Rachel Donnelly (17 page)

Christie had heard of him. He and his group of vigilante raiders committed unspeakable acts in the name of southern justice during the war. “But how do they know you?”

“I was partly responsible for rounding them up.” His voice turned harsh. “But we didn’t get all of them.”

So he’d fought in the war for the Union. No doubt life seemed cheap after all the bloodshed he’d seen. And how could she blame him? If that man was one of Quantrill’s raiders, a quick death was more than he deserved.

She’d never seen anyone who had been shot. Nat had killed the man with cold efficiency. It would stick in her mind forever.

That same cold efficiency had saved her from the Everetts.

Kill or be killed — that was the way of things here.

She’d already faced that with the Everetts. So what right did she have to judge Nat? Still, she’d never understand why he chose to live in this wild and violent place.

As soon as she recovered, she planned to board the first train home.

• • •

Time passed in a blur.

They rode hard without stopping.

Although weak with exhaustion, Christie resisted the urge to lean back against Nat. When she began to slump forward, his arm tightened around her waist. Just when she thought she couldn’t take the jarring and pounding one more second, he reined Diablo in to slow their pace.

She lifted her head to gaze at the land around them.

Rolling green hills dotted with oak trees spread out before them. Up ahead in the distant valley, cattle grazed — hundreds and hundreds of cattle. To the right stood a sprawling orchard. It was spectacular, mesmerizing, the most beautiful country she’d ever seen.

“Where are we?” she breathed.

“Dos Almas.”

When the house came into view she stared in amazement. She’d expected a Spanish style dwelling, but it looked nothing like its name. It resembled a large mansion, transplanted from a southern plantation. But somehow it all fit, like the words to a familiar song.

Beautiful rosebushes surrounded it, drooping with pink and white blooms. An upper balcony ran along the second story, extending across the veranda below. Two green shuttered windows set in the front gable above peeked wide, like friendly eyes.

To the left of it lay a cluster of outbuildings, including a larger two-story barn and a smaller stable with corrals attached. Two log cabins stood at a distance between the outbuildings and the main house, which she assumed belonged to the families of workers on the estate.

“It’s lovely!”

“It keeps the rain off.” He said it casually, but there was affection in his tone.

She tilted her head, considering the white clapboard façade. “It reminds me of Charleston, Virginia.”

Nat stiffened in the saddle behind her. “Who do you know in Charleston?”

“No one, really.”

“Why were you there?”

“I don’t remember now.” The last thing she wanted was to discuss her future, or her father with Nat. He’d likely point out how foolish she’d been to leave the security of Boston and possibility of a good marriage for what had become her fate. She shrugged. “Something to do with my father’s business. He has business acquaintances everywhere.”

Nat swung down from the saddle. “Maybe you’ll remember after you wash up some,” he said wryly.

“Do you think they’ll let me have a bath?”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” He lifted her to the ground, then looked her over with a critical eye. “I don’t know if the well will hold out, though. It’s going to take a lot of water to get you clean.”

She set her hands on her hips and quirked him a saucy smile. “Is that so! Well you’d better pray for rain then, or find yourself a stream, because I’m prepared to use as many buckets as it takes.”

He chuckled. “Maybe I should wash you myself to make sure I get my fair share.”

Her pulse quickened at his improper suggestion. If he’d planned to render her speechless, he’d certainly said the right thing. Envisioning him attending her during a bath conjured such sensual imaginings, her mind froze in mid-thought. The delicious possibility of his hands sliding over her wet skin sent her heart tapping against her breast. She had to look away in order to regain her equilibrium.

His low chuckle as he headed for the house added to her disquiet.

She followed him, all too conscious of her disheveled appearance. But she’d be darned if she’d let him know how she felt. Nat Randall was certainly no gentleman. But a lady could hardly choose her rescuer. She was stuck with him for better or worse.

What would the owners think? Her cheeks heated at the thought of entering such a grand home in her filthy, bedraggled pink gown. But visions of a bathtub filled with steaming water propelled her forward.

Nat mounted the red brick steps two at a time, crossed the veranda, and without even bothering to knock walked right in.

“Li Ling!” He called. “Where are you?”

A tiny Chinese woman in a short red jacket and black skirt with a neat coil of glossy black hair came rushing down the wide hall just as Christie stepped inside. “Mister! Why you here?” She spoke in a thick accent and so rapidly Christie had to concentrate to understand. “What? No telegraph before you come? You come to marry me now?”

“No!” Nat let go a bark of laughter. “I’m never marrying you. I told you that when I paid off Quinn.”

Li Ling shrugged.

Nat heaved a great sigh. “Look, there’s no need to fuss. I won’t be here long. I’ve brought a guest with me though, and she will be staying.” He drew Christie forward. “Miss Wallace has been through a great deal, as you can see. But I know she’ll be safe in your care.”

“What happen?” Li Ling shook her head from side to side, clucking her tongue. “What you do, drag her behind your horse?”

“It’s been a long ride.”

“No kidding, right.” She set her hands on her hips turning to Nat. “You marry her?”

“I’m not marrying anyone.”

“Good.” Li Ling turned back to Christie. “He no marry you.”

Nat groaned.

Christie shifted her gaze from Li Ling to Nat, not knowing what to think, then offered an awkward hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Li Ling smiled and lifted one brow. “You like bath?”

“Yes, please!” Christie said with as much dignity as she could, hoping she didn’t sound too desperate.

“Come.” Li Ling motioned with a little wave of her hand for Christie to follow her up the wide, central staircase carved in oak.

Christie followed close on her heels, anxious to make herself presentable before anyone else in the household clamped eyes on her or got a whiff of how badly she smelt.

Soon she’d be back to her old self.

And Nat Randall could eat his words.

Li Ling turned right at the top of the generous landing, then proceeded down the hall. Her black cotton slippers swished against the polished wood floors as they sailed past gilt framed landscapes and mirrors, set against pale gold wallpaper.

“Inez help you undress.” Li Ling opened the second door to the left. “Iago bring hot water.”

“Thank you.”

Li Ling shrugged. “You Mister’s guest. What else I do.” She hustled off down the hall.

Christie couldn’t help but smile to find herself in such civilized comfort. The large, airy room with its butter walls was like a balm, exhausted and sunburnt as she was. A luxurious blue Persian carpet covered most of the floor, adding to the cool tones.

A large wardrobe and dressing screen dominated one end of the bedchamber and a matching canopy bed the other. The mound of plump pillows and white coverlet appeared so inviting, had she not been so grimy, she might have crawled right in. The beige striped upholstered Lincoln rocker by the window looked just as tempting, but she dared not sit in it.

Instead, she waited like a dust-ball rolled out from under the bed, enjoying the splendor.

The sound of footsteps eventually spun her around.

“
Buens tardes
, I am Inez.” A shy smile flashed bright against the young girl’s smooth olive skin. She wore a colorful skirt and white blouse. A long shiny black braid bounced on her back as she scurried to the screen in the corner of the room. When she moved it aside, a large slipper-shaped copper tub appeared.

At the sight of it, Christie closed her eyes and sighed.

Now she knew she was in heaven!

A moment later a stocky Spanish gentleman dressed in white trousers and a white shirt came through the open doorway carrying two buckets of water.

“
Mi padre
, Iago,” Inez said by way of introduction.

He nodded, beaming a wide-toothed smile as he headed for the tub. After he’d left, Inez hustled to the wardrobe for towels, which she placed on a small table beside the tub.

Christie watched as she poured scented oil into the steaming water from one of several bottles on the table. “Where is your mother?” she asked to distract herself from the urgent need to strip off her clothes.

“In the kitchen.” Inez smiled. “She is the cook. Her name is Morena.”

“Have you lived here long?”

“
Sí
, since I am twelve. I am almost sixteen.” Golden flecks danced in her dark brown eyes. “Soon I will be old enough to marry. One more month, if Señor Randall approves. And I’m sure that he will. He is very generous and kind and would want me to be happy.”

“Why must Señor Randall approve?”

“My
novito
, Heriberto, works for him as well. We would not wish to offend him. He is very good to us. I like working in his house.”

Christie blinked back at Inez, attempting to comprehend what she said.

His house?

Had she heard correctly?

Iago arrived with more water, forcing her to stifle her curiosity for several long agonizing minutes.

As soon as he left she said very carefully. “I’m sorry, I thought you said Señor Randall’s house?”

“
Sí
, the
rancho
is his.” Inez began to unfasten the hooks on Christie’s gown. “He is very rich, very rich indeed.”

Christie was grateful Inez was behind her and she couldn’t see her mouth drop open in amazement. Nat? Rich? Were they discussing the same man? The insolent bounty hunter she’d just seen kill a man in cold blood? The same man who spent most of his time on the back of a horse?

“His mines are overflowing with gold. They say enough to make ten men rich for ten lifetimes.”

Christie had plenty of time to digest this as she lay soaking in the tub. So this was Nat’s house — his ranch. No wonder Li Ling wanted to marry him. But if that was true, why was he chasing after the Everetts? Why would he risk his life trying to catch three outlaws when he had so many other responsibilities? It didn’t make sense.

She closed her eyes while Inez lathered her hair with shampoo, then scrubbed her scalp with the tips of her fingers. She hadn’t felt this pampered in months. God, it felt so good! Inez rinsed her hair with a bucket of warm water. After, Christie stepped from the tub and stood on a towel while Inez patted her dry. Then, Inez instructed her to lie on the bed so that she could rub soothing lotion into Christie’s parched skin.

Her gentle kneading hands dragged a sigh of pleasure from her lips.

“You are very stiff and tense. Try to relax,” Inez instructed.

But Christie couldn’t relax — she was bursting with questions. She didn’t want the young girl to think she was prying, but she had to know. “Does Señor Randall live here alone?”

“
Sí
, it is a shame he does not have a son to leave it to. Mama says he will not marry again.” She felt Inez shrug. “But I cannot believe that. He is so handsome and still very young.”

Christie rose up on her elbows. “He was married?”

“
Sí
, to Señora Heather, but she died when the stage was robbed.”

Christie gasped. “By the Everetts?”

“
Sí
.”

That explained it — the coldness in his eyes, the simmering rage — always lurking beneath the surface. No wonder he was so determined to catch them. They killed his wife.

And she had recklessly accused him of doing it for money.

Her flesh went hot.

“They are very bad men.”

Christie sank back down, feeling the heat of shame prick her cheeks. She seized on the first topic she could think of to distract herself. “Why do you say he’ll never marry again? Wasn’t he happy in his marriage, I mean before his wife died?”

“I do not know.” Inez kneaded her fingers in a circular fashion down the length of Christie’s spine. “She was killed on the way to the Dos Almas.”

“Then she never lived here?”

“No, she came by ship to San Francisco. We spent days preparing a feast. When Señor Randall did not return,
mi padre
and some of the
vaqueros
went out to look for them.”

“And he’s been after the Everetts ever since,” Christie breathed.

“
Sí
, after he recovered from his injuries, he left with his friend Señor Holt. He comes back to Dos Almas often, but he does not stay.”

“Dos Almas … what does that mean?”

“Two souls.” Christie could hear the smile in her voice. “Is that not romantic?”

“Yes,” Christie agreed. “Very romantic.” It was such a sad and intriguing story, yet there were so many unanswered questions — things that didn’t make sense. She wanted to pump Inez for more information, but she feared if she pushed her too hard she might dry right up. She dared not risk it, but there was so much more she wanted to know.

Hours later, after her nap, Inez returned to help her prepare for dinner. She carried an armful of clothes which she laid out on the bed. “Señor Randall told me to bring you these. They have been packed away in a trunk for a very long time, but I have ironed out the wrinkles and hung them outside to air.”

“Thank you.” Christie smoothed her hand over a silvery blue silk gown. “Are you sure he doesn’t mind?”

“No, señorita, he tell me to bring them.”

The gown was two sizes too small, but Inez managed to pack Christie into it. Nat’s wife must have been no bigger than a child. Christie had to brace her hands against the wall and hold her breath while Inez fastened the hooks. She suspected the neckline, edged with gathered white sheer, wasn’t meant to be so revealing. With so little fabric to work with, her bosom had nowhere to go but up. It swelled high above the sumptuous confines of the gown with scandalous results.