“Let’s hope he remembers that.” Deborah didn’t reply. There had been a few sharp words with Don Francisco; the patriarch of the Velazquez family did not take kindly to her professed independence. She was a member of his family, and the women did not rebel. They obeyed. She would remember that or suffer the consequences.
If not for her experience in the Comanche village, Deborah would have quietly acquiesced to his demands. But her experience had strengthened her and given her a dislike of being forced to comply. She’d emerged from that ordeal a much stronger woman than before.
“Shall we ask Tía Dolores to accompany us?” Judith suggested. “For convention’s sake, of course.”
“And to appease Don Francisco.” Deborah smiled. “Of course. She is always agreeable to going into Sirocco.” Green humps of mountain fringed the horizon and made a stark contrast to the burning blue of the sky. Tucked in the shadow of a chewed gray line of ridge, Sirocco lay sleepy and quiet in the early spring sun.
A few soldiers from nearby Fort Bliss roamed the wooden walkways in front of weathered gray storefronts, and here and there a horse stood tied to a rail with head down and eyes closed. Music drifted on brisk wind currents, faint accompaniment from some off-key piano unable to drown out the warbling voice of a woman commonly known as a soiled dove.
Deborah, Judith, and Tía Dolores stepped up onto the safety of a wooden walkway outside a small store.
“Shocking,” Tía Dolores clucked. “They should not allow such women to sing.”
“Because of their voice, or their profession?” Deborah couldn’t help teasing, and smiled at Tía Dolores’s grimace.
“Both. It is bad, I tell you.” Deborah and Judith exchanged amused glances at the stout, good-natured disapproval of the chaperon. Tía Dolores made life more bearable at the sprawling Velazquez hacienda, her simple approach to life a mixture of strict discipline and generous spirit. Today, in spite of the warm sun, Tía Dolores wore a high-necked black dress, lacy veil, and long sleeves.
Her gray-streaked dark hair was pulled back in a severe style from her face, somehow making her austere features softer instead of harsh.
Now, her mouth pursed with disapproval. “A woman who sings so badly should be stopped.”
“Shall we go tell her?” Judith asked with an innocent smile.
Tía Dolores shook her head. “No, no, of course not. We can do nothing like that.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “You are teasing me again, niña. I shall reprimand you.”
Judith laughed and tucked her hand into the older woman’s bent arm.
“Yes, I admit it. But you are so easy to tease.” A faint, reluctant smile curved Tía Dolores’s mouth, and she patted Judith’s hand. “It is good to see you smile so .often now. I will suffer gladly.”
The three women paused in the shade of an overhanging porch. Dust blew down the middle of the street like a small storm cloud, stinging their eyes and making them cough.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the constant wind,” Deborah remarked. “Or the dust.”
“Sí, you will,” Dolores assured them. “One can adjust to anything.” She looked up the street, where the music had gotten louder. “There are too many cantinas here, too many lawless men.” Deborah followed her glance. In the small town, there were more than a dozen saloons. And armed men lounged in shady doorways and strutted the walkways at leisure. They looked dangerous, with low-slung pistols and an air of restless menace.
That much was true, Deborah thought. She shifted from one foot to the other, then glanced at the storefront window behind them. “Shall we go in and see what Mr. Potter has in that’s new?” The store held a delicious variety of fragrances, all tempting. There was the sharp smell of spices, the rich scent of tobacco, and the pungent odor of newly-cured hides. A little of everything lined Mr. Potter’s shelves and filled glass-topped cases scattered over the floor and filling the aisles so that it was difficult to move without bumping into something or someone.
Deborah moved down an aisle, engrossed in the prettily-arranged knick knacks in a glass case, and did not see the man blocking her progress. She bumped into him and startled them both.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Excuse me, please, sir.” The man turned, a tall, blond, muscular man in a dark frock coat and starched white shirt. He smiled slowly, and his lazy drawl was appreciative.
“Any time you want to bump into me, ma’am, feel free,” he said, grinning down at her.
Deborah flushed. “I apologize, sir.”
“No need, ma’am. I kinda liked it.” Brown eyes narrowed on her. “I don’t think I know you, ma’am. Have we met before?”
“No,” Deborah said stiffly, “we have not. Now, if you will please excuse me, I must join my companions.”
“Wee—oo! I can feel the ice from here,” the man said with an unabashed grin.
Deborah could not push past without rubbing up against him, so she turned and marched back down the way she had come. She didn’t like the way his eyes followed her, or the frank speculation she’d seen in his gaze.
And when he approached the three women, Deborah didn’t like the way he kept his gaze on her while he engaged Tía Dolores in conversation.
“Señora Velazquez,” he said easily, “it is good to see you again.”
“And you also, Señor Diamond,” she replied courteously. “I trust you have been well.”
“Well enough.” His gaze remained on Deborah. “Is this a friend of yours, señora? I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” There was a brief, noticeable hesitation, then Tía Dolores said politely,
“This is Señorita Hamilton, our houseguest. And this is my poor nephew’s widow, Doña Velazquez.”
The brown gaze sharpened slightly. “Ah, I had heard she was rescued.” Deborah’s cheeks flamed, but she refused to act ashamed or embarrassed. Her chin tilted higher, and she met his gaze with a steady regard that made him smile.
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintances, ladies,” he said politely.
“I hope I have not intruded. I’m not known for my manners, I’m afraid.”
“So I see,” she replied icily. Her chilly reply only seemed to delight him instead of quell his overtures, and Deborah felt a rising sense of dismay as he turned to Tía Dolores and began asking questions about the Velazquez family. It was obvious that this man knew them well, and was on a familiar enough basis to be treated as a neighbor instead of a stranger.
The rigid social structure of the Velazquez family would not have allowed her to converse with a stranger, but as an approved neighbor, this man would be accepted.
“Well now,” he was drawling, “runnin’ in to you today saves me some time, Señora. I was gonna come out to your place and invite you and your brother to join me in a little party I’m throwin’ next week. Won’t do you no good to tell me no. I’ve invited the entire county, and if you folks don’t come, I’ll be insulted. That won’t help neighborly relations, now will it?” His gruff congeniality did not conceal his determination, and Tía Dolores floundered helplessly until Deborah intervened.
“I’m not at all certain it would be proper for us to attend a party, Mr.
Diamond. It—”
“Dexter,” he interrupted. “You can call me Dexter.”
“No, I cannot.” She inhaled deeply. “It has not yet been a year since the . . . the tragedy. I’m afraid that our mourning is not yet ended.”
“Mourning?” He looked incredulous. “Out here, ma’am, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so, there ain’t much time for things like mourning. Life goes on. And time is short. No, I won’t take a refusal. I’ll see you folks next Thursday. Until then, it’s been nice meeting you ladies.” He brushed a finger over the brim of the hat he hadn’t bothered to remove, then strode to the door. “Come on, Braden,” he said over his shoulder. Deborah then noticed the man ranging close behind him, a dangerous looking man wearing a low-slung pistol strapped around his waist.
Tía Dolo
res was nervous and fluttery. “Ah, Díos! What will Francisco say?”
“Who was he?” Judith asked. “He certainly doesn’t seem like a man to take no for an answer.”
“He is not.” Tía Dolores brushed nervously at her skirt and readjusted the veil atop her head. “That is Señor Dexter Diamond, and he owns the Double D, a huge rancho near here. He has tried many times to persuade Francisco to sell him our land, but of course, we have not. Señor Diamond says we have more water, and he needs it for his cattle.” She made a face. “He also has a need for more land, it seems, and more cattle. He has said he will be the biggest landowner in Texas one day, and I believe he means it.”
“But if Don Francisco has refused to sell, then there is nothing he can do,” Deborah said soothingly. “And I am certain Don Francisco will not want to attend this party.” She was wrong.
Stroking his neatly trimmed goatee, Don Francisco considered gravely for several minutes before he said, “We will attend.” Shocked, Tía Dolores burst out, “Why?”
“Because I wish to see for myself the size of his ranch and how well-defended it is.” He formed a steeple of his fingers and gazed back at the three surprised women. “And a little party will not make you unhappy, eh?
Especially the lovely Señorita Hamilton, who needs diversion as any young woman does.”
Judith shifted uncomfortably beneath Don Francisco’s intent gaze. She looked away when he stood up and stroked the top of her bright, golden head. “American women are accustomed to more freedom than our young women, so it is not unexpected that you would want to dance, is it not so?” Edging away from his hand, Judith nodded. “I do like to dance. I’ve missed it.”
“Bueno! Then we shall go, and you shall have your dance, chica.” Deborah and Judith exchanged helpless glances with Tía Dolores after Don Francisco left the room.
“This is going to be fun, in spite of everything, I think,” Judith whispered to Deborah as they stepped down from the Velazquez carriage and entered the house with Tía Dolores close behind. Sounds of revelry floated out from the rambling adobe house, and guitars and horns soared with music. Servants glided between the guests with loaded trays of food and drink.
Deborah shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“Oh, Deborah. Give yourself a chance to enjoy life again. You’re still young, not even twenty-two yet. And I know that you . . . think of things at times, but don’t. Just relax and enjoy yourself for a while.”
Deborah glanced at the guests already milling on the huge patio and in the house, and nodded. “You’re right. I should forget everything. It’s over. I have to go on from here.” Judith gave her arm a comforting squeeze. “Right. And I think—I know—that Dexter Diamond has taken a fancy to you. It was evident that day we met him.”
“He’s too brash. I don’t like him that much.”
“Well,” Judith said practically, “you don’t have to like him to eat his food and dance at his party.” Laughing, Deborah admonished, “You are impossible!”
“Yes. Now come along, and help me avoid Don Francisco,” she leaned close to whisper. “I think he wants me to dance with him.” She gave her blue taffeta skirts a final pat, then took Deborah firmly by the arm to pull her along.
They had not progressed very far before their host saw them. He switched direction immediately and descended upon Deborah before she could escape.
“Miss Hamilton,” he said with a wide grin that didn’t fade when she corrected him coldly.
“Señora Velazquez.”
“I hardly think a few hours with poor Miguel qualifies you as his widow, but if you prefer—Señora Velazquez. Why don’t I just make it easy and call you Deborah?”
“That’s a bit too familiar, thank you.” Deborah swallowed a quick gasp of dismay when he deftly removed her from Tía Dolores with the promise that he would guard her well, and escorted her across the crowded room. She could feel Tía Dolores’s shocked gaze following her.
Jerking her arm from his warm gasp, Deborah glared up at Diamond.
“That was a very high-handed, ungentlemanly thing to do, sir. I do not need any more gossip directed at me!” He grinned down at her, and Deborah felt a wave of irritation. Dressed in a starched white shirt, dark pants, vest, and a coat, he was handsome in a rough sort of way, she supposed, but entirely too autocratic. And bold.
Chuckling, Diamond said, “You’re every inch a lady, aren’t you? Right down to your lace drawers, I’ll bet.” Ignoring her angry gasp, he continued,
“What kind of accent is that? It ain’t just Southern. It sounds foreign, kinda, all clipped and cool. But all you Southern women are prissy. I like that. A woman who tries to be as tough as a man needs to be ridin’ herd on cattle, not dancin’. Now, sugar, I’ll bet you can dance better than any woman in Texas, can’t ya?”
“I’m certain I can,” she said when she recovered from her fury, “but I don’t intend to do so. And I’ll thank you not to discuss my . . .underclothing . . . in public.” Throwing back his shaggy blond head, Diamond roared with laughter, catching the attention of several guests. Still chuckling, he grabbed Deborah’s hand and bellowed to the musicians to play a waltz.
“For me and my lovely lady!” he added with a possessive grin that made Deborah yearn to refuse.
But with all the smiling gazes turned toward them, she knew that to protest would only cause more gossip. So she smiled in what she hoped was a remote, cool way and put her hand daintily in his huge, outstretched palm.
“Thank you, Mister Diamond,” she said coolly. There. If anyone wanted to read anything into her response, all they could see was ingrained courtesy.
But it was hard to keep her composure when Dexter Diamond held her close to him in the dance, his sturdy body a solid wall of heat and muscle.
And it was obvious he liked having her that close to him. To her chagrin, she felt his male response to holding her, and it made her want to run.
Her head tilted back, and she felt the brush of her carefully coiled hair against her neck. Though she wore black, her throat was bare, and the slender black velvet ribbon circling it boasted a single cameo in its center to provide her only touch of jewelry. The gown was simply cut, with a cinched-in waist and straight skirt pulled snugly over her hips to flounce down the back in ruffles.
Fixing a smile on her face, Deborah looked up at Dexter and said softly,
“Do not hold me so tightly, Mr. Diamond, or I will manage to stomp on your feet.” He looked startled, then grinned and loosened his hold. “Yep. I was right. In spite of everything, you’re a lady through and through.” Anger sparked her eyes. “In spite of everything?” He shrugged. “You know what I mean. Everyone heard about it. It happens out here. You were lucky.”
“And you aren’t repelled by knowing we were held captive for two months?” Deborah shot back stiffly.
Dark brown eyes roved her face boldly. “No. It happens. It wasn’t your fault.”
Deborah looked away, her throat tightening. No censure here, when she’d found it everywhere else. Sly whispers behind cupped hands, smirks glimpsed as she passed, and the inevitable curious gazes from the men—she’d seen and heard enough of them in the past six months.
“Thank you, Mr. Diamond,” she said softly, and he squeezed her hand.
“Dexter.”
She managed a smile. “All right. Dexter.”
“Good.” He grinned, a bold, possessive grin. “I think you and me are gonna get along fine, sugar.”
“Perhaps. As long as you don’t hold me too tightly and keep calling me sugar.”
His loud laugh burst out again, delighted and attention drawing. “Miss Deborah—is it all right if I call you that? I think me and you are gonna get along great.”
Tucking her hand into the crook of his bent arm when the music ended, Dexter Diamond kept Deborah at his side as he introduced her to other guests. She had the distinct feeling that he was laying claim to her, and wondered if she was the only one who noticed.
Across the room, leaning against a raised window frame that served as a doorway to the patio, one of Dexter Diamond’s hired guns noticed his attentiveness. He shifted, his broad shoulders scraping against the wooden frame. The butt of a pistol hanging low on his lean thigh made a clunking noise as it bumped against the wood, but he didn’t notice.
He’d noticed Deborah the moment she came into the room, and it hit him with all the force of a stampeding buffalo. She was beautiful, more beautiful than he’d dreamed a woman could be.
The sleek auburn hair was drawn up into an intricate mass of curls and held with ribbons and sparkling Spanish combs, and the black gown that might have looked dowdy on another, flattered her slender curves. Creamy skin, regal demeanor, cool amber eyes—yes, she was definitely the most beautiful woman there. She outshone her blond, vivacious cousin, simply with her quiet composure and dignity.
Not that Judith Hamilton lacked for admirers. Men flocked around her, drawn by her wit and beauty. But to Zack Banning, the only woman in the room was Deborah.
He knew he should leave the room and not watch, but the shock of seeing her had robbed him of the will to follow his common sense. So he stayed, and he watched as she danced with Dexter Diamond, slowly thawing to the blond rancher’s avid attention. And he felt the slow burn of anger ignite deep in his gut.
It was late when Diamond escorted Deborah from the stuffy confines of the main room to the cool air of the patio. Lanterns hung from latticework and trees, shedding wavering light over stone tiles.
As he passed, Diamond noticed the newest addition to his huge force of hired gunmen, and paused.
“Banning. Everything quiet?” Zack shrugged. “Quiet enough.” His gaze shifted to the woman on Diamond’s arm, and she turned politely toward him. He saw her stiffen, heard her gasp with shock, and wondered with a faint twinge of malice what she would do.
Deborah stared at him, shock making her wide hazel eyes almost black.
“Hawk,” she breathed.
Comanche Moon Page 17