by Ann Major
She turned to face him again.
“I’ll come back for the rest of my stuff later,” he said, not looking at Mia, keeping his eyes on Vanilla.
“Wave goodbye to Daddy,” Mia murmured listlessly, hating the hideous calm that gripped them both.
Shanghai grabbed his hat out of the front seat and put it on.
“No!” Suddenly Vanilla rubbed her eyes and twisted violently only to bury her face against Mia’s shoulder.
“Practicing to be a terrible-two?” Shanghai whispered gently, stepping closer so that he could pet her soft, fine hair.
“No! No go!” As if Vanilla sensed the dark undercurrents between the adults, she fisted her tiny hands and refused to look at him.
When Shanghai and she had cooled down enough to consider the consequences of divorcing each other now with the ranch and their own lives under such intense scrutiny from the press, they’d decided to wait. Wanting to keep their relationship private, they’d agreed to tell no one, not even the family about their plans to separate.
For the next month Shanghai would stay at the Buckaroo and run his ranch. He would put in an occasional appearance at the Golden Spurs. To silence the gossips, she would spend a weekend or two at the Buckaroo. No one need know that Shanghai would be absent from the Buckaroo when she was there.
Suddenly Mia wanted him gone. To endure him now, to watch his handsome face and know that he felt no tenderness for her, was sheer torture.
If he couldn’t love her wholeheartedly and believe in her, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life begging him to forgive her for something she’d never done in the first place. She was done with pleading for his love. Although she knew she would be unhappy for a long time, she would go on. Somehow she’d find her way.
But step one toward recovering from all that she’d been through was his departure.
Still, all of a sudden, he seemed reluctant. For interminable minutes, he stood beside his truck staring at her. Finally he moved closer. Opening her fingers, he placed something cold and hard inside her hand.
“Hang these on that damn tree—right along beside Caesar’s!”
Then he climbed into his truck and slammed the door so hard the entire vehicle shook.
She stepped back as he sped away. Turning toward the house, she didn’t watch him drive away. When she opened her hand, she found his spurs gleaming inside her palm.
Shanghai’s spurs jingled like wind chimes along with the others. Mia touched them one last time and then pulled her hand away from the tree.
The sky was blood-red above the fringe of oak to the west. Mia shivered a little as she stood all by herself beneath the spur tree amidst a sea of yellow wild flowers.
The cowboys were superstitious about the tree. Caesar had never liked it because it had made him feel mortal and less powerful as a man. Some of the hands called it the death tree because the spurs of the cowboys and the family who’d worked or lived on the Golden Spurs Ranch were always hung there when they left or died. If they didn’t come back, their spurs stayed there for good.
The wind brought the scent of grass as it stirred her hair. As she tilted her chin upward, she smiled, savoring the glorious sunset and the infinite peace and quiet. With or without Shanghai, she was home to stay.
Maybe someday someone would think to hang her spurs by his, but if she were lucky that wouldn’t be for a very long time.
Caesar’s spurs glinted in the rosy light.
“I’m home, Daddy. I guess you’re glad about Shanghai’s going. I guess you won’t consider his spurs hanging alongside yours that big a punishment as long as he’s gone for good.”
She sighed. Life was not always what one wanted. What would she make of her life without Shanghai?
She thought of her mother and her father. Her mother had loved Uncle Jack, and her father had loved Electra.
Would she settle for something less than what she wanted and go on? Is that what most people did? Or would her heart heal and mature? Would she choose more appropriately next time? Or would she find some meaningful cause to work for? The horse program would take a lot of her time for now. She had a child to raise and a future, with or without a man. But Vanilla would grow up.
The shadows were long and deep beneath the spur tree.
Suddenly a terrible bleakness at the thought of the years without Shanghai consumed her. Against her will she wanted him—just as stubbornly as she always had.
Clutching her own spurs so tightly in her hand that they cut into her palm, she headed for the house. The devastation she felt was so great, she didn’t smile when Delia, who’d stayed hidden from Hart and his agents and Tavio until now, rushed down the stairs of the big house and seized her by the hand.
Poor thing, she was trembling. Her eyes were huge and wild. Had she seen Tavio’s corpse? Maybe she didn’t know he was dead and that she was safe.
“They’re serving dinner downstairs,” Delia said in Spanish. “Your mother told me to come find you.”
“Tell them I’m not hungry. I want to be alone. Will you help Sy’rai with Vanilla?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll stay at Black Oaks tonight.”
“Is Tavio really dead?”
So, she did know.
“Yes. He’s dead. You’re safe.”
“Estás segura?”
“I made Mr. Hart unzip the body bag. I saw him.”
“His mother was a witch.”
“He wasn’t breathing. I touched him. His skin was cold. Don’t be afraid. Not anymore.”
“Sometimes witches come back to life.”
Mia wrapped Delia in her arms. “Hush, querida. There aren’t any witches here. Now run along and help Sy’rai. Don’t think about Tavio anymore unless it is to pray for his soul. Tomorrow after a good night’s sleep you’ll feel better. We’ll all feel better.”
“And Mr. Shanghai? He’s not coming back?”
“Please…I can’t talk about it right now. Just go inside. Tomorrow we’ll talk. Tonight…tonight I’m too tired.”
Shanghai raced through the dark night, accelerating way above the speed limit. He was popping Bufferin like candy. Even so his right hand throbbed from where he’d slammed his fist into the door.
He stomped harder on the gas peddle, telling himself that the faster he went, the faster he’d be free of Mia and the agony of giving her up.
He’d driven like a madman for hours, only stopping once for gas. He’d thought he’d feel better as soon as he was rid of her. So how come he felt worse?
If he drove straight through, he’d be home before daylight. Maybe with some sleep…
Suddenly red lights flashed behind him. Then he heard the shrill scream of a siren.
“Damn.”
When the trooper, who pulled him over, recognized him as Shanghai Knight, he started acting as shy and awed as a little kid wanting his autograph, which softened Shanghai’s dark mood considerably.
“Hey, you were goin’ pretty fast back there. If I give you a warning, could you slow it down?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
The officer handed him the ticket. “My son’s a big fan. He’d sure be tickled if you’d autograph something.”
“Sure thing. I’ve got a rodeo program in the back seat.”
Shanghai turned around and grabbed it. As he signed his name under his picture, even more tension eased out of Shanghai.
“Thanks! Thanks a lot!”
After the officer drove away, Shanghai reached for the key in the ignition and then let his hand fall to his thigh. Then he just sat in the dark for a while, his thoughts eating him. Why couldn’t he stop worrying about her?
She’d betrayed him. In the worst possible way. He’d seen her kissing that bastard. He’d heard her telling him she loved him even.
Then he’d gone insane.
Only now, maybe because of the trooper’s friendliness, maybe because of the drive, his jealousy was easing up a bit. And now that he was sane e
nough to think, something was worrying him.
If she loved that sick bastard, why had she married him, Shanghai, and made love to him with such wild abandon? Why hadn’t he at least let her explain why she hadn’t told him about Hart’s call? Why had she looked so heartbroken when he’d slammed his fist into the door and hurt himself?
Hell! He’d condemned her without even trying to understand.
You dumb-ass cowboy!
Maybe it wasn’t such a smart thing to make one of the biggest decisions in your life when you were too furious to think straight. He’d married her to protect her. When Tavio had shown up, he’d turned on her.
Kicking himself for being a damn fool and so full of his own pain he’d had no regard for hers, he restarted his engine. Without really thinking things through, he made a savage U-turn. Then he hit the gas and shot forward so fast he burned rubber.
He was probably a sucker. But he couldn’t walk out on her the way his mother had walked out on him without first hearing her side.
He pulled out his flip-phone and dialed the ranch, but the lines were busy. He dialed Mia’s cell, only to have a robotic voice say the customer had turned it off.
Sh-Shanghai— Mia’s voice haunting him, called to him.
Suddenly he could feel her right beside him, and he could hear her choking whimper. She was terrified, and he felt her fear as he’d felt it when she’d been in Mexico, and he’d believed she’d been a ghost haunting him.
What could possibly be wrong? Tavio was dead.
Again he remembered the gaping hole right between Tavio’s eyes. Mia had marveled at the perfection of that shot.
Now that he thought about it, it was a bit strange. What if Hart worked for Morales? Would he come back to settle the score with Mia? Or was there some other missing piece to the puzzle?
Shanghai…. Help!
Mia’s voice cried out to him again and again, and the urgency in the frantic sounds was like a fist in his solar plexus.
Damn it. Was he crazy? What had he been thinking of to leave her? When she was the best damn thing in his whole life?
He yanked the warning ticket out of his pocket, wadded it up and pitched it on the floorboard.
Sh-Shanghai!
He stomped down harder on the accelerator.
Hold on! I’m comin’, darlin’!
He felt her terror, and it became his own.
Twenty-Six
Why did everything always seem worse at night?
Bone weary, Mia pulled the chain of the lamp beside her bed, and the tiny bedroom at Black Oaks melted into darkness. She sank down onto the bed and closed her eyes.
Negra hopped up onto the bed, purring. Mia felt so tired and so depressed over losing Shanghai, she hadn’t wanted to face her mother or Sy’rai or deal with Vanilla. Thus, she was grateful for the quiet and the darkness that surrounded the secluded house.
Relaxing as she stroked Negra, her mind drifted to her wedding and then to her brief honeymoon night. She’d been right to fear happiness.
Shanghai. Oh, Shanghai.
She ached for his body to be next to hers. Was it only last night that they’d lain in this very same bed together, talking and drinking champagne after making love, and she’d believed her dreams would come true?
Slowly her eyes closed. Still purring, Negra curled up beside her. Before she knew it, she was falling, slipping into sleep like a black ghost. For hours she tossed back and forth, dreaming of golden champagne sparkling in flutes that clinked together, of a white silk dress sliding against her bare skin, of a bull rider’s rough hands caressing the smoothness of her satiny flesh. Of Shanghai’s lips lingering and caressing her everywhere.
Then abruptly her dreams darkened, and she was running for her life with Shanghai through a shadowy tunnel with small furry rodents squealing and nipping at her feet. She awakened in utter blackness and sat up shaking, one hand fisting her sheets, the other covering her mouth to prevent her screams.
“It’s only a dream,” she said aloud to reassure herself. But her echoing voice sounded so hollow in the empty house, she grew more nervous.
A board creaked and then another. She tensed.
Tavio?
Staring wildly at the shadowy shapes the furniture made against the white walls, she covered her lips. Then in the next moment she heard the front doorknob jiggle. She sat bolt upright, and Negra hopped onto the floor and raced under the bed.
Where was her cell phone?
Remembering that it hadn’t been in her purse earlier, she wondered where she could have put it.
Then a key turned in the lock, and she told herself to relax.
Shanghai! He’d come back!
The thought that he was outside and that he might be regretting their misunderstanding as much as she was brought a rush of hot tears to eyes. Filled with hope, she blinked back her tears and scooted to the edge of the bed.
The door opened, and she ran to greet him.
“Shanghai—”
“It’s only me,” Delia said in Spanish, her tone low and concerned as she shut the door quietly.
Delia’s shadow was huge and dark as it leapt against the living room wall.
“What is it, Delia? Are you all right. You seem…tense.”
“Never better.”
The tightness in Delia’s odd, rusty voice triggered a warning. Some sixth sense made the hair along the back of Mia’s neck stand up.
“What time is it?” Mia asked, feeling bewildered and off balance.
“I—I don’t know. Late.” Delia’s black eyes glowed in the dark.
“What are you doing here? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Delia pulled something from her pocket and whirled on her. Tavio’s golden barrel glinted in the darkness.
“Where did you get that?”
“I steal it.”
“But—”
“Enrique, Chito’s brother. He fly me here so I can kill you. Tavio, he don’t want me to kill you. He come here and he tell me to go home.”
“Tavio?”
“You make him weak.”
“What? I thought you were my friend. I taught you to read.”
The gun shook as if Delia were conflicted. “You nice American women,” she sobbed. “You think you understand everything, but you don’t. You change Tavio. He big man before you come. He protect us. You come and ruin everything.”
“Chito beat you.”
“He protect me, too!”
“I don’t believe this! He beat you!”
“But he protect me. When the other men want me, he don’t share me like he did his other women. He fight them. In his way he was loyal to me. He got shot when you escape from prison, and he die later in my arms. Because of you.”
“You’re learning to read. You’re smart. If you keep learning, someday you can get a good job.”
“You think you’re my friend because you taught me to read. You don’t know nothing. Estela, Tavio’s wife, was my friend. I grew up in the house next door to hers. She was like my sister. Now Tavio is dead. What will happen to her? You don’t know nothin’ about my life!”
Her hand that held the gun was shaking more violently than ever but she raised it higher.
Mia—
Shanghai’s voice in the room, all around her!
He loves me.
The certainty filled Mia with the will to live.
Feeling Shanghai calling to her with love in his heart, Mia sprang to the left at the exact moment Delia pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the wall behind her, shattering the Sheetrock.
“Hold on! I’m comin’, darlin’!” Shanghai yelled as he stomped up the porch stairs.
The front door crashed open.
As fast as a rattler, Delia spun on her heel to shoot him.
“No!” Mia screamed, lunging at her, grabbing her by the ankle, pulling at her, dragging her to the floor. “You won’t kill him! I won’t be abandoned again. I won’t be!”
Trying
to wrench free of her hand, Delia stared down the length of the gun barrel at Mia. Her eyes glittered in the dark like a cat’s as she fired.
Even as pain stung her shoulder and made her yelp, Mia’s hand tightened on Delia’s ankle. Then she whipped her to the floor. The gun went skittering out of their reach. Delia turned into a wild woman. Using her long nails as weapons, she began clawing at Mia viciously, on the arms and her throat, struggling to reach her eyes.
As suddenly as she’d attacked her, Delia was gone. Her body was dropped onto the floor, hard, a few feet behind Mia. Then Delia began bawling.
“Bastardo!” In between pleading to be released, Delia cursed viciously. “Let me go! You’re breaking my arms!”
“If I do, it’ll be your fault! Quit fightin’ me!”
Hazily Mia opened her eyes. Gripping her bloody shoulder, she scrambled to her knees. Delia was on the floor, kicking and trying to roll over. Shanghai was kneeling on top her, straddling her, holding her hands behind her back in a death grip.
“You okay?” he muttered.
“I think so.”
“Get out to my truck! I’ve got some rope in the back seat!”
Mia staggered to her feet, blood dripping down her arm. When she returned with the rope, he tied Delia’s hands and then her feet.
During his deft maneuvers, Delia cursed him roundly.
“Damn you, girl, but you’ve got a foul mouth! Those aren’t words fit for ladies. I’m going to get me a couple of dish towels.”
“If you knew what she’d been through, you’d understand,” Mia said.
He turned to Mia. “Don’t be a sap. She would’ve killed you. Watch her, okay?” Then he strode to the kitchen and she heard him whipping towels off the racks.
When he returned and knelt over Delia, he gagged her. After that, Delia’s spitting and cursing began to sound more like muted grunts. He stood up, his expression tender with concern for Mia. Slowly, hesitating to believe he really wanted her, she went into his arms.
Holding her tightly, he led her to a light switch and flipped it on. For a long moment he inspected her shoulder, moving her arm, holding the wound up to the light. Then he placed a dish towel on the wound.
“You got lucky. It’s just a nick. Maybe you’ll need a stitch or two. Or maybe one of those fancy bandages that works like a stitch will do.”
