Desert Dreams (3 page)

"I'll come back later," she said.

Jose laughed, looking from Rafe to the woman and back again
to Rafe, as he returned his gun to its holster.

"No, no," Jose insisted. "I was just leaving.
I'll keep an eye out for our friend. We have a deal, yes?"

“Sure.”

Smiling lewdly, Jose circled the girl, his gaze gliding over
her boldly displayed body. He glanced at Rafe once more, winked enviously, and
went out, closing the door behind him.

Chapter 2

Anne jerked awake at the sound of a gunshot and leaped out of
bed, her heart racing.  She thrust her head out the window in time to see
a shadowed figure fall to the ground just within eyesight.

"Papa!"

Grabbing her wrapper, she ran into the dimly lit corridor,
around a corner, and down the stairs, her heart pounding with fear, her mind
racing. Only the stairs weren't where she remembered. Who could remember? She'd
been in so many hotels lately, it wasn't surprising she didn't remember the way
to the foyer and the front door.

Papa, don't die!

She ran into the street, her bare feet racing over the dirt
surface.

"Let me through!" she demanded as she forced her
way through the crowd that had gathered around the fallen man.

You can't help him,
a
little voice told her.
Papa's going to die and you can't help him.

So much blood. She knelt beside the injured man, blood
everywhere. Nausea rose in her throat and she swallowed the fear that
threatened to strangle her. Her trembling hands reached out to touch him as her
mind recoiled from the fact that he was dying or dead.

"Papa, don't die," she whispered past the tears
that ran down her cheeks.

A shaft of light fell across the wounded man's face. It was
the face of a stranger.

Anne pulled away in shock. This wasn't Natchez, it was San
Antonio. Papa was already dead, had been dead for weeks.

She sat back on her heels and wiped angrily at tears. Try
though she might, she couldn't keep her chin from trembling, couldn't help the
heart ache that threatened to consume her as it had that terrible night.

But this wasn’t that night. She shifted her brain to the new
reality as the cobwebs of sleep receded. It wasn’t the first time she’d walked
in her sleep since papa died, but she’d never been so disoriented.

San Antonio. She was in San Antonio, Texas, on her way to her
aunt’s house. Papa was dead.

If only he'd stayed with her that night, if only....

Damn you, Papa! Damn you for leaving me!

"
Angel
."

The word was so faint, Anne wasn't sure if she'd heard it or
imagined it. It took her a moment to realize what he'd said. When she did, she
smiled down into the pain-filled eyes of the wounded man and shook her head.
"No, I'm not an angel."

Something in his desperation touched her heart.

"He—he needs a doctor!" she cried, forcing her gaze
from the bleeding Mexican.

Fear shot through her at the sight of a dozen eyes glaring
down at her. She scrambled to her feet and backed away, only to run into the
men behind her. She gasped and jerked away, eliciting a round of laughter from
the hard-edged men who surrounded her. She clutched her wrapper around her. A
menacing silence fell over the group. She scanned the circle of a faces, all
leering down at her with similar expressions.

How could she have been so foolish? She'd run out into the
street clad only in a thin nightgown and robe. A man had been shot and would
probably bleed to death while the men who had gathered to gawk stood by and did
nothing.

"Hell,
ain't
no doctor
gonna
treat no
Mex
!" a bleary-eyed
man said, eliciting a round of laughter from the others.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves!" Anne
scolded, playing for time. "This man is a human being!"

The man closest to her turned his head to the side and spat a
brown stream of tobacco juice that landed in the dust close to her foot.
"Maybe he is and maybe he
ain't
."

"
Por
favor,
I must tell
you—"

The wounded man broke off, his face contorting as pain
gripped his body.

Her gaze fell on the gun strapped to the fallen man's waist.
Did she have time to grab it before anyone realized what she intended and moved
to stop her? Did she dare? Did she dare not?

* * * * *

Rafe Montalvo came awake with a violent start as the door to
his room flew open and banged against the wall. Jose stood in the doorway, his
body haloed by the light from the corridor.

Swearing under his breath, Rafe groaned and fell back on the
bed. He hadn't even thought to go for his gun. The reflexes that had kept him
alive for the past five years had failed him. One mistake like that could cost
a man his life, especially a man who chased trouble the way he did.

"It's Luis!" Jose cried before Rafe could gather
his wits. "He's been shot!"

Rafe sat up slowly this time and threw the covers off with a
scowl. He paused and ran a hand through his hair, struggling to clear his
sleepy mind. Running through the facts as he knew them helped him focus. Luis
Demas held the secret to a fortune in gold, gold that could flush El
Alacran
out into the open.

"Is he dead?" Rafe asked quietly, feeling the best
chance he'd had in five years to flush El
Alacran
out
slip through his fingers.

"I don't know, but you've got to come with me! He's down
on the street in front of the hotel. If he
is
alive, you've got to try and make him talk. If he's dying, maybe he'll tell you
about the gold. He won't talk to me,
me
and Luis go
way back. Hurry,
amigo
!"

Rafe stood and pulled his pants on quickly, then sat on the
edge of the bed to jerk his boots on. Shoving his arms into his shirtsleeves,
he stalked past Jose, grabbing his gun belt from the coat rack on the way out
the door.

Jose was right. He had to get to the street before the bandit
died. He shook off the grogginess that clung to him, ignoring pulsing headache
that nearly blinded him, thanks to the rotgut he’d drunk earlier, and the smell
of sex that clung to him.

A full moon cast freakish shadows on the street where men
shifted in a taut, uneasy circle. The hairs on the back of
Rafe's
neck stood on end as he approached.

The air throbbed with tension like the silent excitement
before a hanging or a dogfight.

Instinctively,
Rafe's
fingers
tested the strap on his holster. Blood pounded in his veins and tingled in his
fingertips as his body prepared for a confrontation.

He shouldered his way through the crowd to find himself
face-to-face with the young woman he'd seen on the street that day. The men had
completely forgotten the injured man on the ground and were ogling her.

She looked as if she'd been in bed. Pale hair had worked its
way free of the braid that hung down her back to her waist, framing her face in
disarray. Her thin nightgown and wrapper didn't conceal her body as well as she
probably thought it did.

He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to think, to curb
the irrational anger and fear that roiled inside his chest.

Christ, what was she doing out here this time of night? And
how the hell was he going to get her and Demas out of this?

These men were teamsters and drifters, probably deserters
from one army or the other. The streets belonged to them at night, the streets
and anyone unlucky enough or foolish enough to stumble across them. They
recognized no law, and nothing in San Antonio would stop them from doing
whatever they wanted to do under cover of darkness, least of all a skinny half-naked
woman with a gun in her hand.

"You can't shoot us all," one of them said.

She pointed the gun straight at the speaker. "Maybe not,
but I'll make sure you're first."

"Hell,
she
prob'ly
can't even fire a gun."

In answer, she pulled the hammer back and cocked the pistol.
"I can shoot the head off a one-eyed jack at twenty paces, so I can sure
as hell put a bullet in one of you."

Rafe stifled a laugh at her audacity. He didn't know if she
was bluffing or not, and he didn't want to find out. Acting quickly, he said
the first thing that came to mind.

"
Darlin
', I've been
lookin
' all over for you! What the hell are you
doin
' out here in the middle of the street this time of
night?"

"Well—" She turned to look at him. Her eyes
widened, and confusion became fear.

Fear was an important weapon, one he'd used countless times.
But seeing it in this woman's eyes caused a sick pain in the pit of his
stomach. He wanted to walk away, to turn his back so he wouldn't have to see
the expression on her face.

Instead, he continued with the ruse he hoped would get them
both out of this situation.

"Were you
sleepwalkin
'
again?" He turned to the men who were gaping at him. "She walks in
her sleep. The doctors can't do a thing about it."

Sensing movement to his left, Rafe gripped the hilt of his
gun, gazing around the circle from man to man.

"This
ain't
none of your
business." A man with yellow teeth and foul breath, the one who had been
threatened with the gun, stepped forward.

He was big and burly, probably a teamster. He'd be hell in a
brawl, but he probably couldn't handle a gun worth a damn.

"The hell it
ain't
," Rafe
replied, his voice nonchalant. "She's my wife."

He moved closer to the young woman. She didn't seem to notice
him until his hand closed over hers and the gun and she tried to pull away.

"Give me the gun," he urged softly.

Her hands trembled beneath his. Her wide, frightened eyes
darted from him to the men who watched her with a predatory zeal. She was
weighing her options, trying to decide whether to take her chances with them or
trust him. He didn't envy her position, but he hoped for both their sakes she
made the right choice.

She looked at him again, and he softened his expression with an
effort, hoping to reassure her with a look. Finally she relinquished the
weapon. Her eyes met his, violet eyes. How a woman with such fair hair could
have such dark eyes. He recognized the fear in their depths, fear and a silent
plea that wrapped around his heart and shook him to his core. She was asking
him not to betray her trust.

Rafe stuffed the pistol in his belt while his gaze moved
inexorably over her thinly veiled body. The outline of her firm, round breasts
and long legs sent the blood pounding through his body. A fierce arousal
gripped him before he managed to tear his eyes away from her. The scent of
lilac soap wafted to him as he turned to face the crowd. It was a moment before
he could speak.

"I'm
takin
' my wife and her
friend to the hotel. Anybody got any objections?"

"
Senorita
," the wounded man murmured, just
loud enough for Anne to hear.

She'd almost forgotten him. She tried to listen to the
conversation around her, tried to understand why she had relinquished her only
means of defense to a man she knew to be a killer.

She'd lost control of the situation, if she'd ever had
control of it. This stranger, this bounty hunter, had both of their lives in
his hands now. She trembled, shivering despite the heat at the memory of his
gaze stripping the clothes from her body and the cold, hard glint she'd seen in
his eyes when he'd looked into her face again.

"
Por
favor, senorita
,
you must listen."

Anne focused on the face of the wounded man. His skin was
covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his voice so weak she could scarcely hear
him. He probably wanted comfort, but she had none to offer. All she wanted was
to escape this dangerous situation. All her senses focused on the man who had
casually called her his wife.

"Please don't get excited. The doctor will be here
soon," she lied, kneeling beside the Mexican again. She could smell the
blood. He was dying.

"I want to make you a very wealthy woman," he
murmured. "I can tell you where there is a million dollars in gold."
He looked skyward. "Maybe this will make up for some of my sins."

Anne divided her attention between the delirious man and the
drama going on around her.

"Come closer." The wounded man grabbed hold of
Anne's arm and pulled her down toward his face. Something in his eyes stilled
her, and the noise and tension around them receded as he started talking.

"The gold," he whispered. "It is hidden in a
small church in a place called Concepción near Chihuahua, Mexico. There are
some loose boards behind the altar. A million dollars. No one could find it if
they did not know already where it was. Go there. It is yours. Do what you will
with it." He licked his lips as he winced with another pain. "And
now, I must ask you to do one thing for me."

"What is it?"

She waited while he coughed convulsively. He fought for
breath, fought to speak.