Diablo

by Potter, Patricia;

  “Hang on,” Kane said. The wound wasn’t too bad. The boy would survive. But for what? To get caught in a shoot-out here? To see his uncle and perhaps his sister go to prison?

  He thought about how the girl had looked so determined as she’d held a gun on him, and yet she had to have been scared. And the boy trying so hard to be a man …

  What in the hell were they doing here?

  Keep your distance, he told himself. You can’t afford pity, or sympathy or … anything else.

  The boy slumped farther in the saddle. “What’s your name?” Kane asked.

  “Robin,” the boy replied in a weak voice.

  “Well, Robin, you’re going to be fine. Just try to keep awake.”

  The boy struggled to sit up straight.

  “Don’t,” Kane said. “I’ll hold you.”

  “I can do … it myself.”

  “I know,” Kane said softly, fighting off the unwanted memories that were beginning to surface. Memories of Davy’s family rescuing him from hunger and fear.

  The strange little town came into view, and the street that wasn’t anywhere on a map. “The first house,” the boy said. Several people had gathered in front of the stone and adobe house, which was the finest in Sanctuary, Kane had noticed.

  He guided the horse to the hitching post, and Nat Thompson, his face red and full of anger, reached for his nephew.

  Kane helped lower the boy, and another man, a huge man with biceps like tree trunks, carried him inside. The girl, who had been watching from the porch, followed, leaving Kane alone in the street.

  He was ready to turn his horse and return to the hotel when an older man he hadn’t seen yet walked out the door.

  “Come inside,” the man said.

  It wasn’t an invitation, and Kane had to tamp down his resentment before he dismounted.

  When he reached the door, the man stuck out his hand. “I’m Mitch Evers.” Wondering exactly what Evers’s role was, Kane took the man’s hand, somehow understanding that he didn’t extend it often.

  “I hear you offered to take blame for the shooting,” Evers said. “That won’t be necessary. John Yancy is now being escorted from Sanctuary. He won’t be back.” There was a hardness to his voice that belied the slight smile on his lips.

  Kane didn’t ask any questions. He just nodded and turned to leave.

  “Nat wants to see you. He’ll be here as soon as he makes sure Robin is all right.”

  “The boy should be okay,” Kane replied. “He lost a lot of blood, but I don’t think the bullet hit anything serious.”

  “You sound like you know a lot about wounds.”

  “I was in the war four years.”

  Evers nodded, and the two men went inside to a large main room. Evers went to a cabinet and turned to Kane. “Want a drink?”

  Kane nodded.

  Evers poured one. He didn’t look at Kane. “Not curious about Yancy?”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “Then why did you interfere out there?”

  “I figure a gunshot in my vicinity is my business.”

  Evers chuckled. “Mebbe so.” He handed Kane a glass filled with amber-colored liquid. Kane took it, sipped appreciatively. It was good whiskey.

  Evers waved a hand toward a chair, and Kane sat. Like everything else about this house, the chair was good quality and comfortable.

  Kane sensed that being invited inside Nat Thompson’s home was unusual. His first meeting with Thompson had suggested nothing but cold professionalism. Through no design on his part, Kane had apparently made a unique place for himself, and he didn’t care for it. He had made his offer to the Thompson girl instinctively, and now he was in the home of Sanctuary’s mayor, drinking his whiskey. Masters would be proud. Kane squirmed a little, feeling dirty inside.

  The door to another room opened, and Nat Thompson appeared. Kane stood and was gestured back down again. He endured a very long searching study.

  “What were you doing out there?” Thompson asked. The question came unexpectedly, like a lightning bolt from clear skies.

  “I like to know something about the place I’m in,” Kane replied.

  “I’d think you’d rather be drinking after that long ride.”

  Kane shrugged. “I’ve been on the run too long to give up certain habits.”

  Thompson visibly relaxed as if he understood that line of thinking. “Not too many of my customers feel that way. They generally spend the first few days in the saloon or in bed.”

  “Maybe they haven’t spent time in jail … or getting as close as I did to the noose.”

  “Most of them wouldn’t have interceded in something that didn’t concern them, either.”

  “I didn’t have to intercede. Your niece had everything under control.”

  “You helped my nephew. You made an offer that could have got you killed. I owe you for that.”

  The last thing Kane wanted was this man’s gratitude. Not when Kane’s sole aim was to see Thompson hung or sent to prison.

  Kane gulped the rest of his whiskey and stood. “How’s the boy doing?”

  “Andy says he’ll be fine in a few days.”

  “He’s got spunk.”

  “Too much for his own good.”

  Then why is he here? Kane wanted to ask. Thompson was crazy for allowing a kid and a girl to run loose among men like him.

  Thompson seemed to read his mind. “They don’t have anyone else. I try to protect them, but …” He stopped, then sighed. “You have my thanks.”

  Kane shook his head. “It isn’t necessary. I think I’ll go get some of that rest you mentioned.”

  Thompson smiled for the first time. “When I said bed, I didn’t particularly mean rest.”

  Kane smiled. “Maybe later. Your method of traveling was none too comfortable.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s effective in keeping you and the others safe.”

  And you. Kane kept that thought to himself, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment.

  “You want a woman, it’s on me,” Thompson said. “For as long as you’re here.”

  That the offer left him cold stunned Kane. It had been a long time since he’d last slept with a woman, and yet the thought of being with just any woman didn’t appeal to him. He cared even less for the thought that maybe a toffee-hair girl in pants did.

  He nodded again, put the glass down, and headed for the door before Thompson’s all-too-perceptive eyes read his mind.

  Chapter Four

  Kane slept through the night and much of the next day, not waking until late afternoon.

  He’d had only one nightmare—of being hit by his father.

  Kane was incorrectly named for the biblical character who had killed his brother. For it was his mother he had killed—though not through evil intent. His birth had been fraught with complications, and his mother had died. His father had never forgiven him; and, being illiterate, had never known the name was misspelled.

  Kane rose from the bed and, without bothering to cover his nude body, went to the window. Sanctuary could get monotonous, with its one street, one saloon, one house of joy. Safety had its price, and not only in money. The street looked as it did yesterday; men wandered it with no particular purpose in mind. He wondered how many knew what had happened yesterday. Or if they even cared.

  Kane stretched as if he could remove the kinks in his thoughts as well as his body. He was still looking out the window when he saw Thompson’s niece heading toward the hotel. She looked up and he realized she could see him. Her eyes widened, then she quickly headed toward the store across the street. How could her innocence have survived in a place like this?

  Kane dressed, then walked down the stairs to the dining room. One man was sitting at a table; the other six tables were empty.

  “Mr. Diablo,” the man said as he rose from his seat.

  “O’Brien,” Kane corrected him.

  “Mr. O’Brien it is,” the man said cheerfully. “W
e’ve been waiting for you to wake up. This meal is on the house, Mr. Thompson said.”

  If this was a singular honor, it was one he could do without. “Steak, if you have it.”

  “Oh, we have nearly everything, particularly beef. Have our own herd here.”

  Kane grinned his most disarming grin, the one that usually got him what he wanted. “Seems you have everything a man could want.”

  “Mayor Thompson planned it that way,” the man said. “I’m Jeb Gibson.”

  “You a permanent resident?”

  Jeb nodded. “I run the hotel, do most of the cooking. Help’s hard to get.”

  “How many live here?” Kane asked, true interest behind the question. He was fascinated by Sanctuary’s resemblance to a real town … and the violence that lay simmering beneath the peace.

  “Oh, about twelve to fifteen, depending.”

  “Depending on what?”

  Jeb Gibson’s loquaciousness came to a sudden end, as if an invisible gag had been shoved in his mouth. He turned toward the door, muttering. “Better get that steak. Be just a few minutes.”

  Kane found himself a chair, one backed to the wall so he could see anyone who entered. He wondered where the other “guests” were, and who they were.

  He was halfway through a steak when several started wandering in. They eyed him curiously, gazes quickly going to the scar on his face. He would have recognized them anywhere, not particularly who they were, but what they were, even without their gunbelts. There was a coldness in their eyes, a cautiousness as they surveyed the room—and himself. He felt a sudden chill. He was one of these men, so much so that the law sent him here: an outlaw to catch outlaws.

  Only one came up to him. He was a tall, rangy man, and he walked like a panther. He thrust out his hand. “Sam Hildebrand,” he said. “Heard you was a reb. I fought them Yanks in Missouri.”

  Kane knew the name. The man was rumored to run with Frank and Jesse James. He took the hand and acknowledged the introduction with a nod.

  His reticence didn’t seem to bother Hildebrand, who dropped down on a seat at his table. “We’re having a poker game this evening. Thought you might like to join us.”

  “Why not?” Something about Hildebrand made Kane’s skin crawl. Kane had turned outlaw to survive. Hildebrand was a man born to banditry and death. Kane had heard tales of the bushwhackers in Missouri; as far as he was concerned they had nothing to do with war, and everything to do with personal greed and blatant killing. But every bit of information he could gather would help him.

  He finished his steak and rose from his seat. “When is the game?”

  “A few hours. Over at the saloon,” Hildebrand replied.

  “Think I’ll take a look around first.”

  “Heard you did some lookin’ yesterday. Some men saw you come riding in with the kid. Strange about that. Some of Thompson’s men came and fetched John Yancy about the same time. Escorted him out, they did, and without his brother. Which means Cobb is dead.”

  Kane should have guessed. Gossip seemed to be the chief activity here. Now he knew why he’d been asked for poker.

  Kane shrugged. “Found the kid hurt, that’s all.”

  “Just the same, John might wonder about your part in it.”

  “That’s his problem.” Kane brushed past him.

  “Just a friendly warning. The Yancys have a reputation for getting even.”

  Kane didn’t answer. This whole thing was turning into a mess. But John Yancy was the least of his worries.

  He strode to the stable, found his horse and saddled it. The blacksmith came over to him.

  “Going someplace?” the man asked.

  “Feeling a bit restless. Any suggestions for a ride?”

  “I would think after yesterday you might want to stay in town a while.”

  “It goes against my grain to stay still long,” Kane replied. “I’ve been running nigh onto two years now. I like to study my exits.”

  The blacksmith stuck out his hand. “We didn’t get introduced yesterday. I’m Andy, blacksmith and stabler. You need anything, you come to me. You did real good with the boy yesterday.”

  “Everybody call him ‘the boy’?” Kane was curious about the relationships in Sanctuary.

  Andy raised an eyebrow. “Someone else did?”

  “Man named Hildebrand.”

  “He must have been asking you about yesterday then. Natural enough, I guess. One Yancy disappearing like that, the other being asked to leave.”

  “Asked to leave?”

  Andy grinned suddenly. “Guess he didn’t have too much choice.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  The smile disappeared. “No. Not many challenge Mr. Thompson nor fool with his kin. Them that do don’t live long.”

  “So I understand.” Kane mounted his horse. “Any suggestions as to where to ride?”

  “Just don’t go too close to the canyon walls without escort,” Andy said. “You saw the creek yesterday. There’s some right pleasant places along it, even a pretty good fishing spot a few miles down.”

  Kane nodded. “How’s the boy doing?”

  “Well enough. Madder ’n hell at being shot. Even madder at being used by that coyote. One good thing—he’ll sure as hell be more careful next time.”

  “It has to be hard on him, no other kids here.”

  “Better than an orphanage.” Andy scowled as if he’d said too much. “Remember about not getting too close to the canyon walls.”

  Kane touched his spurs to the sides of his horse and cantered off down the street.

  Except for a brief trip to the general store, Nicky spent most of the day with her brother, who slept, aided by laudanum. His wound looked ugly, but Nicky guessed his pride suffered the greater damage. Who wouldn’t hurt at being used and being seen helpless and weak? Perhaps it was just as well; his embarrassment might keep him away from Diablo.

  Funny, but Diablo hadn’t seemed much like the devil yesterday. He’d been compassionate, and his offer to take the blame had completely blindsided her. There had to be a reason, she kept telling herself. No one did something for nothing, not in her world. Maybe there were knights in shining armor in books, but not in real life. Diablo wanted something. But what was it?

  Right now, Nicky only wanted him to stay away from Robin—and from her. Although he didn’t act like the devil, he looked like the devil, the devil of temptation. A vivid image of his nude form, only partially concealed by a curtain, flashed in her mind, bringing color to her cheeks. In that brief moment before she’d torn her gaze away from him, she’d been unable to breathe. He’d looked magnificent.

  Suddenly unable to sit still, she stood and started prowling the house. Her uncle kept most of the Wanted posters and articles about outlaws at home, and she found the file on Diablo. She’d read it before, but she wanted to read it again. There were two Wanted posters, one dated a year ago, the other a more recent one. She knew the particulars: six foot one, one hundred and seventy pounds, dark hair, gray eyes. Wanted for murder and numerous robberies. He was an ex-cavalry man, a captain with the reb army, who had turned outlaw after the war.

  Sanctuary had seen its share of others like him, men who hadn’t been able to return to civilian life after the war. Despite that similar background he wasn’t like the others, which made him dangerous to her. Instinct told her he was also dangerous to her uncle, but she didn’t know how or why.

  Later, toward dusk, she went outside on the porch for some fresh air and saw him riding toward the house. He was barely touching the reins, which were draped over the saddle horn, and his hands were holding something.

  “Miss Thompson,” he greeted her.

  She nodded in acknowledgment.

  “I found a baby hawk. It must have fallen from a nest in the canyon wall.” He hesitated a moment, then continued. “I thought maybe your brother might like to take care of it.”

  Nicky was delighted. She loved animals, and so did Robin. The
ir dog, Caesar, had died last year, and Robin had been heartbroken. She held out her hands for the bird, cuddled the small thing for a few seconds, and looked up at O’Brien. “How did you know?”

  Color rose in his face. If she hadn’t known better she almost would have called it a blush.

  “Kids and animals go together,” he said curtly, almost rudely, then moved his horse back a few steps and continued his way to the hotel.

  She could only stare at him in astonishment. None of the other guests would have cared about the bird or Robin’s feelings.

  He’s an outlaw, she told herself. A deadly one. And yet his guarded gray eyes held little cruelty. She didn’t get that icy feeling around him as she did with the others, as though they were rattlesnakes coiling to hit. Maybe he hid those snake bands better than most.

  She’d also seen her share of charmers, whose laughter turned lethal in a matter of seconds. Her uncle was like that. His magnetism was the first secret of Sanctuary’s success, his hardness, the second. When one didn’t work, the other did. Could Diablo be setting her up for the kill?

  “Hellfire,” she muttered. Cradling the small bird in her hand, she took it in to Robin.

  Kane stabled his horse, then went directly to the saloon. He needed a drink. He’d discovered that Nat Thompson protected his valley very well indeed. Guards seemed to be at every possible exit. The only way to discover Sanctuary’s location was from within. None of the guests knew what that location was, but he’d lay money that Thompson’s niece did.

  Miss Thompson. The woman with tough talk and eyes that had warmed when he’d handed her the bird minutes ago. Her mouth had turned up into a delighted smile. Her hands had been gentle as they’d stroked the small hawk, and he’d felt a sudden, unexpected ache to have them touch him.

  Had anyone ever touched him with such care and tenderness?

  He’d had a hawk for a brief time as a boy. His father had wrung its neck, saying it would kill the chickens when it grew up. So when he’d found the baby hawk today, he couldn’t have left it to starve to death. But nursing it didn’t exactly go with his image as a hardened gun-fighter. Then he’d thought of Robin.