Midnight Rider (18 page)

He smiled into the darkness, took another long draw on his cigar. “If that means you do not find me quite so despicable, I hope that is the truth.”

She laughed softly, then seemed to grow more thoughtful. Shadows mingled with the firelight, forming patterns on her long, dark auburn hair. He tried not to notice when her torn blouse gaped open, exposing creamy skin and a portion of her lush, upthrusting breasts. His blood began to thicken, to pump with a heavy rhythm through his veins. Heat eddied low in his groin, strengthening his arousal, and he was glad that he sat among the shadows.

“What is it you are thinking?” he asked.

She absently twirled the leafy branch. “I was remembering what you did yesterday.”

“You were thinking that I was the man who killed Villegas?”

“No. I was thinking of the way you held me, spoke to me so gently.” Her eyes held his as she gazed at him across the distance between them. “Someone spoke to me that way before, on the nights that I was sick. I tried to remember. For a while I thought it was a dream. It was you, wasn't it? You were the man beside my bed.”

He had wondered if she would recall. “
Si,
I was there.”

“It was you who cared for me. I remember you bathing my forehead. One night I woke up and … you were praying.”

Ramon smiled softly. “
Si, querida.
For once God heard my prayers.”

Something flickered in her eyes. She looked at him as she never had before. “Thank you.” It was little more than a whisper.

Ramon said nothing. For a while she watched him, studying his face as if she tried to read his thoughts, then she rose and crossed the clearing toward the bedroll she had placed some distance from his.

Tonight he was grateful she would not be sleeping so near. With each step she took, her small ankles showed beneath the hem of her simple cotton skirt and he recalled her shapely legs, the way she had shivered when his hand ran up her thigh. Her full breasts quivered against her blouse, reminding him how round and full they had felt when he had cupped them. His shaft grew harder still, and with every movement of her hips, a painful ache throbbed at the front of his breeches.

It took all his effort at control not to go to her, to drag her beneath him, push up her skirt, and drive himself inside her. She was a hunger he couldn't assuage, a fever in his blood that nothing seemed to ease. And yet he could not take her.

He felt tied in knots, mired in lust, felt the same hot roiling frustration that he had once felt for Lily. But Lily was a woman, not a girl, a vixen practiced in the ways of a woman. Finally she had come to him, welcomed him into her bed. Beneath a pale Seville moon, he'd had four glorious weeks with Lily, most of it spent between her long, white, shapely legs. He'd been nearly obsessed with Lily—until he discovered he wasn't the only young fool who shared her bed.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

Sitting astride the bay, Carly surveyed the split in the trail ahead, one branch leading farther north, the other heading west, down into the oak-covered rolling hills and on into the lowlands. Wistfully, she thought of Rancho del Robles, which must lie somewhere in that direction. In front of her, Ramon paused at the top of the steep descent that led down the mountain into a small, secluded valley. She couldn't help admiring the sight of his narrow hips and broad shoulders, the easy grace with which he sat his horse.

Carly smiled. She was feeling better today, her legs growing used to the long hours on horseback. The salve Ramon had used had worked wonders. Her cheeks burned to think of the fire that had blazed from the spot where he had touched her, the gentle stroke of his long, dark fingers over her skin. He turned his horse and rode back up the trail to the place beside her, and Carly forced the memory away.

“Are we close to the stronghold?” she asked. “Surely we are. At least I fervently hope so.”

Ramon ignored the question. “There is something I would know. It is important that you tell me the truth.”

Her head came up at the serious note in his voice. “All right.”

“The day you left the stronghold with Villegas … when you tried to run away … why did you leave?”

Carly's stomach churned.
Because you make me feel things I don't understand.
“Because I was frightened.”

“Frightened? Surely you were no longer frightened of me.”

Carly shifted in the saddle, looked him square in the eye. “I was your prisoner, Ramon. You could do anything you wanted with me. Anything. Of course I was afraid of you.”

His dark gaze held hers, probing, searching for secrets. “And now,
chica?
Are you still afraid?”

There was something in his face, something she couldn't quite read. “Back there—in the mountains with Villegas—you saved my life. You risked your own life to do it. You promised I would be safe, and you've kept your word. No, Ramon. I'm no longer afraid of you.”
I'm only afraid of myself.

For a long, tense moment he said nothing. “The trail splits here,” he said. “The path leading west would carry you to Rancho del Robles. If I could be certain you would not lead your uncle to the stronghold, I would consider letting you return to your home.”

Her heart began thudding, pounding inside her chest. Dear God, he might let her go! “I have no idea where the stronghold is. I stayed under the tarp when I left there with Villegas, otherwise your guards would have seen me. Besides he went south. I don't know this country and I couldn't begin to retrace our path.”

“And the night of the raid?”

“It was dark and I was frightened. I have no idea the trail you took; I was just worried about staying alive.”

“That is what I thought, but I wanted to hear you say it. I could not risk the lives of my people.”

She looked into his handsome face, at his long black lashes and high cheekbones. “What about you, Ramon? If you let me go, you'll be putting your life in my hands. I know who you are, that you live at Las Almas. You'd have to accept my word that I wouldn't turn you in to the authorities.”

“
Si,
Cara, that is so. As you said, you know who I am. My rancho lies just miles from your uncle's hacienda. If you wish to see me dead, you need only tell him that Ramon de la Guerra is El Dragón.”

Her stomach clenched, tightened at the thought of him lying in the dirt like Villegas. “El Dragón was mostly your brother. Serafina told me this was his idea to begin with. That he led more than half of the raids. She also told me El Dragón didn't rob the stage the night I met you at my uncle's
fandango.
She says there are a number of bandits who rob travelers in the gold fields, but it's El Dragón who usually gets the blame.”

“As I said, you are not a stupid woman. And I have come to respect you. If you give me your word that you will not tell them who I am, then I will let you go.”

Something twisted inside her. He had risked his life to save her from Villegas. He was risking it again. “Why? Why would you take such a chance?”

“There are many reasons, Cara. Perhaps it is simply that I want you and cannot have you.”

Could that truly be enough? She would never know, she guessed, but it didn't really matter as long as she got home. “If everything you've told me is the truth, then I give you my word. Your secret will be safe with me, Don Ramon.”

The Spaniard merely nodded. “Tell them we were moving our camp, taking you south when you escaped. Tell them you were blindfolded much of the time and that you saw nothing that could help them find us. Tell them we meant to ransom you. That is the reason you were left alone, the reason El Dragón did not take you to his bed.”

A warmth rose into her cheeks. “I'll tell them,” she said softly. Something was squeezing inside her, pressing against her heart. For the first time she realized part of her didn't want to leave. She looked up at Ramon and he must have sensed what she was feeling for his eyes turned smoky and dark. Bending forward, he slid a hand behind her neck and pulled her toward him. His mouth came down over hers, moving with fiery heat and an odd sort of tenderness.

She found herself reaching out for him, sliding her arms around his neck and kissing him back. Tears stung her eyes as his lips touched her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, then he returned to kissing her lips. A last hard kiss and he broke away.

“Stay on the trail,” he said gruffly. “In two hours time you will reach the boundary of the ranch. Take the fork to the right and you will come to the ranch house.” He whirled the big black stallion. “
Vaya con Dios, querida.
El Dragón will not forget you.” And then he was gone.

Carly's hands clenched on the reins. Her insides were shaking, and her heart felt crushed inside her breast. Tears burned her eyes and began to slide down her cheeks.

“God go with you, Ramon,” she whispered to his tall retreating figure as the big, black stallion picked its way back up the trail. She watched him until he disappeared. Even then she didn't ride out, just sat on the stout bay horse feeling heartsick and lonely when she should have been feeling elated.

Eventually she turned the bay and rode off down the trail toward her uncle's hacienda. She would see him again, she told herself, not that it would make any difference. Don Ramon would visit the rancho as he had done before. And he would play the gentleman. But it was El Dragón, the handsome Spaniard who had carried her away, that she would remember in her dreams.

*   *   *

From a ridge high above, Ramon watched Carly ride off down the trail. He followed at a distance until she reached the boundary to Rancho del Robles then turned away. He felt tired and strangely empty, as if someone had blown out a candle, leaving him alone in a darkened room.

Perhaps he was worried that the girl would break her word, but he didn't really think so. A bond had grown between them, an odd sort of kinship that had nothing to do with the desire he felt for her. It had happened the moment he had stepped into the clearing, the instant he had set for himself the task of protecting her. The bond had strengthened the moment he had seen she was equally willing to fight for him.

And if he was wrong?

Unconsciously he shrugged his shoulders. It didn't really matter. He couldn't keep her and he would not hurt her again. If she betrayed him, so be it. His life had been a full one, ripe with the company of beautiful women, the pleasures of the flesh, the taste of fine wines, dancing, and song. His only regret would be in failing his people. They needed him. His mother and his aunt Teresa needed him. And he wanted Rancho del Robles returned to the de la Guerra name.

Perhaps he had been a fool, and yet he would not change his course of action. Time would tell if the woman would keep her word.

Ramon rode back toward the compound. He would let Pedro and the others know he was safe, what he had done with the girl, and then he would return to Rancho Las Almas. In the days ahead, perhaps he would ride to Monterey. There was a girl there, Catarina Micheltorena, a direct descendant of the former governor of Alta California. She had just turned seventeen, not as old as he would have liked, but she was beautiful, and pure Castilian Spanish. She was the kind of woman who would obey his every command and bring him a host of fine strong sons. Her father believed the two of them would suit and he was eager for the marriage.

Ramon thought of Carly. Of her courage and determination, of her innocence and womanly curves. He thought of the way she had felt in his arms, and a hollow ache rose into his chest. He nudged the stallion into a gallop.

For the first time in a long time, he realized just how lonely he was.

*   *   *

“Now, Caralee, my dear, let's go over this again.”

Carly sighed and leaned back in her chair. “I've told you what happened a dozen times, Uncle Fletcher. I was blindfolded the night of the raid and again when the men moved their camp. I was lucky I was able to escape, that I happened on a trail that led in the right direction, that some old Indian pointed me toward Rancho del Robles. I didn't see anything that might help you find them, I wish I could help you, but I can't.”

They were seated in his study, on the brown leather sofa in front of the hearth. It was still warm outside, a late September day, so the fire wasn't lit. Instead it blazed in her uncle's green eyes.

A man named Jeremy Layton sat across from them, the sheriff from San Juan Bautista. “What I can't understand, Miss McConnell, is why he didn't try to ransom you sooner. Why did he wait so long?” The sheriff was a man in his forties, lean and blond and rawboned, with a dark-tanned, slightly weathered face.

“I-I don't know. I think he wanted my uncle to worry. I gather he doesn't like him very much.” It was harder to lie than she had thought, the story growing more complex with every telling.

“None of those greasers like me.” Her uncle's thick hand balled into a fist. “They resent the fact they lost the war. They were too weak to keep their land, now they're taking it out on any American who happens to get in their way.” He turned a hard look on Carly. “Tell me again what this bastard looked like.”

Carly shuddered, thinking of Villegas, the villain she had mentally dubbed El Dragón. The ugly bandit looked as little like Ramon de la Guerra as any man she could think of. And conveniently he was dead. She rubbed her temples. She was beginning to get a headache.

“As I said, he was a big, burly man with a long, black, curling mustache. He had an eyetooth that was missing and one that was gold.”

After the first stunned acceptance of her return home, after a hard, brief hug and concern for her physical welfare, her uncle had begun his endless round of questions.

“Sound like anyone you know, Sheriff Layton?” he asked.