Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family)

by Georgina Gentry

  Somehow that thought annoyed her. Amethyst took a damp washcloth, rubbed it across the hollow of her throat, then pressed down the low-cut, dark purple silk dress. She closed her eyes as she rubbed her breasts with the cool cloth, remembering his big, square hands running the wet bandana down the open throat of his shirt. She had a sudden fantasy that the Texan held her washcloth, that he teasingly washed lower and lower, pushing the purple silk farther down with each stroke until her full breasts were bared to his wet bandana and his hot hands.

  “Señorita, what in the world are you doing?”

  The woman’s stern voice brought her out of her fantasy just as the Texan’s mouth bent to run his tongue over her naked nipples. “Nothing. Just washing away the dust, that’s all,” she said guiltily.

  Behind her, the door squeaked open as the little maid brought in a tray of food, a bottle of wine. Amethyst came over to the table with a sigh. The stout woman clattered the dishes around, dismissed the servant.

  “All right, señorita, let’s eat it before it gets cold!” Mrs. Wentworth sat down, piled enough food on her plate to have fed half of Texas, then poured herself a tall glass of wine and drained it. “Aren’t you hungry?” She poured herself another glass of wine.

  Amethyst sat down, toyed with her food, pretended to eat and drink so as not to arouse suspicion. “Mrs. Wentworth”—she gave the dumpy woman her most charming smite—” I really am not very fond of wine, but do enjoy it yourself.”

  “Now that’s what I call friendly.” The American drained her wine, poured another as she pushed a bite of tortilla around on her plate to get the last drop of chili. “Maybe you and me is gonna be friends after all, honey.”

  Amethyst was too nervous to eat, but she pretended to do so as she sipped her wine. The rich wine in her empty stomach made her a little dizzy and she cautioned herself, but tension made her drink it down, fill the glass again.

  Very casually, Amethyst rose, her glass in hand. She swayed a little. She’d never drunk wine so quickly before. Though a little unsteady on her feet, she walked to the open window to look out at the moonlit night. The Texan sauntered out of the inn to stand in the courtyard and toss a small coin up and catch it, as if trying to decide what to do next. Amethyst noted he still had the saddlebags slung over his shoulder. How was she going to contact him?

  She glanced over at Mrs. Wentworth who yawned as she tried to get her glass to her mouth, then finally succeeded. Certainly if Amethyst called out to him, or waved her arm, that woman would notice.

  While she watched, a voluptuous girl came out of the cantina, crossed the courtyard, and took the Texan’s arm. From the few words that drifted on the air over the plaintive guitar being played inside the cantina, Amethyst knew the girl tried to entice him in there to dance with her, buy her a drink.

  He spoke to the girl in border Spanish, teasing and flirting with her a little as he put his foot up on a rock and struck a match against the sole of his boot.

  Amethyst held her breath, watching his silhouette in the sudden flare of the match as he lit a slender cigar. In that instant, he looked vaguely familiar. But she dismissed the idea as the faint scent of his tobacco drifted to her. If she had ever met this cocky stud before, certainly she would not have forgotten! The girl in the courtyard rubbed herself up against the cowboy, begged a little in a soft voice.

  Amethyst groaned low in her throat. If he went into that cantina, she’d probably never get a chance to talk to him, to ask for his help. The lusty girls in that place would no doubt keep the Texan occupied ’till dawn, when Amethyst’s coach would be heading north again.

  Mrs. Wentworth looked over at her from the bed. “What’d you say, honey?”

  “Nothing.” Amethyst swallowed some more of her wine. “I’m merely contemplating the stars. Have another glass of wine, Mrs. Wentworth.”

  “Well, since you insist . . .”

  Outside, the buxom girl laughed and the sound echoed over the guitar music from the cantina. The Texan paused, looking uncertainly toward that place.

  Texas, don’t go in there, please, Amethyst silently begged. It was almost as if their two minds connected somehow. He looked toward the inn, jokingly said something to the girl, slapped her on the rump, and sent her back to the cantina, promising he might come in later. Then he sauntered toward the trees, past the barn, and was lost in the shadows.

  Mrs. Wentworth belched. “A very good year.” She peered drunkenly at the bottle, scratched the hairy mole on her nose.

  Did you ever know a bad one? Amethyst thought, but she said nothing, just sipped her own wine nervously and tried to get up the courage to do what she must to escape her fate. She remembered she’d had no food, but in a few minutes, her glass was empy and Amethyst was more than a little drunk when the chaperone slumped back on her bed, snoring loudly.

  Now what? Amethyst wondered. Had the Texan ever returned from the shadowy line of trees? No, she would have seen him. Just what was he doing out there? She stared a little drunkenly out the window. If looked very dark outside, and the night was surely full of rough hombres, wild animals, and all sorts of frights for a sheltered young woman who had never been anywhere unless escorted by a duenna or some other adult.

  For just a moment, Amethyst quavered at the boldness of her plan as she swayed before the window. Then she pictured the big gates of the convent slamming with finality behind her. Did Monique plan to leave her future stepdaughter cloistered there forever? Probably. Amethyst suddenly saw herself as a middle-aged spinster like her beloved Miss Callie. In that case, she might as well take the veil.

  He who hesitates is lost and this is my last chance, she thought, and wrapping a fine lace mantilla around her shoulders and hair, she climbed unsteadily over the casement, then stood in the shadows of the courtyard looking about.

  As she swayed on her feet, she seemed to remember the coach had crossed a creek somewhere near the trees as they pulled into the settlement. Her heart pounded with excitement. To approach an unknown man and speak to him was shocking and unthinkable for a high-born Mexican lady. Remember your mother was an American, she reminded herself, and American women do things others wouldn’t dare to do! Both the wine and the thrill of the forbidden made her pulse pound harder as she slipped across the dark courtyard into the far shadows.

  Somewhere in the desolate Mexican landscape, a coyote wailed and the noise echoed through the eerie moonlight. Amethyst shivered in the cool desert night. As she brushed past gnarled mesquite, her fine silk dress caught on the spines of the small, claret cup cactus.

  She took a deep breath for courage. The scent of sagebrush hung in the air as she approached the stunted, silhouetted trees along the small creek. Amethyst hesitated, more than a little afraid to be out in the hostile darkness. Never in her sheltered life had she gone anywhere without a chaperone, an escort. But the wine she had drunk on an empty stomach made her daring and reckless. Tomorrow, she would be locked away, perhaps forever, in the abbey of the Cloistered Sisters. This was her last chance to avoid that fate.

  “Señor?” she called softly, wondering where the cowboy was. Señor Texas, are you out here?”

  She heard splashing as she pushed through the rough brush and stood on the creek’s edge. Then the two stared into each other’s eyes with shocked embarrassment. The rugged cowboy stood waist-deep in the creek, scrubbing his soapy, naked body.

  Amethyst swayed uncertainly on her feet, but she couldn’t stop looking. The water was clear, and in the moonlight, she could see his big, naked frame . . . every inch of it.

  Chapter Three

  She swayed, trying to decide whether to retreat.

  “What in the blue blazes? . . . He froze in place like a startled wild animal. ”Excuse me, señorita, but—”

  “No perdône me, please,” she felt her face burn with humiliation as she staggered a little under the wine’s influence. Why hadn’t it occurred to her that with the primitive facilities at the small adobe inn, the cowboy would
come down to bathe in the creek?

  She stared at rippling muscles, broad shoulders. His skin was dark but droplets of water gleamed on his broad chest in the moonlight. Never in her whole life had she seen a man even slightly undressed.

  “Por favor, señorita”—he looked back at her, the bar of soap clutched in one big hand—“if you’ve seen enough, perhaps you’d retreat to the inn and toss me my pants as you go?”

  “What?” she started, but still gaped in horrified fascination. Sí, he was indeed completely naked in the waist-deep water, and the clothes hanging across the nearby mesquite bushes must be his. But she made no move to leave. Desperation made her more daring than she had ever dreamed to be. It occurred to her that he’d have to listen to her plea since she stood between him and his clothing.

  “I said, señorita, please go away and save us both some embarrassment.” His drawl now turned peevish. “Where’s your duenna, anyway? A high-class Spanish girl would never think of—”

  “Texas, I am badly in need of help.” She moved closer to the water in her appeal, and thought how remarkable it was that his skin showed lighter below the vee of his shirt collar where the sun hadn’t reached his already dark flesh. He still wore the necklace.

  “You certainly must be.” He shook his head, backing farther into the water, confusion evident in his blue eyes. “Do you realize what might happen to a gringo caught in such a position with a high-class lady like you? Think of your reputation, señorita, think—”

  “It is not I who is naked,” she answered airily, and with as much dignity as she could muster. The wine was making her a little uncertain of her balance. “Señor, I plead with you! If you’ll give me your word as a gentleman that you’ll aid me, I’ll go back inside so you can reach your clothes.”

  “Dammit!” the blond cowboy suddenly implored the dark sky. “What in blue blazes have I done to deserve this? Don’t I have enough trouble without a loco woman trying to bargain with me? I don’t even know your name! All I wanted to do was wash off a little trail dust—”

  “My name is Amethyst, you know, like the jewel. My papa chose it ’cause I have violet eyes.” She moved right to the water’s edge. “You are my last hope, Texas,” she insisted, as she peered at him. Santa María! He really was nakedl The water was just clear enough . . . “My papa is so powerful any Mexican would be afraid—”

  “Well, I’m afraid, too, lady,” he snapped. From the grim line of his square jaw, it was obvious that his temper was beginning to fray. “Look, the Bandit looks out for nobody and nobody looks out for the Bandit!”

  “You have a fine horse.” Amethyst said coyly. “Maybe you’d let me borrow it; I could use it to escape—”

  “Escape to where?” He shivered a little. “This is desolate country, señorita, not much water but lots of cactus and diamondback rattlers! Above the Rio Grande in Texas, the Indians raid with the protection of your government, making anyone’s life or property unsafe! Have you any friends or relatives who might take you in? Help you? Have you any money?”

  His stubborn logic infuriated her. “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet. But if I had that horse—”

  “Then I’d be afoot myself. How do you expect to pay me for the horse?”

  She considered. “All I’ve got right now is this little amethyst ring,” she held out her hand and the small wildflower design gleamed in the moonlight. “My papa is forcing me into a strict convent school—”

  “Well, now, I reckon I can sympathize with Papa,” the cowboy shivered again. “If I had a brazen daughter who insisted on accosting men as they bathe, I’d have sent her to the sisters years ago. Señorita, go back inside before someone raises an alarm and we’re both in big trouble.”

  “No! I’ve got nothing to lose if that happens so I’ll sit right her until you say Sí.” She plopped down on the bank and glared back at the wet cowboy. “Why, it would be terrible to be locked away in the convent forever. I’ve never even been kissed!”

  The cowboy raised one eyebrow. “Lady, if you keep approaching naked men in the dark, you’re going to get more than kissed!” He gestured back toward the inn. “Go away!”

  The wine and her desperation made her unthinkably bold. “No, if you won’t take the ring, could I . . . I offer myself as payment?”

  He clapped one hand against his forehead, and suds ran down his handsome face. “You just got through telling me you’ve never even been kissed! This is all a joke, no? You’re rich and respectable, the kind who wouldn’t spit on a saddle tramp like me! I guess you think to have a thrill, something to laugh with your friends about! Or are you just plain loco?” His drawl was sarcastic, exasperated.

  “I wouldn’t try to make a fool of you, Texas!” As Amethyst tried to focus her eyes on him, it occurred to her that he was more conscious of the chasm between their two stations in life than she was.

  “Look, sweet,” he snapped arrogantly, “I’ve had enough of this horseplay. I can’t help you’cause I’m headed south. There’s hombres looking for me, so I need the horse myself.” His teeth chattered a little.

  “About that horse and that brand . . .” she was trying to decide whether to tell him she recognized both.

  “What about it? Look, that’s the Flying Eagle brand from the Red River area. I’m down here to buy cattle for my father.”

  “Is that a fact?” she answered smugly. “You seem to be getting cold and pruny out there in the creek, Señor Bandit. It’ll be dawn in a couple of hours and if we’re still here then, we’ll have to do some explaining.”

  He threw the bar of soap at her. “Dammit!” Bandit swore for some moments in English and border Spanish, then said, “It’s your reputation that’ll be ruined!”

  “I’ll tear my dress and start screaming when I see vaqueros up and about. I’ll tell them you abducted me from my bed, that you tried to rape me!”

  “My God, I’d be gelded and hanged!”

  She smiled and shrugged. “I know. It would be easier to help me.”

  He shivered again, and stubborn determination etched across his darkly tanned face. His eyes seemed to be gleaming like cold, blue ice. When he was really angry, he might be dangerous, even to a woman. Amethyst noted the hard set of his mouth as he seemed to reach a decision.

  “Sweet, you ever play poker?”

  “No, why?”

  “Because I’ve had enough of this nonsense. We’re about to see if you’re bluffing or gonna stand on your cards and it don’t make me no never mind which! Play or fold, señorita.”

  She got to her feet uncertainly as he started wading toward her. “What? I don’t understand—”

  “Ma’am, I’m coming out,” he said grimly as he strode toward her. “Now, you clear out of here or you’re about to see the most man you’ve ever seen!”

  “No—wait!” She hadn’t counted on the cowboy doing this. She wheeled, attempted to turn and run for the inn, but her foot caught in the lace of her full petticoats. She fell onto a heap of cactus as the big cowboy waded ashore and reached for his pants.

  He was right about one thing. She blushed furiously, as she stood up, pulling at the tiny spines in the purple silk. Still, she couldn’t stop staring. He had to be the most man any woman had ever seen! She’d lost. All this embarrassment and humiliation had been for nothing.

  “Okay, sweet,” he grinned arrogantly as he buttoned his pants. “You want to play another hand? It’s your deal now.”

  Wine, weariness, and hopeless confusion overcame her, and she surrendered to loud sobs.

  He grabbed her in a rough embrace, clapped his hand over her mouth. “Okay, señorita, okay. Shut up before you wake everybody in the whole damned place! Whatever it is you want, maybe I can help. Just hush up!”

  His body felt warm and damp against hers. He smelled of soap, and she noted a second time the little cleft in his chin. As she stood imprisoned in his big arms, it occurred to her that maybe she hadn’t lost after all. Her heart pounded with both excitem
ent and apprehension as he removed his callused hand from her mouth. Amethyst smiled up at him, still a little giddy from the alcohol. She might be innocent, and she’d never played poker, but she was enough of a woman to know instinctively that a tearful queen beats a king in this game. And even a tough-talking Bandit can be bluffed!

  She took both his big, square hands in hers, kissed the back of each and then studied them in the moonlight. “Such strong, capable hands for such a strong, capable pistolero! Will you not help me, Texas?”

  Before he could answer, she squeezed her lips into a . small pout, turned her face up, closed her eyes.

  He chuckled under his breath. “Now just what in blue blazes do you think you’re doin’?”

  Amethyst felt the damp heat of his body through her clothing all the way down her body. She remembered her fantasy of his hands washing her hot, perspiring breasts and felt the flush come to her cheeks. “I thought you might want to kiss me.’

  He held her at arm’s length. “Look, sweet, no more games to amuse an elegant, rich girl, savvy?”

  In the darkness, lusty laughter drifted to them from the cantina. A woman’s throaty voice sang a love song. Amethyst saw the expression in his eyes as he turned toward that sound. “You were getting washed up to go in there, weren’t you?”

  He grinned that crooked grin, reached for his shirt. Whistling a nameless tune, he began to button it. “Well as a matter of fact, I was. A pretty lady made me a nice offer a while ago.”

  She thought about that sinuous girl rubbing herself all up and down his body. Why did that make her suddenly so angry? “Santa María! Don’t you think I could do what those girls do?”

  He laughed under his breath, paused in buttoning the shirt. “Sweet, I have a feeling that you don’t have any idea how those girls earn their pay.”

  Was her innocence so obvious? “I certainly do!” she lied, grabbing his arm.

  He put his wide left hand over her small one and she studied the strength and size of it. “Señorita, you just got through telling me you’ve never even been kissed.” His superior smirk was maddening.