Renegade Moon (CupidKey) (19 page)

Briefly, they discussed the shipment. Something else was being flown in at the time they were flying this out. They shuffled around and Destiny thought for a moment they were going to leave. Instead, they approached her hiding place.

Terrified, she drew herself into the smallest possible ball and clamped her trembling hands over her mouth. Mere feet away, they pried off the top of a crate, peered inside, and pounded the lid back down. They were so close Destiny could smell Will’s sour odor, could see flashes of their legs as they moved around, and once even saw Jard’s head. He turned, surveying the room, concentrating directly on her hiding spot. She closed her eyes and waited for the blow.
Nothing
.

Instead they all moved back to the front of the shack. “Yes, here. You’ve done okay,” Jard replied to Will’s whining request for a bottle. “Just be around tomorrow when the exchange comes in, understand?”

“Yessir, Mr. Jard. I unnerstand. I’ll be here. You can count on ol’ Will.”

The Escalade started and drove away. Destiny didn’t move. She couldn’t pop out now like a girl out of a cake. Will wasn’t harmless as long as he had that rifle, no matter what Eric claimed.

Eric
. They hadn’t mentioned Eric. But then, they hadn’t mentioned names at all. They’d merely discussed the shipment, examined it, evidently given Will a bottle, and left. So the lack of a mention certainly didn’t clear Eric, no matter how desperately Destiny wanted him to be innocent.

What should she do? She couldn’t simply march out and say, “Hi.” The bottle clinked as if touching against a glass. Was Will drinking his reward? Perhaps he’d get drunk. Then she could leave! And if he passed out, she could peek at the shipment before sneaking away. She waited.

Will muttered and talked to himself. The sun lowered into the west, darkening the dim shack even more. Still the clinking, the muttering. How much had they given him, ten gallons?

Destiny, cramped and exhausted, tried to stretch a bit, but didn’t want to risk making any noise. Finally she heard him saying “. . . poor ol’ Will never gits enough to drink . . .” and decided to make her move. After crouching for hours, she could barely straighten her legs when she stood. She maneuvered softly between the stacked crates and reached Will slumped over the table. He held an empty glass in one hand and the empty bottle in the other.

Darn!
She couldn’t just walk out without her proof. Quietly, she moved back to the crate they’d opened and ran a hand over it. Placing her fingers under the loosened spot, she gave a tug. Nothing. She gave a mighty jerk. Creaking, it yielded. Another mighty jerk popped the top loose. She took out her camera, checked to make sure the flash responded to the low light, and peered into the box.

Guns!

Stacks of what appeared to be automatic rifles!

She didn’t know much about firearms, but these weren’t children’s toys. She took several shots, then forced the lid back down. She replaced her camera in its case and walked swiftly to the front of the shack. As she crossed to the door, Will raised his head and blinked at her.

“Hey, girlie!”

Destiny froze. “Hello, Will,” she said impulsively. “I-I brought you a present.”

He shook his head and gave her a bleary-eyed glare. “A present?”

“Yes. See?” She held up her purchase.

“He-e-e-e-ey.” Rotted teeth showed in a snaggled smile. “Lookie what the little lady brought to ol’ Will.” Then a suspicious glimmer. “Why?”

She approached the table, setting the full bottle down beside him. “Because you let me take photos of your place, remember?”

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly, his eyes fastened on the bottle. “You was here with Eric George. Sit down, girlie.”

“I really must be going.”

He rested his hand on his rifle standing beside his chair. “Ya too good ta have a drink with ol’ Will?”

“Oh, certainly not. I’d be delighted.” She perched tentatively on the edge of a chair across from him. Reaching back on the bench behind him, he picked up another glass.

“Gettin’ dark,” he muttered. Digging a pack of matches from his pocket, he lit the lantern sitting on the table. Then he poured a dollop of whiskey into each glass. Pushing one over to Destiny, he said, “Drink up, girlie.”

She eyed the grimy glass. This was not the time to inform him of her personal likes and dislikes. He watched her keenly as he took a swallow of his own, and she knew she must at least raise it to her lips. Would the alcohol kill any germs? She held her breath, allowing the potent brew to touch her lips.

“Don’t have company often,” he said. “Nobody comes ‘round to see ol’ Will . . . ‘cept Eric George. Ol’ Eric George, he comes ‘round, mebbe brings me a little somethin’ ta eat, mebbe a little money. These others? Huh!” He waved a hand in dismissal. “Jist good fer whiskey. Hey, girlie. How’d ya git here? Walk?”

“I rode my horse. And I really must go.”

He wagged a finger at her. “You ain’t finished yore drink.”

Again she raised the glass, faking it. Okay, so she’d ask questions. She asked about Jard and Stoker and what they did here. Another wave of dismissal, then he mumbled something about them storing things in the shack from time to time.

“An’ it’s okay. Eric George says it’s okay. You know ol’ Eric George is Injun. Apache Injun. They say some of th’ Injuns that use ta live in these parts was Apaches. Er, their ancestors anyways. Long ago. Maybe Eric George’s ancestors came from them Injuns, eh?”

“Could be.”

“Yeah, I knowed him since he was a kid.” Will poured himself another drink, offered her one, but she showed him that some remained in her glass so he set the bottle down again. “His brother and sister, even his folks, they all left. But not Eric George. Went into the army, but he came back. Some cain’t get away from this country fer good, y’know. If ya ain’t keerful, these mountains will steal yer soul right out through yer eyes.” He shook his head. “Yore never ag’in free of this land. Yep, stole my soul.”

He leaned forward. “They was other Injuns here. Renegades from a bunch of tribes, holed up on th’ ridge, always raidin’ and killin’ here and thar, but one year, jist about this time, durin’ the full moon it was, they all came ridin’ down from the ridge, lootin’ and killin’ and stealin’ wimmin. Injuns didn’t raid much at night, but that big full moon must’a set ‘em off.” He took another swallow.

“Cause they shore raided that moonlit night, and they kilt Injuns and whites both. Then they skedaddled. Took off some said, to Mexico, never ta be seen or heerd tell of ag’in. This year thar’s thet full moon jist like then. Some say when th’ moon gits full this time o’ year, they can hear them renegades ridin’ down from the ridge whoopin’ and hollerin’ like they done long ago.” Hand shaking, he poured yet another shot. “It’s the bad time. The dangerous time. It’s the time of the Renegade Moon. Right now!”

Destiny shivered. A ghostly atmosphere settled over the horrid little shack as she listened to this pitiful, disgusting man rant about bygone Indian raids in the flickering lamplight.

“Truly, Will. I must be going. It’s nearly dark.”

“You ain’t finished yore drink!”

With a big sigh, Destiny put the glass to her lips, closed her eyes, and tossed her head back. The Bourbon burned its way down her throat and ignited in her stomach. She sat there a moment swallowing convulsively to keep it from bouncing right back up again, and smiled a teary smile at Will.

“Delicious,” she croaked.
Vile,
her insides protested.

Satisfied, Will poured himself another shot. “Shore appreciate ya bein’ so thoughty. Ya come ‘round ag’in, hear, girlie?”

“Thanks for your hospitality,” she said, skittering out the door.

The moon—the Renegade Moon—shed brilliant silver beams like a giant searchlight. In that earlier century, the renegades would be on their way down the warpath. Maybe those renegades were gone now, but Jard and Stoker and their like came here to raid and plunder in their own way. And just perhaps Destiny could have a hand in stopping them.

Her heart cried out,
What about Eric?
But she ignored its painful wail, picking her way carefully down the hill to Muffin. She hadn’t brought a flashlight, not dreaming she’d be out after dark, but the full moon lighted their way. Muffin plodded along the road to the ranch house. They topped the rise to see figures with flashlights moving back and forth on the porch. There were horses, too, and Muffin nickered at them. The dogs bounded out in greeting.

Destiny rode up, slid from Muffin’s back and waited as Eric walked up to her and stood there, tall as a mountain, wide as the western sky.

“Where have you been?” His voice sounded very quiet and very dangerous.

“I went riding. I got lost.”

“We’ve been looking for you,” he grated through clenched teeth. “And we were going out again. We’ve been searching for hours.”

He appeared frightening in that moment and she took a step back. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he roared. “You’re sorry?” He seized her arms with his big hands, making her flinch nervously.

“Stop it, Eric!” Martin shouted, shoving at his infuriated brother. “Let her go! Have you gone crazy?”

Eric released her as though she burned him. “Yes. Yes, I’ve gone crazy.” He turned and stalked away.

Unhurt, but stunned, Destiny stared after him a moment.
Why had he lashed out so violently? Worry? Or something more? Something deeper? Or merely guilt?
She started to follow. “Eric?”

He turned about halfway, holding out a hand as if to ward her off. “Stay away from me. Just leave me alone.” Then he walked on, all three dogs trotting at his heels, and disappeared down the side of the arroyo.

Had his dark eyes glistened with tears? Anger? Fear? Sadness? Destiny stared after him, her own tears trickling down her face. Martin came to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Oh, Martin,” she sobbed. “I think he was really upset.”

He urged her gently back to the house. “All the more reason to leave him alone. Eric doesn’t show emotion easily. Except to get mad. I think that’s why he has such a bad temper. It’s the only way he ever lets go.”

They sat down on the stone steps together, Martin’s arm still encircling her. He handed her a handkerchief.

“Did he hurt you?”

Pressing the handkerchief to her face, she took several deep breaths and shook her head. “I don’t think Eric would ever hurt me.” Another tear escaped. Martin pulled her head onto his shoulder.

“No, not deliberately. But he’s so strong. I didn’t want him breaking your arms.”

“I don’t break easily.” She straightened, but remained in the brotherly comfort of Martin’s embrace. “Martin, please tell me what is, or was, between Eric and Iris. That day on our ride to the water hole, she confronted me and threatened me if I didn’t stay away from him. Is there something between them that gives her the right to do that?”

Martin remained still for so long that Destiny turned toward him. He was staring out over the moon-drenched countryside, that remote expression on his face. His fingertips rubbed her shoulder gently, thoughtfully.

“They were engaged about ten years ago,” he finally began, still staring blankly. “Eric joined the army when he got out of high school, and stayed for five years. While he was gone, the Ramptons bought the ranch next to the Double Bar-M. When he came home, he met Iris. She was only twenty-three, and she was as gorgeous as she is now. She fell for Eric; he fell for her. Then in a couple of months,
poof
. It was over. Eric rejoined the army and Iris got shipped off to Europe.”

“What happened between them, Martin? Do you know?”

He gave a slight shake of his head and shrugged. “Ask Eric.”

“Do you think he still loves her?”

“Who knows? I don’t think so, but I can’t speak for Eric. Ask him.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She shook her head and wiped her eyes again. “I just can’t. Not now. Iris thinks he does.”

“Maybe it’s wishful thinking.”

“Maybe. We’ll have to wait and see.” She got to her feet and Martin stood up beside her.

“Sugar, I wish I could help you.” He very gently kissed her forehead.

She needed a bath after being inside that filthy shack. She scrubbed in perfumed water and washed her hair, all the time listening for Eric’s footsteps in the hallway. But they never came. She went to her room, blew out her lamp, and lay down on her bed. They always left their bedroom doors open to catch the breeze. She stared at the darkened doorway, willing Eric’s form to pass by and let her know he was home safe. The idea of that big man out there alone and upset was so heartbreaking she could hardly draw her breath. Faint light from the huge moon illuminated the room just enough to form shadows.

When she first saw Eric outlined in the doorway, Destiny thought she was dreaming. A breeze, cool and teasingly sweet, puffed across her body, clad only in lacy baby-doll pajamas. The sheet just covered her legs.

Silently he entered the room and stood staring down at her, his face shadowed and unreadable. She made no move, hardly daring to breathe. He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over to brush her mouth with his. She responded and the kiss grew and intensified. He had a sensual, gentle, yet firm way of kissing, of moving his mouth on hers and tasting her tongue with his own, that made her blood pulse warm and thick through her body, infusing her with a honey-sweetness that covered her, enveloped her, until the only reality was his mouth, his touch, his pounding heart pressed against her own.

His lips trailed fire down her neck and lingered against her shoulder as he lay down beside her. Her arms rose up, sought him, drew him closer. She felt his rising desire and his breath hot against the hollow of her throat. He wore only jeans. No shirt, no belt, no shoes. He moved against her and her body arched automatically as her breath caught.

Again he kissed her mouth and her hands glided over his hard-muscled back. His skin felt like satin. Destiny heard only the thudding of her own heart. His hand slipped under her pajama top and contacted her bare skin. Her breasts peaked in answering passion and her breath came in tiny, silent sobs as he caressed her body with feather-light touches. Would they make love right now, here in the pale shadowed moonlight?

She needed to stop him.
She must stop him
. Her hand caught his wrist and at that moment, they heard a faint tinkling crash from the kitchen.

Eric leaped to his feet. His gaze locked with hers for one heartbeat, then as silently as he entered, he left.

Destiny rolled onto her back and tried to collect her scattered senses. She pulled the sheet up to her neck and stared at the doorway, wishing desperately that he’d return, yet terrified that he would, wondering what had caused the noise. Possibly someone getting a drink of water in the kitchen. Part of her was grateful, and part wept disconsolately. She honestly couldn’t decide whether or not she was glad for the interruption.

Turning onto her side, she gazed out the window, sleepless. A zillion stars blazed against black velvet.
Eric
.
Eric George Montoya
. His name repeated itself in her mind to the rhythm of her beating heart as she watched the stars wheel in the sky toward morning.

As soon as dawn touched the east, she started packing her things, pausing when she heard familiar footsteps.

Eric entered her room, standing just inside the doorway. “What are you doing?” he asked softly.

“I don’t think I should stay here anymore.” She resumed packing, concentrating on folding a pair of jeans as if they were royal linens.

“Because I came to your room last night?”

“No.”

“Was it the way I acted when you got home? Babe, I’d never hurt you. I was scared. I’d already found you half-dead once in the desert. I’m sorry. I just lost it.”

She shook her head. “No, no.” Finally, she met his gaze. “Eric, you’re holding back from me. You don’t trust me. I don’t know what to do about it. It’s best I go away from you for awhile.”

He stood still a moment, then turned. “Do whatever you want.” He walked out.

Though not at all what she wanted, she put her face into her hands and cried.

Several minutes later, Martin came in and sat beside her. “Eric said you’re leaving.”

She nodded wordlessly.

“Are you sticking around, or going back to Austin?”

“I can’t leave the area yet. I have a story to finish.”

“Okay, sugar. I’ll be around awhile myself. You know where I am if you need me.”

She searched his face. “Help him, Martin. I think he’s in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I don’t know,” she half-fibbed, averting her face. “Just stand by him.”

“Destiny . . .” A frown creased his brow momentarily. He gazed into her face for a heartbeat, then his expression softened. “I’ll do what I can.”

Nodding, she gratefully accepted that, wishing she could explain everything but knowing she could not. Not at this time. “Will you help me carry my stuff?”

“Sure.”

The dogs jumped up when Destiny and Martin walked out the door. She hadn’t seen Domingo or Estrella, and knowing they’d witnessed the confrontation between her and Eric the night before, she was too embarrassed to seek them out.

“Please tell the Garcias goodbye for me. I feel like I’d better just go.” She gave him a sad little smile.

“I understand. So will they. Take care, sugar.”

After giving all three dogs a pat, she got into her car and drove away. As she passed over the rise, she began to cry. She sobbed aloud, tears flooding her eyes and streaming down her face. Her body shook until she couldn’t steer and still she cried, sobbing on and on, unable to stop. She pulled the car over to regain control.

An airplane flew overhead and though she had no idea if it was ‘the’ airplane, she almost broke down again. Now that she had all this wonderful proof, she didn’t want to do anything with it. She didn’t want Eric to be involved! She didn’t want it!

Breathing hard, she pressed her hands to her cheeks as if to hold her face together. Then, clutching her broken emotions with a death grip, she drove to the motel.

Eric George Montoya was mad, fed up to his teeth with the situation he’d become embroiled in, and he wanted out.
Just a favor for a friend.
He wouldn’t even get that involved.
Sure
. The favor got out of hand, causing him to do things and treat people in ways that went completely against his grain. And now, thanks to all this, Destiny was gone.

Sitting at his desk, he turned Cupid over and over in his hand, always conscious of its warmth, remembering the times he held it in his childhood.

“Sometimes it was like you spoke to me inside my head,” he murmured. “Promises I couldn’t quite understand. I wish you’d speak to me now. Or am I too old? Too grown up? Too jaded to hear anymore?”

He laid the charm down on his desk against a small photo of his parents. The Montoyas, that is. He had no photos of his birth parents. In a way he regretted that, but was grateful
and
proud that not only the Montoyas considered him their son, but Estrella and Domingo as well. And he’d let them all down. Including Destiny.

You don’t trust me,
she’d said.
You’re holding back.
But what was he supposed to do? How could he tell her? She was a journalist, for crying out loud. Yeah, like he could say, ‘Well there’s this little operation . . .’

No. No way.
There was too much involved. But he must call a halt with Glen. That is, if he could find Glen. He’d searched everywhere all day and no Glen turned up.

“Hey, little brother, you going to the dance at Wes’s tonight?” Martin asked, popping into the study and breaking in on Eric’s brooding.

He started to say ‘no’, but realized that Glen might be there. And if Glen wasn’t, then Jard would be. If Eric couldn’t locate Glen, then he’d put a halt to it with Jard.

“
Sí, hermano
. I believe I will.”

“Want to ride with me?”

“No, thanks. I have to find somebody.”

“Okay. See you there.” For a moment, Martin remained standing in the doorway, gazing at Eric with a questioning expression.

“What?” Eric prompted.

With a small shake of his head, Martin replied, “Nothing. Later.”

Puzzled, Eric frowned.
Did his brother suspect something?
Then as he stood, Cupid caught his eye. On impulse, he picked up the charm and dropped it into his pocket. If he found Destiny, no,
when
he found Destiny, he’d be prepared. He knew now he couldn’t let her go. Without a doubt, he’d fallen hard for her. Her spunk, her sharp mind, her impressive career for one so young, all packaged together into a small bundle of gorgeous dynamite. How had he been so fortunate to have such a woman come into his life? Cupid magic? And how could he not grab her and hold onto her for dear life, no matter the consequences?

He spotted the Suburban and Jard’s Escalade when he arrived at the Wagon Wheel, but he didn’t see Glen’s Jeep. He also didn’t see a certain midnight blue Mustang. After he finished his little chat with Jard, he planned to locate Destiny and talk to her. He couldn’t let it die this way between them. He couldn’t stand by and allow her to walk out of his life.

How much did she already know? Probably a lot more than was safe for her. Too inquisitive, too smart. And very likely in danger because of it.

Eric spotted Jard and Stoker at a table on the patio. “We need to talk,” he said to Jard without greeting. “Now. And alone.”

Jard and Stoker exchanged looks, standing in unison to follow him out. Eric led them behind the Wagon Wheel between two storage buildings that offered shielding from prying eyes and ears.

“All right.” Eric faced them. His ‘alone’ hadn’t excluded Stoker. He knew Jard went nowhere without his trusted bodyguard. “Make this shipment tomorrow the last one from Montoya land.”

“Tut, tut, my friend,” Jard chided. “It is but one in a series. Plans and schedules are already prepared. There will be no changes.”