Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) (19 page)

But the coin. Lidah had pressed it into his hand as she’d died, had tried to tell him something.

He closed his eyes briefly. Once more, he was twelve years old, holding his dying mother in his arms in her soiled, wrinkled bed. Through the thin partitions of the Ace High, laughter and tinny piano music drifted, covering her dying gasps for breath.

Her eyes opened and she tried to speak. “Sokol . . .” She gasped. Her hand opened, and he saw she clasped the coin, knew how much it had always meant to her, although she’d never said why. “Find him, tell him . . .”

Sokol
. Was it the name of a building, a town, a street? Would the boy find this man there?
Tell him what?
The little boy waited as she tried to speak, put the small gold piece in his hand, closed his fingers over it. “He didn’t come like he promised,” she said. “Find him, son, tell him . . .”

“Mother? Mother!” He hugged her to him, weeping wildly. She had mistreated him, beaten him when she drank as if the sight of his face brought back painful memories. But she was his mother, and now she was dead by her own hand and he was alone. No, not alone. A whore named Mona had opened her arms and her heart to him that night. . . .

The old man said something, bringing Bandit back to reality. Bandit nodded in agreement, but he had no idea what Señor Falcon had said. He clasped the gold coin in his pocket. Obviously it was just a common Mexican coin. Probably his nameless father had used it to pay for Lidah’s services. In that case, Bandit didn’t want to know.

Señor Falcon said, “Come along, my boy, the
señora
will be waiting for us.”

Bandit nodded and they went down the hall. The old man looked sideways at him. “You know the
señora
is in very poor health, don’t you?”

Was he hinting at something or was it only Bandit’s guilty conscience.
“Sí.”
Bandit nodded. “But she’s been looking better the last couple of days.”

“That’s true,” the old man said. “Your return has been all she’s lived for these sixteen years. Still any kind of a shock—a disappointment—might be more than her weak heart could take. It might kill her.”

Bandit paused in the hallway, looked at the regal, silver-maned old Spaniard. “You love her very much, don’t you?”

The man gave him a piercing look. “More than life itself.” His pale eyes burned with intensity. “I would kill the hombre who did her hurt.”

“As would I!” Bandit said fiercely and he meant it. He loved the gentle
señora
as he loved the elderly man.

They went out onto the patio under the fragrant bougainvillea to join her for breakfast.

“Mamá,” He leaned over, kissed her cheek, and she hugged him, motioned him to a chair.

“Tony, my darling Tony! Did you enjoy the fiesta last night?”

He thought about Amethyst in his arms in the swing, about holding her while they danced. “It was the most wonderful night of my whole life,” he said sincerely, flopping down onto one of the ornate wicker chairs. He was beginning to really feel like Tony Falcon. A guilty thought crossed his mind as he looked at the old couple.
No, Bandit, you mustn’t think of that. That wasn’t your fault. . . .

Señor Falcon kissed his wife’s porcelain cheek, then motioned to the maid to bring coffee. “It was a lovely party, first one we’ve had in many years.”

Señora Falcon brightened. “Just making up for lost time. Wait ’til you hear what I’ve planned for the wedding festivities.”

Bandit reached over, patted her frail hand. “Mamá, I can hardly wait to unite these two families. Amethyst is more beautiful than I remembered.”

He watched the old lady drink her cocoa. Certainly even a blind man could see she was living on borrowed time. Unless a miracle happened, a year or two at most was all she had. He swore to himself he’d make those years happy.

Señor Falcon frowned thoughtfully. “My friend Gomez is talking of a double wedding.”

Bandit sensed the older man’s hesitance as he picked up his coffee cup. “You don’t approve?”

“I—I have reservations about the lady.” Falcon sipped his coffee. “I think she’s not as young as she says, and we know nothing about her.”

“She’s very pretty,” Bandit said carefully.

The old man shrugged. “I don’t know whether Gomez loves Mademoiselle Monique or is wildly infatuated with her looks and French background. We really expected him to marry Miss Callie.”

The Señora nodded sympathetically. “It was lucky Monique was here for him when the governess took ill and died so suddenly. But maybe Gomez will think it over, realize the woman might be a poor choice.”

Señor Falcon shrugged as if tired of the subject. Instead, he stared at Bandit. “It’s amazing how my brother’s clothes fit you so perfectly.”

“Why should it be so amazing?” The old lady laughed. “Your brother is, after all, Tony’s uncle. I see no surprise that the two could wear the same clothes, look alike.”

Bandit sipped his coffee, avoiding her eyes because he felt so ashamed. She wanted to see the resemblance so badly, she saw it where there was none. Two big, blond men with blue eyes. That was all the resemblance there was. But the old lady saw with her heart, not her eyes. . . .

The maid brought big plates of fried steak, eggs with peppers, and tortillas, as well as bowls of fresh fruit. Never had Bandit eaten so well. It was wonderful to be Tony Falcon. After a time, he might begin to think of himself that way.

He finished and pushed back his plate. “Mama, do you mind if I smoke?”

She shook her head and he reached for a cigarillo, struck the match on the sole of his boot, savored the flavor.

The señora chattered on and Bandit nodded and smiled, not really listening, but pleased to see her so happy. But the old man’s gaze never left her face, and Bandit saw the fierce love in his eyes. Had Señor Falcon been expressing his own fears or warning Bandit?

Your conscience is getting to you, Bandit thought, and knew it was true. He didn’t want to hurt these people. They were the family he had never had, the family he’d always wanted. All he needed now was a wife and children of his own. Even the money and the prestige didn’t matter to him anymore. Could all this possibly last?

The
señora
said, “Tony’s clothes fit you well, dear, but we’ll have your
papá’s
tailor come out, make you some new ones and custom boots, too.”

Bandit smiled agreeably as he smoked, watching the pair.

The
señor
finished his coffee. “Tony, if you’d like to walk down to the stable with me, I have something for you.”

Intrigued, Bandit stood up. “Something for me, sir?”

The old man rose. “
Sí
, would you like to go, Mama?”

She smiled and shook her white head. “I have so many things to plan, wedding guest lists and all. You two run along.”

Bandit leaned over and kissed her cheek. She smelled of cologne and old lace. His own mother had always smelled of whiskey and men. “We’ll see you later
, Mamacita
.”

He threw away the cigarillo as he walked with the old don to the stables.

“Tony, I want to make you a gift of that stallion.”

Bandit looked at him with surprise. “The big pinto? Papa, he is valuable. Everyone says he is your favorite, your herd sire.”

The old man gave him a long look. “My only son deserves the best Falcon’s Lair has to offer.”

They entered the barn. The dimly lit interior smelled of hay and horses. The big stallion stuck its head over the stall gate and nuzzled Bandit.

Señor Falcon laughed, patted its head. “He’s yours already anyway. You never did tell me how you got him, son.”

Bandit stroked the velvet muzzle, remembering, and winced a little inside. “I—I got him from a man who didn’t need him anymore. I don’t know where he got him.”

“No matter.” Señor Falcon frowned, caressed the horse’s ears. “It was such a puzzle how he disappeared right out of this barn. I suppose word of him got around the countryside and someone decided to make some money by stealing him and selling him across the border. This horse has been like a son to me, and now I give him to you, Tony.”

Bandit swallowed hard. He could not look the old man in the face because of his enormous guilt and shame. “Papa, I hate to take your most loved possession. Blue Eyes must have the finest bloodlines—”

“No doubt he does if we only knew what they were.” The man cleared his throat as if overcome by emotion. “If we only knew what his pedigree was . . .”

Bandit paused, looked at him in surprise. “You don’t know his lineage—this, your finest stud?”

“Maybe we’ll never really know,” the don said. “He was a wild mustang I caught in a roundup out on the mesas. No one knows who sired him.”

A woods colt, Bandit thought, patting the horse. That’s what Texans call a child of unknown parentage. The stallion is a woods colt like me. “He looks as if he has good blood, sir.”

“Bloodlines, pedigrees have always been very important to me, second only to my family honor,” the man admitted, smiling at the horse with obvious affection. “And yet all I can judge this one on is his heart, his courage. That’s what’s important in man or horse. Whatever this stallion’s bloodlines, he’s a true thoroughbred in every sense of the word.”

His words were said with deep feeling. Bandit hesitated. “You care so very much for him, I hesitate to accept him, Papa.”

“Tony, it’s my greatest pleasure to give him to you. I’ve waited a long time for you to come home. It’s only fitting that my finest horse go to the Falcon heir.”

Bandit turned so the old man couldn’t see his face. He wondered if Falcon could read deception in his eyes? It took a minute for him to regain his composure. “Thank you, Papa. I love the big horse.”

Señor Falcon clapped him on the back. “Well, I’m going back to the house to sit awhile in the sun with your mother. You might want to go riding, go see your
señorita
.”

Bandit grinned. “I’d like that, sir. You’ll have to give me directions to their ranch.”

Señor Falcon pointed. “Go in that direction. You can’t miss the trail. Enjoy yourself and we’ll see you for dinner.”

Bandit watched the old man leave the barn as he stood there petting the big stud. It was ironic and a little sad that he had given the stallion to Bandit. If the elderly Spaniard only knew . . .

Blue Eyes snorted and bumped his head against Bandit’s chest. Bandit patted the horse absently, then looked up toward the loft. The saddlebags holding the army payroll were hidden up there under the hay. He hadn’t figured out what to do about that yet. Mexico was a big place. Maybe the outlaws had given up tracking him by now and the army wasn’t allowed to cross the Rio Grande looking for anyone. The two countries were on such strained terms already and had been ever since the Mexican-American war, the United States might not want to create an incident.

The stallion bumped him again.

“Okay, Blue Eyes, you want to go?” Bandit laughed as he led the stud out of the stall.

But he frowned in the dim light as he looked the horse over. The stud appeared to have been ridden and put away without being properly groomed. Bandit didn’t have much use for men who didn’t take good care of animals. If he found out which careless stable boy had exercised the stallion and put him away without cleaning the dust and brambles from his fetlocks, he’d go up one side and down the other of the lazy boy. He reached for a curry comb and a saddle.

Amethyst breakfasted alone, then went back to her room. Papa was off somewhere on the ranch, rounding up cattle, and Monique never got up until noon, which seemed almost disgraceful on a working ranch. But then, Amethyst thought with annoyance, the woman had had a very busy night.

Thinking she might go riding, Amethyst sat down at her dressing table, leaned close to her mirror, and studied her own face. She looked tired, and her eyes were red from last night’s weeping. Certainly she hadn’t had much sleep because of that faithless cowboy’s midnight sojourn in Monique’s arms.

She put on a dusky lavender poplin riding habit trimmed in heliotrope braid. A perky hat cocked over one eye allowed the chignon of curls to descend from the back of her head.

Just then, a maid entered. “Señor Falcon is in the library,
señorita.
He wishes me to say he’s come to take you riding.”

Amethyst gasped with shock. The nerve of the man! How dare he think she would be willing to continue this facade. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Tell the Señor . . . Never mind, I’ll tell him myself!”

.Picking up a quirt, Amethyst struck it across the dressing table in fury. Then she marched out of her room and down the stairs.

The Texan lounged against the mantel, his hat tipped back. He was smoking a slender cigarillo and smiledas she entered. “It’s a good day for a ride, and—”

“With all the riding you did last night,” she snapped crisply, “I don’t know how you have the strength to sit a horse this morning!”

He looked at her blankly.
“Perdôneme?”
he said in Spanish, tossing the cigar into the fireplace.

Oh, the nerve of him to pretend innocence! “I’m speaking of the way you carried on last night with my father’s fiancée!”

He stuck his thumbs in his belt, ambled over to her. “Okay, so I danced with her at the party. Is that what’s got your hackles up?”

She bristled as she looked up at him. “Don’t give me that innocent smirk, Texas! You know what I’m talking about! Where have you known that woman before?”

She stood there clutching her little whip, watching the expression on his face. He looked as guilty as a fox in a hen house with feathers on his mouth.

“Sweet, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about!”

“You think me a fool?” She marched over to him, looking up into his face.

“You’re irresistible when you’re mad,”. he said, and before she realized what he meant to do, he took her in his embrace, lifted her off her feet, and kissed her deeply, thoroughly.

For a moment, she was overwhelmed by his masculinity, the slight tobacco taste of his lips, the salty man-scent of him, the heat of his big body coming through her clothing. Without thinking, she closed her eyes and let him mold her against him. His tongue probed between her lips, and she trembled at the caress of its tip on her own.