Golden Roses

by Patricia Hagan

  Valdis looked around at the Indians who had gathered at the sound of the gunshot and the rest of the commotion. They were making no move to interfere, but Valdis decided not to chance anything. “Let’s take them and go,” he snapped to Gerras as he reached for his gun. Amber let him have it without a struggle.

  As the boy screamed and tried to run again, Gerras clutched him tightly about his throat, squeezing. “I will not go without Dolita,” Gerras declared. “That is why I came. You have what you want. Now I will have what I want.”

  Still clutching the boy by the neck, Gerras dragged him over to where Puetas lay facedown. Twisting his fingers in the wounded man’s hair, he jerked his head up and glared into his eyes. “If you do not want to die a slow death, traitor-dog, tell me what you have done with the señorita.”

  Puetas’s eyes were swimming with pain, and he could feel his life ebbing from the bullet hole in his chest. Mustering his last shred of strength, he spat.

  “Dog!” Gerras straightened and kicked him in the face.

  Armand seized the opportunity and bolted, running as fast as his legs would carry him, grateful for the speed he had acquired during his lonely days running in the desert, running then to while away the miserable hours, running now to escape the terrible men.

  Valdis bellowed, “You fool! Now the boy has escaped! The Indians are angry for what you have done to a dying man. We will go now, or you can remain behind and face them by yourself.”

  Gerras holstered his gun, contrite. He warily observed the restless, murmuring Indians.

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, and gesturing toward the villagers, Amber pleaded, “Please…please do something. In the name of God, stop them.”

  Valdis whacked her roughly across her buttocks and snarled, “Shut up, damn you! If I did not think it would incite them, I would give you the beating you deserve right now. And if they do intervene, be assured you will die before I do.”

  “Then kill me now!” she screamed, hitting him and kicking at him wildly. “Go ahead and kill me, you devil!”

  The Indians began to move forward and Gerras cried nervously, “Do something to quiet her, Valdis, or they are going to jump us. I can feel it. Make her be still.”

  Suddenly, without warning, Valdis whirled about, drew his gun, and fired it into the air. “Stay back!” he cried. The Indians came to a startled halt. “Stay back or some of you will die!”

  They did not understand his words, but they didn’t need to. Immediately, they began to retreat.

  “Now move fast,” Valdis ordered Gerras as Amber continued screaming. “I want to get out of the glow of their campfire and into the darkness, so I can make this one wish she had obeyed me.”

  Swiftly, they moved into the night, to their tethered horses.

  The boy watched from the shadows, his teeth chattering. Every muscle in his body twitched with rage of a kind he had never felt before. Those men were taking away his silver-haired goddess, the woman who had shown him kindness and love.

  How he wished the big man were here, the man he had spied on so many hours as he hid in the hills above the great matador’s hacienda. He would know what to do.

  But the big man was not here. He was alone.

  With fiery determination mingling with fury, he threw himself onto a pony and set out to follow the men and his goddess.

  It was raining the night the dream came to Cord. He had found shelter in a niche in the Colorado side of a mountain, just deep enough to draw himself into against the driving storm. Sleep was slow in coming, for the skies were split relentlessly by jagged, angry lightning, and the ground beneath him rumbled continuously with thunder. When at last sleep took him away, he dreamed he was holding Amber, their passion exploding in great waves of ecstasy. But just as he dreamed he was releasing himself inside her with everything he had, she was torn from his arms. Invisible bonds held him as he struggled to keep her from being pulled away. He could hear triumphant laughter. There was a great mist surrounding him, and when it finally parted, be saw the leering face of Valdis Alezparito. Before Cord’s eyes, he threw Amber to the ground and impaled her, crying victoriously that she was his for always and always.

  Cord awoke with a start. He had been a fool to leave her. Valdis would never stop searching for her. Cord had left her at the madman’s mercy.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Cord could only blink at Dolita in stunned disbelief, but then rage took over. “When?” he asked tightly.

  Tears streamed down Dolita’s cheeks as she twisted her hands together, eyes downcast. She could not bear to look at the anguish on Cord Hayden’s face. She whispered, “I do not know exactly, señor, for I have lost all track of time. I have not left Puetas’s side since he came so close to dying. He is still very weak.”

  “Did anyone go after them?” he cried, longing to smash something. “Didn’t anyone try to stop them from taking her?”

  She continued to stare at the ground as she shook her head. “I do not think so, but I was not here when it happened. The Indians almost tried to stop them, but my uncle told me that Valdis fired shots and scared them.”

  “The boy,” Cord cried then. “What about the boy?”

  “I do not know. I am told he ran away that night.”

  His instincts had been right! He never should have left her, Cord thought wildly, miserably. Clasping Dolita’s trembling shoulders, he gently asked, “Is Puetas able to talk?”

  She nodded. “I will take you to him.”

  He followed her past curiously staring Indians as they made their way to a crude shelter, with a roof of dried corn shucks. Puetas lay on a thick pallet. Cord knelt beside him, shocked by the pale, drawn face. His breathing was shallow, and he looked terribly weak. His eyes were closed, but when Cord touched his shoulder, Puetas slowly opened them to look up at him dizzily. “How do you feel, amigo?” Cord asked kindly.

  Puetas struggled to focus his eyes. Dolita knelt on his other side, whispering, “It is Señor Hayden, Puetas. He comes in search of his lady. I cannot help him.”

  Puetas whispered hoarsely, “How I wish I could. The bullet was in me for a long time, until Cuelo brought a doctor from a larger village. Now it will take much time to get back my strength, which flowed from me into the sand. I am not able to ride with you, señor. Please…forgive me.”

  Cord patted him awkwardly. “It’s all right, Puetas. But maybe there is a way you can help me. I’ve got to find them, and I’m sure Valdis has changed hideouts. You used to ride with him. Can you think of any place he might have gone besides the one we were in?”

  “No,” Puetas answered. “The cave where I took you was the only place I ever knew.”

  Cord rocked back on his heels, pressed his fingertips against his forehead, then looked once more to Puetas. “The boy. Do you know what happened to him?”

  Puetas started to speak but was suddenly overcome with a spell of coughing. Dolita brought a cup of water, which he gratefully drank. Then he told Cord, “He ran away, and Dolita tells me he has not been seen since. Perhaps Valdis and Gerras caught him. Or he escaped and kept on going. But, I tell you, no one has seen the boy.”

  “Sometimes,” Cord sighed, “I think Armand should have been told about his son. Other times I think he might have gotten killed trying to claim him, and I figure it was right to have left well enough alone. But…it was wrong to leave the child here to be miserable.”

  Dolita and Puetas exchanged sympathetic looks, and Dolita offered, “Perhaps he will return, señor. I will ask my uncle to look after him better. I would do so myself, but Puetas and I will be leaving when he is able to travel. We wish to marry and make new lives. Happy lives.”

  “Congratulations,” Cord snapped, then quickly countered with a wave of his hand, “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I don’t begrudge you anything.”

  “You should hate me,” Puetas cried. “I thought first of Dolita, then myself. And I refused to take the boy, and the señorita refused to leave. Had I not bee
n so pigheaded, perhaps we could have left in time.”

  Cord’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment he just looked weary. “That’s something you’re going to have to live with, Puetas, and sometimes living with your mistakes is the worst kind of punishment there is.”

  Dolita sought to break the tension. “What will you do?”

  “I have to find Amber,” Cord answered simply. “I wish you a good recovery, Puetas, and much happiness to you both.”

  After he had gone, Dolita shook her head. “He must love her very much. But then why did he leave her?”

  Puetas whispered sadly, “Sometimes a man runs from that which he must deny…until he can deny it no longer. When he runs back, it may be gone. I pray for him, and for the señorita, that it is not gone.”

  After darkness had fallen, Cord reached the only place he could think to go—the Alezparito ranch. Moving through Alezparito land, he did not fail to notice that there were few vaqueros about. No doubt Valdis had called in all those faithful to him.

  The servant standing at the large wrought iron entrance was familiar, and he smiled in recognition as Cord dismounted. “Señor Hayden! What a surprise. I did not think you would come to the señorita’s fiesta. It has been a long time.”

  Knowing Rodrigo was a talkative sort, Cord decided it best to let him assume he was, indeed, an invited guest. “I am glad I was able to make it,” he told Rodrigo, matching his smile. “I got back only today. I must confess I’m not even aware of the purpose of the fiesta.”

  Rodrigo, only too glad to tell him everything, lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Do not repeat me, but Señorita Alezparito is entertaining some members of the high court, trying, no doubt, to win their favor for the time when Señor Valdis returns to claim his innocence.”

  “Am I the last to arrive?” Cord asked, letting the remark pass.

  “Sí, you are late. But if you will go on up the stairs, someone will announce you.”

  “No,” Cord quickly retorted. “I think it would be rude for me to go in now. I wish I could have arrived earlier. Would you do me a favor and send a message to Señorita Maretta that someone wishes to see her in the stable? Do not tell her who it is. I want it to be…a surprise,” he added with a grin and a friendly nudge.

  Rodrigo’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “I will have it done.”

  Cord fished in his pockets for a few coins and dropped them into the Mexican’s outstretched hand, then turned and went back to his horse, leading him down the rutted dirt path to the stable, set back from the road and away from the main house.

  A half hour passed as Cord paced up and down on the straw-littered dirt floor. He had found a lantern, lit it, and a soft, mellow glow lit the stable. As he began to think she wasn’t coming, he heard footsteps approaching, and he turned to see Maretta silhouetted against the wide doorway. She looked shocked, then pleased, and finally angry.

  The ball gown of red watered silk was cut low to display her slender bosom as provocatively as possible. Her hair was caught up in ringlets and held in place by a large silver comb, from which a scarlet mantilla flowed gracefully. She looked at him through narrowed lids, lashes brushing her painted cheeks. She paused dramatically before crying, “You have taken your time returning to one you claim to desire!”

  He stepped forward and bowed slightly, kissing her hand before allowing his eyes to flicker over her appreciatively, as she expected him to do. “Time only enhances your beauty, Maretta.”

  She gave her head a toss and said, “Do not think you will fool me again, Cord Hayden. This time I am quite sober. I know what you want. You want me to tell you where my brother has taken the whore, and this I will not do. So, do you wish to leave now?”

  Cord smiled lazily and folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, I would like to know where Valdis had taken Amber. I won’t pretend with you, Maretta.”

  “As you did before!” she snapped.

  “Was I dishonest? Did I not please you?”

  Her cheeks flushed, and despite her attempt at anger, she could not help but be charmed. “Yes,” she whispered in a little-girl voice. “It was wonderful. It is always wonderful with you, Cord. But you said you would come back.”

  He opened his arms. “Here I am.”

  She ran to him and threw herself against him, flinging her arms about his neck. “Oh, Cord, I knew you would not stay away. I knew you would come back to me, for what we have together is so good.”

  “Wait a minute, Maretta.” He caught her wrists and pulled her arms away, looking piercingly into her black eyes. “I am not here because of us. Valdis has taken Amber again, and I want to find her. I tracked him down once, but he’s no doubt changed his hiding place.”

  Her lower lip jutted out petulantly. “And why should I help you find her when I want you for myself?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Maretta, you must understand there can never be anything between us except in bed. You’re a beautiful, desirable woman, and if you weren’t so damned contrary, you’d have hundreds of men fawning at your feet. Why waste your time on me when I’m honest enough to tell you I’m only interested in one thing and always have been?”

  She cocked her head to look up at him angrily, but then she smiled. “You are honest, Cord. I am grateful for that. Most men would not be.”

  He gave her an appreciative hug. She was a bitch, and probably deserved to be deceived, but he had never liked using women. “Do you know where he’s hiding?”

  She nodded.

  “Tell me.”

  She merely stared at him.

  “I want to take her back to America, where she belongs. Why do you want her to continue suffering?”

  Her upper lip curled back. “She is responsible for Armand’s death.”

  “Hell, no, she isn’t,” he told her flatly. “You don’t really believe that. You’ve been around bulls all your life, and you know one with faulty vision slips by now and then. Maybe Armand didn’t give his total concentration that day, and if he didn’t, then it’s his fault, not Amber’s.” He shook his head grimly. “No, you don’t blame her for his death. You blame her for him not wanting to marry you, and that’s also a lie. We both know he didn’t love you and had no intention of marrying you. Amber had nothing to do with it.”

  She struggled, her pride at stake, but she knew he was right. “Perhaps,” she said finally, “I never wanted to marry Armand. Perhaps I used him to make you jealous.”

  She started to say more, but Cord had suddenly tensed, listening, the instinct that had saved his life so many times taking over. Motioning to Maretta to stay where she was, he drew his gun and, with a lightning-quick movement, leaped behind a post and pointed his weapon toward one of the stalls, crying, “Come out of there or you’re dead.” In a moment, his eyes widened at the sight of the frightened little boy slowly stepping from the stall. His black, tousled hair hung down, partly concealing the round chocolate eyes. The child was trembling, his lips twitching.

  “You!” Cord gasped, holstering his gun. “You must have been following me—and you did a damn good job of it, too.” He crossed to kneel before him and place his hands on the skinny arms. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, boy. Tell me why you’ve been following me. What do you want?”

  The boy continued to stare at him in silent terror.

  Cord scratched his chin thoughtfully. “They say you have never spoken a word. You don’t understand my language anyway, do you? Now why would you follow me?” He shook himself, took a deep breath, and continued, wondering whether the boy knew Spanish, “Is it the lady, the one who was kind to you? Amber?”

  Armand blinked in recognition, his eyes taking on a glow. He nodded. He knew the name Amber.

  Cord’s heart was racing. He struggled to seem calm lest he frighten the boy more. There was no knowing what he had been through since running away from his village.

  “Amber,” Cord repeated, pointing to himself, then to the boy. “Amber. Can you take me to Amber?” />
  To Cord’s delight, the boy nodded, smiling. Cord slapped his thigh in jubilation and stood up. By damn, the boy knew where she was! Maybe he had followed Valdis from the village.

  Cord and little Armand were almost out the stable doors when Maretta cried out, “You cannot leave me like this! This time I am not drunk. I will remember clearly the pain, the way you shame me. I will see you dead for this!”

  Cord turned and looked at her. “Believe me, Maretta, I am sorry,” he murmured, “but it’s best this way.”

  “You are no man!” she cried scornfully. “A real man could not walk away from me!”

  Yes, he could, Cord thought resolutely as he continued on his way. A real man could walk away…if he was heading for a real woman.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Amber stared about her. Another cave, but this time, it curved far down into the bowels of the earth. There was a narrow, winding stream that came from somewhere and ran directly in front of the damp hollow where Valdis had left her. He kept a torch lit, but gave her no warmth. It was not the cold that bothered her so much as the constant, eerie screeching of bats hanging above.

  She leaned her head back against the wall of rock behind her. Never mind the creeping insects, or the slimy worms that sometimes crawled over her. None of it mattered. Her mouth felt dry, parched, and if someone did not help her soon, she knew she was going to get sick and die. Soon, she might not even care.

  Hearing footsteps approaching, she braced herself. Valdis stooped to enter through the narrow opening, and she saw that he carried a small pot and a jug.

  “I brought you some food,” he said pleasantly, sitting down beside her as though they were dining at home. “A delicious stew and some cool water. Eat and you will feel better.”