Diablo

by Georgina Gentry

  Now he returned to stoking up the fire and tending to his willow bark tea. The heat had dried much of the moisture on his muscular body, and he was not so cold.

  Behind him, he heard a movement, and he turned toward her. She had arisen on one elbow and was staring at him with those pale blue eyes, blinking as if not sure where she was. Then she seemed to realize and shrank back against her blankets. “What—what are you doing?”

  “Making you some tea.” He pulled the pot off the fire. “It will be good for your fever.”

  “What happened to your shirt?” The look of fear in her eyes made him cringe.

  “I had to go out in the rain to get the willow bark so I hung it up to dry. You’ve got my only other clean one.”

  She looked down at herself as if to see if he spoke the truth. “You—you’ve got scars on your back.”

  She had seen the old whip marks from his days with the Indians. He turned so she could not see them. “I’m scarred all over. When I was little, the old woman who owned me used to beat me.”

  She looked like she might ask something more, but he had already revealed more to her than he ever had to anyone.

  “Here, I’ve made you some willow bark tea.” He poured a steaming tin cup and brought it to her.

  Perspiration beaded on her ivory skin, and she shrank back against the cave wall. “No.”

  “It isn’t poison. Look, I’ll taste it to show you.” He tasted the brew and tried to hand her the cup, but her fingers shook. “You’re gonna spill it. Let me help you.”

  Though she tried to edge away and protested, she was small and sick. He put one strong hand under her neck and held the cup to her lips with the other. She tried to avoid it, but finally opened trembling lips and took a swallow.

  “More!” he commanded gently, and she drank. Then he put the cup down and wrapped the blankets around her. “I can’t have you dyin’ on me. Kruger wouldn’t like that.”

  She lay curled up in the blankets. “Who—who are you?”

  “I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

  “No, I mean, who are you, really?”

  He sighed and squatted down next to her. “I’m a gunfighter. I kill people for money.”

  An expression of distaste crossed her pretty face. “Oh, now I remember; you came in with that trainload from Texas.”

  He nodded. “Kruger and the Stock Growers Association got up a hundred thousand dollar pot to pay to wipe out the nesters.”

  “That’s just a rumor. I don’t think Hurd would do that.”

  “You don’t know him as well as I do.”

  “But if you’re working for Hurd, why—”

  “I’m not.” He sat down and leaned against the cave wall. “I didn’t come to kill settlers; I came for Kruger.”

  “But why?”

  “Princess, you ask too many questions.” He stared at her. Her eyes were as blue as the Gulf of Mexico—blue and deep enough to swim in. Her lips were moist and slightly parted. He wanted to kiss them and kiss them again, but of course, she wouldn’t allow that and he wouldn’t, couldn’t force her.

  “Are you really from Texas?”

  “Don’t you recognize my Texas drawl?”

  “I see your hat has a rattlesnake hatband. Is that to tell everyone how dangerous you are?”

  He glanced at his Stetson lying on a nearby rock. “I’m more dangerous. A rattlesnake will give you warning before it strikes; I won’t.”

  The tea must have been working. She was feeling better and sleepy. She tried to ask more, but he shook his head.

  “Shut up and go to sleep. You can hardly keep your eyes open now.”

  She blinked, obviously trying to stay awake. “What—what are you going to do?”

  “Nothin’ right now. Go to sleep.” He reached out and, with surprisingly gentle fingers, pulled the blankets up around her shoulders.

  She tried to stay awake, but she couldn’t.

  Diablo watched her sleep. She was still shivering, and he had no more blankets. He was cold himself. He crawled over and felt his shirt by the fire, but it was not dry. If he built the fire up much higher, someone might smell the smoke and find his hideout.

  After a while, he lay down next to her and pulled the two blankets over both of them, holding his breath because he knew if she woke up, she would scream. In her sleep, she moved toward his warmth, and he opened his arms to her, pulled her close. He hardly dared breathe for fear of waking her, but she only moved closer, snuggling against his big chest with her head on his shoulder. She seemed so dainty and frail in his powerful embrace. Her warm breath felt good against his bare skin. He pulled her close and held her, wanting to warm and protect her while telling himself she was only part of his revenge and that he must not let his emotions get in the way of his plans. After a while, he slept, too.

  Sunny woke with a start, trying to decide where she was and then realized in horror that she had slept in the half-breed’s strong embrace. Had he—? Oh, my God.

  “Let go of me!” She came up fighting and clawing, pushing him away.

  He rose up on one elbow and smiled ever so slightly. “Well, I see you’re feeling better.”

  “You monster!” She sat up, shrinking against the cave wall. “Have you dared—?”

  “No, I haven’t, but if I want to, you aren’t big enough to stop me.”

  That was true. She was at least feeling stronger, though she was still shaky. She looked toward the mouth of the cave. It had stopped raining, and a pale dawn washed the inside of the cave with gray light. “Hurd will have half the county out looking for me.”

  “But he won’t find you.” Diablo yawned and crawled out of the blankets to the smoldering fire. He began to poke it up. “I hid in these foothills when I was a small boy. I know this county better than any man alive.” He reached for the coffeepot.

  “Is my dress dry?”

  He grinned at her. “I like you in my shirt, although it’s way too big for you. What do you suppose Kruger would think if he showed up and found out we’d been sleepin’ together and you’re wearing my shirt?”

  “You cad! He’s a proud man who wouldn’t understand.” She crawled up to reach for her black dress, hating her kidnapper with every ounce of her being. “We’re supposed to be married next Saturday.”

  “I got news for you: you won’t make it.”

  She felt an odd sense of relief that she couldn’t understand.

  “You don’t look too sad about that.” He put the coffeepot on to boil.

  “That’s none of your business. How much ransom do you want to free me? Hurd is a very rich man.”

  “I told you before—this isn’t about money.”

  “You gunfighters kill people for money, don’t you?”

  “Sometimes.” He didn’t smile. “Sometimes we do it for free.”

  “You rotten rascal.”

  He shrugged. “You can go to the back of the cave and put on your dress.”

  She took the black dress and crawled back into the shadows, looking to make sure he was tending the fire before she unbuttoned the big shirt and took it off.

  Diablo sneaked a quick look. She was even more petite than he had thought, with a trim waist and long legs. Her yellow hair spilled down her shoulders and half hid her generous breasts. For a moment, he fought the urge to take her, hold her, claim her in the way men have made women theirs for millions of years. Then he squelched the urge. No, he didn’t want her that way, screaming and clawing at him, tears running down those ivory cheeks. Last night, he had held her against him, warm and safe, and he couldn’t change that feeling. He returned to slicing bacon and throwing it in the skillet.

  He heard her putting on the dress. Then she crawled forward and tossed him his shirt. He took it and held it a moment. It was still warm from her slender body, and it held the faint scent of her skin and perfume. Then he put it on, thinking how it had clung to her curves. “There’s coffee.”

  She held out a small h
and and he put a tin cup into it. “Be careful,” he warned, “it’s hot.”

  She sipped it, and he sneaked a look at her as she stared out at the dawn. Her eyelashes were long, and there were half a dozen freckles on her nose.

  “So what happens now?” she asked.

  “You afraid?” He handed her a tin plate of bacon and fried bread.

  “Of course I am.” She seemed to stifle a sob. “I’ve been kidnapped by a gunfighter—a—a—”

  “Ugly monster,” he said, and then he sighed and sipped his coffee.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you were thinkin’ it. All women do.”

  She didn’t deny it, and they ate in silence.

  Finally she said, “You know, they’ll be scouring the county for me. Your life won’t be worth a plugged nickel.”

  “I knew that when I took you.”

  “Then why—”

  “Shut up and drink your coffee,” he snapped.

  “I—I need to . . . you know.” She looked embarrassed.

  “Okay, you go off in that brush over there, and I’ll see about my horse. Wolf will go with you.”

  At the sound of his name, the dog wagged his tail.

  She got up and started out of the cave, the dog trailing along behind. “No funny business,” her captor yelled after her. “You can’t get away.”

  But of course that was just what she intended to do.

  After she relieved herself in the brush, she looked back toward the cave. She didn’t see the half-breed. He must be around the bend, taking care of his horse. She didn’t have to get very far; she only had to find a road or a rancher’s cabin or a place where she could scream long and loud, bringing someone out to see what the noise was about.

  Taking a deep breath, she zigzagged through the brush, the dog following along behind. There was no sound behind her. The ground was muddy and pulled at her little shoes. He’d be able to track her, but maybe it would take him awhile.

  Behind her, she heard the half-breed yell, “Wolf ?”

  The dog with her began barking.

  “Hush!” She tried to grab the dog’s muzzle to shut him up. “Hush, Wolf !”

  But the dog pulled away from her and continued barking.

  “Damn, damn, damn!” She muttered to herself and began to run, crashing into trees and falling in the mud, getting up and running on. She never swore, but now she was furious and scared. There was no telling what the gunfighter would do to her for running away. He seemed like the kind of man that others obeyed. Was he behind her?

  She couldn’t hear anything but her own little feet splashing through the mud, but he was part Indian and he wore moccasins so he might move as noiselessly as a deer.

  Her breath was coming in gasps, and she tripped and fell again, clambered to her feet, and kept running. Her dress was dripping wet with mud, but all she cared about was escaping. He might be able to hear her gasping for air, or at least the dog barking as it followed behind her. She was still weak from her fever, and she was slowing down. She tripped and fell again.

  Even as she tried to get to her feet, the gunfighter came out of the brush and was on her, grabbing at her as she fought him, both of them covered with mud. He ended up on top, one hand over her mouth and his face etched with anger.

  “I told you you couldn’t get away from me. I know these woods.”

  He could feel every inch of her warm body from her slender thighs to her soft breasts, beneath him, and he wanted her. He wanted her bad.

  She clawed at his face, and in answer, he grabbed both her hands in his free one and held onto her.

  “Stop it, Princess!” he commanded. “Stop it now. How dare you pull a stunt like that?” He put his hand over her mouth.

  In answer, she bit his fingers.

  “You little bitch!” He pulled back like he might strike her, then seemed to think better of it. “I might forget you’re a woman!”

  He stood up and pulled her to her feet, the dog dancing around the two of them. “Now all you’ve done is get your dress wet and muddy.”

  She stood breathing hard. “I don’t care.”

  “Well, I do, Princess. You might get sick on me again.” He looked puzzled, as if unsure what to do. “You still got any clothes at your old place?”

  She nodded. Maybe some of her dad’s cowboys might be still on the ranch, although Hurd had ordered them to move all the Sorrenson livestock to the Kruger barns.

  He took her by the hand and started back toward the cave.

  She was breathing hard, and she stumbled. “I—I can’t go any farther.”

  “Well, I ain’t leaving you behind, if that’s what you think.” He swung her up in his strong arms and set off at a rapid pace toward the cave. He hadn’t buttoned his shirt, and she laid her face against his bare chest and gasped. He was strong all right; she didn’t stand a chance of outrunning him.

  Diablo walked more slowly. He wouldn’t admit even to himself that he liked the feel of the petite body in his arms, the softness of her face and the warmth of her breath against his skin.

  “You’re more trouble than I thought.”

  “Then why don’t you just drop me off somewhere near a town and ride back to Texas? I won’t tell anyone what happened.”

  “Liar. Besides, this isn’t about you; it’s something between me and Kruger.” He stood her on her feet and wiped the mud from his chest, buttoned his shirt. “If you aren’t a mess. Stand here ’til I get my horse saddled, and we’ll ride to your place.”

  “All right. I’m too tired to run anymore.”

  He went around the boulder and saddled his horse, paused for a split second to gaze at the small picture of her in his saddlebags. He’d been stupid to take it. If she ever saw it, she’d know he’d been in her ranch house, yet he couldn’t bring himself to throw the picture in its ornate frame away.

  “Are you coming?” she shouted.

  “Yes.” He put the small photo back in his saddlebags and swung up on the ebony stallion. He rode around to where she stood. He swung down and took out his bandana. “Come here, Princess.”

  “No.”

  She tried to step away, but he grabbed her arm. “You think I want you to see the trail back to this cave?”

  He tied the bandana across her eyes, then swung up on the black stallion while Wolf sat down on his haunches next to the girl. Then he reached out one hand and lifted her lightly up before him. He held her against him as he rode down the twisting trail to the prairie.

  “Don’t touch me,” she snapped.

  “Shut up,” he said, enjoying the feel of her warm body against him. She was his, he thought. He could possess her anytime, anyplace he wanted, as many times as he wanted, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  It was almost as though she read his thoughts or maybe felt his manhood rigid against her body. “Hurd won’t pay to get me back if—if anything happens.” She said in a trembling voice.

  He merely grunted and rode toward her ranch, every nerve alert to possible riders or ambush.

  Finally, he reined in before the old house, dismounted, and reached up for her. “Come on.”

  “I—I can’t see.”

  “You don’t have to see; I’ll catch you.”

  But instead, she yanked off the bandana before she jumped. He caught her, set her on the ground, but he didn’t let go of her. She was hardly chest high on him, but when she looked up, he saw fear in the big blue eyes and it disturbed him.

  “I—I’m getting you muddy.”

  “I know it,” he snapped and stepped away, tying up the horse to the hitching post. He tried the door and it was unlocked. “Come on.”

  There were tears in her eyes. “I haven’t been back here since Dad was murdered.”

  “I know.” His voice was gentle. “But you need some clothes.” He wished he could tell her what he knew, but she would never believe him.

  They went inside, and, as Diablo remembered, the place was rans
acked already by Kruger.

  “Oh, my,” she sighed. “To some people, nothing is sacred. We didn’t have much.”

  “Then what were they looking for?”

  She shrugged and wiped her eyes. “I’m not sure. Dad always said he had money hidden away to send me back east to school, but I always thought it was just wishful thinking. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Hurd helping with the mortgage, we would have lost the ranch years ago. He was my dad’s best friend, and I’m beholden to him.”

  Diablo started to say something, decided it was no use. She didn’t know as much about Kruger as he did, and she wouldn’t believe it anyway.

  “Well,” she took a deep breath, “if there was any money, hidden, I reckon it’s gone now. The place is a wreck.”

  “We can’t stay too long,” Diablo cautioned her.

  “I know.” She paused by her father’s favorite rocking chair and ran her hand over the back. “I can almost see Dad sitting here.”

  “He was a good hombre.” Diablo said.

  “How would you know?” she flared at him, then marched into her room and began going through the drawers.

  “Just grab a few things, and let’s get out of here. Someone might happen by.”

  That was what she was hoping. She stalled as much as she could, gathering up some white cotton drawers and a blue gingham dress. She had never really owned much, but Hurd was promising her the finest of everything. All she had to do in return was sleep with him and let him father her children. She shuddered at the thought.

  She changed into the blue gingham dress and dropped the black one on the floor. If anyone came along and found the muddy dress, it might give them a clue.

  “Come on,” Diablo said again, “we’ve got to get out of here. We can’t take a trunk full of stuff.”

  “I’m just getting a few things.” She finished and came back into the parlor where the gunfighter stood.