Buttercup (16 page)

Silvio doubted it would be the last. He stroked the beard, looking at the man he’d become for her, for their children, and for a life they could have on their terms. If this was heaven, then he’d gotten there early.

They had a home now. A business. He was different. He took Sylvester’s name, leaving his gangster fame and dreams at the border. He was a man, worthy of all the love and happiness having his Della could bring.

Silvio dried his face and hands. Somewhere down the hall his baby girl screamed. She was two, with lungs on her like her ma. After taking her first step, she danced through her next three. She’d been dancing to his harmonica ever since. He chuckled to himself. He slipped on his shirt and pulled up his pants, forcing his legs to move. The day would begin like any other, and he had things to tend to.

Silvio’s home was above his saloon. It made things easier. Two years and he was still very careful of his happiness. The idea of Della and the kids out of his reach constantly gave him anxiety. He kept the family close. He kept his gun even closer.

Silvio descended the stairs in a hurry. He nearly toppled over Consuelo, a short stout woman with hair as dark as raven’s feathers and eyes too. She blinked up at him in surprise. Consuelo was his barkeeps wife. She, too, lived in the saloon. She saw to the boy’s schooling and Della’s too.

Consuelo stepped back with her hand to her chest. “
Perdone me
signor
,” she gushed. “Where you hurry?”

“No time!” Silvio winked, and kept going. Consuelo shook her head and continued up, possibly seeking his wife. Hector was behind the bar. The storm had only blown in a few hombres. Maria, in the kitchen, would serve up the stragglers morning grub. But on a stormy morning, he doubted there’d be much more than the small crowd. Most would have already taken cover.

“
Buenos
,” Hector said.

“Not much of a crowd this morning?”

Hector shrugged, pouring a golden shot of tequila. It was better than the coffee that Della would insist Silvio drink. He knocked it back and shook off the fog in his head. The burn of his throat and drying of his tongue woke him for the day. “Where’s Sylvester?” he asked, setting the whiskey glass back down on the bar.

“Seen him earlier. Think he’s in the kitchen with Maria.”

Silvio looked down the bar. One man sat there with his hat pulled down low on his head. He nursed a glass of whiskey. Hector came over as if reading his mind. “Said he was waiting for you. Been here for an hour.

Hasn’t said much else.”

“I’ll take care of the bar. You see to the horses. The storm is sure to piss them off.”

“
Si’
, boss,” Hector said. He handed off a dingy towel, then took leave. Silvio continued the wipe down. He watched Hector. His trusted friend stopped at the door, and he gave him the single nod. Hector nodded back and pushed out into the storm. Silvio turned to the bar. He chose a bottle of whiskey, then walked down to the stranger. “Care for another, friend?”

The stranger’s head slowly rose. His dark eyes were no more than shadows under the brim of his hat. But they locked with Silvio’s. The stranger smirked, then nodded his appreciation. Silvio poured the whiskey. He set the bottle next to the glass, then pushed it in front of the man. “I hear you looking for me?”

The stranger tossed down the offering and sucked the bitterness from his tongue before speaking. “I think you can help me find someone,”

the stranger rasped.

“I can try. El Tenia’s not big enough to get lost.”

The stranger peeked up at him. “You sure about that?”

Silvio stared him in the eye. The man reached inside his jacket and removed a folded piece of paper. His actions purposely slow but deliberate. The yellow aged document was flattened on the surface of the bar for Silvio to see. He hadn’t seen a poster of that likeness in two years.

“Looking for Silvio Garelli. You know him?” the stranger asked.

Silvio smiled. “What are you, a ranger? Bounty hunter?”

The man drew a gun before Silvio could lift the one beneath the bar. He pointed it within an inch of Silvio’s face. “Don’t try it or I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” came a calm voice behind the stranger. Silvio’s eyes lifted to Della’s. His wife pushed the barrel of a shotgun to the back of the stranger’s head. The few that were in the bar tossed back their drinks, collected their hats, then left.

When Della had entered the bar, he didn’t know. But he figured she would. The stranger slowly lowered his gun, putting both his hands up.

“So it’s true? You did take up with a Negress. Word is you two were dead. I didn’t believe it.”

“You should have. It would have saved your life,” Della said.

“Cause far as I’m concerned, all you gots in your future now is ghosts.”

“Let him go, baby,” Silvio said.

Della looked at her husband, alarmed. His daughter giggled somewhere at her feet. His son was over to the left also holding a shotgun. Silvio leaned in on the bar. He picked up the whiskey glass and tossed back the offering. The man sat before him, eyes wide, expectant.

Silvio poured another glass. “I suggest you drink this one. The wife there has an itch you don’t want her to scratch.”

The stranger picked up the glass of whiskey and drank it down.

Silvio noticed the slight tremors in the man’s hand. This wasn’t any Ranger out of Texas, or bounty man from Illinois. This here before him was some dumb fool who stumbled on an old story and thought he’d make a name for himself. That’s all Silvio needed. “What they offering these days for Silvio Garelli?”

“I…um, I…”

“Take your time. We friends here. Della, lower the gun, baby.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Della said. She released the safety with a soft click.

The man paled.

“Women! This one here won’t be told what to do. I suggest you get to talking,” Silvio chuckled.

“A thousand,” the man said.

Silvio drew back. “Hear that, baby. They offering a k-note for your man.”

“He ain’t getting it,” Della said, shoving the gun again to the back of the stranger’s head.

“Now hold on, baby.” Silvio’s hands went up. His daughter waddled away from her mama, evidently bored. Silvio gave his son a nod.

Sylvester was now eight and tall as a jack weed. He lowered the gun obediently. Silvio leaned in on the bar once more. The stranger was sweating profusely. “A thousand you say? I’m going to give you that thousand friend. And then you gonna take it and be on your way.

Consider your job done.”

The man looked at him, confused.

“He buying something for his money!” Della hissed, knocking the stranger in the back of the head with the nuzzle of the gun for hesitating.

“That’s right, baby. I am. I think it’s enough to buy your memory.

See here, friend. You forget about El Teina and all about Silvio Garelli.

That man you huntin died in a gunfight at a carnival two years ago. You understand me?”

The man nodded.

Silvio reached deep in his pockets and peeled off the money. He put it on the flyer and folded the money within. He handed it over. “A little rain won’t hurt you now, will it?”

Della stepped back. The stranger nodded. He took the money. “You won’t see me again,” he stammered and headed for the door before any other decision could be made against it. Della stepped to the bar. She put the gun down on its surface. “Do you think he’ll be back?”

Silvio shrugged. “Possibly.”

Della turned, looking for little Delilah. She was under a table playing with her toes. “Come to mama.” His baby girl waddled over.

Della picked up her daughter and set her on the bar next to the rifle.

“Then you needs to make sure he don’t.”

Delilah reached her chubby arms for her father. He picked her up and kissed her. She was more hair than anything. Della usually kept it in braids. Today, he couldn’t find his little girl’s face under the cloud of hair.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, tickling Delilah’s side. The child threw her head back and let go a sweet peal of laughter.

Della put her hands on her hips and glared at the front of the saloon. “Well, if’in you don’t, I will.”

Silvio chuckled. “Hear that, baby girl. Mama gonna handle it if’in pa don’t. What you think of that?” His daughter dropped her head on his shoulder. She stuck two fingers into her mouth and sucked. “We’ll be fine.

Mama worries too much.”

Della rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in a pout. “I worry cause you mine and no matter where we go, the world wants to change that.”

“Nothing or no one can change that, woman. Don’t you know this by now?”

“Pa! He done rode off!” Sylvester said.

“Go find Consuelo and see to your studies. Leave that rifle behind.”

“Yes sir.” Sylvester headed out. Silvio’s eyes met with Hector who had returned. He gave a nod to the six foot tall Mexican. Hector nodded back. He turned and went out the swinging doors into the rain. Silvio expected his money back in the register before nightfall. But he didn’t tell Della that. He hugged his little girl and kissed her cheek. He had no fear of tomorrow. Paradise was today, and no man could walk in and take that away.

The End

About the Author

Sienna Mynx is your naughty writer of Paranormal, Contemporary, and Historical Interracial Romance for readers that love the bad boy's but desire to be the women that tame them. A current resident of Georgia, Sienna Mynx has just emerged into the e-publishing arena. Her novellas reflect her thirst for romance told from a man's perspective with the diversity she craves in erotic romance. Look for more to come. Visit Sienna Mynx at http://siennamynx.com