by Brenda Joyce
She moved out into the hallway, lost in thought about her strange discovery, then into the living room. She stopped, surprised to see Carmen lolling on the couch, thumbing through the Sears catalogs. Carmen glanced at her, then ignored her, and reached into the tin for a cookie.
For a cookie.
She was eating Roberto's cookies.
Lucy froze, staring at the tin, staring at the cookies. She strode forward. "I gave those to Roberto!" Carmen looked up. "So?" "You took them from him!" "So? Make him more."
Lucy didn't hear. For the first time in her life, she understood the expression "to see red." She did see red, and she pulled the tin away from Carmen.
Carmen gasped, leaping to her feet.
"These are for your son," Lucy cried before she could speak.
Carmen grabbed the tin, but Lucy would not relinquish it. "Give it to me! You can make him more!" She yanked the tin out of Lucy's grasp, and most of the cookies flew onto the floor, breaking.
Lucy could not make him more, because they did not have any more white flour. She saw the cookies on the floor and something inside her snapped. With an outraged cry, she smacked Carmen as hard as she could across the face.
It felt good.
Carmen hit her back, just as hard. Lucy was only stunned for a moment. With another cry, something like the war cry reminiscent of her Apache forebears, she flew at Carmen, knocking her backward and onto the couch. She grabbed her hair and pulled hard. Carmen howled.
Lucy was on top and knew immense satisfaction—until she saw Carmen's long, painted nails flying for her face. She felt the stinging and knew she'd been scratched, and she released her hold to jerk back. Carmen took advantage cruelly, grabbing Lucy's breast and twisting it painfully.
Lucy cried out and tried to break away from the other woman. She fell on the floor, Carmen on top of her, still wrenching her breast. Lucy went motionless, tears of pain coming to her eyes. Carmen, recognizing victory, gave a satisfied snort and rolled off. Lucy lay panting, her breast throbbing, her cheek stinging. Oh God, she thought! What had happened? How had she wound up fighting physically with Carmen?
"Don't you ever try that again," Carmen said, panting. "You're lucky I didn't take a knife to you!"
Lucy sat up. Her hair had come loose and she tossed her head. She would not show Carmen that she had been hurt— or shaken by their fight. Oh no, never!
Carmen stood, brushing off her skirts. The look she threw Lucy was dark, but it lacked its normal smug character. Lucy got to her feet slowly after Carmen had left, gingerly rubbing her breast. She undoubtedly had a hell of a bruise. It had been worth it—just to wipe that smug expression off Carmen's face.
A standoff had been reached. During the next few days, Lucy did her duties. Although she did not provoke Carmen, and in fact was careful not to, she did not let the other woman push her around or bully her. Carmen sensed the change, and retreated to her own sphere, eating the meals Lucy cooked and served with Linda. Lucy did not swim again with Roberto, and there was no more white flour, but she spent an afternoon churning fresh ice cream for him— with immense satisfaction. And every night she told him a story about one of her brothers' various hell-raising escapades, sitting on the side of his bed while he was tucked in. Carmen knew, feigned superior indifference, and went her own way. Lucy was sure her trysts with Pedro continued, now at the midnight hour.
Two weeks had passed since Shoz had left. With every new day that came without his return, she grew perturbed and angry with herself for counting so faithfully the days that had passed. She was no longer really angry with him for leaving in the first place. Instead, there was worry. What if something had befallen him? Linda would not say where he had gone, if she knew, and Lucy was not so stupid as to ask Carmen. What if the law had found him? What if he had already been jailed—even hung? She had to fight such desperate thoughts. Shoz was not in jail, he was not dead! But oh, it was so very clear—she was deathly afraid now for his safety, and every passing day increased her anxiety.
It was unbearably hot, just before siesta time. Lucy had stood in front of the oven for the past hour, and she was flushed and wet with sweat. Her thin blouse and skirt were sticking wetly to her skin, and her hair was falling down around her face. Only Linda was in the house with her, working by her side. Lucy heard the horses and knew he had returned.
Her heart leaped into her throat. Her spirits soared high, excitement pervaded her. She fumbled to wipe her hands quickly on a rag, trembling. She heard the door slamming, she heard his booted footsteps. She flew to the kitchen doorway, and there she froze.
He stood in the middle of the living room, filling it with his immensely magnetic, sexual presence. As usual, he wore tight, faded Levis and a worn, soft cotton shirt. His clothing was damp and clung to every lean muscle he possessed. He packed a low-slung gun on his right thigh, and his Stetson was pushed back far enough that she could see his eyes. He stood without moving and he stared at her.
His eyes were silver, and a flame leaped in them the instant he saw her. Lucy couldn't move or even breathe, trapped by his gaze. For a long moment they just looked at each other, gray eyes pinning blue. Shoz had returned, and now there was no escaping what she had known for so very long. There was no escaping the awful truth. Somehow she had fallen in love with the son of a bitch.
Chapter 30
Shoz stared back at her, unable to move. The seconds ticked into minutes. Still, neither one of them moved.
It had been a long two weeks, the longest of his life. Because shortly after he left Death Valley—and Lucy—he had to face a terrible truth, which had stayed with him from that moment on. His lust for Lucy had turned into something! much stronger, it had turned into an obsession.
She had been on his mind night and day, invading his thoughts at the most inappropriate times. The bitterness of! their last argument had faded, crushed beneath the heavier: weight of his obsession. So what if she considered him beneath her? Here they were on his territory, here they were equals. Tossing restlessly at night, hot and hungry for her, his pride seemed meaningless. There were other times when it was the most important thing in the world—because it was all he had left of the man he'd once been. But not anymore.
He didn't like being obsessed. He didn't like it at all. He could write it off to unrequited lust, but secretly, fearfully, he remembered the last night he'd been in the valley, a night hotter and quieter and more unreal than most, when one: could shed one's inhibitions like a snake its skin. And somewhere deep inside himself there existed the young man who had gone East to go to the university, full of hope and eagerness and ambition. That young man had believed in love, and he would have looked at a woman like Lucy with more in mind than just a tumble in the grass. Unable to escape his deepest inner voice, his most potent needs, Shoz was angry.
A part of him had counted the days before returning to the valley. Another part of him had dreaded going back to that hellhole—and all it stood for. But the part of him that foolishly still held on to a piece of the young man, and the part of him that was randier than a stud bull, that part of him couldn't forget that Lucy was there. He had to remind himself that she was not exactly waiting for him. He had to remind himself that he had abducted her and he had brought her there against her will. She was his hostage, not his woman. She would never be his woman. The most he could aspire to was a few hot interludes of lusty lovemaking.
And what about Carmen? That conflict had wracked his mind repeatedly, too. He had made no decision as far as Carmen was concerned, he only knew that he wasn't ready to send her away and face the valley alone. Soon, very soon, he would give Lucy her freedom. Carmen would be the one waiting for him when he returned to Death Valley; Lucy would be in the Bragg mansion in New York City, dressed in the finest clothes and the most expensive jewels, being courted by boys of her class and background.
He had to free her soon. Urgency had been factored into the equation, in the form of her powerful family.
It had been a shocking discovery to find out that the Braggs had a private army of some one hundred men, half of them Pinkerton agents, based at Casitas. Having espied their presence before riding into the town, Shoz had arranged a secret meeting with Fernando and gotten all the pertinent details. He had never been pursued like this before in his life. He was uneasy. Very uneasy. He was sure they could not find Death Valley, but he'd never faced such a formidable foe before, and he would be a fool not to harbor doubts. It had been simple enough to backtrack with his men into the mountains and cross the Rio at a safe distance from Casitas, retrieve the rifles, and return to Mexico. But he hadn't taken an easy breath until they were swallowed up by the Sierras again.
It was crucial to get the Braggs and their army off his back. The need to free Lucy and free her soon was overwhelming. He had become obsessed with her, but until he freed her, he would have to maintain the status quo. She would return to her family safe and untouched, not crying rape or anything else. He didn't need to increase their wrath or their desire to capture him.
But logical reasoning didn't change everything. It didn't change his unholy obsession. Seeing her again for the first time was like being struck by lightning and living through it. It seemed like a small eternity passed before he could take his eyes from hers.
When he did, it was to drink his fill of her, really look at her. It quickly became a form of torture. Her thin blouse clung damply to her, revealing every curve she had; even the skirt clung and outlined her long, graceful legs, and where they veed between her thighs. His gaze lingered too long where it shouldn't, with an ambition of its own. It had been a long two weeks, long and hot and celibate, and his body was responding to the sight of Lucy with fierce intent.
"Shoz," she said weakly.
His heart seemed to be thundering strangely and he almost stepped to her to take her in his arms, heedless of two weeks of rationalizing.
"Papa!"
Shoz smiled, whirling, to capture Roberto as he catapulted into his arms. Hugging Roberto, he had a chance to gain some control. He held the little boy hard. How he'd missed him. Carmen ran breathlessly into the house.
"Shoz, caro! Caro mio!" She grabbed his arm, beaming.
Shoz didn't have to look to see that Lucy had gone. He hugged Roberto harder. How was he going to handle this hellish situation?
He put the boy down and found Carmen in his arms, clinging. She was soft and female, and his body was still hot and aroused. This was something that could not go unnoticed by Carmen, and it did not. "Querido," she purred, shifting herself to press fully against him. "You have missed me." Her palms slid to his buttocks.
His head still swam with images of Lucy.
Shoz pushed Carmen away, and she pouted. He reached for Roberto, taking his hand. "Come outside," he said, smiling. "I have something for you."
Roberto glowed. "Another present?"
Shoz grinned, nodding. He had been a fool to ride into Eagle Pass to buy the boy a gift, but he'd wanted to give him more than another whittled animal. He could have been caught and hung. Yet he had done it without thinking twice. He led Roberto outside, and produced a bulky, wrapped gift from his saddlebags. Roberto seized it eagerly, ripped off the paper, and produced a pair of beautiful green and black lizard cowboy boots. "Oh, Papa!"
"I think it's about time you had those, don't you?" he said softly.
Roberto shed his moccasins, stumbling in his haste. Laughing, Shoz helped him put on the shiny handmade boots.
Lucy watched from the window, her heart in her throat, tears in her eyes. The scene was so touching and she found that she wanted to share it with father and son. Which, of course, was impossible. Carmen belonged with Shoz and Roberto, not her. The lump she was choking on increased. How could she have let herself fall in love with him?
For just a second, Lucy had thought he was going to embrace her. But he hadn't. His look had been blazing in its intensity, scorching her with promise. As if he had been as excited to see her as she was to see him. Or had it merely been a damn leer? She wiped her eyes. She had probably been seeing what she had wanted to see. How could she be so foolish to have fallen in love with such a man? With a married man?
She watched him help Roberto pull on the beautiful new boots. Lucy bit her lip until it bled. He wasn't so rotten. He was kind and gentle with his son. But he would never be kind and gentle with her; she was certain of it. To hope so was idiotic. Why did she keep forgetting about Carmen?
Carmen had come outside, and Lucy almost laughed bitterly. Carmen stood behind Shoz, and she was mad as a hornet, gloweringly jealous of her own son. Oh, why couldn't Shoz look at her, and see what a bitch she was? She didn't look beautiful now.
But that, of course, wouldn't change anything. Marriage was forever.
"Por Dios," Linda muttered.
Lucy whirled. She had forgotten that Linda was there, and she was horrified to be caught with her emotions so openly displayed. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands.
"Crying gets you nothing, niña," Linda said kindly.
"Of course." Lucy had to glance back outside at the scene in front of the house; to her dismay, Shoz had handed Carmen a gift as well, what looked like a vivid striped shawl. She was screeching in happiness and throwing her arms around him. Lucy turned away.
"How much do you want him, ninal"
Lucy blanched. "I don't want him. I despise him, I do. Besides, he's married to Carmen."
Linda stared at her, then chuckled.
"What's so funny!"
"Carmen is not el padrone's wife, nina." "What?"
"Carmen only lives here. She is not his wife."
As Shoz walked back into the house, his glance strayed to the open kitchen doorway. He hesitated, his strides slowing, as he saw Lucy. His pulse seemed to deafen him. She froze, staring unblinkingly back. Shoz realized he had halted in midstride. The tension coursing between them was so hot, it was like a live electric wire. Shoz thought that she looked as if she had been crying. The tip of her nose was pink.
Carmen broke the moment, running in, her shawl knotted around her waist over her longer skirts. She ordered Linda to heat water for his bath. Shoz moved on, into his bedroom, his blood thick in his veins. He stared out the window without seeing anything.
Ten days from now, he had to be in Matamoros. He had rescheduled the sale of the guns. He decided in that moment that after the sale, he would free Lucy.
He would return to the valley and take her immediately to Nuevo Laredo. There. It was settled.
He thought about her standing hot and flushed in the kitchen—in his kitchen. He thought about the Braggs with their powerful army camped at Casitas. He would not go back to prison. Not ever. If it came down to that, he would try to escape, no matter how foolhardy, even risking a certain death in the attempt. Death was preferable to prison. Never would he serve time again.
He blocked out the painful, vicious memories.
Carmen entered, her look sultry and inviting. She pulled a big tub out from behind a screen. "Soon you will have your bath, querido."
He wished she would go away.
"Darling," Carmen murmured, sitting beside him, her hand slipping into his open shirt and across his flat, taut belly.
"Not now." He removed her hand. "I don't understand you, caro."
"There's nothing to understand. I'm hot and tired and hungry. It's been a damn difficult trip. There's an army of Pinkertons after me, Carmen. I've got a helluvalot on my mind."
Carmen started. "An army? But why?" Comprehension flashed in her eyes. "Because of her?" Shoz turned away. "Who is she!"
"A rancher's daughter."
Carmen squinted at his back, her own thoughts racing shrewdly. "They won't find us here, will they?" "I don't think so."
She grabbed his arm. "If she is so important, she is dangerous! You must get rid of her!"
"I intend to."
"Soon!"
He gave her a look.
"I'll get your bath.
We'll eat early." Carmen walked out.
She was placing flatware on the dining room table when he came in. She froze in the act, not lifting her head, although every sense she possessed was intently attuned to him. She knew he had stopped in the hallway, and she could feel him watching her. Her heart was thudding heavily.
Carmen wasn't his wife. Carmen was only his whore.
Lucy wet her lips nervously and straightened. Her glance met his. For a long moment they just stared at each other. It became unbearably, thickly hot in the room.
Roberto came running through the front door in his new boots. "Papa!" He screeched to a halt and did a little dance, showing off his boots.
Lucy turned away as Shoz complimented his son on his fancy footwear. His son. Roberto wasn't his son—Shoz wasn't his father.
It was unbelievable, and she was still reeling from the shock—and the joy. Linda had told her that he had been with Carmen for most of five years, and Roberto had been almost one when he had met her. He wasn't his father, and it made their relationship even more touching. He wasn't a rotten bastard at all. Or at least, he had a kind, compassionate, and loving streak within him.
Lucy prepared the platters of food for the table with Linda, listening to Roberto chattering with more animation than he'd shown in all of the past two weeks. She listened to Shoz. To his voice, gentle and warm and teasing. Rough and baritone and sexy. He might want the world to think he was a complete bastard, but he wasn't. He was proving it more with every moment. Oh, he had his moments, granted, and he had his record, but... but he wasn't as bad as he would have her think. Not by any means.
She was still too shaken and unsettled to have thought any further. She heard their chairs scraping back as they sat. Carmen hadn't appeared yet, but the food was hot and Lucy didn't care. She entered carrying two platters of tortillas and rice and found herself staring at Shoz. She just couldn't keep her eyes away from him. His gaze darkened visibly in response.