A Heart So Wild (18 page)

A
POOL of yellow light fell on the hard-packed dirt street behind the little house. The back street was quiet that evening because it was removed from the Saturday night hell-raising going on along the main thoroughfare.

Chandos had been told that it was mainly dance-hall girls who lived on this lane. One of those girls was Wade Smith's woman. Her name was Loretta.

Chandos had wasted a damn lot of time locating her, because Smith was using an alias here in Paris. Also, Smith had lived very quietly in town because he was wanted by the law. No one at all knew him as Wade Smith, and only a few people knew him by his alias, Will Green.

This Will Green might be the wrong one, Chandos knew that. But he might also be the right one. Chandos was taking no chances. He stood in the shadows across the lane, watching the little house for a long time before he approached it. His gun was palmed, held close to his side. His heart beat fast. He was exhilarated. This was it, the showdown he'd desired for so long. He was about to come face-to-face with his sister's killer.

Moving stealthily to the door, Chandos carefully tried the knob. It wasn't locked. He waited, his ear to the door, hearing nothing inside. He heard only his own blood pounding in his head, nothing else.

He turned the knob slowly again, then quickly kicked the door open. The whole front wall shook as the door flew inward. Several dishes on a shelf toppled over and a cup rolled out into the middle of the dirt floor. On the bed, a blond head turned and looked down the barrel of Chandos's gun.

The breasts outlined against the sheet were tiny, barely formed. Why, the girl couldn't be more than thirteen or fourteen, Chandos realized. Was this the wrong house?

“Loretta?”

“Yeah?”

The girl cringed.

Chandos exhaled heavily. It was the right house. He should have remembered that Smith liked them young.

She had been badly beaten. One side of her face was dark and swollen. There was a black eye on the other side. An ugly dark bruise spread from her collarbone to her left shoulder, and smaller bruises ringed her upper arms, as if she had been brutally gripped. He hated to think what the rest of her would look like under that sheet.

“Where is he?”

“Wh-ho?”

She sounded pathetically young, and frightened. It made him realize how he must look to her. He hadn't bothered to shave since leaving
Courtney, and he was still pointing his gun at the girl. He holstered it.

“I'm not going to hurt you. I want Smith.”

She stiffened. Heat flashed in the one open eye as anger replaced fear.

“You're too late, mister. I turned that bastard in. The last time he beat me up was the last time.”

“He's in jail?”

She nodded. “Sure as hell is. I knew there was a ranger in town, or I wouldn't've turned him in. I didn't trust the jail here to hold him, so I told my friend Pepper to ask the ranger to come see me. I told the ranger who Wade really was. See, Wade told me 'bout this girl he killed in San Antonio. He threatened once that he'd kill me just like he did her. I believed him.”

“Did the ranger take him?” Chandos asked, trying not to sound impatient.

“Yeah. He come back here later on, him an' the marshal, an' caught Wade with his pants down. The bastard still wanted me, lookin' like this. I think he likes it better when I look like this.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Three days, mister.”

Chandos groaned. Three goddamn days. If it hadn't been for the snakebite and the bounty hunters coming after Courtney, he'd have gotten to Smith in time.

“If you wanna see him, mister,” Loretta continued, “you'll have to hightail it. That ranger knew about Wade. He said they got enough evidence against Wade down in San Antonio to hang him right after a fast trial.”

Chandos didn't doubt that. He'd been to San
Antonio soon after the killing and heard all about it. That was where he'd first lost Smith's trail.

Chandos nodded. “I'm obliged, kid.”

“I ain't no kid,” she told him. “Leastwise I don't look young when I get my face made up. I've been working the dance halls a year now.”

“There ought to be a law against it.”

“Do tell,” she retorted. “A preachin' gunslinger. If that don't beat all.” When he didn't take up her challenge, but merely turned to leave, she called out, “Hey, mister, you didn't say why you wanted Wade.”

Chandos glanced back at her. She could so easily have been a worse victim of Smith's. The girl didn't know how lucky she really was.

“I wanted him for murder, kid. That girl down in San Antonio wasn't the only young girl he's killed.”

Even across the room he could see gooseflesh appear on her arms.

“You—you don't think he could get away from the ranger—do you?”

“No.”

“I think maybe I'll move on, soon as my ribs heal.” She said it more to herself than to him.

Chandos closed the door. He closed his eyes and stood outside the little house, thinking about trying to catch up with the ranger. He could probably manage it, but the lawman wouldn't turn Smith over to him. There would be a fight, and he couldn't see killing a ranger who was only doing his duty. He'd never done that and he wasn't ready to start now.

And then there was his cateyes. If he didn't get back to Alameda before the four days were
up, she would think he'd lied. She might even try going on to Waco by herself.

That settled it—but he didn't like it one bit. When the hell had she become his first priority?

Chandos headed for the stables, frustration beginning to churn. He wasn't writing Smith off just because he'd come up empty-handed again. It certainly wasn't the first time. He would get Courtney to Waco first, and then he'd go on to San Antonio. He wasn't willing to give Smith up to the hangman. The bastard belonged to
him
.

C
OURTNEY spent Saturday afternoon writing a letter to Mattie. She had left Rockley three weeks ago—God sakes, was that all? It seemed more like months had gone by.

She wanted to let her friend know that she didn't regret her decision to go to Waco. Mama Alvarez had assured Courtney that many people came through Alameda on their way to Kansas, and one could surely be found to carry Courtney's letter.

So she wrote Mattie a long letter describing her adventures vividly, but refrained from saying that she'd fallen in love with her escort. She finished the letter by expressing again her hopes of finding her father.

Waco was less than a week away, according to Mama Alvarez. Soon Courtney would know if her intuition had led her true, or she'd been just chasing rainbows. She didn't dare consider the latter for very long, for if she didn't find her father, she would be stranded in Waco, alone, and without any money, because she owed Chandos all she had left. If it turned out that way, she had no idea what she would do.

The day passed quietly. Courtney refused to watch for Chandos anymore. She had wanted
to go downstairs to the restaurant for dinner, but Mama flatly refused, reminding her that Chandos's instructions were that she remain in bed to rest the ankle. It was better. She could even put some weight on it now and get around without the crutch, but she gave in. Mama Alvarez meant well. She was kindness itself—the exact opposite of her daughter.

Courtney had asked her questions and learned that Calida worked in a saloon at night serving drinks—just that, nothing else, Mama assured her. Courtney sensed that Calida's mother didn't approve at all. Mama said emphatically that Calida didn't have to work at all, that she worked only because she wanted to.

“Stubborn. My
niña
is stubborn. But she is a grown woman. What can I do?”

Courtney understood working in order to feel useful, for extra money—but in a saloon? When she didn't have to?

Courtney counted herself fortunate that another day had passed without her being bothered again by the unpleasant Calida, and she dismissed her with that thought.

She went to bed early that night. Mama had gone to a party, and Calida was working, so the place was quiet. It was very noisy out in the street, however, because it was Saturday night, and Alameda was no different from other frontier towns. Men caroused all night, knowing they could sleep it off Sunday morning. Most of them didn't have wives to drag them to church.

She smiled to herself, remembering how, in Rockley, she had often seen men nodding off in church, seen the bleary, reddened eyes, even
seen some men holding their heads in pain when the sermon got too loud. It was probably the same here in Alameda.

She finally dozed off, and it wasn't long before she was dreaming. The dream became unpleasant. She was hurt. There was a weight crushing her chest. She was crying and she couldn't breathe. And then Chandos was there, telling her not to cry, soothing her fears the way only Chandos could do.

Soon he was kissing her, and she woke slowly, finding that he really
was
kissing her. It was his weight pressing on her that she'd been dreaming of. She didn't stop to wonder why he hadn't wakened her, only to rejoice that he wanted her. He gave in to his desire so seldom.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close to her. His mustache tickled her face. Courtney went cold.

“You're not Chandos!” she cried, struggling against him.

Horror had made her voice shrill, and a hand covered her mouth. His hipbone knocked against hers and she felt his manhood hard against her belly. He was naked. The realization tore a scream from her, but his hand muffled it.

“Shh…
Dios!
” She bit his hand. He jerked the hand loose, then quickly put it back. “What is wrong with you, woman?” he hissed, exasperated.

Courtney tried to speak, but his hand was pressed against her mouth.

“No, I am not Chandos,” he said irritably. “What do you want with that one anyway? He
is
muy violento
. Besides, he is not here. I will do,
sí?
”

She shook her head with such force that she nearly dislodged his hand.

“You do not like Mexicans?” he said sharply, and the anger in his voice caused her to remain perfectly still.

“Calida told me you want a man,” he went on. “She say's you are not particular. So I come here to do you a service—not force myself on you. Do you wish to see me first? Is that what is wrong?”

Stunned, Courtney nodded slowly.

“You will not scream when I take away my hand?” he asked, and she shook her head. He removed his hand. She didn't scream.

He moved off her, watching her carefully as he got off the bed. She still didn't scream, and he began to relax again.

Courtney knew how little good it would do her to scream. There was no one in the house and so much noise outside in the street that nobody would pay any attention. Instead, she reached under her pillow very carefully, feeling for her gun. That was one habit developed on the trail that she was thankful for. Not that she meant to use the gun. She didn't think she would have to shoot the stranger.

Just as he struck a match, looking around for a lamp, Courtney managed to tug the sheet up over her without a sound and aim the gun. He saw the gun and stopped moving. He didn't even breathe.

“Don't drop that match, mister,” Courtney warned. “If that light goes out, I shoot.”

Courtney felt her blood begin to warm. It was
a heady thing, the power a gun gave. She'd never fired it, but he didn't know that. Her hand was steady. She wasn't afraid now, and he was.

“Light the lamp, but don't make any sudden moves…slowly, slowly, that's right,” she directed. “Now you can blow out the match. Good,” she said after he had followed her instructions. “Now, just who the hell are you?”

“Mario.”

“Mario?” Her brow knitted thoughtfully. “Where have I heard…?”

She remembered. Chandos had mentioned the name in his nightmare that night. What had he said? Something about Calida going to Mario's bed.

“So you're a friend of Calida's?” she said scornfully.

“We are cousins.”

“Cousins, too? How nice for you.”

Her tone made him even more nervous. “My clothes,
señorita?
May I put them on? I think I have made a mistake.”

“No, you didn't make the mistake, Mario, your cousin did. Yes, yes, put your clothes on.” She was beginning to get flustered. “Be quick about it.”

He was, and once she felt it was safe to look at him other than directly at his face, she appraised him. He was a big man, not so much tall as brawny, and most of his weight was in his chest. No wonder she'd felt crushed. God sakes, he probably could have snapped her in two with his hands. Certainly he could have finished what he'd come for, if he'd been in
clined to use force. Thank God he wasn't a really bad man.

“I will go,” he said hopefully. “With your permission, of course.”

It was meant as a cue for her to lower her gun. She didn't.

“In a moment, Mario. What exactly did Calida tell you?”

“Lies, I think.”

“I don't doubt that, but what lies, exactly?”

He decided to be blunt and get it over with. “She said you were a whore,
señorita
, that you had come to Alameda to work in Bertha's house.”

Courtney's cheeks flamed. “Bertha's is a whorehouse?”

“
Sí
. A very fine one.”

“What am I doing here, then, if I intend to live there?”

“Calida said you had an injured foot.”

“That's true.”

“She said you were staying here with her mama only until you recovered.”

“That's not all she told you, Mario. Finish.”

“There is more, but you will not like it, I fear.”

“Let me hear it anyway,” Courtney replied coldly.

“She said you wanted a man,
señorita
, that you…could not wait for…until you moved to Bertha's. She said you asked her to find you a man, that you were—desperate.”

“Why that lying…” Courtney exploded. “Did she really
say
‘desperate'?”

He nodded vigorously, watching her closely.
Fury was evident in every line of her face, and her gun was still pointing at his heart.

She surprised him.

“You can go. No, don't stop to put your boots on. Carry them. And Mario.” Her voice stopped him at the door. “If I find you in my room again, I'll blow your head off.”

He didn't doubt that.