The shock of her words held him speechless. Never once had they thought or spoken of love. Their relationship had been based on his relentless hatred for her race and her stubborn unwillingness to submit.
Around them, the battle raged. Men fought and died, horses screamed and fell, but Mateo barely noticed. Shaking his head, ignoring everything except the fact of her surrender, Mateo lifted her chin and kissed her. For a long time he held her trembling body close. At last, remembering where they were, he turned, positioned her on the saddle in front of him, and lifted his fist into the air.
“Now we ride!” He had held his men in the trap too long. Putting spurs to his horse, he gave an exultant yell as it leaped forward.
On the wall, Johnny looked from El Gato Negro and the woman to Tía. She had called the woman “Mama.” Tía’s face was radiant.
Turning back to the battle at hand, Johnny shouted, “Cover them! Shoot, dammit!”
“Who the hell we s’posed to shoot, at, the Injuns or them damned chili peppers?” Dap called.
“Can’t you count?” Johnny yelled, firing. A bullet slammed into a wide, painted chest. An Indian jerked backward and fell off his pony.
“Playin’ the numbers, huh?” Robert asked, popping off a shot at a tomahawk-wielding brave.
“When we run outa Injuns do we swap sides?” Willie B. joked, firing three times in quick succession.
“Don’t run outa Injuns. Been here nigh onto ten years, and we ain’t never run out yet,” Dap drawled, reloading.
Sighting his rifle on one of a dozen warriors blocking El Gato Negro’s path, Johnny squeezed the trigger. One of the braves tumbled backward. El Gato’s broad back curved protectively around the female in front of him. He jumped the big black steed over the fallen brave. Bending low in the saddle, he broke through the ring of Mexican bandits and into a nest of Indians.
Next to Tía, Slim Whitman caught a bullet with his shoulder and almost fell off the platform. He set his rifle down next to Tía and jerked his bandana from around his neck. Tía picked up the .30–.30 and located Mama and Papa—she’d probably always call him Papa. Behind them an Indian on a speckled mustang raised a tomahawk to send it flying after them, and Tía lifted the rifle to steady it on the adobe wall.
Andrea saw Tía and the direction she aimed the rifle and wanted to close her eyes. Tía would kill Papa, maybe Mama, too. They deserved it, but Andrea did not want to see it. Part of her wanted to cry out to Tía to spare them, but she had lost that right when she let Tía go with Papa.
Tía fired and recoiled from the kick of the rifle. The tomahawk-wielding brave fell off his pony.
El Gato and his female charge broke through the line of Indians and into a nest of bandidos. With Papa in the center, the Mexicans whipped their horses toward the hills. Indians abandoned their attack on the compound. Yipping wildly, they goaded their ponies into pursuit of the fleeing bandits.
Straightening, Johnny darted a look at Tía. She’d never been more beautiful. Her blue eyes shone with a strange triumphant light. Her teeth clamped into her soft bottom lip so hard Johnny wanted to stop her, to save that sweet lip from being damaged, but he was unable to move. A dozen questions formed in his mind. He promised himself he would get to the bottom of this later, but now he scanned the melee below to decide where to put his next bullet.
To the east, beneath the sun hanging above the mountains, an army of what looked like El Gato Negro’s men spilled out of the pass and spread out to engage the Indians and assist El Gato’s beleaguered forces. Reinforcements poured into the melee in an endless stream, hundreds of them. They swarmed like ants and overwhelmed the Indians by sheer force of numbers.
“Can you see? Are they all right?” Andrea demanded, shaking so hard she could barely maintain her footing on the narrow ledge. She had thought Tía would kill Papa. Unexpected relief that she hadn’t left Andrea weak.
Taking the binoculars from the man next to him, Steve scanned the wild tangle of horses and men until he saw them. El Gato Negro had withdrawn from the battle in deference to his female charge. He watched from a distance.
“They’re all right. Looks like El Gato Negro’s private army is in the process of breaking the back of the Apache nation. I expect Chatto will lead what is left of his warriors back to the reservation, if there is anything left. Those Mexicans are damned efficient.”
Andrea flashed him an angry look.
“Sorry,” Steve muttered, realizing he had spoken with less than respect.
“Don’t apologize to me. I know Mexicans are not really gods. But if you’re afraid you aren’t good enough for me…” Smiling, Andrea let the mischief sparkle in her dark eyes.
Steve leaned forward and kissed her.
“You…don’t look like you’re dying,” she said accusingly. “Last night you were, and today you’re yelling all over the compound. You tricked me.”
“Would you rather fight with me or forgive me for not dying?”
“Just like that?” she asked, her expression incredulous.
Steve nodded, his face serious. “Just like I forgave you for tricking me,” he said softly. “Be as grateful that I’m alive as I am that you aren’t my sister.”
What Steve had done, letting her think he was dying, seemed much worse than what she’d done, but she stopped resisting and let him pull her into his arms. “You are a very good actor,” she whispered against his shoulder.
“Potter said the two bullets did amazingly little damage. One just broke the skin on my shoulder blade, and the other—probably from a twenty-two—entered at midchest and exited near my spine. It looked and felt much worse than it was. If it had been placed differently, I’d have been paralyzed for life. As it was, Potter said I’ll probably make a complete recovery.”
“You’re sturdy, for a gringo.”
“Or you’re a very good nurse.” As Steve held her close, all desire to tease her left him. “I’m hurt bad enough to keep me down for a good long while, but I don’t feel like dying. I’ve got more important business to tend to. Will you marry me, Andrea whoever you are?”
“Yes,” she whispered, going on tiptoe to kiss him. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Happy for Andrea and Steve, yet strangely unwilling to watch their happiness, Tía turned away. She walked past Johnny, brushing so close her body touched his, and started down the ladder. The sound of Johnny’s voice stopped her in her tracks.
“You always place them lead plums right where you want ’em?” he asked, his voice low, obviously meant for her ears alone.
“Men were falling like wormy apples in a high wind. I reckon someone had to do something.”
“You just do the least you can get away with, huh?”
“Seems to me I been doing more than my share as far back as an old Injun can remember.”
Tía didn’t wait for his retort. She scampered down the ladder. Andrea disengaged herself from Steve and followed.
“Tía, are you all right?”
“Yes.” Tía did not slow her pace. There’d been a time when Johnny would have reached out and stopped her if she got that close to him. This time he had just looked at her, his dark eyes as unreadable as swamp water.
“Wait!” Andrea ran to catch up. “Did you understand what Mama did back there?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind explaining it to me?”
“Not here,” Tía said. She glanced at Johnny, who had stopped to watch her. “Let’s go inside.”
In her room, Tía fell across her bed and groaned in pleasure. A feather bed after so many nights on the ground was sheer heaven. Andrea lay down beside her, and Tía told her sister the whole story, just the way Rita had told it to her.
“I didn’t know,” Andrea murmured when she’d finished. “I can’t believe that he…actually took her off a wagon train and…” Her voice trailed off. “Did he?…” Andrea flushed. “With you…did he…hurt you in any way?” she ended lamely.
“No,” Tía said firmly.
She told Andrea what had happened at the pueblos between her and Papa and Johnny.
Angry and upset, Andrea cried and Tía comforted her. It was the first time Tía had ever seen Andrea cry. Somehow watching Andrea’s tears flow loosened something in Tía, something that had been tight and constricted ever since Papa took her away from Johnny—she’d thought it was supposed to be that way. Whatever it was let go, and Tía could breath easier. Finally, Andrea wiped her eyes and pushed herself up on her elbows.
“I let you go with Papa. I could have stopped him,” Andrea whispered.
Tía shook her head. “That’s a dream. Papa wouldn’t move camp for a prairie fire. If you’ve been flailing yourself over that, you can forget it.”
Relief and a new flood of tears caused Andrea to double over. The storm passed and she lay weak and shaking in Tía’s arms. At last her voice returned. “Tía, are you all right?”
“I’m looking for a dog to kick. Other than that I guess I’m right as rain.”
“I thought you were going to shoot Papa,” Andrea said, sniffing. “I’m such a coward. I’d have let you.”
“If I’d wanted to shoot him, you Couldn’t have stopped me.” They sat in silence for a moment. Off in the distance, the sound of gunfire was barely audible.
“I never know whether I want to kill Papa or not,” Andrea said, wiping at her eyes.
“Sometimes he acts so low if he was a rattlesnake he’d still be ashamed to look his Mama in the eye, but he’s not as bad as he could be. I don’t pretend to understand him, but the part of me that loved him when we thought I was his daughter didn’t die. He could have taken me. He could have made me his mistress, but he didn’t. He’s the only father I’ll ever have. He loved me enough to spare me, and I’m grateful.”
“What are you going to tell Johnny?”
“Johnny knows all he needs to know about me.”
“You have to talk to him…else he’ll ride away.”
“I’ll saddle his horse for him, if he needs help.”
“He already knows almost everything. You screamed ‘Mama!’ when the Indians attacked. He knows.”
In theory Andrea was probably right. Tía couldn’t think what else she could have done under the circumstances, but every time she thought of Papa, or of Johnny seeing how Papa had treated her, she felt shamed to the core.
At the closed look on Tía’s face, confusion swamped Andrea. “Johnny loves you. He doesn’t care about…”
“I care!”
“Tía, that’s craziness. You love Johnny. You couldn’t have done what you did for him otherwise.”
“You’re about as dependable as a rattlesnake for a coat hanger. Last time we talked you hated him.”
Andrea wasn’t sure she knew why she had changed sides. Hearing their story and realizing Mama had loved Papa, even after all he had put her through…
“I was wrong, Tía. I thought Mama hated Papa. Sometimes I hated Papa. But I knew you always loved him.”
“So?”
Andrea grimaced. “So, if I was wrong about Mama and Papa, I’m probably wrong about Johnny.”
“Then you fall in love with him. I don’t want to see him anymore. Too much smoke up that chimney already.”
Chapter Fifty-One
On the plain, the Indians pulled back and allowed the bandits to make their escape. Turning in unison, Johnny and Steve watched Tía and Andrea leave. Steve recovered first and smiled at Johnny.
“So nothing much happened after all. Chatto is pulling out of the fight. El Gato Negro and his men will escape back to wherever they came from.” He sighed. “Maybe now we can get back to ranching.”
“I reckon you can,” Johnny said slowly. “I’ll be moving on.”
Steve sighed. “Think we could talk about it?”
Engrossed in watching the two females disappearing into the casa grande, Johnny shrugged. “Nothing to talk about. I think I’ll mosey up to Wyoming. See what’s stirring up there.” Tía was back, but she didn’t seem interested in him. She had walked away without even a look at him.
“The fight’s over for us. Come up to the house, and I’ll buy you a drink.”
“I could use a drink. I’d have to be primed to spit.”
Dap and Willie B. carried Steve to the casa grande. In the parlor, they lifted him off the stretcher and into the Morris chair beside the fireplace, then drifted outside. Steve directed Carmen to pour generous shots. Johnny tossed down his drink and then stretched out on the long sofa. It had been a long time since he’d had a good night’s sleep. He was feeling the lack of it.
“You took a hell of a chance opening those gates for that bastard.”
Johnny shrugged. “Seemed to me, we’d a took a bigger chance not opening ’em.”
Anger still burned in Steve that Johnny had overruled him, but it was water under the bridge now. He let it drop.
“You don’t need to leave, unless you want to. Rutledge dropped the charges against you.”
Frowning, his dark eyes demanding an explanation, Johnny coiled forward into a sitting position.
“Grant Foreman confessed to shooting Morgan. He saw Morgan drag Judy into the barn. He thought Morgan had killed her.”
“Where’s Grant now?”
“Fort Bowie. We found out yesterday when the Doc came.”
“Is there anything we can do for him?”
“I’ll look into it.”
“He deserves a damned medal,” Johnny said grimly. “But that bastard Rutledge will probably turn him over to Behan and the circuit judge who, depending on the mood he’s in, might just hang him. Too bad Todd didn’t croak. He must have a constitution like a Texas longhorn. How’s Judy?”
“According to Potter, she’s fine. Rutledge is bringing her home today. She wanted to come last night, but for some reason he wouldn’t let her. Something about her not being strong enough yet.” Steve shrugged. “Judy went along with him on that. Surprised hell out of Potter; I could tell.”
Absorbed in their own thoughts, both men were silent for a time. The ticking of the clock on the mantel was the only sound in the room.
“I hope you’ll reconsider and stay. I need you to run the ranch,” Steve said finally.
“Looks like you and Andrea have consolidated your partnership.”
Steve grinned. “Andrea has agreed to marry me.”
“Congratulations.”
Andrea kissed Tía’s forehead, walked quietly across the room, and let herself out.
Tía slipped into a light sleep and dreamed vague, formless dreams that seemed more like shadows or dark silhouettes against a light gray sky. No one had faces or names. They moved in and out of her dream like ships sailing on a glassy ocean. They could have been all the same—one person or one ship used over and over again—or they could have been all different, passing through never to be seen again…
Slowly, Tía woke up with her limbs like lead weights, her breathing shallow and labored. She struggled into a sitting position. Panting from the heat, she took a few sips from the glass of water someone had placed beside her bed.
The water tasted stale. Hoping for a cooling breeze, she walked to the window, but the air outside was also still. Nothing moved. The orchard trees resembled statues or paintings.
Then, as if the painting had suddenly come to life, two figures appeared, stepping slowly into the wrought-iron laced frame of her window: Judy Burkhart and Johnny Brago.
Judy wore a stylish yellow gown with a wide-brimmed straw hat, trailing a wide yellow ribbon from the brim. Johnny had changed into a light-colored shirt and tan trousers. They made a beautiful couple—Judy so slender and lovely and Johnny so lithe and dark and handsome. They stopped under one of the plum trees. Hands in his back pockets, leaning against the trunk of the tree, Johnny watched Judy as she talked. Once she reached out to him, touched his shirt, and he pulled her close and held her. Arm in arm, they turned and walked into the orchard toward the playhouse.
Tía turned away.
So…they had made up their differences. That was good—probably inevitable from the start. She was too exhausted today, but tomorrow she would pack and leave. Andrea would marry Steve. Judy had Johnny. Even Mama and Papa had found love, or had discovered they’d had it all along.
She would have a good future as well. Money would be no problem for her. Steve would buy her share of the ranch. She was lucky, actually. She would be free to travel. Maybe go to a good school and learn how to be a real lady, someone a man could really love…not something for a man to lay with when his true love was angry with him.
Tía shook her head at the self-pitying turn her thoughts had taken. Johnny Brago was not the only man in the world. With money and freedom, she would find her own happiness.
She tried to put him out of her thoughts, but she kept seeing him in her mind. Eyes opened or closed—it didn’t matter. The languid violence lurking behind that cocky, reckless slant of eyes and lips. Eyes that could change so quickly from warm and laughing to cool and challenging. Johnny Brago was a mystery to her, nothing more. She did not love him. She had only been tricked by him, seduced by his smiling eyes and his cocky grin.
A knock sounded on her door.
“It’s dinnertime, Tía,” Andrea called. “Please come eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Tía lay down on the bed. She felt tired, strangely listless. She closed her eyes for a moment and must have slept again. A sound wakened her.
The door opened and footsteps crossed her floor. “Tía?” whispered a voice.
“Tía?” the voice said again, louder this time. “It’s me, Judy. I need to talk to you.”
Tía roused herself with an effort. Disoriented at first, she could not tell, but it seemed she had slept too long. It felt like morning. Judy still wore the lovely yellow gown. Close up, Tía noticed it was a gingham print she remembered from washday. She had ironed that gown while Judy had lounged on the floor and talked.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Tía said after a moment, meaning it.
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