Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) (46 page)

Amethyst looked from one to the other. The clock on the wall ticked loudly. The old man continued to hold the gun out, but his hand wavered.

Bandit said, “Sir, I’m leaving now, going back to the drifter’s life I know. If you’re gonna kill me, you’ll have to shoot an unarmed man in the back!”

Holy Mary, Mother of God
. . . Amethyst watched them both, almost frozen to the spot.

The old man’s hand trembled violently, then came down on the desk with a clatter. He swore. “Damn you! I love you too much to kill you despite what I know!”

Amethyst ran to Bandit, still clutching the medal. “If you are going back to Texas, I’ll go with you! I love you!”

But Bandit only kissed her forehead, shook his head sadly. “I love you too much, sweet, to ask you to live the kind of life I lead. You’re used to the best of everything. My pride would never allow me to let you drift around the country like a Gypsy, having nothing. Life would be one dirty room over a saloon after another.”

She tried to cling to him. “I don’t care!” She wept. “I love you! Nothing matters as much as being together!”

But he shook his head, pushed her away. “No, you’d grow to hate me if I asked you to give up everything for a Texas saddle tramp. I’ve got too much pride to expect you to live like that.”

Her prayers had been ignored. There would be no miracle. In spite of everything, he was going to leave. She sobbed now, out of control as she clutched the medallion. She had made her decision. This was her man and she would stay with him, no matter the hardship and sacrifice. “Oh, Bandit! I love you! I’ll give it all up gladly to go with you! If you leave me behind, I’ll follow you!”

Bandit looked over at the old man who stood shaking behind the desk, tears on his face. “Señor Falcon, look after her. I love her so!”

Falcon held out a trembling hand in appeal. “Wait, Texan, don’t go! She’s right. Only the three of us know your real identity. There’s no reason you can’t be Tony Falcon the rest of your life!”

Bandit was already striding toward the door, but he paused as the old man came around the desk. “Bloodlines mean everything to you,” he said, “and I’m only a nameless bastard.”

The old man took a hesitant step, held out his hand. “I was a fool about that once, I’ll not be so again. Texas, like my great pinto stallion, I may not know your bloodlines, but I know you have the heart and soul of a thoroughbred and that’s all that counts with me! You are an honorable man, fit to carry the name of Falcon. Stay and marry Amethyst, be my son and we’ll keep the secret!”

Bandit shook his head, reached for the doorknob. “Someday I hope to find my own father if he still lives. Somewhere there is a man or a town or a street named Sokol. Maybe that slim clue will help me find out why he never returned for my mother.”

Old Falcon cried out, and Amethyst looked at him through her tears. His face had gone ghastly pale. “What—what did you say?”

At that moment, Amethyst dropped the medallion and it rolled to the old man’s feet. He bent over, picked it up, stared at it.

Bandit said, “That’s mine, sir. I’ll take that.” He held out his hand.

But the old man only stared at the medal in his palm. “Where . . . where did you get this?”

Bandit looked puzzled, shrugged, took the medallion from the old man’s hand. “It was my mother’s.”

He turned to leave again, even as Amethyst watched the old man reach up to clasp an identical medal hidden by the collar of his shirt. “Wait. Don’t go!”

Bandit half turned. “If it’s about the stallion, sir, I’d like to buy him from you. I don’t have any money right now, but if you’d let me send some when I could—”

Horrified, Amethyst looked at the old man’s ashen face. “Oh, Bandit, I think he’s having a heart attack!”

Bandit came over, took Falcon’s elbow; and the old man stared at him as if really seeing him for the first time. “Aimée, get a drink, quick!”

She fairly flew to the decanter, got a glass of whiskey, brought it, held it to the don’s lips.

The old man took a sip and then he laughed, laughed and laughed again. “I must be blind! Why didn’t I see the resemblance! No wonder we were so willing to accept you! You look just like him!”

She and Bandit exchanged puzzled looks. Evidently stress had driven the old man out of his mind. He pulled from their hands, ran to his desk, and opened a drawer.

Then he held out a miniature portrait with shaking fingers. “Do you know this woman?”

Bandit, looking confused, walked over and took the miniature from the don’s hand. His face went white. “This is my mother, Lidah!” he cried. “Where did you get this?”

The old man was weeping now, weeping and laughing at the same time. “From the hand of your dying father, Tony! Don’t you understand?”

But the Texan only looked at the picture and shook his head. “No, I don’t, and I’ve no right to be called by that name.”

“Oh, but you have every right! More right even than my own son because you see, Antonio was your father’s name! Sokol is Czech for Falcon!”

Now Bandit looked as if he, too, might collapse. “What is it you’re telling me? I’m not your son!”

“No, you’re not!” The old man smiled, hugging him. “And to think I almost let you walk away! Sit down, you two, we have much to discuss that must never leave this room, much that must be kept a secret between the three of us for all time!”

Amethyst wasn’t going to ask any questions; she only knew that something had happened to change things. Sometimes for the naïve, for those who really, truly believe, miracles do occur. With tears streaming down her face, Amethyst bowed her head in thanksgiving, then threw her arms around her love.

Bandit shook his head, still clutching the tiny picture and holding Amethyst close. “I . . . I’m not sure I understand. I’m not your son.”

“No, you’re not. You’re my nephew. Don’t you see, Tony, you’re my brother’s boy!”

Amethyst took a deep breath as she stood holding Papa’s arm at the back of the little village church. They watched her bridesmaids walking down the aisle.

Papa smiled and patted her hand reassuringly. “You look lovely in your mama’s wedding dress.”

She looked at him, her heart too full to speak. Now the music swelled and the faces of the crowd turned toward her. She stood there in the magnificent ivory satin gown, breathing in the scent of her armful of red roses, the Virgin of Guadalupe’s own flower. Of course, there were a few forget-me-nots mixed in with the bridal bouquet.

The Sunday morning sun sparkled on the old ornate interior, lit up the stained-glass windows. Hundreds of faces turned toward her, awaiting her entrance.

Papa patted her hand once more and whispered, “Are you ready, daughter?”

Ready? I have been waiting all my life for this moment, only I didn’t realize it until just now.
She looked down the aisle and saw him standing at the altar, tall and handsome and blond. Emotion overcame her so that she only nodded and swallowed hard. The aisle looked a hundred miles long as she and Papa started down it.

The old priest smiled and nodded encouragement. Amethyst squared her chin, looking at Bandit. No, she must remember that he would be called Tony. He stood waiting for her at the end of the aisle. And oh, she would have walked through fire to reach him!

As she began her stately procession holding onto her father’s arm, she saw tears glistening on the face of old Señora Falcon.

Señor Falcon, standing at the Texan’s side, gave her a long, thoughtful look as she moved nearer. The priest had said it was a little unusual for the groom to choose his father as his best man, but Tony had insisted that it was important to him, now that he had found his family, to include them in this union.

Amethyst thought of the secret the three of them shared and must take to their graves. Only they knew that the Texan was not Enrique’s son but Antonio’s. Still he was of Falcon blood, and if they were doing wrong, surely God would understand and forgive them. It was a miracle, Señor Falcon had insisted, and who were they to try to interfere in Our Lady’s plans?

Amethyst looked at the statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe as she and Papa neared the altar.
Thank you, Holy Mother, thank you for this love.

Her attendants smiled at her, a half-dozen pretty daughters of prominent ranchers. Amethyst’s old friend who had married and moved to Mexico City was Matron of Honor.

Now they reached the altar and the priest began. But Amethyst hardly heard him although she tried to follow the ceremony.
So many sad memories.
Her mama and Miss-Callie were surely here in spirit. She glanced over at Papa, saw tears in his eyes, knew he thought of them, too.

She thought of Tony’s mother, Lidah, and of his father, killed before he could return to claim his sweetheart. And she reminded herself to pray for the real Tony Falcon, who lay in a grave at Bandera. Perhaps if he had not been raised by outlaws, he would not have become one. She would discreetly provide a fund for prayers for him and flowers for his grave. And she would pray for Mona who had given her life to save Tony’s, and even for Romeros.

It was perhaps ironic that Mona lay in the Durango family graveyard next to Mama and Miss Callie. Tony himself had selected the headstone. It said only: HERE LIES A REAL LADY

The priest went on with the mass, and she watched his lips move. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tony, tall and blond, looking down at her as if there were no one else in the whole world. They knelt and she saw his lips form the silent words:
Aimée. Beloved.

She should be listening but she was numb with emotion, blind to everything but the presence of the big Texan. The priest blessed the arras, the little basket of gold coins, handed them to Tony. Her bridegroom turned to her. She automatically held her hands beneath his, catching the coins as he poured them, made his commitment to endow her with his worldly goods and to look after her welfare. She handed the coins to a bridesmaid, listening to the priest drone on as the ornate
lazo
was draped around the couple’s shoulders. Hundreds of people watched, but the two had eyes only for each other.

It was time for the rings. She looked down at the wide gold bands Tony had designed for them alone. The little wild violets she loved so much had been engraved around each ring, and, on the inside, the words:
Forget-me-not, Beloved.

Never, my darling, she silently promised as she accepted his ring, then slipped hers on his left hand.
I came so close to losing you. But had you ridden away, I would have followed you, sacrificed everything to find you, to stay by your side.

Amethyst came out of her thoughts with a start, realizing it was time to take her bridal bouquet and lay it at the feet of the statue of Our Lady.

Red roses and forget-me-nots. How significant, Amethyst thought, remembering all those loved ones who were here, all those who were gone for eternity.

She returned to Tony’s side for the final words, and then he took her in his arms, his gentle kiss promising how much he loved her, would always love her. She was safe and secure forever in the circle of his powerful arms, his adoring love.

In a daze, she turned with Tony to hug and kiss their close relatives. Then the music swelled again and she took his arm, started back up the aisle. She glanced back at Enrique Falcon, who nodded to her, looking wise and sad. Only the three of them would know this secret forever.

Directly after the ceremony, the huge crowd moved to the outdoor patio at the Falcon mansion. Hundreds of well-wishers from all over Mexico had gathered for this wedding. Two bands played, and endless tables groaned under delicacies and sweets. A side of beef and a pig turned on a roasting spit over a big fire. Gallons of wine and many bottles of champagne had been iced down for the occasion.

She could hardly keep her eyes off Tony as she stood in the receiving line, greeting well-wishers.

Young Clarissa Webster came through the line, accompanied by her skinny mother. Clarissa frowned at Amethyst and looked at Tony longingly. “It was the most beautiful wedding,” she said glumly. “I just hope mine, when I finally marry, will be half so nice.”

“It will be, dear,” Amethyst reassured her warmly.

But Mrs. Webster said, “You can just forget about boys for a few years, young lady. Next term, you’re off to the Convent of the Cloistered Sisters for an education. It must be a wonderful place if Mrs. Wentworth has decided to take the veil and spend the rest of her life there.”

Amethyst started to say something encouraging, but Tony got that devilish, crooked grin on his face and blurted, “You’ll like it! Amethyst says they have a handsome gardener. And just wait ’til you taste that gruel! ”

“What did you say?” Clarissa asked, pouting.

Amethyst dug Tony in the ribs with her elbow. “He said, ‘They have handsome gardens, and you’ll just love that school!’”

Mrs. Webster beamed and the pair moved on.

Amethyst made a moue at Tony. “You are impossible!” she whispered, “I can see this is going to be a stormy marriage.”

The big Texan winked. “Where there’s electricity, it’ll be stormy. Wouldn’t you like some wine, sweet? I happen to know of a swing back there behind some bushes—”

“No, you don’t!” She took his arm, led him out onto the patio. “I want to dance.”

“Look who else is dancing.” Tony nodded and she glanced over to see Papa waltz by with a plump widow Amethyst had always liked.

“Perhaps we’ll have another wedding soon.” She smiled. and waved to the elderly Falcons and other members of her wedding party.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “The next event I plan for the priest is christening our first child less than one year from today.”

She felt a blush creep up her face, but she looked into his eyes. “Texas, I love you so.”

His eyes misted and he blinked to clear them. “Aimée, I’ve got a home at last, a family. And most of all, you.”

She closed her eyes as they danced, loving the security of his big arms holding her against his chest. “How soon do you suppose we can sneak off?”

He laughed, looking down at her. “I thought you wanted to dance? We haven’t had any food yet. Now that the line’s shorter, let’s have some of that roast beef and cake.” They turned toward the heaped-up tables. “You know, this reminds me of that Christmas party when I was a child.”

She linked her arm through his. “But no one will turn you away from this party, Texas; it’s for you, for us. And you’re right. Next year, I intend to put your son on that rocking horse up in the old nursery . . . or on Heartaches’ foal. Did I tell you my mare is expecting by your stallion?”

He reached for a plate. “Wonderful! What shall we name it?”

“The baby or the colt?” she teased, filling her plate. “I think the colt should be called Doo-dah Day! I’ve grown to like that silly song.”

His face was serious now. “And the baby?”

She reached out to put her hand on his arm. “Why, of course we’ll call him Antonio.”

He swallowed hard and for a moment, the plate in his hand trembled.

Amethyst thought of a lonely, abused child and of the father who had not lived to know him, claim him. “Tony,” she said softly, “it’s all right now. You are loved, wanted, adored.”

He turned a brave smile on her. “That’s more important than riches or even finally having his name.”

“Darling, he would have wanted you and your mother to have both. If he hadn’t been killed, he would have returned for the two of you.”

“I wish Mama could have known that he didn’t desert her, that he loved her after all.”

She blinked back tears. “Somehow, maybe she does.”

“I’m really a Falcon. But if I got nothing but you, it would be more than I prayed for,” he said softly.

“Everything has worked out for the best. I’m glad Papa decided not to kill old Satan.”

Tony shrugged. “After I told him Romeros had been tormenting the bull, Gomez realized it wouldn’t hurt anyone else. That old bull can spend the rest of its life munching grass in a pasture.”

Amethyst thought the day would never end so that they could slip away together. Finally, dusk settled over the festivities, and a servant lit the paper lanterns. More wine was brought. No one had left the party. Hundreds of people still drank and danced.

She looked up at Tony. “I think this is going to go on ’til dawn.”

“Then it’s going on without us, sweet.” He took her arm, and they slipped away through the darkness, going up to the big hacienda. As he picked her up, carried her to the stairs, they heard the music and laughter still faintly drifting on the evening air. “See? They don’t know or care that we’re gone.”

He carried her through the door of the spacious, elegant bedroom, kicked it shut behind him. Then he stood her on her feet, held her hard against him a long moment, stroking her hair. “Oh, sweet. Sweet . . .” His hands reached up to the rows of tiny buttons on the ivory satin dress.

She caught his two big hands in hers, kissed the small mark on the back of the left one. “Señor Sokol, I love you more than I ever knew I could love a man. And to think you almost walked out of my life forever.”

He looked down at her, his face serious. “You don’t know how I was hurtin’ inside that night, Aimée.” He reached in his pocket for the holy medal, stared at it. “I suppose there are those who would call it all a coincidence.”

She pulled his face down for her kiss. “That’s what scoffers always call things they can’t explain, but we know better, don’t we?”

“We sure do, sweet.” He put the medal back in his pocket, held her against him so that she heard the rhythmic beat of his heart.

She looked up at him demurely through long lashes as she unbuttoned the dress, stepped out of it, took off her fine lace underthings. Then she stood there clad in nothing but the long, sheer bridal veil.

“Beautiful!” He sighed. “If you only knew how much I loved you!” He took off his jacket, and she held out her arms to him.

“Show me!” she challenged.

“Is that a dare?” He was only half-undressed, but he grabbed her up in his arms, swung her around, and carried her to the big bed.

She lay wrapped in the sheer veil, looking up at him as he lay beside her, leaning his head on his hand. Her fingers stroked the skin revealed by his half-buttoned shirt.

“Do you know” he said seriously, “that when you want me, your eyes deepen in color to a deep, smoky violet?”

She felt a blush creep up her neck. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“I was enjoying watching you too much.”

“And I suppose you don’t want me?” She felt his maleness harden, throb against her.

“Like hell I don’t!” His big, callused hands stroked her bare skin, held her breasts as he leaned over to kiss her nipples.

Immediately, the pink tips went turgid, strained to press against his mouth. “Oh, Texas, I—I can’t control myself when you do that to me. I love you sol”

His tongue slipped between her lips, teasing, tasting, and as she arched herself against him, eager to have him fill her with his thrusting manhood.

He took her small hand in his, kissed her ring, then gathered her into the haven of his powerful arms. “I meant what I said in that inscription, sweet. I’m about to give you a wedding night you’ll never forget!”

And he made that promise good.