Diablo's Angel

by Donna Fletcher

  He had assumed she would obey his command like all the others had. Or was it that he had assumed she trusted him? Or had he wanted to know she trusted him? Whatever the reason, her absence had made him furious and twisted his gut in fear. It hadn’t taken long to find her tracks and knowing she’d keep on the worn path he had taken a shorter path to get ahead of her. He was glad he had when he heard the approach of the horses and he was relieved to see she had wisely hidden from Vega’s men.

  He would have easily killed the three if necessary, but then Vega would have discovered the bodies and been on his trail. More men meant far more trouble and with his men escorting the people to their new homes and his most trusted men on a mission for him, he was on his own.

  Not that he hadn’t been there before… on his own. He’d felt as if it had always been that way. Which was why he couldn’t understand this strange attachment to Crista. He’d never worried over a woman the way he did over Crista.

  He could tell himself it was because he didn’t want his plan ruined, but was that nothing more than an excuse? Why this pull in his gut when he thought about her? Or the fear that had gripped him when his first thought had been that someone had taken her? Or the terrifying thought that tore at him that she was roaming the mountainside alone when he had discovered her tracks?

  He’d done his best to ignore her, keep his distance, and still it hadn’t mattered. If it wasn’t for his shroud, all would see the foolish smile he wore when he looked upon her. And that was another thing. He hadn’t smiled that easily in a long time.

  Somehow Crista Cesare had touched his heart and that was a very dangerous thing for the devil.

  Crista stared at the shack. It looked like it barely held together, and it was questionable if the two, weathered and worn posts could support the porch roof.

  “We’re staying here?” she asked, turning to Diablo standing beside her.

  “It’s sturdier than it looks.”

  She laughed softly. “You could have fooled me.”

  “It’s only for a short time,” he snapped annoyed that he enjoyed the sound of her gentle laughter.

  “Then I go home?” she asked.

  That was another thing that annoyed him. The way her eyes went wide, not with a pleading look, but a look of hope and eagerness.

  “Soon enough,” he said and pointed at the door.

  Crista eyed the dwelling skeptically, though she was appreciative to finally have a place to shelter. After two days of walking this place was a welcomed sight, if it held up. She went to the small porch and tested the boards with her foot and was surprised to find them sturdier than she expected. The door creaked when she opened it and when she stepped inside she was surprised at what she found. A small, crude fireplace occupied one wall, a narrow bed sat against another, the bedding clean and a blanket folded at the end of the bed. A chair sat by two, large barrels that appeared to suffice as a table and on top were two candles in holders, the wicks nearly spent. A makeshift shelf on the wall to the left of the door held some essentials, cups, bowls, and a couple of pots. It might not be much but it was well kept, neat and clean, a good place to shelter.

  Crista turned, a sudden question on her lips, and bumped into Diablo standing directly behind her. She took a step back and looked up at him, seeing that he had to bend his head to enter the shack. She never felt short, though it struck her then that she felt short around Diablo. She had to tilt her head to look at his face, a slight tilt, but one nonetheless. She hadn’t met many men as tall as Diablo, though she remembered her brother being tall. Or was it that she had been so small that it had made him seem so tall?

  She shook her head to clear it, recalling the question that had come to mind. “Do we intrude on someone’s home?”

  “No one knows of this place but me,” he said.

  His response had her scrunching her brow. He had taken them off the beaten path the morning after he had found her and she had had no idea of where they were or where he was going. It had worried her, but she reminded herself again and again that he hadn’t been responsible for her abduction and that she had to trust his word that he would return her to her family safely. To do that, he had brought her someplace safe.

  She turned another soft smile on him. “This is your dwelling, isn’t it?” Her smile spread. “A place when you can be free of that shroud.”

  “You will not see the face of the devil,” he said sternly.

  “How about the face of the man beneath the shroud?” she asked, keeping her smile wide.

  “Do not be foolish. The man, the outlaw, and the devil are one,” he said and when she went to speak, he held up one finger. “We remain here until it is time for you to go home.”

  “Truly?” she asked not able to hide her joy.

  “Si, truly. My most trusted men go to finish the negotiations of your return home,” he said and felt a strange tug in his gut.

  “Negotiations?” she asked, wondering if he was seeking ransom after all.

  “Where and when you will be reunited,” he explained and the tug turned stronger.

  “How long?”

  “About two weeks, longer if there is any problem.” He wondered if others could read her as easily as he did. While she maintained her smile, her eyes dimmed in disappointment. She had hoped it would be sooner.

  “At least now I have a timeframe when I will go home.” Her smile suddenly faded and her eyes turned wide. “You aren’t going to leave me here alone all that time, are you?”

  “No, Crista, we remain together until the time comes for you to go to your brother.”

  Gooseflesh popped up along her arms, her name sounding like an intimate caress when he emphasized it that way. She thought it would stop after she had heard it a few times, but it had grown worse, the caress sounding more intimate and sending deeper tingles through her.

  Beware the devil for his words will entice and his touch will tempt and if you surrender he will own your soul.

  Sister Bernadette’s words of warning rang in her head. She would beware and heed the warning well, for she would not lose her soul to the devil.

  The small room suddenly seemed smaller and Crista felt the need for space.

  “Is the stream nearby, I could use a cool drink.”

  “I’ll take you,” Diablo said just as eager to leave the confined space.

  Crista followed him out the door.

  “You are not to go anywhere alone,” Diablo ordered as they walked. “Vega’s men will be searching for us, and though this place is out of the way, I won’t take any chance of leaving you on your own. You go nowhere without me. That is an order and you will obey it.”

  “I will do as you say.”

  He was relieved to hear her submit to his command and with Vega’s men almost having found her when she had gone off on her own, he suspected she would have no trouble keeping her word.

  The stream wasn’t that far from the shack, though she was surprised to see that the water ran rougher here.

  “This part of the stream is unpredictable. It runs rough most of the time and sometimes far too rough. Be careful when near it,” Diablo said as they approached the rough running water.

  “I can swim,” she said glad Ricardo had taught her.

  “Not in this water. It grabs you, tumbles you around, and drags you under. It’s a fight to survive.”

  “You talk from experience?” she asked.

  “I do, so be careful,” he said.

  Crista went to the stream, Diablo following close behind.

  “I’ll make sure to watch my step,” she said.

  Crista took careful steps near the stream well aware of how dangerous some rough streams could be. She knelt near the water’s edge, bending over to scoop handfuls of water to quench her thirst and to refresh her face.

  Diablo stood guard over her, watching her every movement, taking no chances, making sure to keep her safe and see this done, see her out of his life… for now.

  Crista
stood when she finished and turned to Diablo. “That was refreshing.”

  She stepped away from the water’s edge, careful of her steps, the grass slippery there. But as careful as she was, her step lost its footing and she suddenly found herself slipping backward toward the stream.

  “Diablo!” she cried out and stretched her hand out to him as she went tumbling backward.

  Diablo rushed at her, seeing the terror on her face and her hand grasping for him. He grabbed hold of it, but she was too far over the water’s edge and her momentum too strong. He couldn’t pull her back and he wouldn’t let go of her hand. He went tumbling into the rushing water with her.

  Chapter 11

  Diablo snagged his arm around Crista’s waist and in turn she flung her arms around his neck seconds before the water grabbed hold of them, tossing and tumbling them around and rushing them along. Diablo didn’t let go of Crista nor did she let go of him. They broke the surface a couple of times, Crista taking great gulps of air, not Diablo. The water had quickly soaked his thin shroud and every time he took a breath the thin material would be sucked against his mouth, making breathing difficult. It also made sight nearly impossible. He had no choice if he wanted to save them both. He had to get the shroud off his face.

  They went under again, the water continuing to batter them. He hurried to work his free hand under the soaked shroud, but the rushing water kept it tight to his face and was hampering his breathing even more. He had to get it off or he’d be of no help to Crista.

  He felt her hand join his beneath the shroud and with her help they pushed his hood off his face together just as they broke the surface of the water once again. He sucked in much needed air and with his sight unobstructed he was able to see clearly and just in time. He caught sight of a thick, low bending branch that nearly touched the surface of the stream. His arm shot out, his hand snagging hold of it, bringing them both to an abrupt halt.

  His muscles strained and burned as he kept a tight grip on it and Crista as she coughed and spurted before laying her head on his chest, exhausted from the tumble. Her arms remained wrapped around his neck, which made it easier for him as he worked his way along the sturdy branch to the water’s edge. He struggled the last few feet, their soaked clothes weighing them down as he dragged Crista along with him to the bank of the stream to finally collapse on solid ground.

  He lay there nearly breathless. Crista lay beside him on her back, her chest heaving.

  He concentrated on regaining his breathing, not wanting to think that she got a look at his face. Everything happened so fast, he doubted that she saw his face clearly. But with his shroud soaked, he wouldn’t be able to wear it until it dried and that would take some time with as wet as it was.

  He turned on his side, keeping his back to her. He couldn’t let her see his face. It would ruin everything—all his plans.

  He got to his feet and pulled the hood of the shroud over his face. He would get her back to the shack and make her stay inside until his shroud dried. But the wet shroud made it impossible to see clearly and when he inhaled, the shroud clung to his mouth, making breathing difficult.

  Keeping his back to her, he took a few steps away from her. He shoved the hood off once again and took a deep breath.

  “Diablo.”

  His name on her lips had a hint of a question to it as if without the shroud covering his face, she questioned if he was the notorious outlaw.

  “You cannot look upon me,” he said with an angry snap.

  “I saw your face.”

  His anger had him turning around without thinking and when she gasped at the sight of him, he knew she hadn’t gotten a good look at him, though now she did.

  Crista had only gotten a fleeting glance of his face when in the water and a blurry one at that. She hadn’t known what to expect when she got clear sight of him. She had wondered many times what the devil would look like and she had to admit the nuns had been right. He was beautiful, the handsomest of men, his features so striking it was difficult not to be mesmerized by them. It was as if God had sculpted all his features to perfection; high cheekbones, a slender nose, dark arched brows over the darkest colored eyes, and dark lashes that framed them perfectly. Crista had never seen such precise beauty. His lips were perfect as well, both the same in size, not too wide or too narrow. His dark hair reached just to his shoulders and though wet retained a slight wave.

  She was speechless, though just for a moment and said what quickly came to mind. “Your parents must have been beautiful.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I never knew them,” he said.

  She stared once again speechless, not at his words but at the empty look in his dark eyes. There was nothing there, no sorrow, no regret, nothing.

  “You seeing me presents a problem.”

  Again not a note of emotion and it sent a chill through Crista. “No one need know that I saw you. I’ll tell no one.”

  “I need more than empty words from you, Crista.”

  Her name fell from his lips like a gentle caress and she hugged herself against the slight tingle that turned her skin to gooseflesh.

  “What do you need?” she asked and her breath caught for an instant when he took several steps closer to her. He’d been right about the shroud, seeing his handsome features made her feel more vulnerable or perhaps it was that she felt less adequate in front of this handsome man.

  “I need you to forget my face, to never acknowledge it to anyone, to forever keep my secret. I need your word as an honorable woman.”

  She wondered why keeping his identity was important to him. There must have been others who had seen his face. He couldn’t have lived all these years beneath that shroud. But she thought it wiser not to ask, and she wasn’t about to say no. “You have my word.”

  “Does fear have you agreeing or do I truly have your word?”

  She had watched and listened when Ricardo had bartered with merchants and thought this a good time to do the same to guarantee her return home.

  With some trepidation, she bravely took a step closer to him. “I have your word you will return me safely to my family?”

  “You’ve always had my word on that.”

  “It isn’t easy taking the word of an outlaw,” she said, keeping up her feigned bravado.

  He lowered his face close to hers and Crista’s heart began to thump faster in her chest. He might be the handsomest of men she had ever met, but he was still a notorious outlaw.

  “You think to barter with me when I could simply kill you and be done with it?”

  Her brow scrunched in a sudden question that rushed out of her mouth. “Why not kill me?”

  “Did you seriously just ask me that?” he asked, shaking his head.

  “It’s a reasonable question when you think about it. If you killed me, your problem would be solved, yet you give me a choice. Why?” She shook her head. “It just doesn’t make sense. An infamous outlaw who has kept his identity secret for years wouldn’t let someone live who could identify him. Why let me live?”

  Diablo folded his arms across his chest. “A very good question and one I’ll consider.”

  Fear and worry had again ruled her tongue and she paled that her foolishness might mean her death.

  Crista went to step back. His hand had hold of her neck before she could move.

  “One snap and you would be gone along with any concern that you would betray me to the authorities,” he said and squeezed her neck lightly.

  Her stomach roiled and her heart beat faster.

  “You need to learn to hold your tongue when fearful, mi amor, instead of letting it loose.”

  With fear pounding away at her, her tongue remained loose. “Why call me my love when you’re about to kill me?”

  “Wouldn’t you want the last words you hear to be tender?”

  “I’d rather not be hearing last words.”

  “Then what about a last kiss?’ he asked.

  Her tongue was quick to respond. “It wo
uld be my first and last since I’ve never been kissed.”

  He warned himself not to do it, but her words struck a chord somewhere deep inside him, and he couldn’t resist being the first one to kiss her.

  “Crista,” he whispered as his hand slipped to the back of her neck just before his lips came down on hers.

  Crista froze unable to move, too shocked by the feel of his lips on hers, tender, like a feather brushing across them, sending them tingling and strangely enough aching. When his lips seemed as though they would leave hers, she reached out, trying to brush her lips lightly over his as he had done to hers, but her touch was firmer almost demanding, and he took command.

  His lips seemed to feed hers and she couldn’t seem to quench her thirst for him. The more he demanded of her the more she gave and when his tongue slipped between her lips, she gasped, her mouth opening and in a sense inviting him entrance. He accepted, his tongue immediately slipping deeper in to tease her tongue with his, and surprisingly she responded.

  Diablo warned himself once again to stop. Instead, his arm coiled around her waist and with a quick yank he planted her against him. Their clothes were wet and her nipples hard. He could feel them dig against his chest and his thought went to how tempting they would be to taste.

  The thought finished what the kiss had started, it turned him hard as a rock.

  He had warned himself and at that moment he didn’t care. Never had a kiss not only stirred his groin but his heart as well. He not only wanted to go on kissing her, he wanted to keep her in his arms, feel her tight against him, hear the soft mewl that came from her as he brought to life new sensations in her.

  Stop before it’s too late!

  The shout in his head was like a slap in the face and he eased the kiss to an end, though he didn’t let go of her.

  Crista felt breathless, but it didn’t stop her from saying, “The nuns taught us that a husband’s kiss was to be endured. They were wrong.”

  “I’m not your husband,” he reminded and anger that another man would have that privilege twisted his gut.