Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family)

by Georgina Gentry

  The señora frowned at her husband. “It has no doubt been terrible for him. Gradually, it will all come out.”

  That’s just what I’m afraid of, Bandit thought, sipping his chocolate.

  “I suppose we shouldn’t press you for the details,” the old man agreed. “Was it such a terrible life?”

  “Sí,” Bandit nodded, remembering his lonely childhood.

  Romeros said, “He told me a little, señor, two men you didn’t recognize stole you from the house, isn’t that what you said?” he prompted.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Bandit quickly replied, then again sipped the rich chocolate afloat with thick cream. “They said you would pay much money to get me back.”

  The old man frowned and leaned back in his chair. “Well, they never got the money, although we tried to deliver the ransom. The delivery was botched. We figured they had killed you when they didn’t pick up the ransom with Romeros and I watching for them.”

  “That’s true.” Romeros nodded. “Señor Falcon insisted I wait with him to shoot the devils when they showed up, but they never came.” He frowned, shook his head. “Then we searched every ditch and creek for miles around, looking for a small body. Remember, Patrón, how angry I was, how I led the search parties for days?”

  “That’s true.” Señor Falcon nodded, “Romeros here was in such a rage! I never realized he had cared so much for my little son.”

  “As I care about his father.” Romeros ducked his head modestly.

  Bandit suddenly couldn’t control his curiosity. Without thinking, he asked, “You’ve been with the family a long time?”

  “Has he!” Señor Falcon emphasized the words. “Why, Romeros showed up on this ranch as a scared, hungry boy after my beloved brother was killed in the Mexican-American War in ’forty-seven.” He grimaced. There was obviously still pain associated with that story.

  Romeros explained. “El patrón’s brother died in his arms at Chapultepec castle in the September Mexico City siege.”

  ’Forty-seven, Bandit thought automatically, such a long time ago. The young brother died a few months before I was even born.

  Sadness crossed the old man’s features. “Romeros here came along and almost took my little brother’s place. He was a great comfort to us in our sadness. And then, of course, we found we would have a child long after we had given up hope. So you, Tony, took Antonio’s place as my heir.”

  Romeros stuck a fresh match in the corner of his mouth. “I was so happy that the Falcons weren’t left without family to inherit this fine empire.”

  Bandit thought the foreman didn’t look very happy, but he didn’t say anything.

  The Señora smiled and sipped her chocolate. Her gaze had never left Bandit’s face. “But let us not talk of those sad times. God sent you, Tony, a couple of years later, when we were really too old to have children and had long since given up hope. But maybe you remember some of these details even though you were only eight when you were kidnapped?”

  “I—I remember a little,” Bandit lied. “The memories have become hazy over the years.” What tragedy these two had endured, he thought with both sympathy and guilt. First the beloved brother being killed, then the cherished only son disappearing, never to be seen again. And if they only knew. Even Romeros didn’t know. . . .

  Señora Falcon interrupted his thoughts with a question.

  “Perdôneme?” Bandit asked in Spanish.

  “I asked if you could give us any clues as to the kidnappers?” She leaned forward. “Was it some maid, some servant? I always thought it had to be someone who knew you well to get you out of the house in the dead of night without you screaming.”

  Bandit pretended to roll it over in his mind. “I was so small, the memory is hazy.” What story had he and Romeros rehearsed? “I don’t think I ever saw the two men before. They tied me up, threw me across a horse, took me far away. One night, I untied myself, got away.”

  “Why didn’t you try to come home, son?” Falcon said.

  He was prepared for this question. “I think at first I tried, Papa. But it was a very long way. Then I fell and hit my head.”

  Romeros broke in. “Sí, hitting the head would erase many memories. I’ve heard that.”

  The old lady clucked in sympathy.

  Bandit didn’t look at the old couple. He was too ashamed to do so as he continued his lie. “At any rate, my memories are hazy until I ended up helping around a saloon, polishing spittoons and sweeping up until I was big enough to handle a gun, make myself a living.”

  He was suddenly ashamed of how he’d lived by his gun and his wits, of his questionable past. It seemed very important to him somehow that these two fine people think well of him.

  The dignified señora put her wrinkled hand over his. “We’ll talk no more of it, my son,” she whispered. “However sad your life has been, God has restored you to us and we’ll start life fresh and forget the past.”

  Romeros sighed, visibly relieved, and looked up from his cup. “Señora, you are a very wise woman. After all, the mark proves he really is our missing Falcon heir, and the past must be painful to him.”

  “I forgot about Gomez!” The old don straightened in his chair, his face wreathed with smiles. “He’ll be so glad he can keep our vow now! I must send word to my old friend at once!”

  He stood up, rushed back into the house.

  Bandit looked over at the señora, raised his eyebrows.

  She laughed. “Your papá’s best friend. Surely you remember Gomez and his pretty little daughter; the one you were betrothed to as a child?”

  Bandit felt sudden alarm, set down his cup so hard, the chocolate splashed into the saucer. “Betrothed? You mean I’m engaged to marry some girl from my childhood?”

  “You mean you don’t remember?” Romeros coughed. “Search your memory, señor Tony; don’t you remember? The plump gentleman who is your father’s closest friend? The daughter he brought to visit?

  Bandit felt stricken. This was a complication Romeros had conveniently forgotten to mention. He had a sudden vision of some simpering, ugly spinster.

  “I didn’t know a girl had been chosen for me,” he said unhappily to the señora. Bandit thought of the girl at the stage station, the one with the violet eyes. “I was planning to pick out my own wife, thank you.”

  He glared at Romeros who looked away. He’d taken on this whole masquerade just to have the money and the power to reclaim a feisty girl from a convent. “I don’t think I want to marry some girl Papa picked out for me when I was a little boy.”

  Romeros kicked him under the table. “You just don’t remember how pretty the señorita is, Tony. Don’t make your decision ’til you see her.”

  The señora laughed. “That’s right, my son. Both the fathers would be brokenhearted if you two didn’t wed after they’ve waited so long to join our two families together. Why, I think she’s had other chances and her papá is so honorable, he wouldn’t break the agreement.”

  Now what in blue blazes was he going to do? He certainly wasn’t going to marry some dull Spanish girl because he was betrothed to her. There had to be a way out of this.

  Señor Falcon came through the French doors onto the veranda, flopped down in his chair with a happy sigh. “I’ve sent the messenger. But now I wish I had waited until I could ride over and tell Gomez myself.”

  “Papa,” Bandit said, “I don’t think—”

  Romeros broke in, kicking Bandit under the table again. “What Tony means is it’s all been just too overwhelming. He needs time to get used to everything. It’s been such a shock for him.”

  “And for us all!” The señora smiled. “But of course I must give a big fiesta at once to welcome our boy home!”

  Señor Falcon reached over, took one of her hands in his. “Ah, my dear, the kind of fiesta we used to have often before. . . .” His voice trailed off and Bandit realized what lonely years, what agony this fine old couple had endured.

  “But he’s back
now, my darling,” the Señora whispered, “so we can forget all those unhappy times. It will be just like it was before—big crowds of people, laughter, - parties at the hacienda.”

  The don looked at Bandit fondly. “And of course my old friend will come to the fiesta and bring his daughter. She’s away right now, but he’ll send for her. We’ve both waited a long time to announce this marriage.”

  “Now wait just a darned minute,” Bandit began, “I—”

  “He’s forgotten how beautiful the señorita is,” Romeros said pointedly, “I’m sure when Tony sees her, he’ll be eager to set the date with the priest.”

  Bandit glared at him, then sank back in his chair. Damn that foreman! He had deliberately neglected to mention this complication. It had been Bandit’s experience in life that when someone kept trying to convince him a woman was beautiful, she turned out to be so homely her daddy would have to tie a pork chop around her neck to lure a hound to kiss her. But he’d shut up now until he could figure out what to do about it.

  A maid came just then, bearing steaming trays of tortillas, fried beef, mangoes, and grapes. Bandit had never seen so much food. He dug in with gusto as the maid refilled his cup. The scent of exotic purple flowers from the vines overhead drifted to him over the savory smell of steak and eggs. So this was the way the rich lived—the very best of everything; fine china and silver, crisp white tablecloths, maids scurrying about. He could learn to like this very much!

  Then he thought about the arranged marriage and frowned suddenly. Was part of the price of becoming Tony Falcon to spend the rest of his life married to some ugly, stupid señorita just because the old man had made some pledge of honor to his best friend? Well, they could forget about that!

  Bandit glared at Romeros. This hadn’t been part of the deal; Romeros had-deliberately misled him. Now what could he do about it?

  The girl’s face came to his mind, her face and the feel of her beneath his hard-driving body, the taste of her open, yielding lips. Aimée. Beloved. Mona Dulaney spoke a little French because she’d been raised in Louisiana, and she’d taught Bandit a few words. He glanced down at the little ring on his pinkie finger. Amethyst. No, he couldn’t forget her. Whatever it took, Bandit was determined he’d wed no other but the violet-eyed beauty from the stage station!

  Chapter Seven

  Breakfast over, Seor Falcon instructed Romeros to take Bandit upstairs. “He needs a change of clothing. He can wear my brother Antonio’s until I can get my tailor and bootmaker out here to make him a whole new wardrobe.”

  The old man looked Bandit up and down. “I’d say he and Antonio were about the same size and height. He peered anxiously at Bandit, ”Is that all right with you, son?”

  Son. How long had he waited for some man he respected to call him that? He didn’t even know who among his mother’s customers had fathered him, wasn’t even sure Lidah knew. They had never discussed it. But pretending was the next best thing. “Papá,” he said, getting up from his chair, “I’d be honored to wear my uncle’s things.”

  The delicate señora held out a trembling hand, took Bandit’s. “I hate to let you out of my sight for even a few minutes. I’m afraid I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.”

  Without thinking, Bandit leaned over and kissed her lined forehead gently. “No, Madre,” he murmured, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here forever.”

  Would he? How he wished it could be so. He thought of the real son and felt guilty. He had no right to that man’s place in this family.

  Señor Falcon smiled at his wife. “That’s right, Mama. Now you need to rest awhile. I’ll take you upstairs myself and we’ll plan the fiesta.”

  Her face brightened. “Oh, si, the fiesta! There’s so much to be done. There are invitations to be sent—”

  “That’s right, my dear.” Señor Falcon patted her shoulder. “There’s ever so much work, so much planning. Let Tony go with Romeros for a while and we’ll see him again at lunch.”

  Romeros stood up, bowed to the old couple. “I will take very good care of Tony, show him around the ranch, try to catch him up on what’s happened while he’s been gone.”

  “You are a good person,” the don said to the foreman. “I don’t know what we would have done without you all these years.”

  Romeros shrugged. “I live but to serve the Falcon family, sir, now and forever.”

  “Such loyalty!” the old lady said. “I think my dear husband was wrong. After his brother was killed and before we had a son of our own, the señor talked of adopting you, but then we decided to leave it all to charity.”

  Romeros shook his head. “But aren’t you glad you didn’t? Now your son will have the Falcon’s Lair to pass on to his children. I’m only glad the true heir has been found so I can serve him faithfully after you two are finally gone.” He nodded toward the French doors. “Tony, I’ll show you to Antonio’s room.”

  They said their good-byes and went inside.

  Bandit felt a little dirty. “You laid it on a bit too thick, playing the trusted foreman,” he grumbled as he accompanied Romeros upstairs. “The old man looks a little too smart not to see through you. So they almost adopted you and then your hopes were dashed when they had a child of their own.”

  “I would have stayed on and served the heir,” Romeros said as they went down the hall. “I can’t imagine ever living anywhere else but here. But even if there had been no son, I don’t think the old man would ever have adopted me.”

  Bandit looked over at him as they walked. “Why not?”

  Romeros sneered. “Señor Falcon is a great snob about bloodlines. He says you can judge both men and horses on bloodlines, on who their ancestors were. He says there’s no denying blood.”

  Bandit laughed, trying not to think of his own hurtful past. “That’s ironic, isn’t it?” he said. “I don’t even know which drunken trail bum or gambler sired me.”

  “I’d call that poetic justice.” Romeros grinned. “A mongrel americano is now heir to a blue-blooded, aristocratic family and the old man doesn’t know the difference.” Romeros stopped before a closed door.

  Bandit looked over at him as he opened it, and suddenly realized how much Romeros hated the Falcons in spite of his avowals of loyalty and love. It was in his eyes, in his voice. Secretly the man had probably been delighted when the child had been kidnapped.

  They entered a bedroom long closed up and musty.

  The foreman opened a wardrobe, looked at the clothes. “He could have offered me some of these fine things, the handmade boots, but he never did.” He pulled out some of the clothing for Bandit’s appraisal.

  Bandit looked around. “There’re no portraits of the brother or the little son anywhere in this whole house?”

  “No.” Romeros shook his head. “Those made them both too sad so they’ve all been carried up to the attic. Someday, to satisfy your curiosity, I could take you up there—”

  “Never mind,” Bandit said. “I’m superstitious about that sort of thing.”

  Romeros pulled a pair of fine boots from the wardrobe, admired them. “Antonio had been dead a short time when I showed up here, on the run. . . .” His voice trailed off as he handed Bandit the boots. “Try these on. They haven’t been worn in more than a quarter of a century, but everything the Falcons owned was the very best so they should still be good.”

  Bandit took off his own worn boots, slipped the others on. Romeros was right, they were of the finest quality and, surprisingly, they fit Bandit perfectly as did the expensive clothes Romeros pulled from the wardrobe.

  Bandit stared at himself in the mirror. A shiver went up his back. There was something familiar about the touch of the fabric to his fingers, almost as if his big body remembered these clothes. He regarded himself in the mirror a long moment. “What do you think?”

  Romeros looked disconcerted. “If I didn’t know you were just a Texas drifter, I’d take an oath on the Holy Mother’s head that you were really a Falcon.” He stared
at Bandit. “I swear I’m even beginning to see a family resemblance.”

  Bandit snorted with derision as he turned this way and that before the glass. “You can save that hogwash for the old couple, for the others who may doubt that I’m really the long-lost son.”

  “Well, anyway, the blond hair and blue eyes make the resemblance close enough to fool people.”

  “I told you, I don’t even know who my old man was.” Bandit grinned crookedly, “I can’t imagine Spanish nobility among her clients. Besides, her background was Czech. There’s where the light hair and eyes come from, not from a Castilian. No doubt my old man was one of those Bohunk farmers around Gun Powder having himself a little Saturday-night fun.”

  Romeros stuck a match in his mouth, chewed thoughtfully. “Come on.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Let me show you around the ranch you’re going to inherit someday.”

  Bandit followed him down the hall and outside. “You say the don’s brother was killed?”

  Romeros nodded. “Antonio was just a kid, probably not more than eighteen or so. He and his older brother had some kind of a fuss, or so the gossip goes. Don Enrique sent him off to become a cadet at the military academy in Mexico City.”

  “You never met him?”

  “No. He died before I came.” Romeros shrugged. “He was killed in September of forty-seven in the battle at Chapultepec castle. The old man found him on the battlefield, held him in his arms as Antonio died. Señor Falcon blamed himself for the trouble between them, whatever that was.”

  Bandit looked at the other keenly as they walked toward the stable. “So you came along, thought you would take the brother’s place?”

  Romeros’s eyes were cold, distant. “The Falcons were childless—no heirs. Who would expect them to have a son of their own so late in life?”

  “That must have been a real blow to you.”

  “Not such a bad one. I have a real good position here. Anyway, I wouldn’t have gotten anything. As you heard, before they had the son, they were planning on leaving it all to charity.” The foreman regarded Bandit closely. “I told you the old man was a snob about bloodlines, about background, so he never really considered adopting me. That’s why it’s so ironic that a saddle tramp like you is being welcomed into the family.”