The Gunfighter's Girl
Cheryl Pierson
Smashwords Edition
The Gunfighter's Girl
Presented by Western Trail Blazer
Copyright © 2013 Cheryl Pierson
Cover Art Copyright © 2013 Karen Michelle Nutt
Produced by Rebecca J. Vickery
Design Consultation by Laura Shinn
(Previously appeared under the title Scarlet Ribbons in 2011)
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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The Gunfighter's Girl is a work of fiction. Though some actual
towns, cities, and locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person, past, present, or future, are coincidental.
Men avoid meeting the eyes of Miguel Rivera, El Diablo, (The Devil) for fear of his gun. Upon returning to a town where he once knew a brief happiness, Miguel makes a foolish holiday purchase; two scarlet ribbons which he hides away.
When Catalina, his former lover, allows him to take a room at her boarding house, Miguel discovers a secret. Realizing he needs the scarlet ribbons after all, he is stunned to find them missing. Will a meeting with a mysterious priest, a special child, and the miracle of the scarlet ribbons set Miguel on a new path?
Chapter One
He didn't know why he bought them. The man they called El Diablo was not given to any kind of sentimentality. A devil had no soul, no heart.
But, by his small purchase, Miguel thought, he had shown himself, and the world, that was not entirely true.
When the street vendor had made eye contact, Miguel knew something odd was about to transpire. Most men glanced away quickly if they chanced to meet his eyes, afraid of what he might do—or what they might see. Many men had seen their deaths reflected in the dark blackness; too many, he thought with disgust.
But the street vendor—he'd looked at Miguel and had not turned away. He had actually smiled and given a friendly nod. Miguel had been drawn to the vendor, not understanding why. Obviously, the merchant had not known who he was; a hired gunman wanted on both sides of the border; a killer. The vendor had given Miguel an even wider smile as he neared, holding up a handful of trinkets that glittered in the warmth of the sun for a moment like diamonds.
As Miguel came closer, they lost their sparkle, and the vendor laid them back on the rough wooden display table. Miguel's hand hovered near the butt of his low-slung pistol for a moment as he gave a quick look around the market square of the small village.
"Hola, Senor," the vendor greeted him. "Como estas?"
"Bien," Miguel responded automatically, hearing the coolness in his tone. No need for that, he thought. The man was genuinely friendly. And as Miguel returned his gaze to the vendor, he saw a flicker of recognition in the heavy-set man's eyes. But there was no censure or fear. Unusual. How long had it been since he'd looked into another man's face and not seen one emotion or the other? Or both?
"Christmas is tomorrow. A special gift for your lady, perhaps?"
Miguel's lips lifted in sardonic amusement. Christmas. He had not had a lady for a very long time. "You know who I am?"
"Oh, yes." The merchant nodded. "Who doesn't?"
"Then…you must know that El Diablo doesn't celebrate Christmas, old man." His tone was sharp and he turned away. "And I have no 'lady.' Keep your trinkets." He started back down the street toward the decrepit hotel.
"As you wish."
The response was so smugly complacent, Miguel couldn't help turning back to the vendor. The man smiled and nodded at him, as if he'd just wished him a pleasant good afternoon. A hot wind kicked up the dust in the street, and as the vendor squinted into the whirlwind, Miguel felt a niggling of recognition in the back of his mind.
"You were born here, weren't you, Miguel?" The old man went on without waiting for an answer. "Your mother was a friend of my youngest daughter. They always had their heads together, plotting and planning—as young girls do." He smiled in remembrance. "I was…surprised when Elena married—your father."
The censure had come at last, Miguel thought. He wanted to laugh. This man cared nothing for the fact that he was a hired killer; only disapproving of the choice his mother had made—to marry an American.
"It broke your grandfather's heart."
Miguel gave a short, mirthless chuckle. "I guess so. He disinherited her. I never met him." The admission sent an unexpected shot of disappointment through him. It was something he'd lived with since birth. Why should it begin to hurt now?
The vendor shrugged, looking down as he carefully rearranged his wares. "Things change."
"People don't."
The merchant's head came up swiftly, his eyes hardening. "You've much to learn, Miguel Rivera. Or is it Michael Rivers on both sides of the border now?" He nodded at Miguel's surprise. "You use a name that's not yours. As I say, you have much to learn, if you can find the soul you lost so long ago."
Miguel shook his head, amusement at the man's words warring with the disbelief at his audacity. He better leave now, he decided, and put an end to this strange conversation. "I've taken enough of your time. If you'll excuse me—"
"How about these?" The vendor held up two beautiful red ribbons that gleamed in the sunlight.
For some reason, he felt compelled to taunt the merchant. "Those will be perfect for my horse's tail."
The round-faced vendor laughed companionably, as if nothing were amiss. "I'm sure you'll find a better use than that for them. They are lovely, aren't they, these scarlet ribbons?"
Miguel put a finger out to touch the satiny smoothness. "Lovely" wasn't adequate to describe them. They were woven of the finest silk, a deep, rich crimson that bespoke a high quality dye. Ribbons he had absolutely no use for.
"How much?" he heard himself asking.
"Twenty pesos." The vendor raised a gnarled finger. "Not one peso less. These are of the very best quality."
"No doubt," Miguel muttered caustically. "They're worth the cost, but they are useless to me."
"Trying to haggle, eh?"
"No, I just—"
The vendor shook his finger, his bronze brow wrinkling like old leather. "I won't bargain."
"I'm not asking you to. I don't have any need for—"
"Fine then. Be gone." He turned back to his display, dismissing Miguel.
Good manners would dictate a purchase, Miguel knew. He'd taken up much of the man's time. "Here." Sighing, he reached into his pocket and drew out the pesos, counting them into the merchant's hand. The vendor rolled up the ribbons, wrapped them in brown paper, and tied them with a flourish.
"You won't be sorry," the old man said, handing the package to Miguel.
I already am.
Chapter Two
He'd put the small brown package in his saddlebag, given a last nod to the vendor, and headed back down the dusty street.
Nothing had changed much since he'd left, that time before. Hard to believe he'd been gone so long. Memories of his last leaving assailed him, and he pushed them back. There had been a girl. The look in her dark eyes had haunted him more than he cared to admit over the last five years.
He stopped at the livery stable to leave hi
s horse in the care of the stable owner, Juan Perez. At least, here, he wouldn't be greeted with a look of reticence or fear. He and Juan had been friends for many years.
Miguel was taking off the saddle and saddlebags when Juan came into the livery. "Miguel?" As he stepped into the darkness, Miguel turned to face him. He set the saddle down on the rail of the stall and grinned at Juan.
Juan came toward him. "Feliz Navidad, amigo!" He embraced Miguel, clapping him on the shoulder. "Merry Christmas! So you came back for the holiday festivities?"
Irritation gripped him for a moment. Damn Christmas! Was everyone determined to drop it at his doorstep like an unwanted visitor? "No," he answered honestly. "Not for Christmas. I'm just passing through."
"Well, I know someone who'll be glad to see you." Juan reached for a brush and turned to curry Miguel's horse.
Juan's matter-of-fact statement surprised Miguel. Who would possibly be glad to see him? Juan was his only friend in this godforsaken town. He made his tone light. "Who would that be?"
Juan stopped his movement, looking across the horse's back. "Dios! You have been gone too long! Far too long."
Catalina. The look in her eyes when he'd left five years ago rose up in his mind again.
Juan began to brush the horse once more, this time tight-lipped and silent.
Miguel wished he could saddle up and ride out of town now. Catalina. Eyes like dark pools, brown-black hair… And declarations of love between them. That's what he remembered about her. Reluctantly, he faced the memories. No one else had ever given of themselves to him as she had—fully, and unafraid. And no one else had ever told him they loved him.
Now what? The silence felt or seemed awkward between him and Juan, and somewhere at the back of his mind, he remembered that Lina was a distant cousin of Juan's.
"Are you running?"
Juan's voice called him back to the present. He gave a slow grin. "I'm always running …from something."
"Yes," his friend murmured, shooting him a dark look. "And that's just what I told Lina when you left last time." He shook his head, paying inordinate attention to the black's glossy coat. "I told her not to wait. You would never—" He broke off and glanced into Miguel's eyes quickly.
"Never?"
"Nada. It isn't important."
There was a silence for a moment, then Miguel said, "I didn't know she expected me to stay."
"She didn't," Juan said darkly. "But she did expect you to come back before—now."
Juan was not telling him everything. Suddenly, he had to know. "Is she married? Got kids? If so, Juan, I swear I'll just mount up and keep riding."
Juan shook his head. "No, mi amigo. I think it is time you stopped running. They call you El Diablo, the devil, but I don't believe that. I think… I think he chases you." As if coming to a decision, he laid the brush down and hefted Miguel's saddle bags across his own stocky shoulders. "It is time for you to end it. Turn and fight him. You can't stay a step ahead forever."
Chapter Three
As they walked down the rutted main street together, Juan didn't speak. They were going in the opposite direction from the hotel.
"Where—"
"You'll see. The hotel is not a good place. There is a boarding house. Clean, reasonable—and the food is good." Juan pointed to a two-story house at the far end of the street.
A feeling of trepidation prickled Miguel's spine, just as surely as if a gun had been pointed at his back. His thoughts turned to Catalina as he walked. He'd thought of her plenty of times before today. Plenty of times. He'd even thought of coming back here…back to the woman who professed to love him. But the fear had held him back. He almost laughed aloud at that thought. He had never been afraid of any man, no matter how tough, how strong, or how fast he proved to be. He'd had a lot of close calls due to his fearlessness—arrogance, some called it. But here he was, despite it all, walking, talking…living.
He didn't allow himself to dwell on the thoughts of the time he'd spent here in Rio Verde five years earlier. The happiest time he'd ever known.
Because of Lina. Beautiful, perfect Lina. She'd been young, and maybe that's what had scared him. Seventeen. Trusting. Too trusting, as it had turned out, he thought with a pang of regret. He should've done better by her. He'd been young, too, but he knew the difference between right and wrong—and wrong was seducing her, taking her virginity, and leaving like he'd done.
She was everything good and wonderful in the world. Everything he wasn't. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Juan whom she'd married, but they were nearing the boarding house and there was no time. Aching regret wrapped around his heart and twisted, till the regret became disappointment and disillusionment in himself, and what he hadn't done.
Juan knocked on the wood paneled door, and after a few moments, it swung open slowly.
The twisted, snarled emotions in Miguel's chest exploded into a jagged spear of fire. Catalina stood looking up into his face, five years older, five years wiser, and five years sadder. But for one brief instant, the shadows fled, and in her eyes he saw what he'd remembered for five long years. Love. Still. He could scarcely breathe. When he moved toward her, she stepped back, lowering her head. He must have been mistaken in what he'd thought he'd seen. She took a deep breath as if steeling herself for the confrontation of her life.
He didn't want it to be this way. Dammit. Dammit! Was he going to ruin everything and everyone he ever cared about? Why hadn't he come back for her?
The question flickered in her eyes as well, then banished just as quickly. When she met his stare once more, it was with cool aloofness. "Good afternoon, Senor Rivera. It has been a very long time."
A knife couldn't have cut deeper. But, he figured, he deserved it. "Yes," he said, after a moment. "Yes, it has." Too long. My fault.
Juan wasn't entirely successful at keeping the smirk from his face. "Lina, Senor Rivera will be needing a room for the night. He'll be staying a couple of days."
"Through Christmas?" she asked quickly, not looking at Juan.
Miguel could read nothing in her expression, or her tone. But he knew what he'd seen earlier for one short moment—desire, hope, and love all rolled into one brief glance.
"Yes. Through Christmas," he answered. If nothing else, he owed her an explanation—if he could come up with one.
She stepped back to admit them, closing the door behind Miguel, her arm brushing his. She gave a sharp gasp at the contact. Jesus, he'd felt the same way. She looked up into his face as she turned from the door.
"I shouldn't let you stay—" she began. "There are no other boarders right now."
Miguel didn't say anything for a moment. His heart plummeted at her words. Why had Juan arranged this, with no one else here?
"I'll go. I can stay at the hotel." His mouth felt dry as sawdust.
"Nonsense. That hotel is a fleabag, and Lina cooks much better," Juan said, putting a staying hand on Miguel's shoulder.
"Yes." Lina gave a smile at her cousin's words, but it was strained. "That's true—their food isn't good and you need a good meal or two before you leave again." She said it glibly, but Miguel's heart clenched at her words. No doubt she was remembering the last time he left just as clearly as he was.
"I don't want to make things hard for you, Lina," he said quietly.
A small smile played about her full lips. "You don't want to make things hard—" She broke off, and Miguel could've sworn she was trying to keep anger at bay. Why? He was missing a huge piece of the puzzle.
He shot Juan a glance, but Juan studiously pretended to ignore him, turning for the door.
"Gotta get going. You never know who might come into town, this being Christmas Eve and all." He winked at Miguel, handing him his saddlebags. "La noche des milagros. It's started already. Here you are." He took Miguel by the shoulders, his eyes shining. "After five long years, here you are." He clapped him on the shoulder once again, and opened the door. "Don't worry about Lightning. I'll take good care of him
."
The door closed behind him, and Miguel turned to face Lina in the open foyer. The same feeling he always got just before facing an opponent in a gunfight seared through his belly, leaving a calming trail of cold ice in its wake. Somehow, standing here with Lina was worse than any of the calculating men he'd fought and killed. He was unsure of himself, for the first time in a long time.
Chapter Four
But Lina took matters into her own hands, turning from him, smoothly leading the way down the spacious hallway. She passed two rooms on the right and one on the left, going to the last door on the left. She unlocked it with a key from her ring and pushed the door open.
"Senor Rivera." She nodded toward the inviting interior of the room. The scent of mesquite permeated the air around them from the wood laid in the small fireplace. "I hope you will enjoy your stay. If…there is anything I can do to make your accommodations more comfortable, please let me know."
As she moved past him, he caught her arm, unable to bear her cool contempt. He met her eyes as she looked up at him from under the thick velvet lashes he'd thought of so often. She was just as he remembered, but older, and more certain of herself. A smile teased at the corner of his lips. Her gaze turned murderous.
"Something amuses you, El Diablo? Me perhaps? Again?"
He shook his head slowly, letting the saddlebags slide to the floor beside the bed. "No, Lina. I'm not laughing at you."
"You've had five years to do that, haven't you?" Her eyes sparked with anger and humiliation.
"I never—"
"No. You never." She looked down at where his fingers gripped her white blouse, a loose camisa that contrasted sharply with the dark softness of her skin. Something seemed to change in her black eyes for an instant as he released her. The anger fled, and Miguel's heart skipped a beat at the sadness and wistful hope which took its place.
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