THE OUTLAW AND THE LADY

by Lorraine Heath

  With a simple turn of his head, Spence dismissed him and returned to studying Juanita. "Introduce me to her."

  "You haven't met her?"

  "Not officially, no. Besides, you owe me."

  "Oh, sí, for the book. Gracias."

  "Not for the book. Once the excitement died down a bit, I rode to the county courthouse to check on deeds. I located the original land grant. No doubt about it. It's Rodriguez land."

  Relief swamped Lee. Everything was finally falling into place. "I do owe you."

  "Then introduce me to your sister."

  For a full minute he debated the wisdom of the request. Juanita seemed so isolated, withdrawn. "I will probably regret this."

  He crossed the room with Spence dogging his heels like a puppy who anticipated being tossed a bone. Juanita looked up and smiled shyly as he approached. She shifted in the chair and Miguel awakened. He smiled brightly. "Lee!"

  Damon knelt in front of Juanita. "Uncle Damon, remember?"

  "Oh, sí. I forgot."

  He ruffled the boy's hair. "We will probably all forget for a while."

  Juanita's eyes widened with alarm when Spence knelt beside Damon. Damon was more convinced than ever that this idea was a bad one. Spence poked him in the ribs with his elbow.

  "Juanita, this is my new brother, Spence." He had expected Spence to do something stupid like try to take Juanita's hand. Instead, Spence just smiled warmly.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said with sincerity. "Who is this handsome lad?"

  Juanita shifted her gaze to Damon, then to Miguel, and finally to Spence. "He … he is … my son."

  "What a fortunate lad, to have such a lovely mother. What is that behind your ear, Miguel? Dirt?" Spence slipped his hand behind Miguel's head and brought it forward holding a coin.

  "A peso!" Miguel laughed and slapped his hand over his ear.

  "What a funny place to keep your money," Spence said as he handed Miguel the coin. "Best to keep it in your pocket, I think."

  "Do you know another trick?" Miguel asked.

  "I know many tricks. If your mother will allow you to come with me, I'll show you how to make cookies disappear."

  "Can I?" Miguel asked Juanita. "Can I go with him?"

  Juanita looked at Damon and he gave her a quick nod of assurance.

  "Sí," Juanita said quietly. "You can go."

  Miguel scrambled off her lap and slipped his hand into Spence's as he stood.

  Spence winked at Juanita. "I won't keep him long."

  Damon watched them walk toward the table laden with refreshments.

  "He seems nice," Juanita said softly.

  "I think he is a good man." He took her hand. "Do not be so afraid, Juanita. Most men are not like Floyd Shelby."

  She nodded. "I know. It is just hard sometimes to remember that." She gave him a tiny smile. "You are going away."

  "Not for a while yet. But even when I go away, I'll never stop being your brother."

  * * *

  Damon Montgomery, with the woman he loved at his side, stepped onto the boardwalk outside the hotel.

  He heard a movement and turned. Standing in a corner, Christine smiled at him. "It's been a long journey, Damon."

  "Sí. We are celebrating inside. You should join us."

  "I think I will."

  "I can't thank you enough for telling Kit everything," Angela said softly.

  "We should have gone to the authorities long ago, but since the sheriff is one of my father's lapdogs, everything seemed hopeless. We assumed the murder of Ramon and his parents would go unavenged. We were so young."

  "What will you do now?" Angela asked.

  "I have a small home near one of the schools. I'll probably teach." Reaching out, she touched Damon's cheek. "I brought someone I'd like you to meet."

  Tightening his hold on Angela's hand, Damon nodded. He followed Christine to the end of the boardwalk where a buggy was parked. "Between the buildings, a little boy is tossing a ball to a young woman," Damon explained to Angela.

  "Mary is his governess," Christine said.

  "What does he look like?" Angela asked.

  "Black hair and dark brown eyes," Damon said. "He is my brother's son."

  "Raymond," Christine called out.

  Damon watched with an ache in his chest as the boy smiled and ran to his mother.

  "Raymond, I want you to meet Mr. Montgomery."

  "Howdy." The boy beamed up at him.

  Damon crouched, aware of his knees popping and his heart bursting. "You can call me Uncle Damon."

  "Are you my uncle?"

  "Sí. You have many more uncles, and we all have many stories to tell you about your father."

  "Mama says he was a good man."

  "He was the best of us," Damon acknowledged quietly.

  * * *

  Damon stood on the boardwalk outside the hotel, staring at the moon. The celebration had finally ended, with everyone retiring to his or her room. He knew he should go to bed as well, but he'd needed a few moments of solitude to sort through events, to contemplate the serpentine path he'd traveled to arrive at his present destination.

  He could only remember fragments of his life before he'd been abducted. He'd been happy. The events that had led him to the Rodriguez family were vague. He didn't dwell on them because he was convinced they were better forgotten. He preferred to acknowledge that he'd been fortunate to know the love of two good families.

  He spotted a silhouette wandering through the darkness, a familiar shadow. His father approached, stepped onto the boardwalk, leaned against the railing, and looked at the moon. "Couldn't sleep," he said simply.

  "Neither could I," Damon admitted.

  "I like the Rodriguez family," he said.

  "They are good people, but I have been searching the recesses of my mind for long-ago memories, memories before I became Damon Rodriguez, and I can find so little," he said quietly.

  "You were a good boy, a joy to me and your mother. And you are again. Your life will change considerably when you inherit Ravenleigh."

  Ravenleigh. How had the name become so jumbled in his child's mind?

  "My life has changed before. I can adjust. I have much to learn before I will be ready to become the earl, however."

  "We have lots of time to teach you. I think your mother is rather looking forward to having you here for a while. Well, I'd best be off to bed. She doesn't go to sleep until I turn in, and she needs her rest." He moved toward the door.

  "Father?"

  His father stilled, and Damon felt the expectancy shimmering on the air between them. From the moment he'd realized who Montgomery thought he was, Damon had avoided addressing him, had failed to recognize his place in Damon's life. "I remember a silver star…"

  "I cut it from the bottom of a tin can. Not an uncommon practice among law enforcement officials who needed a symbol of their authority. I believe you wanted to be a sheriff."

  "I wanted to be like you."

  He heard his father swallow hard. "It's better to be your own man. I think you've succeeded at that."

  "When I was boy and you had to leave, I was afraid that you wouldn't come back," he rasped.

  "I always came back, didn't I?"

  "Do you remember what you'd do when you returned?"

  His father's arms were suddenly around him, and Damon clung to him as he had when he was a child and his father had returned home after being gone so long. "I love you, Damon."

  "I love you more." He spoke the refrain he had repeated so often in his childhood.

  He felt a tremor ripple through his father. "Dear God, but it's good to have you back, Damon."

  * * *

  He was lost, so lost, stumbling in the darkness, searching for home … warmth, security, love … but they remained beyond reach. Perhaps he didn't deserve them.

  Shaking, cold … blood, too damned much blood. Screams, cries … tears. An explosion. The loss of all his dreams.

  He swirled
through the haze until he saw them, waiting for him, arms outstretched, eager to welcome him home. But he couldn't go home, not now—not after what he had become.

  Then she was there. His angel, holding out her hand, beckoning him forward. He slid his hand into hers.

  * * *

  Damon awoke with a start. Something was wrong. He wasn't bathed in sweat. He wasn't breathing harshly. He touched his cheeks. No tears. Yet he was sad.

  He scrambled out of bed, snatched his britches from a nearby chair, and put them on. He crossed the room and walked into the hallway. It was quiet, so quiet.

  He crept down the corridor to the room where Angela slept. Gingerly, he turned the knob, grateful it was unlocked. Tiptoeing into the room, he closed the door behind him. Like a shadow, he glided to the bed.

  Angela lay on her back, her hair fanned out across the pillow, the moonlight dancing over her face. He'd almost lost her. First because of his pride, then because of his past. But she was his future. He knew that as surely as he knew his name.

  He unfastened his britches, shucked them off, slid beneath the sheets, and drew her against his body. She sighed and burrowed into him. He rained kisses over her face. A thousand little kisses, then larger kisses until he wanted more. With his tongue, he tasted her. So sweet.

  "Damon?" she asked groggily.

  "Sí."

  Moaning low, she undulated her hips against his. Passion ignited within him.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked.

  If she didn't know, then he needed to work harder at being a lover. He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her slowly, gently, as though she'd been spun from moonbeams, delicate and fragile.

  He wanted to focus all his energies, all his talents on the woman who had stolen his heart … shortly after he had stolen her. With deft hands, he made short work of removing her nightgown until she lay beneath him, her flesh against his.

  She sighed softly as he trailed his hot mouth over her body, licking, suckling, teasing. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders, along his strong back as long as she could reach them—until he was skimming his lips over her thigh, along her calf. First one leg and then the other. "Querida, you did not answer my question."

  "What question?" she mumbled.

  "When we were by the river that last morning, I asked you a question. You did not give me your answer."

  "Question…"

  "Will you marry me?"

  She gasped and her eyes flew open. "We need to talk."

  Hers was not exactly the response he'd been hoping for. She'd been unusually quiet most of the afternoon and evening. He knew she was happy about the turn of events, but something was bothering her. He knew her too well not to recognize that fact. "I am a man of many talents. I can kiss you and listen at the same time." He nibbled on her earlobe.

  "I can't … I can't talk when you're doing that."

  He smiled. "Then don't speak, just moan … ow!" He grabbed her wrist. "Why do you yank my hair like that?"

  "Because I want your undivided attention." Obviously fully awake now, she shoved him aside, sat up, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She clasped her hands together in her lap.

  Trepidation sliced through him. Something was very wrong. He eased off the bed and crouched in front of her. "What's troubling you, querida?"

  "Do you know how old you are?" she asked.

  He shrugged, a movement totally wasted on her. "Twenty."

  "Do you know how old I am?"

  "Why are you giving me mathematical problems when we could be making love?"

  "I'm twenty-four. Four years older than you!"

  "Sí. I can do the calculation."

  "Oh, Damon!" She bolted off the bed and waved her hand through the air. "A woman is usually younger than a man."

  Damon slowly unfolded his body. "Is that the law?"

  She came to an abrupt halt and faced him. "No, but that's the way it usually is. Your mother is younger than your father. My mother is younger than my father. It's the natural order of things."

  "I don't understand what you are saying."

  "I can't marry you."

  "Angela, I love you."

  "You can't."

  He watched tears surface. "But I do," he said.

  Despair filled her eyes. "We should have never fallen in love. Oh, Damon, you're only twenty years old! You're so young. You haven't had time to sow wild oats or know what you want from life."

  "Are you more bothered by the fact that I am twenty than by the fact that you are older?"

  She sighed. "Yes."

  He took her hand. "Come here."

  She resisted. "Damon—"

  "Come here. Now I want to talk." He led her back to the bed. "Sit."

  He knelt in front of her, took both her hands in his, and pressed them against his face. "Angela, look at me."

  "Damon—"

  "Look at me." She slowly traced her fingers over his features. "Mine is not the face of a man who has only known twenty years of life. I have seen more, experienced more than most men do in eighty. I am really a very old man."

  She gave him a tremulous smile. "Damon, I don't think you realize how your life is about to change. As the heir to Ravenleigh, you could marry any woman you wanted."

  "I plan to marry the only woman I want."

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  "Don't you love me?" he asked quietly.

  She opened her eyes, pools of sadness that he couldn't understand. "With all my heart."

  "Do you remember when I told you about the angel who would visit me when I was a boy?" he asked tenderly.

  She nodded and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  He framed her face between his large hands. "She was you, Angela. You were my angel when I was a boy, and now that I am a man." He eased her down onto the bed. He kissed her temple, each cheek, and the tip of her nose before settling his mouth against her lips. She was incredibly precious, and he wanted her to realize that she would be forever.

  Too many nights had passed without her sharing his bed, and the temptation to sate his own hunger was strong, but his desire to pleasure her was more powerful.

  While he deepened the kiss, he grazed his fingers along the length of her body. She curled against him much as she had the first time she'd slept in his arms, as though he provided solace.

  He planned to give her everything—the warm hues of dawn and the calming shades of a sunset. He'd take care to always mention colors and fill her world with the rainbow of his love.

  Holding her hip, he pressed her more solidly against his hardness and groaned low as the pleasure speared him. How could she possibly think he would consider giving her up because of his youth?

  As far as he was concerned, he'd been fortunate to find her as early in life as he had. The many years stretching before them held exhilarating promise.

  And the nights. They would have more nights than they could count, each one ending as this one was beginning…

  Easing her onto her back, he trailed his mouth along her neck and dipped his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, as though she needed a tether, but he wanted her to fly.

  He circled his tongue around her nipple, relishing her gasp and the shudder that rippled through her.

  She outlined the muscles of his back, touched his side, and stilled. "Your wound—"

  "—is nothing," he assured her. Although he'd bled profusely, the bullet had only creased his flesh, and a doctor had closed the gash with a few stitches.

  He returned his attention to her soft, pliant breast. Suckling gently, he listened as she moaned. She rubbed her foot up and down his calf while she slipped her hand between their bodies and stroked him, stirring the banked embers of his desire into a roaring blaze.

  Cradling her face, he ordered, "Say my name."

  She skimmed her fingertips along the grooves of his face. "Damon."

  He lowered his mouth, kissing her voraciously a
s he joined his body to hers, taking pleasure, granting pleasure. He'd never possessed her with such absolute freedom because always before the shadows of his past had hovered around them.

  But his lady had bathed them in the light of her love until they no longer existed.

  Increasing the tempo of his movements, he tightened his hold on her and buried his face in the abundant thickness of her hair. He was aware of her body growing taut beneath his, her short gasps, her fingers digging into his buttocks—

  Her back arched as she cried out his name. "Damon!"

  He gave in to his own raging needs, one last thrust spilling his seed into her. With his limbs quaking, he smiled with pure male satisfaction and nuzzled her neck.

  Lifting himself, he lovingly gazed down at her. "Don't ever doubt that we were meant to be together."

  "I want you to be certain," she said drowsily.

  "If you could look into my eyes, you would know that I love you, Angela, with all my heart and all my soul, and I always have."

  * * *

  Epilogue

  « ^

  The moon glistened over the waves as they rolled on to the shore. Standing barefoot in the Galveston sand, Damon Montgomery contemplated the twelve months that had passed since he'd first acknowledged his name and his original family.

  It was with a great deal of satisfaction that Damon had testified at the trial of Vernon Shelby. More satisfying was the verdict of guilty. Less satisfying was the sentence: twenty-seven years for each murder.

  Damon tried to find contentment in the knowledge that Shelby would die within prison walls and that the years would pass slowly, giving him a chance to reflect on all he'd instigated that fateful night.

  Angela, Damon, and his brothers had visited the schools, church, and orphanage that Christine had built with the money that they'd taken from Shelby's accounts.

  Juanita had declined the invitation to go with them. They had rebuilt the hacienda, and she wanted to remain there, working to make it "home," but Damon feared she was simply withdrawing more from the world around her. Miguel had begun to call her "Mama," and she only seemed happy within the house when Miguel was with her.

  Sheriff Evans had been summarily removed from office. Roberto Rodriguez was hired to replace him, a quiet man with a steady temperament. Damon knew he would serve the town well and expected to read of his adventures someday in a dime novel.