Intrigued, Bandit stood up. “Something for me, sir?”
The old man rose. “Sí, would you like to go, Mama?”
She smiled and shook her white head. “I have so many things to plan, wedding guest lists and all. You two run along.”
Bandit leaned over and kissed her cheek. She smelled of cologne and old lace. His own mother had always smelled of whiskey and men. “We’ll see you later, Mamacita.”
He threw away the cigarillo as he walked with the old don to the stables.
“Tony, I want to make you a gift of that stallion.”
Bandit looked at him with surprise. “The big pinto? Papa, he is valuable. Everyone says he is your favorite, your herd sire.”
The old man gave him a long look. “My only son deserves the best Falcon’s Lair has to offer.”
They entered the barn. The dimly lit interior smelled of hay and horses. The big stallion stuck its head over the stall gate and nuzzled Bandit.
Señor Falcon laughed, patted its head. “He’s yours already anyway. You never did tell me how you got him, son.”
Bandit stroked the velvet muzzle, remembering, and winced a little inside. “I—I got him from a man who didn’t need him anymore. I don’t know where he got him.”
“No matter.” Señor Falcon frowned, caressed the horse’s ears. “It was such a puzzle how he disappeared right out of this barn. I suppose word of him got around the countryside and someone decided to make some money by stealing him and selling him across the border. This horse has been like a son to me, and now I give him to you, Tony.”
Bandit swallowed hard. He could not look the old man in the face because of his enormous guilt and shame. “Papa, I hate to take your most loved possession. Blue Eyes must have the finest bloodlines—”
“No doubt he does if we only knew what they were.” The man cleared his throat as if overcome by emotion. “If we only knew what his pedigree was . . .”
Bandit paused, looked at him in surprise. “You don’t know his lineage—this, your finest stud?”
“Maybe we’ll never really know,” the don said. “He was a wild mustang I caught in a roundup out on the mesas. No one knows who sired him.”
A woods colt, Bandit thought, patting the horse. That’s what Texans call a child of unknown parentage. The stallion is a woods colt like me. “He looks as if he has good blood, sir.”
“Bloodlines, pedigrees have always been very important to me, second only to my family honor,” the man admitted, smiling at the horse with obvious affection. “And yet all I can judge this one on is his heart, his courage. That’s what’s important in man or horse. Whatever this stallion’s bloodlines, he’s a true thoroughbred in every sense of the word.”
His words were said with deep feeling. Bandit hesitated. “You care so very much for him, I hesitate to accept him, Papa.”
“Tony, it’s my greatest pleasure to give him to you. I’ve waited a long time for you to come home. It’s only fitting that my finest horse go to the Falcon heir.”
Bandit turned so the old man couldn’t see his face. He wondered if Falcon could read deception in his eyes? It took a minute for him to regain his composure. “Thank you, Papa. I love the big horse.”
Señor Falcon clapped him on the back. “Well, I’m going back to the house to sit awhile in the sun with your mother. You might want to go riding, go see your señorita.”
Bandit grinned. “I’d like that, sir. You’ll have to give me directions to their ranch.”
Señor Falcon pointed. “Go in that direction. You can’t miss the trail. Enjoy yourself and we’ll see you for dinner.”
Bandit watched the old man leave the barn as he stood there petting the big stud. It was ironic and a little sad that he had given the stallion to Bandit. If the elderly Spaniard only knew . . .
Blue Eyes snorted and bumped his head against Bandit’s chest. Bandit patted the horse absently, then looked up toward the loft. The saddlebags holding the army payroll were hidden up there under the hay. He hadn’t figured out what to do about that yet. Mexico was a big place. Maybe the outlaws had given up tracking him by now and the army wasn’t allowed to cross the Rio Grande looking for anyone. The two countries were on such strained terms already and had been ever since the Mexican-American war, the United States might not want to create an incident.
The stallion bumped him again.
“Okay, Blue Eyes, you want to go?” Bandit laughed as he led the stud out of the stall.
But he frowned in the dim light as he looked the horse over. The stud appeared to have been ridden and put away without being properly groomed. Bandit didn’t have much use for men who didn’t take good care of animals. If he found out which careless stable boy had exercised the stallion and put him away without cleaning the dust and brambles from his fetlocks, he’d go up one side and down the other of the lazy boy. He reached for a curry comb and a saddle.
Amethyst breakfasted alone, then went back to her room. Papa was off somewhere on the ranch, rounding up cattle, and Monique never got up until noon, which seemed almost disgraceful on a working ranch. But then, Amethyst thought with annoyance, the woman had had a very busy night.
Thinking she might go riding, Amethyst sat down at her dressing table, leaned close to her mirror, and studied her own face. She looked tired, and her eyes were red from last night’s weeping. Certainly she hadn’t had much sleep because of that faithless cowboy’s midnight sojourn in Monique’s arms.
She put on a dusky lavender poplin riding habit trimmed in heliotrope braid. A perky hat cocked over one eye allowed the chignon of curls to descend from the back of her head.
Just then, a maid entered. “Señor Falcon is in the library, señorita. He wishes me to say he’s come to take you riding.”
Amethyst gasped with shock. The nerve of the man! How dare he think she would be willing to continue this facade. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Tell the Señor . . . Never mind, I’ll tell him myself!”
.Picking up a quirt, Amethyst struck it across the dressing table in fury. Then she marched out of her room and down the stairs.
The Texan lounged against the mantel, his hat tipped back. He was smoking a slender cigarillo and smiledas she entered. “It’s a good day for a ride, and—”
“With all the riding you did last night,” she snapped crisply, “I don’t know how you have the strength to sit a horse this morning!”
He looked at her blankly. “Perdôneme?” he said in Spanish, tossing the cigar into the fireplace.
Oh, the nerve of him to pretend innocence! “I’m speaking of the way you carried on last night with my father’s fiancée!”
He stuck his thumbs in his belt, ambled over to her. “Okay, so I danced with her at the party. Is that what’s got your hackles up?”
She bristled as she looked up at him. “Don’t give me that innocent smirk, Texas! You know what I’m talking about! Where have you known that woman before?”
She stood there clutching her little whip, watching the expression on his face. He looked as guilty as a fox in a hen house with feathers on his mouth.
“Sweet, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about!”
“You think me a fool?” She marched over to him, looking up into his face.
“You’re irresistible when you’re mad,”. he said, and before she realized what he meant to do, he took her in his embrace, lifted her off her feet, and kissed her deeply, thoroughly.
For a moment, she was overwhelmed by his masculinity, the slight tobacco taste of his lips, the salty man-scent of him, the heat of his big body coming through her clothing. Without thinking, she closed her eyes and let him mold her against him. His tongue probed between her lips, and she trembled at the caress of its tip on her own.
Then she had a moment of sanity, saw a clear image of him in Monique’s arms; heard, through a closed door, sounds of passion and the creaking of a bed. She struggled out of his arms, readjusted her clothing. “You’re deliberatel
y trying to make me forget the subject!” She waved her little whip. “I demand you tell me where you knew that woman! She looked at you last night like a hungry child with her nose pressed against a candy-store window!”
Bandit flushed and took out a small coin, flipped it over and over. “Let’s discuss something else, shall we? Like when are we setting our wedding date?”
Amethyst’s mouth dropped open. “Surely you can’t be serious!”
He put the coin back in his pocket, cocked his head in that devilish, crooked grin. “Oh, but I am.”
“You’ll marry me and sleep with her on the side, is that it? Don’t lie to me! I saw that look of guilt when I asked you where you had known her before!”
“Speaking of looks,” he said easily. “your eyes look like holes burned in a blanket. Obviously partying late doesn’t agree with you.”
The rage built in her. “How long do you intend to keep up this facçade?”
He took off his hat, scratched his head. “Sweet, I don’t even know what that word means; I’m just a poor old Texas cowboy. Now let’s stop growling like two hounds circling each other and go riding.”
At that point, she completely lost her temper and slashed him across the face with her riding crop.
He swore suddenly. Then he towered over her, grabbed both her wrists. The fury on his face was terrible to see, his eyes ice-blue, looking down at her, the quirt mark livid red across his cheek. “Sweet,” he said, his voice controlled and cold, “if you were a man, I’d have killed you for that!”
She had a sudden feeling he would never strike a woman, and her sureness made her bold. “Go ahead and hit me, you big bully!” she challenged.
“Don’t tempt me! ” His voice was very low. “If there was ever a spoiled brat who needed to be paddled, it’s you! If you think I’ll take this kind of treatment in our marriage without turning you over my knee, you’re in for a big surprise! ”
She struggled to pull away from him. “Nothing you do would surprise me, you—you saddle tramp! You rotten bastard!”
He started as if struck again. “You really know how to hurt me, don’t you?” And without waiting for an answer, he let go of her wrists, turned on his heel, and strode out.
She stood there, hearing his boots in the hall, then the slam of the door, the horse loping away.
Why did she feel so guilty when he was the one who had wronged her? After a long moment, she went to the door. She would go riding all right, riding alone to sort things out.
She called the maid and requested that the small stable boy bring her blood bay Paso Fino mare, Heartaches, to the house for her. Within minutes, the winsome child appeared with the mare.
“Manuel,” she asked, “did you see which way the señor of the yellow hair went?”
The child nodded and pointed. “He no take the regular trail, señorita, he cut across toward the west pasture.”
She felt uneasy. “Are you sure he went in that direction? You must be mistaken, Manuel. That’s where Papa keeps the old fighting bull.”
The little boy shook his head stubbornly. “No, señorita, I watch. That’s how he went.”
Santa María, what now? “Manuel, didn’t you warn him?”
The child raised his narrow shoulders helplessly. “The señor ride away very fast. His face look like thunder! I had no chance—”
“He was mad at me,” she said, grabbing the reins from his hand. “He doesn’t know about the bull. Someone needs to stop him. . . .” She looked around. The ranch yard was deserted, everyone busy except herself. She could hardly send a small child.
Actually the elderly animal had never hurt anyone. Of course, the Texan wouldn’t know that. He might shoot her papa’s pet and ask questions later if it charged him.
There was only one thing to do. She swung up into the saddle, gave the delicate mare her head, and, using her spurs, took off after Bandit at a dead gallop.
Chapter Twelve
Amethyst took off after Bandit at a dead gallop, forgetting how angry she was with him.
I’m more concerned with the life of that animal than I am with the Texan’s, she told herself. After all, though the gunslinger wasn’t wearing a pistol, he probably had a saddle gun and a fighting bull could look dangerous. If he felt threatened, he just might shoot the old creature.
Half a mile ahead of her, Bandit rode at an easy lope, but his emotions moved at a dead gallop. His face still stung from the slash of her little whip.
He reached up to touch the mark. By damn! What in blue blazes was he gonna do about that saucy miss? He hadn’t realized she was as stubborn and hot tempered as he was, or that neither of them were willing to give an inch. Well, if she wanted a fight, he’d give her one! He hadn’t gone through all this to let her scare him off. Bandit ran the tip of his tongue over his lips as he rode along, remembering the taste of her mouth.
My little wild flower—he grimaced—I’m beginning to wonder if you’re worth all the trouble you’re putting me through? He’d always been a ladies’ man, and this ornery filly was the first one who hadn’t thrown herself into his arms. That alone made her a real challenge.
He slowed the stallion to a walk, looked around. The scent of claret cup cactus blooms and sagebrush drifted on the warm breeze. Thorny, impassable thickets of mesquite and creosote bush grew off to his left. He’d been too furious to take the trail straight back to Falcon’s Lair, and had cut through a gate and across unfamiliar territory.
Blue Eyes’ ears went up and he snorted. Bandit reined in and listened to something crashing through the thick brush.
Indians or wild Javelina pigs with razor-sharp tusks? Bandit grabbed for his pistol. Damn! He’d not expected to need it, hadn’t worn it. He didn’t even have a saddle gun. He cursed himself for his carelessness as he watched the brush, wondering whether to hightail it out of there.
A giant black bull emerged from the thorny barrier, then stopped, staring back at him with fathomless black eyes. It twitched its tail, rattled the ring in its nose and the short length of chain hanging from it.
Apprehension made Bandit’s stomach knot up as he recognized the breed. This was no ordinary bull but one bred for the arena. Even though the gray on its muzzle told him it was an old animal, the scars on its hump told him this bull had been fought. That made it dangerous even though it might be old. He didn’t know much about bullfighting, but he did know the animals were supposed to learn so much in that one time in the ring, they could be very dangerous to men if they were allowed to live.
If he only had a rifle . . . Those pointed horns could gut the spotted horse, and when Blue Eyes went down, Bandit would be at the bull’s mercy. Maybe he could ease away without the giant animal ever seeing him.
“Blue Eyes,” he whispered, “let’s get the hell out of here. You back up and then hightail it like a dog that’s smelled supper cookin’!”
But at that moment, the bull seemed to scent them. It pawed the ground, snorted, and charged. The stallion seemed unusually terrified of the beast. It threw its head up and whinnied as Bandit fought to turn it and gallopaway.
It took all his skill to remain in the saddle as the pinto stumbled. The big bull brushed past them, narrowly missing the horse with its gleaming, sharp horns.
“Easy, boy!” Bandit yelled, but the frightened pinto neighed and reared up, then turned to run. The bull turned, charged again. With great skill, Bandit reined the horse so that the bull’s horns missed him again, but its great shoulder hit the horse a glancing blow. The stallion stumbled again and went down. Bandit freed his left foot and jumped clear to keep from breaking a leg as the horse fell heavily in the dust.
Stunned, Bandit lay in the dirt, feeling blood running down his forehead. The horse stumbled to its feet, then galloped away, reins flapping.
The bull paused to stare after the horse. Evidently, it was a little nearsighted and could no longer see the disappearing stallion. Slowly, it turned around, snorting and pawing the ground. Its sharp
hooves threw up dust that settled on its scarred hump.
Bandit lay very still, hardly daring to breathe. He’d worked around cattle most of his life, and he knew it wasn’t true that bulls charged with their eyes closed, nor did they charge at the color red. They would charge at anything that moved, and surely the great beast could see him on the ground.
He felt cold sweat intermingling with the blood on his forehead as he lay there. Don’t panic, he warned himself. All it would take was one move to have two tons of black death right on top of him. He’d seen a cowboy gored to death by an old range bull one time; it had been a horrible sight. And the fact this was a bull bred for the arena made it twice as dangerous as an ordinary longhorn. Certainly Blue Eyes had been terrified enough to run away. Why?
Was there a tree nearby he could climb up into? Bandit wanted to get up and run, but he forced himself to lie still, knowing he was too stunned to move fast. Besides, the nearest mesquite tree wasn’t tall enough to get him out of the bull’s reach.
Now the beast hesitated, sniffing the air, smelling the scent of blood and man. It looked a little confused as if Bandit were not the prey it sought. Bandit lay very still, struggling not to cough on the dust churned up by the sharp hooves.
You big black devil, he thought as he stared into the fathomless eyes. From here, he could smell the rank scent of the bull, hear its heavy breathing.
The animal put its head in the air, sniffing the breeze. The chain in its nose ring rattled. Its tail flicked back and forth. The sun reflected off its long horns, sharp as knives.
What a helluva way to die, Bandit thought, to be impaled on those. He wondered if the bull had ever killed a man before and just what it was doing wandering the pastures of the Durango ranch? No one had said anything about Amethyst’s papa raising fighting bulls. Plump, kindly Durango didn’t seem the type.
He lay very still, listening to the stallion’s hoofbeats fading in the distance. The horse had greatly feared the bull, and that was something Bandit couldn’t understand. Had Don Enrique never used the stud to work cattle? Had the stallion had a run-in with a bull as a colt?
Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) Page 20