Their lips met eagerly. He kissed her in frantic haste, desperately trying to put all his love and passion and desire into this one last embrace. For that’s what it would be, if his plans worked out.
When finally he relaxed his hold on her neck and they drew apart, she had tears in her eyes. He did, too. He could feel their sting.
“Don’t worry, Will. One of these days I’m going to succeed in my major mission in life.”
He stared through her, hearing her words, knowing only that he was about to succeed in his major mission in life, and it didn’t feel anything like it was supposed to.
“Aren’t you curious what it is?”
He tried to grin. “What is it, cowboy?”
“To love every last trace of sadness out of you.”
He held her gaze, delved deeply into her sparkling blue eyes. As if from a different world, he heard horses approach from either side. Joaquín and Bart. If only it were a different world, he thought. In a different world Priscilla McCain would have no trouble realizing her major mission in life.
“Ready to ride?” Joaquín questioned into the charged hush that had fallen between them. Gaining their attention, he added, “I’ll lead the way. Stay close.”
Will turned stony eyes to the adobe buildings in the distance. Steeled against what lay ahead, he fell in behind Joaquín. Priscilla came next; Bart pulled up the rear.
Titus Crockett was the first to see them. Once he recognized Joaquín, he hailed the house, and Kate and Jessie came running.
Priscilla hurried ahead. Joaquín followed her. Will and Bart fell behind.
“Don’t seem too anxious to get there,” Bart commented.
Will studied him hard, letting all the fury inside him meld into a core of fiery anger. “Neither do you, Uncle Bart.”
Will turned back to the welcoming party, scanned the scene, looking for Charlie, but he was nowhere around. Likely looking for his walking stick, Will thought with a surprising spurt of lightheartedness, which was quelled by a high-pitched scream. Then Priscilla’s voice cried, “Mama!”
Tensed against a danger he couldn’t immediately locate, Will watched Priscilla run. He saw someone stagger. Kate. Jessie reached her first. Then Priscilla.
Will jumped from his horse and ran toward her. At closer range, he noted Kate’s white, pasty complexion; she stared past him, her eyes blazing, as though she were witnessing the end of the world. He started to turn around, but her next cry stopped him in his tracks.
“YOU! Stay away from my daughter.”
Will’s heart thudded to a standstill. If he hadn’t been looking at her, he wouldn’t have recognized Kate McCain’s voice. Strident, harsh, harsher even than when she caught Priscilla in his arms in the barn. That was the first time she’d ordered him to stay away from Priscilla.
Now she was screaming it at him. He felt weak. He knew he deserved her wrath. He should never have agreed to help Priscilla break Joaquín out of jail; he should never have agreed to go with her to Victorio’s camp. He should never have looked twice at Priscilla. Moving aside, he glanced around for Charlie. Suddenly he realized that Red Avery was missing, too. Likely gone rock hunting even with the enemy about. Will’s spirits rose involuntarily. Less than worthless—
“Get away! Stay away! Stay away from my daughter!”
Will turned back to Kate. With a start, he realized she wasn’t screaming at him, after all. Turning, he saw Bart Ellisor, not over three feet behind him, standing stock still, staring at Kate. Not exactly humble, but certainly not threatening. While Will was still struggling to make sense of things, he heard Priscilla’s plea.
“Mama, it’s Bart. Your brother.”
“NO!” Kate’s scream, primeval in tone and intensity, rent the stillness. As the sound died away, she began to crumble.
As though captured in a nightmare, Will reacted. He reached Priscilla, took her shoulders, tried to move around her. Kate’s head dropped. Before Will could get hold of her, Titus Crockett had moved Jessie aside and scooped Kate in his arms.
“Mama?” Priscilla was almost crying now.
“Carry her inside,” Jessie was instructing. “Here let me get the door. Down the hall…The bedroom…”
Priscilla gripped Will’s hand in a tight fist. He held on, while she pulled him through the door and into the cavernous interior of the cool adobe house.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
They reached the bedroom. Will stopped in the doorway. Priscilla released him and rushed to her mother’s side. He watched her kneel on the striped Navajo throw rug, reach for her mother’s hand, lay her cheek against it.
Jessie moved toward him, carrying a water pitcher. She shook her head sadly, as if he were supposed to know what the hell was going on.
“Where’s Charlie?” he asked.
Jessie’s stricken expression caused Will’s own knees to go weak.
“They’ve got him. Newt and Oscar.”
In two steps Will reached Priscilla. Bending close, he took her by the shoulders and whispered against her ear. “I’ll be right back, cowboy.” When he felt her tremble, he took a chance and kissed her cheek for reassurance.
Out in the kitchen Jessie was pumping water to fill the clay pitcher. Words stuck in Will’s throat. He stared at her, silently demanding an explanation.
“They’re calling it an arrest.”
“Arrest? How? When? For God’s sake, why?”
Jessie set the pitcher on the table. She ran slender fingers around its mouth, staring through Will as if she were looking at something long gone and far away.
“Newt told me their plans,” she said. “After he…” She lifted her hand and tenderly touched the large blue and yellow bruise beneath her right eye. Will’s stomach turned at the sight of her battered face, evidence of Newt Haskel’s brutality.
“That sonofabitch—”
Jessie continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “They were going into the mountains after you and Priscilla. You know Charlie. Nothing would do but for him to ride out and find Priscilla.”
Tipping his head back, Will stared at the ancient ceiling—pole vigas interspersed with rows of latillas. “And they caught him?”
“Sí. My guess is that’s what they planned all along. They knew Charlie would ride to hell and back for Priscilla.”
“How do you know they didn’t just kill him?”
“Newt came in under a white flag to tell us they had Charlie, said he arrested him for masterminding the jail break.”
“Masterminding! Hell fire, Jess, Charlie didn’t even know about it until it was over.”
“What does that matter? To a Haskel, I mean. The end justifies the means, Will. I thought you’d learned that by now.”
“I should have.” He let his eyes travel over her battered face. “Looks like you’ve learned it, too.”
“It took me a bit longer. Guess I’m thicker-skulled than most.” She smiled, rueful. “Fortunately, I suppose, else he’d have succeeded in kicking out what few brains I have.”
Will crossed to the door, unable to look at Jessie’s healing wounds, the price she’d paid for Joaquín’s freedom. Balling a fist he thrust it into his opposite palm, again and again and again. “I hope Joaquín’s satisfied.”
“It wasn’t Joaquín’s fault.”
“Nothing’s ever anybody’s fault. If folks could learn to live and let live, to take what life hands out and try to make something better out of it, instead of always tearing down, destroying—”
“Is that why you came to Spanish Creek, Will? To live and let live, to forgive and put the past behind you?”
By the time Jessie finished, Will had turned and was staring at her, wide-eyed. “She told you?”
“That, and a whole lot more,” Jessie acknowledged.
Will’s heart filled with infinite sadness. “Now you know how futile your matchmaking efforts were.”
“Now I know. But you and Priscilla aren’t
the only ones hurt. Kate McCain has enough on her plate right now to test the mettle of a saint. First Priscilla runs off to the mountains with a Radnor, then Charlie’s captured by the Haskels, and now Bart Ellisor rides in with her daughter.”
“What’s the story on Bart?”
Jessie picked up the water pitcher. “That one isn’t mine to tell.”
“I don’t even want to hear it. Right now all I’m worried about is telling Priscilla—”
“Telling me what?”
Lifting his stricken gaze, he found hers. She stood in the doorway. He could tell she’d been crying and was even now fighting to restrain more tears.
Without one thought wasted on either the past or the future, Will crossed the room and took her in his arms. Priscilla needed him. That was all. Plain and simple. But when he tried to draw her close, to cradle her head against his shoulder, she pulled away.
“Tell me what, Will? What’s happened to Pa?”
Priscilla clutched Will’s arms at the wrists. She felt his pulse beat against her fingers, saw it throb in the vein in his neck. His gaze bore steadily into hers, increasing her fear. “What, Will?”
“He’s in jail…” Turning a raised eyebrow to Jessie for confirmation, Will added, “…in Santa Fé?”
Jessie nodded.
“Jail?” Priscilla turned to Jessie, too. “I don’t understand.”
“The Haskels live by the law of the barbarian, chica. The end justifies the means.”
Somewhere in the distant reaches of her brain, Priscilla saw the cuts and bruises on Jessie’s face. They didn’t look right; something was wrong. Panic grew like yeast inside her. She thought her body might explode. She visualized parts of herself flying around the kitchen, her head, her arms, her heart.
“They claim Charlie masterminded Joaquín’s escape,” Jessie repeated for Priscilla.
“Masterminded?” The word whooshed through Priscilla’s lips.
“They’re holding him, in Newt’s words, until he signs papers transferring ownership of Spanish Creek to them, or until hell freezes over, whichever comes first.”
Priscilla heard the words. Gradually they came into focus; it was like seeing a tree on the crest of a distant hill, then riding toward it, bringing the image into sharper and sharper focus. Her mind cleared. She stepped back from Will.
“I’m going after him.” Her voice was steady. She noticed, because her body still trembled inside. “They’ll regret the day they ever heard of Spanish Creek Ranch.”
“That isn’t the answer, cowboy.”
“No?” She looked at Jessie again, suddenly realizing what her brain had seen the first time—Jessie’s battered face. “Newt’s revenge?”
Jessie’s hand went to her face. “It’s nothing—”
“Nothing! When are you—when is everybody—going to wake up? After they kill us all? Nothing? They stole our cattle, drove off our cowboys, shot Pa, beat you up. They threatened to lynch Joaquín, and now they’ve arrested Pa. Nothing? How much more will it take…”
“Priscilla?” Will reached for her, but she swerved aside. Her eyes scanned the room, the walls. She felt like a caged animal.
“I’m going after Pa, Will. Are you riding with me?”
“That isn’t the way,” he repeated.
Her breath came so short it momentarily choked her. For one brief moment, she gazed into Will’s eyes and wanted to throw herself in his arms. But the Haskels had Pa.
Despair flooded her. “Those bastards have taken the last thing they’re going to take from me. Get your gun, Will. Ride with me.”
This time when he reached for her he grabbed her arms and held on. “Calm down, Priscilla. Let’s discuss—”
“Then don’t come.” She jerked free. “I’ll go—”
“Damnit, no you won’t go. Not alone. Not with me. Not with anyone else.” His voice lowered, became a plea, soft and gentle. “They’ve got Charlie. All they need is you, and it’ll all be over. Charlie’ll sign those papers quicker’n you can shoot a petal off a sunflower blossom, if he knows they have you.”
“Will’s right, chica. Charlie was livid when he saw how Newt treated me. If it were you…”
Priscilla couldn’t believe her ears. “All right. You don’t have to help. I don’t need you, anyway.” She fixed a dagger glare on Will, her chin thrust into the air. “Uncle Bart will help.” Turning, she stomped through the back door.
The door hadn’t finished slamming, when a shrill cry broke out behind Will. He turned to see Kate clutching the door facing, her eyes wild.
“Stop her, Mr. Radnor. Stop her, please.”
Will struggled to grasp the situation.
“Don’t let her go near that man.”
Will’s eyes flared. “Who, Mrs. McCain?”
“Bart Ellisor. Don’t let Priscilla—keep him away from my daughter.”
Will looked to Jessie, who nodded. “Go after her, Will. I’ll help Kate back to bed.”
Will sprinted across the clearing that separated the house from the barn, imagining Haskel bullets flying in all directions. But that was nothing compared to the turmoil inside him. What the hell was going on? Whatever Bart Ellisor was guilty of must be pretty damned bad, for it had suddenly raised his standing with Kate McCain—and he knew she hadn’t forgotten why he had come to Spanish Creek. She’d told Jessie about it.
By the time Will reached the tack room, where Joaquín and Bart were hunkered on a stack of feed sacks, Priscilla was already presenting her case to Bart.
“Where’s Red?” she was asking. “He’ll go, too.”
“Red lit out,” Crockett said. “Right after they took your pa. Guess he couldn’t stand the heat.”
Red Avery was gone. Will tried to dredge up some sort of joy over that development, but the peril they faced was much more threatening than the disappearance of a less-than-worthless archaeologist, even if Priscilla had threatened to marry the no-account…
Stepping behind her, Will took Priscilla by the shoulders and held her against her initial struggle to free herself. “Listen to me, Priscilla. I have an idea. You may reject it. But I’d appreciate you taking time to listen.”
“There isn’t time, greenhorn.” Fury sounded in every syllable.
“There’s always time to consider a better plan.” He didn’t actually agree with that, but it had been the first thing that came to mind. Law school hadn’t prepared him for dealing with hurt and determined women, especially not with a woman he loved so much he’d throw himself on a loaded cannon to save her from harm. Which, he decided, wasn’t far from what was required here. “I’ll go.”
Her fury evaporated. “Oh, Will—”
“Alone.”
Fury returned. She jerked to free herself, but he held fast. “Listen. Just listen.”
“Won’t hurt to listen, Priscilla,” Bart put in. “I’ve never had much luck with an operation when I started out half-cocked.”
Will felt her stiffen, but he tugged her around to face him, anyway. Her eyes were red and they brimmed with tears waiting to be shed. But that didn’t dim their determination.
When he relaxed his hold, she shook free. But she stood her ground. “I’m waiting,” she said. “But not for long.”
“I’m the only person here the Haskels will deal with.”
“What makes you special?”
“I’m a lawyer. A good one. And they know it, they hired me. They’re breaking the law right and left, and I can call them on it in technical terms that might carry some weight.”
“That sounds like a greenhorn—stupid.”
“Maybe, but it’s true. If you ride out there, they’ll capture you. Kidnap you.” Despair and fear welled inside Will. “Damnit, Priscilla, you saw what Newt did to Jessie, and he’s been sleeping with her for a year.”
Priscilla crossed her arms, clasped them with the opposite hands. Will covered her hands with his.
“Trying to hide your fear? You can’t do it, cowboy, and it’s j
ustified. Those are madmen out there.”
“They have Pa. I’m going after him.”
“Another jailbreak?”
She glared, neither agreeing or denying.
“After you break him out of jail, then what? Another race into the mountains?”
She tilted her chin.
“While you’re gone, saying you make it that far, they’ll take Spanish Creek. Sure as shootin’.”
“You have all the answers?”
“No.” His admission surprised her enough that her guard dropped, exposing the terror beneath her bravado. “But if I ride out there under a white flag, same way Newt came here, I may be able to get some answers.”
“They won’t turn him loose just because you tell them to.”
“I know.”
Bart made a show of rising, dusting off his britches. “I’ve had my fingers in enough spoiled pies to know what kind of fellers we’re dealing with here. Radnor’s idea is worth a try.”
Will slid his hands up her arms; he clasped them behind her neck, forming a support for her to lean against. He felt her muscles, tight as a coiled rattler.
“I could ride with you,” she said.
Pursing his lips, he shook his head. “Your mama’s had enough to worry about lately. Stay with her. She needs you more than Charlie does, right now.”
She neither spoke nor moved, but he felt her muscles sag against his hands. He stared at her, loving her, hurting for her. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and brimmed. Just before they spilled over, he brought her to his chest, cradled her like a baby.
“Come on, Joaquín.” Bart’s voice was gruff. “Let’s go saddle up a cayuse for Radnor.”
Her tears came then, pouring from her eyes, soaking his shirt front. He held her tight, crooning softly, “It’ll be all right. We’ll work it out. It’ll be all right.”
“Oh, Will, I was so wrong.”
“There, there.”
“It isn’t Spanish Creek I love, it’s Pa. And now he’s in jail, and they might…lynch him…for something I did—”
“Not for anything you did. They’d have gotten Charlie, one way or another. And if we hadn’t gotten Joaquín out of that jail, they’d have lynched him. I know that now.”
Reluctant Enemies Page 27