Diablo (5 page)

She had known this would happen one day. But nothing could have prepared her for the despair she felt at taking someone's life. She felt sick inside.

Diablo, who was riding ahead with Robin, looked back. He reined in his own horse until she was abreast of him, and she felt his watchful gaze settle on her. “Tell Yancy's brother I did it.”

Nothing he could have said would have surprised her more.

“Why?”

“I can take care of myself.”

He couldn't have insulted her more. “What do you think I just did?”

“I think you just killed your first man, and you don't need another on your conscience. You certainly don't need it on your stomach. You look like you're going to upchuck.”

She glared at him. “I'm fine.”

“Good. Your brother isn't.”

All of Nicky's attention went to Robin. He was swaying in his saddle. She moved her horse around to his side. “Just a few more minutes, Robin. Hold on.”

“I'm sorry, Sis. I shouldn't have gone with … Cobb Yancy, but—”

“Hush,” she said. “If you hadn't, Yancy would have found something else. He was after more than me.”

But Robin wasn't listening. He was holding on to his saddle horn for dear life, and his face was a white mask now.

“Maybe I should ride ahead,” she said. “Get some help.”

“You got a doctor in this place?” Diablo asked.

“Not right now. But Andy—”

“Andy?”

“The blacksmith. He knows some medicine, and I can sew up a wound.”

“Go on ahead, and get him ready,” Diablo ordered. “I'll get your brother there.” He stopped his horse, slipped off and then mounted behind Robin, holding him upright in the saddle.

Could she really trust Diablo that much? Dare she leave him alone with Robin?

“I'll take care of him,” Diablo said, more gently this time.

Nicky finally nodded and spurred her mare into a gallop.

Kane handled young Thompson gingerly. The boy reminded him of himself years ago, particularly the bravado. The kid was obviously in severe pain, but he wasn't going to show it.

“Hang on,” Kane said. The wound wasn't too bad. The boy would survive. But for what? To get caught in a shoot-out here? To see his uncle and perhaps his sister go to prison?

He thought about how the girl had looked so determined as she'd held a gun on him, and yet she had to have been scared. And the boy trying so hard to be a man …

What in the hell were they doing here?

Keep your distance
, he told himself.
You can't afford pity, or sympathy or … anything else.

The boy slumped farther in the saddle. “What's your name?” Kane asked.

“Robin,” the boy replied in a weak voice.

“Well, Robin, you're going to be fine. Just try to keep awake.”

The boy struggled to sit up straight.

“Don't,” Kane said. “I'll hold you.”

“I can do … it myself.”

“I know,” Kane said softly, fighting off the unwanted memories that were beginning to surface. Memories of Davy's family rescuing him from hunger and fear.

The strange little town came into view, and the street that wasn't anywhere on a map. “The first house,” the boy said. Several people had gathered in front of the stone and adobe house, which was the finest in Sanctuary, Kane had noticed.

He guided the horse to the hitching post, and Nat Thompson, his face red and full of anger, reached for his nephew.

Kane helped lower the boy, and another man, a huge man with biceps like tree trunks, carried him inside. The girl, who had been watching from the porch, followed, leaving Kane alone in the street.

He was ready to turn his horse and return to the hotel when an older man he hadn't seen yet walked out the door.

“Come inside,” the man said.

It wasn't an invitation, and Kane had to tamp down his resentment before he dismounted.

When he reached the door, the man stuck out his hand. “I'm Mitch Evers.” Wondering exactly what Evers's role was, Kane took the man's hand, somehow understanding that he didn't extend it often.

“I hear you offered to take blame for the shooting,” Evers said. “That won't be necessary. John Yancy is now being escorted from Sanctuary. He won't be back.” There was a hardness to his voice that belied the slight smile on his lips.

Kane didn't ask any questions. He just nodded and turned to leave.

“Nat wants to see you. He'll be here as soon as he makes sure Robin is all right.”

“The boy should be okay,” Kane replied. “He lost a lot of blood, but I don't think the bullet hit anything serious.”

“You sound like you know a lot about wounds.”

“I was in the war four years.”

Evers nodded, and the two men went inside to a large main room. Evers went to a cabinet and turned to Kane. “Want a drink?”

Kane nodded.

Evers poured one. He didn't look at Kane. “Not curious about Yancy?”

“It's none of my business.”

“Then why did you interfere out there?”

“I figure a gunshot in my vicinity
is
my business.”

Evers chuckled. “Mebbe so.” He handed Kane a glass filled with amber-colored liquid. Kane took it, sipped appreciatively. It was good whiskey.

Evers waved a hand toward a chair, and Kane sat. Like everything else about this house, the chair was good quality and comfortable.

Kane sensed that being invited inside Nat Thompson's home was unusual. His first meeting with Thompson had suggested nothing but cold professionalism. Through no design on his part, Kane had apparently made a unique place for himself, and he didn't care for it. He had made his offer to the Thompson girl instinctively, and now he was in the home of Sanctuary's mayor, drinking his whiskey. Masters would be proud. Kane squirmed a little, feeling dirty inside.

The door to another room opened, and Nat Thompson appeared. Kane stood and was gestured back down again. He endured a very long searching study.

“What were you doing out there?” Thompson asked. The question came unexpectedly, like a lightning bolt from clear skies.

“I like to know something about the place I'm in,” Kane replied.

“I'd think you'd rather be drinking after that long ride.”

Kane shrugged. “I've been on the run too long to give up certain habits.”

Thompson visibly relaxed as if he understood that line of thinking. “Not too many of my customers feel that way. They generally spend the first few days in the saloon or in bed.”

“Maybe they haven't spent time in jail … or getting as close as I did to the noose.”

“Most of them wouldn't have interceded in something that didn't concern them, either.”

“I didn't have to intercede. Your niece had everything under control.”

“You helped my nephew. You made an offer that could have got you killed. I owe you for that.”

The last thing Kane wanted was this man's gratitude. Not when Kane's sole aim was to see Thompson hung or sent to prison.

Kane gulped the rest of his whiskey and stood. “How's the boy doing?”

“Andy says he'll be fine in a few days.”

“He's got spunk.”

“Too much for his own good.”

Then why is he here?
Kane wanted to ask. Thompson was crazy for allowing a kid and a girl to run loose among men like him.

Thompson seemed to read his mind. “They don't have anyone else. I try to protect them, but …” He stopped, then sighed. “You have my thanks.”

Kane shook his head. “It isn't necessary. I think I'll go get some of that rest you mentioned.”

Thompson smiled for the first time. “When I said bed, I didn't particularly mean rest.”

Kane smiled. “Maybe later. Your method of traveling was none too comfortable.”

“Maybe not, but it's effective in keeping you and the others safe.”

And you.
Kane kept that thought to himself, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment.

“You want a woman, it's on me,” Thompson said. “For as long as you're here.”

That the offer left him cold stunned Kane. It had been a long time since he'd last slept with a woman, and yet the thought of being with just
any
woman didn't appeal to him. He cared even less for the thought that maybe a toffee-hair girl in pants did.

He nodded again, put the glass down, and headed for the door before Thompson's all-too-perceptive eyes read his mind.

Chapter Four

Kane slept through the night and much of the next day, not waking until late afternoon.

He'd had only one nightmare—of being hit by his father.

Kane was incorrectly named for the biblical character who had killed his brother. For it was his mother he had killed—though not through evil intent. His birth had been fraught with complications, and his mother had died. His father had never forgiven him; and, being illiterate, had never known the name was misspelled.

Kane rose from the bed and, without bothering to cover his nude body, went to the window. Sanctuary could get monotonous, with its one street, one saloon, one house of joy. Safety had its price, and not only in money. The street looked as it did yesterday; men wandered it with no particular purpose in mind. He wondered how many knew what had happened yesterday. Or if they even cared.

Kane stretched as if he could remove the kinks in his thoughts as well as his body. He was still looking out the window when he saw Thompson's niece heading toward the hotel. She looked up and he realized she could see him. Her eyes widened, then she quickly headed toward the store across the street. How could her innocence have survived in a place like this?

Kane dressed, then walked down the stairs to the dining room. One man was sitting at a table; the other six tables were empty.

“Mr. Diablo,” the man said as he rose from his seat.

“O'Brien,” Kane corrected him.

“Mr. O'Brien it is,” the man said cheerfully. “We've been waiting for you to wake up. This meal is on the house, Mr. Thompson said.”

If this was a singular honor, it was one he could do without. “Steak, if you have it.”

“Oh, we have nearly everything, particularly beef. Have our own herd here.”

Kane grinned his most disarming grin, the one that usually got him what he wanted. “Seems you have everything a man could want.”

“Mayor Thompson planned it that way,” the man said. “I'm Jeb Gibson.”

“You a permanent resident?”

Jeb nodded. “I run the hotel, do most of the cooking. Help's hard to get.”

“How many live here?” Kane asked, true interest behind the question. He was fascinated by Sanctuary's resemblance to a real town … and the violence that lay simmering beneath the peace.

“Oh, about twelve to fifteen, depending.”

“Depending on what?”

Jeb Gibson's loquaciousness came to a sudden end, as if an invisible gag had been shoved in his mouth. He turned toward the door, muttering. “Better get that steak. Be just a few minutes.”

Kane found himself a chair, one backed to the wall so he could see anyone who entered. He wondered where the other “guests” were, and who they were.

He was halfway through a steak when several started wandering in. They eyed him curiously, gazes quickly going to the scar on his face. He would have recognized them anywhere, not particularly who they were, but what they were, even without their gunbelts. There was a coldness in their eyes, a cautiousness as they surveyed the room—and himself. He felt a sudden chill. He was one of these men, so much so that the law sent him here: an outlaw to catch outlaws.

Only one came up to him. He was a tall, rangy man, and he walked like a panther. He thrust out his hand. “Sam Hildebrand,” he said. “Heard you was a reb. I fought them Yanks in Missouri.”

Kane knew the name. The man was rumored to run with Frank and Jesse James. He took the hand and acknowledged the introduction with a nod.

His reticence didn't seem to bother Hildebrand, who dropped down on a seat at his table. “We're having a poker game this evening. Thought you might like to join us.”

“Why not?” Something about Hildebrand made Kane's skin crawl. Kane had turned outlaw to survive. Hildebrand was a man born to banditry and death. Kane had heard tales of the bushwhackers in Missouri; as far as he was concerned they had nothing to do with war, and everything to do with personal greed and blatant killing. But every bit of information he could gather would help him.

He finished his steak and rose from his seat. “When is the game?”

“A few hours. Over at the saloon,” Hildebrand replied.

“Think I'll take a look around first.”

“Heard you did some lookin' yesterday. Some men saw you come riding in with the kid. Strange about that. Some of Thompson's men came and fetched John Yancy about the same time. Escorted him out, they did, and without his brother. Which means Cobb is dead.”

Kane should have guessed. Gossip seemed to be the chief activity here. Now he knew why he'd been asked for poker.

Kane shrugged. “Found the kid hurt, that's all.”

“Just the same, John might wonder about your part in it.”

“That's his problem.” Kane brushed past him.

“Just a friendly warning. The Yancys have a reputation for getting even.”

Kane didn't answer. This whole thing was turning into a mess. But John Yancy was the least of his worries.

He strode to the stable, found his horse and saddled it. The blacksmith came over to him.

“Going someplace?” the man asked.

“Feeling a bit restless. Any suggestions for a ride?”

“I would think after yesterday you might want to stay in town a while.”

“It goes against my grain to stay still long,” Kane replied. “I've been running nigh onto two years now. I like to study my exits.”