After Eden

by Joyce Brandon

  “A friend? Who?”

  “Or should I have said a lover?” he asked softly, his lips curling in contempt.

  “No. I don’t believe you.”

  “Johnny Brago,” he said, enjoying the fleeting look of fear, disbelief, and finally hope that darkened her eyes.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Look for yourself. He is in the courtyard below.”

  “It’s a trick.”

  “No trick. I will step outside.”

  He did so, closing the door after him and moving far enough away so she would feel safe in walking to the window set high on the wall beside the door.

  Tía walked to the window. True to his word, Papa leaned against the far wall, watching her. Keeping him in her field of vision, Tía cautiously dropped her gaze to the quad. She saw Johnny at once: standing bareheaded, flanked by a dozen bandits, and managing somehow to look imperturbably at ease.

  Tía turned away. They had him! Her heart leaped to a painful, erratic rhythm. Papa had Johnny.

  Mateo walked back to the door, paused as if he would give her a chance to back away, and then opened it, but Tía did not move away. She was beaten, and she knew it. He would know it, too. That was why Johnny still lived. Now she remembered her stepfather’s words: Next time I will be better prepared.

  Mateo smiled. The girl’s defeat darkened her eyes.

  “Give me the bottle,” he said softly.

  Slowly, Tía complied. Mateo took the bottle and smashed it against the wall.

  “And now you will behave yourself, niña.”

  Tía walked back to the window and looked down at Johnny. “I’m not a fool. I know you have to kill him. You can’t let him go back and tell the soldiers how to find you.”

  “He only found the way because he followed us.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “If I give my word, you can trust it. I am not a gringo that I would give my word and go back on it.”

  Tía covered her face. She should have killed herself when she’d had the chance. Let Johnny fend for himself. He wouldn’t appreciate her doing this for him, unless he had never loved her…

  Tía pushed the thoughts away. She loved Johnny. Anything would be preferable to watching him die in some horrible way Papa would undoubtedly decree.

  “If you promise me on your word of honor that you will spare him and let him go free, and that you will not hurt Mama, not ever, then I will agree,” she said.

  Mateo hid the smile that threatened to show on his face. Teresa was braver than he had dreamed possible. She did not cry or threaten. If she agreed to be his mistress, he would not have to kill Rita. Finding out Teresa had replaced her would be punishment enough—and more suitable than death, because Rita would die inside every day he kept Tía, or as long as Rita lived. His body flushed with the power of his revenge. He felt better than he had felt in months.

  “I agree, niña mía! But,” he added, smiling, “there is one other condition. You must convince your young caballero that you do not wish to leave with him. I do not want him coming back for you. Can you do that? If not,” he said, shrugging, “then he must die.”

  Johnny watched El Gato Negro walk from one of the apartments upstairs, confer with the morose man in the serape, then enter a different apartment. Patchy hobbled down the steps into the courtyard, untied Johnny’s hands, and motioned him to follow. They climbed the stairs, and Patchy knocked on the door.

  El Gato Negro himself opened it. “Come! Come!” he said, motioning Johnny inside with bluff heartiness.

  Slowly, his gaze darting for sight of Tía, Johnny stepped inside the room. El Gato Negro was alone, the room sparsely furnished. Johnny had expected to see Tía. His anticipation must have been reflected in his eyes because El Gato Negro laughed.

  “You are a foolhardy young man, Señor Brago. Brave but foolhardy. No one else has ever followed the Black Cat into his lair…and lived to tell about it. You must want to see me very badly. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “You know that as well as I. I want the girl. I want Tía,” he said grimly.

  Mateo threw back his head and sent up peals of cynical laughter. Still laughing, shaking his head, he waved Johnny to a chair.

  “We made a trade, Señor Brago. Does this mean you have decided to welsh on it?”

  “It was your trade, not mine. I didn’t agree to anything.”

  “Ah, but you have your life, and I have the girl and the silver. If we reverse that…” He shrugged as if he could not understand how Johnny could even consider it. “Please, I am a most abominable host, am I not? Sit. We will have a drink, some dinner. You must be famished, Señor Brago. You have had a long, hard ride.” He wiped his eyes to dry the tears of laughter. “As for the girl, she belongs to me. But,” he said, smiling with easy grace, “if she wants to go with you, she is free to do so.”

  “And if I believe that, you’ve got this horse you want to sell me. Not more than twenty or thirty years old, right?”

  Mateo laughed. “You are very young, Señor Brago. Have you ever tried to keep a woman prisoner? I’m a very careful, thorough man, and I do not believe it could be done. A man has to sleep sometimes, does he not?” Two bottles sat on the table. He shoved a tumbler and the whiskey bottle toward Johnny. “Perhaps it could be done, but I have better things to do than to worry about unwilling females. As you perhaps noticed, there is no shortage of women in my camp.”

  “I want to see Tía. Where is she?”

  “Next door. We were, as you would say, engaged, when we were rather rudely interrupted. She will repair whatever damage she can, and then I will ask her to join us. Would you like a drink? Some wine if this is not to your liking?”

  Johnny did not believe a word El Gato Negro said. But he would play this out: he had no choice. “Whiskey,” he said.

  “Ahhh! A real gringo. Wine is too slow for real men, isn’t it? I will have wine.” El Gato Negro lifted the cork out of the whiskey bottle and poured for Johnny, then poured wine for himself.

  Johnny took a quick sip and set his glass down. “When can I see her?”

  “Ahhh! The young are so eager. So impatient. Come. We will see her now.”

  On the bureau rested a bowl and water pitcher she hadn’t noticed before. Tía poured water into the bowl and washed her face. That helped a little. A small piece of mirror tacked on the wall at head height beckoned her. Using the towel, she rubbed some of the dust out of her hair and pinched color into her cheeks.

  Footsteps sounded on the adobe walkway between the two rooms. Panic momentarily filled her. It was one thing to talk brave and another to actually be brave.

  “Are you decent, niña?”

  The door opened, and Papa stepped in. From behind him, Johnny’s eyes beseeched her. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. She wouldn’t be able to do it. Then her stepfather’s caustic voice, saying words she could barely comprehend, angered her, gave her strength.

  “I can understand why you want her, Señor Brago. She is lovely. Truly lovely,” he crooned, pulling Tía close to him and caressing her. “Not too skinny so the bones get in the way, but young and firm. I like that. Do you like that, Señor Brago?”

  Tía hated to think what Johnny thought of her now. Papa’s words flowed around her like water around a rock in a stream. Their eddy caused turbulence in Johnny, who had stopped by the door a good ten feet away.

  “You son of a…” As Johnny started forward Mateo drew his revolver and pointed it at his chest.

  “Now, now, do not be harsh. Here. Feel her breasts. Exquisite, aren’t they?”

  “Get your filthy hands off her!”

  Mateo laughed. “Aren’t you being a bit presumptuous, Señor Brago? Or don’t your women get to decide for themselves? Is she protesting? Does she look so unhappy? Or just a little dazed by an unfortunate interruption?” Mateo laughed at the look on Johnny’s face. “You could tear me apart, couldn’t you? Except that would not be w
ise. You would be dead before you got halfway across the room. And for what? Does she look so defiant?”

  “What have you done to her?”

  “Nothing, yet.” He shrugged. “Well, almost nothing. We were interrupted. She will be fine as soon as I can take proper care of her, won’t you, niña?” Papa’s voice was as slick as bear grease. Calculated, no doubt, to make Johnny feel the fool.

  Mateo sheathed the gun. Sighing at the look of fury on the young man’s face, he gave Tía a seductive pat, pulled her close to him, and turned her around so she faced her young man. Then he pressed himself against her backside and stroked her from her belly to her breasts. Johnny Brago’s face flamed brick red.

  “Nice, eh? Nice ass, nice breasts. No wonder you want her, eh, Mr. Brago? Even gringos occasionally have good taste in women, eh?”

  Johnny’s heartbeat fueled a massive rage, but caution held him immobile. Tía’s face gave nothing away. Looking at him through hooded eyes, she just leaned there, letting that bastard fondle her.

  The look on Johnny’s face was deeply satisfying to Mateo. Smiling, he turned the girl into his arms. Her eyes closed, her long lashes fluttered and then lay still on her flushed cheeks. He turned her slightly so Johnny could see the rise and fall of her small breasts as she sighed and leaned against him. Her lips were soft. At his touch they parted, trembling, as she lifted them to his without resistance.

  “Not now, niña. We have company.”

  Mateo turned her back to face Johnny. Unable to help herself, Tía opened her eyes and looked at him. His face looked strained. The corners of his lips were tight and grim. There was no sigh now in the cool, contemplative look he gave her of what she had once thought of as vulnerability. He looked detached. Somehow that made her part easier to play. She summoned an image of Judy being sultry and tried to imitate her. She must have succeeded because Johnny looked struck to the core. Mateo ignored Johnny’s obvious distress and smiled at him as if the two men were co-conspirators.

  “You’ll stay for dinner before you start back, won’t you, Señor Brago?”

  Slowly, amusement erased the anguish in Johnny’s eyes. He lifted one straight black brow and shrugged, managing to remind them in that one slight, sardonic expression that he was still very much a prisoner and of course would do whatever they wanted him to do.

  “Unless you’re in a hurry to be going?” Mateo asked with heavy solicitousness.

  “Well, I do have to be getting back,” Johnny drawled. “Unless you have other plans for me.”

  “Ahhh! You are a very astute young man,” he said admiringly. “There is a time for killing and a time for drinking. I’m all through killing for today. Tomorrow, perhaps, but no more today.” Mateo was enjoying this more than he had expected. Teresa was a better actress, too. He pushed her forward. “If she wants to go with you, take her. You have my blessing.”

  Johnny held out his hand to Tía. “Let’s go.”

  Everything within her urged her to take Johnny’s outstretched hand. Her heart thundered, but she remembered in time and affected a sulky, pouty look, which she flashed at her stepfather. “I’m not ready to leave yet. I just got here.”

  Johnny looked from Tía to El Gato Negro. Even when he heard it from her own lips, he did not believe it.

  Mateo threw back his head and laughed. “What’s the matter, Señor Brago? Are you surprised? Is this your first experience with women? Haven’t you learned what fickle little things they are?” He shoved Tía toward Johnny, smiling benignly. “Go with him if you want, niña. I have lots of women.”

  Whirling on her stepfather, Tía stamped her foot and put her hands on her hips. “No!” she said softly. “I must stay with you. Please don’t send me away again.”

  Mateo shrugged, contempt sparkling in his black eyes. “What can I do, Señor Brago? She is crazy about me.”

  Feeling the fool, Johnny stepped forward. “Tía?”

  At last Tía turned and looked at him. “Go away, Johnny.”

  Tía’s blue eyes filled with despair—the sort of look a mother might give to a child who had pestered her too long. Johnny realized she didn’t really want to hurt him, but this was where she wanted to be. He had misunderstood again. He should have let her go.

  Tía turned away from him, and her hand reached out and touched El Gato Negro’s vest. It fluttered there a moment and then slid up to caress El Gato’s jawline. The bastard leaned down and kissed her possessively. Tía pressed against him. El Gato looked at Johnny, triumph sparkling in his black eyes. Feeling sick inside, Johnny turned away. He wanted to tear Tía from El Gato’s embrace, but he did nothing…

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Mateo released her and turned her in his arms so she faced Johnny. His eyes searched hers, as if trying to see into her soul. It was almost a relief when Mateo pulled her back against him. He turned her so she faced him instead of Johnny and stroked her arm.

  “You will forgive us, Señor Brago, if we seem eager to be alone, but you do have a prior commitment. You see, I have arranged for my men to, shall we say, watch over you. Your horse has been placed at the north end of the canyon. You will walk to your horse. A simple thing, no? Unfortunately, several of my men have a grudge against you for shooting their friends, and it would be foolish of me to let you go so you can lead the soldiers back here, would it not? We would have to find another hideaway. That is not an easy thing to do. There are so many of us.”

  Spreading his hands and smiling apologetically, Mateo paused to give Johnny the opportunity to make a fool of himself, as all hostages were quick to do. But Johnny remained stoic, his expression unreadable.

  Conceding that point to Johnny, Mateo continued. “But I am a magnanimous man. If you do not hear a signal shot, you will know I have decided to move my camp and give you your life.”

  “Gracias,” Johnny said dryly.

  “It’s a five-minute walk, Señor Brago. Five minutes in which to contemplate your life and, if you are so inclined, to make peace with your God. You do have a God, do you not?”

  Nothing in the world could keep Tía from turning to look at Johnny. He quirked his eyebrows at her, stuck his hands in his pockets, and sauntered to the window.

  Leaning forward, he looked out in both directions. Men with rifles lounged on either side of the path he would no doubt be walking. Who else but El Gato Negro, with his legendary cruelty, could have thought up such an effective way to torture a man without ever touching him?

  Johnny turned back to face Tía. She wanted to look away but could not. Grudging admiration sparkled in his dark eyes, and a bitter smile twisted his lips. He walked across the small room and took her hand in his. Then, with a challenging half smile to El Gato Negro, he raised Tía’s hand to his lips. At the last second he turned it slowly and pressed a kiss into her palm.

  “Good-bye, Tía.” For one fleeting second real emotion broke through his careful facade; his narrowed eyes darkened with pain. If not for Mateo’s powerful hands on her shoulders, holding her securely and possessively, she would have collapsed.

  “Adios, señor.” Papa’s rich voice vibrated with enjoyment.

  Johnny nodded. He sauntered to the door and closed it quietly behind him. His husky Good-bye, Tía aching inside her, Tía watched him walk past the window and down the steps. Furious, she turned on Mateo.

  “You promised to spare him!”

  “Is he dead?” he taunted.

  “Not yet, but those men…”

  “If I am too busy to give the agreed-upon signal, they will do nothing.” His mouth adjusted itself into a meaningful line.

  The blood drained from her face. “Now?”

  “First we watch your lover walk to his horse.”

  “But you said—”

  “I lied. There are men waiting along the first two miles of the path he must ride to leave this canyon. They will not shoot him until he is on his horse. And not then…unless I give the signal.” He laughed. “I wanted you to watch him, niña. With
five minutes to ponder when I will give the signal, a man’s true character has a chance to surface. Will he crawl and whimper, or will he accept the inevitable with dignity? Or perhaps you will fail to keep your part of the bargain, and he will die anyway. Or, if he crawls, perhaps that will make his death more acceptable to you.”

  “Johnny’s no coward!”

  “We will see, won’t we?” Smiling, he tilted her head up so he could watch her expression; he stroked her cheek. “Or perhaps you are the coward, niña? Maybe we will learn something about both of you…”

  Holding her firmly by the shoulders, he turned her so she could see out the tiny window. He moved close behind her so the length of his body touched hers. Testing her resolve, his hands glided from her shoulders to her breasts. His warm fingers made small squeezing motions around the nipples. It pleased Mateo that his plan for retribution absolved him from any attachment he had to Teresa as his daughter. His body responded to her as it had to Rita or to any attractive woman.

  Fighting the despair that closed like a mantle around her senses, Tía shut her eyes. Papa’s hands on her breasts fairly burned her. She felt such intense shame that she could not think. Papa’s hands made her ashamed of her body, disgusted by it. She didn’t ever want to be touched again, not by anyone. Papa seemed indifferent to her shudder of revulsion and confusion.

  She could not imagine how she could live with herself after letting him defile her. Or how he could live with himself…

  At the foot of the stairs, Johnny paused. Tía’s attention riveted instantly on him in spite of Papa. She imagined herself calling out to him, telling him he was safe, that it was all a trick, but she said nothing. Suddenly the room seemed hot—dizzyingly hot. Her nerves fairly screamed to fight back, but she did nothing.

  Johnny stepped out of the quad and into the narrow street. He looked so determined, so thoroughly absorbed in playing his part. Tía imagined this was the way all men went to war. Blindly? Resolutely? Heedless of the women they left behind? Heedless of death?

  “Once, a long time ago, I made another man walk that path to his death.” Papa’s words were quietly spoken, but strange and harsh.