Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) (18 page)

“Kill it!” Romeros shouted. “Kill the bull!”

But he was being drowned out by thousands of voices shouting, “
Indulto!
Pardon! Pardon for the bull!”

Perhaps once in a lifetime a man saw a crowd begging pardon for a bull, once in a lifetime. And it had to be a great bull, an animal that had fought so bravely, had been so gallantly magnificent, that the crowd forgave the bull its debt to die.

“Kill it!” Romeros raged, waving his arms. “Kill it!”

But around him, the crowd’s roar grew louder and louder. “
Indulto!
Pardon! Pardon!”

He alone seemed to want to see El Satanás Negro die. Even the matador acknowledged with a slight shake of his head that the black bull had indeed earned the right to live. The matador turned to the president’s box for instruction.

Romeros felt helpless fury. He was being cheated of his fantasy of killing the bull, the thrill of seeing it go to its knees, the sword protruding from its bloody back.

The president stood up from his box, faced the crowd. Those in the stand and the bull and the matador waited. Then the president made the gesture pardoning the great beast, and the crowd went wild, pounded each other’s backs, shouted, threw their hats in the air in honor of the brave bull.

Señors Falcon and Durango rejoiced in the stands, hugging each other, overcome with the emotion of it all. Only Romeros stood sullen, angry that he had been cheated of the beast’s death. Durango’s friend had presented El Satanás Negro as a gift to Gomez to be brought home to sire more brave bulls and to enjoy the rest of his life munching grass in the Durango pasture.

The jingling of the nose chain brought Romeros back to reality, and he found himself standing and looking through the fence at the old bull.

“Ho, toro!
It’s me again? Remember?”

The bull stared at him, the moonlight reflecting off its sharp horns. Possibly it couldn’t smell him, Romeros thought, possibly its nearsighted eyes recognized the big paint horse and associated it with the torment that was sure to follow. The great creature hesitated, then went back to munching grass.

Romeros felt disappointment. The bull was indeed getting old. Many times had he teased and tormented it since it had been brought here from its pardon in the Mexico City arena.

“Ho, toro!”
He picked up a pair of stones, threw one hard. It caught the elderly beast on the edge of its gray muzzel, and the bull winced and snorted.

Romeros laughed joyously. “Hey, stupid bull! How you like that?”

Blood gleamed now on the gray hair. The animal shook its head, blood flying as it snorted and pawed. Then it charged the fence.

Romeros jumped backward, hanging onto the reins of the startled, stamping horse. The fence trembled and shook as the brute slammed against it.

“Hey,
toro.
Come and get me!” he taunted. The fence trembled and shook, but Romeros wasn’t afraid. He’d done this many times and the bull had never managed to break through. Although if it ever reached him, it surely intended to kill him.

Romeros reached into his boot, felt the handle of the knife. How easily he could reach through the fence now, drive it to the hilt into the straining muscles of the brute’s back. He considered a long moment as the bull snorted and shook the fence. It would be enjoyable,
sí
. But it would be killing the goose that laid the golden egg. The thrill he got from tormenting the bull several times a month outweighed the brief moment of pleasure he would get from killing it. Besides, if it were killed, someone would ask questions, might remember how he had demanded its death so many years ago. No, as much as he would like to, he would not kill the brute.

He looked up at the moon. It was late. He had no more time tonight to enjoy mistreating the animal. Romeros mounted up and rode close to the fence. “You black devil,” he snarled, “we’ll continue this another time.”

Regretfully, he turned and loped off toward the Durango home. The sight and smell of blood, the thrill of torture had excited him. He would enjoy the woman even more now.

He walked the stallion the last few hundred yards. The white adobe ranch gleamed in the moonlight as he rode up under her balcony, dismounted. Tying the reins to the bougainvillea trellis, he climbed the sturdy vine. Bright pink blossoms perfumed the air as he climbed up onto the balcony.

She waited for him as he’d ordered her to, leaning against the open French door in her sheer nightdress.

He put his hand on her shoulder, pushed the sheer fabric down so that her fine breasts shone in the moonlight. “I need you bad tonight,” he said.

She twisted away from his hand, reluctance on her lovely face. “You’re nothing more than an animal, Romeros.”

“I’m a stallion, a great bull.” He laughed. “And you’re going to service me like a mare, a heifer, would.”

The breeze picked up, blowing the sheer nightdress around her long, slender legs. Her red hair whipped about her face like strands of fire. In his mind, he saw another girl, a sheet wrapped about her, her hair aflame. The vision excited him still further.

Mona turned back through the door. “Let’s get it over with,” she said dully.

“Such eager passion!” He sneered, following her in, closing the French doors behind him. “I thought high-dollar whores tried to fake it for the customer.”

Mona paused by the bed, stripped off her nightdress, let it fall to the floor. “I’m sorry I ever crossed your path in New Orleans, sorry I let you talk me into this plot.”

He came over, caught her hair, and twisted it, drawing her face up to his. “We’re in this together, remember? Old Durango can’t live forever and then we’ll have his wealth.”

She tried to pull away from him, but he had his hands tangled in her hair. “You’re hurting me.”

“You’ll think ‘hurt’ if you don’t please me. I’m looking forward to controlling the old man’s money.”

“If you can control his snippy little daughter. She’s got a mind of her own, and now she’s back from that convent where I got Gomez to send her.”

He twisted his hand tighter in her hair, enjoying the pain on her face. “Amethyst will marry the Falcon fortune and then we’ll control that, too, because I control Tony.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with revulsion. “So you’re part of that plot! I should have known!”

“You know that man, don’t you?” He pulled her up against him by her hair.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do, Mona. I saw the way you two looked at each other. How do you know him?”

“I never saw him before in my life!”

He twisted his hand so that it pulled her hair, and tears came to her eyes. “
Puta,
whore—tell me about him.”

She flinched at the epithet. “Maybe I saw him once or twice. Perhaps he was a customer when I worked at Miss Fancy’s in San Antone, just like you were.”

He slapped her hard and blood ran down her mouth. “You should have told me that to begin with, bitch! Well, we’re safe since he and I have our own little plot.”

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “Watch out, Romeros. This whole thing could ricochet on us.”

“A man makes his own fate—his own destiny—whore,” Romeros sneered, running his free hand over her naked body. “All these years, I’ve been cheated out of what I should have had. I’ll have both fortunes now and all the power I need.” And both women, he thought, both women and no one will be able to stop me.

Tears glistened in her green eyes. “If you try to hurt the Texan, I’ll expose you, I’ll—”

“Don’t threaten me,” he snarled, “or I’ll expose you. I’ll tell that fat old fool, Durango, I was mistaken about your fine reputation. That I’ve just discovered to my embarrassment that the ‘lady’ earns her living flat on her back!”

He untangled his fingers from her hair and she slumped down on the bed. “I’m sorry I got into this. Gomez is really a nice, harmless man and—”

“His spunky daughter has eyes for the heir.”

He enjoyed the look of dismay on Mona’s face. “Does that mean we’re not going to be able to keep her in that convent school? Will she marry him?”

“That’s why she’s been brought home, or didn’t you realize that?” He stood looking down at her. “Understand that, whore? Pretty little Amethyst is going to end up in bed with that big, dumb Texan.”

It was sort of like tormenting the bull, he thought with amusement, seeing the anguish on her face. Whatever her relationship with that
tejano
had been, Mona was in love with him. “You’re just a stupid whore, Mona, an aging whore. If you lose this chance, how much longer can you work at a high-class place before you and that old madam end up out on the street, starving?”

She shuddered. “I . . . I’ve been wondering if I can really go through with this.”

He moved the match from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Is that a fact now? Don’t go getting soft on me now,
puta
. When old Gomez dies, the foreman of the neighboring ranch will make a wonderful second husband.”

“People would talk. Besides, Durango’s in good health.”

“So was Miss Callie.”

Guilt and pain crossed her features and she wept. “I never realized you’d go that far! You ought to hang!”

He unbuttoned his pants. “If there’s a rope for me, there’s one for you, too,
puta
.”

She looked up at him, helpless, afraid. “When I told you that, I never dreamed—”

“Who’d believe that?” The sight of her fear excited him, made him want her. “You know why I came, Mona.”

She folded her arms across her breasts. “You’re loco to come here. You might get caught.”

“I haven’t yet. Besides, the thrill of danger makes it even better.” He caught her in his arms, fell on her brutally. His mouth covered hers, and the taste of the blood from her cut lip excited him. “Love me, damn you! Love me!”

Mechanically, she spread her legs, pulled him down on top of her. He caught both her breasts in his two hands, squeezed savagely until she winced. “You know what I want, Mona. Roll over.”

“You don’t leave me any dignity, do you?”

“Women are meant to pleasure a man in any way he wants. Then we’ll do it your way.”

She looked at him as if she wanted to protest, then rolled over on her belly, offering up her rounded hips. The skin of her bottom felt like silk under his hands as he positioned her. It would be humiliating and painful for her and the thought excited him.

His manhood ached for fulfillment and he covered her with his body, pulling her hair up to sink his teeth into the nape of her neck. Her face was pressed into the pillows so that only he heard her whimper as he drove hard into her, mounting her as a bull takes a heifer. He pretended it was the little brunette quivering under him as he rode Mona. Again he thought that when he controlled both fortunes, he’d have both women to enjoy.

Si, he’d have Amethyst on her belly under him not too many months in the future. Exulting, Romeros rode Mona while she cringed against the pain. And when he came, he tangled his fingers in her long hair that glowed like flames and pretended he was the great bull.

Restlessly, Amethyst turned over in bed. Even though the party had ended hours ago, she couldn’t stop thinking about it and go to sleep.

She turned over again and stared up at the ceiling. When the message had arrived at the convent the night she’d tried to escape, it had seemed heaven had granted her a reprieve. How was she to know a blue-eyed, blond-haired devil awaited her at Falcon’s Lair?

Her first emotion on hearing the missing heir had returned was relief. She barely remembered Tony Falcon as her small playmate from the neighboring ranch. And she hadn’t given a thought to love and marriage; she’d been so relieved to be rescued from the grim Cloistered Sisters.

Amethyst gòt up and paced her dark bedroom, the fine rug thick and soft beneath her bare feet. What a shock to go to a party to welcome home Tony Falcon and then come face to face with that cocky, arrogant gunslinger!

Could he possibly be the missing heir? He did seem to bear a slight resemblance to the Castilian family. She paused to consider, then shook her head. Lots of men had light-colored hair, blue eyes.

Besides, she was sure Bandit hadn’t had that birthmark the night he’d made love to her on the creek bank. Images of his big, square hands holding her small ones came to mind. She remembered kissing the backs of those hands. No, he definitely had not had that birthmark a few days ago.

His hands . . . Callused but gentle. She recalled the feel of them moving over her, in her. Amethyst ran her tongue over her lips remembering the moments that night in the rose garden swing. His mouth had been hot and sweet on hers, in hers. If she kept the secret, married him, he would take her in his arms every night, his hands and his mouth caressing, probing.

Shivering despite the warm night, she scolded herself. “What is the matter with you? He really is a bandit all right. He took your innocence, your jewelry!” And your heart, she thought.

The more she pondered that, the more she lectured herself. He was an opportunist, a fake. In the moonlight, Amethyst turned her small ring over and over.
Forget-me-not . . . forget-me-not . . .

Damn him! She wished she could. She proceeded to pace the dark bedroom again. Certainly it was out of the question to marry him. He must be loco to think she’d even consider it. Bandit. A good name for one who lived by his gun and his wits. It was laughable that this saddle tramp of questionable background aspired to marry into one of the noblest families in all Mexico.

What a sad, ironic joke on the Falcons. Their own pedigree went back hundreds of years to Spanish nobility. There was no one as proud or snobbish about bloodlines as old Enrique Falcon. And here he was eager to accept this no-name mongrel of a Texan as his long-lost son.

She slapped one hand against the other in nervous agitation. Suppose she kept her mouth shut, let them marry her off to the Texan, and then one day the real Tony Falcon came home, what then? While everyone whispered that the kidnapped child had probably been murdered and buried immediately when the ransom wasn’t collected, her father and old Falcon had never believed it.

Or at least, they’d pretended not to believe it. The two always talked of the time the grown-up boy would finally come home. Suppose the real heir was alive and had amnesia? Suppose one day in far away New York or South America, a man suddenly remembered his past, got on a stagecoach and showed up here? If she was married in the church, she would be stuck with the Texan, even if that happened.

She leaned against the bedpost and thought about the birthmark. It looked real enough. How had the Texan known about it? How had he copied it so well? Someone else had told him the story. But who?

Monique. Amethyst blinked as she realized the obvious answer. Of course whoever had told Bandit about the birthmark was in this plot with him. She remembered the way Monique and the cowboy had looked at each other in recognition. Sí, the pair were in this together. Monique had no doubt heard the kidnapping story from some of the servants, had decided her paramour back in Texas looked enough like the missing son to pass himself off as Tony, and had sent for him. Now why would Monique want to do that?

Amethyst paused before the French doors, looking out at her balcony. It was a hot night. Slight beads of perspiration ran down her breasts to her nipples. They made her think of the hot wetness of Bandit’s mouth as he’d caressed them and she shivered again despite the heat. Amethyst opened the French doors, took a deep breath of the cool breeze. It blew her night dress teasingly against her body, her legs. But she did not go out onto the balcony. She stayed in the shadows of the doors.

Closing her eyes, she remembered his fingers stroking their way up her thighs to her womanhood, to her wet, velvet depths. Shameless wench that she was, she’d spread her thighs, urged his big hand still deeper, had opened her mouth in complete surrender, sucking his probing tongue deep into her throat. Her face burned with remembered passion and shame. That Texan had the ability to make her react like a
puta
.

She hated him for that, hated him for making her respond as no man ever had. Did Monique react that way to the big man, too?

She would have to tell what she knew. No, she couldn’t. Amethyst shook her head in an agony of indecision. Her own reputation would be destroyed when gossip got out about her and that Texan. Besides, with the future marriage canceled, Amethyst would be on her way back to the nuns, Monique would see to that. Gentle Papa was such a fool over the woman.

Amethyst folded her arms, staring out at the night, and considered the other alternative. Pretend the Texan really was the Falcon heir and marry him. That meant spending every night for the rest of her life locked in his embrace. As his wife, he would take her to bed any time he wanted her. Was that bad?

Amethyst, are you mad?
She scolded herself again. Who knows what his background is, what kind of children he would sire? She imagined a cocky, blond boy, big for his age, but with violet eyes like his mother’s. She saw a little girl with her mother’s dark hair, the Texan’s pale eyes and a crooked grin. No, maybe they wouldn’t be like that at all. The Texan was as wild as a mustang stallion; there was no telling what kind of blood ran in his veins. Bloodlines were important to the Durangos and Falcons.

As she mused, she thought she heard a sound outside, shrugged. More sounds. Curious, she went out onto her balcony and looked around. Her eyes widened. Below Monique’s balcony, the big pinto stallion stood tied to the bougainvillea. There was no mistaking that horse.

She looked up just in time to see the shadow of a man entering Monique’s French doors. For a long moment, Amethyst stared in shock and disbelief; then she looked again at the stallion below. As full awareness swept over her, she fought the terrible urge to scream out in protest.

Damn the Texan anyway! Only hours ago, he’d been all over her with his hands and mouth, panting and hard . . . and unfulfilled. Now he had gone to Monique to satisfy his hunger for a woman. Those two were in this plot together! Through marriage, they intended to control both fortunes and yet carry on their obviously old affair.

Righteous indignation swept over Amethyst as she stood trembling on the balcony. At least she labeled it that as she grabbed a robe, put it on, and marched, stiff as a ramrod, out into the hall. Bandit had lied when he’d said he loved her. He intended to use marriage to Amethyst as a cover for his affair with her father’s future bride.

She’d show those indiscreet lovers! Amethyst marched down the velvet hall carpet, past Mrs. Wentworth’s door. The old woman snored loudly. At her father’s door, Amethyst smiled in spite of herself as she listened to snoring that made the house tremble. Grimly, she raised her fist to knock. She’d sound the alarm, take him down to Monique’s room to catch the two naked lovers in the act.

But even as she drew back her fist to pound on his door, she hesitated, listening to his snoring. Dear Papa. She loved him so. What she was about to tell him would hurt and humiliate a gentle man.

Amethyst paused, sighed, let her hand drop. Papa had suffered so many hurts: the loss of the older children, then Amethyst’s mother, and next dear Miss Callie, the governess everyone had expected him to wed. Certainly that marriage would have had Amethyst’s blessing. But in New Orlenas Romeros had introduced her father to the elegant, high-born Monique, who had come for a visit. Papa had seemed undecided. Then Miss Callie had come down with dysentery a few hours after the dinner to honor the visitor.
Dysentery
. What with the hot weather and sanitation so backward, it was a common a death everywhere.

Amethyst frowned. Spicy native food, maybe too much garlic. At least, that was the scent she remembered. Maybe it was just as well that Monique had been here to console Papa as Miss Callie had hovered between life and death. In any case he’d decided to marry the French beauty just as soon as they could make all the plans for the big wedding Monique demanded.

Amethyst looked up and down the hall. If she couldn’t tell Papa, just what was she going to do?

She’d confront the two shameless lovers herself! She shook her long hair back, squared her small shoulders, and flounced down to stand before Monique’s door. Now what? Barge right in and confront them, naked and startled in Monique’s bed? Amethyst played the scene in her head.

Aha! she would say as she stalked in and they jumped up. Aha, I caught you!

She imagined Monique smiling smugly, shrugging.
Can I help it if he finds me more appealing, more satisfying than you, my dear?

And Bandit. He would reach for his clothes, smiling crookedly, and say, Sweet, it takes more than one woman to satisfy a man like me and you weren’t very cooperative in the garden. Now you just go on and tell everyone if you want; it don’t make me no never-mind. I reckon tomorrow you’ll be headed back to the convent. Yum! I’ll bet they saved you a dish of cold gruel. . . .

Amethyst fairly trembled with helpless rage, but she put her head against the door, listening. From inside came sounds of passion, the rhythmic creak of a bed. If he needed a woman, he could have slipped through Amethyst’s French doors just as easily as Monique’s. Was the redhead more exciting, more appealing to him?

Hot tears came to her eyes as she listened, fury commingling with deep hurt. She should scream, bring people running from all over the house.

Amethyst shook her head, blinked back the tears. That would only hurt Papa. The servants at all the ranches would gossip and laugh about it.
Did you hear they were caught together? He’s engaged to the young señorita, but he goes looking for pleasure in the older woman’s bed.

What was she going to do? What could she do? Amethyst hesitated a long moment before running back to her room and flinging herself down on her bed. She hadn’t planned on marrying him anyway, but how dare he plead undying love and then go to Monique’s arms!
He doesn’t love me.
He is only after prestige, money. Behind that door, he and
his paramour must be laughing at what a silly little fool I was for believing his lies.

She beat her fists against her pillow, feeling deep hurt and betrayal. He’d stolen more than her virginity, he’d taken her self-respect. But he wouldn’t use her anymore Damn him! She’d make him pay!

It must have been nearly dawn when Amethyst heard a noise. She lay there for a moment, trying to decide what it was. Then she heard a horse’s hooves echoing.

She ran out the French doors onto her balcony. In the shadowy night, the big pinto loped away toward the Falcon’s Lair. While the moonlight gleamed on the white of the stallion’s hide, the man himself was a dim silhouette.

Long after the horse had disappeared over the hill, Amethyst stared after it. Now what should she do?

She had to fight a terrible urge to run to Monique’s room, attack her with her fists. Monique would deny everything, of course, would affect puzzled innocence though her nipples were still swollen from his kisses. The elegant, older beauty would laugh at Amethyst’s accusations, her jealousy. No, of course it wasn’t jealousy. She was angry at the pair for plotting against the Falcons, against dear Papa.

Amethyst went back inside, flung herself on her bed, and wept. Finally she dropped off into a troubled sleep.

Bandit rose early and went downstairs, flipping his lucky coin and whistling. He’d had a good night’s sleep, disturbed only by dreams of holding the petite brunette, of making love to her.

When he passed the library door, he paused, looked in. Old Señor Falcon sat behind his desk, reading the newspaper. Bandit tucked the coin in his pocket. “Papá?”

It was getting easier all the time to say that word, to let this fine old man become the father Bandit had always wanted, but never had. If he could have had any prayer in this world answered, it would be to really be related to Enrique Falcon.

“Ah,
sí,
Tony my boy, come in, come in.” Falcon waved Bandit into the room. “I was just enjoying the Monterrey paper that came this morning.” He tore out a small article, gave Bandit a searching look, then opened a drawer and put the scrap of paper in it and closed it.

Bandit grinned. “You get the Monterrey paper way out here?”

The Don Enrique shrugged, stood up. “Not often. A messenger from town brings papers along with the mail once or twice a month.”

Bandit laughed, leaned against the desk. “That must be pretty old news.”

Falcon stood up. He looked long at Bandit, then shrugged. “Old news is better than none here on this isolated spread.” He came around the desk, put his hand on Bandit’s shoulder. “Shall we join your mother for breakfast, my son?”

My son.
For a moment, Bandit could not speak. His eyes filled, and he swallowed hard. How long had he waited for some fine man to call him that? How long had he wondered about, searched for, his own father? Of course his father was some nameless cowboy drifter or some Czech farmer who had paid for his mother’s charms.