Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) (29 page)

She had a desperate, sinking feeling, but she was afraid to ask any questions. He sounded so sad; his words were so final. She reached out and stroked his rugged face.
“Yo te quiero, mi querid,”
she whispered. “I love you, my darling.”

He kissed her tenderly. “I’ll always remember you sayin’ that, sweet. Always.”

She sat up, pulled up the top of her dress to cover herself, looked at him. “Texas, you sound so—so final.”

“Do I?” He took her small hand in his callused one, turned the amethyst ring over and over as if lost in thought. “I’ve wronged you,
Aimée
. First I stole your jewelry, then I stole your innocence—”

“And then you stole my heart,” she murmured, kissing his cheek.

“No, sweet, then
you
stole
my
heart.” He tilted her head back, kissed the pulse point in the hollow of her throat. “I’ve said that to a lot of women, but I never really meant it before. Somehow, no matter where I go, what I do, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget you.”

Her heart lurched. “You’re going away, aren’t you?”

“
Sí
, sweet. I’m going away.” He patted her absently as if lost in thought.

“If it’s about tonight, I said I was sorry—”

“No, Aimée.” He cupped her chin in one big hand. “There’s trouble on my trail, and I’ll not bring it to your door, to the old Falcons.”

She caught his hand. “It’s those three men, isn’t it? They’re looking for you. Why?”

He laughed in that devil-may-care, lighthearted way, but it sounded forced. “Never mind. I was stupid enough to think I could lose them, turn my back on the past, and make a fresh start. Now I know better. So I’ll clear out before they get here.”

“We could call in the Federales—”

“No, sweet, I don’t think I’ll do that. I’m afraid if your government got involved, they’d throw me so far back in jail, you’d have to ship daylight to me.”

She came up on her knees, straightened her skirts. “The Falcons have many vaqueros, so does Papa. We’ll help—”

“I’d rather not get any of you mixed up in this,” he snapped. “Anyway, all you’ve talked about is getting rid of me, discouraging me from staying. That’s why you set this party up tonight, wasn’t it? To show me I would never be able to fit in—”

“Oh, Texas, I was so wrong, I—”

“It’s too late, sweet, don’t you see?” He took her face in his two big hands, kissed the tip of her nose.

“If it’s because of tonight—”

“No,” he answered softly, with a slight shake of his head. “That’s not the reason. I must lead trouble away from the two families I have come to love as if they were my very own.”

Rage and hurt fought for control of her slight form as hot tears spilled over and ran down onto his hands. “And me?” she pleaded. “What about me? Don’t I count? Don’t I get any say in this?”

He bent to kiss the tears from her cheeks. “You’re part of the reason I’m leaving, sweet. I—I can’t tell you more than that.”

“Damn you!” She jerked out of his hands, stumbled to her feet, seething at his rejection. “It’s her, isn’t it? You and that redhead are planning to rendezvous somewhere, have a good laugh at Papa’s and my expense!”

He stood up, shrugged. “Give the woman a chance for a fresh start, Amethyst. I don’t think she’ll give you any more trouble or try to ship you off to school.”

“I guess she won’t!” Amethyst exploded. “Not with what I’ve got on her! If I told my father what her past is—”

“Don’t do that, Aimée,” he said, his face so stern it scared her. “It would only hurt him, and maybe they can have a good life together if you keep your mouth shut.”

“And what about us? What about our life together?” She began shaking violently and could not seem to stop.

She had never seen such sadness in a man’s face. “I will see to it that word gets around that you jilted me and I was so heartbroken I went away. Then you can take your choice of all the young men who must have been waiting in the wings to see if Tony Falcon ever came home.”

“How dare you make this decision without letting me be a part of it?” Fury built in her as she looked up into his pale blue eyes.

He grimaced. “Whatever you think of me, believe that I’m making a real sacrifice, ridin’ out of here. But I’m tryin’ to protect you, do what’s best for you.”

She turned away, shaking and too full of anguish to even look at him. “I hate you for this.”

She heard him sigh, then his big hands came down on both her shoulders, pulled her back up against him. “I’ve got plans to make, things to do, and not very much time. I don’t want to remember you like this.”

Now she couldn’t control her fury. She whirled in his arms, pounded him on the chest with all her might, frustration and rejection making her strong. “I hate you! I hate you for this!”

He grabbed her, pulled her up off the ground as she struggled and fought, kissed her deeply, thoroughly, then put her down. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his face against her neck, inhaling her perfume. “Forget-me-not,” he whispered, “I never will, Aimeée. Beloved, I never will!”

And as she watched, he turned and strode to his pinto tied to the hitching rail. The leather creaked as he swung into the saddle.

“Texas, wait! There’s so much to say!”

He leaned on his saddle horn, looked down at her. “I love you, sweet. That about says it all, remember that.”

And as she stared after him, he turned his horse around, loped away from the ranch into the darkness.

Bandit didn’t dare look back as he rode away from the Durango hacienda in the darkness. If he did, he knew he would rein in his horse, gallop back to the angry, weeping girl.

The pinto’s hooves beat a rhythm as he nudged it into an easy canter toward Falcon’s Lair.
Aimée
. . .
Aimée
. . .
Aimée
. The beat seemed to say.

On his clothes, the slightest scent of her perfume still clung to him. He loved her as he had never dreamed he could love a woman, but he must go away forever. If he stayed, sooner or later that trio of outlaws was going to find him and there’d be a showdown. He wasn’t afraid for himself, having survived a dozen gunfights. No, he feared for the safety of the two families he had come to love.

Sí
. He nodded as he rode. Sooner or later, there’d be a showdown, but Bandit wanted to name the time and place, call the play. And it would not be where anyone of the Falcon or Durango families could get involved. Why in blue blazes had he ever been loco enough to think he could stop running, have a home, a family, a woman to call his own.

He patted the stallion’s neck. He didn’t want to give Blue Eyes up. But he wouldn’t steal him from Papa. Papa. He laughed cynically. Why did the word come so easily to his thoughts? Maybe the old man would let Bandit buy the horse from him.

Bandit looked down at the tattoo, remembering. Guilt flooded through him. He should have known it was too good to last. God was going to get even with him. How could he ride out without making all these people unhappy. At least they didn’t know the secret. He didn’t even want to think about that himself.

Aimée
, the hooves beat out.
Aimée
. Only once before had he felt such anguish, the night his mother had died. No, there was one other time—the night of the school Christmas party.

That one year he had tried to go to school, he had lasted until the humiliation at the Christmas party before giving up in defeat. After that, he never went back to school, but stayed where he belonged at the Ace High, and the drunken old professor educated him as he’d taught him to play the piano.

Silent night, holy night
. . .

The song seemed to echo and reecho in his mind. Once again, it was a cold, clear night in the little town of Gun Powder that year he had gone to school. Christmas Eve . . .

Lots of cowboys in to celebrate at the Ace High that evening, he remembered as he rode along. Christmas Day was always lonely and sad, but cowboys came in on Christmas Eve. The evening was still early as he washed his face, combed his hair in the back of the big kitchen. Lidah came in. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“There’s a Christmas party and a real Christmas tree at school tonight.” He almost jumped up and down with excitement. “Gifts and everything.”

She put her hands on her hips, more than slightly drunk. “So? They ain’t expecting the likes of you.”

“They said
everybody
.”

“Son”—she laughed sadly—“they didn’t mean you.”

Mona stuck her head in the door. “What’s going on in here? Lidah, come on. The cowboys are coming in.”

His mother gestured toward him and then looked at Mona helplessly. “I tried to explain it ain’t for him, but he’s plannin’ on going to the school Christmas party the town’s putting on.”

Mona ran her tongue over her lips. “Aw, Handsome, that’s for regular citizens, you know, families. Stay here. We’ll have a big time, lots of singing and dancing tonight.”

The boy looked up at her. He was headstrong and stubborn. “But, Mona, they said
everyone
. The kids say there’ll be lots of food and toys’ll be given away at the tree.”

He couldn’t remember when he had seen his pretty mother look so very sad. “Son, they may have said everyone, but they didn’t mean it. There won’t be anything for you on that tree.”

Mona looked from him to Lidah and sighed. “You don’t suppose they’d be mean to a kid at Christmas?”

“Wouldn’t they?” Tears came to her eyes. “How have they been treatin’ him so far? You think I haven’t seen the bruises on him? How do you think it feels to know they mistreat my son because of what I am?”

For the first time, the boy looked into her tear-filled eyes, realized she really did love him and yet hated him, too, because when she looked at him, she saw the ghost of the man who had fathered him.

Mona cleared her throat. “Lidah, you got to make a livin’. There ain’t many jobs for women out here.”

“And no man’ll marry me because of what I am, because I come with a kid.”

It’s all my fault, the child thought, scuffing his worn shoe against the floor. Because of me, my mother has to work here. Because of me, no man will marry her.

“Lidah, it ain’t his fault,” Mona said. She leaned over, put her arms around the stubborn little shoulders. “Now, Handsome, why don’t you skip that party. We’ll have one of our own with singin’ and dancin’—”

“I’m going.” He squared his jaw.

“Stubborn as a snapping turtle,” his mother said to Mona. “Won’t let go, ’til it hears it thunder.” She looked at him. “Okay, you just go to the Christmas party that’s bein’ put on by the ‘decent’ people of this town; see how they treat you.”

He grabbed his thin jacket, turned, and ran out the back of the saloon. The other kids had said there’d be the biggest Christmas tree you ever saw and lots of gifts.

A light snow had dusted the ground that morning, and the brittle grass crunched beneath his worn shoes. He was growing fast and the jacket was really too small for him, the pants too short. He was cold long before he got to the little white clapboard building, but in his heart, he was warm with hope.

From a distance, he saw light spilling out of the windows, reflecting across the snow. Singing drifted from the building as someone went through the door.

“Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright . . .”

Buggies and buckboards were tied up around the schoolhouse yard. More people were arriving, laughing, calling to each other. “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!”

He was so excited, he ran the last few hundred feet, his breath hanging on the still, cold night as he gulped more air in. And when he swung the door open, warmth from the big, potbellied stove in the corner seemed to kiss his small, chilled face.

The school was full. Men visited with each other, women bounced babies on fat laps, children played tag among the desks as their mothers called out warnings to behave. But the boy hardly noticed the crowd at all, even though they jostled him, ignoring him as they laughed and talked.

He had eyes only for the tree, his first Christmas tree. Although he’d heard other Americans were just taking up this custom of the Germans, the Christmas tree had been common enough in the Texas hill country because of the large German population. Matter of fact, the teacher had said Texas was Germany’s only successful colony.

Spellbound, he pushed through the crowd to stare at it, smell the scent of cedar. The rocky limestone hills of the area were covered with cedar forests. Never had anything smelled so sweet, so magical. A paper star graced the top that was so tall it bent slightly against the water-stained ceiling. Strings of popcorn and paper chains, and yes, even tiny candles covered the branches, setting the tree aglow with light.

More wonderful than that were the small toys tied to the branches: dolls and toy soldiers and bags of marbles. Even peppermint canes and lots of apples and real oranges. Underneath the tree were larger toys: a tiny chair, a rocking horse, a red wagon. The rocking horse. Yes, that was what he wanted, the rocking horse.

Junior Bosner, the school bully, sneered at him. “What you doin’ here? Nobody invited you!”

He knew the boy wouldn’t start trouble with all these people around so he only smiled. “They said
everybody
.”

“When you gonna learn
everybody
don’t include you?”

Some of the other children heard the exchange and snickered, punching each other in the ribs.

But he was too happy, too caught up in the excitement to care. The smell of food came to him—fried chicken, hot bread, fruitcake, cookies.

Over to one side, the ladies pushed several desks together, arranging a delicious array of steaming dishes they lifted from baskets.

“Fannie, did you bring that wonderful homemade mince pie?”

“I did, Gert. I hope you brought your famous strudel.”

The bully’s fat Mama shouted over the noise for the children to line up to eat.

The boy hurried to get in line, his stomach rumbling. In the excitement, he’d had nothing but a piece of bread and a glass of milk.

The bully pushed him out of line. “Mama didn’t mean you, stupid! All the mamas brought food! Where’s your mama? Where’s your food?”

One of the daddies standing nearby laughed and whispered hoarsely to a friend. “Will you look who showed up?”

The other man laughed. “It’s Christmas Eve. I imagine Lidah’s too busy tonight to worry about where he is!”

He felt his face sting, knowing they laughed at him, at his mother. He doubled his small fists. When he was big, he would whip any man who talked about his mother. He would learn to handle a gun and swagger when he walked, like the gunfighters who drifted through the Ace High. More than that, when he was big enough to hold a job, he would take his mama and Mona away to a new town where no one would laugh and whisper when they walked past ever again.

He stood and watched the children line up, take plates. When they went past, Mamas ladled out steaming stew, and placed big hunks of crusty bread, homemade candy, and cookies shaped like stars onto the plates. He waited for someone to tell him to get in line. No one did.

Now the men got in line, laughing and visiting with each other as their plates were filled. Finally, the ladies served themselves and began to eat.

The child took a deep breath for courage, went over, picked up a plate, and stood waiting. The ladies went on shoveling food into their florid faces. Maybe they hadn’t noticed him. He held his plate out, cleared his throat.

One of the ladies glanced over her shoulder, turned back to the other women. “Look who’s in line!”

“He’s got some nerve showing up here when his mother takes money from half the men in town on Saturday nights. Not my husband, of course, but I heard . . .”

He put the plate down, glanced around quickly to see if any of the children had witnessed it. The school bully had. Junior Bosner nudged several of the other boys, and they all laughed.

Behind him he heard the women lower their voices confidentially.

“. . . whore’s son . . . bastard . . .”

They would not make him cry, no matter what. He put his chin out, swaggered a little as he turned away. What was it Mona had told him? Jaunty arrogance. No one could hurt you if you pretended you didn’t care, if you pretended it didn’t matter. When he passed the school bully, he said, “I wasn’t hungry, just trying to do your mother a favor. I’ll bet her cookin’ would choke a buzzard!”

The bigger boy doubled his fists while the others laughed with delight at the smaller child’s remark. “I’ll get you, bastard,” Junior promised. “Why don’t you get on out of here?”

He knew the bigger boy would not dare attack him here in front of a crowd. Besides, he had come for the presents on the tree. Nothing would make him leave until he got that rocking horse. Surely it was there for him.

And now the lean schoolmaster, dressed like Kriss Kringle, stepped forward and clapped his hands together for attention. The ladies hurried to pick up the dirty plates and platters, and to put everything back in the picnic baskets. The schoolmaster gestured for silence, the cotton beard hanging askew on his thin face. “Now, children, we know what you’ve all been waiting for.”

The children set up a cheer that drowned him out. The boy’s heart beat faster as he pushed forward. His stomach rumbled with hunger, but he didn’t care. Surely Kriss Kringle had brought that horse just for him.

The man took a doll off the tree, looked at the tag, called out a name. A chubby little girl smiled with delight, pushed through the crowd, took it, and ran back to her beaming mother.

The boy yawned.
Who’d want a doll anyway?
The schoolmaster took down a toy gun, called out a name; and another child ran forward.

He didn’t take his eyes off the rocking horse. It had real horse hair for a mane and tail, and was painted to look like a pinto. It had a leather bridle and a genuine miniature saddle and red rockers. That was the only thing he cared about. He imagined himself riding it, other children dropping by the Ace High to ask for a ride. If they’d behave more politely to him, maybe he’d give some of them a ride. Everyone would want to play with him when he owned that pinto horse.

The schoolmaster called out another name, then another. His heart began to beat louder. The toys were going fast now, one name after another called out, toys lifted from the tree and placed in an eager child’s hands.

Now the only toy left was the rocking horse. The boy took a deep breath, began threading his way through the crowd. He wanted to be up front when they called his name.

He stood right at the edge of the circle, looked up at the thin Kriss Kringle with the cotton beard. The schoolmaster frowned down at him, then ignored him pointedly. He reached for the tag on the rocking horse.

“And the last and best gift of all goes to . . . Junior Bosner!”

It couldn’t be possible. The bigger boy pushed through the crowd, swaggering a little as he came up and pushed him out of the way. “Yah! You thought you were gettin’ my horse, didn’t ya?”

His fat mother said, “Now, Junior, it’s Christmas, we should be nice even to the likes of him.”

The boy grinned, revealing wide-spaced teeth, and climbed up on the spotted, wooden horse.

For a moment, the scene blurred before the smaller boy’s eyes, and then he straightened his shoulders and smiled his crooked grin. “Who’d want that anyway?” he scoffed. “That’s a baby toy!” He turned, swaggered toward the door, everything blurring before his eyes.