Sacrifice of Passion (Deadly Legends)

by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez

  “Yeah,” Delaney said softly. “Good thing.”

  Her mother’s jaw tightened. “He doesn’t go to church. He and his brother Ray own a bar, for goodness sake. And…he’s developed quite the reputation around town for…for…” She hesitated. “He’s a lady’s man, let’s leave it at that. We’re all accountable for our actions,” her mother went on. “That’s the bottom line.”

  Delaney didn’t agree with the notion that just because a person didn’t go to church or had sex out of wedlock they were a sinner. But she held her tongue. She’d learned long ago that although her mother was a loving, compassionate woman, her religious beliefs were extreme. And narrow-minded. And always unwavering.

  She thought of her own sins. Of that horrible night. Had that been some kind of punishment? Had she deserved what had happened to her? What continued to happen? “What about my nightmares?” she asked. “And my sleepwalking? I don’t even know what I do most of the time. Am I going to hell if I do something bad and I don’t even know it? Am I responsible for those actions?”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “You’re accountable for things you make a conscious decision to do. Whatever you do when you sleepwalk, baby, it’s not a choice.”

  Usually, Delaney agreed with that philosophy. But maybe she did make choices when she sleepwalked. There had been a few occasions when she’d woken up in a situation that she’d longed for. Once she’d found herself outside the vet clinic in Austin where she’d desperately wanted a job. Another time, she’d been dialing Vic’s old phone number on her cell, over and over and over again. Thank God his mother hadn’t answered. Nieves Vargas would have chewed her out.

  She took a deep breath. “The nightmare. I sleepwalked again last night.”

  “Oh, Del…” Her mother looked at her with worried eyes. “I thought that coming home would cure you.”

  So had the shrinks. Facing her past, being back in the environment where it had all started, was supposed to stop her sleepwalking. But that wasn’t happening. What more could she do?

  Delaney sighed. Best laid plans. “I thought so, too, but I guess it hasn’t.”

  …

  Morning had long broken and Delaney had showered, last night blessedly free of nightmares. Instead, she’d been inundated with dreams of a hard, lean cowboy with the smokiest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

  But she wasn’t going to think about that.

  She was in her parents’ kitchen, inhaling the scent of freshly brewed coffee, when a barrage of male voices filtered in from outside. A second later, the door to the kitchen opened and Delaney’s father, Pastor Locke, and Alan Maldano, her parents’ ranch hand and surrogate son, trailed in.

  “That woman is insane,” Pastor Locke said.

  “What woman?” Delaney asked. The trio stopped and stared at her.

  “Delaney,” Pastor Locke said, nodding his head at her in greeting. “Good to see you.”

  Her father came over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Alan gazed at her with needy puppy-dog eyes. She turned away. She couldn’t stomach Alan right now. The man sent chills up her spine and she wanted nothing more than to steer clear of him. She hated that he was in the same house, so near her all the time. If he hadn’t been there for her parents when she’d left town, hadn’t helped with the ranch, she’d beg her parents to fire him.

  “Esperanza,” Pastor Locke said, answering her question, his voice dripping with disdain. “She’s been talking nonsense again.”

  Delaney hadn’t heard of or seen the old medicine woman since she’d been back in town. “I was afraid maybe she’d passed away.”

  “No such luck,” Alan muttered.

  Delaney stared at him, shocked. “That’s harsh.”

  “She’s a witch,” he continued. “All those carcasses and potions and that skeleton of a cat—”

  “I agree,” Pastor Locke said, his hands on the hips of his Levis. He never wore special attire outside of service. No special collar. He might be a minister but looked like any other man in the room. He was a town fixture, a good ol’ boy from a long line of locals, and another person who’d helped her parents after she’d run away from San Julio. Delaney’s mother had constantly urged her to seek his guidance, but she had never turned to him for support, and she wasn’t going to start now. His upbringing had given him harsh views that didn’t have room for gray. And in her world, nothing was black and white.

  “It’s bordering on sacrilege, I tell you,” he added.

  Her father shrugged, his lips pulling down on either end. “Don’t know about that, but I don’t like what she’s saying.” He shot Delaney a spooked look, like the old healer had been saying something about her. But why?

  Silence fell on the room, and Delaney’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. Half the people in San Julio believed Esperanza’s ability to heal and see visions were a gift from God himself. The other half, including most of the people in her mother’s kitchen, believed the exact opposite. From the way her father looked at her, she knew there was more. “What did she say, Dad?”

  He shook his head. “It don’t mean nothing.”

  “Daddy,” she said. “I can see it does. Tell me.”

  Her father opened his mouth, but stopped when her mother slammed her hands over her ears. “No! That woman is a heathen!” she exclaimed. “If it’s sacrilege, I don’t want to know any more.”

  “Daddy?” Delaney pressed.

  Her father looked at her mother, then the others. Suddenly he looked so drawn and old.

  Alan stepped forward. “You want me to tell them?”

  Delaney pursed her lips and tried to bury the old resentment that rose in her at Alan’s words. Of course he already knew. Alan had come on board at the ranch when he’d been twenty and she’d been sixteen. He’d become like a son to her parents—the son they’d always wanted. Dutiful, her father had said. Obsequious, she’d thought.

  Her father shook his head at Alan, then leaned against the table and looked at Delaney. “She showed up the other morning, spouting nonsense. I didn’t hear it myself, but Pastor Locke here, he says she talked about you.”

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and her spine stiffened. “Me?” She turned to the pastor.

  Pastor Locke nodded. “She was talking to Vargas, but I overheard. She told him you were here, in San Julio, and mentioned you by name. Then she said she was sorry.”

  The air in the room grew heavy. Stifling. “Sorry about what?” Delaney asked in a harsh whisper. And why was the curandera talking to Vic about her?

  Her father squirmed in his chair. “The woman barely speaks English. Who knows what the devil she was talking about.”

  “She’s a witch, I tell you.” Her mother wrung the dishtowel between her hands. “She’s crazy. You stay away from her, Del.”

  Four pairs of eyes watched her closely, drilling into her, throwing her off-balance. The chill that had swept up her spine deepened. How had Esperanza known she was back home?

  And why in the world had the curandera said she was sorry?

  Chapter Four

  El Charro. The bar Vic owned with his brother and silent partner, Ray, was his home away from home. Only tonight he felt like he was outside himself, watching the action at the bar but not part of it. Mary Jane Majors, El Charro’s fulltime bartender, washed and put up tumblers. The small band played in the corner of the dining room past the half wall. Alan Maldano, always a permanent fixture once his work at the West’s ranch was done for the day, sat hunched over his draft beer. The place buzzed with a growing energy.

  But all Vic wanted was to be back home with his son.

  He checked the clock above the cutout door to the kitchen. Barely eight o’clock. The minute hand had hardly moved since the last time he’d checked. Time was
creeping, the long night looming ahead of him.

  The bar darkened and thunder clapped. He glanced out the plate glass windows that still shook from the boom. The vast sky outside had turned gray, the clouds dense and low and stewing. Maybe the storm was finally going to break. He felt unsettled. A gnawing in the pit of his stomach.

  Screw this. He pulled out his cell phone and called Ray. “Everything okay?”

  “Eva and Zach are playing Battleship. He’s quiet, as usual. But he’s fine.”

  Relief washed over him. This fatherhood thing was a constant challenge. He still hadn’t figured out how to manage the perpetual worry about someone else’s wellbeing.

  “Storm’s threatening. Lightning—”

  “Don’t worry, Vic. I won’t send him outside with a hanger or an antenna.”

  He laughed at himself. Ray had practically raised Eva on his own, and now she was seventeen and thriving. His brother knew how to take care of a kid a hell of a lot better than he did. “Yeah, great. Thanks again for staying with him.”

  There was muttering on the other end of the line. Ray came back. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Vic felt his eyes widen. That was a first. “Put him on.”

  “Hi,” Zach said a second later.

  “Hey, buddy. How you doing?”

  “Fine.”

  Monosyllabic, as usual. “Great. What’s up?”

  “Sheila.”

  Vic felt his blood pressure spike. He still hadn’t gotten over the fact that Zach had named the potbelly after his mother. Sheila had to be cringing, even six feet under. “What about her, son?” God, it felt weird saying that word. But in a good way.

  “It’s going to rain.”

  “She’s fine,” Vic said, reading between the lines. “She’s in the barn, safe and sound.” Delaney asking Zach if the pig slept inside came to him. “Hey, buddy, how’d you like to have Sheila sleep in your room with you?”

  There was a sharp intake of breath, then Zach blurted, “Really?”

  Vic grinned. This was a real conversation, and he heard the smile in his son’s voice. “Really. We can set up a little area all for her.”

  After a few more minutes of planning, the kid seemed less agitated and was ready to hang up. Sleep with the angels. The one-line sentiment came to Vic. His mother used to say it to him and Ray every night before bed. Then she’d lean over and give them each a kiss and a hug. He’d say it back and she’d smile.

  In a formal tone, Zach said goodnight, then severed the connection. Not the response Vic had been hoping for.

  “Sleep with the angels,” he said into the air. “Son.”

  He felt lighter, as if he’d had a breakthrough with Zach, however small. He’d take it. Baby steps.

  Mary Jane stood an arm’s length away. “Being a daddy’s tough business. He’s coming around, eh?”

  “Starting to.”

  Mary Jane, in all her sun-worshipping, wrinkled-skin glory, sidled off to serve a customer.

  The sky darkened even more and Vic grew restless. He stocked the beer, changed out one of the kegs, wiped the bar, poured drinks.

  “You okay?” Alan gave him a funny look. Vic and Alan had never been friends, but everyone in town came to El Charro. Not a lot of choice.

  “Fine.” But the brewing storm still had him uneasy.

  The door banged open and Jasper came in, making a beeline for the bar. He greeted Vic while poking one finger under the rim of his cowboy hat, inching it back on his head. “Now that Delaney West’s back in town, you see her yet?” he asked as he bellied up.

  Vic lifted his chin in greeting, took out a glass, and pulled a draft. “Yep. Had a conversation with her just yesterday.”

  Alan studied him from two stools down, his brows pinched together. “You two talking, then? I thought you hated her.”

  The ranch hand had always had a thing for Delaney and it chapped Vic’s hide that the guy was still jealous over the past.

  Alan spun his glass until the damp napkin underneath it tore.

  Thunder clapped outside. Vic folded his arms across his chest and stared out the window, waiting for more lightning to strike. It was getting closer. Through the window, movement caught his eye. He started. Esperanza appeared like an apparition, standing stone still, her papery skin illuminated by the outdoor lights. “Oh, shit,” he muttered. The curandera’s white eyes glowed intensely. And stared right at him.

  Jasper and Alan swung their heads to follow his gaze. “Whoa,” Alan exclaimed. Jasper jerked back on his stool.

  “Is she looking at you?” Jasper whispered.

  Vic stared. “Hell, no. She’s blind as a bat.” He tore his gaze away from the curandera.

  Alan spun around, jumped off his stool, and headed for the door. He stopped short just outside. “Crazy old witch! Where’d she go?”

  Vic looked back at the window. And blinked. Esperanza was gone. “Damn,” he muttered. Braido had taken her away from the ranch so quickly the morning they’d found the goat, he hadn’t had a chance to talk to her more about what she’d said about the chupacabra and Delaney. He wondered what she was doing out so late. He occasionally saw the curandera hobbling around, but never after the sun went down. She claimed the evil ones came out after dark.

  The uneasiness in the pit of his stomach mounted. Not that he believed in such things.

  Jasper frowned. “How do you think she’ll get home?”

  “Probably on her broomstick.” Alan slid back onto his stool and downed his beer, pushing his glass across the bar for a refill. “She really can’t see anything?”

  “Just light and dark,” Vic said.

  “How do you know that?” Jasper asked.

  Damn. He should have kept his mouth shut. His mother had been to see her, but he didn’t let folks know about that. People in town were used to seeing Esperanza, but the religious community in San Julio had long ago condemned her as a heretic, and ill will toward her had spread over the years. Only the poor migrant community and the old world believers went to see her anymore. Chris and Jasper would never understand. They’d been taken in by their uncle after their parents had died. Landon Locke had been strict and raised them to be God-fearing.

  A cowboy on the dance floor whooped, and a barrage of applause followed. Enough of a distraction that Vic didn’t have to answer Jasper. He shook off Esperanza’s vacant, haunting gaze and turned his attention back to the bar. An electrified buzz was in the air, the hollering louder than usual, as if the unsettled sky and brewing storm had spread its agitation inside.

  The door at the other end of the bar opened and a woman breezed in, a strong wind with her. A cowboy hat sat low on her head. The talk in the bar changed as she made her way past the band and into Vic’s territory. This woman was beyond sexy in a dress that hit just at the knees, brown cowboy boots, cream colored hat, and a suede jacket. Nothing like a gorgeous stranger to get the attention of a herd of cowboys. Great.

  She glided up to the bar and sat at a stool. He’d started to cross over to take her drink order, then stopped dead in his tracks when she took off her hat and let her hair spill down her shoulders.

  Gorgeous, yes. Stranger, no.

  That old ache of unfulfilled desire and frustration he’d experienced just over twenty-four hours ago struck him like a hot poker between the eyes. “Shit.” The word snapped out of his mouth.

  Jasper turned toward him. “What?”

  “It’s her.”

  “Who?” Alan followed their gazes.

  Vic leaned his hip against the bar. Why the hell was he seeing Delaney West everywhere he went? Was this some kind of cruel joke? Wasn’t it enough that his son was enamored with her? Did she have to torture him with her presence all over San Julio? Jesus, not even El Charro was safe. “God must have
it in for me,” he muttered.

  Jasper tapped his fingers against the bar. “Not supposed to take the Lord’s name in vain,” he chastised.

  “You’re a big help, man,” Vic said, shaking his head.

  “Get over her,” Alan snarled. “She’s over you.”

  Vic’s hands fisted and he slowly turned to Alan. He barely restrained himself from grabbing the jerk by the shirt and hauling his ass out of the bar. Enough was enough. No matter how many years the guy had pined over Delaney, she’d never be his. That much Vic would bet his life on.

  “Oh, we’re over each other,” he said. But then a memory of the first time he’d really been attracted to her flooded over him. It must have been fourteen or fifteen years ago—at the community swimming pool. Early summer. She’d been wearing a two-piece swim suit, modest, yet the sexiest thing he’d ever seen on a woman.

  He could still smell the scent of bluebells, feel the humid air that wrapped itself around him like a blanket of warm moisture, hear the Los Lonely Boys song playing through the poolside speakers. He’d said hello, and when she returned the greeting, looking at him through her long eyelashes and then licking her lips and tilting her head, he’d fallen in love with her on the spot.

  “Yo. Vic.”

  He turned to Jasper. “What?”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “Nowhere. Never mind.”

  But Jasper shook his head like he knew exactly what Vic had been thinking. “She’s your cross, amigo. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Vic cocked one eyebrow. “Come again?”

  “Your cross. You know, the load you carry with you. The one you want but can’t have.”

  Should have had. She’d left him high and dry, broken-hearted and with a hard-on that he still remembered. But for some reason he still felt responsible for her. The curandera’s haunting words came back to him. How had she known Delaney was back, and what did she think Delaney’s reappearance in San Julio had to do with the dead, blood-drained animals?