Jacey's Reckless Heart

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Making up her mind, Jacey veered left, making for the shadows at the base of the adobe walls. There was a mighty interesting gate tucked away in those walls that she meant to investigate. She’d noticed it yesterday when she and Zant had reined in above Cielo Azul. From up there it’d looked to her like it opened onto the corrals and that cluster of low adobes where probably the hired guns and the servants lived. She didn’t know exactly what she hoped to find out there, but she told herself she was going to check on Knight.

  Let Zant and his men burn up the daylight with all their pointing at the hills and putting their heads together and nodding and discussing things in Spanish. Not her. She had a horse to find. And maybe even some answers.

  It was clear to her now, after an hour of following him around inside the compound’s walls, with him pointing things out and naming them—she now knew that “cat” was gato and dog was perro—that Zant was right. He didn’t have time to teach her. It seemed that everyone on the place needed an answer from him or demanded his time or wanted to greet him, if they hadn’t seen him yesterday.

  At first the interruptions had irritated her, but then she’d recognized this opportunity for what it was. She wasn’t locked up inside, Zant wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to her, Don Rafael was gone, and Paco wasn’t dogging her steps. But Jacey’s mood slipped with her next thought. Yep, she was free, but she didn’t know the first Spanish word that was the least bit helpful to her. Still, she figured she could find Knight easily enough. He was a horse. He’d be in the corral.

  If she didn’t find him right off, at least she knew caballo was Spanish for horse. She’d just ask. But if some sombrero-wearing Jasper strung together about two hundred words to answer her, then she’d be lost. Her thoughts carrying her to the gate she wanted, Jacey grabbed for its latch and looked both ways and behind her. Alone. Good. She opened it, slipped through, and then closed the gate behind her.

  She turned around and gasped. No wonder it wasn’t locked. It was guarded. Jacey smiled up at the somber, sombreroed man on a rangy mustang right in front of her. He held the longest rifle she’d ever seen, its butt resting against his thigh and its steel barrel pointing skyward. He gripped the metal barrel extremely close to the firing mechanism. And stared down at her.

  “Um, caballo?” Jacey ventured.

  “Sí.”

  “Um, where is my caballo? Not yours.” She pointed to his horse. “I know this one is yours. I mean my caballo.” She thumped her chest with her fingers.

  The guard shook his head. “No es su caballo.” He pointed to his horse. “Esto es mi caballo. Su caballo esta in el corral.” He turned in his saddle, using his rifle to point back over his shoulder.

  All those caballos in one breath. Jacey’s head was swimming, but she did think she’d heard the word “corral.” She nodded and tried again. “Where is this corral?”

  He shrugged dramatically and shook his head. “Lo siento, señorita, pero no hablo ingles.”

  How could he not know where the corral was? Where in the heck did he think he’d gotten his own horse from this morning? Starting past him, intent on winding her way through the clustered adobes that ringed this side of the compound, Jacey raised a hand in parting and said, “Thanks, anyway.”

  The man moved his horse between her and some staring, dark-skinned women and their children. A dog or two barked at her. Jacey looked up at him, shading her eyes with her raised hand. “What now, Jasper?”

  “Usted, señorita.” He pointed at her with his rifle. And then shook his head while intoning his next words, giving them a sinister sound. “Señor Chapelo.” Now he pointed the gun at the ground. “No aqui.” He pointed at her again. “Usted. Señor Chapelo. No aqui.”

  Jacey thought she understood his gestures, if not his words. Señor Chapelo didn’t want her out here. Well, too bad. She looked up at Jasper and grinned and nodded. “Señor Chapelo said it was okay.”

  Again she started off on her own. Again Jasper stuck his brown horse between her and her business. Jacey’s Lawless temper flared to its boiling point. She frowned up at the man and raised her pointing finger at him as she opened her mouth. She sure hoped he understood loud, angry English.

  Behind her, cutting her off before she could utter a word, came a deep, well-modulated male voice. Speaking English. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance, señorita?”

  Sharp surprise spun Jacey around. A slender, dark-skinned man, well dressed and handsome, not too tall, bowed gracefully to her. Caught off guard by his formality, Jacey ducked her chin in acknowledgment. “You speak English?” was her smiled greeting.

  “Yes, Señorita Lawless, I do.”

  Jacey frowned the slightest bit. “You know who I am?”

  The gentleman smiled, showing white, even teeth. “Indeed. No woman as beautiful as you would escape my notice. But even so, you are the honored guest of Don Rafael Calderon, are you not?”

  Jacey shook her head. “No.” And then caught herself. “I mean, yes. Who are you?”

  “Ahh, where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself.” He made another low, sweeping bow. “I am Miguel Sereda. And I am at your service.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sereda. Since you’re at my service, would you please tell Jasper here that I’m just trying to find my horse?”

  He inclined his head to her as if he conferred with royalty and then turned to the mounted guard. After a couple of exchanges of rapid Spanish with the man, Miguel Sereda turned back to her. “Enrique says your horse is in the corral.”

  Still peeved at Enrique, Jacey made a face at Mr. Sereda. “I know that. The problem is, he won’t let me past to go to the corral.”

  “That is because Señor Chapelo has left orders that you are not to be over here. Or in fact, anywhere outside of the villa … unless you are with him. Surely you knew this?”

  Jacey felt her face heat up, but Mr. Sereda grinned and turned to Enrique, shooting off a dozen or so brusque words that saw the guard’s expression turn belligerent. But he nevertheless backed up his horse, allowing a passage for Jacey, much to her pleased surprise. Mr. Sereda then turned to her and took her elbow. His grip was warm, but almost painfully tight. “Come, señorita. I will take you to your horse.”

  Jacey’s first alarmed instinct was to pull her arm free, but that seemed rude and unnecessary, under the circumstances. Because it was broad daylight, she reasoned, several people milled around, and he was only doing what she’d asked of him. And if she needed it, her knife was strapped to her thigh. So, she allowed him to guide her. But a vague unease still pricked at the back of her conscience, troubling her. Giving in to it, Jacey eyed her escort. “You don’t seem to be too concerned about disobeying Mr. Chapelo’s orders.”

  At her side, Miguel smiled. “Neither do you, señorita.”

  * * *

  He’d kill her, that’s what he’d do. He’d find her, make sure she was all right, and then? He’d kill her. It was that simple. He should have known better than to give in to those black doe’s eyes of hers at breakfast and allow her out of her room. But he had. When would he learn?

  Alone, reluctant to enlist help in finding her, since he’d have to admit she’d slipped away from him, Zant stalked angrily through the courtyard, hoping she’d come here to sit and enjoy the fountain. Hands to his waist, he stopped and looked around. Jacey Lawless sit around and enjoy a fountain and flowers? Hardly. The fragrant enclosure’s emptiness testified to the truth of that. He shook his head, as if trying to dispel the taunting voice there that whispered he was more worried than mad.

  Think, Zant, think. What’d she say at breakfast? She’d said she wanted him to teach her Spanish. And then she’d said she didn’t want to stay in her room. Because…? It was hot and boring and she couldn’t—Dammit, that was it. She couldn’t see to her horse. Relief flooded through him. She’d gone to check on her horse. Zant huffed out his breath and turned to make his way to the courtyard’s vi
ne-bedecked ornamental gate.

  The gate. Not this one, but the heavy one that opened into the camp where the corrals were. A frown marred his features and slowed his steps, until he was standing in place. Who had let her through that gate? He’d asked Blue last night to make sure all the men understood that if she was seen anywhere on the grounds by herself, or with anyone but him, then she was to be brought to him … unharmed. Anyone disobeying that order would be fired. Or worse.

  Zant searched his mind to remember who was on duty this morning. The “who” was important, because the man would either be loyal to him or to Don Rafael. With no middle ground. Joyous homecomings and public reconciliations aside, Cielo Azul was an armed camp of divided loyalties.

  “Señor Chapelo? Un momento, por favor?”

  His hand to his gun, Zant spun around and found the speaker. The guardia named Enrique stood outside the low courtyard gate, his sombrero in his hands. The middle-aged man quickly swiped a thick, stubby hand through his sweat-matted black hair and straightened his clothing. Zant smiled at this nervous show of respect as he strode over to the man. But who, Zant wondered, was this simple man loyal to? Him or Don Rafael? In Spanish he asked, “What is it, Enrique?”

  Answering in Spanish, Enrique told his story. “The young lady, the señorita, only minutes ago, she came through the gate to the houses outside.”

  Zant’s heart skipped a beat. Just as he’d suspected. “Was she alone?”

  “Yes, sir. I stopped her, as Mr. Blue instructed last night, but she insisted on seeing her horse. I tried to tell her—but she does not understand Spanish—that you did not want her out there. With my horse, I blocked her way. Twice. But Mr. Sereda came upon us and ordered me to allow her to pass. I told him my orders were from you. He said to hell with your orders, that he took orders from no one but Don Rafael Calderon himself.”

  Miguel Sereda. A muscle in Zant’s jaw jumped. “What happened next?”

  Enrique looked down and twisted his sombrero in his hands. “I am sorry to say that I yielded to him. I did not know what to do.” He looked up, indecision and confusion mirrored in his dark eyes. “What are we to do? Mr. Sereda speaks for Don Rafael. And you have only been home these two days. No one knows what to do.” Looking hopeful, he added, “But I did follow them—”

  “Them?”

  “Mr. Sereda and Miss Lawless. He took her to the corral as she requested. They are there now with that black beast of hers.” Enrique became quiet and then bowed his head. “I have disobeyed you, my chief. And now I will gather my family and my things and be gone from here.”

  My chief. Zant stared hard at the man. Enrique was most likely loyal to him. He needed all the men he could get. But he also had to be able to trust them, to know every one of them would obey his orders without question, without being swayed, such as Enrique had been. This was his fault. He hadn’t made his intentions clear enough yet. Well, he could take care of that right now. So, unsmiling, he put his hand on the man’s arm. “Don’t leave. Return to your post. Stay there and remain watchful.”

  Enrique let out a long breath. “Thank you, Mr. Chapelo.”

  Zant acknowledged the man’s gratitude with a nod and then pushed open the ornamental gate, walked past the guard, and headed for the mesquite gate in the adobe walls. After a pace or two, he turned and called out Enrique’s name. The short, heavyset man looked up. “Tell the men I am truly home to stay. Tell them they can trust me. And Enrique, if you disobey an order of mine again, I’ll kill you myself. Tell the men I also said this. Do you understand?”

  Wide-eyed, Enrique stiffened. “I will tell them. And I swear to you on my mother’s grave that it won’t happen again. I will take my own life first.”

  “It’d go a lot easier on you if you did.” Zant then turned and sprinted the few remaining yards to the gate. Once there, he shouldered through it and zigzagged his way around the curving, narrow streets of the small adobe city.

  At his approach, silence fell over the many women hanging out wash or gossiping or bathing small children. Older boys stopped their rough games, stepping aside for him to pass. A few of the bolder ones called out smiling greetings to him, addressing him as jefe. Zant acknowledged them, but only with a nod or a raised hand. His attention was distracted by the hooting and laughing voices coming from the close-by corrals.

  Sidestepping a yellow dog that darted in front of him, Zant turned the next corner and stopped. A quick once-over of the area revealed only the men whose job it was to tend the horses. Ranged around the corral’s wooden fence, they whooped and cheered a caballero breaking a wildly bucking mustang. Knowing Jacey as he did, Zant eyed the cowboy atop the bronco. No, it wasn’t her. Then, hands to his waist, his mouth firmed into a grim line, he made a second sweep, this time picking out individual faces.

  Jacey’s and Sereda’s weren’t in the crowd. Not that he’d expected them to be. Because Sereda wouldn’t remain in the open with her. He knew these caballeros knew of Zant’s orders regarding her. One or more of them would have come to him, just as Enrique had. That thought narrowed Zant’s eyes. Enrique had come to him … just as Sereda knew he would. That son of a bitch.

  Sereda wanted Zant to know he had Jacey. Because…? He wanted Zant to do something rash, prove she was much more to him than just a prisoner. And thereby…? Give Don Rafael an edge in this game of nerves and rebellion they were all playing.

  Zant clamped his jaw against the urge to bellow out a string of curses that could change the weather. Sereda was smart. This horse-breaking was the perfect distraction for him to spirit Jacey away. He’d kill that oily bastard if he’d so much as—

  Zant turned on his heel, proceeded around the corral, staying at the mens’ backs, and entered the horse barn. He breathed in the scents of hay, leather tack, and manure without a second thought. At the other end of the open barn doors, Zant stepped into the sunlight and spotted Sangre, proud, fierce, and aloof in his own corral. The gleaming roan stallion raised his head, stared at Zant, and went back to his feeding.

  Zant could remember not so long ago when he’d been just like his horse. Hadn’t needed anyone. Hadn’t let anyone close to him. Had lived his life for himself. But now? Jacey’s sweet little ornery face popped into his head. He’d find her, make sure she was okay, and then he’d kill her. And after that? He’d throw himself in the same hole with her because life wouldn’t be worth living without her. Dammit.

  Winding his way through the workaday commotion coming from the various shops that made Cielo Azul self-sufficent, Zant heard the sound of Jacey’s voice. From somewhere around the next corner, she was laughing and chattering. Not a care in the world. Quickening his steps, he rounded the long barracks that housed the unmarried men. And stopped short, putting his hands to his waist.

  There she was. Riding bareback and without so much as a halter or bridle on her gelding. Holding on to a long lock of black mane, she pranced the big horse around the enclosed circle of his corral. And there, leaning against the outer railing, thoroughly enjoying the display, was Miguel Sereda. His hungry, leering gaze was fastened on her. He followed her every skirt-hitched-up-to-her-thighs move.

  Zant focused on Jacey. She appeared oblivious to any and all as she, with the unspoken, unseen gestures of a true equestrienne, effortlessly worked her mount through various gaits and commands. That long black hair of hers bounced along with her breasts. He’d seen enough. A mixture of fear for her, anger at her, and jealousy over her stiffened Zant. His hand instinctively reached for the Colt holstered at his hip.

  Drawing his gun, he held it up in the air and fired. The sharp report spun the armed Miguel his way, jarred the gelding out of his canter, and threw Jacey forward over the black’s neck. From all sides came the sounds of running feet and shouting voices. Within seconds the suddenly silent crush of men loosely circled them, staying well back from the arena … out of fear, respect, or perhaps just desire to keep out of the line of fire.

  Seeing Paco and Blue among t
he men, Zant felt safe enough to make a show of holstering his Colt, of purposely daring anyone to draw on him. But his speed was legendary. And perhaps the recent deaths—at his unmerciful hands—of Rafferty and Ramon Quintana were still fresh in the mens’ minds. Whatever their reasons, there were no takers.

  A smile of triumph tweaked a corner of his mouth, but Zant kept his gunfighter’s gaze on Miguel. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jacey, still atop her motionless gelding, but silent and watchful. Just like the crowd of men. Just like Miguel.

  Zant curved a grin at the man, daring him. Did his grandfather’s right-hand man wish to reveal by deed or word what shone so plainly on his sneering face? The hate. The ambition. The conniving intelligence. With a gunfighter’s unerring instinct, Zant sensed the thickening of the air, felt the approach of this critical moment between them. He blanked his own face of all emotion … and waited. The moment arrived. And then passed. Zant relaxed his stance. Miguel would not challenge him. Not this day.

  Still, Zant did not look away, in case Miguel waited only for him to be distracted before going for his gun. Which he knew was more the pistolero’s style. Eyeing his enemy, Zant broke the heavy silence by calling out to Jacey. “Get down off that horse and come here.”

  When she immediately dismounted by sliding down the black’s sleek left side and started his way, Zant’s only visible response was to twitch his nose against the sweat beaded under it. But inside, he was slumping in relief. With her, it could’ve gone either way. No one knew that better than him.

  Only when Jacey was safely at his side did Zant speak again, this time in Spanish. He directed his words to Miguel, but knew that what he said would be marked by all the men present. They would then spread his message to those who weren’t witnesses to this first of many showdowns. “I’ll tell you the same thing, Sereda, that I just told Enrique. Disobey any order of mine again—no matter what it is or who it pertains to, and I’ll kill you myself. Is that clear?”