Texas Angel, 2-in-1

by Judith Pella

  “And you are Joaquin Viegas,” Micah said coolly. “You’ve killed a few of my friends as well.”

  “So now what?”

  Suddenly Micah threw his gun into the grass. Viegas could have killed him instantly then but was obviously too stunned to react to the unexpected gesture.

  “I ain’t gonna kill you, Viegas, so no sense drawing this out any longer.” Micah hadn’t realized until the instant he tossed down his gun that he was going to do it, but now he realized it was all he could do. All he would do.

  “ Qué es?” mumbled Viegas. “Why?”

  “I’m plain tired of killing. Besides, killing you would hurt too many folks I care about.”

  “What do you mean by this? Speak clearly or I will shoot. I have every reason to kill you for what you did to my men.”

  Viegas’s eyes were hard and steely, but Micah saw something else in them. More than a hint of Lucie’s eyes were there. And around Viegas”fs nose and chin there was Reid Maccallum. But how could Micah explain all he was feeling to his adversary when he didn’t understand half of it himself? He could have killed Viegas five minutes ago while he was mounted and aiming at Bert. But he hadn’t, and he knew his skill well enough to know when he had fired, he’d missed on purpose, even if at the time he had not pointedly told himself to miss. Had it been instinct? To miss? To spare a life instead of take it?

  “Speak, gringo!” hissed Viegas. “My patience wanes.”

  “I’m acquainted with your family.”

  “A mere acquaintance would not cause a man to do what you have done, risked what you have risked. Perhaps I have been lured into some trap.”

  Micah shook his head. Why would this man, this enemy, believe him? Yet if Micah didn’t become more convincing, he was going to die. “I happen to be in love with your sister,” he admitted. It was the first time he’d ever ventured such words of love, but Micah knew they were true. He wished it could be Lucie hearing this remarkable confession and not a bandit poised to kill him. “I’d marry her if I thought I was good enough for her,” he added, feeling suddenly rather cocky.

  “You?” exclaimed the bandit.

  Micah could not tell if it was shock or fury in the man’s tone. Micah snorted dryly. “Guess you’ll kill me for sure now. But if it’s gotta be that way, then so be it. I’d rather that than risk hurting her.”

  “And does my sister feel the same toward you?”

  “Maybe, but I wouldn’t want to speak for her.”

  “But if she does, would not your death hurt her as well?”

  Micah hadn’t thought of that. “I only know if you die, especially by my hand, it could destroy her.”

  Viegas eyed Micah somewhat dubiously but also with a perplexed crease in his brow. His gun hand, however, was still taut and ready.

  “I think you speak truly, gringo,” Viegas said slowly and thoughtfully. “But I have never known a ranger to be squeamish about killing an enemy—for any reason. And knowing who you are, I realize you could have killed me before. Stories of your abilities have spread, and I doubt you would have shot my horse if you hadn’t been aiming at him.”

  “Well,” Micah said, “it’s true I wasn’t aiming at you, but neither was I aiming at your horse. He turned and got the round that was supposed to go over his head.”

  “Still, you did not aim at me.”

  “You and I, Viegas . . . maybe neither of us are killers deep down. Lucie believes in us, anyway. I don’t know about you, but I realize there ain’t nothing I want more than to live up to her faith in me.”

  For the first time, Viegas’s expression softened. He lowered his gun. “Find your mount and be on your way, Sinclair, before I decide I prefer a different future brother-in-law.”h

  “Gladly, Viegas.” Micah whistled, and Stew, who had not wandered far, trotted up to him. Micah mounted.

  “Before you leave, Sinclair, I have one piece of advice for you,” Viegas said somewhat wryly but also with a note of earnestness. “Get out of the rangering business. I do not want to see my sister made a widow.”

  “I’ll give it serious consideration, amigo.” Then Micah added, “And here’s some advice for you. Go see your father. He ain’t gonna live forever, and it breaks his heart more every day thinking he might never see you again. He loves you, and he don’t deserve the pain you’ve been giving him.”

  “I, too, will consider—” Viegas stopped suddenly and smiled. “No, I will do it. Very soon.”

  Micah rode up to where Bert Long lay. He was still alive. Micah hauled him up with him on the mule. Glancing back before he rode away, Micah saw that Viegas had mounted his dead comrade’s horse with the man’s body secured behind. Viegas then rode away toward the south. Would he go to the Maccallum ranch? Perhaps he was just going south to take care of his fallen comrade’s body and then to tie up loose ends, get his affairs in order. It would be a risky prospect for the bandit to go to the Maccallum ranch. It might be his death warrant. Yet Micah felt certain Viegas would go. Viegas did not hate his father.

  Micah took Bert to the Maccallum ranch to get patched up. It was the closest destination, and besides, Micah wanted to see Lucie.

  “You two gals ought to hang out a shingle,” he said to Lucie and Juana as they followed him to his old room. He had Bert Long slung over his shoulder.

  “Imagine that!” Juana laughed. “Dr. Juana Herrera . . . hmm, I like the sound of it.”

  Micah deposited Bert on the bed. The ranger groaned. “Hey, Micah! I ain’t no sack of potatoes. Watch it!”

  “I don’t reckon he’s hurt too bad if he can complain like that,”

  Micah said with a chuckle.

  Bert had taken a shot in his calf, but the lead had gone cleanly through. There was little bleeding. His worst wound was a nasty gash on his head, which had struck a rock when he fell from his horse. Assured that his friend indeed was not too badly off, Micah beckoned Lucie out into the hall.

  “Lucie, I saw your brother today,” he said.

  “Joaquin!” Fear and excitement collided in her face.

  Micah told her about their meeting. “Ain’t that the most amazing thing you ever heard?”

  “I . . . I simply don’t know what to say!” Then, seeming to come to herself, she threw her arms around Micah. “Thank you, Micah!”

  “It felt good, Lucie. I know sparing one man don’t make up for all the others, but then again, in a funny way that I can’t explain, it does. Inside me, it does. But I don’t want to analyze it. It was a good thing. That’s all that matters.”

  She lightly kissed his cheek before dropping her embrace and stepping away. “Yes, Micah.” She was fairly beaming. “I am so proud of you!”

  “I just wanted to let you know I’ll be going away for a while,” he said. And when the light dramatically faded from her eyes, he quickly added, “Just a few days is all! I’m heading north. I figure its time I took the same advice I gave your brother.”

  CHAPTER

  37

  IN NINE YEARS THE PLACE had not changed much. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. There were some bright flowers blooming in a small garden by the front steps. And cheery curtains in the windows. There was an altogether inviting look to the place. But still Micah feared that invitation might not be extended to him.

  At the edge of the yard he dismounted and walked the mule the rest of the way. He’d barely gotten to the middle of the yard when a squealing little girl came racing toward him from the woods by the house. She fairly screeched to a halt upon seeing him, and all her merry squealing ceased. She appeared to be about ten years old, chubby and rosy cheeked with a mop of golden curls on her head.

  Before Micah could address her, another girl jogged into the yard.

  “Leah, you give that back to me! I found it—”

  Then this girl stopped abruptly as well. Slender and pale with hair the color of strawberries streaked with sunshine, Micah knew her immediately. And she, incredibly, recognized him.

  “Micah!
” Isabel cried, racing past her sister and throwing her arms around him.

  “Yeah, it’s me, but I can’t believe you recognized me,” he said. He felt he surely must have aged a hundred years in nine.

  “Of course I do!” She stepped back and smiled up at him. Micah’s heart clenched. She looked so much like their mother. Then she held a hand out to her sister. “Leah, this is our brother Micah. You were too little to remember him.”

  Leah bent her head back to get a good look but still said nothing.

  “I have never seen her so quiet,” Isabel said.

  As if to defy that remark, Leah finally said, “You can’t be our brother.

  You’re taller than Papa.”

  Micah shrugged, not quite knowing how to answer that. “Well, I am your brother, and I am glad to meet you, Leah. You were nothing but a slip of a thing when I last saw you. And you, Issy!” He gave her an astonished look. “You’re nearly a full-grown woman. How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Well, you’ve grown into a beautiful young lady, that’s for sure.” It warmed him that she blushed with pleasure at his compliment. He remembered when she used to look up to him as a big brother. It appeared as if she still might, though he knew he didn’t deserve it.

  Isabel took his hand. “Come on into the cabin and see everyone else.”

  “Everyone . . . ?” His throat turned dry as the real reason for his visit suddenly reared before him.

  “Except Papa,” piped up Leah, appearing to warm to the stranger who was her brother. “He’s down to the Hunter place, but he’ll be back by supper.”

  Relief washed over Micah. He knew he was going to have to face the man eventually, but he just couldn’t feel disappointed about a delay.

  “Lead the way,” he said, tying Stew to a post before following the girls up the cabin step.

  Inside he was greeted with a buzz of activity, though not chaotic as he remembered when his father had been caring for household matters. Rather, it was a pleasant sound of children’s voices, the sizzling of some good-smelling thing on the stove, and the gentle purr of a woman’s voice.

  “It’s all right, Oliver, don’t worry, there’s more milk.” Elise, Micah’s stepmother, was bent over the table, her back to the door, a cloth in her hand mopping up obviously spilt milk.

  “Mama,” Isabel said, “we have a visitor.”

  Micah was both touched and inexplicably disturbed by his sister’s casual reference to Elise as “Mama.”

  Elise turned, and a look of surprise was immediately replaced by a warm, welcoming grin.

  “Micah! Oh, my goodness . . . Micah!” Sudden tears welled in her dark eyes.

  “ ’Pears I haven’t changed much at all in nine years,” Micah said dryly.

  Elise came up to him, took his hands in hers, and gave him a close appraisal. “Well, you’ve grown a foot at least. And my”—she let go of one of his hands and fingered the fringe on his buckskin coat—“you certainly have filled out the coat, haven’t you?” Her eyes briefly rested on the place on his shoulder where one of the bandito’s shots had penetrated and which he had clumsily patched.

  “It’s served me well,” he said, suddenly wanting to turn away so she would not question the damage. But he forced himself to keep on facing her.

  “I remember how you had to hitch a belt around you so it wouldn’t billow out like a tent,” she remarked.

  “Yeah.” He tried to smile and not remember the life of violence his coat had seen since then.

  “Well, you’ve met Isabel and Leah, now let me introduce you to the rest of the family.” She turned to the boy at the table. “This is your baby brother, Oliver.”

  “Mama, I ain’t no baby!” Oliver said.

  He was, by Micah’s reckoning, nine years old. His hair was light brown and straight except where it curled around his ears and collar. His eyes were blue-green and remarkably like their father’s. He now looked up at Micah with what might well be awe in those eyes.

  “Papa says you are a ranger, that you’ve fought in wars with Mexico and against Comanches.”

  “I’ve done some fighting,” Micah said uncomfortably.

  “That a revolver?” Oliver’s eyes focused on the Colt tucked in Micah’s belt.

  Micah now realized his oversight in not leaving the gun in his saddlebag. It had been wrong to come into this cabin armed. “Yes, it is,” Micah said.

  “Can I hold it?”

  “Not now . . . maybe later.” The boy’s eagerness disturbed Micah. Did the child with the name that meant peace take more after his brother than his father?

  By now three other children had come into the circle, and though they were staring with unabashed curiosity at Micah, they were clinging to Elise.

  Elise placed an arm around the oldest of the three. “This is Hannah.”

  Hannah smiled, gave a little curtsey, but said nothing. She would be ten now, and she was even more pale and frail-appearing than Isabel. Micah returned the smile, and because the girl suddenly began to blush, he thought better of saying anything.

  “And these two little darlings are your half brother and half sister,” Elise said. “Joseph is four, and Beth is two.”

  They also smiled shyly but said nothing.

  “I’m pleased to meet all of you.” Micah looked around the room.

  “You got any more hiding in the corners?” he asked lightly.

  Elise laughed. “Well . . . one where you can’t see it yet.”

  Then Micah noted that Elise was in the family way. Her apron camouflaged it pretty well, but it was plain there was a slight bulge in her midriff. He quickly shifted his eyes away, cursing the heat he felt rising about his ears. He hadn’t been so young when his mother had gotten into such a condition not to notice how miserable she had been, especially with Leah and Oliver. But Elise was glowing. The new baby would make seven children for her to care for, even if they weren’t all hers. Yet she was still young-looking, even beautiful. It actually seemed as if she was thriving on her circumstance. Part of Micah resented this, yet another part for the first time in his life wondered if his mother had not somehow brought some of her misery upon herself.

  No, it couldn’t be! His father had been a monster. He had heaped burdens and expectations upon his family that none could bear. Yet why did he sense none of that oppression now in this family?

  “Micah,” Elise was saying, “we’ll be having supper in a couple hours, but would you like something to tide you over? I’m sure you’ve had a bit of a journey today.”

  “I did skip lunch,” he replied.

  Elise had him sit at the table, then she set a plate of cookies and a glass of cool milk before him. As he ate every cookie on the plate and had another glass of milk besides, they visited. Isabel joined them, but the younger children, except Oliver, who remained at the table as well, grew restless and were distracted by other activities.

  In less than an hour Micah had heard all the news of neighbors he had known. He shared what little political information and news he’d heard. But the conversation waned, mostly, he realized, because he kept avoiding anything to do with his personal life. Finally he could bear it no longer and lurched to his feet.

  “I better see to my mount,” he said. “He’s been on a long road today, too.”

  “Oliver can take care of that,” Elise offered.

  “No,” Micah answered quickly. “I mean, my mule is kind of temperamental, so I better do it myself.” He headed for the door. Whether Elise, who he recalled as being rather intuitive, understood his need to get away or not, she made no further protest.

  She did ask as he reached the door, “You will be staying on for a few days, won’t you?”

  “If . . . I’d be welcome.”

  One did not require any special mental abilities to know exactly what he meant.

  “I know you will be, Micah.”

  He knew what she meant, and he hoped it was true.

  CHAPTER
r />   38

  MORE MEMORIES FLOODED OVER MICAH as he walked Stew to the little stable. He remembered when he and his father and Uncle Haden had built it. He remembered the huge fight that the two men had over him. Haden had left that very day, not to return until the day he took Micah, his mother, and sisters away—away from Benjamin Sinclair.

  Now that Micah thought of it, Uncle Haden had never said why he had returned. Benjamin had told him never to come back. But Haden had. And during all the time Haden and Micah had spent together afterward during the war, the subject had never come up. Now Micah wondered. Had Haden come to reconcile with his brother? Had he had a change of heart? One thing Micah did recall of the time spent with his uncle was that he had not once bad-mouthed Benjamin. He had even gently rebuked Micah when he would denigrate the man.

  At the time Micah was far too filled with hatred for his father to hear any defense of the man. But now Micah didn’t know. He’d come home because he felt he had to, yet he had not consciously decided to forgive his father. He wasn’t certain he would, though he had no idea what he would do. Perhaps that was the place Haden had been in when he had returned. He didn’t know exactly why he was doing so, only that he had to do it.

  Micah took his time with Stew. He removed his saddle and set it on a rack, then he found a brush and meticulously brushed the animal’s coat. When he finished, he tied Stew to a post. There was a horse, a different one from any Micah remembered, in one of the two stalls, and Micah figured the other stall would be for Benjamin’s mount. He was filling a bucket with some oats when he heard a sharp creak. His hand shot to the pistol still in his belt. Then he remembered there were no dangers in this place, none at least that need be faced with a gun.

  “Micah” came Benjamin’s resonate voice.

  Slowly Micah turned. “Pa.”

  The two men eyed each other, both wearing impenetrable masks that were hauntingly similar. Micah had thought of a lot of things to say to his father on the journey up from San Antonio, but speech fled him now. Accusations, apologies, venom, sorrow, regret. It all seemed so empty and futile in the face of the man who must surely be Micah’s greatest enemy—and his greatest salvation.