Nan Ryan (6 page)

Lew’s gaze met the somber black eyes of the man who to him was a brother. Intelligent, loyal, Dan Nighthorse had been a member of the family from birth.

Fondly Lew recalled the exact day his own life had merged with Dan’s. He had been no more than five years old when he had ridden alone out into the rocky, broken country north of the ranch one hot summer’s day. He came upon a young Indian woman beneath a massive ledge of volcanic rock. Stoic and silent in her agony, she had been badly beaten and her belly was very fat. Lew brought her home to Plano Pacifica.

That very night the woman gave birth to Dan Nighthorse, with Lew’s mother and a half dozen servants in attendance, while a big-eyed Lew waited just beyond the closed door. He was allowed inside for a peek at the squalling, dark-haired infant and all these years later he remembered the exhausted, bruised Indian mother saying proudly, “My son will be called Dan Nighthorse.”

It wasn’t until much later that Lew learned Dan’s father had been a white miner named Daniel McCall and that McCall had left the pregnant Apache girl and returned to his wife in California. Dan’s proud mother refused to tell who had beaten her, but Lew suspected it was the white man who had fathered Dan. Apaches would have cut off her nose or an ear had they wished to punish her.

From Dan’s birth, Lew had looked on Dan as a brother and had spent as much time down at the Nighthorse adobe at the back edge of the ranch as he had in the big hacienda. When Dan’s mother died shortly after his fourteenth birthday, Lew had tried to persuade Dan to move into the hacienda, but Dan had politely refused.

The only time the two of them had ever been apart was when Lew had followed his father, William Hatton, into the war. When he’d left, Lew had said to Nighthorse, “I am leaving the ranch and my mother in your care, Dan.”

Seventeen-year-old Dan Nighthorse had gripped his hand and said solemnly, “I will protect both with my life.”

And he had meant it. Loyal, trustworthy, and proud. That was Dan Nighthorse.

Now, as Lew looked at Dan, remembering, he said, “No. You must remain here, just as you did in the war.”

Dan Nighthorse shook his head. “Then I will not let you go. Have you forgotten the vow you made to Teresa? You promised you would let the past stay buried.”

Lew shrugged, sighed. He hadn’t forgotten his promise to the beautiful Spanish girl who was to be his wife. Love for Teresa Castillo had cooled his hot-burning need for revenge. When he’d first returned from the war, limping and thin, his heart had been filled with hatred. He had planned to stay home only long enough to recuperate from his wounds, then go after the men who had killed his father.

But Teresa had changed all that. He had fallen in love with her, and while her protective older brother, Pascual, had made him promise he would wait to marry her until she turned twenty, Teresa had made him promise that he would not put his life in danger. A gentle hand on his arm and he had agreed.

“You promised Teresa,” Dan Nighthorse gently repeated.

“I know, but—”

“Need I remind you what a lucky man you are? Tonight you will be officially engaged to Teresa and next year she’ll become your bride. Let it go, my friend. Forget about the Rogers Renegades. Focus on the future.”

Lew drew a long breath. “Maybe you’re right. Nothing can bring Dad back, and I did promise Teresa.”

Mollie was worried about her papa
.

Once so sharp-witted and knowledgeable, he had grown increasingly slow and forgetful. At times he appeared to be totally bewildered and lost, and it frightened Mollie.

Worse, the Kid had criticized her father in front of her and the Renegades. More than once in the past six months, she and the Kid had fought over her father’s ability to lead. Their last heated discussion on the subject had taken place earlier this evening and had turned into something frightening.

Now, as Mollie restlessly wandered her darkened bedroom, her thoughts remained on the unpleasant clash with the Kid.

Directly after dinner her father had excused himself, saying he was tired from their last raid. Mollie had teased him about getting old. He had replied that he was indeed growing old, and Mollie was immediately sorry she had said anything.

Sadly she had watched him go, knowing his intent. He would go up and drink himself to sleep as he had done far too many nights of late.

Concerned, Mollie had nervously prowled the big hacienda before finally stepping out onto the back brick patio. A big Mexican moon was rising directly behind the distant mountains, and Mollie inhaled deeply of the bougainvillea-scented air, wishing that her papa would come outside and join her. Wishing they could have one of their long talks like they did when she was a little girl and went to him with her troubles. Wishing he would stop drinking so much whiskey and again be the strong, commanding figure he once had been.

Feeling as if she’d scream if she didn’t do something to take her mind off her worries, Mollie crossed the flagstone patio and headed down to the stables.

When she stepped inside the adobe stable, young Raul, one of the three Mexicans who rode with the Renegades, looked up, smiled, and greeted her politely.

“Hello, Raul,” Mollie said, returning the smile. “I’m glad you’re here. I thought I’d work on my saddle and—”

“You wish to borrow Raul’s tin of saddle soap,
sí?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind.”

Raul laughed heartily. “My soap is your soap,
Señorita
Mollie.” He was handing her the open tin when the Kid sauntered in, thumbs hooked under his low-riding gun belt. Raul nodded to him. “Evening, Kid, I was about to help—”

“Leave us, Raul,” the Kid interrupted him.

“Stay, Raul,” said Mollie, glaring at the Kid.

Nervously Raul looked at Jeffrey Battles, smiled apologetically at Mollie, and said, “I am going, Kid. I go!” And he hurried out of the stables.

“That was rude,” said Mollie. “He was going to help polish my saddle.”

“Help you? He can do it for you. Tomorrow.”

“I don’t want him doing it for me, I want to do it myself. Now if you’ll kindly go on about your—”

“Mollie, we need to talk. About your father.”

Mollie knew what was coming and she didn’t want to hear it. “Some other time, Kid. Suddenly I’m tired. Think I’ll go in.”

The Kid, thumbs still stuck in his gun belt, stood between her and the door. “We
must
talk, Mollie. It’s important.”

Mollie decided she’d take the offensive. “Fine, Kid, let’s talk. I’ve been riding with the Renegades for the past eighteen months now. We’ve hit banks and stages and trains and nobody’s been hurt. Eight of us in the gang and not one has ever suffered so much as a hangnail. The Rogers Renegades have an excellent record. So what’s there to talk about?”

The Kid grinned and his gray eyes had begun to shine with that hint of madness she’d seen in them when they stood side by side in a bank with their guns drawn.

“We’ve been real lucky,” he said. “Luck doesn’t last forever.”

“Make your point, Kid. I need to get back to the hacienda.”

“No you don’t. It’s early and you have nothing to do.” His tone grew knowing, disrespectful when he added, “I’m sure the colonel has already retired.”

“The hour at which my father retires is none of your business.”

“When he takes a bottle to bed with him it becomes my business.”

Mollie suffered a twinge of guilt. The Kid was right. Her father’s heavy drinking was jeopardizing all their lives. But she lifted her chin and said, “For pete’s sake, we just got back from the raid yesterday. He deserves a little time to relax.”

“As far as I’m concerned, the colonel deserves a great deal of time to relax. Say for the rest of his life.”

“Don’t you dare say that about my papa!”

“The old man’s had it, Mollie, and it’s time you and he faced it. He’s going to get us all killed.”

“I … I’ll speak to him about the drinking, but he will continue to lead the Renegades. Understand?”

The Kid took a couple of steps forward. “I’m only thinking of you.”

Mollie automatically took a step backward. “Your concern is misplaced. In case you’ve failed to notice, I never show fear on our raids.”

“I have noticed,” he said, his eyes gleaming demonically, “and I like that. I like that a lot. I like
you
a lot, Mollie.”

“I don’t care what you like,” she said, the wispy hair on her nape rising.

As if she hadn’t spoken, he said, “I especially like it when we knock over a bank together. I like you standing there beside me in those tight charro pants with your gun raised and your breath coming so fast your breasts push against your shirtfront.”

“I’m going to bed,” snapped Mollie and started past him.

He grabbed her arm, stopped her. “I’ll like you in bed too, I know I will.”

“Let me go!” Mollie warned, clawing at the strong fingers encircling her upper arm.

The Kid pulled her up against his big, solid frame. “I will if you’ll kiss me.” His free hand went into her hair, his blunt fingers tangling in the short blond locks. “Kiss me, Mollie.”

“Never!”

“No kiss?” He grinned. “Then show me your birthmark. The colonel says it’s a perfect butterfly. Let me see it.”

“Certainly not!” she said angrily. “Neither you nor any man will ever see my birthmark!”

“Oh, I will,” he assured her. “I’ll see it and all the rest when we’re married.”

“Marriage, the devil!” she shouted, pushing on his broad chest. “You take too much for granted!”

The Kid continued to hold her. Her anger and struggling excited him. The press of her soft body against his brought on instant arousal. He wedged his knee between her legs and wrapped his powerful arms around her in a viselike grip.

Both furious and frightened, Mollie beat on his back and cursed him, turning her head aside so that his questing mouth couldn’t capture hers. He bent his head, pressed his bearded face into the open collar of her shirt. When she felt his open lips sucking on the sensitive flesh at the curve of her neck and shoulder, she said the only thing she could think of that might make him stop.

“Let me go or I swear I’ll never marry you!”

Reluctantly he raised his head. He looked into her angry, flashing eyes and desire warred with restraint. He wanted her now, but if he took her, it would mean the end. The first and last time. If he waited, she’d be his for a lifetime.

“I’m sorry, Mollie,” he said, releasing her. “I was way out of line. Forgive me, it won’t happen again.”

“You want my forgiveness? Here’s how you get it.
Never
touch me again and swear you will never question my father’s leadership. Promise me!”

“I promise,” said the Kid, thinking how desirable she was, looking forward to the day when this fiery, tempting package would be his to unwrap and enjoy.

“Fine! Now get the hell out of my way!”

Mollie shoved him aside and stormed out of the stables, her heart pounding with fear and anger. She hurried back to the hacienda and rushed up the stairs. Once inside her room she paced angrily, muttering under her breath, wondering why her papa couldn’t see the Kid for the kind of man he was.

Jeffrey Battles was dangerous. Deadly dangerous. And he wanted
her
.

Mollie again felt the fine hair rise on the nape of her neck. She crossed the room and threw the heavy bolt on the bedroom door.

As Mollie was anxiously locking her door against him, the Kid was slipping silently through a door downstairs. A door that had been purposely left unlocked. Inside, the Kid’s latest conquest, a young pretty kitchen maid, trembled at the sight of him. Guadalupe waited expectantly as the big, bearded man blew out the lone lamp and crossed to her.

Aroused from his encounter with Mollie, the Kid was eager as he pushed the girl’s dress up over her brown thighs. In seconds he had stripped her naked and she dutifully crawled atop the bed while he shed his clothes. As soon as he was bare, he was on her, pressing her onto her back, pushing her thighs apart, taking her roughly with a wild hunger spurred by Mollie.

“We’ll hit the stage right here.” The Kid
tapped a spread map of New Mexico. “One of the biggest payrolls ever bound for Fort Whipple is coming out of Santa Fe, and …”