Cheyenne's Lady, page 18
“I know my limits, Maria. That doesn’t mean I abide by them. Just don’t tempt me too far.” He rode off, leaving Maria to stare after him.
The next days they rode slowly, giving Luke time to recover his strength. At night, Maria was physically aware of him, though he made no attempt to join her when Sean left them alone at night.
She caught herself gazing at the springy mat of curly hair across his broad chest when Luke emerged, dripping wet, from washing in a stream. She wanted to stroke the rippling muscles revealed by this casual state of undress, tantalized by the way both muscles and hair narrowed at slim hips disguised in denim. Except for that first time, he had come to her in darkness, and she knew little of the secrets of his masculine physique. That first time didn’t count. She had been quite out of her mind and had registered nothing beyond the assault on her senses. Now she wanted to know more, but it was too late. Luke treated her as if she were no different from Sean.
Concealing her disappointment, Maria tended his wound with brusqueness. Soon she would be home, and Manuel could assuage these feelings of loneliness. Now that she knew where kisses led, perhaps she wouldn’t find his so irritating.
By the time they reached the ridge overlooking the Connolly ranch just after dusk some ten days after their departure, Maria was eager to be home and rid of this obsession with a gunfighter. Sean had gone down the trail toward town to arrive as a stranger, but Luke had insisted on accompanying Maria back to the ranch. They watched as the lamps were lit in the windows below, and Maria had the sudden urge to turn and flee. She didn’t know what she wanted, but it was no longer down there with the ghosts of her past.
Instead she tilted a stubborn chin. “I’ll be safe now. I better ride in alone.”
“I don’t like it, Maria. Let me go down with you and make certain it’s safe.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The kitchen lamp is on. That means Pieta is sitting there with her head in a book. There’s a light in the back of the bunkhouse, so Charlie and the men are inside playing poker. No wild Indians will leap out at me from behind the rose bushes.”
Luke didn’t press the argument. “You know where to reach me. And if I’m not there, don’t hesitate to call on Sean. You’re not to take any risks, you understand?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Maria answered mockingly. “I’ll wear my silks and satins and sit on the front porch and knit until you tell me all is well.”
Luke gave a short laugh. “Like hell, you will. Just don’t go rushing off to Manuel, that’s all I ask.”
Maria sent him an enigmatic look; then without a word she spurred her horse down the trail, the valise with her trousseau bouncing alongside.
Luke remained on the ridge, waiting to see her safely inside. He hadn’t completed his task, but he hoped her father up in heaven excused him for trying to show her there was more to life than this particular corner of hell.
When she disappeared through the golden light of the kitchen door, he swung his horse back down the trail toward town.
He was not surprised by the soft whicker of horses on either side of the road ahead. Drawing his injured arm from its sling so he could reach his gun if needed, he approached the gate. With his good arm guiding the horse, he had little hope of outgunning more than one or two.
A line of horsemen filtered from the cover of the tree-lined ridge. Luke counted three ahead of him and at least two behind, and he swore silently to himself.
Raising his hands so they could see they were empty, Luke inquired, “Anything I can do for you, gents?”
He didn’t recognize the voice that replied. “Turn around and head right back down the hill. I reckon you got some fancy explainin’ to do.”
Since that route would take him back to Maria, Luke raised no objection. Silently he trotted his horse in the direction indicated, any chance of escape cut off by the armed men surrounding him.
BOOK II
THE WEDDING
* * *
JUNE, 1876
Chapter 1
Finding the barn empty, Maria tended to Erinmeade before hurrying into the kitchen to find Pieta. She was starved for a piece of fresh pie or even some lean beef that had not hung in the sun and dried to the consistency of a hickory stick.
Disappointed that there was no one in the kitchen to greet her, Maria wandered into the main house, wondering where everybody had gone. Perhaps there was a fiesta tonight.
Seeing a light streaming from her father’s study, she turned in that direction. She used to come in at night and find her father bent over the ledgers or week-old newspapers, and he would always look up with a warm grin. No matter what he was doing, he always had time for her, and even seemed to enjoy taking a break to listen to her chatter. It had been months since she had seen that lamp lit. Just the sight was capable of bringing tears to her eyes. If she could only throw open that door and find it had all just been a nightmare . . .
The planked door opened with just a touch, but the nightmare did not end. Maria stared in disbelief at the man behind the desk. The features were much like her father’s, but not as leathered and brown. The eyes, too, were lighter, without the deep laugh lines. This face was softer, plumper, not so harsh as Irish’s, nor so generous with its display of emotion. Irish had possessed an explosive temper, but he never hid it. Her uncle never betrayed his thoughts.
“Maria! Thank God.” Before he could say more, confusion erupted on the porch outside, and he glanced behind her.
Luke stumbled into the room, shoved by over-zealous cowboys. Hands tied behind his back and gun belt empty, he offered no protest, simply righting himself and sweeping in his surroundings with one quick glance. His gaze noted Maria’s astonishment and traveled to the man behind the desk.
Her uncle’s face remained taut and cold. Without looking at Maria, he demanded, “Is this the man you were with in Santa Fe?”
Confused, not at all certain what was going on, Maria gave the only reply she could, the truth. “Yes, of course. Why? What is wrong?”
Her uncle gave a curt nod to the men behind Luke. “Take him out and hang him.”
Maria screamed as the men grabbed Luke’s arms, but they paid no heed to her cries. In fury, she ran to the wall and grabbed one of her father’s rifles from the rack. Pumping a bullet into the breech, she aimed it at the man nearest the door.
In the confusion Luke jerked free, and stepped between the pointed rifle and his adversary. “Put the gun down, Maria. Your uncle is only trying to protect you.”
Silence filled the room while the man behind the desk gaped in astonishment, and Maria lowered the gun with ill grace. Resentment flashed in her eyes as she turned to her father’s brother.
“Is that what you think you’re doing? Who gave you the right to come in here and interfere in my life? Just what do you think I am? One of those fluffy-brained fools who have to be coddled behind a man’s coattails all her life?”
Without waiting for a reply to this tirade, Maria jerked the knife from Luke’s boot so she might cut his bonds. This apparent familiarity with the gunfighter’s wardrobe did not ease her uncle’s temper.
“Get that knife and gun away from her, for God’s sake! Where are your brains? Maria, put those weapons down and go to your room. I’ll deal with you later.”
Unfamiliar with the handling of a knife, Maria found it easily snatched from her grasp, but the rifle was another story. Backing away from Luke and his jailers, she swung the barrel and glared at the ranch hands. The humiliation of being treated as a child did not gentle her temper.
“It might be wiser to talk first, Mr. Connolly. Maria has a bad habit of getting her own way, and I’d rather not see her kill a man over the likes of me.”
Maria sent Luke a killing glare, but the ranch hands halted their advance with relief at this excuse. They were more accustomed to taking orders from a man, but Maria’s temper was legendary, and no one doubted her skill with the rifle.
Her uncle struggled for control. “You’re right about that, you bastard. I don’t know how you know my name, but you’re not worth the hemp for hanging. Why don’t you try to run for it? That will be quicker.”
Maria slammed the butt of the old rifle against the floor in fury. The explosion that followed burned a hole through the lathe and adobe ceiling and covered the occupants in a thin film of dust. All attention swung to her and the hole over her head.
“This is my house. Those are my men. I want you all the hell out of here before I bring the whole damned place down around your ears!” She breeched the rifle, replaced the shell, and aimed it at the man holding Luke’s knife. “Cut him free. Now.”
The ranch hand glanced to his fellows for guidance. Since Maria had adopted Luke’s ploy of standing with her back to the wall, she wasn’t easily disarmed. Intelligently, he sawed the rope around Luke’s wrists.
“Maria Francesca, you’re not too old to be turned over my knee and whipped. Now put that gun down before somebody gets hurt. Johnson, leave those damned ropes alone!”
The battle had reached an impasse. The man sawing the ropes hesitated, but since no one made a move to disarm Maria, he returned to hacking the ropes.
“If you would give us a chance to explain, we might succeed in reaching a better conclusion.” Luke said dryly. “If Maria’s reputation has been harmed, I’ve offered to marry her. I might not be as ideal a husband as her Spaniard, but it is one solution, you must admit.”
This suggestion met with looks of scorn from both Maria and her uncle. Her uncle responded first. “We’ve kept her whereabouts from the Vasqueros. They still think she’s in Santa Fe buying a trousseau, and you’ll not be around long enough to tell them otherwise.” He came out from behind the desk and stepped toward Maria. “Give me the gun, Maria. Whatever romantic notion you harbor about the bastard will be easily dispelled when you learn the kind of man he is.”
“I already know what kind of man he is. He offered to find my father’s killer when no one else even cared enough to visit his grave. He saved Pedro’s life, paid cash for my grain when no one would give me credit”—she caught Luke’s startled expression at this piece of knowledge but she didn’t halt— “and took me to Santa Fe when I asked him, against his better judgment. He is also a gunfighter, a card shark, probably a confidence man, and wanted heaven’s know where or for what, but I know of no reason why he should hang. If nothing else, he’s the best damn foreman this ranch has ever had, and I haven’t even paid him.”
“I daresay he’s exacted his price in other ways,” Connolly replied angrily, shooting Luke a venomous glare. “We haven’t been waiting idly for you to return, Maria. We’ve been tearing the territory apart looking for you, and we may know a little more about the bastard than you. He’s got a reputation with women, and it’s not a good one.”
As Connolly approached her, Maria lifted the rifle and took aim at his throat. “Not one step closer, Uncle Patrick. You’re not listening to me. I don’t care about his reputation with women.” That was a lie. She wanted to know all about it and rip his heart out and shove it down his throat, but she refused to allow anyone else to have her revenge. “He is going to help me find the man who killed my father. If it’s a hanging you want, that’s the man you should go after.”
“Maria, be reasonable! A thief like that will be gone from the territory by now. There isn’t a chance—”
Maria clicked the bullet in place and Connolly stopped in his tracks.
With an exclamation of impatience Luke jerked apart the frayed ropes at his wrists and strode across the room. In one swift movement he pulled the rifle from Maria’s hands and caught her by the waist before she could swing around and grab another. Holding her kicking, twisting figure with his good arm, Luke gestured toward the far shadows of the room.
“You, señor, step out where I can see you. I would like to know all my enemies before I release her.”
Maria’s head snapped up and she stopped struggling to see who Luke could possibly be addressing now. She went pale as a tall, lithe man with graying black hair stepped into the lamp light. “Tío Juan!” she moaned. The fates were stacked against her this night.
A look of admiration glinted in his dark eyes as her mother’s father reached out his hand. Maria refused his hand but watched him warily.
“I would have recognized you anywhere, child. You look just like Camille at that age. And your behavior is not much better,” he added with a wry twist of his thin lips.
Since Luke now possessed the rifle, the men kept their hands nervously for their own weapons. Luke held the rifle almost carelessly, but no one made the mistake of thinking he was not paying attention. That he had spotted the man hidden across the room was evidence enough of that.
Luke paved a path to ease the tension. “Perhaps a few introductions are in order. You seem to know who I am. I’ve met Mr. Connolly before, although it’s been some years and I’m certain he doesn’t remember. You must be Maria’s other uncle, the one from California? Correct?”
“Juan Degas Valencia, at your service, Mr. Walker. You will be so kind as to put up the weapon, and I will listen to what my niece has to say, but do not think I will look lightly on what you have done. You have acted with great dishonor, and you must pay the price. Only for the sake of my niece and my late sister will I listen at all.”
His tone had hardened into shards of ice, and Maria shivered. This was the haughty man who had not acknowledged her mother’s marriage to a man he thought beneath her. She would find little sympathy here. She heard Luke hang the rifle back on the wall, but noticed he did not move far away from it.
“Johnson, Wilcox, give Luke back his guns.” Maria jerked her head in the direction of the nervous ranch hands, giving them an excuse to leave the room to fetch the guns if they would only listen to her.
They hesitated, but now that Luke stood free and offered no struggle, Maria’s uncles had relaxed and paid them no heed. All three left at Maria’s command.
“Maria, we are waiting.” Connolly leaned against the edge of the desk, his arms across his chest. His piercing gaze never strayed far from Luke.
Luke didn’t touch her, but the way he stood conveyed a message of protection—as she had him.
“You may wait as long as you like,” Maria answered in contempt. “I need explain nothing. I am a grown woman. I have been running this ranch on my own. I appreciate your concern, but I did not invite you here. I would have welcomed you had you arrived as guests, but I will not welcome dictators.”
Maria deliberately slipped around Luke and reached for the rifle she had used earlier. Since she also picked up the cleaning case on a shelf nearby, no one interfered, but her intent was plain. She sat down and began swabbing the long barrel of the gun, deliberately ignoring the men.
Connolly gave a ragged sigh and turned his gaze back to Luke. “I can see why you brought her back. Where have we met? Talk fast, I’m losing what little patience I possess.”
“You know my father, Joshua Walker, from Kansas. I was just a youngster when you moved back to St. Louis; I don’t expect you to remember me.”
“How in hell did you remember me, then?”
Luke shrugged. “Family resemblance. Irish stayed at our place whenever he was in town. He was a good man.”
Her uncle settled in a high-backed leather chair across from her. Although he appeared indifferent to the conversation, he followed each word, but his gaze never wavered from her. Maria had to wipe a tear surreptitiously with the oily rag.
“My brother was a damn good man, and he would have blown your head off before you set a foot on his property after what you’ve done. Or are you going to deny doing anything wrong?”
“What I have or have not done is between Maria and myself and not the point. If I have harmed her reputation, I will marry her. You know my family. I cannot offer her an unblemished past, but I can offer her some measure of respectability. As my wife, she will be taken care of.”
“Oh, shut up, Luke. We have been over this before.” Maria made a gesture of disgust with the polishing rag. “You don’t have to marry me out of some perverted sense of decency. Just get your guns from Johnson when you go out.”
“Maria.” The voice from the corner was deadly quiet. “We are your guardians. However much you dislike it, we will be the ones to make the decisions. This man has dishonored the name of your family. There are only two choices to be made. Before you arrived, we had already decided he must hang. If you still mean to marry your novio, then it is imperative that he hang. There is no other solution. However, if your Uncle Patrick is acquainted with his family and approves, we will talk to the Vasqueros and have your betrothal broken so you may marry this man. I suggest if you have any feeling at all for this one you have taken as lover that you speak very politely and respectfully to your father’s brother and plead your case.”
Maria lifted her head and a muscle tightened along her jaw, setting her lips in the formidable thin line that she inherited from her mother. “You mistake me, Tío Juan. I have no intention of marrying any man. I once thought marrying Manuel would be the respectable thing to do, but you and Uncle Patrick have taught me tonight that to submit to the malicious whims of men would mean a lifetime of hell. You cannot force me to repeat marriage vows, and if you threaten Luke, you will force me into doing what I would prefer not to do. You must remember, I know him better than I do either of you.”
Connolly came to his feet in rage. Valencia restrained himself by clasping his long fingers over the arms of the chair. Their exclamations of annoyance went ignored by the man most threatened by this family warfare. Luke spun around and, removing the rifle from Maria once again, he caught her hands and half jerked, half lifted her to her feet.
She barely came to his chin, but her slanted green eyes met his with the fury of an injured wildcat. To stroke her would be deadly. Luke had not forgotten the pistol in her pocket and was not fool enough to think she would not use it if cornered. Cornering wildcats was the worst possible thing to do. Too bad those inept uncles of hers did not realize that.
