Rio (21 page)

Rio shook his head. “Not good. I can handle a rifle like any Texas rancher should, but I’ve had no use for learning gunfighting.”

“This isn’t gunfightin’, where speed matters.” Trace frowned. “This is duelin’. What counts here are steady nerves. You’ll both walk twenty paces and turn and aim.
Sometimes the one who is not the best shot with a pistol but has the best nerves, wins.”

Turquoise looked at him. “Have you ever been involved in a duel before, Uncle Trace?”

He nodded. “As a second to my father many years ago when I was hardly more than a boy. He killed the other man.”

“Senor Trace, I would be honored if you would be my second,” Rio said.

“Of course I will. My only problem at this time is what to do about my family, who will be comin’ in on the train from Philadelphia about sundown that night.”

“Turquoise can meet the train,” Rio said. “I don’t want her at the duel anyway.”

“You might at least let me make that choice,” she bristled.

He gave her a stern look. “Please don’t make this any worse than it is, sweet one.”

She nodded and the men loaded pistols, and Trace showed Rio how to hold the gun with his left hand. “Now take careful aim,” he cautioned. “Remember, with a Colt, you’ve got more bullets. With a dueling pistol, you only get one shot and you’ve got to make it count.”

They practiced another hour.

Trace nodded encouragement. “You’re improvin’, Rio. Now remember, don’t let your anger get the best of you. You have to be very cool and deadly in a duel.”

“We’re low on shells,” Rio noted. “I’ll go back down to the house and get more.”

After they watched him walk away, Turquoise turned to Trace. “I never heard about a Durango duel. What was the old don fighting about?”

“A woman’s honor,” Trace said.

“A woman’s honor doesn’t seem worth killing a man over,” she scoffed.

“I’d kill a man if he insulted my woman—any Texan would. In this case the woman was my mother,” Trace said. “The man tried to seduce her and failed. Then he publicly called Velvet Eyes an ‘Injun whore.’”

“Oh.”

“So you see, the don had no choice but to kill him. There were other things leadin’ up to it for many years and several generations. They had long been bitter enemies, but that was the final insult that put them beneath the big oaks by the river.”

“I reckon men will always be men.”

Trace nodded. “And what is this duel about?”

Turquoise shrugged. “A number of things.”

“Men usually fight duels over two things: honor or women. I presume you are the woman?”

She felt her face flush. “I didn’t think it would lead to this.”

“Women never think it will lead to bloodshed, but they don’t know how primitive a man can be when another male wants his woman.”

“Uncle Trace, would you allow me to marry Edwin Forester?”

Trace’s face hardened and he looked both shocked and bewildered. “What?”

“Don’t ask.” She looked at the ground and stubbed her toe in the dirt.

Trace sighed. “I don’t know what you’re up to. Very well, I’d like to say over my very dead body you’d marry into the Foresters, but if it were your choice, I would allow you to make it.”

“Do you think Rio has a chance in hell Monday night?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment. “I don’t really know, Turquoise. He’s not very good with a pistol, that’s true, but I’ve got a couple of days to work with him. Sometimes miracles happen.”

They both turned to watch Rio striding back with the bullets.

She asked, “So I should pray for a miracle?”

“Si,”
Trace said, nodding, “or maybe make one happen.”

Rio came back just then with the boxes of shells. “So what were you two talking about?”

“How well you’re shootin’,” Trace said with a grin, “and how I should give Turquoise a large dowry when she marries you.”

“I’ve got to survive the duel first,” Rio reminded him.

She couldn’t stand to look him in the face. “It looks like you two have a long afternoon ahead of you,” she said. “I think I’ll go to the nearest church and light some candles and pray.”

“You’d better pray to Saint Jude, the patron saint of hopeless causes,” Rio suggested.

She shook her head. “No, I’ll pray to the Virgin and all the saints and then I’ll come back about sundown tonight to see how it’s going, Uncle Trace.”

He nodded and she got in the buggy and drove away, listening to the echoing pistol shots behind her.

Yes, she needed more than prayers; she needed a miracle. Now what could she do to make a miracle happen?

After she prayed, she went back to Rio’s to watch the men shoot and to fix them some supper. Since the men wanted to go to bed and get an early start on their practice, she decided to return to Fern’s ranch. Her friend and her father were sympathetic, but there wasn’t much they could do to help. Mr. Lessup did say that he had organized some ranchers to help rebuild Rio’s barn late next week. That is, if Rio survived Monday night. Turquoise spent a restless night, mostly praying for help and guidance.

In the morning, a huge bouquet of pink roses and a diamond bracelet arrived by messenger. The card read, “Looking forward to my life with you. Much love, Edwin.”

Once she had loved the scent of roses, but now their sweet fragrance reminded her of funerals. She tore up the card and tossed the bracelet aside. Could she be sure Edwin would keep his end of the bargain? Not knowing what to do, she told Fern the details of everything that had happened.

Her friend was round-eyed. “My word. Will you go through with it?”

Turquoise shook her head and paced the floor. “I guess
I’ll have to. But I don’t know whether I can trust Edwin and Rio would be furious if he knew what I had done.”

Fern bit her lip. “Is there any chance Rio might kill him in the duel?”

“There’s always a chance, I guess.” Turquoise put her hand to her throbbing head. But he’s shooting left-handed and he said he wasn’t much with a pistol to begin with.”

“You said Senor Durango was helping him.”

“That’s true, but I doubt if he has enough time to really turn him into a marksman.”

“You could go to the law,” Fern suggested.

“And then they’d all be mad at me. Men are such proud creatures. Their honor means more than anything to them. We ladies are so much more practical. Besides, I reckon Edwin has the law in his pocket. The Foresters own everyone in Austin.”

“Oh, Turquoise, what are you going to do?”

Turquoise wiped her eyes. “I’m not sure. I might have to take action myself.”

Fern’s eyes grew even rounder. “Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She paced up and down. “I might have to shoot Edwin myself.”

“What? You could go to jail or get hung for that.” Fern grabbed her arm, but Turquoise shook her off.

“Don’t you think I know that? It would be worth it if it saves Rio’s life.” She reached for her shawl. “I think I’ll go see how the shooting lessons are going.”

“What shall I do?” Fern seemed to relish her part as co-conspirator.

Turquoise shook her head. “I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do yet. I’ll let you know later what’s happening.”

“Didn’t you say Senor Durango’s family is due in Monday?”

Turquoise nodded. “Around sundown. Couldn’t come
at a worse time, I think. I’ve been assigned to meet her train because Uncle Trace will be at the duel.”

“My word! You’re not going to miss that?” Fern asked.

Turquoise turned at the door. “I don’t know, but I think that’s the men’s plan. I want to be there and yet, I don’t want to be there. May I borrow your buggy again?”

Fern nodded. “Anything I can do to help, I will.”

Turquoise drove first to the state capitol and hurried into Edwin’s office, ignoring his protesting clerk.

There were two other men in Edwin’s office and all three gentlemen stood up as she entered.

“Ah, Senators Black and Willoby, I’d like you to meet Senorita Sanchez.”

“Charmed,” said the two plump, middle-aged men as they bowed.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said and indicated with her eyes to Edwin that they needed to talk.

He frowned, but nodded to the two men. “Well, I suppose we can continue this discussion about the water legislation later since the legislature won’t be back in session for a while, gentlemen.”

“Of course.” They hurried out, smiling at Turquoise.

“Now, dear”—Edwin lifted his lapel to his nose and sniffed the pink rosebud—“what can I do for you so early this fine morning? You know Tuesday’s a holiday and I have some work to finish up.”

She listened to the sound of an occasional firecracker outside the building. She had completely forgotten about the Fourth of July. “You’re very calm, considering you’re fighting a duel at sundown Monday.”

“But that’s just a sham, remember?” He walked over and put his arm around her but she stayed wooden and unresponsive. “Did you get my little gift this morning?”

“Yes.” She stepped away from him. “It’s extravagant.”

“Oh, not by a long shot.” He laughed. “You can expect more of the same once we are married.”

“Edwin”—she turned toward him—“you are going to keep your promise and not shed any blood, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” he assured her. “I’ll just shoot in his direction and hope he does the same. That ought to satisfy both our honors. I hear he’s a lousy shot with a pistol.”

“Who told you that?”

He scratched his head. “I don’t remember. Anyway, things like that get around.”

“I need to be going,” she said. “I spent a rather sleepless night worrying about this.”

He came over to her and kissed her forehead. “No need to, poor darling. Unless something goes terribly wrong and he jumps in front of my pistol, he’ll walk away unscathed.”

“Thank you, Edwin. I wouldn’t want to begin our marriage with blood on your hands.”

“Now you run along, my dear. Will you be at the duel?”

She shook her head. “I think I may be the only one in town who won’t be. I’m scheduled to meet Senora Du-rango’s train late that day.”

“That’s nice.” He sounded absent, as if his mind was already on something else. “A duel isn’t something that welcomes ladies. It’s for men. I’ll see you later this evening. Maybe we’ll dine? There’s a fine new restaurant in town.”

“I—I don’t think so.” She decided not to tell him her guardian was in Austin. Town gossip would let him know that soon enough. She left his office, ignored the curious stare of his clerk, got in the buggy, and drove out to Rio’s ranch.

Here and there along the way, she heard firecrackers echoing across the landscape. The boys of Austin were getting an early start to their celebrations.

As she drove through the ranch gates and back toward
the lake, she heard the sound of pistol fire and, as she neared, bits and snatches of conversation.

“No, Rio, hold the pistol steady.”

“I’m trying. I’m not good with my left hand.”

She drove up and reined in, watching Rio shoot as Tip came running to meet her.

“No, a little lower,” Trace instructed. “Always aim for the body. It’s a bigger target. Let’s have none of this fancy stuff about tryin’ to just wound him or knock the gun from his hand.”

“It’s hard for me to shoot at a man, even if it is that damned Forester,” Rio argued.

“You better, if you want to walk away from this alive.”

Now they seemed to notice Turquoise for the first time and turned toward her. “How’s the practice going?” She tried to be bright and light-hearted.

She saw the two men exchange glances.

“Just fine,” Rio said, but he didn’t look at her.

“He’s gettin’ much better.” Trace nodded, but she saw the doubt in his dark eyes.

Rio came to the buggy to help her down and she clung to him and abruptly began to cry.

“Now, now, let’s have none of that,” he murmured and gently stroked her hair. “I’m not dead yet and Trace is a good teacher.”

“But you don’t have enough time to learn,” she said, sobbing.

Trace cleared his throat. “Uh, maybe I’d better walk down to the house and get some more ammunition,” he muttered, “while you two finish your conversation.”

She watched him walk away and turned back to Rio. “How are you doing, really?”

“Fine.” He avoided her direct gaze. “Of course I’d feel better if we were using rifles. I’m damned good with a rifle, even if I had to shoot left-handed.”

She looked at his bandaged hand, still swollen. “It’s not better?”

“A little. It just needs time, that’s all.”

“Couldn’t you postpone this duel?”

He snorted and turned away. “That sounds just like a woman. ‘This isn’t a convenient time, sir. Can we schedule it for another day?’”

She saw the dark circles under his eyes and felt the underlying tension in the man. “You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?”

“Did you?” He looked into her eyes and she ducked her head, afraid he could read what was there.

“No.” She shook her head. “But maybe all is not lost. Maybe you’re worried for nothing.”

“What does that mean?” He grabbed her arm.

“Nothing. Maybe Edwin isn’t as good a shot as you think, and maybe he’ll miss.”

“I doubt that. Everyone says he’s an expert with dueling pistols.”

“So you really feel you’re going to your death?”

He nodded.

“Then don’t go. Forget the damned duel.” She was losing her temper with men and their honor.

He caught both her arms. “We’ve had this conversation before and you don’t understand. I couldn’t walk the streets of this town if I run.”

She looked up at him, loving him, worried that there was so much angst and tension in his rugged face. She wanted to comfort him. “Just stop worrying about the senator killing you.” She reached up to kiss him, but he caught her small face between his two big hands.

“Why, Turquoise? Why should I stop worrying?”

She was babbling in confusion, trying to look away, but he was holding her face, looking down into her eyes.
“I—I just think maybe he’ll only make a gesture, that’s all, or miss.”

He didn’t let go of her. “Now why would he do that?”

She tried to pull away from him. “I—I really don’t know. Maybe I heard a rumor, that’s all, that he doesn’t plan to kill you.”

“You’re a poor liar, Turquoise. What is it you know?”

She struggled to pull away from him. “Nothing,” but she didn’t look at him.

He tightened his grip on her.

“Oh, you’re hurting me!” She was fighting to get away from him, but his hands were strong on her arms.

“Turquoise, what is it you know?”

“Nothing.” Her mouth was so dry, she was choking.

“You’ve made a deal,” he guessed. “You’ve made some kind of deal with the devil.”

“No.” She tried to pull away. “He only said—”

“So you’ve talked to him?”

“No, yes, oh God, Rio, let go of me!”

“Not until you tell me what sort of scheme you’ve agreed to.”

She shook her head and tried to look away, her eyes blinded by tears. “He—he won’t kill you, he’ll only take a shot and miss.”

“I wouldn’t trust him on a stack of Bibles. Why would he do that?”

She pulled away from him, tearing her sleeve in the process. “I—I don’t know.”

“You little bitch. You’ve promised him something, haven’t you?” He moved toward her, dark eyes blazing.

She backed away defensively. “So what if I have? I’m not as proud as you. I’d do anything to save your life!”

“And you have no confidence in my ability to win?”

“You—you said yourself he was an excellent shot and you weren’t—”

“But at least I’d go down with honor, not hiding behind a woman’s skirts.”

“You’re a fool then and maybe I’ve made a devil’s bargain, but I love you enough to do whatever it takes to stop him from killing you.”

“Your body,” he seethed. “You damned little whore, you’ve promised him your body.”

She didn’t say anything, only fled to her buggy. She drove out at a fast pace, whipping up the horse while he railed accusations after her.

God, now he hated her, but she couldn’t help that. Yes, she’d made a devil’s bargain, but if it saved Rio’s life, it was worth it to spend a lifetime in Edwin’s bed. That thought made her nauseous. She drove past Trace, who yelled at her, but she didn’t stop. She kept driving until she realized she was back in town and the horse had slowed to a walk.

What was she to do? Rio was now furious with her, not appreciating her sacrifice. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure she could trust Edwin to keep his word. What kind of action could she take now? She spent a sleepless weekend, barely talking to Fern and not going out to Rio’s ranch. She couldn’t face him, not knowing if he had told her guardian about her deal with Edwin Forester. All she could do was pray and pace and hope that Edwin would keep his part of the bargain if Rio didn’t kill the senator.

Finally it was Monday. It had come in spite of all her prayers. Now she had finally decided what she must do. The weather felt sweltering as she dressed in a white eyelet dress and big hat. It was past noon and the July day was as hot as the firecrackers that exploded occasionally on the streets. She borrowed Fern’s buggy, took her little reticule, and drove blindly, looking at shops and lampposts festooned with red, white, and blue crepe paper and ribbons. Tomorrow there would be a parade, picnics, and speeches and a band playing in the park as the country celebrated its
hundredth birthday, but today, she was only concerned with what would happen at sundown under the big oaks by the river.

They might hang her for murder, but she had made her decision. Turquoise drove to a gunshop and reined in, got down, and tied up at the hitching rail. Clutching her reticule firmly, she went inside.

To the mustachioed proprietor, she said, “I’d like to see a gun, please.”

He looked at her askance. Most women did not buy weapons. “A rifle? A gift for a gentleman, perhaps?”

“Uh, no.” She shook her head. “It’s for me.”

He smiled and nodded. “Oh, protection. Good idea with all these drunken galoots celebrating the Fourth. All right, miss. How about a nice little Derringer? You can carry that in your purse and—”

“No, that’s only good at very close range, isn’t it?” She looked him squarely in the eye. “I think what I have in mind is a Colt revolver.”

He scratched his head. “Uh, little lady, that’s a pretty big pistol for a woman. Now a nice Derringer—”

“No, I think I want a Colt.”

He sighed and shook his head. “It might knock you down when you try to shoot it,” he said. “Have you ever shot a Colt before?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’ve shot a rifle a few times. Surely it can’t be that much different.”

He smiled suddenly. “Oh, you want to make some noise for the Fourth. Why don’t you just buy a few firecrackers?” She shook her head.