The Reward

by Beth Williamson

  When Roja had gone out of her way to make sure he had food and supplies, he was touched. Now here was another woman giving him a gift, and this one far more precious. It was one of her few possessions, he knew. Leigh was not the kind of woman to collect things. She only had what she needed, what was special to her. This compass was obviously one of them.

  “It helped me find my way around. I don’t really need it anymore, but I’d feel better if you took it.”

  He closed the distance between them and gathered her in his arms. “Amante, I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Okay, I will take your compass.”

  “Thank you,” she said against his shoulder.

  She leaned back, cupped his face in her hand and kissed him hard.

  “Be careful. Cuidado, Mal.”

  “Sí, I will be careful. Trust me, amante.”

  She stared into his black eyes. “I do.” And he saw in her eyes that it was true. Somewhere along the way she had remembered how to trust someone, to trust him. He felt glad of it. Not many people trusted him because all they saw was the outside and never looked past the two-day-old stubble and the hardness that surrounded him.

  She laid the compass in his hand. The silver metal was still warm from her body. He felt like she’d handed him a piece of herself. For some reason, his throat closed up a little and he felt something inside him crack.

  Malcolm mounted Demon and rode away before he did something really stupid like ask her to marry him.

  ———

  Malcolm followed Earl’s trail easily. The old fool was definitely three sheets to the wind. The horse he rode meandered along at a snail’s pace, but it was clearly headed for Rancho Zarza.

  Malcolm stayed in the shadows, watching as Earl approached the front gate. He couldn’t hear what was said, but he saw the bottle waving in Earl’s hand while he shouted at the sentries. A few minutes later, Damasco came out the front gate. They argued. Malcolm tried to get a little closer, but there was no cover within two hundred yards of the damn gate. It was intentional, of course, so he stayed flat on his belly at the crest of a hill, watching.

  Damasco paced back and forth, his arm pinwheeling as he shouted. Earl stayed on the horse until the other man yanked him down. He fell on his head and apparently either passed out or died. Damasco tried to rouse him, but gave up and told the guards to do something, then went back inside.

  The guards lifted Earl by his arms and dragged him through the gate. A moment later, one came back out and brought the horse in.

  The gate closed and Malcolm swore. He knew now for sure Earl was working with or for Damasco, but he still didn’t know why.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Leigh pulled Ghost to a halt in front of the sheriff’s office early the next morning. She couldn’t sleep, and worry over Malcolm kept her from sitting on her hands doing nothing. So she left Andy in charge and headed to town as the first pink rays of the dawn painted the sky.

  She hoped Joe Monroe was sober this morning. As a sheriff, he wasn’t too bad, but he wasn’t too good either. Most of his job involved keeping drunks locked up until they sobered up. Twenty years ago, Joe was a fit man with a hell of a lot more vim and vigor. Today, he was a tired, aging man who needed to step down from his post and let someone who could actually run after an outlaw take the job.

  She wore her most sober clothes this morning. Black shirt and vest, dark brown trousers and a pistol on her right hip. There was no way in hell she was going anywhere without protection. The rifle in her saddle also stood testament to that.

  She tried the door and it wasn’t locked, so she pushed and stepped into the gloom.

  Surprisingly, Joe sat behind the desk with his nose buried in a pile of papers. He didn’t even notice she walked in the room. Leigh had a suspicion his hearing wasn’t the only thing losing steam.

  “Mornin’, Joe.”

  He looked up, startled. “Morning, Miz Leigh. What are you doing here so early?” He squinted through the window at the daylight. “Can’t be much past seven.”

  “I’ve got a real problem, Joe. I need your help.”

  He gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Everything in the sheriff’s office looked like it had seen better days and the chairs were no exception. She was no featherweight and one of them looked like the weight of a tortilla would break it. She chose the sturdier—although sturdy seemed too strong a word—chair and lowered herself slowly into it. It emitted a short creak, but stayed together.

  Joe had a tin mug of steaming coffee and a half-eaten biscuit on the desk. He nibbled on the biscuit and picked up the coffee cup, leaning back in his chair to look at her. Behind the watery eyes and sagging jowls, she saw a sharpness that age hadn’t dulled. Perhaps coming to see him was a good idea.

  “I’ve got over twelve hundred head missing, Joe, including most of my spring calves. Rustled clean off my place. I don’t know when or how, but I know Earl was behind it. And I think Damasco Zarza.”

  Joe’s expression remained inscrutable. “What else?”

  “I’ve told you about the water problems before, but there have been dozens of things going wrong over the past two years. Someone’s trying to ruin the Circle O, and they’re doing a damn fine job of it. Without those missing cattle, I can’t last much past four months.”

  She felt a little despair speaking the words out loud, but only a little. Her anger and determination reared their two heads and bit her ass to keep her strong.

  “What makes you think it was Earl?”

  “We confronted him and he admitted to being a part of it. Said he had no choice, then he took off.”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Joe took another sip of coffee. “You said ‘we confronted him’ so I was wondering who the other part of ‘we’ was.”

  He was still sharp. “Malcolm and I.”

  “Malcolm the stable boy from Rancho Zarza?”

  She shook her head. “No, Joe. You may as well hear it from me because I’m sure you will hear it from someone else. Malcolm Ross. Alex’s bastard son is back.”

  For some reason, Joe didn’t look surprised. “I heard something about that. I thought he was dead.”

  “Looks like his mother arranged for that and helped him get out. Isabella wanted him dead and she did her damnedest to make that happen.”

  Even thinking about Malcolm’s back made her fists clench. That heartless bitch.

  “So you and Malcolm are…what? A team?”

  She didn’t like the insinuation. “He is my foreman for the time being. He’s helping me out. Malcolm and I grew up together, Joe. We were best friends for most of our childhood.”

  Joe nodded, apparently digesting her words. After another gulp of coffee, he said, “Do you have proof? Against Earl or Damasco?”

  That question made her stomach sink to her feet. “I’m sure we do. I haven’t had a chance to check the ledgers yet.”

  “Proof perhaps against Earl, but what about Damasco? He’s not the type of man to accuse without solid evidence, Leigh.”

  Leigh closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Thanks for your time, Joe.”

  As she headed for the door, Joe spoke. “Leigh, wait.”

  She turned and looked back at Joe, plans for the coming battle brewing in her head already.

  “Get me proof and we’ll go after them.”

  Leigh nodded and left before she said something to him she would regret. He wasn’t being lazy, but he was covering his ass. No one wanted to get on Damasco’s bad side since it was as deep and menacing as any pit in hell.

  As she untied Ghost’s reins, hands grabbed her and yanked her back into the alley next to the sheriff’s office. Her boot heels dug into the dirt in her struggle to break free.

  She was slammed up against the wall and her breath gushed out, leaving her gasping for air. One hand held her throat and the other groped at h
er breast. Her gun was out of reach.

  “So, querida, you change your mind yet about marrying me?”

  Damasco. That low-down bastard.

  “Let go of me.”

  She pushed and tried to kick at him, but he had her legs trapped with his own. The hard ridge of his arousal pressed against her hip and she fought a wave of nausea. There was no way in the world she was going to let him do this. No goddamn way. Leigh’s anger rushed through her and her courage stood tall.

  She jerked one hand free and reached down to squeeze his balls. His hold loosened on her throat and she was able to twist until most of Damasco’s body weight was off her. With a little kick to the knee, taught to her courtesy of Malcolm, she freed herself completely. She cleared leather and pointed the pistol at his chest.

  Damasco stood, one hand braced against the wall of the sheriff’s office, alternately touching his balls and his knee.

  “Goddamn bitch!” he snarled. “You know you want it. You begged me for it the first time. And now you act like you are an untouched virgin.”

  “I was until you raped me, you bastard.”

  She felt the overpowering rage of every woman who has ever been trapped and assaulted by a man against her will.

  “I never raped you. You wanted it.”

  Although she shook with fear, hot anger pulsed through her. She hated weakness and tried to shake off the fear completely, but it was damn hard. Being under him again brought back horrible memories of running from Rancho Zarza with nowhere to go. Of being held in Sean’s arms as she cried her eyes out.

  “Don’t you ever touch me again, Damasco. I swear to all that’s holy if you do, I will kill you myself.”

  He looked into her eyes and apparently saw she meant it. Damn straight. She meant every goddamn word.

  She backed away from him to the sunlit wooden planks of the sidewalk, then side-stepped to Ghost, her eyes never leaving Damasco. She hopped on the horse and holstered her weapon.

  “I’m not giving up my ranch, Damasco. If you wanted a war, you’ve got one.”

  Leigh wheeled the horse around and galloped down the street, willing herself not to shake. Goddamn him! When she reached Burt Green’s office, she stopped, hoping the attorney had good news.

  Following a brief conversation with the sleepy-eyed man, she walked to the General Store next door and sent a telegram. All the while, she kept an eye out for Damasco and his grasping hands.

  After she was done with her errands, she kneed Ghost into a gallop and headed for the Circle O. She prayed Malcolm was back. They needed to make plans and fortify for the coming storm.

  ———

  By the time Leigh arrived at the Circle O, she was much calmer. The incident with Damasco just served to fortify her resolve to fight him until he had to kill her to get her ranch.

  When Andy met her at the barn, she knew Malcolm wasn’t there yet. It wasn’t so much disappointment as the goddamn worry about him. He said he’d return in a couple of hours, and dammit, he wasn’t here. She hated worrying.

  “I’m glad you’re back, Miz Leigh.” He tipped his hat back to squint at her.

  She dismounted and faced him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  From the expression on his normally chipper mug, she wasn’t going to like what she heard. He scrunched up his face and heaved a great sigh. “Well, we had six men leave last night.”

  That was not good news. There were only fifteen drovers in all, so that left only nine. Ten including her. Not much of an army.

  She looked at Andy. “What else? I can see there is something else gnawing at you.”

  He scratched his cheek. “Yeah, Hermano, I mean Malcolm, came back after you left and told me to let you know he was okay. He left after getting some supplies and a bedroll.”

  She frowned. “Where was he going?”

  “He didn’t rightly say, Miz Leigh. But I expect he’s found where Earl is holed up and is waiting on him to make a move.”

  Andy was probably right, but it didn’t mean she had to like it.

  “Which way did he go? And how much did he take with him?”

  “North and probably a couple days’ worth of grub.”

  North. Toward Rancho Zarza.

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She definitely didn’t like that. The Circle O was her ranch and she deserved to know what Malcolm was doing to get her cows back. To know if he was safe. To know if he was putting himself in danger. Damn, loving somebody put you in a pickle if it meant wanting to know anything and everything at the same time. She was tempted to get back on Ghost and find Malcolm, but resisted the urge.

  Trust me, amante.

  He’d asked her to put her faith in him. She had to believe in him.

  She led Ghost into the barn. “Come on, Andy, it’s time to batten down the hatches.”

  “Batten the what?”

  She smiled grimly. “Never mind. Let’s go check the weapons. I picked up some shells and bullets at the store. And we need to gather up some boards for the windows in the house.”

  Andy looked at her like she was crazy, but a hint of fear flashed in his eyes.

  “What’s gonna happen, Miz Leigh?”

  “I don’t know, but we’re going to be ready for them, come hell or high water. They’ll know the Circle O won’t give up the ghost that easily.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Malcolm chewed on the jerky and tried to imagine it was beef stew and biscuits. And that he was staring at Leigh across the table.

  But it was still cold jerky, and the ground was hard, and the rabbit staring at him sure didn’t resemble Leigh. He should have dragged her off to her bedroom and made love to her before he left. That would have been a novelty—actually having her in a bed instead of standing up.

  Night had fallen and Rancho Zarza was quiet again. He had checked around the perimeter last night and made notes of all the sentries and possible entry points. There was a low wall in the back by the kitchen garden he could get over with a little luck and a lot of grunting. He needed to get inside without being seen.

  As soon as the last light winked out in the house, Malcolm left his hiding place and slithered across the tall grass toward the back of the hacienda. When he reached the lowest point in the wall—which was at least ten feet high—he stopped and waited, still as a whisper. Five minutes passed, then ten. After fifteen, he knew he hadn’t been spotted.

  After shucking his boots and socks, he tucked them into the back of his jeans upside down. Not the first time he’d had to be sneaky barefoot—he’d learned that trick in Tijuana one night. He slid on his gloves and started climbing the adobe wall, using the natural indentations to hoist his body up. The strain on his arms was incredible, but his bare toes hung on like claws, allowing him the time to haul himself up higher inch by inch. A river of sweat ran down his body by the time his hands connected with the top of the wall.

  He pulled himself up and laid down flat on the two-foot-wide wall. He only had about ten more minutes before the sentries did their hourly walk around the entire wall of the hacienda. But he had to catch his breath and regain some of his strength. He controlled his breathing although what he really wanted to do was suck in air like a bellows.

  When Malcolm could take a normal breath, he slipped his socks and boots back on. He lowered himself until he was hanging on with his fingertips, then dropped the last few feet to the ground.

  Keeping to a crouch, he scuttled over to Diego and Lorena’s small cottage at the back corner of the hacienda. He went to the window he knew was the bedroom and scratched lightly for a minute, then stepped back and waited.

  Diego came out, shirtless, with a rifle in his hands.

  “Diego,” he whispered.

  “Who the hell is that?”

  “Malcolm.”

  He lowered the weapon and puffed out a breath. “Dammit, chico, what are you doing? Trying to scare ten years off my life?”

&n
bsp; “Shhhh. Por favor, amigo, come into the shadows. I need your help.”

  Diego walked toward him and they crouched together behind the cottage, out of sight of any sentry.

  The older man’s eyes studied him in the darkness. His eyes were virtually unreadable.

  “Speak, hijo.”

  And so Malcolm told him the whole story. How there were twelve hundred head missing, how Earl had admitted his guilt and come here, and how they suspected Damasco was behind it. After he finished explaining everything, Diego dropped to his behind on the sandy ground and put his head in his hands.

  “Dios, I knew something was going on. But I did not know how bad it was.”

  “What do you know?”

  Diego sighed. “I’ve seen some of the cattle being driven through Rancho Zarza. I didn’t ask where they came from. I cannot believe there were so many taken.”

  “It was over a two-year period, Diego. You probably saw fifty head or so at a time. They did not want it to be obvious. Do you know where they brought them?”

  “There is a canyon, down in the south corner of the ranch. Do you know where I mean?”

  Malcolm did. He had often gone there when he wanted to be alone. It was like a box canyon. One way in, one way out. Anyone coming in without good reason was easily picked off by sentries.

  “Sí, I know the canyon. We can worry about getting the cattle back later. Now I need you to do something for me.”

  “What can I do, Malcolm? I do not want Lorena in danger.”

  “Keep your eyes and ears open and send a message to me when you see them coming.”

  “You think they are going to attack the Circle O?”

  Malcolm grimaced. “I am sure of it. They can blame it on banditos or Indians or whatever else they can think of. Either way, we’ll all be dead and will not say anything different. No one will question the powerful Zarzas.”

  “I will do as you ask, hijo.”

  Diego calling him son had a strange effect on him. It made him realize that no man had ever called him son, but Diego was the closest thing he’d had to a father. He didn’t want the older man to put himself in a position where he could be hurt or killed either. No one must ever know of his involvement.