Diablo (11 page)

Thompson nodded. “Andy, look after Nicky first. O'Brien will be in Robin's room.” He motioned to Kane. “This way.”

Nicky watched them go, then saw Andy's eyes on her. “He'll be all right,” Andy said. “A few minutes won't matter. Now sit down.”

Nicky nearly screamed as Andy washed the burns with some solution from the box of medicines he'd brought with him, then gently applied a cool salve. She kept remembering, though, Kane's fixed expression, his cool dismissal of pain, and she bore Andy's ministration silently, willing him to hurry so he could get to Kane. Kane with the murderer's name. Kane, who had somehow become her guardian angel and who obviously bitterly resented being so.

“I'm not going to wrap it,” Andy was telling her. “But be careful. Keep that arm clean.”

“I'm fine. Go see about Mr. O'Brien.”

He looked at her curiously, then smiled slowly. “I'll take good care of him.” He gave her a bottle. “Here's some laudanum. If you start hurting too badly, take it. Give some to Diablo. Disguise it if you must. He's going to hurt a lot, and he doesn't seem the type of man to make it easy on himself.” He went out the door and left her sitting at the table.

Kane tried to open his eyes, but they resisted his every effort to do so. Pain throbbed in his arm and back, particularly when he moved. His head felt thick, his eyes sticky and uncooperative. He struggled to remember where he was.

Then, slowly, it came back through a drugged mind. Sanctuary. Nat Thompson. Nicky. Nicole. Fire. A quiet panic swept him.

“He's awake.”

Robin's voice broke through his haze. He tried to open his eyes again and this time managed to get one partly open.

“How long … have I been asleep?”

“Day and a half,” Robin said. “I'll get my sis.”

“No,” Kane tried to say, but the boy was already out the door. He'd been lying on his side. He tried to sit and discovered he was naked, except for the underwear on the lower half of his body. As he heard footsteps, he tugged a cover over him. His arm and chest throbbed. His mouth felt like cotton. He rubbed his good hand over his cheeks, finding them rough with bristle.

What in the hell did it matter, anyway? Nicky Thompson had been nothing but trouble. She was an obstacle to him, nothing more. He should be in the hotel, damn it. Not here. He didn't want her gratitude, nor her uncle's. But he kept getting sucked more and more into the lives of the Thompson family when his goal was to destroy them.

The door opened again and Nicky—Nicole—came in. She was still in a loose shirt and trousers, but femininity radiated from her. Her smile was tentative, painfully wary, and he realized how many times he'd rebuffed her. Mainly for his own protection. Guilt throbbed even more than the burns.

“I thought you might want some fresh water,” she said. “And something to eat.”

“You're not cooking again?” he said gruffly.

Embarrassment flooded her face. “No, Uncle Nat won't let me near the stove. Jeb sent over some soup.”

He tried to sit, pulling the blanket up with him, but its roughness rubbed against his raw skin, and he winced. Her eyes shone with sympathy. They were so damned brown. He moved his gaze to her arm. It was still red, oozing with the same salve, he imagined, that pasted his arm and back.

“Are you all right?” he said roughly.

“Thanks to you.”

He liked her anger better than gratitude. He muttered to himself.

“What?” she said, coming closer. He pulled the blanket up higher. Damn but he felt something stirring inside, and it wasn't his brain.

“Don't thank me. I just happened to be there. I tripped.” It was a hell of a stupid thing to say. He knew it the minute amusement started dancing in her eyes. Her face changed, and she grinned. Then laughed. He'd never heard her laugh before, and it sounded like a chorus of bells. The smile was beautiful. He hadn't seen that one before, either. It had always been tentative, cautious.

“I thought desperadoes liked to claim deeds of valor.” The last words were right from a book, and Kane understood something else. No wonder Miss Nicole Thompson was such a combination of innocence and sometimes startling wisdom. She must live in books. He'd noticed several bookcases earlier, but hadn't paid much attention to them, thinking they were probably for show like so many other things in Sanctuary: an attempt at normalcy.

He muttered again to himself, barely muzzling the curses that wanted to flow from his mouth. Damn, he should be pleased. Robin and Nicky were pawns in his hands now. He had Nat Thompson's gratitude, the run of his house. And he'd seldom felt lower in his entire life.

But he took the glass of water Nicky held out to him, and the man part of him tensed and hardened as her good hand touched his and lingered a moment longer than necessary. He forced his gaze away from her and started to drink, then hesitated. It tasted strange. Drugged again?

Nicky seemed to understand. She shook her head. “Andy said the pain would be bad the first few days. But I won't give you any more laudanum unless you ask for it.”

“I only have a few more days at Sanctuary,” he said. “I have to be strong enough to leave.”

“Uncle Nat said you can stay as long as you want. No charge.”

Kane was stunned. He knew Thompson had been grateful, but the man was notorious about money. He'd heard tales from the other residents of Sanctuary about his no-credit policy. No matter how wanted a man was, he was escorted out once his money was gone, which was one reason poker was so popular. Winning could mean a few days extra. Kane had already won enough money for several more days. But he didn't have the luxury of time. He had to learn the location of Sanctuary and get out.

“I have other plans,” he said curtly and watched the smile disappear from Nicky's face. Robin's face also seemed to crumple. “But you haven't taught me anything about Diablo.”

“That's a hell of a name for that hawk,” Kane said.

Robin's face flushed. “I didn't mean to insult you.”

Kane felt he was kicking a litter of puppies. “That's not what I meant,” he said, making his voice less harsh. “You shouldn't name a wild thing. You're going to have to give him back to nature. Don't get too attached. Don't let it get too attached.” As he had years ago with his own baby hawk.

He finished drinking the water and handed it back to Nicky. “Thank you,” he said. He wanted to say he would move back to the hotel. That's what he wanted. But if he stayed here, he might have a chance to check Nat Thompson's room and the desk he'd seen in the main room. Then he wouldn't have to get the information he needed from Nicky or Robin, he told himself. The result would be the same, though. Lawmen would ride through the valley, shooting everything in sight.

Christ, his head hurt. Every damn part of him hurt. Including his heart. If he ever got his hands on Masters, he'd kill him.

“Some soup?” Nicky asked, like that same puppy expecting a kick in the stomach.

He nodded. He'd eat the damn soup, pretend sleep, and hope everyone left. The sooner he discovered what he came for, the sooner he could leave, the sooner Davy would be released. He wouldn't, couldn't, think about the other result.

Chapter Eight

The house seemed immeasurably smaller with Kane O'Brien in it. Diablo, Nicky kept warning herself. But warnings didn't do any good now. She kept reminding herself that he was a killer and outlaw, but she saw only the man who'd risked himself for her.

Always watch your back
, her uncle had taught her. He'd never told her what to do if a man sneaked up on her blind side and wriggled into places he ought not be.

She went riding the morning after Kane woke up. She knew she must or she would find herself hovering outside his door, wanting to go in. Afraid to go in. Afraid of all those feelings that were eating her up inside.

She rode to her hill to watch the sun tip the mountain, but some of the joy was gone. Her private place was suddenly a lonely place. It seemed to echo with his voice, and she remembered every word he said, every touch, every emotion she'd felt when she was with him, even the humiliation, the anger. She tried to bring both back, but the impact was gone. He had risked his life for her without thought. He was suffering because of her. That hurt most of all.

Who was he? What was he? He was so contradictory she no longer knew. He would turn from kind to cruel in an instant, from warm to cold, from tender to indifferent. She only knew that her heart jumped through hoops when he was near, that her blood warmed and her skin tingled. Even now, she ached for that touch again, for even more. For a kiss. She tried to imagine it but couldn't. Several men had tried a kiss, despite her uncle's warning. Two had been dirty and repulsive, and she'd scooted away; one had been seen and caught. Nat Thompson had had him tied, and he'd beat him with an old bullwhip. The third had been a young bandit, and she'd been quite willing to meet him behind the barn, ready to test her womanhood, hungry to explore this thing called a kiss. But the charm had disappeared when his lips touched hers, and the kiss had been savage and frightening and possessive without tenderness. He'd tried to force her mouth open and finally she'd kicked him in the crotch and run. She hadn't said anything to her uncle, because she'd felt it was her fault, but she'd never been interested in a kiss again.

Not until now.

She was a freak. She realized that. She'd read enough to know that a twenty-two-year-old woman didn't dress in pants. They were courted and kissed and married and had children. Why would someone like Kane O'Brien be interested in her? Not even a killer and outlaw would want a woman who knew more about shooting than kissing, a half-woman. Her eyes burned, and she felt consumed by a vast loneliness. Her gaze swept the empty valley, the stunted trees and arroyos. This was her prison. Barren and lonely. In a week, Kane O'Brien—the only color—would be gone.

But she would get her kiss first. One way or another, she would get a kiss to remember.

They were gone. All of them. Kane struggled to his feet, fighting off pain. Every move seemed to stretch and irritate the raw places on his back and arm. Nat Thompson had gone to his “mayor's office.” Nicky had gone for a ride, and Robin had disappeared with Andy to hunt rabbits. The hawk needed fresh meat, Kane had told him, after Robin reported that the small bird was not eating well.

He touched his face. It was more stubbled than ever. He found his pants on a chair and pulled them on, wincing again at the throbbing inherent in every movement. Damn. He had to ride out of here in a few days. Kane pushed a lock of hair out of his face and headed toward the other room, and the desk. There had to be a map someplace.

His eyes searched the room, the bookcase, the desk. He went to the window and looked out. It was still early, and he didn't see anyone on the street. Sanctuary never really came to life until the late afternoon.

Kane studied the books and finally selected one, laying it on a chair near the desk. If anyone came, he would quickly drop into the chair and claim to be reading. He then went over to the desk and tried the drawers. They were locked. He swore out loud, then started checking the other rooms. One was immediately recognizable as Nicky's, though it was nearly as plain as the others.

A pleasant smell lingered from a nearly-dried-out arrangement of wildflowers on a table. The curtains were a cheery gingham, and an old worn-out doll, its china face now chipped and missing one eye, sat on a trunk. He stood in the door a moment, wondering about the doll, about the girl Nicky apparently had never been allowed to be. She'd mothered her brother, she said. Who had mothered her? No one, from the look of things.

It was a rather lonely room, with none of the feminine doodads he imagined most women liked. He could almost feel the emptiness of the room.
My uncle took us in when my father was killed.
Now Kane was trying to take one of the few things she had left.

Kane wondered about her dreams. He wondered whether she had any. She said little about dreams, less about a future. Was she satisfied to stay here? Or was it loyalty that tied her to Sanctuary? He didn't think he wanted to know.

He started looking for a hairpin. Kane could open most locks with a hairpin; it was a skill he'd learned in the past two years. Surely, there must be some kind of pin, although Nicky wore her hair short. But there wasn't one. He swore again. Feeling like the worst kind of voyeur and spy, he went through drawers until he found a sewing box and, from that, extracted a thick needle.

Kane stepped outside the room, took another look through the window, then went to work at the desk drawer. The lock was intricate, and it took him several minutes to work his way through it. He held his breath as he felt the lock move, click, and he slid the drawer open.

One more glance at the window. Still no movement outside. He carefully riffled through the papers in the desk. On top of the pile, he found his own Wanted poster along with some clippings of robberies he'd either committed or that had been credited to him. If he'd committed even half of what he'd been charged with, he wouldn't have had time to sleep or eat, he thought ruefully. And he would be a very rich man. He searched deeper and found a book. He flipped through it. Names and sums. He recognized many of them. Jesse and Frank James. John Ringo. The Cole Brothers. Captain John Jarrett. John Wesley Hardin. No wonder the law wanted Nat Thompson.

But there was no map. Not in that drawer. He closed and locked it again with the needle, then started on another drawer. The lock had just moved when he heard the back door open.

Damn it. He moved quickly to the chair and picked up the book. He knew it was either Nicky or her brother from the lightness of the steps. He pushed the needle down into the cushion of the chair and hoped like hell Nicky didn't want to do any sewing today. Needles would be precious in this little town in the middle of nowhere.