“Damn it, I’m crippled. Who knows if I’ll ever be any good as a vaquero again.”
She put her hand on his muscular arm. “Your hand will recover somewhat. It just takes time.”
He shrugged. “Time I haven’t got. Have you heard anything more from your guardian?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t worry. He’s the best with a pistol. I know he’s taught some of the best guns in Texas.”
Rio looked down at his swollen hand. “A lot of good that will do me.”
“Rio, my darling”—she looked up at him—“you don’t have to fight this duel. Why don’t you just call it off?”
“Do you joke?” He turned on her, dark eyes fierce. “And be the laughingstock of every hombre in Texas? No, of course I can’t.”
“What do you care what others think?”
“Because I’m a man and in Texas, to be able to walk proud and straight, bend my knee to no one, that’s important. First and last, I’m a Texan.”
“You’re stubborn, but I love you.” She reached up to kiss his suntanned cheek. He tasted of salt and wind and wildness.
“And I do it because I love you,” he whispered against her mouth. “If I don’t kill him and get him out of our lives for good, we will always be looking over our shoulders, expecting him to turn up.” He kissed her then, deep and fierce and possessive. She was this Texan’s woman and nothing could ever change that.
Turquoise clung to him as the kiss deepened and he put his tongue deep in her mouth, touching the tip of his tongue against hers until all she could do was hold onto him while his grasp tightened and she could feel her breast crushed against his hard body.
“I need you,” he whispered. “Dios, I never knew I could want a woman like I want you. You’re a fire in my blood, Turquoise.”
“And you in mine.” She brought her fingertips up to touch his rugged face and despite her best efforts, tears came to her eyes and he kissed them away.
“Do not worry, sweet one,” he said as he brushed the dark curls away from her face. “I’m not such a bad shot. I might kill him.”
She was weeping because of the devil’s bargain she had made with Edwin, but she dared not tell Rio. “If you only wound him—”
“If I only wound him, he will not be finished with me. No, I will have to kill him.”
“And if he only wounds you—”
“He will not be satisfied with only wounding me,” Rio said against her cheek. “He knows that only killing me will stop me from getting my revenge sooner or later. No, he will have to kill me to stop looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.”
“But if he misses and you miss,” she insisted, “then the rules of the duel will be satisfied and you can both walk away.”
He shook his head. “You may think so, all Austin may think so, but both he and I know that one of us has to die to end this thing.”
“And it started because of me.” She turned away. “I feel so guilty.”
He caught her arm and pulled her to him, his left hand stroking her throat and then working its way down to the V of her breasts. “It might have happened anyway. The senator likes to see people bow before him and I was never one to bend my knee. I am a proud man, Turquoise, and if I die Monday night, I will die proudly.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath as his fingers caressed her breast and then the dark circle of her nipple. Indeed this was a proud man and if he knew of the bargain she had made with Edwin not to kill him, he would hate her, never speak to her again. However, it was worth it to her to have him alive, even if she never saw him, never made love to him again. “You torture me with your fingers,” she said with a sigh.
“But it is a sweet torture, no?” His fingers did not stop what they were doing.
She closed her eyes and let him stroke both her breasts intimately, possessively, as if they belonged to him without question.
“I wish I could know that someday, these would feed my sons,” he whispered against her ear, “and I would give you many.”
But that could not be, even if he survived Monday night, she knew, but she pushed that thought from her mind. She was going to exchange his life for sharing Edwin’s bed, but that was not now and she didn’t want to think past now. “Make love to me,” she asked.
“That I can do,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s only my hand that is injured. Let’s go up to the house.”
She led her buggy horse as they walked up to the small adobe dwelling.
“This is not nearly good enough for a princess like you,” he said as they tied up the horse and walked up the steps.
“Let me decide that,” she answered, but her mind was in turmoil with what Rio had said. Yes, he was right; one man must kill the other or there was no end to this thing. Like two wild stallions fighting to possess a mare, it could not end without one of them dead or badly injured. Surely Edwin must know this, as did Rio. Why had she refused to see that, thinking that she could trust Edwin to miss his shot?
Inside the small adobe house, he reached to unbutton the bodice of her dress, then pull away the lace beneath. “I like to look at you,” he said.
Instinctively, she covered her breasts with her hands but he caught them and pulled them away.
“Now your turn,” he whispered and she reached up and slowly unbuttoned the denim shirt that hid his big, muscular chest. It was brown with sun and scarred with cantina fights and barbed wire.
She ran her finger around the circle of his nipples and his nipples abruptly stood out and he groaned. She bent her head and kissed him there and he caught her dark head, tangling his fingers in her glossy curls, and held her face against his chest. “Bite me,” he pleaded. “Bite me there.”
She obliged and his feverish hands pulled at her clothes. “I would kill any man who tried to take you from me,” he whispered. “That is why I will duel.”
She felt her face go ashen as she suddenly saw an image of herself lying in Edwin’s big bed with its silken sheets, lying there like a wax doll while he pumped and sweated and moaned over her small body, claiming the marital rights that would be his if they both kept their part of the bargain.
Rio didn’t seem to notice. He was kissing her breasts and stroking her all over with his good hand and she forgot about Edwin and thought only of making love to Rio because it might be for the very last time.
He rolled over on his back and pulled her on top of him, reaching up to touch and caress her breasts. “Now you make love to me,” he demanded.
She spread her thighs and mounted his big maleness and gasped as she felt that pulsating rod of flesh deep in her depths. “Oh, you feel so good.”
He put his hands on her hips and brought her down on him hard.
“More,” she gasped. “Deeper!”
He obliged and she rode him harder and faster until bare, sweating flesh slapped hard against bare, sweating flesh, slamming harder and faster in the rhythm of love until she reached a pinnacle of excitement just as he gasped and went rigid all over, holding her tight against him so that she could not escape from the hot flow of seed he was giving up to her.
After a long moment of clinging together they both collapsed, sweating and gasping for air.
“No man could ever give me that kind of pleasure,” she gasped against his ear.
“I would kill any man who tried, and no man ever will, as long as I live and breathe,” he promised.
Monday, she thought. Monday, and I have made such a mess of this. She rolled over to lay in the crook of his left arm and he brushed the black curls from her face and held her close. Had she really thought Rio would let Edwin possess her if Rio came through the duel unscathed?
“You are very quiet,” he mused.
“I—I am only tired,” she lied. “We should get dressed. Trace’s train will be coming in soon.”
“I’d rather make love to you again.” He laughed.
“Can you think of nothing else?” She tried to sound light-hearted.<
br />
“With you? No.” He sat up on the edge of the bed and began to hunt for his clothes.
She stood up on the floor by him and he reached out and slapped her lightly but possessively on the bottom. “Mine,” he said. “No other man shall ever touch this.”
He would be furious with her if he knew of her bargain and would never speak to her again, but if it would save his life, she would keep her promise. She imagined spending the rest of her life in Edwin’s bed. She might survive his lovemaking if she pretended it was Rio who rode her.
“We’ve got to meet a train,” she said and grabbed for her clothes.
“You weren’t too worried about that train ten minutes ago.”
“Ten minutes ago, I wasn’t thinking of anything but getting a big stallion inside me,” she answered truthfully, and she walked over to the wash basin and poured some water.
He came up behind her and put his arms around her, both of them still naked. “I try not to want you,” he confessed. “I know you’re out of my class, but I forget about all reason when I’m close to you.” He kissed the back of her neck.
She could feel his big maleness against her hips as his hands went up to cup her breasts.
“I wish today would never end,” she said, laying her head back against his massive chest. “I’m so happy in your arms.”
“And I in yours.” He reached for a washcloth and the bar of soap. “Now we must stop touching each other before we end up back in bed. Trace will be waiting in the train station and wondering where we are.”
“Of course.”
Quickly they both washed and dressed. Then they went outside and Rio said, “We can take the buggy to the station and bring Trace back here.”
In minutes, they were on the way to the train with Rio driving and little Tip riding in the back and barking at passing horses. She glanced over at Rio’s swollen right hand in its bandage. “Do you think you can shoot with your left hand?”
He looked down at the bandaged hand. “I reckon I’ll have to try.”
“Trying isn’t good enough,” she said with such emotion that he looked at her strangely.
“Sweet one,” he said, “you are letting the tension getto you.”
“How can I help it?” She burst into tears. “Someone is going to be killed and all you men act like it’s some kind of athletic competition.”
He put his arm around her. “That’s what men do when they face death, my darling. They joke and make light of it or they fall silent and brood over it. Do you have no faith in my ability to shoot?”
“I just don’t want to see anyone die.”
He shrugged. “And you won’t because you aren’t coming to the duel.You’ll meet Senora Durango’s train and wait for me to return.”
“And suppose I wait and wait and—”
“Then your guardian will bring you word. I would ask that you let my mother know what has happened. Sell my ranch and send the money to her at the convent.”
“Of course I would do that.”
“Then that’s all I ask. Look, I see a train pulling in at the station. Perhaps that is the one with Senor Durango.”
Sure enough, up ahead, a black locomotive was whistling and blowing smoke as it puffed into town. At least this would give her something else to think about. Turquoise pasted a smile on her face as they drove into the station and Rio got out to tie up the buggy, then came around to help her down.
They walked out onto the platform amid the crowd and waited for the train to grind to a halt amid a puff of acrid smoke and cinders. The conductor stepped down and put out a little stool, then turned to help the waiting passengers debark. First out came a drummer with his suitcases of samples, then an older couple, and finally Trace Durango stepped down. She thought the half Cheyenne landowner was still tall and handsome, although his black hair was streaked now with gray.
They went to meet him, the two men attempting to shake hands, and she saw how Trace frowned when he saw Rio’s right hand. “How bad is it?”
Rio looked into his eyes. “Bad enough.”
Turquoise hugged her guardian, feeling relief. “We knew if there was anyone who could teach him how to handle a pistol, it would be you.”
Trace swore in Spanish under his breath and reached to pick up his small bag. “That damned Forester. I’ve been wantin’ to kill him myself for years, but I guess this is the next best thing. How on earth did you end up challengin’ him to a duel?”
“It’s a long story, senor,” Rio said, “a matter of honor.”
Trace nodded. “Si. I can relate to a matter of honor.”
“You men,” she snapped. “I don’t think honor is worth getting killed over.”
“That’s because you’re a girl.” Rio grinned. “If a man has no honor, he has nothing.”
“Agreed,” Trace said, “especially a Texan. “Now, we don’t have a lot of time. Let us get right to it.”
Turquoise swallowed the lump in her throat and followed the men to the buggy as they talked.
Once back at Rio’s ranch, the two men loaded pistols and set up targets out by the small lake.
Trace said, “Hombre, unwrap that hand and let’s see how bad it is.”
“No!” Turquoise objected. “He’s not going to be able to use it.”
Rio ignored her and unwrapped the hand and tried to flex it. He grimaced with pain. Turquoise looked. The hand was swollen and discolored, the four-leaf clover barely visible on the purple bruising.
“Dios.” Trace sighed. “You’re right, Turquoise, it hasn’t had time to heal yet. It may eventually get better, but we’re short on time. Well, Rio, I’ll see what you can do with your left hand. How good with a pistol were you before?”
Rio shook his head. “Not good. I can handle a rifle like any Texas rancher should, but I’ve had no use for learning gunfighting.”
“This isn’t gunfightin’, where speed matters.” Trace frowned. “This is duelin’. What counts here are steady nerves. You’ll both walk twenty paces and turn and aim. Sometimes the one who is not the best shot with a pistol but has the best nerves, wins.”
Turquoise looked at him. “Have you ever been involved in a duel before, Uncle Trace?”
He nodded. “As a second to my father many years ago when I was hardly more than a boy. He killed the other man.”
“Senor Trace, I would be honored if you would be my second,” Rio said.
“Of course I will. My only problem at this time is what to do about my family, who will be comin’ in on the train from Philadelphia about sundown that night.”
“Turquoise can meet the train,” Rio said. “I don’t want her at the duel anyway.”
“You might at least let me make that choice,” she bristled.
He gave her a stern look. “Please don’t make this any worse than it is, sweet one.”
She nodded and the men loaded pistols, and Trace showed Rio how to hold the gun with his left hand. “Now take careful aim,” he cautioned. “Remember, with a Colt, you’ve got more bullets. With a dueling pistol, you only get one shot and you’ve got to make it count.”
They practiced another hour.
Trace nodded encouragement. “You’re improvin’, Rio. Now remember, don’t let your anger get the best of you. You have to be very cool and deadly in a duel.”
“We’re low on shells,” Rio noted. “I’ll go back down to the house and get more.”
After they watched him walk away, Turquoise turned to Trace. “I never heard about a Durango duel. What was the old don fighting about?”
“A woman’s honor,” Trace said.
“A woman’s honor doesn’t seem worth killing a man over,” she scoffed.
“I’d kill a man if he insulted my woman—any Texan would. In this case the woman was my mother,” Trace said. “The man tried to seduce her and failed. Then he publicly called Velvet Eyes an ‘Injun whore.’”
“Oh.”
“So you see, the don had no choice but to kill him.
There were other things leadin’ up to it for many years and several generations. They had long been bitter enemies, but that was the final insult that put them beneath the big oaks by the river.”
“I reckon men will always be men.”
Trace nodded. “And what is this duel about?”
Turquoise shrugged. “A number of things.”
“Men usually fight duels over two things: honor or women. I presume you are the woman?”
She felt her face flush. “I didn’t think it would lead to this.”
“Women never think it will lead to bloodshed, but they don’t know how primitive a man can be when another male wants his woman.”
“Uncle Trace, would you allow me to marry Edwin Forester?”
Trace’s face hardened and he looked both shocked and bewildered. “What?”
“Don’t ask.” She looked at the ground and stubbed her toe in the dirt.
Trace sighed. “I don’t know what you’re up to. Very well, I’d like to say over my very dead body you’d marry into the Foresters, but if it were your choice, I would allow you to make it.”
“Do you think Rio has a chance in hell Monday night?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment. “I don’t really know, Turquoise. He’s not very good with a pistol, that’s true, but I’ve got a couple of days to work with him. Sometimes miracles happen.”
They both turned to watch Rio striding back with the bullets.
She asked, “So I should pray for a miracle?”
“Si,”Trace said, nodding, “or maybe make one happen.”
Rio came back just then with the boxes of shells. “So what were you two talking about?”
“How well you’re shootin’,” Trace said with a grin, “and how I should give Turquoise a large dowry when she marries you.”
“I’ve got to survive the duel first,” Rio reminded him.
She couldn’t stand to look him in the face. “It looks like you two have a long afternoon ahead of you,” she said. “I think I’ll go to the nearest church and light some candles and pray.”
“You’d better pray to Saint Jude, the patron saint of hopeless causes,” Rio suggested.
She shook her head. “No, I’ll pray to the Virgin and all the saints and then I’ll come back about sundown tonight to see how it’s going, Uncle Trace.”
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