Not a question Cash could pose aloud. That wasn't the way things were done between them. Instead he swirled his whiskey, caught Nate watching the liquid race round and round and flicked a finger at Nate's glass. "You're getting behind."
Nate merely grunted and traced one palm across the table, while keeping the other wrapped around his whiskey. "You let her hear where I was."
"Who?"
Nate ignored the stupid question. "If you weren't aware she was listening when you were talkin' to Reese, then you're washed up. You'd better hand over those guns and become a shopkeeper."
Cash sneered. "I knew she was there."
"Then the question remains, why?"
In the past, if Cash answered a question with a question, Nate lost the thread of the conversation. Right now the man was playing him like a bad hand of cards, and Cash wasn't sure what to say.
He couldn't admit that he'd panicked when he left Soledad. That he'd raced all the way to Rock Creek terrified he'd be going back only to bury Nate. He couldn't say out loud that he'd purposely sent Jo Clancy to Mexico because he'd hoped she could reach Nate in his pit of despair.
Nate had always been able to talk to Jo. He'd always been better when she was around. Cash didn't like it, but he liked Nate more. He'd figured Nate was safe enough with her. It wasn't like the little missionary was going to sleep with him, then wrench out his heart and feast on it like some women Cash knew. Jo loved Nate, or thought she did.
Love? What a crock!
Jo probably believed she could save Nate with her love, but Cash had learned first hand that love didn't save, it destroyed. He'd make sure Nate didn't fall into that trap.
Cash eyed Nate's untouched drink and sipped at his own. Yeah, the Rev looked pretty damn good. The panic that had burned in Cash's belly for the past several months as Nate got worse and worse abated.
"Cash?" Nate murmured. "Why did you let Jo come to Mexico?"
"Worked, didn't it? You're here, lookin' mighty fine."
"And you're answering question after question with a question."
"Am I?"
Nate snorted. "No wonder people want to shoot you all the time. You're aggravating when you put your mind to it."
"It's a gift." Silence descended. Cash watched Nate watch his whiskey. "You aren't going to drink that, are you?"
Nate sighed, stood. "Not today, anyway."
"You can stay here."
Nate's gaze touched longingly on the glass, the bottle, the bar. "I'd better not. If you need me, I'll be at Eden's."
Cash nodded. He had a feeling if he went searching for Nate he'd find him at Jo's. For the time being, he'd let that slide.
They'd stick around a while. He'd see how things played out. If Nate showed any indication of losing his mind over a woman, Cash would get them a job and hustle his friend out of town until the problem went away.
It had always worked before.
* * *
Nate stepped out of Rogue's Palace and into the night. The streets were blissfully clear of families. The sight of his friends holding their wives, surrounded by their children, had made him think again of all that could have been lost if he had waited one more day, had ten more drinks—or if Jo had not taken the Comanche trail and thus given the renegades a glimpse of a crazy warrior. Fate had been kind for a change.
Once again his friends had risked everything for him. At least this time he'd been able to pay them back just a little of all that he owed them. The uncommon sense of worth had stayed with Nate all the way home and kept him from drinking the whiskey Cash had poured. When his mouth had watered so badly at the sight and the scent that he hurt, he'd brought up the memory of Reese's thanks, his handshake, and the appreciation in each one of his friend's eyes.
Nate discovered himself in front of the rectory. He'd meant to return to Eden's and go straight to bed. If he could sleep, maybe he wouldn't crave a bottle like a recently weaned baby.
The temptation to knock on Jo's door was nearly as strong as the craving to drink. The two nights she'd spent next to him, he'd slept like the aforementioned baby. But to go to her again, to expect her to hold him so he could sleep was not only selfish but foolish.
He was beginning to feel things for Jo he had no business feeling. Desire for her surprised him at odd moments of the day and the night. Tenderness crept up on him when he least expected it. He knew his feelings stemmed from the memories of Angela that had become all tangled up with Jo as a result of the evenings they'd slept together, but that didn't make what he felt any less real.
He couldn't use Jo to assuage his despair, his loneliness, his need for someone, anyone, to hold on to. He was no longer a good man, but he could at least refrain from becoming a bad one.
With a sigh, Nate turned away from Jo's door and went to a lonely room in a hotel filled with the laughter of children and the whisper of a love so deep and true the envy of it scalded Nate's dark and empty soul.
He slept fitfully, chased through the night by the screams of his wife and the sound of a baby crying somewhere. But he never awoke fully, desperate for a drink or a woman to help him sleep, and that was good. That was something.
When dawn tinted the sky, Nate crept from the hotel to sit by the river. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun rise. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been alone by choice. He usually hid in a darkened room until noon, and made sure there were plenty of people around so he didn't have to think.
The recollection of all the empty bottles, all the empty women caused a deep and abiding sense of shame to envelop him. Once a beautiful, precious girl had given him her heart. He hadn't been worthy of it, he'd proved that, but he had tried to be. Not hard enough, or she wouldn't be dead.
His inability to control the desires that ruled him had lost Nate the only thing that mattered. The time he and Angela had shared had been a miracle—if one believed in such things.
Watching the great fiery ball spread colors and light across the land, listening to the birds greet the day and the fish splash, scenting summer bursting through spring made Nate remember what it had been like to believe in God. And, for just an instant, he missed it.
Then he recalled the unanswered prayers, the great silence that had greeted his pleas, the proof that everything he'd believed in and dedicated his life to had been a lie.
He felt burned out and hollow. The empty place inside of him where God had once lived ached to be filled. There was only one way to do so.
Disappointment prickled. He'd hoped to last a while longer, to feel good about himself for at least a week. Foolish, he knew. Nate had never been adept at combating his weaknesses. One of them had killed Angela. The other would eventually kill him.
When he turned to go back to town, he discovered Rico skulking in the shadows of the trees that shaded the bend in the river. Although slinking about was Rico's forte, why he was doing it here, at dawn, was just too great a curiosity for Nate to ignore.
By the time he reached Rico's side, the kid was hunkered in front of a rock tipped against the bank of the river. The new sun sparkled off the shiny surface; in another few hours a steak could cook on that rock.
Without even glancing Nate's way, Rico held up a hand to keep him back and keep him silent. Rico would have known all along that Nate sat by the river. He would have known the second Nate started his approach, even as he watched... whatever it was that he watched.
No one sneaked up on Rico, except Sullivan. The two of them could be downright spooky when they were of a mind.
For what seemed an hour, but could only have been five minutes, Rico and Nate remained frozen. Then, with a speed that belied the lassitude of his pose, Rico's hand shot out and came back full of lizard. He straightened, his bright white teeth flashing against the bronze perfection of his face as he held up the reptile for Nate's perusal.
Nate wasn't sure why Rico was excited about such an ugly little monster. "Good eatin'?" he asked.
Rico's grin faded.
"Are you loco? The creature is for my Carrie."
"Ah, the lizard lover. I thought she had one already. Come to think of it, she's had one for quite a while. How long do those things live?"
Rico glanced around as if afraid they'd be overheard then motioned Nate closer. "Not very long, amigo. This is the third lizard."
"You've lost me, kid."
"Whenever one dies, I get her a new one before she knows of it." He shrugged, at once embarrassed and defiant. "I cannot bear to see my chica cry."
Love shone in Rico's eyes so brightly Nate's own eyes watered. Who'd have thought Rico Salvatore would end up a husband and a father? Certainly not Nate.
He thought back to the Rico he'd met so long ago. The kid had been half starved, all wild, and on his own in the wilderness of Georgia. Tall and lanky, with quick hands and a face that was downright beautiful, he'd come to them possessing an incredible talent with knives.
They'd taken him in, taken him on. Sullivan had taught Rico everything he knew about slipping through the silence. Reese had taught him about following orders, about loyalty and honor. Hell, he'd taught them all.
Rico had become an assassin. What he had done had no doubt saved their lives and the lives of others more times than any of them could count. Once, Rico had been as haunted as Nate, though he'd done a better job of dealing with it. Since Carrie had come into his life, then Lily and Johnny, Rico seemed to have forgotten what he'd been, concentrating instead on the man he could become.
"Isn't Carrie getting a little old to believe that lizards live forever?"
"Bite your lip, amigo. She is still my chica."
"And she always will be." Nate paused, wondering. "Tell me, kid, do you ever miss the women?"
Rico raised his eyebrows. "What women?"
"The multitude you bedded before Lily."
"There is no before Lily. Only the heaven that has been since."
Nate snorted. "Spare me."
Rico popped the lizard into a flour sack he'd placed on the ground nearby, then secured the end and let it wiggle near the water. He put his hand on Nate's arm. "Only love can make what happened before disappear."
"Nothing can make the past disappear. It lives in here." Nate tapped his forehead.
"I thought the same. I had many things I wished to forget—not only the war, but why I ended up there in the first place." Rico went silent as the memories washed over his face. He'd had secrets, too. They'd all come out a few years back when he'd met Lily.
"But as love invades your heart and your life, the bad things fade. I remember them, but it's as if I'm looking through a midnight fog, as if they happened to another man. In truth, they did."
Too bad Nate would never discover if his bad memories would fade with love, because his love was the bad memory. Oh, not Angela herself, but what had happened to her because of him.
"Things are good then between you and Lily? You going to have some bambinos, fill up Three Queens with kids?"
Rico shook his head. "The ninos we have are enough for me."
Nate frowned. "Pardon me for askin', kid, but exactly how do you plan on keeping your family from expanding, if you get my meaning?"
"Lily cannot bear children."
That was news to Nate. Then again, he'd rarely been sober enough to ask serious questions. To be honest, he hadn't been able to deal with anything more serious than his own sad ass world. But suddenly Nate wanted to know how Rico felt about his revelation, how Lily did, too. In the old days, when he'd been the Rev that Cash sarcastically called him, he wouldn't have hesitated to pose the question he could barely choke out now.
"You okay with that?"
"Nothing matters but Lily and our love." Nate could see by the unaccustomed gravity in Rico's eyes that he told the truth. "After listening to Mary and Eden scream their heads off when the girls came, I cannot say I miss hearing my Lilita cry with a pain caused by me."
Nate winced. "I have to agree with you there, kid."
Rico, who was nothing if not clever and observant, cast a sharp glance his way. Nate began to walk toward town, hoping the questions would not come. Rico caught up to him, sack full of lizard hanging between them.
"You look good, Nate. I am happy to see you so well."
"Why thank you, Rico. My life is now complete."
"Sarcasm does not become you. Leave that for Cash. I can see with my own eyes that you have changed."
"I'll never change. I've found no reason to."
"Sometimes, amigo, a reason finds us." Rico stopped suddenly and bowed. "Hola, senorita."
Nate followed Rico's gaze and discovered Jo approaching them with a basket of laundry beneath her arm. Her dress the shade of a summer sky, her short, black hair made her blue eyes loom large in her tiny, pale face. She appeared tired, thinner than he liked, sadder than he remembered.
Nate stumbled as a wave of concern washed over him. Rico shot him a sly look and continued home, leaving Nate alone with his newest weakness.
* * *
Jo wished she could turn run back home, lock herself in the rectory and stay there for as long as it took Nate to leave Rock Creek again. Who would have thought she'd find him at the river this early in the day?
After watching Nate disappear into Rogue's Palace with Cash, she'd figured he had reverted to old habits and would be ensconced in a room above stairs until afternoon. At least the days when she might find him entangled with a whore upon her arrival were gone. Mary, Eden, and Lily had found gainful employment for every soiled dove in Rock Creek. Cash had given up trying to bring in any new ones.
Jo had always known what Nate was. Still, the worse he'd behaved, the more she'd cared, until she'd loved him beyond reason.
"Here, let me take that." Before she could protest, he yanked the laundry basket from beneath her arm and headed into the river valley. She had little choice but to follow.
He set the basket by the water and faced her. Jo's breath caught. He'd been handsome without hair. The absence did not alter his exquisite face. But the alcohol had dulled his skin and glazed his eyes. This morning, the bright spring sunshine revealed his age, but could not diminish how much better he appeared. He could not have been drinking last night and look so well today.
Though she was glad of it, too many long, sleepless hours dampened Jo's happiness. Last night she had realized just how difficult it would be to remain Nate's friend now that she'd been his lover. Every time she saw him and could not touch him, every time he turned his back on her and went to someone else, he would tear off a part of her heart.
But she would endure the pain; she would hide what she felt. She was fighting for his life, his very soul. She'd vowed to make Nate see that God still lived inside of him. Her pain on earth was irrelevant in the face of Nate's eternal agony.
"Thank you." Jo smiled and picked a shirt out of the basket. It was the one she'd worn to Soledad. The sight reminded her of how Nate had slipped open the buttons, touched her skin, kissed her breast.
She let the shirt fall. Would she ever be able to forget?
"Is something wrong?"
"What could possibly be wrong?" Her voice was too bright. Nate scowled. She quickly changed the subject. "I heard what happened. How you saved the others. Everyone's calling you a hero."
"The only reason I was able to save the others was because of you. The Comanche seem to think I'm insane."
Jo colored. "Sorry. It seemed the best idea at the time."
"I don't care what the Comanches think of me, but I'm no hero."
"You are to this town, to your friends, their families. To me."
"Who told you what happened?"
"Certainly not you." Jo regretted her words immediately. She'd never been petty about things that didn't matter. But, apparently, what had not mattered before suddenly mattered a great deal now. "Never mind. Forget I said that."
"I didn't come to see you when I got back," he murmured. Lack of alcohol in his brain had made him a tad too intuitive for Jo's li
king. "Cash and I, we..." He sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth. "I never even thought of it. I'm sorry."
He'd never even thought of it. He could not possibly know how much that hurt. Tears clogged Jo's throat, and she ducked her head, refusing to allow them to break free. Over the past few days she would have cried a river over this man, if she'd let herself.
"I never claimed to be a good friend, Jo. But that doesn't mean I don't want to be." He brushed her hair from her brow, then put a finger beneath her chin and lifted.
His touch made her start. Desire flowed unbidden. He'd shaved this morning, and the clean, smooth line of his jaw invited a kiss. He smelled like soap and sunshine. He probably tasted even better. She swayed toward him before she remembered.
Friendship. It was the only way to help Nate and keep from losing herself. When he touched her she forgot everything, including God.
He was her whiskey—her weakness and her temptation. Just the scent of him, the heat of him, made her drunk with the desire for more.
Stumbling back, Jo planted her feet ankle deep in the river. The ice cold water jolted her worse than the memories brought on by Nate's slightest touch. He reached for her.
"I'm fine!" Her voice, shrill and shaky, sounded anything but. Jo struggled out of the river, nearly falling back in when the rocky bottom shifted.
"You're not fine." He took hold of her again and she shivered. Immediately he drew her against his chest and rubbed her back with his big hands. "You're cold. You're pale and you're tired. You've got me worried, little girl."
Jo would have sworn he brushed his palms along the full swell of her buttocks. But the touch was so light, then gone in an instant, she must have been mistaken.
She wanted Nate, but he had never wanted her. Despite that truth, her belly trembled, her body yearned, and she was forced to extricate herself from his arms, even though her greatest desire was to remain exactly where she was.
"I am tired." She hugged herself, hoping any bit of comfort, even her own, would stop the shaking and kill the thundering need to hold him close. "Since Father died there's been no one to help the people in Rock Creek but me."
Nate (The Rock Creek Six) Page 13