She finally stood, feeling the weakness in her legs. The torrent of tears had taken what little strength she had after so little food and so much hard riding. But she forced herself to take the gun, and she pointed it at him. “I could kill you.”
“I know.” His gaze met hers. His eyes were so deep in the falling dusk, so unfathomable. She wondered whether she had ever known him at all.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“For Robin,” he said, “if not for yourself. I have to convince your uncle to send you out. I don’t want … either of you hurt.”
She stood straighter. “Sanctuary is my home.”
“It’s a nest of killers.”
“And what are you, Diablo? I read the posters, the accounts in the newspapers.” She watched him wince as she used his outlaw name. She looked at his face, the scar that marked it, the new bristles of beard that hardened it. She looked at the guarded eyes, the mouth that had once kissed her but now was strange to her. Her body felt cold and hot at the same time, warring against itself. The heart was cold; the core of womanhood, though, still remembered the feel of him.
She met his gaze. “I hate you,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’ll never take you through to Sanctuary, so you can take me in now. At least, you’ll have something to show for your blood money.”
Her hand, holding the pistol, dropped to her side. She wanted to shoot him. She wanted to hurt him like he had hurt her. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t pull the trigger. She could only hurl words at him, and words were meaningless.
He just stood there, not moving. His eyes were empty, his jaw set. His mouth worked for a moment and his shoulders slumped. What was left of her heart, what small fragments still existed, crumpled as she saw the defeat in him. She balled her fists in agony. She wouldn’t go to him. She wouldn’t trust again. Never.
He finally reached for his pistol, took it from her hand and pointed it toward the ground, firing three times in steady succession.
Nicky swallowed. She knew exactly what he was doing. He was inviting company. Her uncle’s men? He had to know they would kill him. He’d admitted as much. Or was he simply calling a posse?
“There’s no posse behind me,” he said softly, reading her thoughts.
“Then go,” she whispered. “Go before my uncle’s men come.”
Kane looked down at her. “I can’t.” His gaze seemed to bore right through her and he smiled at her. Wry. Tender. Unafraid. His hand went to her face, his knuckles brushing softly along her cheek. “Remember that blacksmith I mentioned in San Antonio?”
She nodded stiffly.
“Take Robin there. He and his wife are good people; they’ll help you. Don’t let your feelings about me … keep you and Robin from going there. He’ll be good for the boy.” He swallowed hard for a moment, reluctance written all over his face. “I have no right to ask you for anything,” he said finally, “but …”
Nicky couldn’t take her gaze away from him. Her heart was pounding. His words sounded like a will. And they would be, if he didn’t leave. Sanctuary was well within the range of the sound of gunfire.
“Leave,” she ordered fiercely. Why did she still care?
He shook his head, his eyes holding hers, willing her to listen, to obey. “My friend … he’ll die, unless …”
“Unless what?” She didn’t want to know, but his intensity was so strong, she couldn’t ignore it. He was willing her to listen, and God help her, she wasn’t capable of turning away from him.
“Masters. The man in Gooden. Let him know …”
“Know what?” she asked when he hesitated.
“The bargain was—”
But the approach of horses interrupted his sentence, and she recognized Mitch Evers. He had three Comanches along with him. Her gaze returned to Kane’s face.
“The bargain?” she prompted.
“Tell him how I died,” he said, stooping down and placing his gun on the ground. He ignored Evers, who dismounted and approached. “Please,” he added urgently, his will again reaching out to her, enveloping her in it. She found herself nodding.
“Ben Masters … or Smith,” he said, lowering his voice. “Gooden.” He turned to face Evers.
Nicky felt herself shaking again. Why had she agreed? What was he doing?
Mitch stopped in front of her, his curiosity frank as he looked at her, then Kane, and back again. “Thank God, you’re all right,” he said to Nicky. “We heard gunshots …”
Nicky felt her back stiffen. The truth would kill Kane. Probably slowly and painfully. Mitch might even give him to the Comanches. The thought was excruciating, even more painful than his betrayal.
Loyalty warred with loyalty. Except she owed no loyalty to Diablo. But it was there, just the same. She felt as if a civil war were raging in her head.
Mitch was obviously waiting for some explanation. “We got your note,” he said finally when none came. “We found Calico dead, but no sign of Hildebrand. Are you all right?” His voice lowered as he inspected her. She knew how she must look, how the tears must have left trails on her face and a redness in her eyes. She nodded.
Mitch looked dubious, then looked toward Kane. “What happened?”
“You aren’t going to like it,” Kane said, and Nicky knew instantly that he was going to sign his own death warrant. She wanted to stop him. No matter what he had done, she couldn’t let him …
She started to open her mouth, but he stopped her with his next words. “There’s a posse on its way. They know about Sanctuary.” He’d just denied that to her.
“How?” Mitch asked flatly.
“I’ll tell Thompson,” Kane said.
Mitch looked at her in question. “What’s going on, Nicky?”
“I don’t know,” she said. But she was beginning to, and the truth was like a dagger in her heart. For whatever reasons, Kane hadn’t lied to her, but he was lying now. There was no posse—or it would already have been here upon hearing the shots—but he wanted Mitch to believe there was one. Kane wanted to be taken. He was inviting himself to be killed.
Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “Nicky?” he said in a warning tone. “You’ve been gone nearly a week. Nat’s been sick with worry. And why isn’t O’Brien blindfolded?”
“Because I followed her,” Kane interrupted. “She didn’t realize—”
Nicky found herself breaking in before he could say anything else. “I found him the night I left and told him about Calico and Hildebrand. He fought them, tied them both up, and we went on into Gooden. I decided to return because I knew you would be worried, and I thought he would be another couple of days. Maybe he decided he didn’t want to wait on a guide.” Lies begat lies. Did they come that easily to Kane?
“Why wouldn’t he just ask you, then?” Mitch asked.
Nicky wished she had Kane’s glib, lying tongue. “Maybe he didn’t want to be blindfolded.” She hesitated, then started down another deceptive path. “Mitch, we heard some things in town. Maybe they don’t know exactly where Sanctuary is, but I think they have a good idea. We … heard a posse’s being formed.” She avoided looking at Kane, even as she lied for him.
Mitch’s head jerked up.
“We may not have long,” she said.
Mitch’s eyes went to Kane again, then back to Nicky, as if seeking a truth he wasn’t being told. “Nicky?”
But she set her chin and went to Molly. “I think we’d better warn Uncle Nat.”
Mitch nodded. “Let’s go,” he told Kane.
Kane hesitated, and Nicky finally looked up at him. She couldn’t read the emotion in his eyes, but that muscle was working in his cheek again.
She turned away, realizing her efforts were in vain. He was going to tell her uncle exactly what had happened. She had given him a way out, and he wasn’t going to take it. Telling herself she didn’t care, she held out a hand to Mitch, avoiding any contact with Kane. Then why was she so sick at her stomach at the thought of what was going to happen? And why had she t
ried to help him?
Mitch helped Nicky into the saddle and muttered a few guttural instructions to the Indians with him. Two of the braves turned toward the direction of Gooden, and Nicky knew they would scout for a posse. One remained with them.
“They’ll cover our trail,” Mitch said as her eyes questioned him, and the small band started toward Sanctuary.
Kane’s gaze fixed on Nicky, who rode just ahead of him with Evers. Why in the hell had she lied for him?
He still saw her face, tear-streaked and tired and broken. He still heard her voice. I hate you. Her accusations still echoed in his soul. Liar. Traitor. He recalled how she shied away from his touch as if he were a monster.
Yet she had lied for him, tried to protect him despite everything she knew. He supposed he should grateful. Hell, he was. Grateful and … touched beyond anything that had ever happened to him. But the guilt was now a burning brand on his soul. He wondered whether the pain would ever fade. She had lied for him, she who was always so agonizingly honest. She had put aside her own hurts, bitter as they were, to soften his. Why?
He wished she had run a sword through him instead. Her uncle would soon realize she was protecting a traitor. God, he knew the agonizing cost of divided loyalties. No torture would be worse than the look on Nicky’s face, than the soul-shattering tears, than the contempt that replaced them. Every one of her words—liar, traitor—kept ringing in his head. He’d been unable to counter them, unable to defend himself. He was everything she said he was. And worse. He had killed the spirit in her as much as he’d killed that sheriff’s deputy two years ago.
Kane shifted in the saddle. His heart lay in torn remnants, sliced apart by the hurt he’d inflicted on one of two people he’d loved in his life, his inability to help the other. He bent his head, the muscles in his throat working convulsively. He didn’t even care if anyone else heard the barely suppressed groan as waves of pain exploded throughout every feeling part of him.
Nat Thompson leaned against a post of the front porch. Lookouts had signalled the approach of riders. It had to be Nicky. She’d been gone nearly a week now, and worry had furrowed even deeper lines in his face.
She never would have taken chances like this if he’d been well.
He tried to will away the pain that kept grinding at him, then turned back to the pass where the riders would be appearing. He made out Mitch first, then Nicky, and his heart lightened. He then saw a man on a bay. Diablo. Diablo was back. The pain in his belly seemed to explode, and he clung to the post.
The riders drew closer. Nat looked at Nicky’s face. It was pale and obviously tear-stained. She was keeping a distance from Diablo. She wouldn’t even look at him. As the horsemen approached him, Nat addressed his question to Mitch. Nicky looked as if she was ready to fall apart. “What happened?” he barked, and he managed to put some of the old authority into his voice.
“Damned if I know,” Mitch said. “Diablo says he has to talk to you.”
Nat’s eyes moved over to the subject under discussion. Diablo’s face was like stone and his back as stiff as a piece of lumber. He looked like he’d aged years in the past week. The lines in his face seemed to have deepened into furrows. He looked like he’d visited hell.
Nat turned to Nicky. “Nicole?” He never used Nicole. He didn’t know why he did now, except for the odd, desperate look on her face. She trembled. She never trembled. Nat had once thought it was because of all the grief she’d had as a child. Nicky seldom showed emotion. And since her father died, he’d never seen her cry.
But she had been crying. Nothing made dirt streaks on the face like tears. She wouldn’t look at Diablo, either, which was strange. Nat hadn’t been too sick to notice her eyes had seldom left the man before he left Sanctuary. If Diablo had done anything to her … Nat would watch him skinned alive.
Mitch dismounted in front of him. He nodded toward Diablo, who was dismounting. “He wants to talk to you.”
Nat turned to Diablo, frowning. “Diablo?”
Diablo looked at Nicky, then down at Nat. “The law is headed this way,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“I told them enough that they could probably figure the rest out,” Kane replied.
Nat felt as if someone had dropped a giant boulder on him. His shock and surprise were too great to react for a moment.
“You might have a day,” Diablo continued. “Time enough to get Robin and Nicky out.”
Nat tried to recover from the surprise, from the pain roiling in his belly. “Why? Why in God’s name did you tell them?”
Diablo’s gray eyes darkened. “My own reasons.”
Nat turned his gaze to Nicky. She had dismounted and was standing next to Evers. Her face was white, her hands knotted together. “Nicky?”
She just looked from one man to the other.
Nat turned back to Mitch. “Take him to my office. To the back and make sure he stays there. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Mitch looked at the Comanche, and the man slid from his horse. Nat watched as the two led an unprotesting Diablo toward his office.
Nat turned to his niece. “I want to know everything you know,” he said, biting off the words. Failure overwhelmed him. His instincts as well as his health were gone. A traitor, by God. He had supped and entertained a traitor. Had even offered him his valley, and his niece.
Nat took Nicky’s arm. “I want to know everything,” he repeated.
Just then Robin came running in, the hawk on his wrist. “Andy saw you and Diablo … Where is Diablo?”
Nat hesitated and looked at Nicky. Nicky swallowed. “He’s real tired,” she finally said. “He’s getting some rest. Will you take our horses and rub them down, see that they get some feed?”
“But I want to show him how Diablo can fly.”
“Later,” she said abruptly.
Robin looked at his uncle in mute appeal. “Look after the horses,” Nat said in the tone that allowed no room for disobedience. He rarely used it with his niece and nephew—his two weak spots—so it always got results. Robin looked rebellious but headed for the door.
Nat closed it, and faced his niece. He needed to sit down. He felt so damn weak. But he needed honesty now and he knew he was more intimidating on his feet than sprawled in a chair. “What happened out there?”
Nat could almost see her mind working. She was often cool, unemotional with the guests, but her every feeling showed within the family. He saw the grief and worry, the anguish, the reluctance to hurt someone she cared about. She still cared about him. Whatever he had done, she loved the man. The truth was in her eyes. Pain exploded in his stomach, this time so great he doubled over, just trying to keep from falling to the floor. Nicky’s hands caught him, and she helped him over to an overstuffed horsehair sofa.
He struggled against the pain, the weakness that was becoming more and more pronounced each day. How much time did he have? He thought he would have months, if not a year, but now he wondered. And perhaps Sanctuary only had hours, if Diablo had told the truth.
Nat knew he had to get Robin and Nicky out. He had to do it now. But how? All his hopes had been pinned on Diablo. In his need, he had rushed to what apparently was a disastrous decision.
“Uncle Nat?” Nicky’s worried voice snaked into his consciousness.
He tried to sit up straight, but damn the pain was bad, the worry worse. “You have to tell me about Diablo,” he finally managed.
“I can’t …” she said, and he saw her face set.
“Your brother’s life might depend on it, even if you don’t care about your own,” he said harshly, the words grated out between clenched teeth.
Her face was an agony of indecision. Her mouth trembled, and she bit her lower lip. She was fighting herself, fighting competing loyalties. He saw it all in her eyes.
Nat tried to help. “He appears to want to talk,” he said gently. “I just need to know what I can believe.”
She looked up at him. “Are
you going to kill him?”
“I don’t know,” Nat lied. Diablo had signed his own death warrant unless he came up with a damned good explanation. He hesitated. “I want you to pack whatever you need … and want. Robin too. I’m sending you out with Mitch. Tomorrow.” He should have done it months ago, he thought regretfully. Even years. A Diablo had been bound to happen. Rage started to overtake the pain. Something had died in Nicky’s eyes. Probably in her heart. He wouldn’t help either her or himself by insisting she say things she couldn’t bring herself to say. He would talk to Diablo. If necessary, and only as a last resort, he could always come back to her.
He conquered the pain. Temporarily. He would take some laudanum as soon as he talked to Diablo. He reached out and took Nicky’s hand, holding it tight. “You’ve been like a daughter to me,” he said and saw the surprised look in her face. He’d been protective in a hard, cold way, but seldom had he openly expressed affection. “Get some food and some rest.” He tried a smile. “And a bath.”
“You won’t …”
He stood, somehow burying the pain. He had to. For her. Nicky and Robin were all he had. “No,” he said gently. “I won’t do anything … final.”
Nat Thompson saw her face crumple. She was smart enough to understand the inference. “Please …”
But he felt his own face set. “I have to know what he knows,” he said. “It’s up to him. Now go pack.”
“I want to go with you,” she said stubbornly.
“No,” he said. “If you want to keep him alive a bit longer, you’ll do as I say.” He forced strength into his voice. Conviction. It took every last ounce of strength he had.
She hesitated, doubt in her eyes. But her shoulders were sagging, and her eyes were almost closed with fatigue. “You swear?” she said with one last attempt.
“I swear I won’t kill him.”
She looked into his eyes for a long, silent moment, then turned and went to her room.
Now, he amended the promise in his head. He took a step, then another. If only he could manage the next few days, if only he could get Nicky and Robin someplace safe. He had to know how much time Sanctuary still had.
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