Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) (6 page)

“A rope!” someone in the crowd shouted. “Get a rope for the neck of this horse thief!”

The foreman, Romeros, leaned against a post, chewing his match as if considering whether to take any action or merely watch the lynching.

Out of the corner of his eye, as Bandit battled, he saw a vaquero take a lariat from his saddle, throw it up over the sign that hung before the cantina. He swore in furious border Spanish. “You can’t just lynch me without a trial!”

“Yankee!” a man bellowed. “You’re in Mexico and under our laws! We’ll do anything we please!”

Someone else took up the cry. “
Sí!
A rope right now is good enough for this horse thief! We’ll deliver his body tomorrow to the old don for the reward!”

Bandit had faced death many times, but never had he had to deal with a drunken mob bent on lynching him for entertainment. As he fought to get away from his captors, he felt the cold sweat of fear gather in his armpits, run down his muscular body.

He craned his neck, saw the ebony-haired Romeros still smiling as he chewed his match. Yet as a vaquero slipped the rough, braided rawhide over Bandit’s head, Romeros moved suddenly, pushing through the crowd. “No,
compadres!
” he shouted as he shoved his way through the drunken mob to Bandit’s side, “No, there’s been a mistake!”

The slender man was evidently someone of great importance, because there was a sudden silence. Men made way respectfully for him.

Romeros tossed away the match. “Hombres, I appreciate your concern both for justice and
el patrón!
But there’s been a mistake,
comprende?
This Texan had just brought the fine stallion to me himself to claim the reward!”

Around him, Bandit watched disappointment etch the dark faces in the moonlight as the drunken crowd grumbled. “Aw,
señor,
are you sure? We had our hearts set on hanging the
tejano
.”

“Have I not been the
caudillo,
the foreman, at the Falcon’s Lair for twenty-five years now?” Romeros commanded with a voice of authority. “Does
el
patrón
not trust me, rely on me to keep his empire running? Who speaks for old Don Enrique if not me? I tell you, the Texan is innocent, he was just, handing over the horse when you came out of the cantina and misunderstood what was happening!”

Bandit’s captors turned loose his arms with obvious reluctance, and he released a deep sigh of relief. “
Gracias,
Señor Romeros,”
he breathed out, moving his shoulders to bring the circulation back into his arms. “Of course I was returning the horse. How could anyone think otherwise!”

Amethyst.
That little bitch!
He thought of innocent violet eyes, remembered her questions about the horse. Evidently, she had recognized it and hadn’t warned him. He didn’t feel so guilty now about stealing that elegant lady’s ring, her chastity. Her silence had almost gotten him lynched!

Romeros took his arm, the moonlight gleaming on his strange, expressionless eyes. “He had merely stopped here to ask directions to the ranch. See hombres? Do you think he would have been loco enough to ride back into the area if he had stolen the horse?”

The common sense of his words caused the grumbling men to nod in agreement.

The Falcon foreman reached into his vest for a pouch of coins. “Here, vaqueros, let Romeros buy every one of you a drink for your loyalty! I shall tell the don myself what fine men you are when this hombre and I ride out to return the stud!”

That’s what you think, Pard, Bandit thought. I ain’t afixin’ to do no such thing! When I get free of this mob, I’m gonna hightail it out of here.

A cheer went up from the drunken mob at Romeros’ words. Then the foreman shook gold coins into the eager hand of the saloon keeper and all the men pushed and jostled to go back inside. Within seconds, Bandit and the Falcon foreman stood alone in the moonlight, listening to the laughter and guitar music coming from inside as the vaqueros enjoyed the treat.

Bandit heaved a deep sigh of relief, reached his left hand into his vest for one of the slender cigars he favored.
“Gracias, compadre.”
He put his boot up on the hitching rail, struck a match on the sole, lit up. “I was beginning to wonder if you were just gonna stand there and watch them hang me up like a side of fresh beef!”

“Left-handed.” It was more a comment than a question from the other man.

That riled Bandit. “
Sí!
And I’ve heard enough snide remarks about it to last me all my days!” He took a deep puff, enjoyed the rich taste of the cigar.

Romeros gestured toward the horses. “Come, let us ride and talk.”

Bandit nodded, untied the big paint, and watched Romero mount a gelding that was as black as his hair and eyes. Then Bandit swung up and they rode away at a walk. As soon as he got far enough away from that drunken mob, Bandit intended to vamoose. He had no intention of returning the pinto. He’d never owned a horse he liked so much, and the big horse seemed genuinely partial to him, too. Besides, he’d need a fast horse if those three bank robbers or the U.S. Army got on his trail.

Romeros stuck a match between his lips.

Bandit glanced over at him as he inhaled his cigar. “That’s a bad habit you got, chewing those things. You better watch it, and not get the wrong end in your mouth. Lucifers are poisonous!”

Romeros laughed softly. “Is that a fact! You’re the second person to tell me that. Now how would you happen to know something like that?”

Because my mother finally committed suicide by eating a couple, Bandit thought. The painful memory of her death throes came to him—he smelled the slight, telltale scent of garlic—and of staring down into that cheap, pine coffin. Mona and the other whores had taken up a collection to pay the funeral expenses. “I don’t know; maybe I read it somewheres.”

“Your concern touches my heart!” the dark man said with a touch of scorn as they rode down the road at a walk. “Now, Texas, tell me what you’re really doing below the the border; how you came by that horse?”

“I got it from a fellow who had no further use for it,” Bandit said easily, reaching into his pocket to fondle his lucky piece. Inwardly, he cursed his own stupidity. He should have realized right off that the fine stud was bound to be stolen, just like the money in the saddlebags. How had the Kid ended up with the blue-eyed pinto?

The other man laughed coldly. “You’re a closemouthed devil, aren’t you, Texas? When the pinto disappeared a few months ago, we figured the comancheros took it on one of their periodic raids. The old man has been in a virtual fury ever since!”

The
Comancheros.
Of course that was a reasonable explanation. Although the renegades were not as active as they once were, still they were known for running off fine-blooded stock, selling it or trading it. There was another explanation. “Maybe the Kickapoos or the Lipans or the Mescalero Apache stole it.”

Romeros considered a moment, shook his head. “Not likely. Those three tribes enjoy the Mexicans’ protection because they raid north of the border. As you know, we don’t have much love for either Texans or the United States since you won that war and added all those millions of acres to your own territories!”

Bandit wasn’t interested in politics. He was interested in getting the hell out of there. His saddle creaked as he stood up in his stirrups, tossed away the cigar. He considered which way would be a good path to take. To him it was no nevermind as long as he got far from the vengeful vaqueros of the old don.

“. . . Did you not hear me?” Romeros asked.

“What?” Bandit came out of his thoughts with a jerk.

“I said the resemblance is amazing. That’s how he would surely look today.”

Bandit glared sideways at him. “What the hell are you palavering about?”

Romeros looked at Bandit long and hard as they rode along in the moonlight.
“Sí,”
he nodded, “you might be. . . .” He seemed to be considering some wild, impossible idea. “I should have noticed back at the cantina, but in the excitement. . . .” His voice trailed off again, and he looked Bandit over critically. “Who are you, Texas? Where do you come from? What’s your background?”

Bandit studied him. “Who wants to know and why?”

“Don’t be coy with me, hombre. I just saved your life, remember? Let me see your left hand.” He reined in and Bandit did likewise.

Curious now, Bandit held his hand out to him. Romeros grabbed it, looked at it critically. Whatever it was he looked for, his expression said he hadn’t found it. Romeros studied Bandit for a long moment as if making a decision. “Hombre, how would you like to have more money, more luxury than you’ve ever seen in your life?”

I’ve a fortune in these saddlebags I dare not spend.
“Who’ve I got to kill?” Bandit laughed cockily, but the other man didn’t laugh.

“I’m serious. Did you ever hear that tale about a poor peasant who looked enough like a prince to take his place, with no one the wiser?”

“I’m a low-down peasant, all right, a saddle bum.” He grimaced, remembering the snooty, highborn girl at the stage station.
Sí,
he’d like to be a prince, be able to claim an elegant girl like that princess as his own.

“You sound bitter, hombre. Disappointed in love?”

Bandit smirked at him to hide his thoughts of the black-haired beauty.
Amethyst. Aimée. Beloved.
The circle of her little ring seemed to burn his finger as her body had burned his manhood when he’d slipped into that circle of ecstasy.

Forget-me-not.
No, sweet; how could
I?
He had a sudden image of her delicate face between his two big hands. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, remembering the wine-sweet taste of her mouth; the featherlike brush of her kiss along his hard knuckles, the back of his bronzed hand.

Bandit laughed carelessly. “One woman’s the same as another, I reckon; a toy to pleasure a man when his groin hurts.”
She’d been more than that. God, so much more than that! A princess.
Aloud, he said, “Tell me about this prince.”

“There’s a kingdom involved, a rich empire.” Romeros’s dark eyes shone with eagerness. “The biggest ranch in all northern Mexico, a fine hacienda, wealth, respect.”

Respect.
Bandit’s eyebrows went up in sudden interest. Respectability was the thing most unattainable, the thing he hungered for. He had a vision of children chasing a small boy, throwing rocks and taunting. “What’s the catch?”

Romeros shrugged. “No catch. I have great sadness for my
patrón
.” He tapped his chest. “Sixteen years ago, his only child, the eight-year-old son he adored, was kidnapped and held for ransom.”

Bandit felt a fleeting touch of envy. He had been a neglected, abused child that nobody wanted. His own old man had never even stepped forward to give him a last name. “So?”

Romeros rolled the match stem between his teeth as he studied Bandit. “The exchange was botched; the don’s money was not picked up by the kidnappers; the boy was never returned.”

Bandit swung his leg up across his saddle horn. He felt a sense of rage that anyone could have done such a rotten thing. “Tough!” he said, and absently fingered the beaded, cougar tooth and claw necklace.

Romeros shrugged. “We’re all sure the kidnappers killed the little boy, buried him somewhere around, close. No one would dare say that to the old man, of course. But as I remember the child, if he had lived to grow up, he might have looked something like you, maybe a little younger. The resemblance is amazing. He was left-handed, too.”

Bandit paused in tossing away the match. “Now wait just a damned minute; you aren’t suggesting—”

“Why not?” Romeros leaned forward on his saddle horn. “The old couple would be so eager to believe their son had finally come home, they wouldn’t ask many questions. Believe me, since I care about them both, it’s grieved me all these years to watch them follow each clue, look up hopefully each time there’s a knock at the door.”

Bandit raised one cynical eyebrow. “Any time someone starts telling me he’s doin’ something out of the goodness of his heart, I always figure that’s the time to watch my money!”

The half-breed tipped his sombrero back, laughed. “You’re smarter than I thought!
Sí!
I’ll admit it! If I find the missing son, I’ll be a hero; the old couple will lavish money and an easy life on me. And someday, when they are both dead and you own and control everything, maybe you will find it in your heart to be generous to your benefactor?”

Bandit considered. “It’s the most loco scheme I ever heard! It can’t possibly work!”

“You won’t know ’til you try it.”

“Suppose I don’t like being this heir, young Falcon?”

“Then disappear again. But believe me, hombre, you’ll like your new mama and papa. Do you really not think you would want to live the life of rich young Tony Falcon? There’s even an heiress he was betrothed to as a child—”

“I’ll pick my own lady, thank you!” Bandit’s thoughts went to the elegant beauty. Would she notice him if he were suddenly the highborn heir to a good name, a great fortune? Would a Falcon have the power and prestige to retrieve a girl from a convent? “Do I really look like them?”

Romeros considered seriously. “It seems so to me. The señora is dark, but the old man is Castilian Spanish, as light haired and blue eyed as you are. They’ll see the resemblance because they’ll want to see it,
comprende?
”

“It’s a dirty trick on them—”

“They get their beloved son back. Is that so terrible?”

Bandit turned everything over in his mind, but all he could think of was that pedigreed girl. A Texas pistolero could never have her; but señor Tony Falcon might. “How do I know I can trust you?”

Romeros shrugged. “How do
I
know I can trust
you?
”

“In Texas, this is what we call a Mexican standoff. I reckon I’m fixin’ to get myself in a helluva mess, but I’ll do it!”

The other nodded with evident satisfaction. “
Bueno!
We’ll work out the details and I’ll tell you what little Tony might remember about his life as we ride to Monterrey.”