The Reward

by Beth Williamson

  He sensed Diego coming up from the right, a solid presence. Malcolm needed to stay strong.

  Damasco laughed. “You can’t make the choice, can you? You want to shoot me, but you don’t want her to die.”

  He laughed again, the noise like a saw scraping across an anvil. Damasco sounded crazed. Malcolm started backing up as the echo of gunfire began to lessen near the barn and the back of the house. It appeared as if it was almost over.

  “If I go home and you’re not dead, she’ll kill me, hermano. I can’t let that happen,” Damasco shouted.

  “Let her go, Damasco,” said Diego from Malcolm’s right.

  “What the hell are you doing here, you old fool? You’re supposed to be dead.”

  Diego’s rusty chuckle floated across the darkness. “That cabron is sleeping with the devils in hell, Señor Zarza.”

  “That’s where this bitch is gonna be in about ten seconds.”

  Malcolm’s finger shook on the trigger. “If you shoot her again, I will not only shoot you, I’ll cut you into pieces and let you watch as I feed you to the coyotes. Then I’ll leave what’s left for them to gnaw on.”

  “Do you think I care? Nothing you could do to me is worse than her.”

  Malcolm heard fear, real out-and-out terror, in Damasco’s voice. He was truly more afraid of his mother than of facing a painful death at Malcolm’s hands. That made him one dangerous hombre, more dangerous than someone who was simply angry. Leigh’s life just slipped a notch lower.

  “I’m going now, hermano, and neither one of you is going to stop me. It’s either kill me or save her. I know which choice you’re going to make.”

  The moment Damasco was gone, Malcolm dropped his pistols and ran to Leigh. She was still breathing, but her back was covered with blood on the right side. Diego crouched beside him.

  “Malcolm?” Leigh whispered.

  “Shhh, amante, don’t talk. Save your strength.”

  Dios, ayúdame—I need to be strong.

  He took off her neckerchief and felt along her back until she hissed. The wound was low, beneath her shoulder blade. He pressed the neckerchief into the wound to staunch the bleeding.

  “Is he gone?” Leigh asked.

  “Sí, he is gone. Back to the bitch’s lair,” Malcolm spat.

  “You should have killed him.”

  He chuckled painfully at Leigh. She would never change.

  “Bastard shot me in the back. He deserved whatever you give him. Goddamn! That hurts.”

  Her voice was choked with tears and Malcolm felt the sting of them in the back of his eyes. He wasn’t even going to think about her dying. He would not let that happen. If he had to die himself just to go Heaven and kick God’s ass, he would not let Leigh die.

  “We need to get her inside, hijo,” Diego said quietly.

  “Malcolm?” Nicky’s voice came from behind him.

  “Here, Roja.”

  “What happened? Who is that?”

  Malcolm swallowed hard as Nicky crouched on the other side of him. He started to realize Tyler was already there in front of him. He was so focused on Leigh he hadn’t even noticed a two-hundred-twenty pound man sneak up on him.

  “This is my friend Diego I told you about. Damasco shot Leigh in the back.”

  Tyler sucked in a hiss through his teeth and cursed colorfully. “Can we move her?”

  “We’re going to have to. I’m not going to let her bleed to death in the dirt.”

  “I’m still here, you know.” Leigh’s voice was weaker. “Don’t make my decisions for me.”

  “Leigh, we need to get you in the house so I can look at you,” Nicky said.

  “Okay, fine,” Leigh responded, sounding reluctant.

  “Nicky? Tyler?” came Jack’s voice from the dark. The sky was starting to turn gray as dawn approached. Malcolm saw the outline of two men walking toward them from the barn.

  “Here, Jack,” replied Nicky. Jack and Ray crouched down near them.

  “What happened?”

  While Nicky filled in her brothers, Malcolm leaned down and whispered in Leigh’s ear.

  “This is going to hurt, amante, but it has to be done. I can’t carry you upside down. You can bite my arm if you want.”

  She tried to laugh, but it ended on a short sob instead.

  “Ready.”

  He grabbed her left arm and slowly turned her over. Nicky examined Leigh quickly.

  “The bullet didn’t go through. It’s still inside her. We’ll have to get it out, Malcolm.”

  He felt sick, almost enough to return the bread he’d eaten two hours ago. He could not, simply could not, cut into Leigh’s flesh. Nicky’s hand on his arm steadied him.

  “I’ll do it. I just need you to carry her in.”

  Malcolm nodded.

  “Malcolm, I will go check on the cattle and the other men. Little Leigh, you keep yourself alive, comprende?” Diego said as he stood.

  “I’ll do my best, Diego. Thank you for everything, amigo.”

  “De nada,” he replied before turning to run into the darkness to his horse.

  Malcolm leaned toward her ear. “Te amo, amante,” he said as he lifted her up. Her scream of pain was cut short as she lost consciousness.

  “Thank God,” said Nicky. “It will make it easier to get the bullet out. Hurry, let’s get her into the house. Jack, get some firewood so we can stoke up the stove. Ray, see if you can find the medical kit in the house. Tyler, check to make sure all the bastards have high-tailed it out of here.”

  Malcolm would have smiled if his hands weren’t stained with Leigh’s blood as it seeped out. Leigh and Roja were very much alike—used to giving orders to men and being obeyed. And, chances are, they were usually right.

  He carried Leigh into the house, trying desperately not to jar her too much. His soft-soled moccasins made it a little easier. Ray ran ahead and opened the door. Nicky walked in first.

  “Hang on. Let me light a lantern.” She took the matches from the shelf above the sink and walked to the table. After she lit the wick on the lantern, she turned up the flame. Malcolm stepped sideways through the door with Leigh in his arms.

  “Take her to her bed.”

  Malcolm nodded grimly. He heard Jack come in the doorway with the wood and Nicky give him strict orders to build up the fire and put on water to boil. Ray was already searching the shelves for the medical kit.

  Malcolm had to force himself to walk slowly up the stairs when his heart told him to run. He wanted this to be over and Leigh to be healed. This was so hard. He reached her room and Nicky opened the door for him. He walked to the bed. The bed they had made love in earlier.

  A shudder wracked his body that had nothing to do with being cold. If Leigh died, he would do the same inside. Nothing, nothing, would matter anymore.

  “Hang on. Just hang on. She’ll be okay, but we need to work together.” Nicky’s voice and her hand on his arm brought him back.

  He laid Leigh gently down on her side, then rolled her to her stomach, careful to lay her head to the side so she could breathe. She was so goddamn pale her freckles looked like paint spots on a white porch rail. Her compass practically burned his skin from inside his pocket.

  His knees felt like jelly and he landed on them next to the bed. He brushed her hair away from her face as Nicky took her knife and began cutting away Leigh’s shirt and chemise.

  The sight of her white flesh, stained with blood, and the blackened hole in her back brought up his gorge again.

  “Why don’t you go check and see if Jack has that hot water? And find some bandages.”

  Malcolm heard Nicky, but he didn’t move.

  “Roja. I…I can’t…”

  She pressed the ruined shirt into the wound and glared at him.

  “I don’t have time to babysit you, Malcolm. Pull yourself together and get it done. You don’t have to operate on her, but you do need to remember that you have a pair of balls. Use them.”

  He leaned
down to kiss Leigh’s cheek. “Don’t let her die.”

  Nicky nodded grimly.

  Malcolm walked out of the room and went in search of bandages.

  ———

  Nicky was amazing. With practiced skill and steady hands, she removed the bullet and sewed Leigh’s wound neat and tight. She wrapped her up with clean white bandages made from sheets and towels. By the time she was done, the sun had risen.

  She felt Leigh’s forehead, then stood. Nicky had blood all over her clothes, and her hair was a frizzy cloud of red and brown.

  “I think she’s going to be okay. No fever yet and the bullet missed a lot because it ricocheted off a bone. She had a lot of bone fragments in there, and is going to be pretty sore when she wakes up, but it wasn’t too bad.”

  Malcolm wrapped Nicky in a hug. She hugged him back, accepting his silent thanks.

  “I’m going to go wash up and check on Tyler.”

  “Gracias…hermana.”

  “De nada,” she replied as she closed the door behind her.

  Malcolm turned to look at Leigh. She lay on her stomach, so still, so pale, she almost appeared dead. But her back rose steadily with each breath she took.

  He dropped down on his knees next to the bed and clasped his hands in prayer. While trying to remember how to speak to a God he hadn’t bothered to know in too many years, she spoke.

  “Malcolm, I sure as hell hope I’m not dead. That would likely be the only reason I’d see you praying.”

  “Amante!” His heart took flight as her pain-filled hazel eyes focused on him. He reached out, cursing the fact his hand actually shook, and cupped her cheek.

  “Did you get the bullet out?”

  “Sí, Roja did it. She is a very good nurse.”

  She closed her eyes and groaned. “Feels like I’ve been kicked in the back by a team of mules.”

  “Leigh, I…I wanted to…that is…”

  She opened her eyes again. “Don’t wait here for me, Malcolm. Go find that son of a bitch and finish this because I’ll be damned if I’m getting shot again.”

  If there was any doubt in his mind Leigh was the woman for him, that statement would have been enough to sway him.

  He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss.

  “I love you.”

  She managed a lopsided smile. “I love you, too.”

  “If I come back without too many holes in me, do you think you might marry me?”

  “Depends on where the holes are. There are some areas I don’t think I’d like you to have any.”

  He chuckled and kissed her again.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “It’s a yes, although I don’t know why you would want to marry a dried-up widow.”

  This time the kiss was hard. “You are not dried up, amante. You burn hot and wet for me.”

  Her face flushed a bit. “You play dirty.”

  “When it comes to you, I will do anything I need to.”

  She closed her eyes. “Be careful.”

  He pressed his lips to her cheek, her forehead and her lips.

  “Come back to me,” Leigh commanded.

  “Always.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  On the way to Rancho Zarza, Malcolm realized he was being followed. While he stopped and waited for them to catch up, he counted three. Jack, Tyler and Ray were right behind him.

  “Shouldn’t you be back at the Circle O protecting the women?”

  Jack snorted. “Hah! Either one of them could kick my ass coming and going.”

  “The rest of the hands came back with your pal Diego. They had about a dozen men try to take the cattle, but it was no contest. Brett, Ethan and Trevor can watch the ranch without us. You need someone at your back to make sure that brother of yours doesn’t shoot you when you’re not looking.” Tyler’s jaw was like granite. He practically spit the words. “Nobody backshoots a woman. That lowdown son of a bitch is going to get a lesson from me.”

  “I’m first,” Jack interjected.

  “Both of you shut up. I’m going to be the one to kill Damasco. It’s my fight. Not yours,” Malcolm snarled.

  Ray pushed his hat back on his head. “All of you stop yelling. Let’s just ride over there and take care of this.”

  Malcolm wanted to argue, but his thirst for revenge was stronger. He reluctantly accepted the fact he wasn’t going to get rid of them any time soon.

  “Vamanos, amigos.”

  He kneed Demon into a fast gallop and headed for Rancho Zarza and the final battle.

  ———

  The gate to the hacienda was open, with no guards in sight. That made the hackles on the back of Malcolm’s neck rise. He did not like that. Not one bit.

  Tyler’s voice broke the uncomfortable silence. “They’re waiting on you.”

  “And here I am.”

  “Last night, we killed at least twelve, and the others at least fifteen. His army is smaller, but he’s definitely not alone. Don’t forget, amigo, we are at your back. You are not alone either.”

  Strange how he considered these three men to be his family, his friends. They were willing to walk with him into the mouth of hell, knowing a madman and his crazy bruja of a mother waited to cut them to ribbons.

  Loyalty, respect and sacrifice. A family was all that and more. He was never so glad of the fact.

  As they got closer to the gates, he heard crying. It was faint, but there. It sounded like…it sounded like a child or a woman.

  His gut tightened at the thought. Damasco wouldn’t…

  When they got to the courtyard, he almost had to close his eyes to lessen the pain. Damasco had young Malcolm tied to posts, naked from the waist up. His small back already had at least six lashes, bleeding, ugly bites in his tender flesh. A woman was being held back by two of the rat brothers. She was gagged with her arms secured, her eyes wild with fury and fear. She appeared around Leigh’s age, much plumper and short, with curly light brown hair. Although two enormous men held her tight, she still bucked enough to make their job tough. He assumed she was Malcolm’s mother, the cook. She screamed and cried behind the gag. Hers was the voice they heard.

  Young Malcolm remained silent.

  Damasco was still dressed in black, with his knee high, shiny leather boots, and his spurs clinking loudly against the cobblestones as he paced back and forth in front of the boy. His hair was mussed and sticking in different directions. He was not his usual, polished self. There was even dirt on his clothes. Malcolm did not see Isabella anywhere.

  “Brother. I knew you’d come. As you can see, I have another choice for you. You liked the last one, didn’t you? I hope the bitch died.”

  Malcolm flinched inwardly, but let no expression cross his face.

  “Leigh is dead. Soon you will be too.” Malcolm didn’t want Damasco going near her ever again.

  Tyler, Jack and Ray stood strong beside him with their pistols drawn, taut and ready for the battle.

  At least a dozen or so armed men were stationed around the courtyard. None made a move toward them. They had been waiting for him, too.

  “Big words, hermano. Here is your choice. You or him. I will kill one of you today. I will let you make the choice.”

  Jack sucked in a breath beside him.

  Damasco walked to little Malcolm and draped the whip over the boy’s ravaged back. He slithered it down the skin. The boy’s body tightened, but he did not make a sound. Oh, God, the memories were nearly suffocating him. He’d been almost a man when he was whipped. This was a boy. A twelve-year-old boy who had the misfortune of being an instrument of revenge against his uncle.

  “He’s very much like you. I remember how you bit a hole through your lip that day rather than cry for mercy. Do you think he will do the same?”

  The air crackled with tension. Malcolm waited for the opportunity he needed.

  “What’s your choice? Come on now, we don’t have all day. Rápido!”

  Malcolm dismounted. He heard Tyler hiss at
him, but ignored him. This was his fight. He headed toward Damasco, his clothes stained with Leigh’s blood and her compass in his pocket. She would ride with him in this battle—she deserved to be here with him when he ended it. His moccasins had been traded for boots that clunked on the cobblestones as he walked the twenty yards to Malcolm. The fountain gurgled happily next to them, incongruous next to the horrific scene of a man whipping his own son to death.

  He saw fear and madness in Damasco’s eyes as he approached.

  “Did you know that old bastard left you the ranch?”

  That he wasn’t ready for. He almost missed a step. To think Alejandro would leave all of this to him instead of his legal son was incredible. He must have done it to finally show Malcolm that he loved him, that he was sorry. Malcolm’s eyes misted briefly, but he reasserted his thirst for revenge by remembering whose blood stained his clothes.

  “So get out. If I am the patron, get your sorry ass and your bitch of a mother out of here.”

  Damasco laughed crazily. “Hah! If it were only that simple, big brother. I cannot leave and she will not go. Don’t you understand? She’s going to kill you.”

  It all happened so fast, if he had blinked, he wouldn’t have been ready. Isabella rose from behind the fountain with a rifle cocked and pointed at his head. Damasco cleared leather with his pistol when Malcolm’s aim was true and the bullet landed straight in Damasco’s black heart. Malcolm jumped toward the boy as Isabella screamed and pulled the trigger. The hiss of a bullet skimmed across his shoulder as he shielded the boy.

  Bullets flew like bees in the spring as Tyler, Jack and Ray fought the rest of Damasco’s men. Grunts of pain and screams assaulted his ears as Malcolm frantically sawed through the boy’s bonds with his knife. As he stuck it into the scabbard on his back, he felt the boy trembling.

  “Be strong, hijo. I need you to make yourself as small as possible under the edge of the fountain. Go!”

  The boy scuttled across the cobblestones. Malcolm was amazed at his strength and courage. When he looked up, Isabella was trying to get a shot off at the boy from the other side of the fountain.

  “Here, you worthless puta. Here,” he shouted at her.