Reese (7 page)

He'd heard the bell, in a distant, less lust crazed corner of his mind. He held up his hands to show her he no longer held her captive with his big, clumsy fingers. "Church on a Monday?"

She shook her head, and that hair, which she kept pinned straight and snobbish, tumbled and curled in an unbelievably arousing mass about her face. Even the color fascinated him—changing from blond to brown with each shift of the air.

"The bell means El Diablo is coming."

Reese forgot about her hair, that body, those lips. Thunder rumbled again, and he understood the sound for what it was this time—horses and guns. "I think he's already here."

Mary paled, but she straightened her spine and tightened her lips, swollen from his ravishing mouth. He should apologize, but he really didn't have the time.

Reese drew his Colt, grabbed his hat, and headed for the door. Mary caught his arm, and he growled at her. She snatched her fingers back, as if afraid he would bite. Sooner or later she'd understand that he might. "Where are you going?"

"To do my job."

"You can't just walk out there with a gun in your hand."

"I do it every damn day. Sometimes twice on Sundays."

She sniffed. "I don't think you're funny."

"You know what, Miss McKendrick? Neither do I."

"If you walk out there like that, they'll shoot you."

"I thought they hadn't shot anyone yet."

"None of us walk around with guns."

"Maybe you should."

Her eyes narrowed. "But that's why I have you."

"My point exactly." Reese opened the door and stepped onto the porch. The sky had gone gray with clouds, but no storm threatened—just El Diablo.

His hands were steady, his heart just fine. Facing armed banditos was so much easier than suffering little children. His fingers tightened on the gun. The door opened behind him. He didn't even turn around. "Get inside before I make you."

She gave another haughty little sniff that had him aching to kiss her again, even though he'd probably get shot in the back for the distraction.

"I just thought you'd like to know that they usually go to Sutton's store first, then down to the saloon. You don't have to face them alone. You can sneak back and get your men."

"I never sneak, and I'm sure my men already heard them coming."

"I suspect so, since they weren't kissing me." She slammed the door.

He stifled a laugh. He felt better than he had in nine years—which was about how long it had been since he'd kissed a virgin—a thought that stifled his laughter better than anything else ever could.

After a glance behind him to make certain Mary had indeed gone back inside, Reese headed for the hotel. He did not sneak, but he did go in the back way. An idiot he wasn't.

His men stood in the front hall, armed to the teeth and waiting for him.

When Reese strolled in from the dining room, Rico pulled his knife. "Little jumpy, Kid?"

Rico shrugged and sheathed his sticker. "Where were you?"

"Talking to Miss McKendrick."

Sullivan raised his eyebrows but kept his mouth shut.

"Took you damn long enough to get here," Jed said from his position at the front window. "Thought we were gonna have to come searchin' for you before we went after the banditos."

"Well, here I am, boys; you can relax now."

Cash snorted and checked the load on his six-shooters.

"Everyone know the plan?"

"Refresh my memory." Nate sipped amber liquid from a dirty glass. He held his rifle loosely in his free hand.

Reese glanced at Jed, who shrugged. "He's all right."

"He's
right here." Nate finished his drink and stood. "Just pickled enough not to care."

"When have you ever cared?" Reese asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Not particularly."

"Which is why I follow wherever you lead. So lead."

Reese stared at Nate for a long moment. One of these days he was going to make one of
them
be the boss. See how they liked it. One day, but not today. "Fine. You're on the roof, Nate, with Jed. Sullivan and Cash are at the windows here. Rico's coming with me to have a talk with El Diablo."

Nate made a strangled sound. "Are you crazy?"

"Not lately."

"I've got a question of my own, now that you mention it," Cash drawled.

Reese resisted the urge to groan. One question always led to another with these five. "Spit it out."

"Why do you always have to talk to them first? Why don't you just shoot them and be done with it?"

"If I wanted them shot, I'd send you."

"Fine by me." Cash pulled his pistols with a practiced flick of the wrists. "I'll be right back."

Reese stepped between Cash and the door. "Let's try it my way first. If we can make El Diablo move on without spraying this pretty little town full of blood, isn't that a better way?"

"Not in my book," Cash grumbled, but he put his pistols back.

Reese couldn't help it; he'd seen enough blood to last all his life. Though he made his living by the gun, once he'd made it by talking a helluva lot. Times might change, but people more often did not.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to
my
question," Nate said. "Why would you take that loud-mouthed kid along to talk to the enemy? Your brain is more pickled than mine."

"I doubt that." Reese didn't want to explain his reasoning, but a glance at Nate showed the man in a mood to argue. Reese would save time if he just answered the question no one else cared to ask. "If El Diablo doesn't speak English, Rico can translate. My Spanish has never been very good."

Nate scowled at Rico, who was cleaning his fingernails with his backup blade. "He'd better not be a smart-ass."

Rico's dark gaze flicked to Nate's. "I know when to behave,
Padre."

"I'm not a priest."

Rico shrugged. "Priest, pastor, preacher-man, it is of no concern to me. I go with
el capitan,
I listen to the conversation; I keep my mouth shut unless I am asked."

"And if trouble starts," Cash put in, "he'll be close enough to hit something with his knife."

"Hell," Jed said, "he'll be close enough to hit something with his gun if he had to."

The sound of horses approaching at a walk made everyone go silent. Reese jerked his head toward the stairs. Nate and Jed departed for the roof. Sullivan and Cash moved to the windows as Rico slid the long, thin silver knife into his boot, then meandered out the front door.

Reese followed, and they watched El Diablo and his men approach. Fifteen men, Reese counted, including the Devil. He shook his head. A man less like the Devil he'd not seen in a long, long time.

Long white hair surrounded a bony face that spoke of years in the sun and wind. He was Indian—most likely Comanche, considering the territory, or even Apache, given the name—and so small in stature, the stirrups on his horse had been raised above the animal's belly. His hands were large, his body withered. He looked like a harmless, little, old, Indian man until he turned his head and saw Reese and Rico watching him.

Then he laughed, and the sound sent a shiver down Reese's spine. Madness brewed beneath that laugh and behind those dark, feral, too intelligent eyes.

No one had died yet? Only because El Diablo hadn't wanted them to, and Reese had to wonder why.

"Infierno,"
Rico muttered.

"You've got that right, Kid. Hell just rode into Rock Creek."

El Diablo held up a hand, and the men stopped. At a flick of his finger, one separated from the rest, and together the two approached.

"I don't know any Injun, Reese," Rico said. "Maybe you should get Sullivan out here."

"He doesn't know any, either."

El Diablo stopped his horse and stared at Reese. The second man, who was as huge as the first was not, stared at Rico. While El Diablo was obviously Indian, the other man was just as obviously white. His gray pants revealed he'd been on the same side as Reese in the war, but Reese doubted Colonel Mosby had ever recruited El Diablo's right-hand man for an elite team of guerrilla fighters.

"What are you doing in our town?" The voice did not hold even a hint of the South but rather the flat tones of a Yankee.

"Your town?" Rico sneered. "I suppose those would be your pants too?"

The fellow grinned, revealing several holes where teeth should be. "They are now."

Rico took a step forward.

"Forget it," Reese ordered, keeping his eyes on the false Confederate, knowing Rico would do as he was told—for a while, anyway. "That's not why we're here."

"Why
are
you here?" the man asked.

"To make you leave."

He laughed. "I'm going to enjoy this."

Reese switched his gaze from one to the other. "Does El Diablo talk?"

"If he's of a mind."

"Does his mind understand English?"

"Better than most."

Reese addressed his next words to El Diablo. "We've been hired by Rock Creek to protect what's theirs. If you leave now and don't come back, we won't have to shed your blood."

A thin, cruel smile spread over El Diablo's face. "If
you
leave now, we will not have to kill you and let the buzzards pick your brains."

The old fellow not only understood English; he spoke it better than his right-hand man.

"If you're smart, you'll move on to a town with less protection. You'll only end up dead if you keep coming back here."

"Is that a threat?"

"I thought that's what we were doing—making threats."

"No, I am making a promise,
senor;
you and your friend will die today."

The sound of a rifle being cocked split the silence. "One man moves an inch and the buzzards won't have to pick for El Diablo's brains, they'll be spread nice and fine all over the street."

Reese sighed. Nate never did have a lick of patience, which was an odd quirk for a sniper—and a reverend.

The false Confederate's face turned the shade of a beet when he realized he'd been caught in a trap. Of course, if the other men chose to open fire, Reese and Rico would be dead, but so would the Yankee and El Diablo.

El Diablo kept his dark gaze on Reese. "Just because there was not a battle today does not mean you haven't begun a war." He turned his horse. "Jefferson, we will finish this another day."

After a moment of futile glaring, first at Reese, then Rico, who must have made a face or obscene gesture, Jefferson started to shake with fury before he glanced up at Nate, scowled, and trailed after El Diablo.

"We will be back when you least expect us," El Diablo called.

"You and the rest of my nightmares," Reese murmured as the bandits left town.

* * *

Mary had been pacing her parlor, wringing her hands and praying for peace while listening for gunshots. She looked out her window a hundred times and didn't see a single person after El Diablo and his crew rode toward the saloon. Still, she didn't hear shouts, breaking glass, or the usual revelry that accompanied a visit from the Devil's own. But then she couldn't hear anything very well inside the house.

Even though she should remain in the cabin and hide, as she and everyone else always did when the banditos came, too much silence altered her better judgment, and Mary stepped onto her porch. She couldn't see a thing because the blasted schoolhouse was in the way. She'd always liked her little cabin, set back from the main part of town, but right now what she wouldn't give for a front-row view.

Reese might not sneak, but Mary wasn't proud. She crept along the side of the school until she could see the hotel. She peered up the street, then down. No sign of anyone—townsfolk, hired guns, or banditos—anywhere. How odd.

Before she ran across the distance separating the school from the hotel, Mary took one final glance behind her and came face to chest with a man blocking her path.

Mary screamed. Quite loudly. She was very proud. Until a hand clamped over her mouth.

Panic had her thrashing and fighting, kicking and biting. Then another set of arms yanked her from the first man's grasp, and a fist shot out, knocking Rico along the jaw. He went down like a sack of flour dropped off the edge of a wagon.

"What in hell do you think you're doing?" Reese snapped.

"He-he was just there. When I turned around. I didn't hear him, and there he was."

"Not you. Him."

Rico sat on the ground, rubbing his jaw. The four other men came running from both the front and the back of the hotel, weapons drawn. But when they saw who was making the ruckus, they put their guns away.

"Did you need to hit me,
Capitan?
I will have a bruise on my beautiful face."

"You'd better talk fast and make it good or you won't have a face."

Reese continued to hold Mary against him so tightly her feet dangled above the ground. Though the gun in his hand pressed just below her breasts, hard enough to bruise, Mary didn't demand to be put down, because being held felt too good.

"I am sorry,
senorita.
I did not mean to frighten you. I only meant to make certain the bad men had not doubled around back. Then I saw you and thought I should warn you not to be outside yet. I am quiet. Sullivan says it is my gift, like his." He glanced at Reese and rubbed his face again. "Also my curse, it seems."

"I'm gonna put a cowbell around your damn neck."

"But then I would be no good for spying,
Capitan.
No good at all."

"You're good for nothing that's for sure. Get lost."

"Getting lost,
senor."

Rico climbed to his feet, winked at Mary, then spun on his boot and joined the other men. Together they tromped into the hotel.

Mary glanced up the street. People were coming out of their businesses and homes to check the damage. For the first time, there wasn't any, which made Mary feel a whole lot better about having brought these six men to Rock Creek.

"You can put me down now," Mary said. It wouldn't do for the townsfolk to see her being held by Reese. What would they think?

"Hmm? Oh, sure." He lowered her to the ground and released her.

Absently, she rubbed the sore spot from his gun. His cat eyes followed the movement, drifting over her bodice; then his lips tightened, and he spun away with an annoyed curse.