by Stacy Henrie
He reached for his silver pocketwatch and ran his thumb over the engravings. Not sleeping had become the only way to stop reliving the nightmare that haunted him every time he closed his eyes.
On the other side of the door, he heard his stallion Dughall give a low rumbling whistle. Jackson had been invited to stay in the hacienda, but he preferred to stay close to his horse.
The old tack room was better than some of the places he had slept the last couple of years. Hopefully that would change if the negotiations with Señor De Zavala produced the business deal he wanted.
The sound of a hinge opening, followed by another soft whistle from Dughall, brought his attention back to the stalls. Someone was messing with his stallion. Again.
There had been attempts to steal the horse in Galveston and San Antonio. His jaw locked. Anger turned his gut. He was sick and tired of people taking from him.
Jackson slipped on his shirt, pulling it over his shoulders. He didn’t waste time with the buttons or tucking it into his pants. Not bothering with his boots, he picked up his Colt, checking to make sure the chambers were loaded as he headed out of the tack room.
Slipping through the door, he scanned the area. The wide corridor was better lit than his windowless room. He stayed close to the wall. At the opposite end, he saw Dughall’s door open. The great stallion tossed his head as he stepped out.
To Jackson’s shock, a boy sat on the brute’s back. It’s just a kid.
At best, the stallion tolerated strangers around him. The boy looked to be about twelve years old, maybe thirteen. He didn’t recall seeing him on the ranch earlier today. The boy leaned over the black’s neck. His small hand patted the quivering muscles ready to run. The kid had no idea how much power waited under him.
“Stop right there.” Jackson kept his voice low and firm.
The horse and boy swung their heads toward him. Wide eyes stared at him from under the rim of the oversize battered hat. The boy wore quality clothes, but they were worn and ill fitted. The scuffed boots looked to be a size too big, going all the way up to his knees.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He lowered the gun, but scanned the stables to make sure the boy was alone.
No answer.
He took a couple of steps closer and switched to Spanish, asking the boy what he was doing. “¿Qué estás haciendo?”
The boy’s eyes went wider, obviously surprised he spoke the native language. The kid’s lips remained shut tight.
“¿Qué estás haciendo?” he asked him again.
“El caballo quiere correr.” The voice was so low it was hard for Jackson to hear.
Was the kid trying to be funny? Jackson replied again in Spanish. “The horse told you he wanted to go for a run? Kid, that’s still stealing. I should turn you over to the sheriff.”
“No.” The boy’s hands fisted in the dark mane. He kept his head down, cleared his throat and coughed. “My... Señor De Zavala wouldn’t mind.”
“That’s my horse. If Señor De Zavala gave his permission, why are you—” Jackson searched for the word he needed “—sneaking around in the dark?” Approaching the horse, Jackson slipped the gun into his waistband. “Should we go get your boss?” A quick jerk of the boy’s head confirmed what Jackson already guessed. “Kid, do you even belong on the ranch?”
“I belong.” Chin up, he looked so small on the big stallion. Patting the horse’s neck, the boy relaxed his shoulders and turned away.
Jackson reached for the leather reins. “This stallion could have killed you. Don’t think your ma would appreciate losing you over a ride.”
“My mother is dead, señor.” The youth tried to pull the reins from Jackson.
His hands looked too smooth to have ever done any real work. Jackson growled in frustration. The poor kid was an orphan doing what he had to do to survive. He continued in Spanish. “So who’s waiting for you?”
“Nadie.”
Nobody. Such a simple word to describe a devastating existence for a child.
“Right.” Jackson fought down the urge to offer the kid a safe place. He didn’t have the time or resources to take on a lost boy.
Helping people never worked out anyway. His hand felt huge circling the boy’s upper arm as he pulled him off the horse. The warmth coming through the cloth surprised Jackson.
Once on the ground, the kid barely reached Jackson’s chest. The youth’s wide-eyed stare stayed glued on the front of his shirt he had left open. Turning red, the boy jerked his head down, then tried to yank his arm free. The underdeveloped muscles weren’t much of a contest to Jackson’s strength.
“When was the last time you ate?” For more times than he could count, Jackson was glad he had learned his grandmother’s native tongue. She had been proud of her homeland of Spain.
“I am not your concern, señor.” He tried to jerk his arm back again. “Release me.”
The boy’s Spanish sounded educated. “So you can steal something else?” With his hands wrapped around the small arm, Jackson pulled the boy closer. Just because he wasn’t turning the youngster over to the law, didn’t mean he couldn’t scare him. “What’s your name?”
The boy glared up at him with his lips pulled tight into a thin line. He had a fresh scrape across the left side of his face.
Jackson gave him a slight shake. The kid was going to end up in a bad way if he wasn’t careful. “You want to dangle from a rope? They hang horse thieves. They won’t care about your age. What’s your name?”
The small jaw locked down and the muscle flexed, stubbornness written all over the soft face.
“Fine. You can tell the sheriff.” He started pulling the boy toward the old tack room. Jackson hoped the kid didn’t call his bluff.
“Santiago! My name’s Santiago.” His voice cracked. The boy started coughing as he fought Jackson’s grip.
Jackson stopped and stared down with one eyebrow raised, waiting for the rest of the name.
The kid shuffled his feet, looking at the ground. The narrow shoulders slumped. “Smith.” The single mumbled word disappeared into the floor.
“Really? Smith?” The kid either didn’t know his last name, or he lied. Knowing how harsh the world could be, Jackson figured it might be a bit of both.
“Listen kid, why don’t we talk to the boss and see about getting you a job?”
Santiago’s head shot up, his dark eyes large. With a short growl, the boy swung his leg back and kicked Jackson hard in the shin. Caught by surprise, he loosened his grip. The ragtag boy took the opportunity to run.
Straight to Dughall. The stallion still stood in the middle of the barn, ground tied when one of the reins dropped in a coil on the dirt-packed floor.
As if he did it all the time, the small body flew onto the bareback of the horse as he grasped the leather reins. With a kick the stallion bolted out the large barn door, past the corrals and into the moonlit pasture with the kid.
Jackson bit down the angry thoughts as he ran after them. The kid was going to get them both killed. At the door, he placed two fingers in his mouth and let out a loud whistle that covered the night sounds.
To Jackson’s surprise, Dughall didn’t stop right away. He whistled again.
At the edge of the tree line, the big black stopped and looked back at him. The boy’s seat never wavered. The kid knew how to ride.
The stallion swung his head around, back to the trees. Santiago dug in the back of his heels and slapped the leather reins against Dughall’s rump, urging him forward.
One last whistle pulled the horse’s attention back to Jackson. As the big animal turned and moved toward the barn, he hung his head low.
The kid jumped from the stallion’s back and ran into the trees. The big brute paused as if he wanted to join the little thief.
�
�Get over here!” Jackson scolded his horse.
A lit kerosene lamp came from the house, swinging as the carrier came closer to the barn. Jackson recognized Rafael De Zavala, the ranch owner.
“What is all the noise about? Is everything all right?” His smooth Spanish accent enriched his crisp English.
“There seems to be a little thief running wild.”
“Híjole, more gangs have moved into the area. Is everyone safe? Did they take anything of value?”
“Tried to run off with Dughall.” The horse stood next to him now and nudged him with his soft muzzle. Jackson wasn’t sure if he was apologizing or asking to leave with the boy.
From the other side of the barn, a few of the ranch hands joined them, guns drawn.
“I’ll send for the sheriff.” De Zavala turned.
“No, don’t worry about it. The kid was beat up and half starved. He didn’t get away with anything. Everyone should go back to bed.”
“Diego.” De Zavala called out. “Stay in the barn and stand guard. Estevan, make sure we have someone every night to watch the horses.”
The men left. Jackson turned to De Zavala and held his hand to midchest. “He was about this tall. His name was Santiago. Do you know him?”
The older man’s mouth fell open, then he shook his head. “No, it couldn’t be. Are you sure? My son, who drowned during a storm, is Santiago.” De Zavala gave him a tight smile and shook his head. “I’m being foolish. My son is gone, and he would be taller. He was a man, not a boy.”
He walked over to Dughall and placed a hand on Jackson’s horse. “You have a very fine stallion. Is it too late in the night to talk business? I’m unable to sleep, and I have an idea to give you.”
That sounded promising. More so than anything else Rafael De Zavala had said since they started corresponding months ago. Jackson nodded.
“Settle your horse then, and come to the back of the house through the kitchen. We will meet in my study. Everyone is asleep, and we can finish our talk of business.”
“I’ll be there.” His plans were falling into place.
“Good. I have given much thought to what you want, and I think you can take care of a problem I have. It will be a good partnership.”
Jackson watched the man make his way back to the big hacienda. Arrogance and shrewdness radiated off him, much like Jackson imagined it did off the conquistadors of old.
Dughall looked with longing in the direction the boy had disappeared. “I know there was something about the kid, but we can’t save them all, old man. Come on, we offered him a job and he ran. I’ll take you out for a run tomorrow.”
Jackson had one goal, and that was to get De Zavala to sell him a few of his broodmares. Their bloodlines were as old as those conquistadors. There was also a perfect property on the edge of town.
He brushed down Dughall and thought of the ranch he wanted to build. He visualized a place much like this one, but smaller. He wouldn’t need such a big house for just him, and he wasn’t going to marry. Not ever again.
He gave one last look out to the trees. Should he try to go after the kid? He had to be hungry. He sighed and threw the brush back in the bucket. Santiago would know the countryside better than he did. In the morning, he’d ask the ranch hands. Someone had to know the kid’s story.
Copyright © 2017 by Jolene Navarro
ISBN-13: 9781488017735
The Renegade’s Redemption
Copyright © 2017 by Stacy Henrie
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9 Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
