Diablo's Angel (Ranchero Trilogy Book 3)

by Donna Fletcher

  Chavez listened with interest to what his brother-in-law thought of Diablo.

  “He is a ghost besides the devil. No one has ever seen his face, though there are stories that some have seen him, but never lived to tell the tale. He is a brutal man and anyone who crosses him suffers badly. They have an abundance of scars on their backs from his whip to prove it. Betray him,” —Esteban looked to each man— “and you die. He has many hideaways, some that are only known to him, which means he trusts few.”

  “It also means he goes there alone. If we can find one, we can trap him there,” Don Cabeza said enthusiastically.

  “You would be killed before you even reached it,” Esteban said. “He earned the name Diablo. This man has avoided capture for over fifteen years.”

  “But he wants something now and it seems he’ll do anything to get it,” Don Perez suggested.

  “Are you referring to my wife?” Chavez asked, getting to his feet and towering over everyone there except Esteban.

  Don Perez attempted to defend himself. “I’m only saying what others think but fear to say.”

  “What are others saying about my sister, Don Perez?” Esteban asked, stepping out of the corner to stand at the corner of his father’s desk.

  Don Perez lowered his head. “Nothing. Nothing.”

  “Ignoring the truth won’t help us,” Don Bolanos said. “Don Perez is right. Diablo wants Crista.”

  Chavez almost smiled. The man was right about that, but not the way they thought.

  “No one wants to sully your daughter’s name, Alejandro,” Don Bolanos said.

  “Watch what you’re about to say about my wife, Don Bolanos,” Chavez warned.

  “If we are not honest about this situation, how do we solve it?” Don Bolanos asked and a few of the other men nodded. “You must have heard the rumors, Alejandro, and with Diablo’s attacks it lends credence to them.”

  “What are those rumors?” Esteban demanded.

  “You must know. There is no need for me to repeat them,” Don Bolanos argued.

  “I will hear them,” Chavez demanded.

  Some of the men nodded at Don Bolanos, encouraging him to speak up and he did. “All servants talk and it was rumored that Crista had been ill several mornings since arriving here and that the morning illness has continued now that she is married. Many believe she carries Diablo’s child and that is why she married Don Navarro so fast and why Diablo wants her back.”

  Chavez spoke succinctly. “I will swear in the confessional and before God that if my wife is with child, the child is mine.”

  “Was she a virgin?” one man shouted out and Chavez, Esteban, and Alejandro looked ready to kill him.

  “The answer would settle the matter,” Don Bolanos said. “And would you swear to it to the padre in church?”

  “Without hesitation,” Chavez said. “I swear to God and all that is holy, that it is the truth.”

  “Is she pregnant?” a man called out.

  “Enough!” Alejandro shouted, bringing his fist down on this desk. “You have insulted my daughter enough.”

  “I don’t mind answering that, Don Alejandro, since I would be proud to announce that my wife is with child. And I hope I will be able to do so soon. Crista and I are looking forward to having many children,” Chavez said. “And now that we settled that, if another derogatory remark is made about my wife, I will beat the man senseless.”

  The men quickly offered apologies to Chavez, Alejandro, Esteban, and talk resumed about Diablo, though not for long.

  “Help! Chavez, help!”

  A dread ran through Chavez at his wife’s screams for help and he rushed out the door in a flash, terrified at what might have happened to her.

  He barely hid his shock at the scene in front of him.

  Chapter 28

  Crista fought with all her strength to hold on to Vilia as one of the ranch hands attempted to drag the crying young woman out of the foyer. It was complete chaos, her mother demanding to know how the filthy young woman got into the hacienda in the first place while ordering her removed and shocked when Vilia had tearfully called out Crista’s name, pleading for help.

  When the ranch hand began dragging Vilia away, Crista had latched on to her, demanding they stop, but it was Dona Valerianna they were answerable to and whose orders they followed.

  She had no choice, but to call out to the one person she knew would help her—her husband.

  “Take your hands off the woman!” Chavez demanded and everyone stilled at his commanding tone. He wanted to go to his wife and give her the help she needed but if he did, it could make the situation worse. He had to keep up appearances and react as expected if he was to protect his wife and Vilia. He continued, demanding, “What goes on here?”

  Crista was quick to speak, fearing Vilia would somehow recognize Chavez’s voice or his stance or any little nuisance that she related to Diablo. “I know this woman.”

  “How could you know her?” her mother asked aghast at the possibility and keeping her distance from the unwanted intruder.

  “Her name is Vilia and she was held in the same Diablo camp as I was. She knew who I was and must have escaped and come here looking for help.” Crista turned quickly to Vilia. “Is that what happened, Vilia?”

  The young woman wiped at her tears, nodding. “Si, I escaped and I knew you would help me. You promised to help me.”

  “Of course, I’ll help you,” Crista said, easing Vilia out of the ranch hand’s grip. “You must be tired and hungry. You will come home with me and my husband where you’ll be safe.”

  Don Bolanos stepped forward. “First, she will answer questions about Diablo.”

  Vilia shook her head, her eyes turning wide with fright, and she tucked herself against Crista. “No. No, I know nothing about Diablo. Nothing.” She started crying again.

  “She must be questioned,” Don Perez called out.

  “Can’t you see she’s exhausted and probably hasn’t eaten in days,” Crista admonished.

  “It doesn’t matter. We need to know all we can about Diablo,” Dona Bolanos argued.

  “I know nothing,” Vilia reiterated. “I just want to find my abuela. I need her.” She looked up at Crista. “Do you know where she was sent?”

  “Sent? What do you mean where she was sent?” Don Bolanos asked.

  Fear rushed a tremble through Vilia and Crista felt it ripple over her own body.

  Crista hurried to offer an explanation she hoped would suffice. “Diablo moved his captives from camp to camp, keeping them confused as to their whereabouts. It was probably one of those moves that gave Vilia the opportunity to escape.”

  “Si. Si, that is what Diablo did and how I was able to escape,” Vilia confirmed, nodding vigorously, though it was a lie.

  Chavez admired his wife’s quick mind. This situation could have turned explosive, but Crista handled it perfectly, protecting all those concerned.

  “The young woman will come home with me and my wife,” Chavez said with an authority that no one dared to argue against. Not to exclude the others and create more animosity with the situation he offered something that would appease them. “We will meet here in three days—if that is agreeable to Don Alejandro—and I will report what I have learned from this young woman and anything that my wife might be able to offer.”

  “That is most definitely agreeable,” Don Alejandro said and all the other men chimed in, more than pleased with his offer.

  Crista was surprised to hear her mother say, “Take the young woman to the terrace. I’ll have food and drink brought to her while the men finish their meeting.”

  Chavez gave a slight nod to his wife and she could see the impatience in his dark eyes. He was anxious to be done with this and be on their way home. She was as well.

  Vilia kept a tight grip on her as she walked her through the hacienda and out onto the terrace. It didn’t take long for food and drinks to be served and Vilia didn’t waste a moment digging into the fo
od.

  Crista could only imagine how long it had been since Vilia had eaten or washed. She was truly filthy, her hair matted, her clothes covered in stains and dirt, and what looked like dried blood in the corner of her mouth. Crista wondered if Ortiz had beaten her again. Could that have been what made her leave? And why had she come to Crista? The young woman had barely talked to her when she was at Diablo’s camp.

  “Crista, a moment, please,” her mother said from the open terrace doors.

  “Go,” Rosa said when Crista looked doubtful about leaving Vilia. “I’ll keep Vilia company and her glass filled with lemonade.”

  Vilia nodded. “It is so sweet, so good.”

  Crista followed her mother into the dining room expecting a lecture and was shocked when her mother took her into her arms. The last time she felt her mother’s arms around her had been when she had handed her over to the woman on the ship.

  “I am so sorry,” Valerianna said through tears. “I love you so much and I wanted so badly to protect you, keep you from the horrors your brother suffered, and I failed. My heart broke when I sent you away and I missed you every single day you were gone and regretted my decision every day, but you were safe and that’s what mattered. I wanted a good, safe life for you. I should have never sent you away. I should have kept you close and protected you. I am so very sorry.”

  Crista realized then that by seeing Vilia, her mother had an idea of what she might have suffered while a captive of Diablo. She didn’t intend to deny or confirm what happened to her, not about her capture by outlaws on her arrival home or what she had suffered in Spain when young. It wasn’t necessary. That her mother had acknowledged to her that she had sent her away out of love and she did what she did out of love for her was all Crista needed to know.

  She returned the hug, overjoyed at finally being welcomed home and loved by her mother. “It’s all right, Madre. All is good now and I have a good husband. You did not fail me. I am happy, content, and delighted to be home with my family.”

  Valerianna stepped away from her daughter, dabbing at her tears with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “You have grown in to a fine, compassionate, strong young woman. I am proud of you. It is no wonder this young woman came to you for help.”

  “I will make sure she is taken care of and is reunited with family if possible,” Crista said, eager to reunite Vilia with her grandmother Alma.

  “I am grateful for your generosity, senora” Vilia said with a bob of her head to Valerianna as she and Crista returned to the table.

  “My daughter will help you and take good care of you,” Valerianna said.

  “My grandmother told me that as well,” Vilia said, her eyes shifting to Crista. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “It’s good you came to me. All will be well,” Crista said, praying she was right.

  Chavez was relieved to be home, his wife in his arms as they watched Alma hug her crying granddaughter to her tightly. He hadn’t spoken with the young woman on the ride home. He wanted to reunite her with her grandmother first, have Alma there for support when he questioned her.

  “It can’t wait can it?” Crista asked, looking up at her husband, knowing he’d understand what she asked.

  Chavez shook his head. “There is too much at stake.”

  Alma hugged her granddaughter close, trying to comfort her with soothing words, but Vilia continued to weep in her arms.

  She raised her head off her grandmother’s chest, rivulets of tears running through her grime-streaked face. “He’s dead, Abuela. Ortiz is dead and I’m glad.”

  Tears ran down the old woman’s face that hadn’t only been aged by years but by the worries and heartaches the years had brought with them. “I’m so sorry, Vilia, so very sorry for what you must have gone suffered.”

  “I was a fool.” She turned to Crista and Chavez. “Please. Please let me stay with my abuela. I will work hard and be no trouble.”

  “Dona Crista,” Alma said ready to beg for her granddaughter.

  Crista raised her hands stopping them both from saying anything more. “Vilia is welcome to remain, make a home here, but first she must talk with my husband and explain what happened that brought her to me.”

  Vilia nodded, continuing to cling to her grandmother as she brushed the falling tears off her cheeks.

  Chavez directed them to the dining room, the furniture heavy, dark wood. They barely sat on the thick, wood chairs when two decanters of wine, glasses, and a platter of fruit were placed on the table. A servant filled the glasses with wine, then left the room.

  Vilia waited until Chavez picked up a wine glass and took a sip before she reached for one and took more than a sip.

  It was what Chavez wanted, for the wine to ease Vilia’s fears and concerns and loosen her tongue.

  Alma helped that along when she asked, “What happened when you reached Vega’s camp?”

  Vilia shook her head. “It was so different from Diablo’s camp. It made me see how good Diablo was to his people. Vega doesn’t care if his people have food or if one man wants another man’s woman. His only concern is that he’s feared more than Diablo. That he is a far more infamous outlaw than Diablo.” She took another swallow of wine, emptying the glass. “He believes if he kills Diablo everyone will fear him and he’ll reign as the outlaws’ leader.”

  “Why does he come after me?” Crista asked.

  “At first it was to get revenge against Esteban. He blamed him for Pacquito’s death and it infuriated him when Diablo took you—his source to get that revenge—away from his men. He felt he owed Diablo nothing, though others thought differently. The outlaws were successful and avoided capture because of Diablo’s leadership and planning. More of Vega’s men were killed or suffered serious injuries in recent raids. Raids Diablo never approved. Vega wouldn’t listen to any complaints. He punished anyone—severely—who disagreed with him on anything. His word was the only word and often his words were foolish and always selfish.” She wiped at her tears that didn’t stop falling. “Ortiz believed and agreed with everything Vega said.” She shook her head. “Life with Vega was horrible. Vega insisted his men share their women and Ortiz didn’t object. When word came that Diablo’s camps were empty, Vega was furious. He thinks Diablo has built a larger camp and has built an army of outlaws. He intends to kill Vega and be the most infamous outlaw that lived.”

  “That sounds more of what Vega strives for, not Diablo,” Crista said. “Does Vega still have plans to abduct me?”

  “Vega hasn’t been able to locate Diablo. He thinks that if he takes you that Diablo will come for you like he did when Vega first had his men take you captive,” Vilia explained.

  That the man was after his wife sent a rage through Chavez with such a fury that his body almost trembled with it. The urge to race out of the room and find Vega and kill overwhelmed him, but it would be foolish of him to do. He would plan, just as he had planned everything—Crista being the only exception to that.

  Vilia lowered her head, tears dripping off her face just missing her wine glass. “Somehow I avoided being taken by other men, but knew it wouldn’t be long before Vega came for me and Ortiz would gladly hand me over to him. The time came. Ortiz told me it was my turn with Vega and to do him proud.” She shuddered and her hand went to the dried blood. “I refused and Ortiz hit me. I managed to grab the knife I had hidden in our tent and shoved it into Ortiz’s neck. He dropped to the ground. Blood squirted everywhere. I grabbed the small sack I had begun to sash supplies in, planning to make an escape. Then I pulled the knife out of Ortiz, his dead eyes glaring up at me in shock, and I slipped out of the tent and into the night.”

  Chavez heard his wife sniffle and her hand hurry to wipe at her eyes. Vega was going to suffer for the misery he had caused. Diablo would make sure of it.

  “I remember mi abuela telling me before I foolishly went off with Ortiz that if I ever found myself needing help that I should go to Senorita Crista at the Cesare ranch and she would h
elp me. That she is a good woman and would not turn me away.”

  “Your abuela was right. My wife is a good woman and you are welcome to stay here and do your share to be part of this ranch’s family,” —Chavez paused, his words turning stern— “as long as you have been truthful to us and you’ve told us everything.”

  Vilia hesitated before responding. “I have spoken the truth to you, though there is one thing.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if it matters, but it did seem strange to me.”

  “Tell me,” Chavez encouraged.

  “A padre entered the camp one day and spoke with Vega. While I didn’t see the exchange of coins, whispers implied that Vega was paid to do a job for the padre. What that job was no one could say.”

  An unease ran through Crista, recalling the padre who visited Chavez. Her husband must have thought the same since he asked the question she was about to.

  “Did you see this padre with your own eyes?”

  Vilia nodded, her cheeks glistening from her fallen tears that had finally stopping falling. “I did. He was tall, older, with fine features and silver hair. I thought him courageous for entering the camp alone, then I thought perhaps Vega had invited him since he wasn’t pounced upon as soon as he was spotted. It could have been the way he carried himself, with calm and confidence, and with him being a man of God, I think the men feared to approach him.”

  Crista cast a quick glance at her husband and from the arch of his brow and the burning look in his eyes, she guessed that Vilia had described the padre that had paid him a recent visit.

  “You have been most helpful. Now go with your grandmother and rest and heal from your ordeal until Dona Crista lets you know your duties.,” Chavez ordered.

  “Gracias, Don Navarro, we are muy agradecida for your generosity,” Alma said.

  “Si, Don Navarro, very grateful,” Vilia said, repeating her grandmother