Midnight Rider (16 page)

At first she hadn't noticed the saddles in the back of the wagon. Once she did, she'd been frightened, then she saw that it only made sense.

“Sooner or later the others are certain to follow,” the bandit said as he tightened the cinch on the stout bay he saddled, then he boosted her up on its back. “We can make better time without the wagon.”

“You aren't going back there, are you?”

He grinned, a gold eyetooth gleaming, the other one nothing but a hole. “I grow weary of Llano Mirada. It is a good time to leave.”

They were heading mostly south, as they had been since early that morning. She remembered coming north the night of the raid, but the direction they had traveled then had seemed more eastly than northerly. If that was the case, they should be heading southwest, she thought with a hint of unease but forced the notion away. She didn't know these mountains, and they had left the stronghold by a completely different route than the one by which she'd arrived.

Carly rolled her head from side to side, trying to stretch the aching muscles in her neck and shoulders. Her legs ached and her thighs had been rubbed nearly raw on the stiff leather skirt of the poorly cared for saddle. She wondered how much longer Villegas would continue before making camp, wondered how much longer she could go on.

Shading her eyes, Carly stared into the late afternoon sun. It rode low on the horizon, its fierce rays turning the oaks to gold and glistening on the waters of the rocky stream they followed. A few minutes later, Villegas motioned her onto a different trail, one that turned east instead of west, and all her hidden fears shot to the surface once more.

For a while she said nothing, hoping it was just a short jog around a hill or perhaps a means of avoiding some natural boundary. When the miles began to lengthen, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from shouting the question that hovered on her lips—Dear God, where are you taking me?

“I need to stop for a moment,” she finally said, pretending to look embarrassed. “There's a stream there. While I'm … busy, maybe you could water the horses.”

He grumbled something, but pulled his lathered animal to a halt and climbed down. Carly climbed down, too, her wobbly legs nearly folding beneath her. She walked a few paces, stretched a little, and her steps grew more steady. It was now or never. Each mile they rode ate at her strength. She would need all she possessed to confront a man like Villegas.

She turned in his direction, and as he led his horse into the creek, quietly pulled the heavy wrought-iron candlestick from where it was hidden inside her bedroll.

“You had better hurry,” he said. “It will be dark very soon, and we will have to find a place to make camp.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Gripping the heavy iron tightly behind her, her palms so damp she feared she might drop it, she stepped closer to where he stood beside the stream. “Before we do that, however, I'd like to know exactly where you're taking me. We're heading east, not west. Why are we traveling in the wrong direction?”

“It is only a slight detour,” he said matter-of-factly. “We will turn west again tomorrow. The following day you will be back at your Rancho del Robles.”

He was lying; she could see it written on his ugly face. “I don't believe you. I want to know where you're taking me. And this time I want the truth.”

Convince me,
she thought.
Make me believe I'm wrong, that you're really taking me home.

Francisco Villegas only grinned. “You want the truth, senorita? The truth is we travel to Nogales. You are a very beautiful woman … and innocent, no? The women in the stronghold, they say you are still a virgin. With that ripe little body and all of that fiery dark hair, the price for you will be a high one.”

“You—you're going to sell me?” The words came out in a high-pitched squeak. Dear God, he was taking her to a brothel! He meant to make her a whore!

“Of course,” he said. “Why else would I be going to all of this trouble?”

Carly wet her trembling lips, her hold growing tighter on the heavy length of iron behind her back. “I-If it's money you want, my uncle will pay you. More than you could get in Juarez.”

The grin grew broader. She hated the smug look on his face. “I do not think so. Besides, there are women in Nogales. I am in need of a woman.” He stepped toward her, pulled the string that held her braided hair, then ran his thick fingers through it to separate the strands. His sour breath fanned her cheek. “Perhaps the women in the stronghold were wrong. Perhaps El Dragón has already had you. Then I could have you too, eh?”

“They—they aren't wrong. I've never been with a man.”

His hand cupped her cheek. It felt callused and rough. His blunt fingers stroked her, the nails broken and dirty. “Even if I took you, you would still bring a very good price. I think maybe it would be worth it.”

Dear God! She forced herself to stand still. She would have to hit him. There was no other way. Her fingers tightened around the weapon. “You're not going to have me—you're not going to touch me!” Looking him straight in the eye, she swung the heavy iron with all her strength. “I'm going home!” It landed against his jaw and the side of his face with such force the gold tooth erupted from his mouth along with a bright red gusher of blood.

Shaking all over, she dropped the length of iron and raced for her horse. Shoving her foot into the stirrup, she swung up on its back with a strength she didn't know she had, grabbed the reins, and dug her heels into the horse's ribs. The animal leapt forward the same instant the bandit's arm snaked around her waist and he jerked her out of the saddle.

She struggled for a moment, tore herself free. Carly screamed as he slapped her, knocking her into the dirt.

“You should not have done that,” he said, his breath coming hard and fast with his anger.

She looked up at him and terror streaked through her, making her limbs feel weak. Her cheek throbbed painfully and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. Rolling to her knees, her unbound hair tumbling around her shoulders, she frantically scanned the ground, searching for her weapon. She spotted the length of heavy iron and dove for it, but Villegas blocked her way. He grabbed a handful of her hair, jerked her head up, and slapped her again.

“You dare to fight me?” Wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, he dragged her to her feet, ripping the front of her blouse. “No man has lived who has ever gone against me—and you are only a woman.”

“Then kill me,” she taunted. “If you don't I swear I'll find a way to kill you!”

He merely laughed. Cupping her breast with a thick-fingered hand, he twisted cruelly, sending a shaft of pain slicing through her.
“Puta,”
he growled. “Now you will whore for me.”

Carly started to struggle, so frightened she felt dizzy, desperate to gain her freedom, but a rustling sound caught her attention and both of them went stock still.

“Let the woman go.” Ramon de la Guerra stood no more than five feet away, long legs splayed, his face a cold mask of rage. His flat black hat rode low over his forehead, but still she could see the fury blazing in his midnight eyes. His jaw clamped so hard a muscle bunched in his lean, hard cheek.

Villegas quit fondling her breast. “So … it is you who has come for the girl. I did not think you would.” He chuckled crudely. “But she is a fiery piece, no?”

“I said to let her go.”

Villegas released her and Carly sank into the dirt at his feet.

“Move away from him, Cara,” Ramon said softly. “He will not hurt you again.”

She muffled a sob and tried to stand, but her trembling legs would not hold her up. She tried again, forced her unsteady limbs to move and crawled through the dust away from the big, burly Mexican. Her hands shook and her chest heaved. Fear tore at her insides, making it hard to breathe. Fear for herself. Fear for Ramon.

“I will kill you,
jefe.
And then I will take the girl.” Villegas grinned. Two gaping holes showed where his eyeteeth should have been. “I will pleasure myself in every way I know how, then I will sell her to Ernesto. His cantina is the fanciest whorehouse in Nogales.”

Ramon's control seemed to snap. Muscles bunched in his neck and shoulders as he leapt toward Villegas, grabbing him by the throat and knocking him into the dirt. The bandit broke free, but Ramon spun toward him, throwing his fist in a hard, fast punch that slammed the muscular man to the ground, his head crashing down against the hard-packed earth. Another blow followed, then another, and another.

Villegas's face was bloody, his nose flowing red down to his chin. He grabbed Ramon's shirt and rolled over, forcing his heavy weight atop him.

Ramon took several hard blows before he could free himself, then he was back on top, back in control and raining one vicious blow after another down on Villegas's thick head. The fight was almost over when Carly saw the Mexican reach for the knife that had slid out of his boot.

“Ramon!” She screamed the warning just in time. He caught the bandit's knife hand, they struggled, and for a moment, Carly feared the heavier man might win. She raced across the clearing and grabbed the heavy length of iron, then turned just in time to see Ramon sink the thin blade deep into Villegas's massive chest.

The man's big arms slowly fell away but his eyes no longer moved, just stared sightlessly toward the sky, his mouth gaping open like a dark, bloody hole. Ramon dropped the knife and came up off him, then turned to see Carly gripping the candlestick high above her shoulders, staring at Villegas and still prepared to swing.

“You can put down your weapon,
chica,
” he said softly. “The man is dead. He cannot hurt you now.”

She fingered the metal, finally let go, and the heavy iron slipped from her hands, landing with a thud in the powdery dust at her feet. Tears filled her eyes and began to slide down her cheeks. She saw Ramon's grim features, saw his graceful strides as he came toward her, then she was crushed against his solid chest.

“Do not cry,” he whispered. “Ramon is here now.”

She only sobbed harder. “I'm not crying,” she said. “I never cry.”

His long fingers sifted through her hair, cradling her head against his shoulder. “It is all right,
querida.
There are times we all need to cry.” His hand stroked her back, soothing her gently. He whispered soft, encouraging words, but she could barely hear them. Still, they sounded sweet, his voice so gentle, so achingly beautiful. She had heard such soft sweet words before. Somewhere … she wished she could recall.

She glanced up at him through tear-damp lashes, and noticed for the first time that his eyes were not just brown, but ringed with flecks of gold.

“Please, Ramon,” she whispered brokenly, “please don't be angry. I had to do it. I had to.”

“It is not your fault that Villegas—” He held her away from him, his dark eyes fixed on her face. “You went with him willingly? You were trying to escape?”

A moment of unease slid through her. He hadn't known she was running away. Dear God, what would he do? “I-I had to go. I … please … try to understand.”

He pulled her back against him, circled her tightly in his arms. “I understand, Cara. I see that this is one more thing for which I am to blame.” He gently tilted her head back, his slim dark fingers lightly touching the bruise on her cheek. Then he kissed her. A feather soft kiss that said how sorry he was and for some strange reason made her want to cry again.

Then he was lifting her into his arms and striding off toward the trees where he had tied his horse.

“I was so frightened,” she said, nestling her head against his shoulder. Beneath her cheek, hard muscle bunched with each of his long-legged strides. “If you hadn't come when you did—”

Ramon flashed one of his beautiful smiles. “I saw how frightened you were,
chica.
You hit him so hard, you almost took off his head.” He carried her to the place beneath a thick-leafed sycamore near where his stallion grazed, set her gently on her feet. “We will find a place to camp for the night. In the morning we will go home.”

Carly fought a fresh rush of tears. She hated the thought of returning to Llano Mirada. But if it hadn't been for Ramon, her fate would have been far worse. She glanced up at the tall, handsome Spaniard. He was more man than she had ever known, stronger, braver, more beautiful. And gentle. She never would have believed he could be so gentle. The notion made something squeeze inside her heart.

“You are feeling better?”

“Yes,” she said, but still he held her and neither of them moved. He stood so close she could see his heartbeat throbbing beside a muscle at the base of his throat. Her fingers pressed lightly against his chest, which rose and fell with his breathing.

His hand came up to her cheek, brushed the hair back from her temple. “Finding you gone … I was the one who was frightened. I could not bear the thought that you might be hurt.” Through the blur of her tears, the gold in his eyes seemed to shimmer. He stared into her face as if his gaze could touch her soul. Moments passed. She was certain he meant to kiss her. Then a long weary breath escaped and he turned and walked slowly away.

Ramon crossed the clearing trying not to think of Carly and what had nearly occurred. Instead he gathered Viento's reins, led the stallion away from where he grazed, and returned to the clearing. Resting his hands on Carly's waist, he lifted her up on his saddle, setting her astride the horse, then with brisk, deliberate movements, swung himself up behind her, encircling her in his arms. He could still feel her trembling, still feel the tiny shivers running through her small body. His own heart hammered dully.

He had never been so fearful, so close to losing control, never felt such overwhelming anger as the moment he had seen her in the clearing with Villegas. He'd forced himself to wait, take the time he needed to work himself into position. Cisco stood so close to Carly he couldn't chance a shot, and somehow he had needed to end the man's life with his own hands.