by Cox, Deborah
Anne divided her attention between the delirious man and the drama going on around her.
"Come closer." The wounded man grabbed hold of Anne's arm and pulled her down toward his face. Something in his eyes stilled her, and the noise and tension around them receded as he started talking.
"The gold," he whispered. "It is hidden in a small church in a place called Concepción near Chihuahua, Mexico. There are some loose boards behind the altar. A million dollars. No one could find it if they did not know already where it was. Go there. It is yours. Do what you will with it." He licked his lips as he winced with another pain. "And now, I must ask you to do one thing for me."
"What is it?"
She waited while he coughed convulsively. He fought for breath, fought to speak.
"Get a priest," he murmured.
Those words were his last. His body went limp and his life escaped on a ragged sigh. She peeled his fingers from around her arm and stared down at his silent, empty body. His words echoed in her mind and she began to tremble.
Slowly she became aware of her surroundings again. The huge, dirty man she had threatened with the pistol earlier moved toward the gunfighter, but the man closest to him placed a hand on his chest, halting him. "Leave it alone, Jake."
"Shut up, Tucker, I ain't scared of this hombre," Jake replied without taking his gaze off the bounty hunter. "And I don't believe this pretty little thing is his wife."
"Better listen to him, Jake," the bounty hunter said. The menace in his voice shivered down Anne's spine, and she wondered again if she'd made the right choice in trusting him. "You might not believe she's my wife," he went on, "but believe this. Either you back down or you'll die."
"That's Rafe Montalvo," Tucker informed Jake. "I seen him gun down three pistoleros in Mesilla a few months ago. Ain't never seen nothing like it before or since."
A tick started in Jake's left eye. Anne held her breath as Jake considered Tucker's revelation and his own options. She could almost see his bravado faltering. Her gaze moved between the two men – Rafe Montalvo's a mask of deadly intent, Jake's indecisive.
All of the men had taken a step back, leaving Jake alone to face this man whose name alone sent a wave of fear through these hardened teamsters.
"Why don't you fellows move along now?" Rafe Montalvo suggested. "The show's over."
Slowly the disgruntled crowd began to disperse. Jake lingered for a moment after the others wandered off. Anne could scarcely breathe through the tension in the air. She exhaled the breath she hadn’t been aware of holding when he finally followed his companions and the gunfighter turned his attention back to the wounded man and to Anne, who struggled to her feet.
"He—he's dead," she murmured.
The gunfighter stepped toward her and she took an involuntary step back. She noticed the tensing of a muscle in his jaw and the anger that flashed briefly in his eyes before he hunkered down next to the Mexican and placed a finger against the dead man's throat.
"One minute he was alive and talking, and the next—"
"Talking?" The gunfighter stood and narrowed his eyes, cold, emotionless eyes that seemed more animal than human. "What did he say?"
He took another step and she backed away again, but this time he was quicker. His hand wrapped around her upper arm. His touch sent a shock through her bones. The devil’s touch.
She gasped as he pulled her up close to his face, struggling to break free, but he only clutched her more tightly.
"What did he say?" he demanded through clenched teeth.
She recoiled from the menace in his voice and in his pale, pale eyes. "He... he wanted a priest, but there wasn't time," she said, hardly aware of speaking the words, her mind and body numb with shock.
She wanted desperately to run, to escape back to her hotel room, but she doubted her legs would carry her, and she wasn't at all sure he would let her go. Swaying dizzily from exhaustion, hunger, and tension, Anne feared she might faint for the first time in her life.
Their eyes met and she tried to keep the fear from strangling her, even as she fought the urge to look away.
"That's all he said." She tried to jerk free again, hoping to take him by surprise, but the attempt failed, leaving her no choice but to face him down.
He stared at her for a long moment before his expression suddenly softened and he released her. His eyes reflected curiosity and something like tenderness as he lifted a hand toward her face. He reached toward her, and she flinched, her heart catching in her throat. Her reaction stopped him. A shadow of pain flashing across his face before he dropped his hand away. He turned to gaze down at the lifeless body, and Anne could breathe again.
"Well, I doubt all the priests in Texas and Mexico put together could pray Luis Demas into heaven."
"What a terrible thing to say about a dead man." She blinked to clear her dizziness, surprised she could speak at all.
"He was a bandit," he told her as he turned to face her once again. "He murdered and raped and d cheated all his life. Just because he's dead doesn't make him a saint."
"I know." Perspiration broke out over her body. She struggled to still the tremors that gripped her and the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. She heard him curse as the darkness at the edges of her mind closed in around her and she staggered toward the ground. He caught her and swung her up into his arms.
He smelled of soap and stale whiskey and cheap perfume—the kind that had often clung to her father when he would come home from one of his late nights on the riverfront. Strong arms surrounded her, one supporting her back, the other beneath her knees, leaving Anne no choice but to twine an arm around his neck. Conflicting desires—to remain there and to run as fast and as far as she could—warred within her.
His hard chest crushed her breast. She tried to shift her weight, but her efforts only increased the intimate contact. So she remained as still as she could.
"Please, I'm all right," she managed to murmur.
He carried her toward the hotel, his brow furrowed as if in concern, his eyes never leaving her.
"I can walk." The words sounded like a plea, and she cursed the way her voice trembled.
He said nothing, just stared at her with those ice-blue eyes that saw far too much and revealed far too little. But the pain lurking there terrified her as much as everything else about him.
"I can walk," she repeated as they reached the hotel lobby. Heat crept over her body. She couldn’t bear the idea of him carrying her to her room, putting her in her bed. "Please put me down."
"Which room is yours?" he asked as if he hadn't heard her.
He carried her up the stairs to the landing above. His gaze held hers as he lowered her feet to the floor.
"Please…" She pushed against his hard chest. The pressure seemed to get through to him.
"Are you sure?" His gentle voice went straight to her heart.
Anne nodded, unable to speak, frightened by her profound reaction to him-his maleness, the sadness mixed with violence, the power he exuded. She didn't want to feel anything for this dark, dangerous man.
His intense gaze made her uncomfortable until finally he turned with a slight nod and retreated down the stairs.
It took several moments, but finally she could breathe normally again. Her body trembled at the memory of his strong arms around her, those icy eyes boring into hers.
Earlier that day, she'd seen him ride into town with a body.
Bounty hunter, the hotel manager had asserted.
A man who killed for a living had just saved her, just held her so close she could feel his breath on her face.
She should feel revulsion, but her body had reacted to his in a way that left her shaken and a little embarrassed.
The only thing she knew for sure was that she was safe for now, thanks to the stranger who glanced back at her from the foot of the stairs.
Anne retreated into the shadows, her back against the wall.
Absently she reached for the locket
that should have been between her breasts.
It was gone. The clasp must have broken again. Frantically she patted her bodice as she gazed down at the floor around her feet. She remembered having it when she'd returned to her room after dinner.
No! It couldn't be lost. Her father had given it to her the night he'd died. It was the only memento she had left.
What if it had fallen off in the street? Or maybe just downstairs?
Either way, she had to go back for it. Retracing her path through the hall and down the staircase, she had almost reached the lobby when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Ducking quickly around a corner, she pressed her body flat against the wall as Rafe Montalvo stepped into her line of vision in the parlor, a lit cheroot in his mouth. The last thing she wanted was another interaction with him tonight.
He paused and turned around to face someone inside the room, taking the cheroot from his mouth and rolling it between thumb and index finger.
"Look, I don't give a goddamn about Luis Demas," he said to the bald-headed man who was standing in the doorway. "And I sure as hell ain't paying for his burial. As far as I'm concerned, you can take his carcass and drop it at the end of town. Buzzards gotta eat, too."
Anne clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from retching.
"Of course. Well, I won't take any more of your time, Mr...." The bald-headed man let the word trail off, as if expecting the other man to supply his name. When Rafe Montalvo didn't, the little man shrugged and walked toward the door, where he paused and said softly, "Whoever you are, death seems to follow you, don't it?"
Anne withdrew farther out of sight as the bounty hunter followed the other man toward the front door. Then she rushed headlong up the stairs, fleeing from those wretched words.
Chapter 3
The stagecoach to Ubiquitous stood ready to pull out of San Antonio the next morning. Anne sat in a forward-facing seat, resting her head against the window. She had hardly slept at all last night, and she was exhausted.
She closed her eyes and reached habitually for the locket that wasn’t where it belonged. Her heart convulsed, and the emptiness in her stomach intensified. Just another in a growing list of losses. She swallowed the grief. She couldn’t go back. She had to look forward to the future. By the end of the day, it wouldn’t matter.
With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, shutting out the other passenger, an older woman with a ridiculous feather hat, who, thankfully, hadn’t spoken to her, shutting out the tears that threatened to belie her resolve.
Moments later, sound of the coach door opening and the sway of the vehicle told her someone had joined her. Of course there would be other passengers, but she had no desire to interact with them. All she wanted was to get this over with-this last leg of her journey.
The smell of his cologne nearly smothered her in such close quarters. He appeared young and reasonably clean. Some women—perhaps most women—would find him attractive, but he had a weak chin and the practiced smile of a cardsharp. He was probably a lady's man.
The young man doffed his hat and nodded toward Anne who closed her eyes again, shifting in a vain effort to find a comfortable position.
Not to be discouraged, the young man turned his attention to the matronly woman who sat beside Anne.
"You ladies been travelin' long?" he asked.
He was definitely a dandy, couldn't stop talking if you put a gag in his mouth. Just like Borden McKenna.
More dangerous territory, that! Just the name sparked an anger deep in her soul.
"All the way from Cincinnati," the woman said. "I'm a widow, you know, going to El Paso to stay with my brother and his wife."
The woman's shrill whining voice grated on Anne's already raw nerves.
"I'm truly sorry, ma'am. If there's anything I can do to make your journey more pleasant, please do not hesitate to tell me."
You could shut up, she wanted to say out loud. If the man wasn't a snake oil salesman he should consider changing vocations.
"It hasn't been easy," the woman went on. "No family to speak of—"
"Well, at least you've got your daughter with you."
Anne stiffened. He was fishing for information.
The woman rose to the bait. "Oh, we're not together."
Thanks, lady. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to confide in strangers? Now this slack-jawed snake knows I'm traveling alone.
The weight of the pistol in her skirt pocket reassured her. He seemed harmless enough, but she didn't trust him any more than she liked him. And after last night, she'd vowed never to be caught unprepared again.
"Well, ma'am, I don't mean to frighten you, but Texas is an awful dangerous place for a woman to be traveling alone."
"Thank you for your concern, young man," the matron said, a bit crossly. "But I've made it this far and I'll make it the rest of the way. The Lord is looking after me."
"I'm sure he is, ma'am, but, well, you're getting into Indian Territory once you leave Ubiquitous. Now that the army's gone east to fight the war, there's nothing to stop those savages from doing whatever they want."
Anne doubled her effort to ignore her fellow passengers and searched the hotel and the sidewalk around it for the driver. It had to be 8:00 by now. The sooner they got underway, the sooner she could get away from this annoying pair. She had enough to think about without becoming involved in someone else's life, even for the duration of a stagecoach ride. But whenever she let her mind wander unchecked, it took her back to last night and the words Rafe Montalvo had spoken to the undertaker, and a cold chill crawled up her spine.
Why had Rafe Montalvo, a killer of some notoriety, a man who had ridden casually down the street in broad daylight only hours earlier with a body slung over his horse, come to her aid? Why had he been there at all? It didn't make sense, unless—unless—
She remembered how fiercely he'd demanded to know what the dying man had said. Maybe the Mexican hadn't been the only one who knew about the gold. The thought was unsettling to say the least. If he suspected that she knew the location of that much gold—she didn't want to find out how far he would go to have it.
Maybe she should just tell him what she knew. As tempting as it might be, she didn't need a million dollars in gold and she had no way of getting it even if she did. Her life was in Ubiquitous with her aunt. A fresh start. She leaned back against the seat, a smile curving her lips.
She didn’t want to think about it. She'd probably never see Rafe Montalvo again, which was just as well, considering the way she had instinctively reacted to him. Even if he hadn't been the most dangerous man she had ever encountered, bitter experience had taught her to distrust her own desires where men were concerned.
Never again would she allow her heart to overrule her mind or cloud her judgment. She'd let that happen once and lived to regret it. What a fool she'd been!
Borden McKenna had been charming and handsome enough to melt the heart of any innocent girl. But she should have known better. She'd grown up on riverboats and in river towns and she'd seen countless charming, handsome young men by the time she was eighteen. And though he'd possessed a silver tongue, she had learned from her gambler father to judge a man by what he did rather than what he said.
"Look into a man's eyes," Paul Cameron had told her. "You can see into a man's soul through his eyes."
But she had forgotten everything she'd ever been taught about judging character and integrity the minute Borden McKenna had turned his green eyes on her and wooed her with that soft Irish brogue. He'd said he loved her... and he'd shown it by murdering her father.
"Boy, you must be a hundred miles away."
Anne glanced up at the smiling young man in the seat opposite her. Her eyes narrowed and she gave him her best don't-bother-me look, then gazed out the window again.
"I was just asking—"
"Don't." She jerked her head around, glaring at him. "I am not in the habit of talking to strangers, and I don't plan to start now."
&
nbsp; The irritating young man had every intention of pursuing the conversation despite her harsh words, but at that moment the stagecoach rocked as something was thrown on top. In the next instant, the door close to her flew open and a shock flashed through her as she found herself looking into the ice blue eyes of Rafe Montalvo.
He'd shaved his beard, but she recognized him without it. There was no mistaking those eyes.
At first her jumbled mind couldn't understand what he was doing there, but when he looked from one empty seat to the other, his intentions became all too clear. He meant to ride to Ubiquitous in the coach. The realization turned her blood cold and her flesh hot at the same time.
No matter where he sat, he would be close to her. She didn't know if she could bear to ride for the next several hours in such close quarters with this man who stirred her blood more than any man she had ever encountered. He represented everything she wanted so desperately to put behind her: danger, uncertainty, instability. And yet... and yet...
One corner of his mouth curved upward at sight of her, but she couldn't tell if he were surprised to find her there or not. He tipped his hat, causing the heat on her face to increase. She turned away, mortified by the gesture and by her reaction, her breath heavy in her chest.
"Ma'am," he said, removing his hat. He climbed inside and lowered his large frame into the seat directly opposite her.
She quickly shifted her legs to avoid contact with his, but he was so tall, he seemed to fill the entire coach.
The vehicle lurched forward suddenly, causing her leg to brush against his knee. She recoiled from the contact, struggling to control the rapid rise and fall of her chest by concentrating on something else, anything else, but it was impossible with him so near.
He smiled crookedly at her, and she turned her gaze to the window. Again her leg brushed against his, and again she jerked away as if she'd been burned.
A deafening silence fell over the occupants. Even the annoying young man seemed to have nothing to say. He sat stiff and straight beside Rafe Montalvo, pulling his collar away from his throat as if it were suddenly too tight.