Midnight Rider (19 page)

“Not offhand, but when I get back to town, I'll go through that stack of wanted posters sitting on my desk. Could be I missed something.” The sheriff had been away on business when Carly first returned. He'd only arrived at the rancho just that morning, four days after she'd gotten back home.

Four days. It felt like four weeks.

“Tell us again about the horses they stole,” her uncle pressed. “You say you think he sold them?”

“Yes. I heard one of the men talking, saying that the money should last them quite a while.” He was determined she had seen something that would help them find the outlaws, and the more determined he was, the more determined Carly was she would not break her word.

Fletcher sighed and leaned back against the tufted leather sofa. “I'm sorry, my dear. I know this whole ordeal has been grueling. I'm just glad you got away before that bastard … took liberties with your person.”

She tried to keep from blushing, fought desperately not to recall Ramon's hands cupping her breasts, her nipples straining against her blouse as they pressed against his palm, the feel of his hands on her thighs. She tried to blot out the memory of his kisses, the sweep of his tongue inside her mouth. “So am I,” she said softly.

Her uncle stared at her but said nothing more. Instead he turned to the sheriff. “I'm sorry, Jeremy. I'd hoped by the time you arrived, my niece would remember something more.”

“I'm sure it's been hard on her. It's got to be a painful thing to remember.” He stood up from his chair and swung his gaze in her direction. “I'm sorry you had to go over all this again, miss, but I assure you it was necessary. If you think of something else, just have your uncle send word.” He lifted his brown felt hat off the back of his chair and twirled it in a lean-fingered hand. “I promise you one thing—sooner or later we'll find him. When we do, he's gonna swing from the highest tree.” Carly paled, but the sheriff only smiled. “Good day, Miss McConnell.”

“G-good day, Sheriff Layton.” She forced herself to smile. “Thank you for coming.”

The lanky sheriff simply nodded. Her uncle walked him out of the house, and Carly made her way along the hallway to her room. With a sigh, she closed the door, then crossed the room and sank onto the rose satin counterpane on her bed. In a way it was good to be home. Her uncle's house was luxurious in comparison to the small adobe cabin she had occupied in the stronghold. But Ramon had once lived there, and everything about the place, the handmade bent-willow furniture, the colorful woven blankets, even the scent of his cigars that lingered throughout the cozy rooms reminded her of him, and she discovered that she missed being there.

The truth was she missed him. She couldn't afford to dwell on the fact. It would do her no good and the sooner she forgot those weeks—and him—the better off she would be. It bothered her, what Ramon had said about her uncle. Had he really stolen Rancho del Robles? She was determined to find out, but for now she meant to forget Ramon, forget what happened in the mountains, and get on with her life.

Carly sighed. She wished her uncle would forget it as well, that he would end his battery of questions and let her put the matter behind her.

Somehow she didn't believe he would.

*   *   *

“Well, Jeremy, what do you think?” They walked in front of the sprawling tile-roofed adobe, the sheriff leading his tall sorrel horse, Fletcher walking beside him.

“Hard to say, Mr. Austin. Could be she's still frightened. Maybe he threatened her, told her if she ever told anyone where they were, he'd come back and kill her. Maybe she's tellin' the truth and she doesn't know a damned thing that can help. You said yourself, she was new to this country. She doesn't know her way around. She was frightened, afraid they would kill her. It makes sense she wouldn't know how to go back to where they took her. Besides, from what she's said, they were headed someplace else.”

Fletcher nodded. The sheriff was voicing his thoughts exactly. He'd have to give Caralee the benefit of the doubt. “What about that other? She says the bastard didn't touch her. You think that could be true?”

The sheriff lifted his sweat-stained hat and scratched his thinning blond hair. “A woman like that … so pretty and all … it's damned hard to believe. For her sake, I hope it's the truth.”

Fletcher said nothing. That was one subject he intended to pursue. He had too much riding on that girl to take any chances. He had brought her west for a purpose. He wanted her married to a man who could help his political ambitions, and he knew exactly who that man was. The time to strike was at hand—he couldn't afford to find out she was carrying some outlaw's bastard.

Fletcher left the sheriff and turned back toward the house. He'd give her a chance to settle in, forget the ordeal she had been through. He'd give her some time, but he wouldn't wait long. If there was any chance Caralee was with child, he meant to do something about it.

He had to know the truth.

He wasn't about to let her ruin his plans.

*   *   *

The week finally passed and slid into the week after that. Carly's strong sense of will had kicked in after just a few days and she'd been able to keep thoughts of Ramon and her days in the stronghold at a manageable distance. But she couldn't still the doubts he had stirred about her uncle.

The night before, when the house had grown quiet and Uncle Fletcher and the servants were asleep, she'd slipped into his study and gone through his desk. She'd found the deed to del Robles in the small tin box in the bottom drawer. The land was sold to him by a man named Thomas Garrison. Carly had no idea who he was, but apparently the de la Guerras had already sold the land to Garrison before her uncle bought it. At the time of the sale, Ramon would have still been in Spain.

A sigh of relief whispered through her. Ramon had been wrong about her uncle. Perhaps when she saw him again, she could convince him. The unconscious thought stirred an odd rush of heat and an image of dark-fringed eyes, broad shoulders, narrow hips, and smooth dark skin. As she hurried down the hall back to her room, it took a will of iron to force the image away.

Carly slept fitfully that night, fighting hot dreams of Ramon, cursing herself for thinking of him at all. Whatever his beliefs, the man was still an outlaw, and even if he might desire her, he wanted nothing from her but a quick tumble in his bed. Fanciful thoughts of Ramon would do her no good.

Carly awoke feeling tired and out of sorts. Only the crisp fall morning with its colorful autumn leaves and dewy grasses saved her from a dismal mood. She strode from her room dressed for riding as she had done these past two days, surprisingly determined to continue with her lessons—considering the way she had suffered before.

But now she was learning to ride sidesaddle. One of her uncle's vaqueros, a pleasant older man named Jose Gonzales, had volunteered to teach her. She didn't mention the lessons Pedro Sanchez had begun, so he was more than pleased by what he called her “natural ability.” And her learning to ride like a lady was obviously pleasing her uncle.

She was on her way down the hall, her sapphire blue velvet riding habit rustling as she moved, when he stepped into her path, stilling her movements.

“I'd like a word with you, my dear, if you don't mind.”

“Of course, Uncle Fletcher.” Curious at his mood, she followed him into his study, and he sat down behind his wide oak desk. Carly seated herself in one of the carved wooden chairs in front of it. “What is it, Uncle?”

He shifted in his seat, looking a little uncomfortable. “There is something we have to discuss, my dear. Unfortunately, it is not a pleasant topic, particularly for a young woman of your tender years. But in this you must trust me. You must tell me the truth.”

A shiver of unease ran through her. “Of course, Uncle Fletcher.”

He leaned forward. “I asked you before about the man who abducted you the night of the raid. You said it was El Dragón.”

She steeled herself for another round of questions about Ramon. “That's right.”

“You're a beautiful girl, Caralee. The man who took you is an outlaw. A ruthless, brutal criminal without the slightest hint of conscience. The fault would not be yours if such a man forced himself on you. I have to know, my dear—you didn't lie about that, did you? The man didn't rape you?”

She flushed, yet she also felt an odd sense of relief. At least in this she could tell the truth. “No, Uncle Fletcher.” A faint smile curved her lips. “I guess he figured you might not pay if he stole my virtue.” Then the smile slid away as a grim thought struck suddenly. “It wouldn't have mattered … would it, Uncle Fletcher?”

He cleared his throat. “Don't be silly. Of course it wouldn't have mattered. You're my own dear sister's child, the flesh and blood of my own kin. You don't think I would leave you at that villain's mercy?”

The smile returned, and with it a wave of relief even more vast than the first. “You might have been stuck with me if he had. I don't suppose there's much of a market these days for fallen women.”

Her uncle smiled, too. “Actually that isn't the truth. You're an American. You're beautiful, and you're obviously a lady.”
Thanks to me,
his look clearly said.

Carly squirmed a little in her seat. For a moment she felt as she had when Ramon said he would marry a woman of pure Spanish blood—like a ragamuffin just out of the mine patch.

“Out here,” Uncle Fletcher was saying, “women like you are few and far between. Why, Vincent Bannister was devastated when he learned you'd been abducted. He offered to go after those outlaws himself, but of course I wouldn't let him. Vince is a city boy, after all. He doesn't know a thing about riding through the woods, chasing down criminals.”

No he didn't. If she'd thought sandy-haired Vincent Bannister was a bit of a dandy before, now that she'd known Ramon, he seemed completely foppish.

“By the way, he'll be coming here with his father the end of next week. He's been worried about you. I sent word of your safe return, and now that you're back, he wants to see you.”

“That's very kind of him, Uncle. I just hope he doesn't…”

His look turned slightly hard, the veins standing out in his forehead. “Doesn't what, my dear? You aren't saying you don't want to see him?”

“Vincent is a very nice boy. I just hope he doesn't think that I'm … interested in him.”

“You're telling me you're not? Why, may I ask—and it had better not have anything to do with that bastard, El Dragón.”

Carly straightened in her chair. “Of—of course not.”

“If I discover you've lied to me, Caralee—if you wind up carrying that outlaw's child, I swear I'll—”

“You'll what, Uncle Fletcher?” Carly came to her feet. “Send me off someplace where you won't have to see me? Disown me? Make me fend for myself on the streets?”

Her uncle blustered and turned red in the face. “Of course not. That isn't at all what I meant.” He raked a hand through his graying auburn hair. “Sit down, Caralee. We might as well get something straight right here.”

She did as he said, leaning forward on the edge of her seat, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

“What I said about men is the truth. There are a good many out there, but few of them have the breeding, the wealth and power the Bannisters have. And this little escapade will hardly enhance your reputation. Vincent Bannister wants to marry you. He's told me so in no uncertain terms.”

“Vincent wants to m-marry me?”

“Of course he does. Why shouldn't he? You're a beautiful young woman. You're perfectly trained in all the social graces—I've personally seen to that. He wants to be your husband and I think it's a darned good idea.”

She tried to hang on to her temper, but it wasn't easy. “Well, I think it's a dreadful idea. I hardly even know Vincent Bannister.” She was crunching her skirt, she saw, mashing the soft blue velvet in a fist. She opened her fingers and smoothed the wrinkled fabric.

“I'm sorry, my dear, I didn't mean to upset you. Perhaps I should have let Vincent speak for himself, but I feel strongly that after what has happened, it would be best if you did not tarry. Marriage to Vincent will insure your entree into all the proper social circles. I want that for you, Caralee. I mean to see that you have it.”

Or did he want it for himself? Carly wondered. Once he had told her he wanted an appointment to the Land's Commission. He'd said the Bannisters had a great deal of influence in that arena. She thought of what Ramon had said about him stealing Rancho del Robles and wondered if the deed from Thomas Garrison had covered up some hidden scheme.

“What if I don't wish to marry him? What if I want to marry someone I love?”

Fletcher scoffed. “Don't be a child, Caralee. There is no such thing as love. Marriages are made for the sake of expediency. If would be beneficial to both of us if you married Vincent Bannister.”

“I-I'm not ready for marriage. I need time to consider. I've only just met Vincent.” She couldn't seem to think. It was all happening too quickly. She had known there might be consequences to her abduction, but she hadn't thought of this one.

“I'm all you have, Caralee,” her uncle said. “You must trust me to see to your best interests.”

She forced herself to smile. She owed him so much. He had saved her, given her a chance for a whole new life. She had always been desperate to please him, to pay him back for the things he had done. She wanted so badly to win his acceptance, perhaps even his love.

She would do almost anything for him.

Anything but this.

“As I said, Vincent is a very nice boy. I understand your concern, but I care nothing for Vincent Bannister beyond friendship, and I'm not going to marry him.” She rose stiffly, her dark blue riding skirt rustling against the legs of the carved wooden chair. “Now if you will excuse me…”