Midnight Rider (36 page)

Ramon put a hand on the youth's slender shoulder. “She will wish it, Two Hawks. Whatever has happened between my wife and me has nothing to do with you. I promise she will be glad to see you.”

He still looked uncertain, but nodded with resignation. He had cut his black hair a little shorter, but still pulled it back in a thong at the nape of his neck. Already it seemed he had grown several inches, but the truth was, with the proper food and care, he had simply begun to fill out.

“Do you know the way to del Robles?” Ramon asked.

“
Si,
I was there once with my sister.”

“Then go. See the senora gets her things. I am certain she will be grateful.”

He watched the boy leave, knowing whatever Carly had done, she cared for the boy. She would recognize his fears, and the warmth of her greeting would lay them to rest.

Ramon ignored a twinge of jealousy that it was the boy who would receive her warm smiles and fond caresses and not him.

Two Hawks returned from the barn, leading the slightly swaybacked gelding Mariano had been teaching him to ride. Already he sat straight in the saddle, at ease on the animal as if he had been born to it. He would make a fine vaquero one day, Ramon thought. He carried himself as proudly as the great Andalusians he was only just learning to handle.

With a wave over his shoulder, Two Hawks rode out through the gate, passing a rider coming in the opposite direction. Ramon shaded his eyes toward the man who sat so rigidly in his saddle, as if he were on guard for whatever might come.

Ramon's mouth twisted, a bitter smile coming to his face. Perhaps his cousin was right to be on guard. Even now it was all Ramon could do to keep from dragging Angel down from his horse and pounding him into the dirt. Instead he forced his balled hands to relax and returned his cousin's greeting if not with a smile, at least with a semblance of civility.

“Angel. You are the last person I expected to see.”

“I am certain that is so, cousin. Nevertheless, I am here.”

“So I see. There is something that you want?” The question came out curtly though he tried to keep the tension from his voice.

“I will not be staying, if that is your concern. I am certain your—wife—has seen to it that I am no longer welcome.”

Some of the anger drained from Ramon's stiff posture. What happened wasn't Angel's fault any more than it was his own. “I am sorry, cousin. Of course you are welcome. As for my wife, she is no longer here.”

Angel relaxed a little at that and simply nodded. “We did not have a chance to speak in Monterey. I only just discovered that Andreas is dead.”

“Si.”
A dull ache rose at the mention of his brother's name. Usually he could keep the pain at bay, but it was always there inside him, more pronounced since Carly had been gone. “Your sister must have told you. His death is not common knowledge. There are only a few of us who knew he was in the country.”

“I am sorry, cousin. Your brother was a good man.” Angel smiled thinly. “And also a good leader, I am told.”

Ramon tensed once more, but Angel didn't seem to notice.

“There are few secrets among family, Ramon. I know of this
bandito,
El Dragón. I know Andreas was that man. Now your brother is dead, but another man leads the band and the outlaws continue to raid against the Anglos. I wish to join them, Ramon. I believe you can tell me where to find them.”

In times past he would not have hesitated to tell his cousin the whole grim story. Now he simply said, “They are camped at Llano Mirada. You remember it from when we were children? The high plateau we found the first summer we went hunting on our own.” Soon enough Angel would discover Ramon's involvement but not yet.

“
Si,
I remember.” Angel smiled, making him look younger and more handsome than he had before. Ramon wondered bitterly if it was that kind of smile that had urged his wife to invite him to her bed.

“There are two ways in,” Ramon continued. “Both are heavily guarded. Tell them you are Andreas's cousin.” He slid the heavy gold and ruby ring with the de la Guerra family crest off his finger, the ring he had given to Caralee the day of their wedding. He had found it in his saddlebag when he had gotten back from Monterey.

“Show them this and tell them it is I who have sent you.” He handed the ring to Angel, ignoring the odd sense of irony that his cousin should wind up with the ring he had used to wed Caralee.

“Gracias, amigo.”

“I did not know they had let you out of prison,” Ramon said.

“They did not exactly let me out. It was more like I escaped.” Angel began to back his horse away. “Again I am sorry about what happened in Monterey.”

“So am I,” Ramon said. “And I would advise you it is a subject best not mentioned again.”

Angel's mouth flattened abruptly. “As you wish,” he said. “I am grateful for the information.” Whirling his horse, he dug his big silver rowels into the animal's ribs harder than he should have, and pounded away back down the road.

Ramon stared after him until the dust of his leaving settled into the high brown grasses. The thought of seeing his cousin each time he rode into Llano Mirada made a hard knot ball in his stomach. Then again, perhaps very soon it would not matter. Mariano had returned from Santa Barbara, and even now, safely inside a chest in the house, Ramon held the documents that might return Rancho del Robles to its rightful owners. He had written to Alejandro de Estrada in Monterey and tomorrow he would forward the lawyer the papers.

Once the case was reopened, the rancho would be returned and his raiding could end. As there was before, there would be wealth enough for his family, work and a home for his people.

As much as he yearned for such a thing, deep inside he knew it would not be the same without Caralee there to share it. Ramon pushed the painful notion away and started back toward the house.

*   *   *

Carly paced the floor of her bedroom. Her uncle had returned late last night, bone-tired, his long canvas duster covered with the grime of the trail, and angry that they had once more failed to capture El Dragón. They were not giving up, he said grimly. The Indian scouts would continue their meticulous, inch by inch tracking, combing the Gabilan Mountains and on into the Diablo Range.

Captain Harry Love, the man who had apprehended the infamous bandit, Joaquin Murieta, led the vigilantes, and he had every belief that this time they would find the Spanish Dragon and his men.

Carly continued her pacing. She was worried about Ramon, as well as Pedro, Florentia, Tomasina, and the others in the stronghold. She didn't want them winding up the way Lena and the people of the Yocuts's village had.

She had to speak to Ramon, convince him to stop his raiding before it was too late. But she wasn't even sure where he was, and considering the way things stood between them, going to him at Las Almas might seem highly strange. She didn't want to raise her uncle's suspicions any more than they already were.

Carly made a sharp turn, swirling her saffron silk faile skirts, and started back the opposite direction. Besides her worry for Ramon, something else was bothering her. Boredom. Until her return to del Robles, she hadn't realized how much she'd enjoyed the work she had done at Las Almas. They were building something there. That it was smaller than Rancho del Robles didn't matter.

They were accomplishing something and she had been a part of that accomplishment.

Unlike her life at del Robles.

Certainly it was easier. Here she was waited on hand and foot, with nothing expected of her but a ladylike smile and an hour or two of polite supper conversation. Unfortunately, she wasn't the type to sit all day in the
sala,
tatting away the afternoon as her uncle expected. She couldn't entertain herself practicing for hours on the pianoforte. Reading occupied her time for a while, but the truth was, Carly had spent too many years out of doors. She liked hard work, liked the results it produced, and though at Las Almas she had never been expected to work her fingers to the bone, even Ramon seemed to approve of her involvement.

Perhaps he had recognized her need and bowed to it, or simple believed that since she wasn't a Spanish woman, she wasn't truly a lady—laboring was all right for a
gringa
like her. That thought wasn't encouraging, but whatever the case, she needed to be a part of what was happening on the rancho.

Or perhaps what she needed was a home of her own, as her uncle had once said.

Her heart squeezed at the thought. She'd had her own home … once. A real home, she had believed. She'd had a husband, people who cared about her, a mother-in-law and aunt she had grown to love. Did all of them believe as Ramon did? Did they think her capable of such a bitter betrayal? What had he told them? she wondered. What had Angel said to his sister Maria?

Tears burned her eyes, but her hands clenched into fists. Ramon believed his cousin because he was a de la Guerra. He was also a liar, but there was no way to prove it. And even if she could, she would still be a
gringa,
not the Spanish woman her husband wanted for a wife.

Carly sighed. What did it matter? Ramon had bannished her from his life as if she had never existed and nothing was going to change that. He had left a void that would never be filled, but surely there was some way she could be happy. Perhaps Uncle Fletcher was right and she should marry Vincent. Already he had sent his regards. A letter had arrived by messenger just yesterday afternoon. Apparently her uncle had been quick to inform her ex-suitor of her return. Obviously Uncle Fletcher hadn't learned a thing from the trouble he had caused by his manipulations.

Then again, if Vincent still wanted her, perhaps he really did love her. Maybe she should marry him and get on with the rest of her life. Carly had no doubt her uncle would somehow arrange the annulment. He wanted her to marry Vincent. If she had done as he wished in the first place, she wouldn't be feeling the terrible pain she suffered now.

She started to pace again, then glanced out the window and stopped so short she stumbled and nearly fell. Carly stared in horror, blinked and tried to tell herself what she was seeing wasn't real.

“Dear God!” Whirling toward the door, she jerked it open and raced out into the hallway. Heart thundering, her feet flying, she slammed through the back door and out into the work yard. “Stop this! What are you doing? You've got to stop this minute!”

But the lash fell again, slicing into the small brown back that already sported several long welts and three thin trails of blood. Carly stumbled forward, racing toward the boy just as the lash whistled through the air again. Ducking her head, she rushed between him and the whip, threw her arms around his narrow shoulders and bent over him, shielding his small frame and taking the wicked blow herself.

She gasped at the sting of the vicious piece of leather, her heart nearly breaking for the pain the boy had already endured.

“For godsakes, man, hold up!” her uncle shouted, though the man with the lash had already realized his mistake.

“Sorry, Miss McConnell.” Cleve Sanders, her uncle's rawboned foreman, stepped back as he recoiled the whip. “I hope I didn't hurt you.”

The thin strip of leather had cut through her dress and left a welt on her skin. It stung like fire, but other than that she was fine. “It's the boy you should be worrying about, not me.”

Two Hawks just stared straight ahead, his jaw set against the pain in his back, his black eyes mutinous. His arms were stretched above his head, tied to the low-hanging branch of a tree. His back was bare, his oversized breeches hanging low on the bones of his thin brown hips. “Cut him loose,” Carly demanded.

When the men made no move to free him, just shuffled from side to side looking angry and beginning to mutter among themselves, her attention swung toward her uncle, who approached from a few feet away.

“I'm sorry, Caralee, but you shouldn't be out here. This is man's business. You had better get back to the house.”

“What's going on here, Uncle Fletcher? What could a boy his age possibly have done to deserve a beating like this?”

“The boy's a thief, Caralee. Like it or not, I won't have a thieving savage stealing del Robles property.”

“Two Hawks isn't a thief. What is it he's supposed to have taken?”

“Stole a chicken, Miss,” Sanders put in. “Damn heathens is all alike.”

“A chicken? Where is it? Why on earth would he come here to steal a hen?”

“Not a live chicken, Miss. A dead one. Cook's roastin' a whole mess of 'em, gettin' 'em ready for supper tonight. Boy reached in through the window. Stole it right off the spit.”

Carly swung to the boy, her chest squeezing painfully. “Did you pay for the chicken, Two Hawks?”

He nodded stiffly. “A dozen trading beads … more than the tough old bird was worth.”

Carly's heart turned over. She glared at Sanders, her mouth thinning into a determined line. “There, you see? He didn't steal the chicken, he bought it. Now cut him down!”

Her uncle started to argue, saw the implacable set of her jaw, and nodded his head. “Cut the boy down.” The tall lean foreman who had wielded the whip took a knife to the rope around the tree limb, then cut the binding on Two Hawks's wrists. He stumbled as he fought to stay on his feet and Carly caught him beneath the arms.

“Can you make it as far as the kitchen?” she whispered so that only he could hear.

His spine went straighter and he steadied himself on his feet. “One day I will be a great vaquero. I can do whatever I must.”

Knowing how proud he was, she didn't try to help him, just walked beside him while he made his way to the kitchen on his own. Once inside, she set him carefully down in a stout oak chair and turned to the buxom woman working over a thick roll of tortillas.