The Outlaw and the Lady (21 page)

The far door opened. He looked around and shot off the cot. “Alejandro, what are you doing here?”

“I do not know that name,” Alejandro said, as he averted his gaze and stepped into the cell that Montgomery had unlocked.

“What nonsense is this?” Lee asked.

Alejandro held his head high and thrust out his chest. “I am Lee Raven.”

Lee settled for slamming his palm against his brother’s cell since he couldn’t reach his head. “Are you
loco?
”

Montgomery’s mouth twitched. “Sean, it seems we have two Lee Ravens. You’re responsible for both.”

“Yes, sir, Captain.”

“
Un momento
!” Alejandro cried, pointing at Lee. “You can let this one go.”

“I don’t think so.”

Lee waited until Montgomery had quit the room before turning on his brother. “I cannot believe you did this.”

“What did you expect me to do? I told you the woman would get you hanged.”

Shaking his head, Lee dropped onto the cot. Alejandro sat as well and pressed his shoulder against the bars. “Perhaps if we keep saying I am Lee Raven, eventually they will believe us.”

Lee glared at his brother. “I do not want them to believe you. Did you not take a good look at the man who brought you in here?”

“
Sí
. I almost swallowed my tongue when I saw him. He looks like you.”

“No, Alejandro. I look like him. He is my”—he had yet to say the word out loud—”my father.”

“Kit Montgomery is your father?” Alejandro asked, clearly stunned.

“
Sí
,” Lee answered.

“
The
Kit Montgomery? The man you admired from a distance?” Alejandro asked.

“
Sí
. The man whose adventures I longed to read about. Ironic, heh?” Lee shifted on the cot. “Not only that, but his family has an estate in England. Ravenleigh.”

Alejandro’s eyes widened. “That is your name all mixed up.”

“
Sí
.”

Alejandro slumped forward. “Then he will not believe me.”

“Why are you not still in Mexico?”

Alejandro shrugged. “When night came and you were not home, I figured something was wrong. So I went searching for you.”

“What about the others?”

“I told them to stay with Juanita.”

The far door opened again. Montgomery walked in looking not only extremely tired, but irritated. At his side, Roberto looked as guilty as sin.

“It seems we have another one,” Montgomery said, as he escorted Roberto into a cell. He slammed the door shut and scrutinized Lee. “How many more can I expect?”

Lee darted his glance between his brothers. “Jorge?”

“Oh, no,” Roberto said. “Jorge said he had another plan.”

“What plan?” Lee and Montgomery asked at the same time.

“He would only say that it was magnificent, but knowing Jorge, I figured whatever it was, it would not work.”

“We can only hope,” Montgomery said. “Sean, stay alert.”

“Yes, sir.”

Montgomery turned away.

“Montgomery?”

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. Lee felt the heat suffuse his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to call the man “Father.” “Jorge is reckless, but harmless.”

“Splendid. Let’s hope he stays that way.” Montgomery left the room.

Roberto pressed his face against the bars. “Lee, Montgomery looks like you.”

“He’s Lee’s father,” Alejandro told him.

Roberto’s mouth dropped open, and he blinked before asking, “What is he like?”

“Fair. Honorable. He has promised me he will look into your claim that you own the land near Emilia. Alejandro, do you know if you had a deed?”

“If we ever had one, it would have burned in the fire.”

“I was afraid that would be what happened, but there should be a record somewhere. Montgomery will find it.”

“And then what?” Roberto asked.

“He will see that the land is given back to you.”

“I do not understand, Lee,” Alejandro began. “How did you come to get lost all those years ago?”

“I was playing with Angela.”

“Angela?”

“Life is funny, is it not?”

“That first morning when you said her hair reminded you of something.”

“It was a memory that taunted me but would not take hold. I think I must have been thinking of her.”

“So finish the story,” Roberto urged him.

“There is not much more to tell. Renegades stole me. Perhaps I got sick or was too much trouble. Whatever the reason, they decided not to keep me.”

“Their loss was our gain,” Alejandro said.

Standing on the other side of the door, listening intently, Kit thought his son did not sound like a man who would shoot another in the back without a good reason.

Bone weary, he strolled out of the sheriff’s office into the night. Several minutes later he walked into the hotel and up the stairs to the second floor. He rapped softly on the door to Angela’s room. “It’s Kit.”

She opened the door, her eyes swollen, but he doubted that it was from sleep. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he began.

“I wasn’t sleeping. Did you want to come in?”

“No. I just wanted to let you know that I haven’t been able to learn anything significant.”

She slumped against the doorjamb, clearly disappointed.

“It gets worse. I have two of Damon’s brothers in jail. Alejandro and Roberto.”

“But you promised him—”

“I put them there for their own good. They were both claiming to be Lee Raven.”

She smiled softly. “They love him, Kit. From the beginning I was confounded because I couldn’t understand why they had so much admiration for a murdering thief.”

“Do you know why Damon killed Floyd Shelby?”

Slowly she nodded. “I’ll tell you what I’ve learned. I won’t risk losing Damon again.”

Hearing a gasp, Kit turned and froze at the sight of his wife standing in the hallway, with tears welling in her eyes and her slender hand pressed against her throat. “Ashton, what in God’s name are you doing here?”

S
tretched out on the cot, one foot dangling on the floor, Lee jerked out of his light sleep at the sound of keys.

“Come on,” Cartwright said, holding his rifle in the crook of his elbow as he swung the door open.

“Where are we going?” Lee asked.

“The hotel.”

“What for?”

“Captain’s orders.”

“Why are you taking him?” Alejandro asked.

“Will you fellas relax?” Cartwright asked. “We just need to get this done before folks are moving through town.”

“Get what done?” Roberto asked.

Sighing, Cartwright took Lee’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Lee strode into the sheriff’s office. “Where’s Evans?”

“Comes in late, leaves early.”

Lee stepped outside. Fog had rolled in and dawn lay beyond it. Cartwright tightened his grip and led Lee across the street, along the boardwalk, to the hotel. They went in through a back door and walked down a dark corridor. Cartwright opened a door. “In here.”

Hesitantly, Lee entered the room. Cartwright followed him in, closed the door, brushed past him, and headed for the window.

“Just forget I’m here,” he said as he eased the curtain aside and gazed out the window.

“Expecting trouble?” Lee asked.

“I always expect trouble.” He glanced over his shoulder and nodded toward the tub of steaming water. “Get to it.”

“I’m to bathe?”

Cartwright turned his attention back to the window. “Yep. Captain’s orders.”

Eagerly, Lee stripped out of his clothes, dropped them on the floor, and got into the tub. The heat of the water immediately seeped into his bones. Moaning low, he sank until the water lapped at his throat. He looked toward the bed. It was so clean that he wouldn’t mind taking a
siesta
afterward, just a short one.

Three rapid knocks sounded at the door.

“It’s all right, you can come in,” Cartwright called out.

The hinges moaned. Lee’s gut clenched as Angela glided into the room and closed the door. Although she was blind, even though she had caressed every inch of him—or perhaps it was
be
cause
she had—he slid farther down and hoped Cartwright wouldn’t notice his face burning bright red.

Her hair was piled on her head much as it had been the first night he saw her. She wore a shimmering dress of green that matched her eyes. She looked incredibly lovely, and for a while, she had been his.

Angela set a box on the bed. “Kit thought you might like to shave.” She laid out towels and clean clothes. Holding a comb and scissors, she turned toward him.

Based on the accuracy with which she knelt beside the tub, he knew she’d been in this room before. “You arranged all this?”

“No, I just told them how to arrange things for my convenience. Would you like me to cut your hair?”

He looked past her to Cartwright. The man was staring intently out the window. Lee shrugged. “If you want.”

She scooted behind him and repeatedly combed her fingers through his hair. Closing his eyes in sweet surrender, he hated to admit how soothing it felt, how much he had missed her touch.

“You’re not going to question my ability to cut your hair?” she asked.

“I’ve learned, Angela Bainbridge, that you can do anything you set your mind to.”

“It’s gotten long,” she said.

The comb’s teeth scraped his scalp, over and over. Then he heard the snip of scissors.

“I always pictured it as dark,” she mused. “Why didn’t you tell me it was blond?”

“Because my family was Mexican. I always regretted that I did not favor them. I could not see the harm in not revealing everything.”

She moved his hair aside and placed a kiss in the curve of his neck. “I love you, Lee.”

“Are you trying to tempt me into breaking a vow? Is that what all this”—he swung his arm out in a wide arc, sending droplets spraying—“is about?”

“No, this royal treatment has nothing to do with us.”

She began to work diligently, snipping away his locks. Leaning his head back, he wondered vaguely what it did have anything to do with, but decided that it didn’t matter. Besides, he liked the way that her fingers fluttered over his hair.

“How short do you want it?” she asked.

“Doesn’t matter.” As long as she kept brushing his hair back, she could do it forever.

“How’s this?” she asked, nudging his shoulder.

Lee opened his eyes with a start. Had he fallen asleep? He took the mirror she offered and studied his reflection. He grazed his knuckles along his earlobes. His hair fell to that point evenly on each side. The back skimmed the nape of his neck. “It looks good.”

She smiled softly, and he wished he had more compliments to give her. “I like that dress.”

Her cheeks blushed a becoming pink, obliterating her freckles. “Do you? My father bought me a few outfits to wear while we were in town.”

“You should go home, Angela, to Fortune. There is nothing for you here.”

“That’s not true.”

He looked back toward the window. Cartwright stood there like a statue. “Angela—”

“Dunk your head under the water, and I’ll wash your hair.”

The thought of her fingers circling his scalp was a temptation he could not resist. He slipped under the water, then came up, water dripping in his face. “You should not be here. You are an unmarried woman.”

Taking the soap, she began lathering his hair. “In medieval England, the oldest daughter often washed gentlemen guests.”

“This is not medieval England.”

“No, I guess it isn’t.”

“You look tired.”

Her fingers stilled. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

She started rubbing his head again. He relaxed. “My hair is very dirty. We may have to wash it many times.”

But she washed it only twice. When she was finished, she knelt beside the tub, took his hand, and began to scrape what looked like a very small board across his fingernails. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Your nails are rough. I thought I would smooth them.”

He leaned toward her, inhaling her flowering fragrance. “You do not like the way my hands feel?” he asked quietly, silkily.

Her face flushed, and she began to buff more quickly. “You know I like it.”

“Where do you like my hands best?”

She stilled with her mouth slightly open, her flushed cheeks growing darker. “We’re not alone in here, you know.”

“He cannot hear me.”

“Why are you doing this?”

Why indeed?

“To hurt me?” she asked. “Well, you’re too late.”

She went to work.

“I am not the one who betrayed one of us.”

“Aren’t you? I’m supposed to accept and understand that you’d rather die for Juanita than live for me?”

“You do not understand.”

“What I understand is that I lost you once. It’s my fault that you’re here.”

“Angela, you were a child,” he whispered harshly.

“You were my responsibility that afternoon. I was supposed to watch you. If I had stopped those men—”

“How many were there?”

She hesitated. “Five.”

“You could have done nothing but what you did.”

“I hid.” Her disgust with her actions was evident in her voice.

“To have done anything else would have meant your death…or worse.”

“But everything you’ve suffered is because I was too scared to do anything.”

“You are not to blame,” he ground out.

“Yes, I am,
Damon
. If you hang, I’ll never forgive myself.”

She flung his hand away from her. “Give me the other one.”

“Do you plan to scrape it raw, as well?”

She sat up straighter. “Did I do that?”

Ignoring the stinging of his fingers in the water, he placed his other hand in hers. “No.”

He studied her closely as she attended the task diligently. She looked more weary than he remembered her looking while they’d traveled to Mexico. Or perhaps he only paid more attention now. He was not choosing Juanita over her.

When she’d finished smoothing his nails, she held the mirror so he could shave. His gaze kept drifting to her and he nicked himself more than usual. After he scraped away the last of the lather, she skimmed her fingers along his cheek, her eyes wistful, and he wondered what she was thinking.

“I’ll let you finish up now,” she said as she rose to her feet.

“Angela?”

She stopped, her eyes honing in on him as though she could see him.

“I appreciate your help.”

“You never call me ‘
querida
’ anymore. That says everything, doesn’t it?” Quietly she slipped out of the room.

Lee gazed at his reflection in the cheval glass. The black britches fit him snugly. The white shirt
was soft against his skin, loose and billowy. Angela had done a fine job with his hair. Every time he thought of her, he felt as though he’d fallen into a vat of emptiness, with pain roaring around him. He’d loved her so deeply, so profoundly…and the truth was that he still did.

At the sound of footsteps, Lee shifted his attention to the doorway. Montgomery strode into the room as though he owned it and everyone in it.

Cartwright relaxed his stance. “He cleaned up real nice, Captain.”

“So I see,” Montgomery said.

“I’ll be waiting in the hall iffen you need me.”

“Thank you, Sean.”

Montgomery waited until Cartwright had left the room before he approached Lee. “Your mother wishes to see you.”

Lee felt as though someone had just thrust a rusty knife into his gut and twisted it. “My mother…” He sank onto the mattress. “It would be better if she didn’t.”

“I quite agree.” Montgomery walked to the window and gazed out. “I had not planned to tell her that we’d found you…at least not until I was certain that you wouldn’t hang.”

Turning, he held Lee’s gaze. “Your mother is frail. You were quite a handful. She always welcomed the way Angela would help her care for you when she came to visit. She feels as guilty as Angela does about your disappearance. I can’t deny her the opportunity to see the man you’ve become.”

He strode from the room. Lee stood and prepared himself for the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Kit took Ashton into his arms and pressed his lips against the top of her head. For over twenty years, he had loved her more than life itself. “I wish you would reconsider seeing him,” Kit said softly.

She tilted her head back. “I want to see our son.”

He touched his fingers to her cheek. “He is not the little boy you held and rocked to sleep.”

“But once he was. And he’s the one I gave birth to. I want to see him.”

With a sigh of resignation, Kit stepped back and threaded his fingers through hers. “I’ve spent my life trying to grant your every wish. I don’t suppose I can stop now. Just don’t expect too much from him. I’m not quite certain he knows yet exactly who he is.”

He led her into the room. At the doorway, she released his hand. “You wait here,” she ordered softly.

Her health had never been good. Slender and pale, she appeared as fragile as a petal that would fall from a flower when touched. Therefore, he sometimes forgot exactly how strong she was.

Nodding, he leaned against the wall. As much as he wanted to protect her, he understood some things were best faced alone. He watched as she approached their son, standing by the window in a haze of sunlight.

Damon looked as though someone had just landed a solid punch to his gut.

When Ashton stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him, he did what Kit had never expected. He bent over slightly and enfolded his mother in his strong embrace. Kit could see the gamut of emotions playing across his face: recognition, disbelief, sorrow, joy.

Ashton leaned back and combed her fingers through her son’s hair. “You look exactly as I imagined you would when you grew older. You look like your father.”

“You look as I remember,” Damon said in a strangled voice.

Ashton touched his cheek. “Your memory is faulty. My hair is more silver now and my face has many more wrinkles.”

Damon smiled and the transformation almost knocked Kit off his feet. He became a mischievous lad who laughed often, ran before he learned to walk, and woke up before dawn because he feared missing out on some wondrous adventure. “I gave you rocks.”

Ashton’s smile radiated through the room. “I kept them in a jar on my dresser. I still have them.” Tears welled in her eyes. “We thought you were dead.”

Damon took her back into his arms, and Kit watched mother and son hold each other, no more reminiscing passing between them, only an occasional murmuring, comforting words spoken in Spanish that Kit didn’t fathom. Little wonder Angela had thought Lee Raven was Mexican.
Without the gift of sight, she had possessed nothing to tell her otherwise, for when he spoke there was no evidence of the culture into which he’d been born, only the culture in which he’d been raised.

After a while, Ashton stepped from Damon’s embrace and touched her fingers to his cheek. “I’ll come back to visit.”

Damon took her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. “It is best if you do not.” His words were spoken with a tenderness that Kit never would have expected of him.

Ashton gave him a wavering smile. “Ask your father. I’ve never done what was best for me.”

She walked gracefully from the room, her head held high. Kit followed her into the hallway. Turning, her face ravaged with grief and tears, she fell into his embrace. “I don’t want him to hang,” she whispered brokenly.

He stroked her back, feeling wholly inadequate. “I know.”

She lifted her face. “Do something.”

Words clogged his throat. He kissed her forehead and glanced at his second son, whose gaze darted between his parents and the nearby door that stood slightly ajar. “Take your mother to our room. See that she lies down.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Spence said. “I tried to convince her not to come.”

Spence had told him late last night that she’d wanted to come only to reassure herself that Angela was all right. He’d hoped to warn Kit that she was about, but their paths had never crossed.

“I know.”

He waited until his son had escorted his mother from the dim hallway before walking back into the room where his older son waited. Damon had one shoulder pressed to the wall, his head bent.