Diablo's Angel (Ranchero Trilogy Book 3)

by Donna Fletcher

  She shook her head as she gasped for breath.

  “You’ll be quiet now?”

  She nodded and gagged as she struggled for a breath, his hand falling away from her throat. Tears threatened to fall and she turned her head away from him. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. Unfortunately, it had become a habit of hers to cry when she felt completely helpless. She blamed it on all what had happened to her when she was young, alone, and having no one to protect her, to keep her safe.

  Lucia had told her that someday she would find a good man to protect her as Ricardo protected her. Ricardo had a different thought on the matter. He had told her she had to learn to protect herself and he had taught her ways to defend herself. This situation proved challenging since Ricardo had never taught her how to fight against the devil.

  She took more deep breaths, swallowing back tears. There had been one thing Ricardo had taught her that she could do and that was not to surrender to fear. Not let it overcome her. Not to give up. She told herself her family would come for her and that she had to survive the best she could until they did.

  Diablo had delivered unspeakable punishments to those more than deserving of it. Many knew all too well what he was capable of and it was the reason he was obeyed without question. Crista was not familiar with his infamous reputation, but she would learn. She had no choice if she wanted to survive. What disturbed him, though, was that there was something about the dark-haired beauty that appealed to him. She had the loveliest features, soft, yet striking, and her dark eyes almost matched his own in color, though they were far more expressive, making it easy for him to almost see her thoughts. Her skin was a creamy color and her hair as dark as a starless night, its full length unknown since it was pinned up, disheveled with several strands falling free around her face and neck. And her rosy lips were slim and far too tempting.

  She was a problem he needed to see to immediately and be done with before it escalated and delayed his plans. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy to solve as Crista had described.

  Her suggestion that he send one of his men with a message was near to what he had decided, though it wasn’t a message he had sent. He had sent two men to see what they could find out about her abduction. Until he knew what was being said about the incident, he would take no action.

  For now, Crista Cesare would be staying with him and what he had to make sure of was that she didn’t interfere with his plans. He also couldn’t let her learn too much about Diablo.

  They stopped around mid-afternoon from what Crista could judge. She worried her leg would give her trouble again having been confined in one position too long. She was relieved when he eased her gently to the ground and kept hold of her arm.

  She faltered when she went to walk and his arm went around her waist. With one lift, he raised her feet off the ground a few inches and walked over to a cropping of oak trees. Gently, he lowered her to sit under the shade of the trees.

  His silence disturbed her, having grown accustomed to lots of chatter and laughter once she had gone to live with Ricardo and Lucia. She thought it would be better not to look upon his face, but would she learn more from his expressions if she did?

  Crista slipped off her duster. She wore far too many garments, but the nuns had insisted she dress properly for her return home. And proper young women did not go around dressed as a peasant in a skirt, blouse, and sandals, her favorite and most comfortable garments.

  The sun was strong today and she loosened several buttons at the neck of her cotton blouse and sighed in relief.

  She eagerly took the full canteen Diablo handed her and just as eagerly accepted a piece of dried meat from the small sack he held.

  He sat down beside her, removed his gloves, and snatched a piece of meat out of the sack for himself then sat it between them.

  She handed him the canteen and he took it and drank, secured the top, and placed it to rest against her leg.

  “How long before we reach our destination?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t mind the question.

  “Two days.”

  A cramp suddenly gripped her leg and her face twisted in pain as she winced loudly, her hands rushing beneath her skirt to rub at her pained calf. She was shocked when her hands were pushed aside, her skirt hoisted above her knee and his hands began to knead her leg.

  His actions were not at all proper and she went to brush his hands away.

  “Don’t dare,” he threatened.

  His strong warning had her moving her hands away and after only a few moments she began to sigh and wince as his fingers dug into the taut muscle, harder than she ever could. He was wrong in touching her intimately and she wrong in letting him. But the way he overpowered the contorted muscle brought quick relief and for that she was grateful, proper or not.

  “What happened to leave you with such pain and a limp?” he asked.

  “An accident when I was very young and not treated as fast and properly as it should have been,” she said, and thinking that might not appease him explained further. “It’s long periods of maintaining the same position or extensive walking that seems to cause problems. When I pace myself I suffer no pain.”

  “Why didn’t your family have you return home when informed of this injury?” he asked, his hands still kneading the now loosening muscle.

  They didn’t want me. Thankfully, she managed to keep from saying her thought aloud. Instead she repeated the explanation she had been given through the years.

  “It was safer for me in Spain.”

  “Safer away from your family?” he asked.

  That he sounded doubtful surprised her. What would he know of family? Unless he had one. She had never considered that. Did outlaws have families? A wife? Children?

  “They feared I would be abducted as Esteban had been,” she said, wondering why she explained.

  He shook his head, his hand still massaging the sore muscle. “You never would have been abducted. You were a young child. You would have been no use to them.”

  “You know this for sure?” she asked, the thought upsetting her. Had she spent all these years separated from her family for no good reason?

  “I do,” he confirmed.

  “How can you be so sure? You can’t know every outlaw in these parts,” she said.

  “I know most of them or they know of me, but the group who took your brother I know well. His name was Pacquito. He was my brother.”

  “Was?”

  “He is dead. Esteban’s wife, Rosalita, killed him.”

  Chapter 4

  They were back on his horse again, Crista having remained silent, not having known what to say when he had told her about his brother and her sister-in-law. She kept her lips locked tight, questions wanting to spew from them, but this time paying heed to Ricardo’s words of warning… sometimes it is better to say nothing.

  Her one worry was that Diablo wished to seek revenge against Esteban and Rosalita, and he could do that easily now that she was his captive. Yet he had told his men he had not approved her abduction, leaving her to believe he had had no intentions of doing so. He had also treated her well thus far, leaving her to think he meant her no harm.

  Memories of the men being whipped flashed before her eyes. She had learned to speak her mind. Had been encouraged to do so. How could she hold her tongue captive when it was used to being free?

  Crista let her mind chatter keep her occupied as they continued on, debating with herself over possibilities, some leaving her fearful, others hopeful.

  Finally, she couldn’t keep her tongue contained any longer, she asked the question that had been on her mind since he had delivered that startling news.

  “Do you seek revenge against my brother and his wife?”

  “That is between me and your brother and I will speak no more about it.”

  There was a particular tone to his deep voice that she had begun to distinguish that meant she’d be wise to say no more on the matter. This time she obeyed the warning, though s
he didn’t stop talking.

  “Do you have family?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t mind a bit of chatter and thinking as much as she didn’t want to look upon the devil, she might be better off. The face often expressed more than words.

  “A large one.”

  “You have a wife and children?” she asked, thinking he couldn’t be all that bad if he had a loving family.

  “Family is measured in different ways,” he said.

  Thanks to Lucia, Crista didn’t have a problem admitting when she was wrong. The woman had told her that admitting being wrong was nothing more than a lesson learned and the more we learned the less wrongs we made.

  “You’re right,” she said with a nod. “I left family in Spain that were more family to me than those here. I miss them terribly.”

  Why she confided that to him, she didn’t know. She simply felt the need to tell someone, the pain of being separated from them growing more hurtful each day.

  “It is painful being separated from those you love, those who can’t be replaced,” he said.

  Was he speaking of losing his brother or had he lost more than just his brother?

  “You have a large family, but no wife?” she asked.

  “There you go with the constant questions again.”

  There was no warning to his words for her to stop talking this time and she cautiously continued. “I sit on a horse in the arms of the devil whose face I cannot see, not knowing where I’m being taken or my fate. So please forgive me that it is beyond difficult to keep my tongue silent when fear continues to trickle through me.”

  “How many times must I repeat that I will not harm you as long as you obey me before you finally understand it?”

  “You’re asking me to take the word of el diablo?”

  “What choice do you have?”

  His response turned her silent. She hadn’t had a choice since her parents had put her on that ship to Spain and it had continued once she had returned home. Decisions had constantly been made for her and in the end they had always brought pain and hurt and an ache to her heart that never seemed to heal.

  She gave a sad, little laugh and shook her head. “I’ve never had a choice.”

  “How many of us do?” he asked.

  She turned a narrowed brow on him.

  “Life often makes decisions for us, sometimes through faults of our own, through choices of others, and sometimes through nothing more than fate. You seemed to have survived what fate threw in your path and are stronger for it. If you can survive that, I’m sure you can survive your time with el diablo.”

  His words were wise enough, but it was that he mentioned her time with el diablo that caught her attention the most. It meant he didn’t intend to keep her. He would release her and knowing that eased her worry… a little.

  Crista was overjoyed when they stopped and camped by a river shortly before nightfall. She went to rush to the water’s edge when her feet touched the ground, Diablo helping her off the horse, but a searing pain shot through her leg causing her to falter.

  Diablo’s hands remained at her waist. “Give yourself a moment, then I will help you to the river.”

  She wished her leg had healed well, the pain being a constant reminder of that awful day she would never forget. She did as he said, knowing it would help, and after a few moments of standing on her legs, he took hold of her arm and helped her to the water’s edge. He assisted her in removing her duster and jacket, then lowered her to sit. Only then did his hand leave her arm.

  Once comfortable, Crista leaned over and splashed the cool, refreshing water in her face, letting it run down her neck and onto her blouse. Then she cheerfully scooped up a handful of water and drank eagerly. She continued to do that until her thirst was finally quenched.

  Diablo watched as he led his horse to drink at the water’s edge a distance from her. She was a beautiful woman even more so when she smiled. She was short of height and her body slender and curved nicely in all the right places. To him she was the perfect size. Her breasts were much more than a handful and her hips nicely rounded—the kind a man could grip—and a gentle curve to her waist connected them both.

  He turned away when he saw her nipples grow hard from the water that splashed on her blouse. He didn’t need to see that and he didn’t need his body to react to it. He couldn’t allow himself to do anything but keep Crista Cesare safe until he could get her home. And he couldn’t under any circumstances let her see his face. If he did, all the years of planning would be lost, all the promises he had made broken, and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

  He built a small fire and spread a blanket near it. He was glad his hood covered his face or she would see his eyes go wide with concern when he went to approach her as she started to get to her feet.

  “I can manage,” she said with a smile.

  Though her movements were slow, he watched her get to her feet and approach him with a more secure gait than he had expected.

  Her face glistened from the fresh washing and her hands went to her hair to pull the pins from it and let it fall loose. Her fingers immediately got busy raking through the long, dark silky strands that fell in waves well passed her shoulders. He found his own fingers aching to follow suit, the soft strands enticing.

  He turned away from her. He would not let this foolish attraction hinder his plans.

  “Rest and eat,” he ordered abruptly and handed her the small bag of what was left of the meat and pointed to the blanket.

  “Thank you. You have been most kind,” she said, taking the bag and making herself comfortable on the blanket.

  “The devil is far from kind. You would do well to remember that,” he warned and walked over to the river’s edge.

  Crista truly didn’t know what to think of the devil. A good place to start might be not thinking of him as the devil. He was right, the devil wasn’t kind, but he had been kind to her, which meant there was some kindness somewhere in him.

  “Is there another name I may call you?” she asked, busy pinning her hair up on her head.

  “Diablo is my name,” he said without turning around.

  “What is your birth name?” she asked intent on finding a name for him.

  “That niño is no more.”

  “What happened to him?”

  He swerved around. “You wish to lose your tongue, Crista?”

  Her name rolled off his tongue in a way she had never heard it pronounced before, smooth and yet so intense it sent a shivering tingle through her. But it was his warning that quickly had her shaking her head.

  He turned his back to her. “Eat and sleep. We have a long ride tomorrow.”

  Fear robbed what appetite she had left and she got to her feet and went behind a formation of rocks to see to her needs.

  “Watch for rattlesnakes,” he called out to her.

  If he thought to frighten her, he failed. Ricardo had taught her about snakes and where they were often found. Dark hiding places were a favorite of theirs, also low-growing bushes and plants. They didn’t like tremors so she would stomp on the ground in some places and watch how some would come slithering out of their hiding spots and be on their way.

  The only thing she wished was that she had her knife. She knew how to use it and other weapons as well. One in particular she liked and she was upset when the nuns had refused to let her bring it home with her.

  She settled once again on the blanket and it didn’t take long for her to surrender to fatigue and fall asleep.

  Night turned to morning far too soon for her. She was up on his horse and in his arms not long after sunrise. Surprisingly, she didn’t find the need to talk. It wasn’t that her curiosity and fear had disappeared, it was that her thoughts centered more on her family here in Los Angeles and what they might be doing to rescue her.

  Had a search party been sent to look for her? Would they be able to track her? What tracks would they follow since there had been so many? How long before they found the right trail?
The more she thought, the more she feared her time with Diablo grow.

  “Are your thoughts that heavy they keep you silent?” Diablo asked.

  “I have good reason for heavy thoughts and I would think you would appreciate the silence.”

  “I relish the silence, but I can feel your worry. You press closer to me when you grow tense and at the moment I don’t think you can get any closer.”

  Crista pulled away from him, sitting straighter, making sure not to touch him, not having realized she had taken solace in his arms. He was an outlaw and supposedly a vicious one at that. Whatever was the matter with her?

  Listen some to what others say, but judge on your own, you have good instincts. Not many do.

  Ricardo had often reminded her of that, though it had taken a while for her to believe and trust it. Had she believed too fast that there was some kindness to the devil? Or should she pay heed to her lessons that the devil was a deceitful creature who wanted to corrupt every soul he could?

  Listen some to others but judge on your own.

  Was there enough time to judge the devil or would his deceitful ways rob her of her soul?

  They were drawing closer to the San Gabriel Mountains and she assumed that somewhere in the mountains was his outlaw camp. Once there, would anyone ever find her?

  They rode for a while longer, then stopped.

  “A brief rest,” Diablo said, helping her off the horse and keeping his hands at her waist until he was sure she could stand without difficulty.

  Crista paced back and forth, stretching the ache from her leg, while sipping water from the canteen Diablo had handed her, trying to make the most of the short stop.

  “Say nothing and do nothing,” he suddenly ordered as he walked over to her.

  She looked oddly at him as he turned away from her and that’s when she saw riders approaching. Four from what she could see, but would more suddenly appear as they had when her escort wagon had been attacked?

  Hope suddenly sprang up in her. Could her family have sent someone? Where these men there to rescue her?