by Judith Pella
“Would he?”
“Yes, he would.” It was a small lie, Lucie knew, but she could not help herself.
“I must go now,” the bandito said, then urged his mount across the creek.
Lucie watched his retreat. He rode with such assurance as he caught up with his men, tall in the saddle, shoulders square, completely in command. He had shown no sense of panic over the fact that the law was breathing down his neck. Nevertheless, the pace of the banditos increased considerably after they ascended the far bank and reached more level ground. They were out of sight in a matter of minutes.
Several minutes later the noise of riders coming from the other direction pulled Lucie from her reverie. That would be the rangers. In a mere moment Lucie decided what she must do. Quickly she scooped up a handful of dirt, which she smeared on her clothes and swiped across her face, and knocked her hat to the ground as well. A kind of calm stealing over her despite her thudding heart, she sat down on the ground, arranging herself in as much disarray as she could.
Her heart had calmed by the time the rangers crested the bank, but it flipped again when she saw that one of the men was Micah. In that moment she feared she could not proceed with her plan. But she had to. She must help the banditos get as much distance between them and the rangers as possible.
“Lucie!” Micah called when he saw her lying in the dirt. He was off his horse the instant it finished scrambling down the bank. “What happened?” The clear distress in his tone made her nearly quell again at her deception.
There were half a dozen rangers with Micah. Tom Fife, Jed, and three others Lucie did not know. She laid the back of her hand against her forehead and shook her head as if faint.
“You okay?” Micah knelt down beside her. “Was it the banditos?” The look in his eyes as he spoke made Lucie shiver. It contained far more than mere distress. For a brief instant, there was pure murder in his eyes.
“No . . . I’m all right. . . .” The lies did not come easily, but she was too motivated to fail now. “I fell and twisted my ankle.”
“Did them banditos hurt you?” Tom asked, a look of consternation on his face also but far less intense than Micah’s.
“No, it wasn’t them,” she said firmly. She did not want to make it worse for the outlaws. Suddenly she almost smiled as she thought of the irony of her being in yet another situation in which she must defend an outlaw. “I saw them and was running in the opposite direction so they wouldn’t see me when I tripped. They hardly even noticed me as they rode by.”
“Which way did they go, miss?” Tom asked.
“I was so dizzy . . .” What an awful lie! She hated sounding like a simpering female. But she went on, stuck now with her resolve. “I . . . I hardly noticed. Maybe that way.” She lifted a limp hand and pointed vaguely in the right direction. These were rangers, after all. They would easily pick up the trail, so lying would hardly help.
“How long?”
“I’ve lost track of time. Seems like forever, but perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“We best get moving,” urged one of the other rangers.
“Hold on, Bill,” Tom said. “We can’t just leave Miss Maccallum.”
Tom took off his hat and scratched his head, then said, “Micah, you see the lady home. The rest of us will continue the pursuit.”
“But Tom—“ Micah protested.
“Ain’t nothing else for it.”
Lucie was more than a little disappointed that Micah appeared less than eager to be with her. Yet she had come between him and his work, his duty, and thus she ought to consider it a good sign that he had such a sense of responsibility toward this new job of his. She hoped that was the cause, at least.
“We’ll be going, then,” Tom said. “Micah, you may as well head on back to San Antonio when you’re finished. I don’t reckon we’ll keep tracking them hombres if they cross the border.”
“Mr. Fife,” Lucie said quickly, searching in her mind for something else that might delay the pursuit, “I don’t mean to interrupt your work, but if you brought me my horse and helped me to mount, I am certain I could get home on my own.”
“Not in a million years!” declared Tom. “Anyway, what you doing out here alone?”
Oh, this was good! It always took time for men to browbeat her for her independence. The banditos would easily get across the border now.
“Well, Mr. Fife,” she began thoughtfully and slowly, “I just hate to impose. . . .”
“Shouldn’t you get going, Tom?” Micah urged.
Lucie restrained a smirk at his untimely intercession.
“Yeah, of course. Miss, if you’ll pardon us . . .” Tom tipped his hat then gave his mount a crisp “Geeup!” The others followed.
Well, she had done the best she could. Joaquin Viegas would have to do the rest. She relaxed and blew out a deep sigh.
“Something wrong?” Micah asked, concerned.
“No, it has just been a trying day.”
“I’ll get you home right away.”
“Could you let me have a drink of water first?” Now that she no longer had to worry over the banditos, she was in no particular hurry to go home, especially since she had Micah Sinclair all to herself.
CHAPTER
16
LUCIE WATCHED MICAH AS HEwent to his horse, removed his canteen, and brought it to her.
“Where’s your horse?” he asked as he returned. Kneeling beside her, he handed her the canteen.
She jerked her head toward the trees. “In the shade.” She uncorked the waterskin and took a long swallow.
“You sure had a close call with those banditos,” he said. “We’re pretty sure that was Joaquin Viegas himself we were chasing.”
“Really! Oh my!” She swayed, raising her hand to her head again. She better not drop her ruse too quickly, or it might arouse suspicions. To her surprise and delight, Micah’s arms went quickly around her. He grabbed the canteen from her hands and splashed a dollop in her face. “Bah!” she sputtered. She hadn’t expected that.
“I thought you was gonna faint,” he said in obvious distress.
“I assure you, I wasn’t.” She gave her head a shake, sending a spray of water in his direction. Then she smiled. “That was kind of you . . . holding me, protecting me.”
He glanced down and seemed to fully realize that she was indeed in his arms. He wrenched them from her so quickly she nearly fell into the dirt. But she caught herself, remaining in a sitting position. He scooted away from her.
“You don’t make it easy . . .” he said. “Protecting you, that is. You might have been in serious trouble if them banditos had taken a mind to hurt you.”
“I don’t think they would have harmed me. They weren’t even interested.”
“You are mighty thickheaded, ain’t you?”
She shrugged, then changed the topic. “Do you think the rangers will catch the bandits?”
“I doubt it. They got too much of a head start. But we’ll get them eventually.” Micah’s tone was as hard edged as the rocks surrounding them.
“What will happen to Viegas if he’s caught?”
“I wouldn’t think even you’d have to ask that.”
No, she didn’t have to ask, but there was still a naïve part of her that hoped for justice. “I suspect he will be tried and . . . punished.”
“Tried?” Micah snorted derisively. “Ain’t no way he’d make it back to San Antonio alive. If the rangers don’t hang him on the spot, he’ll likely get shot while escaping.” He spoke that final word with relish.
Lucie was certain Micah hoped to be the one to bring down the famous bandito. This was definitely a side of Micah she hadn’t glimpsed before, and she didn’t much like it. She wondered how deep the hidden diamond inside him was.
“Every man deserves a fair trial,” she replied.
“You ever seen four hundred unarmed men gunned down without benefit of a trial, fair or otherwise?”
Beneath his harsh g
aze she saw a flicker of pain.
“No, Lucie. You won’t find me giving no Mexican a fair trial.”
“All Mexicans, Micah?”
He shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the direction of the discussion. “Soon as you’re feeling up to it, we’ll be on our way.” His initial concern had faded, and now he spoke woodenly, like a man hiding something behind a flimsy facade.
“Micah?” Lucie reached out to touch the hand he had resting in the dirt to support himself as he sat.
He inched a bit farther away from her.
“We haven’t talked since the dance.”
“Nothing to talk about, is there?”
“Are you afraid of me?” She glanced down at his hand so near hers, though she had restrained from actually touching him after his reaction.
“Tarnation, lady! I’m scared to death of you!” He jumped up and spoke as if ranting, or at the very least, flustered. “You’re dangerous, you hear? Very dangerous! Sitting there looking so helpless, yet I think you could take on Santa Anna’s entire army if you wanted to with just a flap of those eyelashes of yours or a shake of hair that looks every bit like an earthy mountain full of copper when it catches the light of the sun. I’ve faced vicious enemies and wild animals, and I’ve looked death in the face more than once, but none of it compares to the bone-chilling fear you put in me.” Micah paused, breathing hard, and she thought perhaps she did note fear in his remarkable blue eyes.
“What is it you fear most?” she asked quietly, in sharp contrast to his own frenzied response.
He snatched off his hat and ran a hand through his red-flecked hair. “I told you at the dance.”
“And you tried to make me afraid, but it didn’t work.” She gazed up at him, and the flutters in her heart grew more pronounced.
“You’re a stubborn woman,” he said.
She nodded.
“You should be very afraid, Lucie.” His tone was steady now, so serious it made her tremble as nothing else had.
“When I see you talk about your enemies,” she said, “it does scare me a little. But something in me says there is much more to you than that.”
“I keep trying to tell you—”
“Sit down, Micah, and tell me about yourself.”
He gaped at her sudden change of tact, and she knew she sounded like she was inviting him to tea. Here they were in the middle of the wild, empty prairie, outlaws in the near vicinity, and she had the audacity to request a social conversation. It was rather outlandish, if not downright ridiculous.
She giggled lightly. “We do manage to meet in the oddest places. But I always say to seize opportunity when it knocks. Who knows when I will see you again? And even if everyone may be right about our being mismatched, couldn’t we at least be friends?”
He shook his head, still nonplussed about the oddity of the situation.
Then he plopped down beside her, however at a safe distance.
“So what’d you want to know?” He was serious, yet he had allowed a small hint of amusement to trifle with the cool blue of his eyes.
She scratched her chin thoughtfully. “How did you come to be an outlaw?”
“Now, there’s a nice neutral subject to start with,” he said dryly. “Anyway, there isn’t much to tell about it. After the war I was kind of aimless. I was fourteen. I needed to survive somehow, and I just took the easy way.”
“You fought in the war?”
“Yeah.”
“What was that like?”
“Next question,” he said flatly.
She did not press, for she didn’t want to spoil this time. It occurred to her that after all they had been through together in such a short time, this was the first chance they’d had to really talk. She was liking it very much.
“Were you born in Texas?” she asked. This was a nice safe query.
But he scowled in response, the blue of his eyes darkening like a cloud passing over a sparkling stream.
“No,” he said evenly.
She could tell it took effort to talk about his past.
“I was born in Boston. Came here when I was twelve.”
“Do your parents still live here?”
“I don’t want to talk about my parents.”
“Is there anything you do want to talk about, Micah?” she asked, unable to completely hide her frustration. Altering her tone a bit, she added, “Maybe you should just tell me what you want me to know.”
He was silent for a long time, and she feared the conversation had ended before it had had much of a chance. Finally he spoke.
“My ma died about seven years ago. My pa . . . is still here.”
He turned upon her intently, the blue in his eyes still dark, but not shadowed. Just very, very dark.
“Okay. I’ll tell you about my pa.” It was almost as if he were answering a challenge. “He killed my ma—not directly, of course. He killed her by dragging her out here from Boston, then leaving her high and dry while he went about God’s work. He rode a circuit up north near Cooksburg that was more important to him than anything, especially his family. After a while Ma just couldn’t take the loneliness anymore— leastways, that’s how I see it, though I was just a kid then, and no one really told me anything. One day while my pa was gone, my uncle came to visit, and she got him to take her and us kids back to Boston. She was in a family way, and we didn’t get too far before she gave birth and died.”
“And you blame your father?” Lucie asked softly. She had sensed he was a man who had known pain, but to have it laid before her like this so clearly, so coolly, almost like it wasn’t a deep wound in his heart, was disconcerting. She sensed Micah was a man who had grown quite expert at shielding his true feelings.
He snorted a sharp, hard laugh. “Who else should I blame? He has even admitted to it.”
“He admits it?”
“Yeah. After my ma died, he acted like it grieved him terribly. He said it changed him.”
“People do change.” The hopefulness in her tone sprang from more than just trying to convince him.
“I don’t care. Even if he did, it was too late. He killed her. He ruined our lives. A person just can’t do that and expect forgiveness.”
“Maybe you are being a bit hard on him,” she ventured.
“Oh yeah!” he retorted. “Guess all you religious fanatics got to stick together.”
She blinked, shocked at the venom in his response.
He added a little more gently, “You didn’t deserve that, I guess.”
“I didn’t mean to defend your father, Micah. But I think all the hate you seem to be storing inside is hurting you more than it’s hurting him.
Hate is a double-edged blade.”
“What do you know about hate?”
He was studying her closely. Then, to her amazement, a small smile played upon the corners of his lips.
“You’ve never hated a soul in your life, have you, Lucie?”
“I don’t think so. I have never had reason to, I suppose.”
“I fear you’ll one day come to hate me,” he said, no humor now in his aspect.
“My mother and father had a little pact between them,” she replied. “They said they would never let the sun set upon their anger. I think hatred comes from anger that is allowed to fester.”
“Many suns have set on my anger,” he said grimly.
“My parents would give their anger to God.”
“I think . . . I hate God as well.”
“Oh, Micah!” She wanted to weep for him.
“I wish I could be like my Uncle Haden. He didn’t even believe in God. But unfortunately, I believe.”
“Who is the God you believe in?”
“He looks a lot like my father.”
Her barely checked tears now erupted at the vast emptiness in his tone. She reached out to touch his hand because she simply could not leave him there so alone, so empty. Her hand brushed his, and scarcely had contact been made when his arms came up an
d gathered her to him. He held her fiercely, but not like he had at the dance. Now there was a desperation in him, as if he might crumble without her to keep him intact. She felt the grate of his day’s growth of beard in her hair as he pressed his cheek hard to her head. She thought he was trembling a bit, but perhaps it was her own quaking she felt.
This was different than before, not a physical need, but a need that went to the heart, the very soul.
“It’s been so long,” he murmured. “So long . . .”
Lucie wasn’t certain what he meant, but she had a feeling he had not held a woman out of sheer emotional need since the death of his mother so many years ago. She wondered if anyone had held him, loved him since then. She encircled him with her own arms, patting his back, cooing comforting words.
Still holding her, he moved his head and looked into her eyes. “I knew you were dangerous. You are so decent, so sweet. . . . Oh, God . . .”
“I love you, Micah!”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why won’t you let yourself love a little?” she entreated. “Maybe it will chase away some of the hatred.”
“I’m not sure I’d know how. It’s been a long time.” He ran his finger along her cheek. All the shadows had fled from his eyes. They were the purest of blue now. “I could love you, Lucie.”
“That’s enough for now, then.” She smiled, though she knew she was lying. She would never be satisfied until his love was as complete as hers. “I won’t ask for more.” She was telling herself as much as him.
He bent closer and his lips touched hers. The kiss was as gentle and tender as the last kiss had been heated and passionate. He knew as well as she that what was happening now far surpassed anything physical.
“We better go back,” he said, his grip on her loosening.
She nodded. She did not know what would happen now. She only knew a line had been crossed, one she couldn’t turn back from. She loved this man. She prayed God would understand.
He rose, but she did not see the hand he had extended to help her as she jumped to her feet.
“Looks like your ankle is better,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Oh . . . uh . . . yes, it is.” She remembered her deception and felt all the worse for it after what they had just shared.
