With that, and followed by Sereda and DosSantos, Don Rafael ambled his large body down the three wide, tiled steps, walked into the sun, and raised his hands and a laughing, ringing cheer in greeting to the arriving party.
The men clustered around Zant immediately quieted and parted, clearing a path for him that led directly to his watching, waiting grandson. Passing through the hushed gauntlet of his men, men he could barely trust, but men he controlled with fear and threats, Don Rafael concentrated on the barely concealed wariness etched in his beloved grandson’s face.
It had always been thus between them. Zant was hard now, a seasoned killer, an unfeeling fighter. Don Rafael’s chest swelled with pride. He’d formed Zant into everything he had ever hoped he could be. Buoyed by such thoughts, he greeted his grandson with a warmth born of cunning manipulation. “¡Mi nieto! You are home. I greet you and your lovely guest with open arms. Come, give your poor old grandfather a hug. Show him how much you love him.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Come dusk that evening, Jacey still stormed around her elegantly furnished, second-story prison of a large bedroom. She again tried the door. Pumping the wrought-iron latch to no avail, she heard that huge Paco outside the door call out some Spanish warning to her.
Jacey thought up several curses she could fling at him, but what good would that do? The big Mexican didn’t speak English. So why waste her breath? Flinging her sweat-stained slouch hat onto the lace counterpane of the four-poster bed, Jacey darted across the room to the glass-paned double doors.
She jerked them open and stepped onto the narrow balcony. Grasping the wrought-iron railing, she peered down. Too far to jump without hurting herself. Not to mention she’d land in a heap of prickly-looking bushes and low-growing cactus. But even if she managed to get out of the house, could she get away? She assessed the central plaza that stretched to the adobe walls. Not one blamed place to hide. Nothing but a circular tract of sand around a flagpole. And the adobe walls were crawling with armed men.
Damn that Chapelo. If he was here right now, I’d—Jacey swung around at the sound of a metallic click that signaled the door being unlocked. She stepped back into the room, put her hand to her holster, and huffed out her breath at its being empty. All she could do was await her fate.
The door swung inward, revealing that damned Chapelo. Jacey’s breath caught at the back of her throat. He was all cleaned up and dressed in tight-fitting black pants that flared over his boots. A waist-length, silver-trimmed black jacket topped a crisp white shirt. A red sash circled his waist and trailed halfway to his knee. The little lord was clean-shaven, his hair cut, and he looked the very image of sensual, dark, and handsome Spanish nobility.
Something purely feminine fluttered deep inside her. She squelched that little betraying emotion. The man was too pretty for her tastes. And he also had the spit-and-vinegar gall right now to ignore her and smile and joke with Paco. In Spanish. They were making fun of her. She just knew it. Why else would they laugh and both turn to her?
Jacey raised her chin and glared. Zant sobered some, kept his gaze on her but spoke again to Paco. The big man nodded and ducked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Jacey burned as Zant’s gaze swept over her. Before she could stop herself, she clutched at her riding skirt, and hated the way he had of making her feel small.
She blurted out her feelings in a bleat that disturbed the stillness of the finest room she’d ever been in. “I changed my mind, Chapelo. I don’t want to be your prisoner or your peace offering to Don Rafael. I don’t like the way he looks at me, like I’m his next meal. And I hate being cooped up in here. This place is crawling with armed, mean-looking men. Anything could happen. And I don’t have a way to defend myself. That buffalo you set outside my door took my gun and practically threw me in here.”
Zant chuckled, put his hands to his waist. “He took your gun on my orders. He told me you were … less than gracious about handing it over. But you still have your knife, don’t you?”
So Paco’d been tattling? She’d remember that. Out loud, she carried on her ranting. “I’ve got my knife. Paco’d be dead if he’d tried to lift my skirt to get to, it. But what good does that do me? I’ve never seen the blade yet that could beat a bullet to its target.”
Zant just smiled, as if enjoying the entertainment. The little lord then pointed to her. “You’re not dressed for our evening meal with Don Rafael. Why not? Conchita also tells me you were uncooperative.”
Jacey’s cheeks burned. That danged little maid. She’d come in here earlier, all chattery—in Spanish—and ordering men about as they brought in her bath. Jacey recalled herself standing cool and quiet, her arms crossed over her chest and glaring them all out of the room. It’d seemed brave and defiant then. But now, with Zant standing here? Well.… “I’m not taking my evening meal with you and Don Rafael. I’ve already met him, thank you, and I don’t need to see more. With the tensions between you two, I could find myself in the line of fire and end up with a fork sticking out of my chest. I’ll play your prisoner, if I have to, but I won’t put myself on parade.”
“First of all, you do have to play my prisoner. Because my grandfather is thrilled with my little gift to him, almost as much as he is with my being home for good. So it’s especially important now, Jacey, that you act the part.” Zant then stared at her, squared his wide shoulders, and stood with his black-booted feet apart. “And yes, you will put yourself on parade.”
Jacey’s bottom lip poked out. “No I won’t.”
“Don’t try me, Jacey.”
“What’re you going to do about it? You can’t make me take a bath if I don’t—”
“Yes I can.” With that, he whipped off his jacket, threw it on her bed, unknotted his sash—
“What are you doing?” Jacey began backing up.
—and flung it atop his jacket. He then rolled his sleeves up and put his hands to the silver catch of his string tie, sliding it down far enough to loop it over his head. “I’m making you take a bath, since you won’t do it on your own.” He threw the tie on her bed.
Jacey whipped around to the far side of the bed and held on to one of the posts. “Like hell you are. I’m not getting in that water. It’ll be cold by now.”
Zant shrugged, striding slowly toward her, his spurs jingling. “You should have thought of that earlier.”
“Get out of here, Chapelo. I’ll take my bath by myself.”
“I don’t think you will.”
“I will.” Jacey held a hand out to him, wanting him to stop advancing on her. “You have my word.”
He shook his head and grabbed for her. Jacey jumped onto the bed and rolled across it. When she came to her feet on the other side, Zant stood in front of her. Startled, she cried out when he grabbed her arms. “Your word means nothing here, Señorita Lawless. You are my prisoner. And now, it’s bath-time.”
Jacey gritted her teeth and jerked in his grip. He only tightened his hold. She kicked at his shin. He sidestepped and spun her around, gripping her about the waist, hauling her up against his chest, with her feet off the floor. Her kicking now resulted only in her boots flying off her feet and hitting the thin-paneled, black-laquered screen that hid the tub from the room’s view. The partition toppled onto the tub’s rim and slid gracelessly to the floor, landing with a wooden clunk and clatter.
Jacey stilled with Zant at the unexpected noise and stared at the exposed tub. There it was. Zant headed for it. Jacey scratched, hit, kicked, cussed, twisted, jerked, stiffened. But Zant held her firm, all the while marching her steadily, fully clothed, over to the water-filled tub. Once at its rim, he cheerily announced, “In you go.”
Jacey screamed as he dunked her bottomfirst into the cold water and let go. Waves of water spilled over her, over him, over the rim. A gasping breath announced her reaction to the water’s cold. Blinking, sputtering, she stood straight up in the tub, and tried to climb out. But Zant was quicker. With his hand atop her head and whistling
a happy tune, he plunged her back down until her head was under water. He held her there. Cheeks puffed out from holding her breath, Jacey clawed at the tub’s rims. Zant let her up.
Gasping for air, her sopping braid weighing her down, her wet clothes dragging on her limbs, she stood up and pitched a full-blown Lawless temper tantrum. Sluicing water at him, stomping even more out over the sides, calling him every name she could think of, Jacey howled out her hot-faced anger. But she didn’t try again to get out, even though Zant, every bit as soaked as her, merely stood back from the tub, his arms folded over his broad chest, and watched her. Drops of water dripped off his chin and elbows and even more pooled at his feet.
When she paused in her name-calling to catch her breath and wipe sodden strings of her undone hair out of her face, she cast a wary eye on her tormentor. He bent over to retrieve a bar of soap and a thick towel, which he first swiped across his face and then flung over his shoulder. Stepping around the felled partition, he plunked the fragrant bar into her hand. “Think you can take it from here, señorita? Or do I need to stay and help?”
Jacey seethed, gritted her teeth, and gave in. “I can take it from here,” she said, her teeth chattering, now feeling the effects of the cold water. Hugging herself with her arms wrapped around her waist, she waited for him to leave.
“Good.” He bent over again and stood the partition upright, placing it just so around the tub and the wet floor. He stayed on the far side of it, but the room’s candlelit lamps silhouetted him against the thin panels. Jacey watched his every action, bracing herself for him to step around her scant protection. But he didn’t. He thunked the towel atop one of the lacquered panels, and said, “I’ll send in Conchita. She’ll help you dress, and you will let her. I’ll be back in thirty minutes. You’d better be ready.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, her hair still wet but braided and coiled around her head—by that Conchita maid—into a coronet heavy enough to give her a headache, Jacey slid onto the red velvet padded seat of the tall-backed chair held out so graciously for her by Zant.
Her silver chain with its spur-rowel pendant around her neck, and dressed in a too big red silk dress that showed more flesh … in her opinion … than she’d exposed for her bath, Jacey nodded to her host, seated at one end of the long table. Looking like a big, white-haired lion in a black suit, he smiled and ducked his head in acknowledgment. She then anxiously sought out Zant.
He was taking a seat at the other end of the long dining room table from her. Yes, she was still mad at him, but she was glad he was here. While the two men talked in Spanish, in polite enough tones, Jacey took a quick inventory of her surroundings—with an eye to possible escape routes, should the evening meal turn violent. She didn’t have much faith that this buried-hatchet truce between Zant and Don Rafael would last too long.
Looking around, she missed no detail of the staggeringly beautiful room. Each piece of polished furniture, each silver bowl and candelabra, each tall, shiny ceramic vase, all screamed of untold wealth and hundreds of years of history. And made her feel surrounded. Which of course, she was. Because in every corner of the room, neat and starched and quiet servants stood at the ready. Jacey hoped they were servants.
As she fiddled with her white linen napkin, she stole a surreptitious glance under the sweep of her lashes at each of her fellow diners. At one end of the long table, Don Rafael was now conferring sternly with a thin, young Mexican male. Apparently the poor kid had brought in the wrong wine for the soup course. At the other end, Zant slouched back in his chair, twirling the stem of his empty wineglass and staring at Don Rafael.
Her belly tense, her palms sweating, Jacey looked down at her lap while she considered her situation. A man at each end of the table. Her in the middle. She needed a weapon. The silverware to either side of her steaming bowl of soup caught her eye. Forget the spoons. They were useless. But the forks, all three of them, sported sharp tines. On the other side of her plate were a couple of knives, one with a serrated cutting edge.
She made her decision. When the bloodletting began, she’d definitely go for the biggest fork. She could then duck under the table—she scissored her slippered feet under the table, making sure it was open space under there. It was. And then she could—
The sound of a heavy slap followed by a wounded-animal cry tore Jacey out of her thoughts. She jerked toward the sound, heard Zant’s chair scrape back on her other side, but couldn’t look away from the poor boy lying in a crying heap at Don Rafael’s feet. Her mouth open, her hand to her bosom, Jacey realized The old bastard slapped that servant. Hard. Over wine?
She was stunned into inaction, but apparently Zant wasn’t. When he began yelling, she snapped her attention back to him.
“What the hell did you do that for? He’s just a kid.”
Jacey saw the veins standing out in Zant’s forehead, saw the outraged anger shining from his eyes. She turned to Don Rafael. Chills of fear crept over her skin at the calm but slightly surprised expression on that one’s heavy, craggy face. “Oh, come now, Zant. He’s a servant, and nothing more. His job is to know the wines. He didn’t. And he wanted to argue with me. He paid for his mistake.”
He then snapped his fingers at the huddling boy, whose nose was bleeding. He said a few harsh words in Spanish and the boy pulled himself up, holding his nose and crying, and walked as rapidly as his shaking legs could carry him. Jacey stared after the boy until she felt Don Rafael’s gaze on her. She spared him only a glimpse before quietly staring down at her soup. She heard Zant reseat himself. She also heard his angry breathing.
“I hope you found your room to your liking, Señorita Lawless.”
Jacey came close to jumping out of her dress—right through the drooping bodice, which she gracelessly tugged up again. Feeling no need to be civil at this point, she stared at him and sneered, “Actually, I found my room when Paco flung me into it after—”
A loud coughing from Zant’s end of the table cut off her words. Her lips puckered, Jacey silently watched while another young boy poured what she prayed was the correct wine. Jacey lifted her goblet to her lips, and sipped delicateley before starting over. “My room is fine.” Under her breath, she muttered, “And soaked.”
“Ah, muy bien. We always strive at Cielo Azul to ensure our guests’ comfort.”
Jacey raised an eyebrow at the terrifying old man. He was almost as big as that Paco fella, but had all that white hair and fine clothes and … nice manners. Still, none of that disguised the pure evil of him. Even if Zant had never told her a thing about Don Rafael, even if she hadn’t witnessed what she just had, she would have known him for what he was. A cruel, heartless man who’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted. And apparently, he wanted his grandson here. And her, too. And her sisters.
Scared, wanting to run and cower, Jacey reverted to her habitual defense—a smart-mouthed attack. “A guest, am I? Do you always lock your guests in their rooms?”
Don Rafael stopped in the act of buttering a crusty roll and looked up. His unexpected hearty laugh rang out in the room. But from the husky, threatening noises Zant was making, Jacey figured he was pretty sorry that he’d seated her out of his reach. Not for all the gold in California would she look at him.
Don Rafael sobered to a winning smile and shook his head. “Señorita Lawless, you are a treasure, indeed. I did not lock you in your room. My grandson did. His belief is that it is necessary for our protection … from you, he tells me. And from what I see, he may be right. But I assure you that—in my heart, at least—you are not a prisoner here. I would hardly outfit a prisoner in such finery and invite her to dine with me, now would I?”
Not quite brave enough to call him a liar, Jacey shook her head. “No, I don’t suppose you would. But that’s another thing, Mr. Calderon. Where’d this fancy dress come from? It doesn’t fit me, so whose is it? Some former dinner guest’s, maybe?” She held up a handful of skirt for emphasis.
Don Rafael hoote
d out again and smacked a big hand on the table, clattering his silverware. “No, no, my dear, that dress and the many others you have no doubt discovered in your room have never graced another woman. They were made for you alone, in anticipation of your … visit. Of course, you will inform Conchita of any alterations you may require.” He then focused on Zant. “She is everything you told me she was. And more.”
Jacey’s heart all but stopped. In anticipation of her visit? Why, she’d known only a few days ago herself that she’d be coming here. Even if Don Rafael had somehow found out then, there wouldn’t have been enough time to put together all the fancy clothes up in her room. As if that wasn’t enough to chew on, she had to worry about exactly what it was that Zant might have told Don Rafael about her. Slowly she turned her head to glare at her warden.
His hair still damp from her splashing him, but changed now into dry clothes almost identical to the ones he’d had on earlier, the little lord merely glanced at her before focusing on his grandfather. “I knew you would be delighted, Grandfather. That is why I brought her here.”
Jacey’s heart now quit beating altogether. Was this the same man who only moments ago had come to his feet in anger? Was he over it so soon? That poker face of his gave nothing away. Probably came in handy, him being a gunfighter. But now? His cool calm and relaxed pose were unnerving.
Jacey swallowed and bit at her bottom lip. If she didn’t know better, she’d never guess he was just pretending. He was pretending, wasn’t he? Or had he manipulated her into some evil plot known only to him and his grandfather? Suddenly, that made perfect sense to her. They were blood kin. And she was a Lawless.
Feeling feverishly ill, Jacey gulped and raised her napkin to her sweating lip. “May I have some water, please? I don’t feel well.”
Don Rafael made a small gesture. Still another Mexican boy dressed in white stepped forward and filled her glass. He stepped back into the shadows. Jacey raised the glass to her lips and sipped. How was she going to get out of this place alive? These men were bigger, stronger, maybe smarter than her, and definitely more wicked than her. If her fears about Zant were true, then she may as well leave this dress on to be buried in. Because her funeral would come soon.
Jacey's Reckless Heart Page 24
