Finding Promise (31 page)

Chapter Thirty-Six

“We are about a mile from the village,” Rodriguez said. “Since I know the place, it might be wise if I ride in first to see what I can find out. If Newcombe is around, he is sure to recognize you. There is a Franciscan friar in the area that I knew at one time, and he will help us.”

“That might be a good plan.” Jake looked around for a good hiding place and pointed to an area that was somewhat hidden from the trail. “We'll wait for you there, but if we don't see you before dark, we're riding in.”

Rodriguez nodded. “I'll be back before dark.”

“Hang on, Rodriguez,” Jake said. He dismounted and put his saddle on one of the extra horses. “Ride this horse. Your saddle and horse stand out.” The silver embellishments on Rodriguez's saddle would tell anyone watching that he was no drifter, but a man who had some coin.

“And don't speak so proper. Say
ain't
once in a while,” Cole offered.

“I'll be speaking Spanish.”

“Just don't put yourself in danger,” Jake told him.

Jake and Cole took the extra horses and rode to the specified area. Once the gear was removed from the animals, they staked them to graze. After making a small fire that couldn't be seen from the trail, they settled in with some coffee to wait for Rodriguez.

 

 

It had been seven years since Rodriguez had been in this godforsaken village. It was his sixteenth birthday, and some men who worked for his father insisted they take him out to celebrate. The men spent days discussing the saloon where they planned to take him. He'd never forget how shocked he was when they rode up to this dilapidated saloon with its dirt floor in this no-name place. The way the men talked, he'd expected the saloon was going to be the next best thing to paradise. The poorly constructed building looked as though a good wind would knock it over. The few people living in the village had small, one-room adobe shacks. He remembered his surprise to hear that a Franciscan friar lived in one of them. The men talked about the beautiful woman who danced at the saloon, but he didn't believe a beautiful woman would live in such squalid conditions.

When he walked into the saloon that night seven years ago and his eyes landed on Juanita, he didn't give another thought to the impoverished village. In his inexperienced mind, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

In her room that night, Juanita told him that she worked in the saloon because her father left her family, and she had to support her brothers and sisters. After hearing her sad story, Rodriguez gave her all the money he had with him at the time. Over the next several months, when he could get away from the ranch, he'd make trips to the border, and always took as much money as he could spare.

It troubled the men to see the amount of money Rodriguez was giving Juanita, knowing full well that she was using him, so they told his father. He explained to his father that Juanita sold her body simply to put food on the table for her family. Instead of offering his support, which was what Rodriguez had expected, his father laughed at him. He said Juanita told that same story to every vaquero in the territory, just to deceive them for more money. His father told him Juanita had no family. Rodriguez refused to believe him, even though the men on the ranch confirmed his words. That very night after the confrontation with his father, he rode to the village and spoke to the friar. He was crushed to hear the truth. Juanita had been lying to him from that first night. He felt like a fool for giving her so much money, and for believing that she didn't want to be with other men. Before he'd learned the truth, he'd even planned on asking her to marry him.

Riding up to that same dilapidated saloon was a different man. Seven years ago he'd been a boy. Today, he was a man who had seen a lot of places, done a lot of things, and was much wiser to the guiles of some women. When he rode by the friar's hut, he saw that it was now a part of the earth, so he didn't stop.

As he dismounted in front of the saloon, he heard someone playing a guitar, and raucous shouts filtered to the street. He walked through the door and saw Juanita dancing around the tables, creating the frenzy. Without missing a stride, he went straight to the bar and ordered a whiskey. Leaning against the bar, he sipped his drink and observed the patrons around the room. There were ten men total in the bar, mostly Mexican, and from the looks of them, they were probably running from the law. But none of them fit Jake's description of Newcombe.

Only after checking out all of the men did he allow his gaze to fall on Juanita. Her hips swayed to the music as she ran her hands over her body in a seductive move designed to entice every man in the room. She had the same voluptuous body, and her face was still beautiful, though hardened from years of alcohol and her chosen lifestyle.

Juanita danced her way to him, holding her red skirt high in the air as she twirled in front of him. Just like the first time he saw her, she was wearing a red skirt and a white top that fell from her shoulders. It could have been the same clothing; the material was so thin from wear, he could see she wore nothing underneath. She swayed into his body, removed his hat, and ran her fingers through his hair. The very same move she'd made those many years ago.

“I've seen you before. I know you,” she purred.

Rodriguez stared into her glazed eyes. He figured the money she had earned over the years went to alcohol. He almost allowed himself to feel sorry for her. Almost. “You don't know me,” Rodriguez responded, his voice hard. He wasn't being dishonest; she didn't know the man he was today.

She stretched up and brushed her lips against his neck. “I do not forget a handsome man,” she murmured in his ear. When he didn't respond, she whispered a question.

“I'm just having one drink and then I am leaving,” Rodriguez replied.

She pouted. “Surely you have time for me, señor, like before.”

He wasn't sure she really remembered him, considering all the men she had been with, or if she was guessing she'd been with him before. Probably the latter. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, she was still tempting. Luckily, his attention was drawn to the swinging door slamming against the wall. Every man in the place turned to see a big man barge in. Rodriguez knew this had to be Newcombe. Jake's description had been accurate. Newcombe's eyes landed on Juanita snuggled up to Rodriguez. He stalked directly to the bar and grabbed her by the arm, jerking her away from him.

“I told you what would happen if I caught you with another man,” he warned.

Juanita didn't look cowed by the big man. “I wasn't with another man, I was dancing,” she snapped back.

Newcombe looked at Rodriguez with undisguised venom. “Why are you dancing around this Mexican?”

Juanita smiled at Rodriguez as she studied his face. He was handsome, and he did look vaguely familiar. She'd noticed he didn't smell like every other man in the room, including Newcombe. “He's a paying customer, isn't he?”

Newcombe saw her reaction to Rodriguez and he slapped her hard across the cheek.

Rodriguez momentarily contemplated saving Jake a trip. He straightened and faced Newcombe, but before a word left his mouth, he felt a poke in the back. The bartender had a shotgun pressed against his spine.

“No trouble in here. If you two want to fight, take it outside,” the bartender ordered.

Eyeing Rodriguez, Newcombe laughed. He didn't think the Mexican was worth his trouble, and there was also the possibility he was riding with some of the other Mexicans in the room. “Give me a bottle. I got other plans today.”

The bartender placed a bottle of whiskey on the bar, and Newcombe grabbed it before taking a handful of Juanita's hair, pulling her behind him as he made his way to the staircase.

Rodriguez heard Newcombe threaten her. “No other man will look at you after today.”

“Señor, I have to eat, I have mouths to feed,” Juanita shot back at him.

Rodriguez heard another slap as the door slammed closed. He wondered if Newcombe was wise to her lies, or if he was just too obsessed with her to care one way or the other. If it hadn't been for his father, Rodriguez might still be obsessed with her too.

The bartender put the shotgun back on the shelf behind the bar. “You ain't going to start trouble, are you?” he asked, holding up the bottle to pour him another drink.

“Not planning on it, but I won't run from it.” As the gringo bartender filled his glass, Rodriguez said, “He don't seem too friendly.” He remembered Cole's warning not to use proper English.

“He's not, and he hates Mexicans.”

“He seemed to like that Mexican well enough.”

“Yeah, that's one señorita he likes too much, but he's so jealous he's going to kill her one of these days when he catches her with another man.”

“Isn't that her business?”

“Yeah, but when he's around, she'd better not be with anyone else.”

Rodriguez looked at the men at the tables; no one seemed to be too interested in what just took place. “I guess these men aren't riding with him.”

The bartender gave him a long look, trying to figure out if he was a bounty hunter or just plain nosy. Figuring he was probably running from the law like the rest of the men in the saloon, or maybe he'd taken a liking to Juanita, he said, “Nope, he rode in alone, and as long as you're here, you'd best stay clear of Juanita.”

On that score, the bartender had nothing to worry about. He intended to steer very clear of Juanita.

 

 

When they heard a rider coming their way, Jake kicked dirt to the fire and pulled his pistol. Hearing Rodriguez's whistle, Jake whistled back.

“We didn't expect you back so soon,” Cole said.

“I think we're in luck. Newcombe is at the saloon in an upstairs room with Juanita and a fresh bottle. I have a feeling he might be there awhile.”

Rodriguez gave them the layout of the saloon and they took off for the village. When they reached the saloon, Jake and Cole walked inside, and Rodriguez rode to the back. Cole stood at the door with his pistol drawn as Jake made his way to the bar. “What room?” he asked, leaning over the bar and removing the shotgun.

The bartender didn't have to ask who Jake was looking for. “Last door on the left.”

Taking the steps quietly, Jake moved soundlessly down the hallway. When he reached the door, he kicked it open with such force that it splintered against the wall.

Newcombe was passed out, lying across the bed wearing nothing but long underwear. Juanita was on the settee across the room, rummaging through Newcombe's pants pockets.

“¿Que quieres?” Juanita asked.

Jake glanced at the woman. Large dark eyes were glaring at him, not the least bit concerned that he was holding a gun. Rodriguez wasn't exaggerating; she was a beautiful woman. Her long, black hair reached her waist, and she had a body most men dreamed about. “I'm taking your boyfriend here to jail. Wake him up.”

“Not my
novio
,” Juanita replied in broken English before sauntering to the bed. She dropped Newcombe's pants on the floor, stuffed the money in her skirt pocket, then picked up the pitcher of water off the bedside table and threw it in his face.

The big man started coughing and sputtering, and when he opened his eyes he saw Jake standing there with his gun trained on him. He scrambled to a sitting position, his gaze going to his gun belt hanging on the bedpost.

“Don't,” Jake said calmly. “I suggest you get your pants on instead, unless you want to freeze your ass off on the way back to Denver.”

“That blond woman shot my brother and he died. I wish I'd killed her,” Newcombe said.

At least he didn't pretend he didn't know why Jake was there. “I think your brother got what he had coming, considering you and your gang killed nine people on that wagon train. Now put on your damn pants and be quick about it. My trigger finger is getting mighty itchy.”

“You a U.S. Marshal?” Newcombe asked as he leaned over to grab his pants from the floor.

“Not anymore, so don't tempt me.”

Once Newcombe fastened his pants he reached for Juanita and yanked her by the hair, holding her in front of his chest. Juanita tried to pull away, but he snaked his forearm around her throat so she couldn't move. Slowly, he inched his way to his holster.

“Far enough,” Jake warned.

Only a few feet separated him and Jake, and Newcombe used that to his advantage. He shoved Juanita hard into Jake's body at the same time he reached for his gun.

With the force of Juanita's weight slamming into him, Jake staggered backward. He tried to keep his balance while he held on to Juanita with one arm so they wouldn't fall to the floor, but his gun hand waivered.

“Drop your gun!” Newcombe ordered.

Jake tried to push Juanita out of danger, but she held on to his arm. He heard a shot ring out, and Juanita slumped in his arms. He dropped to one knee to support her weight and managed to get a shot off before Newcombe fired again. The force of the impact had Newcombe stumbling backward toward the window. With arms flailing, he couldn't stop his momentum and crashed through the glass. He hit the ground below with a loud thud.

Jake checked Juanita and saw that she was still breathing, but he knew the wound was lethal. Cole ran into the room to make sure Jake was the one still standing.

“Ask the barkeep if there is a doctor in this town,” Jake said.

Cole didn't have to go downstairs because the bartender was right behind him.

“We don't have no doctor,” he answered.