kill his own kin. Which meant there was no other way … she’d have to do it herself, if it came to it. And she’d have to bear, for all her days, his hatred of her for what she’d done. Only in that way could she save him. Barely recognizing this new selflessness for what it was, Jacey swallowed and stiffened her spine. “You don’t have to be the one to do this.”

  Still without looking at her, he answered. “It’s me or you. So, yes, I do have to be the one to do this.”

  In sudden desperation, knowing in her heart that from this point forward she was losing him … no matter what happened … she found herself trying to stop destiny, trying to stop what she’d set in motion. And that meant defending Don Rafael. “Why does he have to be … stopped? We don’t even know what he’s guilty of, Zant.”

  Zant turned to her, a burning light already shining in his eyes. “Didn’t you hear what Alma Buford said? Those men who paid her a visit had my father’s spurs with them. Spurs, Jacey. Not a broken piece of one. That places them in your house. Before the murders.”

  Her heart lurched at the memory. But still she pleaded her and Don Rafael’s case. “Maybe it does. But only if the piece around my neck came from your father’s spurs.”

  Zant’s face turned dusky with his rising voice. “You know it’s my father’s. You know it. And why in the hell are you defending Don Rafael? He’s set two men on you that I know of. And probably there’s another one hunting you this minute. Blue says my grandfather sent his hired guns after your sisters, too. Do you think it’s so he can invite you all to a party? Hell, no. How guilty does he have to be, Jacey?”

  Breathing hard now, staring at her, his eyes a steely-black, he pounded home his points. “I may not know yet why he’s having you three tracked, but one thing I do know—it’s for no good reason. Sooner or later, he’ll make another mistake. I intend to be there when he does.”

  Truly scared by his intensity, Jacey could barely take a breath. “Another mistake?”

  “His first was threatening you.”

  Her mouth went dry. Frightened for him, for herself, she shook her head. “No. You can’t do this. Not for any reason that has anything to do with me, Zant. I won’t be your excuse to rid yourself of the old man.”

  “I don’t need an excuse. He’s given me plenty of reasons.”

  “Then why haven’t you had it out with him before now?”

  “I was a kid. Then I was in prison. Until now, until you, it was enough to be everything he hated.”

  Jacey’s heart flopped around in her chest. “Look, all I came to Tucson for was to find the unfortunate so-and-so who took my keepsake. I’ll find out who did it and why, get it back, and go home. I didn’t come out here looking for murderers. They’re back East. That’s where the clues lead. Not to Mexico. Not to Don Rafael.”

  Zant stared hard at her. “You don’t still believe that, do you, Jacey? That all the murderers are back East?”

  Taking no time to reflect on what she believed anymore, half afraid of what she’d find, Jacey let her voice echo his for quiet challenge. “I believe what I believe. When the time comes, if the truth shows Don Rafael to be responsible, he’ll die by my hand. Not yours.”

  Zant chuckled, but it had nothing to do with humor. “No. The old man is mine when reckoning time comes. There’s too much between us … things way beyond murder. No, Jacey. He’s mine.”

  A huge scream began building in her lungs. “If you kill him, Zant, you’ll be as good as dead, too. He’s your blood kin. And family—no matter how rotten—means everything. I won’t let you do this.”

  Zant’s expression hardened into unforgiving stone. “You can’t stop me.” With that, he wheeled his horse and urged him into an all-out gallop, heading south. To Sonora, Mexico.

  Jacey watched him a moment. And knew she had to go after him. “Damn you,” she yelled, cursing him to the cloudless blue sky overhead.

  * * *

  Two long, dusty days later, as the sun cast late-afternoon shadows over the land, Zant reined Sangre at the crest of a hill that overlooked La Casa del Cielo Azul. He raised his Stetson to swipe a sleeve across his sweating brow. Squinting at the bright sun, and keeping his eyes on the walled hacienda in the valley below, he intoned, “There it is. Home sweet home.”

  “It’s big.”

  Zant firmed his lips, nodding his head. “It is that.”

  “Nice gardens and tilled fields, too.”

  “Yep.”

  “Lots of people down there.”

  “Yep.” He resettled his hat low over his eyes.

  “You think they’ve seen us yet?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is this how you’re going to talk the whole time we’re here?”

  He turned to look at her. “Nope.”

  “Good.”

  Zant fought the grin that tugged at his mouth. Little spitfire. The more scared she was, the mouthier she got. He turned his gaze back to the valley, sparingly dotted with mesquite trees and occasional yuccas beyond the crops and gardens outside the adobe walls.

  Two riders turned out of the compound’s front gate, galloping hell-for-leather in their direction. Zant split his attention between them and the activity inside the adobe walls. Running. Scurrying. Pointing up at them. Preparing. For trouble. Seemed that Trouble was all that came calling here. And this time was no different. Zant shifted in his saddle and nodded toward the two riders approaching them. “Here comes our welcoming party.”

  “You recognize ’em?”

  “Yep. Blue and Paco. That’s good news.”

  “Yeah? How so?”

  “They’re on my side.”

  “Your side? Against what?”

  “Not what. Who. Don Rafael.”

  “These sides you’re talking about, I’m guessing they don’t have anything to do with me, do they?”

  “No. There were sides here long before you came along.”

  “
Sides for what?”

  “A revolution. A takeover.” Zant frowned. When had he come to that conclusion?

  Jacey echoed his words. “A takeover? In all of Mexico, or just here?”

  “Just here.” And suddenly, he knew it was true.

  “Great. Wish you wouldn’t leave out little details like that in the future.”

  Zant grinned at her drollness. “I’ll try to warn you of any bloody coups coming up. Okay, they’re almost here. Remember, you’re my captive—even in front of them. No one else but you and me will know differently until it’s necessary for me to tell them. So try to act like a captive.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be a problem, outlaw.”

  Zant chuckled and looked over at her. That thick braid lying over her shoulder was the biggest thing about her. Except for the scowl on her face.

  “What’re you laughing at? Since I’m your prisoner, shouldn’t I be tied up or something?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. I don’t work that way. If you tried to get away, I’d just shoot you before you got out of reach. They know that.”

  Jacey made a choking noise. “Now see there? That’s one of those little details I was telling you about.”

  In a sudden burst of high spirits, brought about by her smart-mouthed bravado, Zant swept his Stetson off and bowed over his stallion’s neck. “You have my most sincere apologies for not informing you, Señorita Lawless.”

  “I’m your captive, Chapelo. Try to act like it. Put your hat back on and look fierce or something.”

  Still chuckling, Zant plunked his Stetson on his head and waved at Blue and Paco. He let out a familiar whistle that they would recognize and laughed when they whooped in return and raised their hands in recognition. He turned to grin at Jacey. “They love me here.”

  “Somebody’s got to.” She spoke through gritted teeth as she looped her hands in the reins, pulling them taut and keeping her gelding’s head up, so he couldn’t buck. The black was not pleased with all the whistling and whooping going on around him.

  Zant turned to Blue and Paco when they reined in beside him with a thundering of hooves and rising dust that further unnerved Jacey’s gelding. Born to such displays, Sangre merely raised his noble head and eyed the other, lesser horses.

  “I thought that was you, you old son of a gun.” Blue clapped Zant on the back and leaned over to shake his offered hand.

  “None other.” Zant then turned to Paco, nudging the big man on his hamlike shoulder. “¿Eh, compadre, como estás?”

  Paco ducked his head, showing respect and causing his sombrero’s oversized brim to flop up and down on his big head as he nodded. “Muy bien, jefe. Muy bien.”

  Zant didn’t even flinch when called chief this time. “Bien.” He then turned to Jacey to translate. “Paco says he’s fine.”

  Jacey huffed out a disrespectful noise. “Well, isn’t that just wonderful? Like I give a rat’s—”

  “Basta! You will show respect to me and my men. Or you will suffer the consequences, Señorita Lawless.” His face stiff with disapproval, Zant adopted the icy manners and steely tones of a Spanish don. Jacey went wide-eyed and silent. She’d never seen this side of him, he knew, the powerful young lord of the manor, used to giving orders, brooking no arguments, a man whose every wish and whim were carried out.

  Zant turned to Paco and Blue. They looked like they wanted no part of him, either. Apparently they too had gotten his message that the prodigal son had returned home. Not that he’d intended to behave like a little lord, but if this was the tone that worked with her and them, then so be it. Because he couldn’t afford for her or Blue—Paco would never dare—not to take him seriously in front of the other men.

  But especially Jacey. His doubts about being able to control her caused him to meet her unwavering gaze. She had no idea of the dangers she faced, or of the ones she posed—for him, for herself, and for those men loyal to him. Because if she gave him reason to punish her, he would have to do it. To spare her would be to appear weak. And to show weakness, especially for a woman, would cost him the men’s respect. And that could lead to bloodshed.

  Knowing his silence wouldn’t be interrupted, Zant looked down on what was really a small city below. The compound’s high walls undulated across the rolling hills as if they were a natural outcropping. He then concentrated on the villa mellowing in the sun, its adobe colors blending with the desert, its many flowering vines in the courtyard providing surprising dots of color in a land essentially brown.

  His Spanish family built Cielo Azul hundreds of years ago. He loved it. It was his home, his birthright. Don Rafael was right about that much. It was to this land that he belonged.

  But would the fierce fighting men here accept him as their leader? And was their leader what he wanted to become? He searched his heart. Yes. That was exactly what he intended to be. Perhaps he had all along. With that revelation came a newfound sense of his place in the world. Then so be it.

  As the mantle of leadership draped itself around his shoulders, Zant turned to Jacey and eased back in his saddle. “Everything you see spread out here before you belongs to me. As do you. Do we understand each other, señorita?”

  “We do.” Jacey glared at him, but she did duck her chin, mimicking Paco’s respectful pose of a moment ago. Zant knew, without a doubt, that with her it was a pose and nothing more.

  “Bueno.” He then turned to Blue and Paco, and spoke in Spanish for Paco’s sake. “La Señorita Lawless está mi prisionera.”

  Paco nodded and narrowed his eyes at Jacey. With barely suppressed humor, Zant watched her narrow her eyes in return. Interesting. Perhaps he’d assign Paco as her guard. But all humor fled when Blue found his tongue. “What in the hell are you talking about—your prisoner?”

  Zant eyed his oldest friend, knowing that Blue, because of his special closeness to him, might be as difficult to control as Jacey. “Things have changed, Blue. I’m home for good. Don Rafael wanted Jacey Lawless. Well, here she is. Call her my peace offering.”

  Wide-eyed, Blue looked from him to Jacey and back. “You brought her here as a … a peace offering? For Don Rafael? You’re just going to turn her over to him … after killing Rafferty and Quintana for trying to do the same thing? Are you loco, mi amigo?”

  “Basta.” Zant purposely hissed the same warning to Blue as he had Jacey. He needed to make it clear that he would allow no insolence from anyone, not even his lifelong friend. Not if he hoped to unseat Don Rafael. To do that, he had to take control right now, right here … before they rode under the gated archway of La Casa del Cielo Azul. “Understand, Blue, that I have changed. There’ll be no more running away. I’ve come home to take my place here. The old man is just that—an old man. He will die soon. And this”—he swept his hand out over the valley—“will be mine.”

  Blue shook his head, looking at Zant as if he’d never seen him before. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when you’d say those words.”

  “Me, neither, Blue.” And he truly meant that. “But I’ve grown up some in the past few weeks.” His gaze slipped to Jacey. He saw her sit up tall in her saddle. “I’m ready to do what’s right.”

  Blue’s expression changed, and he looked hopeful. “Do what’s right? Do you mean what I think you—”

  Zant raised a hand. “Mañana. Tomorrow. Now we go greet Don Rafael and present him my gift.” He turned to Jacey. “You will keep quiet and do as I say. Or your life will not be worth living.”

  * * *

  Don Rafael Calderon watched his grandson and the woman ride under the arched gateway of Cielo Azul. Paco and Blue flanked them. Standing at the hacienda’s sheltered entrance, all but lost in the lowering sun’s shadows, he turned to Miguel Sereda. “My grandson returns. Yet again.”

  Miguel, a slight, whipcord-thin man, nodded. “Sí. He always does.”

  Don Rafael looked out over the width of the central courtyard, smiling, watching Zant lean over from his saddle to clasp hands and acc
ept the loud homecoming greetings from the men. “Look at him. This time will be different.”

  To his left, Victor DosSantos spoke up. “Why do you say that, mi jefe?”

  Without turning to the big, simple, and lethal pistolero, the old man’s smile broadened. “Look at the way he sits his horse, Victor. See how my men flock to him, how they pay him respect? Zant is a man now. And he comes home for good this time. I have waited many years for this day.”

  “You must be very proud.”

  Raising his eyebrows, Don Rafael turned to Victor. “Proud? Sí. Everything I do, I do for him. But I wonder, does he understand that? Does he truly return my love for him? Or will he kill me someday?”

  Miguel spoke up, capturing Don Rafael’s attention. “Just let him try. I who have been more loyal to you than your own grandson, I who have been here all these years, when he was not, I will shoot him for you, should he try.”

  Don Rafael’s face darkened with his rising anger. He focused his harshest glare on the young man. “Zant has been in prison, or he would have been here. He is out now, and he is here. It is enough. I will not tell you again, Miguel. Stay out of his way. My grandson is mine to deal with. Not yours. Do you understand?”

  The contemptuous light in the man’s eyes only dimmed as he came to attention and ducked his chin. “Sí, mi jefe. As always.”

  Don Rafael assessed the man. Miguel Sereda was a useful man, a cunning and ambitious right-hand man. He’d done distasteful things that needed to be done. He’d helped extend the Calderon power over half of Sonora state. All that was true. And yes, he had once spoken with Miguel about succeeding him here. But only if Zant did not return to claim his inheritance. Now his grandson was home for good. He could feel it in his bones. And Miguel would have to accept that … or die.

  Victor’s question pulled Don Rafael out of his thoughts. “Do you know this woman with him, jefe?”

  Don Rafael raked his gaze over the dark-haired girl sitting her black horse as if she reigned here. “No. But it does not appear she wishes to be here, does it? A mystery, no? Come, let us greet my grandson. Perhaps he will tell us who he brings with him. And why.”