by Pam Crooks
Jeb thought of the rope coiled on his saddle at Simon’s place. He’d need it to tie the pair up before transporting them back across the border. He thought of Elena, too. Alone with Nicky in the adobe. He bettered his grip on the Winchester.
“Start walking.” He hated leaving the rifles behind, but he didn’t have a choice. He’d have to come back for them. “Take it slow and easy and we’ll all be just fine.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Margarete said, contrary as ever.
“The hell you aren’t,” Jeb said, impatient with it.
“I’m not.” Suddenly she whipped out a pearl-handled derringer from the folds of her skirt. She held it with hands unsteady. “You should’ve listened to me, Mr. Carson. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t have ambitions like a man.”
“Put it down, Margarete,” he said, and gauged the distance between them. If he was fast enough, he could wrench the gun from her before she could fire a shot and alert de la Vega to their whereabouts.
“Where’s your wife?” she asked. “She’s around here somewhere, isn’t she?”
“No,” Jeb said, eyeing the derringer. “Left her behind in the States.”
“He’s lying, Margarete,” the Apache said with a slow grin. “I saw him with her. Crossing the Rio Grande together. The day after he was in your pa’s store.”
Jeb kept his features impassive. “Must’ve been someone else.”
“You know Ramon’s got a son, Margarete? Folks say Carson’s woman is the mother.” The Apache’s grin widened.
Margarete’s face drained. “Ramon? And her?”
“Shut up!” Jeb snarled.
A glance passed between the pair, a silent message that left Jeb bracing for the repercussions.
“She’s here, ain’t she?” Margarete said, calmer now. “Somewhere close. You don’t have a horse. You’re on foot because you heard us coming and you walked up here to find us.”
Unease sifted through Jeb. She had more sense than he figured. And she had honed in on his one weak spot.
Elena. Elena and Nicky.
She took a step backward, flexing her fingers over the derringer. “I’m going to find her, you know. If you want her alive, you’re going to have to let me bring those guns to Ramon. Now who’s calling the shots, Mr. Carson?”
Jeb kept his eye on her and slowly, very slowly, lifted his Winchester. She’d find Simon’s adobe easily enough. She knew the general direction. It’d been the one mistake Jeb had made, confronting her from the very direction he came from.
He carried the butt of the rifle to his shoulder and found his mark, right over her heart. “Stop right where you are, Margarete. You make one wrong move…”
Abruptly Margarete spun.
Jeb’s finger moved over the trigger.
A pair of fists, bound at the wrists, slammed down in front of him, knocked the Winchester out of his hands, and Jeb’s shot went wild. He whirled, but the Apache’s fists came up again, hard, and slammed against his jaw.
His head snapped back. He sprawled into the dirt and everything went black.
Dear God, a gunshot.
Elena’s fingers flew to her mouth in horror. She ran to the open window and stared through the trees, in the direction Jeb had gone. Minute after heart-pounding minute, she stared, hoping, praying, he would reappear, tall and strong and with a perfectly sound explanation as to why a gun had been fired.
Stay away from the windows.
His warning popped into her head, and she jerked back, as if flames leapt through the opening. She pressed against the wall, tilted her head back and closed her eyes.
Don’t leave the adobe, y’hear me? Not for any reason.
He had given her strict orders to stay put, but how would she know if he was safe if she couldn’t see him? He might need her help. He might be bleeding, terribly hurt.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
She began to pace, up one side of the room and back again. If he was hurt, that meant there’d been a confrontation with whoever was in the wagon. Who had fired the shot? Jeb? The rig’s driver? Ramon? One of his men?
She froze.
Nicky.
She spun toward where he lay still sleeping in Simon’s bed. Precious and safe and blessedly oblivious to any of the trouble going on around him.
If Ramon was this close, he would find them.
She drew in a deep, calming breath, blew it out again. But maybe it wasn’t Ramon or his men at all. Maybe Jeb’s gun had misfired. Maybe he had dropped it or something and it went off.
Jeb would never be so careless.
There was trouble in those trees. Elena could feel it.
She rushed toward the window again and took up a discreet position to watch if anyone approached. If it was Jeb who stumbled out, he’d need her help.
Movement flickered in the shadows. Heart in her throat, Elena fastened her glance on it like glue, watched it draw closer, grow more distinct in shape. And then, suddenly, someone burst through the tree line at a full run.
Elena blinked.
Margarete?
A gamut of emotions and questions swirled in her head, everything from relief at seeing a familiar face, and a female one at that, to disbelief at seeing the young girl, alone and running for her life, to a mix of concern and suspicion about why.
Whatever the answers Margarete held, however, she most likely would’ve seen Jeb. He might even be the reason for her haste, and Elena bolted to the door in renewed fear. Her hand grasped the knob to run out of the adobe, but remembering Nicky, she stopped in her tracks.
Again her worried glance took him in. He hadn’t moved. He slept peacefully. And though Jeb didn’t want her to step beyond the threshold, in this instance, she had to.
She had to.
Nicky would be fine while she was gone. And she wouldn’t be gone. She’d be right outside the door, just to talk to Margarete to find out what was happening.
In the time it took her to breathe another breath, she was outside and pulling the door closed behind her.
Jeb clawed his way through the blackness. Fire burned through his jaw, and he struggled to remember why he hurt. How he had gotten that way. And where he was. He realized he was in the jungle again, the damned jungle, noisy with the cries from disgruntled ravens and so thick with trees the branches and leaves shut out the sky.
He couldn’t remember which country he was in. Or what battle he fought. But he had to find Creed.
Creed was fighting without him. Creed depended on him to survive. It was Jeb’s job to watch his back, just as Creed had sworn to watch his.
He had to get up. He was a soldier. A rebel soldier. Like Creed. Fighting for America and her people. Innocents like Nicky and Elena.
The illusion shattered. His eyelids flew open.
Several yards away, the Apache sat on the ground, frantically, awkwardly, sawing through the rope binding his wrists. He was using a knife. Jeb’s knife. Margarete was gone to find Elena, and a rage the likes of none other Jeb had experienced before roared hot through his veins.
He rolled to his feet with a snarl and lunged. The Apache’s head lifted as he swore, scrambled to get away. Jeb grabbed him by the shirtfront and hauled him up roughly, then landed him a punch to the gut. The Apache doubled over, his wind lost, and a hard cuff to the jaw sent him toppling to the dirt, out cold.
Jeb snatched his knife. He found his rifle a short distance away.
And then he heard it. Horses’ hooves pounding the earth. The rumble shimmied through his boot soles, and he knew, then, that Ramon de la Vega was coming, with all his men. They were out there, somewhere, in the deepest shadows of the trees. Jeb couldn’t see them, but he could hear them, and they were heading straight for Simon’s adobe.
He grabbed his rifle and broke into a hard run.
Sweet mother in heaven. He had to get to Elena before they did.
Chapter Eighteen
“Margarete! What happened?” Elena gasped. “
I heard a shot!”
The girl skidded to a halt and struggled to catch her breath. She had a scratch on her cheek, Elena noticed. And pine needles in her hair. She must have snagged branches in her haste, and Elena’s alarm doubled.
“I was right,” Margarete said, winded. “You are here! He said you weren’t. He lied!”
“Who?”
“Your husband. He said he left you back in the States.”
Jeb had said that? He would’ve been protecting her. Trying to keep her presence a secret. Elena’s heart thundered. “I heard a shot. What happened? Is he hurt?”
“Maybe he is. Maybe he isn’t.”
Elena went still. What game did she play?
“I heard you have a son,” Margarete accused. She stood before Elena, feet spread, one hand behind her back. “Reckon your husband lied about that, too. Back in Carrizo Springs, he said you lost your baby. Made me think he died.” She swung her head, defiant. “But that doesn’t matter, does it? I could care less whether your baby is dead or not.” She glared. “Were you and Ramon lovers?”
“What?” Elena asked, taken aback.
“Just tell me!”
“That is none of your business!”
“Is he the father of your baby?”
Margarete’s voice had turned shrill, her eyes wild, and the realization that she was jealous and nearly hysterical turned Elena’s blood cold. One look at Nicky, and the girl would know the truth.
She was in love with Ramon. That was the reason for her jealousy, and Elena knew, then, it was she, Margarete, who betrayed her country and brought Ramon his guns.
Dear God.
She still kept her hand behind her back, hiding the weapon Elena knew she carried. The girl was volatile. On the edge.
“He’s the father of your baby, isn’t he?” Margarete said bitterly. “You’re not denying it, so it must be true.”
“Ramon raped me,” Elena grated.
Shock drained the color from Margarete’s flushed cheeks. “I don’t believe you. Ramon would never—”
“Afterward, he stole all my money. You can’t possibly want a hateful man like him in your life.”
“You’re lying. You’re just saying this to make me feel sorry for you.” Her lip curled. “You’re a beautiful woman, aren’t you? Men always want to bed beautiful women.”
“Where’s Jeb, Margarete?”
“He’s up there.”
“Has he been hurt?”
“I’ll take you to him. Then you can see for yourself.”
Don’t leave the adobe, y’hear me? Not for any reason.
Elena drew in a breath and shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Just tell me if Jeb is all right.”
The girl bared her teeth, and her arm whipped around. Her fingers clenched over the derringer she’d been hiding.
“You’re coming with me to convince him to let me take that wagon to Ramon,” she snarled.
Elena braced for the very real possibility she would be shot again. Killed within moments.
“No, Margarete. I’m not. You’re wrong to bring the rifles. You’re wrong to get involved in any of this.”
“Jeb will listen. He’s crazy for you. I saw the way he looked at you in Carrizo Springs. He’ll do whatever you ask him.”
“He’ll do everything in his power to stop the rifles from getting to Ramon.”
“He knows if he wants you alive he’ll have to let me go. I told him so, and start walking, damn you!”
“Ma-ma-ma.”
Elena went still. Nicky was awake, and for his sake, for her own and Jeb’s, she had to prevent Margarete from making the biggest mistake in her life.
“All right. Sure. You win. I’ll go with you, but I can’t leave my son,” Elena said. “He’s only a baby.”
The girl hesitated, clearly impatient with Nicky’s intrusion into her plan. She made a sound of capitulation.
“Then you’ll have to bring him,” Margarete snapped, and pointed the derringer toward the adobe. “Go on. Get the kid. And make it quick. But I’m following you inside just so you don’t try anything fancy.”
“Certainly.”
Elena turned. The door was only a few feet away. An arm’s length. She thought of the revolver and knife Jeb had left her. She thought of Nicky, too. Innocent and defenseless inside, and she had to spare him from all of this if it was the last thing she ever did.
Margarete stepped closer. Elena could hear the crunch of her foot on the ground.
And she made her move.
She swung and hurtled into Margarete, her shoulder to the girl’s chest. Her hand grappled for the derringer as she tackled Margarete to the ground. The gun fired, the sound deafening in Elena’s ears, before it skittered out of reach.
Jeb nearly had heart failure seeing the women scuffling on the ground, the gunshot echoing throughout the valley, and one more signal that would lead de la Vega and his men right to them.
They would be here, within seconds, and then they were, the whole damned bunch crashing through the tree line at a hard gallop. He ran parallel with them, ran faster than he’d ever run before. Raw fear clogged his throat. His chest burned from the fire of it.
Elena. He had to get to her before they did. He had to keep them from hurting her and taking Nicky.
“Elena!” he yelled. “Elena!”
The women sprang apart, shock on their faces at the approaching riders. Elena twisted, searching for him. He was almost there, and she bolted to her feet.
“Jeb! Oh, God! Jeb!” she sobbed and her arms opened. He stumbled into them, holding her hard. “I was afraid you were hurt.”
He had no time to reassure her—or warn her the worst was yet to come.
“Go inside. Stay with Nicky, y’hear? Arm yourself with my knife and pistol. Hurry.” He pushed her to the door, into the protection of the adobe, and closed it firmly behind her.
The Mexicans formed a half circle around the structure and prevented any chance of escape. A fierce bunch, Jeb thought. Armed to the teeth and hungry for revenge against a mother determined to keep her son.
One of the men rode forward. The brim of his sombrero shadowed his features, making him difficult to distinguish from the rest of the men, but from the arrogant way he held himself in the saddle, there was no question of who he was.
“Ramon!” Margarete cried, scrambling to her feet.
His glance flicked over her with no sign of recognition, then returned to the adobe. His gaze seemed to probe through the door to see Elena inside.
“Ramon! It’s me. Margarete!”
His black eyes returned to her again. A slight frown tugged at his brows.
“The girl from Carrizo Springs.” From beside him, Armando spoke in a low, amused voice. “Remember? You have done some very important business with her father.”
“Por Dios.” An instant smile appeared, as false as it was charming. “How could I forget? Forgive me, señorita. It has been a long time since we have seen each other, eh?”
“Yes! Oh, heavens, yes. It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”
She looked relieved that Ramon finally recalled her. Jeb might’ve felt sorry for her if he wasn’t so infuriated with all she’d done. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and the man would only hurt her in the end.
“Why has it been so long, Ramon?” she asked. “You promised me that…”
“Ma-ma. Ma-ma-ma.”
Her words trailed away at the sound of Nicky’s happy squeal.
“It seems my son is in a good mood today, eh?” De la Vega said, his glance leaving Margarete to fix on Jeb.
Jeb lifted the Winchester to his shoulder. From here on out, things were going to get real ugly.
“Don’t figure you have much right to him,” he said. “When this is over, you’ll either be dead or headed to prison to live the rest of your sorry life.”
The Mexican leader’s expression turned cold. “You are the famous soldier Sergeant Bender told me about. Jeb Car
son. The American patriot so proud of his country. See him, amigos? He thinks he can shoot all of us.”
“He don’t look like a soldier to me, Ramon,” Margarete said, frowning.
“He works for the War Department,” De la Vega said and smirked.
She blanched. “The War Department?”
“What you’ve done is a serious offense against the United States, Margarete,” Jeb said. “Save yourself while you still can.”
“She is only a simpleminded girl, foolishly in love,” De la Vega snapped, dismissing her. “Why would you or your War Department care if she saves herself from anything?”
Margarete whirled toward him. “I brought your rifles, that’s why!”
Jeb’s mouth tightened. He wanted to choke her.
“My rifles?” De la Vega asked, stunned. Shock rumbled through the men. “They are here? Where?” He twisted in his saddle, looking for them, as if they’d be in bold view.
“Why should I tell you?” Margarete said, her small mouth turned into a pout. “You don’t care one whit for me. Not like you claimed you did, and maybe you don’t deserve to know about your stupid guns.”
Jeb braced for the repercussions. The girl was plenty naive. She was going to learn real quick the Mexican leader wouldn’t appreciate her defiance.
He didn’t. He pulled a rifle from its scabbard, cocked it and leveled it right at her.
“Forget her, Ramon,” Armando said, frowning. “The weapons are here. We will find them.”
“Maybe she lies.”
“She would not be here if not for them.”
De la Vega fired. Margarete yelped. The force of the bullet spun her to the ground. Blood spurted and bloomed on one side of her blouse.
A half-dozen rifles centered over Jeb, convincing him not to retaliate. He wouldn’t be much good to Elena dead.
Margarete wasn’t moving. He knelt beside her and checked for a pulse. He found one, but barely. He rose.
“If she dies, the noose gets tighter around your neck, de la Vega,” he growled.
The Mexican leader barked orders to his men in Spanish, and they scattered in quick obedience.