Diablo's Angel

by Donna Fletcher

  “There is nothing to forgive, Lana. You are right. My appearance makes me appear a peasant. But I did want to help defend the hacienda along with everyone else.” She thought it better not to mention the men who had searched for her. She didn’t know if Chavez would want anyone to know.

  “Many good wishes and prayers on your marriage to Don Navarro, and it will be my pleasure to serve you,” Lana said, worry lines deepening across her brow.

  “I am pleased to know I will have such a fine and experienced woman help me learn the workings of the hacienda.” Crista smiled.

  The lines faded along Lana’s brow. “I would be honored to do so, Dona Crista.”

  “We will talk tomorrow, Lana. Now I must go find my husband and make sure he is well and let him know I am well.” Crista hurried off, taking in the remnants of the attack as she went. The wounded were being helped and the dead collected. She only hoped that the fallen weren’t many or at least not many of her husband’s men.

  She spotted some familiar faces—her father’s vaqueros. And she almost stumbled when she caught sight of Ramos, though he didn’t acknowledge her when their eyes met. With authority, he instructed the vaqueros. He was no ordinary worker here nor had he been on the opposite side of the attack.

  Could he know Chavez was Diablo? Or had Diablo sent him here along with Alma? They were questions she needed answers to if she was to keep Diablo’s secret safe.

  Strong, raised, angry voices greeted her as she entered the hacienda. She recognized both immediately—her brother and her husband.

  “You left my sister with only two men to guard her?” Esteban yelled.

  “I will not explain myself to you when I need to find my wife,” Chavez shouted.

  “The outlaws took her,” Esteban yelled, shaking a raised fist at Chavez. “If anything happens to her—”

  Chavez shook his head. “Your sister is too intelligent to be caught. I ordered her to stay in the bedroom, but something had to have happened to have her leave it. She has to be here somewhere.”

  “My husband knows me better than my brother.”

  Both men turned as she entered the large foyer.

  Crista didn’t hesitate she ran to her husband and sighed with relief when he caught her in his arms and hugged her tight.

  “Madres de Dios, querida, you scared the hell out of me,” he whispered in her ear, holding her as tight as he could against him and planning on never letting her go.

  Crista rested her brow against his. “Men came. I couldn’t stay in the room. I thought it best I hide where no one would look for me.”

  “Among the peasants, a good thought,” Esteban praised.

  “You came to help. I knew you would,” Crista said with a smile to her brother as she eased out of her husband’s arms. She winced when Chavez took hold of her hand.

  “Your hands,” Chavez said shocked at the blisters covering them and alarmed by the blood.

  “I joined the women who were helping to stop the fire from spreading to another building,” she explained.

  “Diablo must be stopped,” Esteban said anger in his words.

  “It makes no sense that it’s Diablo,” Crista said. “Why would he attack the ranches? There is nothing in it for him. I believe someone wants everyone to believe it is Diablo.”

  “Why would you think that and why would you defend the man?” Esteban asked.

  “I’m not defending the man.” Though she actually was, not that she’d admit it. “I’m trying to make sense of things. It makes no sense for Diablo to attack the various ranches. It won’t benefit him. He has more than enough horses and people so why take more?”

  “Because that’s what outlaws do. They take what they want not what they need,” Esteban said. “Outlaws feed on their own needs and gain pleasure from the fear they put in people.”

  “Diablo is not like that,” Crista said, jumping to his defense.

  Esteban walked over to his sister. “Do not let the infamous outlaw fool you, little one. He is more brutal than any of the other outlaws. He takes what he wants and doesn’t care who he hurts. It is time he’s hunted down and destroyed for good.”

  “Your brother is right, Crista. Diablo must be stopped. He must die.”

  Crista’s legs weakened and almost gave way at the thought, but she managed to stay on her feet. A strong arm coiled around her waist and she wanted to succumb to the strength she felt in it. But she didn’t. She stayed strong, letting neither man know the tremendous pain it brought her at the mere thought of Diablo’s death.

  “Don Navarro.”

  They turned and Crista was once again surprised to see Ramos, though as before he didn’t acknowledge her.

  Chavez turned to his wife.

  “Don’t dare think to send me away. I will know what’s going on,” Crista said and her brother grinned. “Besides, who knows if any of those men still lurk about in wait.”

  “Wait in what?” Esteban asked, his brow scrunching tightly. “You said men entered your room.” He ran his hand through his dark hair roughly. “Diablo wants you back.”

  “That will not happen,” Chavez said.

  “It almost did,” Esteban accused. “Crista should come home with me where she will be safe until this matter is settled.

  “No!” Crista and Chavez said in unison.

  “I will not go with you, Esteban,” Crista said. “If I did I could place all of you in danger and I won’t do that. Soon Rosa will give birth to your first child. I will not take the chance of placing either of them in danger. My husband will protect me.”

  “As he did tonight?” Esteban questioned curtly.

  “That’s not fair, Esteban,” Crista scolded.

  “Your brother is right,” Chavez said. “I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight and I won’t until I am sure Diablo is dead.”

  Again pain struck her heart at his words and again she hid it well.

  Chavez directed his attention to Ramos. “Has all been secured?”

  “Men have been sent to scour the surrounding area to make certain the attackers are long gone. Two of the wounded men left behind died without saying a word. We lost only two men and there are three severe injuries and a few minor ones. None of the women were taken. We lost one of the storehouses and another is partially damaged, though the women saved it from complete ruin. And we lost no animals. The men responded quickly and the women as well. All did as they were trained to do, keeping loss and damage low. All is in control. There is nothing more that can be done tonight.” He gave a nod to Esteban. “Don Cesare’s men suffered no injuries.”

  “Send an escort home with them,” Chavez ordered.

  “There is one waiting for them,” Ramos said.

  “A plan must be formed to end Diablo,” Esteban said.

  “Give me a few days, after all your sister and I have only wed. Within a week’s time, we can call a meeting here or at your place, whichever you prefer, and we can discuss the matter in more detail,” Chavez said.

  “Keep my sister safe. Make sure Diablo never gets his hands on her,” Esteban warned and left, Ramos following him out.

  Crista stepped close to her husband and rested her brow to his, her hands burning and paining her too much to touch him. “I don’t want to lose Diablo.”

  “You’ll never truly lose him, but to all others he must die.” With a hand around her waist, he guided her to the stairs.

  “Don Chavez.”

  They both turned to once again see Ramos.

  “Some of the attackers have been found. Our men have them trapped.”

  Crista felt her husband grow tense beside her and she knew what he not only wanted to do but also needed to do.

  “Go,” she said.

  He kissed her quick. “I will send someone to take care of your hands and more guards than you need will be posted outside below the terrace and the bedroom door. Though, no one will return tonight. They will lick their wounds and make plans for another day. You are safe.�
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  “Come back to me,” she said, fearful of what could happen to him.

  “Nothing will keep me from you, Crista.”

  She watched him walk away. Never did she think her wedding night would end like this.

  Chapter 25

  It was Diablo who looked down at his wife sleeping, not Chavez. That it would take time to rid himself of the outlaw was something he had considered. Though now, after tonight, he wondered if it was even possible he’d be entirely rid of him. Or even if he wanted to. Diablo did things most man wouldn’t consider doing, but then the need—the will—to survive often made distasteful decisions necessary.

  Still, he wanted a different life, had wanted it for some time, and even more so since he had met Crista. She filled a deep-rooted void in him. A void so deep he feared he’d live his entire life with it empty.

  He looked at his wife sleeping peacefully. Her one hand was bandaged, her palm completely covered and the sight stirred the anger that was already boiling in him. She had tried to wait up for him, a dwindling, burning candle on the stacked chests next to the bed proof of that. She grew more beautiful each time he looked upon her. Several strands of her dark hair rested over her cheek, her rose-colored lips held a dewy moistness, and though her eyelids were closed he could vision her dark eyes, bold in their deep color and full of intelligence. He wondered how he had gotten so lucky to have her enter his life, to have her love him—the notorious outlaw.

  No blanket covered her and her white gossamer nightdress allowed a faint peek of her soft nipples, his hands itching to tease to life, and he wanted desperately to run his hands over her slender curves and feel her smooth, silky skin. He turned away abruptly when his eyes spotted the thatch of dark hair beneath the light material and walked away from the bed to step out onto the terrace. He took a deep breath of the warm night air. An overwhelming desire to wake her had him to the point where he wanted to rip off her nightdress and take her hard and fast, hear her scream out his name in pleasure, lose himself in her. He shook his head and gripped the railing, fighting to gain control of his heated passion.

  It was a couple of hours until sunrise and his ranch had quieted, yet remained busy, cleaning up after the attack and seeing to the wounded.

  He had gotten no new, pertinent information from the three men his vaqueros had taken captive. He was sure of it since he had used his whip on them. It hadn’t taken many strikes for the men to start talking, the fear rampant in their eyes when he had stepped out of the shadows of the night fully garbed as Diablo, the whip coiled in his hand.

  Vega was behind the attacks, but Diablo didn’t understand why the man was making it seem that Diablo was responsible for them. Vega was an outlaw with his own evil reputation and proud of it. Why impersonate Diablo?

  What troubled him even more then that was the way he had so easily resumed his outlaw ways. He had thought nothing of whipping the men, but then he had been filled with a burning rage when he realized the men had been sent to abduct Crista. Vega still wanted her, but why? He had first thought her abduction was due to Vega’s hatred for her brother Esteban. Now though, he wondered if he’d been wrong and there was more to the reason Vega wanted her.

  Whatever the reason, he didn’t think it was over. Which meant he had to stop Vega and prevent any harm from befalling his wife and unborn child.

  He tightened his grip on the railing, his knuckles turning white as the anger spiraled, twisted, and churned at his gut. The fight tonight, going after those men, his wife fleeing from the men who were there to abduct her, and her hiding with the servants and working beside them to save her new home ripped at his heart and fired his anger even more.

  He heard a sound and turned, his hand shooting out.

  Crista’s eyes burst wide at her husband’s hand gripping her throat, though it wasn’t Chavez she saw. It was Diablo. He might be minus the shroud and his dark hair wet from a recent washing, but his face contorted in anger told a different tale as did his bare chest. Every muscle that ran along it and his arms were taut, ready to fight, to crack his whip, to have people obey him without question.

  His hand fell away from her smooth neck. “Go to bed, Crista.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked and stepped closer to him.

  “I said go to bed,” he snapped.

  Her response was like a resounding slap. “No!”

  A rumble started in his chest and a low growl surfaced before he spoke. “I am in no mood to argue with you on this.”

  “Then don’t,” she said.

  “It is not the well-mannered Chavez you speak with tonight,” he warned.

  “I know who I speak with and I stopped being frightened of Diablo once I discovered how much I love him and he loves me. So warnings or threats will not affect me.”

  He walked over to her, leaned his face down until it almost touched hers and through gritted teeth said, “Go. To. Bed. Now.”

  “Not without you,” she said a defiant gleam in her eyes.

  He shut his eyes trying to hold on to sound reason, trying to ignore how his shaft had grown so hard that it hurt, trying not to look at her slender, naked body silhouetted beneath the white gossamer nightdress she wore, but by the way she challenged him not out of stubbornness—though that was there in her dark eyes—but more from the love she had for him.

  She raised herself on her toes and pressed her cheek to his and whispered, “I love you, Diablo. Come to bed with me.”

  He let out a low, slow groan. “You don’t know what you ask.”

  “I do know. It’s Diablo I want to feel slip between my legs tonight and bury himself deep inside me.”

  Crista gasped, her arms rushing around his neck, shocked by how fast her husband had lifted her off her feet and into his arms. Her feet barely touched the floor beside the bed when he ripped her nightdress off, tossing it aside. He pushed her back to fall on the mattress as he stripped off his remaining garments and boots.

  She was trying to work her way into the middle of the bed to make room for him to join her, when he suddenly grabbed her by her ankles and yanked her back to him.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he said and lifted her legs over his shoulders, then grabbed her bare backside and yanked her toward him. “Keep your hands above your head,” he ordered sharply. “I won’t have you hurt your injured hands.”

  She did as he said since her hands still pained her.

  He poked his hard shaft at her entrance. “I have a harsh, hungry need for you.”

  He was warning her that he would not be gentle, giving her a chance to stop him.

  Her response was as sharp as his order had been. “Your hunger for me is not even close to my hunger for you.”

  “It is not wise to challenge me tonight, Crista,” he warned. “You will not win.”

  She grinned. “I already have.”

  His eyes flared like a flame bursting to life, realizing the only way he could win was to walk away from her… and that wasn’t about to happen.

  He plunged into her and she cried out with such pleasure that he almost spilled his seed there and then. But he wanted more from her. He wanted to feel her muscles close tight around his shaft as he grew even harder and thicker inside her, fitting ever more snug in her welcoming sheath.

  Crista winced from the pain when her swirling senses had her arms lowering to her sides and her hands reaching to grip the blanket.

  “Hands above your head,” he snapped, a groan following his harsh orders as he held her backside firm and slammed into her repeatedly.

  He held onto his groan, letting it rumble deep inside him as he fought to keep control of his passion that was far too close to bursting. He loved the feel of her, loved being buried deep inside her feeling as if they were one, their souls and love forever united.

  “Diablo.”

  The outlaw’s name spilled from her lips like a prayer seeking salvation and it pushed him over the edge. He dropped his head back and roared as he exploded in
a release that tore with exquisite pleasure at the very essence of his soul.

  Crista watched with fascination and intense pleasure as her husband climaxed and she let herself go and spiraled over the edge with him.

  Diablo slowed his thrusts as his climax began to wane and he shuddered as the last of the trickling, pleasurable sensation faded away. He dropped his head forward only then realizing that he hadn’t considered his wife’s pleasure and silently cursed himself.

  He shot a glance at her as he went to move inside her.

  “It’s all right. You satisfied me more than you know,” she said, through a labored breath.

  He collapsed over her, though braced himself so he didn’t drop all his weight on her and the baby growing inside her.

  The thought of the baby had him pushing himself up on his hands to hover over her, his eyes growing wide with worry. “The baby—”

  “Rests snug inside me. You didn’t hurt either of us.” She placed her hand on his arm, forgetting her injuries once again and was too late in stopping herself from wincing.

  He reluctantly slipped out of her, not wanting to leave the closeness he felt when inside her. He sat up beside her and demanded, “Let me see your hand.”

  Crista didn’t bother to argue with him, though she said, “Help me to sit up.”

  His hands went to her waist and with one lift he had her sitting up, plumping pillows behind her so she could rest comfortably against the wood headboard. He sat himself beside her and this time didn’t ask to see her hand, he simply took it gently in his.

  He grimaced seeing the blisters along her palm.

  “They’ll heal,” she assured him.

  “You shouldn’t have—”

  “I had to help. This is my home, my family now. I want to feel part of it all and I want all here to know we are family and that I am no different from them.”

  He leaned his head down and kissed her gently. “I thank God every day for sending you to me.”

  “Actually He sent you to rescue me and you did in more ways than one.” She placed a tender kiss on his lips. “Now worry not about my hands, they will heal, though,” —she smiled slyly— “I may need your assistant in helping me out of my clothes.”