Diablo (30 page)

I
love you.
He thought the words as she squirmed in his embrace, as long, dark brown eyelashes started to flutter, and she stretched, igniting a reaction in his own body. She opened her eyes and smiled at him lazily, happily, and his heart thudded wildly.

She reached up and touched his lips. “I don't think I like that beard,” she said.

His hand went up to it, to where the scar was usually so visible.

“I like the scar,” she said, her fingers moving up to where the faintest edge showed.

“So do the law and bounty hunters,” he said. “It makes me very easy to identify.”

“It won't matter when we get back to Sanctuary,” she said, stretching again before snuggling back into his arms and lifting her face for a kiss.

He leaned down and gave her a light one, but she protested. “That's not very satisfactory.”

“We have to go.”

“Not yet,” she said, and he wondered whether she had any idea how seductive, how completely appealing she was with those lazy sleep-filled eyes and inviting mouth. Too appealing. He couldn't help but lean down and do a more satisfactory job of kissing her.

Her arms went around his neck, and he couldn't think of anything but how he needed her. Her lips were so sweet on his, so expectant. His lower regions became molten as her breasts touched his shirt and her rounded bottom sat exactly where it shouldn't.

He wanted her. He wanted her with every fiber of his being. But Gooden was close now. Masters was close. Betrayal was close, and he simply couldn't do this to her again. He couldn't let her believe they had a future. He couldn't take another chance on making a child.

He ripped his mouth away and stood, keeping a hand on her arm so she wouldn't fall, ignoring her mutter of protest. “We have to go,” he said again.

She looked at him with such profound disappointment that his heart pounded against his rib cage. If only he didn't want her so much and know that she wanted him just as badly. That was the real hell of it. That would always be the hell of it. He stood there for a moment, fighting himself, fighting that fierce need inside for something soft and warm and sweet and miraculous. Fighting against being loved when that was all he'd wanted his entire life. He fought against tears in his own eyes. He couldn't ever remember crying. Ever. But now the rush of grief was so strong, he could barely control it.

He turned abruptly away, so she couldn't see, and put a hand to his face as if trying to wipe away any outward pain. He looked around at the plains, where there seemed to be no end and no beginning.

God, he would sell his soul for a map. If he hadn't already sold that particular commodity for Davy's pardon. The sun was rising in the east; all he knew was they were headed south.

Convinced that he had mastered his emotions, he turned back to her. She was watching him with that steady, searching gaze of hers. He couldn't figure why she hadn't already guessed at his purpose, at his motives, that she hadn't sensed he was a wolf in sheep's clothing or, more accurately, a coyote in wolf's clothing.

“Kane?”

“Do you have any idea how far Gooden is?” he asked.

“A day, maybe,” she said slowly. “Uncle Nat said it was two days' hard riding.”

That was shorter than his journey to Sanctuary, but he'd thought then that Calico might have doubled back several times. But she was going on hearsay, on guesswork herself.

“Where do we go from here?” he asked, and he knew his voice was harsh.

“Follow the stream bed to a river,” she said as if reciting a litany. “The river should take us into a road.”

He nodded and went to the saddles on the ground, taking some jerky from the saddlebags and handing it to her. “I'll fill the canteens upstream, and then we'll start.” He didn't look at her again as he turned and trudged upstream. The water wouldn't be much better there, but at least it wouldn't be soiled by the horses.

Don't think. Keep moving. Whatever you do, don't think. If you think, you'll return her to Sanctuary and forget about Davy. But you won't forget about Davy. Not ever.

Christ, why wouldn't his mind quit? A dozen devils were pounding at his brain, each with a torture of his own.

He filled the canteens with muddy water, then he waited about ten minutes. He wanted to give her time to take care of any private needs. There wasn't much cover here.

Were they in Texas yet? He had no idea. They hadn't seen any Indians, but that didn't mean there weren't some out there somewhere. He'd welcome a good honest scalping at the moment. He saw to his own needs. It would be a long ride today. Kane tried to think what day it was. Sunday? Monday? He'd lost track. He only knew time was running short for his friend. Too short to feel sorry for himself.

He turned around and hurried back to the horses, ignoring Nicky's puzzled, worried look. He wished to hell she'd complain, whine, faint, anything he thought most women would do under the circumstances. She didn't. She merely gave him a tentative smile when he went over to help her mount.

He tried one last time. “The stream bed to the river,” he repeated her directions. “I can find it. You should return to Sanctuary. Your uncle will be worried.”

She shook her head. “He knew I would be with you. He trusts you.”

The words only added to his guilt. He should send her back, at least try, but he knew her well enough now to realize she wouldn't go. She would only follow. And he couldn't leave her like he left the two men, tied and nearly naked. He had no choice but to take her with him to Gooden, to the man who wanted to hang her uncle so badly.

Ben Masters woke up in Mary May's soft feather bed. They'd arrived back just before dawn. He had checked at his hotel, but a sleepy clerk said no one had asked for him. He'd already seen Mary May to her room, and suddenly he felt unbearably alone. He also wanted to apologize to her. He walked back along the lonely street to the steps behind the saloon. It led up to a row of rooms that the girls rented.

He'd been in Mary May's room several times, and he knocked at her door lightly. She had already undressed and was wearing a light green nightdress that was little more than gauze. She looked at him for a moment with those green eyes, then opened the door wide. “I'm glad you came,” she said in a voice husky with feeling.

Ben had stepped in, closed the door behind and taken her in his arms. They were both tired, yet when she leaned into him, their bodies responded just as they had that afternoon. He quickly pulled off his boots and then his trousers and underdrawers. He hadn't bothered with his shirt.…

His shirt was still on, and Mary May was lying naked and asleep next to him. The smell of lovemaking still hovered in the room. He thought of yesterday. Of Sarah Ann, of their argument, of the fiery aftermath. A saloon woman with scruples. It was just his damn luck. Yet he liked her even more for it. And he'd liked the way her face had looked as she'd held her daughter. His left hand ran down the smooth skin of her arm, and he felt her body react. Her eyes opened slowly, then widened as they saw him, then became hazy again with desire.

“Good morning,” she said huskily.

“More like afternoon,” he said.

“It's morning to me,” she retorted with a smile. “And I'm hungry.”

He started reluctantly to rise, but she stopped him. “Not that kind of hungry,” she said in what was almost a purr. He leaned down and kissed her, hard and wanting, and then she was wrapped around him. Ben came hard and fast into her, her soft moans like an aphrodisiac. He kissed her cheek and realized he had never done that before while making love. He'd never engaged in the small endearments, in the affectionate touches.

A deep shudder ran through him as he realized that for the first time since Clara, he cared. He really cared. Even as satisfaction surged through him, he felt a new and strange kind of fear.

Chapter Nineteen

Nicky and Kane reached Gooden at dusk. The town was just as miserable as Kane had remembered it. He had spent several anxious days there—nearly a week, in fact—waiting to be contacted prior to his journey to Sanctuary.

He had asked them how Gooden had come by its name. One drunk told him merrily that another drunk had found the place. He had built a cabin alongside a stream that was dry half the year and flooded the other half. He lived off the land and sold some animal skins for his whiskey. He was well into one bottle when a wagon train of settlers passed by. An inexperienced guide had asked the name of the place, and the drunk misunderstood. He thought they were asking about his whiskey. “Good 'un,” he mumbled.

A flood kept the settlers camped there, and several of them decided to stay. Gooden was born. Kane had asked what happened to the founder and had been told he'd drowned the next time the flood came. As far as Kane was concerned, the whole town could well be swept away. It was dirty and dusty and violent.

But Nicky, who had been silent all afternoon, was looking at it like a kid at a circus. Her eyes were lit up like Robin's had been when he'd given him the hawk.

Kane was reminded again of her lonely childhood. She had been in Sanctuary so long, everything outside those valley walls must be new and exciting to her. She'd known no other children, had no playmates. For all the agonies of his own childhood, he'd had Davy. They'd fought and teased and adventured. Nicky's life had been a town of outlaws.

He suddenly wanted to show her a fine city: New Orleans or San Francisco. He'd seen New Orleans during the early days of the war, and he'd heard about San Francisco. He wanted to show her the ocean and big cities and green mountain valleys. He wanted to show her an entirely different world than the one she knew, one barred by cliffs and filled with violence and sudden death. He wanted that for Robin, too.

“It's grand, isn't it?” she said of the dilapidated buildings and dirt streets and fading signs. A drunk lurched out of one of the saloons and fell in the middle of the street.

“Grand,” he echoed wryly.

“Where are we going?” Her brown eyes were alive with interest. He turned and looked at her. He had decided she would do better as a boy in Gooden. A new woman was always big news in a small male-dominated town. He had trimmed her hair again with his knife and pulled her hat down to shade the face. She was wearing her usual shapeless trousers and shirt, and he'd added his jacket.

“A hotel,” he said. “Traveler's Rest.” It wasn't the hotel he'd stayed at before, and it wasn't the one where he should find Ben Masters. It was, however, the more respectable of the two hotels. “You can get a bath there.”

She looked at him, questions in her eyes, but as usual she was cautious in asking them. He wished she would ask. He wished she would keep asking until he told her the truth. But she ventured only one shy question, “How long will we be here?”

“A day or two, no longer.”

“And then we'll go back to Sanctuary?”

She was worried sick about her uncle, about Robin. How much more worried would she be if she knew his purpose in coming here?

At the hotel, he helped her dismount and together they went into the hotel. It didn't have much of a lobby, just a reception area with a desk. A man behind it eyed their trail dust disdainfully.

“Two rooms next to each other,” Kane said, “For my brother and myself.”

Through the corner of his right eye, he saw Nicky's startled expression as the clerk cleared his throat and asked insultingly, “You got money?”

Kane flipped a twenty-dollar gold piece on the counter. “That enough?”

“More than enough, Mr.…?”

“Jones.”

Not very imaginative, Kane thought, but it usually stopped any additional questions. The names Smith and Jones in this town usually translated into gunmen. Sure enough, the man nodded and shoved the register over to him. “How long will you be staying?”

“I'm not sure. Two, three days. And I want enough water for a bath sent to my brother's room.”

“Yes,
sir.”
The gold piece had obviously done its job. Either that or the name Jones.

“And some wash water for me.”

Kane led the way to the rooms, made sure the key worked in the lock of Nicky's room. It did. He admonished her not to open it to anyone but him and the clerk and to stay in the room while he stabled the horses.

“Kane?” she said, as he turned to leave. Her voice was small and miserable. The excitement was gone from her face, her voice, her eyes.

He went over to her. “What is it, Nicky?”

“You will be back?”

Since the first moment he'd met her she'd been brave and bold and defiant and determined. But now he saw fear in her eyes. Self-loathing rushed through him. He'd hardly spoken to her all day, and now, when she was in a place alien to all she knew, he was leaving her with the sole purpose of betraying her.

His hand went to her cheek. “I'll be back. I promise.”

She swallowed hard. “Can I go with you?”

He touched her face with all the tenderness he felt welling up inside him. “I'm just going to see about the horses,” he said, hating the lie, hating everything he was doing, everything he was. “You get some rest.”

Something flickered, then died in her eyes. She turned away from him.

He hesitated a moment, reluctant to leave. He knew she sensed something was wrong. But the sooner he saw Masters, the sooner he could present his offer.

“I'll be back soon,” he said and left, closing the door before he could change his mind.

He took the horses to the livery, then went the few steps to the Longhorn Inn where he'd last seen Masters before the guide to Sanctuary had knocked at his door. That had been their bargain: Masters would wait at the place he'd last seen Kane.

Kane hurried his steps. He didn't want to be gone longer than necessary. Gooden was a hellhole of a town and though he knew Nicky could shoot, he couldn't help worrying about her, nor could he forget the lost, sad look on her face as if she knew something bad was happening.