Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) (26 page)

When he got home that afternoon, he sought out Mona. Mama was usually pretty drunk by late afternoon.

“Mona,” he said, “what’s a ‘bastard’? What’s a ‘whore’?”

The redhead winced and tears came to her eyes. She reached over and touched his face. “What happened to you, Handsome? Where’d you get that shiner?”

“I—I fell down at recess.”

“I see. The rotten little devils. Don’t let your mother see that eye.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Mona.”

She hugged him to her, kissed his cheek. “Aw, what difference does it make? You know, you sure are gettin’ tall.”

“Tall as a man?”

She laughed, rumpled his blond hair. “Almost. You’re gonna be a devil with the ladies someday. Come back in ten years or so and you can be my boyfriend.”

He considered it seriously. “But you’ll be more than thirty then, Mona. That’s old. Will you still be here?”

“I hope not. I don’t want to end up like your mama, at the bottom of a bottle.” She looked pensive. “I want to marry some rich old geezer who’ll still care about me when my face wrinkles. I want to be a
real
lady, the kind all the other women go to for advice about the latest styles, and invite to their garden parties and social teas. Now women step off the sidewalk when I pass by and pretend they don’t see me.”

He considered the question very seriously as she reached for a deck of cards, shuffled them. “Mona, the only rich man around here is Clyde Bosner, the rancher, and he’s married already.”

“Uh-huh. But he comes in here anyway.” She dealt him a hand.

He picked up the cards, studied them as Mona had taught him. “I hear there’s lots of rich ranchers around San Antone, Mona.”

She laughed. “There’s a real elegant place there, Miss Fancy’s. Maybe someday I’ll take up residence, maybe even pretend I’m French. I could do that, you know. I’m from New Orleans. Men always like French girls.”

“You didn’t tell me what the words meant.”

Mona paused, not meeting his eyes. “They ain’t good.”

“I reckon not. I could tell by the way the kids was screamin’ them. Junior Bosner was the worst.”

She chewed her lip. “That bully give you that shiner?”

He nodded. “I gave as good as I got . . . or tried to.”

“I’ll bet you did, you little scrapper! Maybe you ought to forget about school, Handsome, let the professor teach you again—”

“I ain’t gonna let Junior Bosner make me holler ‘calf rope.’”

Mona laughed. “Is that cowboy talk for ‘I give up’?”

“Yep.” He thought about it a minute. “They may kill me, Mona, but I won’t quit.”

“You got honor, you know that, Handsome? Real honor.” She looked at him a long moment over her cards. “Tell you what, I intend to have a little word with Junior’s old man the next time he comes in. I’ll just bet I can do a little something about that trouble at school.”

“No. I don’t want the kids to know I tattled.” He threw the cards down, stood up.

“This ain’t the same thing,” she said quickly. “It’s just that me having something on Junior’s papa is sort of like having a straight flush when the other player thinks you only got a pair, understand?”

He nodded, not really understanding what it was that she could say to Junior’s papa.

“And something else,” she leaned forward conspiratorially. “Those kids are raggin’ you because they know how much it hurts you. What you got to do is affect a don’t-give-a-damn attitude, sorta arrogant, like the gunfighters you see come in the Ace High.”

The idea appealed to him. “You mean, grin and walk cocky like I’m the top dog in a dog fight?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Learn to swagger a little, act like nothin’ bothers you. Then the kids will leave you alone.”

That helped. Plus the fact the boy got to where he could hold his own in a fist fight. But Junior Bosner had suddenly started avoiding him, and he never found out what Mona had said to Junior’s daddy. His mother paid less and less attention to him as the months passed, but she struck him a few times when she was drinking, which was often. He determined he would get an education, a good job, and take his mother away from Gun Powder. Why, he’d even earn enough to give Mona a ticket to San Antone so she could meet a rich rancher and turn into a
real
lady, whatever that was.

The breeze picked up under the bougainvillea, making a noise as it rattled the invitation in his hand. Bandit snuffed out his cigarillo with his boot, stared at the fine paper, the fancy handwriting. A party. A party in his and Mona’s honor.

He winced, looking at the invitation. It had been a humiliating party, a Christmas party, that had finally driven him from school and sent him back to the saloon to finish his education under the broken-down old college professor. He could stand almost anything but humiliation. That was his weak spot. Humiliation hurt more than a bully’s fists.

It was the night of the dinner. Amethyst’s conscience bothered her as she stood inspecting her dress in front of a mirror. Surely there was nothing so lovely in all of Mexico. The French cambric overskirt polonaise, in the latest deep purple shade called prune, was pulled up like an apron to the bustle in back. The underskirt of pale lavender-pink pleats showed as she walked. Her maid had done her hair up in the elaborate chignon that was so popular now, with tiny white flowers and, of course, the palest lavender forget-me-nots entwined in it. The Durango gems, amethysts and diamonds, glistened on her dainty neck above the low-cut bodice.

She had never looked so lovely, nor been so miserable in her whole life. After tonight, maybe Monique and Bandit would both be gone. Wasn’t that what she wanted?

Still Amethyst had misgivings, regrets. What she was doing was cruel, unfair, and quite unlike her. Well, it was too late now for anything except to get through the evening somehow. Everyone who had been sent an invitation had accepted with pleasure, except the older Falcons. The frail
señora
was ill again and of course Enrique would not leave her side. But all the others were coming, delighted to be invited, no doubt, since the Durangos had never mixed much with them socially before.

She pasted a smile on her lips, and went downstairs as she heard carriages pulling up before the hacienda.

Monique looked ravishing. She wore rich brocade in the dark color known as dragon green, complete with braid and flounces. But the redhead appeared to be a little nervous, even though the loyal Mrs. Wentworth had been invited.

When Amethyst passed her papa in the hall, he gave her an annoyed look. “Twenty of the most boring snobs in all of Mexico! Why, daughter, why?”

To get rid of that fake Falcon who is after their money and my hand, she thought. And maybe he will take that redhead with him.

But the guests were coming in and Amethyst rushed to greet them, glad there wasn’t time to face her upset father.

Did she really want Texas to leave? She remembered the sounds of passion behind Monique’s door, remembered those two meeting in the library. Si. She shook her chignon of black curls vigorously. She wanted them both gone, out of this house and off this ranch! Getting the Texan out of her heart would be quite another matter.

The Websters and their aggressive daughter, Clarissa, were the first to arrive. Clarissa looked like she was about to spill out of the top of her yellow organza dress. The Websters would be lucky to get her married before she got caught in the hay with some vaquero and brought shame to her family. It crossed Amethyst’s mind that what she disliked most about Clarissa was the way the girl had looked at Bandit at the Falcon fiesta.

“Ah, the Websters!” she gushed as she extended her hand to Mrs. Webster. “So glad you could make it!”

Clarissa craned her neck. “Have the Falcons arrived?”

She felt a jealous twinge and struggled to control it. “Not yet, but any time now.”

Other carriages drew up to the front entry. Bandit arrived on horseback. He looked so virile and broad-shouldered in his Spanish-style suit that Amethyst gasped. She and Papa went to greet him.

Señor Durango said, “Too bad your mother isn’t feeling well, Tony. We would have enjoyed having them.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?” Amethyst asked.

“No. I offered to stay with her but Papa wouldn’t hear of me missing the party.”

She had forgotten how handsome he was as he bent low, kissed her hand.

“Aimée.” He looked up at her but didn’t turn loose of her hand. “You are easily the most beautiful girl in all Mexico.”

And you are certainly the most handsome man, she thought, but she only smiled and blushed. “Oh, you flatter me!” She pulled away from the disquieting warmth of his fingers to greet the couple just arriving.

When she glanced back at Bandit, Clarissa Webster was hanging on his arm, looking up at him raptly while her mother seemed embarrassed.

That little snip, Amethyst thought. Clarissa is just an overgrown, ripe child and Texas should realize that, and stop flirting with her. But why should I care? After all, I don’t want him. Do I?

The butler moved through the crowd, serving sherry. Bandit sipped it, made a face. “I don’t suppose you’d have a beer now, would you?” he asked the butler in a loud voice. “
Cerveza?
Beer?”

The butler looked at him, his surprise evident, and two elegant ladies standing nearby tittered with laughter and whispered behind their fans.

It was starting already. Amethyst tried to feel satisfaction at his embarrassment, but somehow the moment was without joy. The Texan ran his finger around his collar as if it were choking him. He didn’t look so swaggering and self-confident now.

She turned away, began a bright, brittle conversation with a plump dowager about the latest fads. Rosewood was very popular for furniture. Horsehair upholstery was on the decline, plush on the way up. Bustles were smaller this year, skirts not so full as last year’s. Had anyone seen that new
americano
magazine, the
Delineator
, with the paper dress patterns that everyone talked about?

The butler came back in, announced dinner.

Amethyst took Bandit’s arm, outmaneuvering Clarissa who was trying to get across the room to him. “Shall we go in, Tony, my dear?” She put special emphasis on the name and waited for that familiar, crooked grin, that arrogant expression. But he looked nervous and ill at ease as he escorted her to the long dinner table.

It was set for twenty, very formally, with place cards, crisp white linens, and the finest of silver and china.

“Now, Tony”—she smiled up at him—“I will sitatone end of the table as hostess and you, of course, get the place of honor at my right.”

He did know enough to pull out her chair for her, she thought as the chattering crowd found their places. Papa sat at the other end of the table, Monique to his right.

Amethyst had deliberately separated the two, so that Monique could not assist Bandit on questions of etiquette. She tried not to smile with amusement when she looked down the long table, saw the annoyance on young Clarissa’s face at being seated far from the Texan, between Amethyst’s father and an elderly official.

The dullest, most snobbish person in the group had to be Mrs. Hortense Webster, so of course, she had been seated to Amethyst’s left, across from Bandit. The pretentious Señor Muñoz was next to Mrs. Webster, the dour Mrs. Wentworth on Bandit’s other side.

Everything is going according to plan, Amethyst thought with satisfaction as she watched Bandit’s face. He stared at the ornate array of silver, the half-dozen wine glasses by his plate. “Is this hardware all for me or am I supposed to share it up and down the table?”

Amethyst winced, but Mrs. Webster tittered with delight, her bony shoulders shaking. “I do declare, Señor Falcon, you are the funniest thing!”

But he hadn’t meant to be funny, Amethyst thought, watching the panic in his eyes. He looked as if he would like to get up and run.

Servants moved up and down the glittering table, pouring wine, as light from the ornate candelabra reflected off the women’s jewelry.

As Amethyst fingered her necklace, the Texan leaned toward her. “My, you smell good, Aimée, better’n the hill country in spring time.”

She didn’t look at him, ashamed now of her scheme. “Thank you, Tony,” she said, turning to strike up a conversation with the thin Southern lady to her left.

This time, when the servant poured the wine Bandit didn’t ask for beer. He obviously didn’t intend to be embarrassed again. Amethyst spread her napkin on her lap, glanced over at him as Mrs. Webster laughed and was quickly joined by others around her. “
Señor
, you are just a delight! Why, anyone would think you didn’t know any better!”

Amethyst stared. Bandit had tucked his napkin into the front of his collar so that it protected the front of his shirt. His head turned slowly to look up and down the table, and he flushed crimson as he looked into the staring faces.

He jerked the napkin out of his shirt, winking at Mrs. Webster. “Why,
señora,
someone’s got to liven up the table.”

But his eyes showed panic as he looked at Amethyst. She bit her lip, looked back into his accusing gaze.

Why are you doing this to me?
His look said.

She thought of him plotting with the tall redhead and of what a fool she had been to feel anything for him, then glanced away and returned to her conversation with the skinny Southern dowager.

The dour governess seemed to be doing all right, although she drank a little too much wine.

The butler served the soup course, a chilled, spicy
gazpacho
.

Bandit looked down at it, then over at Amethyst. “All this hardware and all you’re servin’ these folks is a little thin soup?” He dipped his spoon in. “Besides that, it’s cold. I think I’ll send it back to the kitchen.”

The people who heard that tittered with laughter and punched each other. Amethyst gave him a smug, superior look. “It’s supposed to be cold. And that’s just the first course.”

Bandit shrugged. “In Texas, we put all the food out at the same time. It’d save that butler fella a heap of trouble runnin’ back and forth.”