Bandit bristled at the remark, decided to let it lay. He glanced up as they entered the barn. He had managed to hide the saddlebags containing the Fort Concho loot up in the loft under the hay. What he was going to do about that, he wasn’t sure. He thought about the trio of outlaws, wondered if they’d lost his trail, given up. That made him think of the girl again, and he fiddled with the tiny amethyst ring. Forget-me-not . . .
“You aren’t listening,” Romeros complained as they paused in front of the big overo pinto stallion’s stall.
“Of course I am,” Bandit lied, taking a deep breath of saddle soap and sweet hay. “What was it you said?”
“I said this horse is the old man’s pride and joy. Sort of ironic about him, too.”
The stallion whinnied softly and Bandit reached out, stroked the velvet nose. “Hey, boy. Glad to see me, are you?”
“He likes you.” Romeros sneered. “Maybe it’s blood calling to blood.”
Bandit stroked the horse’s ears. “What do you mean? If this is his favorite stallion, he must have the finest of pedigrees.”
“Hardly!” Romeros snorted. “The horse is a wild mustang the old man captured several years ago. No one knows what his bloodlines are.”
Bandit didn’t like Romeros’s pointed insult. “So what? Anyone can tell by the way he looks, by the way he moves, that he’s got fine bloodlines back there even if they’re not written on paper. He has the heart and soul of a thoroughbred, a champion, whether you know who his daddy is or not.”
“Is that a fact!” Romeros sneered. “Just remember, you are now Tony Falcon, and someday all this”—he made a sweep with his arm—“will be yours. Then I expect to be rewarded.”
“That may take a long time.” Bandit grinned crookedly. “Looks like the old man, at least, will be alive for many years. You’ll have a long wait before you get your hands in their money.”
“I’ve already waited a long time,” Romeros said. “I can wait some more.”
The days passed in happy confusion while the old señora planned her fiesta and sent out the invitations. Obviously it would be the biggest party northern Mexico had ever seen. Bandit fell into life on the ranch easily. His fondness for the old couple grew, and he felt as at home on the giant ranch as if he truly belonged there. Only four things bothered him as the days passed. More and more, he regretted ever having gotten mixed up with Romeros. And yet, there was no way Bandit could get rid of the man. He was bound to him because of the plot they shared.
Another thing on his mind was the army payroll. Mexico was a big place, and Bandit figured he’d covered his tracks fairly well. But the U.S. Army didn’t give up so easily. No doubt they were still looking for the leader of that gang and for the payroll, although they would have to go through diplomatic channels and the Mexican government to reclaim it.
The girl was the third thing. He thought about her often, planned how he was going to search high and low for her. Well, that would have to wait until after the big fiesta in his honor. He thought of the ugly fiancée who would come to that and of how he would go about breaking the engagement. One thing was sure, he didn’t intend to marry her, no matter how upset the Falcons got with him.
The fourth thing was the secret that he alone carried like a terrible weight on his shoulders. Sometimes he awakened with a start, dreaming he had been found out.
Amethyst checked the knots again in the darkness of her tiny room as she tied the end of the rope around her small waist. It had taken her several days to rip her bed sheets into long strips and tie them together. The first day, she’d been certain she didn’t belong at the convent of the Cloistered Sisters. After a week had passed, she’d been sure of it. A life of prayers and thin gruel was not for her. All anyone did around here was labor and pray. The uniforms were drab and ugly. The Mother Superior treated her with cold politeness because of her name.
No. Amethyst had decided she must escape or she would lose her sanity. Since she had so little time to herself, she didn’t get much of a chance to work on her rope. Waiting until all the lights were out at night, she lay on the bare, thin mattress and tore the sheets into strips.
Finally, her rope was ready. She waited until the middle of the night, to be sure everyone was asleep, before she hoisted herself out that second-story window onto her bedsheet rope. What she would do when she made her getaway, she wasn’t sure. Certainly she didn’t have any money, and if she went to any friends or relatives, they would tell her smugly that “Papa knew best” and would send her back to the convent.
Santa María, she would worry about where to go, what to do, when she got on the ground outside the convent walls. Inwardly, she thought about the elegant Monique happily enthroned back at her papa’s ranch. Amethyst’s predicament was Monique’s fault. There’s no fool like an old fool, and Papa was dazzled by the elegant French beauty who, of course, wanted a free hand with his estate.
If only that damned Texan had helped her. Amethyst thought about him as she blew out her candle, then tied the other end of the homemade rope to the bedstead. Sometimes at night she awakened, feeling his arms around her, his hot mouth on her nipples, perspiration creating a fine sheen over her body as she remembered their frenzied lovemaking.
She hoped he had her ring on so tight he couldn’t get it off. Maybe it would cut off his circulation and he’d get gangrene, lose the finger. No time to think about the Texan now, she thought, crawling over the ledge.
In the moonlight, she held the rope and braced her feet against the wall, working her way down. She’d tied the end of it around her waist in case it slipped through her hands, she didn’t want to fall. When she reached the bottom, she’d untie it and be on her way.
She was still about ten feet from the ground when she ran out of rope. For a moment, she couldn’t quite believe it. She’d planned and measured so carefully, and yet here she hung, tied to a rope dangling on the side of the convent wall.
Santa María, what next! She’d untie herself and drop the rest of the way. Surely the fall wouldn’t hurt her. With desperate fingers, she struggled with the knot But with her weight upon it, she couldn’t untie it. If only she had a knife . . . But she didn’t. She tried chewing through the sheet with no results.
What could she do now? If she could work her way, hand over hand, back up the wall to the window, she could find another sheet and make her rope longer. Amethyst gave it a valiant try for a few minutes, digging her feet into the wall and working herself up hand over hand. She got a few feet before her strength gave out and she fell back the full length of the rope.
Determined, she tried again, but her strength was failing fast. She didn’t get quite as far up the wall the next time. Hours passed as she struggled. She could neither untie the knot, chew through the sheets, nor climb back up the wall to the window.
She was still hanging there at dawn, still struggling like a trussed chicken on a cord when the old servant woman finally noticed her as she came out to sweep the steps.
The next thing she saw was the Mother Superior’s head sticking out of the window above her.
“How dare you?” She was seething. “In all my years at this convent, I have never had so much trouble with any student as I’ve had with you! You are . . . you are . . .”
“Headstrong?” Amethyst suggested.
“Don’t get smart with me, young lady!” The older woman waved a piece of paper. “God in his wisdom has come to my rescue and has seen fit to end this problem!”
Amethyst spun at the end of her rope. “The problem is I didn’t have another sheet!” she snapped back.
“Young lady, there won’t be another next time, thank God!” The Mother Superior turned to a couple of stout nuns peering over the sill with her. “Pull her up!” she commanded.
Oh, but, there will be! Amethyst thought as they hauled her up the wall.
Bandit stared into the mirror, regarding himself with satisfaction. Although the don’s dead brother’s clothes had fitted him as
though they’d been made for him, the old man had brought in the best craftsmen to make a suit of the finest cloth, boots of the softest leather. He heard Falcon calling him from downstairs as he admired the short, Spanish jacket, the tight trousers. He looked for all the world like a Spanish grandee.
The old don called again.
“I’m coming, Papá,” he yelled back and went out of the room, down the hall. It is getting easier to slip into the role, Bandit thought; and although his conscience still bothered him, he soothed it by noting the happiness he had brought the old couple. And he was happier than he had ever been in his life, finally having parents who adored him, and having the love and respect of all the employees on the ranch. Sí, he really belonged someplace for the first time in his life.
Suddenly he frowned. The fiesta in his honor had already begun. Outside he could hear laughter and music, carriages drawing up before the sprawling hacienda. Tonight he would finally meet his childhood fiancée and would explain to her that he loved another. Once he got that taken care of, he could go looking for Amethyst.
The old man put his arm around Bandit’s shoulders as they met down in the main hallway. Pride and love were evident on his lined features. “Son, where have you been? Our guests are already starting to arrive.”
It occurred to Bandit that he needed to warn the old man about what he intended to do. “Papá,” he said as they walked out toward the patio and the noise and music there. “I think I need to tell you before I’m introduced to your friend’s daughter that I’m in love with another.”
Señor Falcon stopped dead, stared at Bandit. “No, Tony, this cannot be.” He shook his head and there was finality in his voice.
“Well, surely your friend will understand—”
“Understand?” The old man paled. “Out of loyalty and friendship for me, he keeps his daughter from marrying anyone else. Now she’s twenty-three years old, well into being a spinster. And now you expect me to say: ‘Perdôneme, old friend Gomez, after you have honored your commitment all these years, turned away eligible suitors for your daughter’s hand, we don’t want her in our family after all?’”
Bandit felt a chill run up his back. “Pretty serious, huh?”
The old man glared at him. “Did you see those dueling pistols in the case in my library?”
Bandit shook his head.
“I think if you do this thing, my friend will call me out on the field of honor. To break an engagement is something no respectable gentleman would do.”
“You don’t think there’s even a possibility this señorita might have fallen for some other hombre?”
“Are you loco?” Falcon snorted. “She’s a gently bred girl who’s been well chaperoned, probably has never even spent five minutes alone with another man. No, my son, on this one thing, I will not give in to you! It would destroy my friendship with her father. Besides, when you see her, you might want to reconsider.”
He knew he did not want to reconsider but at the moment, with guests arriving, he didn’t see how he could stand and debate this. If she were rich, surely another man might be interested in her, no matter if she had breasts like a Jersey cow and a face to match. “What does she look like, Papa?”
The old man considered as they went out into the night. “Well, she’s a little past marriageable age, but that can’t be helped . . . and a little thin for my taste, but she’s attractive. Young men think too much about such things when seeking a wife. Other things are equally important. Beauty is only skin deep, you know.”
But ugly goes all the way to the bone, Bandit thought miserably. He imagined the señorita as they walked out into the night, under the paper lanterns strung across the patio where the band was setting up. No, she wouldn’t look like a cow. She’d be a thin, bony old maid with a noticeable mustache. Coyote ugly, the cowboys called it. So ugly, if you woke up from a drunk with her asleep on your arm, you’d chew it off to escape rather than wake her. Of course the Falcon heir was her only hope. She’d hold him to the bargain like a Texas horse trader making a deal.
Outside, the May night was warm, full of stars. Paper lanterns illuminated the flagstone courtyard where dozens had already gathered. The little mariachi band played a Mexican folk tune, and Romeros, a drink in his hand, nodded to Bandit as he came out into the crowd. He’d managed to avoid the foreman all week.
Bandit was immediately surrounded by Spanish nobility, the Falcon family’s friends. All wished him well, wanted to shake his hand as he pushed his way through the crowd to señora Falcon’s side. He bent to kiss the elegant old lady on the forehead. “Mama, you are lovely tonight.”
Tears came to her eyes. “I never thought I’d live to see this day, Tony. I didn’t think I could live through all these lonely years you’ve been gone.” She took his big, square hands in her frail ones. “But now I shall live to see you married, perhaps even dandle a grandchild or two on my knee before I die.”
“Let’s have no talk of dying, Mamá.” He smiled gently. “You will outlive us all.” But his eyes told him his words were a lie. The señora was frail and ill. Barring a miracle, she only had another few months, or maybe a year or so to live. She had gained some strength since he had arrived, Bandit thought guiltily. Finding her son had made her happy. Well, he owed her that.
Who are you kidding? Bandit asked himself. You aren’t doing this to be noble, you want to be Tony Falcon. The realization hit him like a fist. He wasn’t doing it for the money or even for the power to go find a missing girl; he wanted to be part and parcel of this family, to really belong here.
More friends approached, pulling Bandit out of his thoughts. The old don introduced the impostor proudly, told again and again how the boy had been kidnapped as a child, how Romeros had found him just in time to keep young Tony from being hanged as a horse thief because the boy had bought the stolen stallion up in Texas, not realizing the blue-eyed horse belonged to the ranch.
The old señora nodded. “It is our Lady’s will,” she said with great feeling. “All these years I’ve prayed for the return of the missing Falcon, and you see a miracle has been performed. I must send a gift to the church, burn candles of thanksgiving.”
Bandit shuffled his feet uneasily. It was one thing to fool two gullible old people. He figured the Old Man Upstairs had really made a mistake on this one, having him turn up at just the exact moment to have Romeros find him. A miracle? Bandit thought, not likely.
His mouth felt dry as west Texas sand. He shook hands with countless people, told the story of how Romeros had found him time after time.
Romeros was evidently enjoying himself, Bandit noted with annoyance. He watched the tall, thin foreman take advantage of every opportunity to play the hero, while he nodded modestly to well-wishers, kissing all the ladies’ hands.
Bandit said, “Papa, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get myself a drink. Can I bring you one?”
The old man smiled, shook his head. “But get yourself one, Tony. Go enjoy yourself. Mama and I will stand here and greet the guests. Don’t go off too far. Your fiancée and her father should be arriving soon.”
His fiancée. Bandit had tried to forget about Miss Thin and Bony. Just what was he going to do about this old maid he was engaged to? He ambled over, got a cold beer at the refreshment table, and idly looked the crowd over.
A pretty girl about fifteen years old or so, clad in a low-cut pink dress, smiled back at him. Bandit heard distinct Southern accents coming from the group she was with and wondered about that. Americans? Here?
About then, he saw her. Yep, that had to be her. Bandit’s hand trembled, and he wished he had a stronger drink. He watched the Falcons greet a mature, very thin lady. They had lied to him. She looked double twenty-three.
“Oh, no!” Bandit’s mouth dropped open as he stared. The woman shaking hands with the Falcons was plain and looked to be at least forty, maybe older. She was so thin and bony, she’d be in danger if she ever got near a pack of dogs. They’d try to bury her, Ban
dit thought. Coyote ugly. He wasn’t up to this. What was he to do? He ran. For the first time in his life, he fled in fear.
Bandit ran into the house and into the pantry where he sat down on the floor with his mug of beer. There was a little light from the kitchen streaming under the door, and he stared down at his drink and wondered what in the blue blazes to do? He imagined his parents making the official engagement announcement tonight. No doubt both families would be in a hurry to tie the knot after waiting sixteen years.
Out in the kitchen, he heard a woman call his name. “Señor Tony?”
Bandit didn’t move. He’d rather face Comanches than his fiancee. He sat very still, listening to the footsteps fade. No doubt she would search the whole house for him. Maybe she wouldn’t look in the pantry. This is loco, he told himself, sipping his beer. You can’t spend the rest of your life sitting on the pantry floor.
He thought about the violet-eyed girl again. “Who says I can’t?” Bandit murmured. If he could have gotten his hands on Romeros right now, he would have choked the life out of him. Even in the semidarkness, he could see the lavender stones in the little ring gleaming on his smallest finger. Amethyst. Aimée. Where are you?
He heard footsteps and froze in place like a frightened quail. The pantry door squeaked as it swung open. “Señor Tony?”
With the light behind her, he realized it was the young, overripe American girl. “Aren’t you Tony Falcon? What are you doing in here?”
“I—I was looking for something,” he said lamely.
“Sitting on the floor of the pantry?”
He didn’t answer, realizing he’d literally gotten himself into a corner.
“Now, Señor Tony, I understand perfectly.” She pulled up her full skirts, knelt beside him. It dawned on him that she had a Southern accent as thick as sorghum syrup.
Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) Page 12