Diablo (6 page)

The blacksmith stuck out his hand. “We didn't get introduced yesterday. I'm Andy, blacksmith and stabler. You need anything, you come to me. You did real good with the boy yesterday.”

“Everybody call him ‘the boy'?” Kane was curious about the relationships in Sanctuary.

Andy raised an eyebrow. “Someone else did?”

“Man named Hildebrand.”

“He must have been asking you about yesterday then. Natural enough, I guess. One Yancy disappearing like that, the other being asked to leave.”

“Asked to leave?”

Andy grinned suddenly. “Guess he didn't have too much choice.”

“Does that happen often?”

The smile disappeared. “No. Not many challenge Mr. Thompson nor fool with his kin. Them that do don't live long.”

“So I understand.” Kane mounted his horse. “Any suggestions as to where to ride?”

“Just don't go too close to the canyon walls without escort,” Andy said. “You saw the creek yesterday. There's some right pleasant places along it, even a pretty good fishing spot a few miles down.”

Kane nodded. “How's the boy doing?”

“Well enough. Madder 'n hell at being shot. Even madder at being used by that coyote. One good thing—he'll sure as hell be more careful next time.”

“It has to be hard on him, no other kids here.”

“Better than an orphanage.” Andy scowled as if he'd said too much. “Remember about not getting too close to the canyon walls.”

Kane touched his spurs to the sides of his horse and cantered off down the street.

Except for a brief trip to the general store, Nicky spent most of the day with her brother, who slept, aided by laudanum. His wound looked ugly, but Nicky guessed his pride suffered the greater damage. Who wouldn't hurt at being used and being seen helpless and weak? Perhaps it was just as well; his embarrassment might keep him away from Diablo.

Funny, but Diablo hadn't seemed much like the devil yesterday. He'd been compassionate, and his offer to take the blame had completely blindsided her. There had to be a reason, she kept telling herself. No one did something for nothing, not in her world. Maybe there were knights in shining armor in books, but not in real life. Diablo wanted something. But what was it?

Right now, Nicky only wanted him to stay away from Robin—and from her. Although he didn't act like the devil, he looked like the devil, the devil of temptation. A vivid image of his nude form, only partially concealed by a curtain, flashed in her mind, bringing color to her cheeks. In that brief moment before she'd torn her gaze away from him, she'd been unable to breathe. He'd looked magnificent.

Suddenly unable to sit still, she stood and started prowling the house. Her uncle kept most of the Wanted posters and articles about outlaws at home, and she found the file on Diablo. She'd read it before, but she wanted to read it again. There were two Wanted posters, one dated a year ago, the other a more recent one. She knew the particulars: six foot one, one hundred and seventy pounds, dark hair, gray eyes. Wanted for murder and numerous robberies. He was an ex-cavalry man, a captain with the reb army, who had turned outlaw after the war.

Sanctuary had seen its share of others like him, men who hadn't been able to return to civilian life after the war. Despite that similar background he wasn't like the others, which made him dangerous to her. Instinct told her he was also dangerous to her uncle, but she didn't know how or why.

Later, toward dusk, she went outside on the porch for some fresh air and saw him riding toward the house. He was barely touching the reins, which were draped over the saddle horn, and his hands were holding something.

“Miss Thompson,” he greeted her.

She nodded in acknowledgment.

“I found a baby hawk. It must have fallen from a nest in the canyon wall.” He hesitated a moment, then continued. “I thought maybe your brother might like to take care of it.”

Nicky was delighted. She loved animals, and so did Robin. Their dog, Caesar, had died last year, and Robin had been heartbroken. She held out her hands for the bird, cuddled the small thing for a few seconds, and looked up at O'Brien. “How did you know?”

Color rose in his face. If she hadn't known better she almost would have called it a blush.

“Kids and animals go together,” he said curtly, almost rudely, then moved his horse back a few steps and continued his way to the hotel.

She could only stare at him in astonishment. None of the other guests would have cared about the bird or Robin's feelings.

He's an outlaw, she told herself. A deadly one. And yet his guarded gray eyes held little cruelty. She didn't get that icy feeling around him as she did with the others, as though they were rattlesnakes coiling to hit. Maybe he hid those snake bands better than most.

She'd also seen her share of charmers, whose laughter turned lethal in a matter of seconds. Her uncle was like that. His magnetism was the first secret of Sanctuary's success, his hardness, the second. When one didn't work, the other did. Could Diablo be setting her up for the kill?

“Hellfire,” she muttered. Cradling the small bird in her hand, she took it in to Robin.

Kane stabled his horse, then went directly to the saloon. He needed a drink. He'd discovered that Nat Thompson protected his valley very well indeed. Guards seemed to be at every possible exit. The only way to discover Sanctuary's location was from within. None of the guests knew what that location was, but he'd lay money that Thompson's niece did.

Miss Thompson. The woman with tough talk and eyes that had warmed when he'd handed her the bird minutes ago. Her mouth had turned up into a delighted smile. Her hands had been gentle as they'd stroked the small hawk, and he'd felt a sudden, unexpected ache to have them touch him.

Had anyone ever touched him with such care and tenderness?

He'd had a hawk for a brief time as a boy. His father had wrung its neck, saying it would kill the chickens when it grew up. So when he'd found the baby hawk today, he couldn't have left it to starve to death. But nursing it didn't exactly go with his image as a hardened gun-fighter. Then he'd thought of Robin.

Taking it to the house was a foolish thing to do. He'd realized it the moment he saw the woman.

He tried to shrug away the confusion she stirred in him. With Davy's life at stake, he shouldn't be concerned with the likes of Miss Thompson. Still, he wasn't able to keep himself from wondering about her first name. He went over possibilities in his mind, but none fit. Some were too soft, some too hard. She was neither, but a fascinating combination of grit and vulnerability.

He would never know her name, because he was going to stay away from her. Everything in him rebelled against using her, betraying her. But what if that was the only way to save Davy?

He entered the busy saloon, and everyone turned to look. Some automatically reached for guns that weren't there. He sauntered up to the crowded bar, saw Hildebrand motion for Kane to join him at the other end where he stood with several men.

“Meet the others,” Hildebrand said, and ran off a series of names, some of which Kane recognized.

“How do you like our little town?” one asked him.

“Interesting,” Kane replied noncommittally.

“You here for long?”

“Long enough for a posse to lose my trail.”

One man sidled up to him. Like Kane, he wore a scar across his cheek. The man put a hand to his. “How did you get yours?”

“The war,” Kane said curtly.

The other man looked disappointed and walked away. Kane wondered what kind of answer he had wanted. He turned back to his drink, discouraging conversation. He felt like a wolf among coyotes. They might have some ancestry in common, even some interests, but he didn't like the association.

The men he'd ridden with the last few years had all been ex-rebs. They hadn't been thieves by choice but by injustice. Their land had been taken, and in some cases their families killed. They'd come back from war to nothing, to carpetbaggers stealing land settled and worked by their fathers. Their families had fought the Mexicans and Indians and drought and flood for their small dreams, for the right to live and farm and ranch on their land. They'd been fighting for that these past two years, as they had fought four long years of official war. The stakes had been the same, but the odds had been stacked even more heavily against them.

That was
his
justification for outlawry, anyway. He wondered whether Nat Thompson had any.

“Come on, Diablo,” Hildebrand said. “Join us in a poker game.”

Kane nodded. He followed Hildebrand and three others to a table. Parker. Kayo. Curry. Curry, he remembered, was wanted for a bloody bank robbery where two kids were killed. Kane shuffled the cards and started dealing.

The game broke up three hours later. Kane was the big winner, which did not endear him to the others. Curry, in particular, was a poor loser as well as a piss-poor poker player. He swore several times and kicked over a chair when he rose.

Hildebrand shrugged. He and Kane were the only two left at the table. “He'll get over it.”

Kane poured his companion a glass of whiskey from the bottle he'd just purchased. “Does he always play that badly?”

“Only when he drinks too much.”

Which was often, Kane thought, if one paid attention to the unhealthy color of his face.

“What about tomorrow night?” Hildebrand said. “I want a chance to get my money back.”

“Don't know why not. Nothing else to do here,” Kane said. “You been here long?”

Hildebrand sighed. “A month. I'm just about broke. I'm trying to recruit a couple of men for a bank job. You interested?”

“Might be,” Kane said slowly. “Right now it's pretty hot out there. Whole state of Texas is looking for me.”

“I'm not thinking about Texas.”

Kane allowed his interest to show, though he said nothing, just waited for more information.

“Kansas,” Hildebrand said. “Cattlemen are taking their herds up there, and buyers have lots of money in those banks. I could use a man like you.”

“Who else is going along?”

Hildebrand's eyes grew cautious. “I'm not sure yet.”

“I want to know the men I ride with,” Kane said. “I don't take chances. I'll let you know when you recruit the others.” He poured Hildebrand another drink. “You have any idea how far that bank is from here?”

“Depends on where you tell Thompson you want to go. I figure about ten, twelve days hard riding from the Texas border.

That was little help. Hell, he might as well ask. “You have any idea where we are?”

Hildebrand shook his head. “Don't really want to know. That's dangerous knowledge. Real dangerous.”

“Thompson's got a good thing going here.”

“Wish to hell I had some of it,” Hildebrand said. “No risk. Just money pouring in.”

“I think I would get bored real quick,” Kane said. “Risks are what makes the game interesting.”

“Speaking of interesting, I saw you talking to Nicky Thompson.”

“Nicky?”

“Thompson's niece. She's real class, but she doesn't have anything to do with us. That's Thompson's first rule. First time I came here two years ago, a man tried to kiss her. Thompson had him whipped near to death. Never saw or heard of him again.”

“I'll remember that.” Kane took another glass of whiskey. He shouldn't. He needed his wits about him. But the mention of the woman had rattled him. Nicky. The name suited her.

He abruptly rose, shoving the bottle over to Hildebrand. “Take it. I'm going to Rosita's.”

Hildebrand leered. “If you're going to Rosita's, ask for Cara.”

Maybe he
would
, Kane thought. Maybe that's all he needed: physical release. He started for the brothel next to the saloon, but stopped when he saw a light on in the stone house at the end of the street.

Nicky.

Damn it all to hell. He had as much business thinking about her as he did about a future. Muttering a curse, he continued on to Rosita's.

So he was like the others, after all.

Jealousy whipped angrily inside Nicky as she watched through the window, though there was no reason for it. She had no claim on Diablo, wanted none. Still, it hurt so much to think of him with one of the women at Rosita's.

Men had needs, Nicky knew that. Andy's wife, Juanita, had whispered the intimate secrets to her, and she'd heard men talk about it when they thought she wasn't listening.

Would she ever find out those secrets for herself? Certainly not unless she left Sanctuary.

Feeling empty and lonely, she left her room to check on Robin. He was asleep. On the floor beside him lay the hawk in a makeshift bed. Robin had already named it Diablo.

She crawled into her own bed, suddenly feeling seven years old—and deserted again. It was the way she'd felt when her mother died, and then her father. It didn't make sense. Still, the ball of misery rolled around inside her. She wanted something. She wanted it so badly it hurt. But she didn't know what it was. It couldn't be Kane O'Brien. She would never fall in love with a man like her uncle or father. She'd loved them both dearly, but losing her father had hurt too much, and she didn't doubt that losing Uncle Nat would be as bad. She felt a dampness on her cheeks and touched them. Tears. She hadn't shed tears since her father died.

Nicky wiped them away angrily. No, she would never allow herself to care for a man like Diablo.

Kane slammed around his room, taking out his frustration on everything he touched. He cursed Masters repeatedly. He even wished a return to his prison cell. There had been fewer moral dilemmas there. Just waiting. Just emptiness.

He'd found Cara at Rosita's, had taken her to one of the rooms in back. He'd watched appreciatively as she'd stripped slowly and seductively. But as he had leaned down to kiss her, another face came between them, a pixielike face with big brown eyes, a wide mouth, and a too-serious expression.