Wayward Lady

by Nan Ryan

  The long, tiring ride continued, her captors avoiding settlements and towns. Suzette felt hope slipping away. Each hour took her farther from home and safety. Time and again she attempted to make them understand her, but they refused to listen and she became increasingly alarmed. If they did intend to ransom her, it was time they made contact with Austin. If that was not their intention, what was? Kaytano was a bank robber, he stole money. He’d never been known to capture helpless women. His career had been spent in the quest for gold. Cold and evil though he was, he was surely handsome enough to have all the women he wanted. So what was she doing here? Why had he taken her, if not for money? Why was he waiting? Why were they still fleeing when no one had pursued them? She’d long since given up hope of the authorities overtaking them. They’d come too far and it had been too long. No one was coming for her; no one even knew where she was. Suzette shivered as the futility registered: unless Kaytano contacted Austin, no one would ever know where she was! She’d be this man’s captive to do with as he pleased. Instinctively she leaned up away from him.

  Weary, weak, her pink skirt and blouse dirty and torn, her scalp itching, her lips chapped from the wind, her hands red and dry, her body aching and sore, Suzette dozed while the big steed loped across the dry, flat desert. The February sun was warm and bright, the air dry and thin. Suzette awoke and looked around. They’d been riding in the desert all day, so she surmised they were somewhere deep in southwest Texas. She’d lost track of the days and nights, and she could hardly remember when she wasn’t mounted on a galloping horse in tandem with a tall, dark half-breed. She was so tired of traveling, she felt she would willingly do anything the bandits wanted if they’d only stop this relentless race across the country.

  As the day wore on, Kaytano felt her squirming in front of him. She was warm and uncomfortable and tired, so very tired. It was hot here, like June in Jack County. Suzette could feel her soiled clothing prickling her sensitive skin. She’d not had her clothes off in days and she was miserable. She hated the quiet, uncaring man behind her. He thought only of himself. He’d apparently planned the long, hard journey because he changed clothes every day! And he took a bath, she was sure of it! Each morning when she awoke, he was standing over her looking fresh and handsome.

  Selfish. That was what Kaytano was. He thought of no one but himself. Oh, certainly he’d indicated that she could bathe if she chose, but she knew very well it would mean disrobing before him, and she was not about to do that. She’d die of filth before she’d let those black eyes rake her bare body.

  Suzette felt Kaytano moving. She turned in the saddle and he offered her the canteen. She snatched it and drank greedily, raising it high, letting some spill down over her chin. When he thought she’d had all that was good for her, he took the canteen from her, though she begged for more. He shook his head. She glared at him for a minute, then turned away from him, pouting. She was grinding her teeth in irritation when she saw it.

  His brown hand came in front of her; in it he held the canteen. Thinking he’d relented, Suzette smiled. To her surprise, Kaytano turned the canteen upside down over her hot, dry face. She blinked and jerked back against him, but he continued to pour, wetting her hair, her face, and soaking the bodice of her blouse. She objected loudly at first, but her cries rapidly turned to sighs. The cooling water felt good. She loved it and turned her eager face up to the small stream, drinking and spreading it over her face and throat with her hands.

  Laughing, her dangerous ordeal for that instant forgotten, Suzette grabbed at the canteen, twisted in the saddle, and turned the rest of the water over Kaytano’s dark head. She squealed as she watched the water drip from his thick, black hair over his forehead, high cheekbones, and mouth. He didn’t smile, but he licked at his lips and tilted his face up. Suzette watched as it ran down his neck and chest, saturating his thin white batiste shirt. Gleefully she watched the soft material stick to his lean chest, the dark brown of his skin showing through.

  With a defiant grin, she handed him the empty canteen and turned away, shaking her wet, tangled hair in his face. The impromptu shower had made her feel like a new woman and she let her eyes feast on the stark beauty of the desert. But reality rapidly returned and she bowed her damp head and sighed. She snapped it up minutes later.

  The desert floor was falling away. They were heading down into a deep, seemingly bottomless canyon. Behind her she heard the three companions calling to one another in Spanish. She couldn’t understand what they said, but she needed no one to tell her that the trail they were starting down was treacherous. Behind her, Kaytano made low, soothing sounds to his big horse as, slowly and carefully, the black stallion began to pick his way down the rockly incline.

  The sun disappeared behind the distant mountains and Suzette silently prayed that it was only a short distance to the bottom. She was terrified by the perilous trail. Not two feet from the horse’s hooves, the trail fell away into a sharp drop. Dust rose in the shafts of fading sunlight, further obscuring the threadlike path.

  The damp blouse and chemise that had felt so good against her heated skin only moments earlier brought chills now. She wondered if Kaytano was as frightened as she. His dark arms were still around her as he carefully guided the horse, and though she longed to clasp those strong arms for safety, she was afraid any sudden movement might make him jerk up on the reins and spook the horse.

  She pressed her back closer to his hard chest, then turned her frightened eyes up to his dark face. The black eyes were alert, but she saw no fear there.

  As they descended into the dimness of the vast canyon, Suzette peered carefully into the depths, then shut her eyes as tightly as possible as she pressed her face into Kaytano’s comforting throat. Almost ill with terror, she knew her life was in the hands of the renegade and his mount. When the black beast stepped on a small stone, he lurched wildly. Too terrified to scream, Suzette clung to the saddlehorn, while Kaytano masterfully reined the horse back into position.

  She could no longer bear to look. She could hear the blowing and snorting of the horse underneath her and the call of the night birds from their hidden perches in the canyon. Kaytano’s steady heartbeat helped reassure her.

  She could finally feel the ground flatten out; only then did she open her eyes. It was twilight and in the distance she could see what looked to be a sprawling fenced-in compound. Suzette longed to ask questions, but knew she’d get no answers.

  A Mexican sentinel wearing bandoliers across his chest swung the gates open. Suzette felt a cold chill when she heard the heavy gates swing shut behind her. Inside the compound, she was lifted from the horse and led inside a lighted building at the center. She looked about the long, rectangular room. A narrow table stretched almost the length of the room along one wall. Chairs lined the other walls. A doorway leading to what she assumed was a kitchen, opened off the back of the big, low-ceilinged room.

  A short, pleasant Mexican woman appeared, smiling her welcome. “Kaytano.” She beamed and spoke rapidly in Spanish. She disappeared as men began to appear from nowhere, filling up the room. Suzette moved nearer to Kaytano while she looked about at the strange assortment of humanity.

  Suddenly realizing she was starving, Suzette willingly took Kaytano’s hand and let him help her onto a long bench at the table. He took his place beside her and the other men sat down. From a door at the right, three young boys and a little girl came running to Kaytano. All were Mexican and all were adorable, especially the girl. She looked to be about three years old, and a prettier child never lived. Suzette blinked in disbelief when each child gave Kaytano a hug.

  The little girl laughed and climbed up onto his lap, her small, brown hands reaching for his shirt pocket. Kaytano kissed her cheek and turned on the bench, nodding to a gray-haired man who’d just come into the room carrying Kaytano’s saddlebags. The man was smiling as he came forward and shook hands with Kaytano, greeting him in Spanish. The man was a good-looking Spaniard, and when he looked at Kaytano,
there was a warm light in his eyes, a look of real affection for the dark man. Suzette noticed the older man’s hand gripping Kaytano’s shoulder as though he were embracing him.

  On Kaytano’s lap, the little girl was standing, her short arm around his neck, while Kaytano opened the bag and drew out a stick of peppermint. Its red and white stripes brought a look of pure happiness to the child’s face. Grabbing it greedily, she let Kaytano kiss her again before he put her down. The boys stood ramrod-straight behind Kaytano. He turned and ruffled the hair of each one, then handed them their candy. All four children ran laughing into the kitchen, shouting to the portly woman dishing up food. Suzette knew enough Spanish to discern that the woman was their mother.

  The plentiful food was delicious. Suzette forgot her dilemma and enjoyed the meal. There were at least a dozen men at the long table. All were Mexican except the white man she’d tried to speak to on the trail. And, of course, Kaytano. Conversation buzzed around her, but it was beyond her understanding. She got the impression she was the subject of the discussion and she looked and listened for clues to what they planned to do with her. She found none. The men ate heartily and drank tequila. But not Kaytano. He was drinking red wine and he poured a glass for her. She tried it and found its taste pleasing. By the time the meal ended, she’d had three glasses.

  While the stocky Mexican woman cleared away the dishes, the men enjoyed their cigars. Kaytano sat beside her, relaxed, a long, dark cigar between his fingers. Suzette felt safe as long as so many people were in the room. When they began to drift away, she became apprehensive.

  Much too soon the men had disappeared and she and Kaytano sat alone at the table. The clatter of dishes from the kitchen ceased and the light went out. Smiling and drying her hands on her apron, the Mexican woman hurried through the big room, nodding and calling, “Buenas noches.” She opened the door at the right, and in a matter of minutes the lamp within was extinguished.

  Kaytano rose and Suzette tensed. He lifted her over the bench and, with a hand at the small of her back, guided her across the big room to a door at the far end. She felt her chest constricting as they neared the door; when Kaytano threw it open and motioned her inside, she hesitated. He stepped past her and held the door for her. His black eyes were on hers and she shuddered, but stepped inside.

  The room was small and clean. Two narrow beds were separated by only a tiny square table bearing an oil lamp. Across from the beds, a scarred bureau held a china washbowl and pitcher behind which a cracked mirror rested against the wall. A couple of simple chairs completed the sparse furnishings. When Suzette heard a clicking sound, she whirled about to find Kaytano locking the door. To her horror, he was still inside.

  All at once her composure crumbled. The long days on the trail when she’d remained calm and hopeful were gone. As long as she was out in the open, she’d managed to keep from surrendering to total panic. With the locking of the door, Kaytano sealed her fate, took her freedom, doomed her to his prison.

  He took a step toward her and she flew to meet him. A scream tore from her tight throat as she became hysterical and lost control. Certain he was going to rape her, Suzette pounded on his hard chest and hurled insults at him.

  “You savage bastard!” she shouted. “You drag me across Texas to this God-forsaken hideout! Why didn’t you save yourself the time and rape and murder me that first night!” Tears coursed down her cheeks and she tossed her head and shrieked, “I hate the sight of you, you brown-skinned, stupid animal! That’s right!” she shouted into his face. “Stand there like a statue with those flat, black eyes staring at me! God, how I wish you could speak English. How I long for you to understand my disgust for you! Never have I seen such a cold, heartless snake. That’s what you remind me of, you slippery son-of-a-bitch!”

  Her hands continued to beat his chest, while he stood, absorbing each blow without so much as the flicker of a dark eyelash. “What would it take to get your attention? Will this do it?” she screamed and raised her hand to his face. Starting at his taut coppery cheekbone, she dragged her jagged nails down his right cheek, drawing blood. “There!” she hissed as tiny drops of blood appeared immediately. “How’s that? Did you feel that?” She eyed him expectantly. From four long furrows, blood dripped down his face and onto the white collar of his shirt. Still he remained quiet, looking at her without expression.

  Suzette began to sob and beat on him until she could no longer raise her tired, aching arms. Spent, she fell against him, still trying to hit him. Her knees were buckling and she felt herself going down. She clung to his white shirt, trying to stay on her feet, but he offered no help. She was on her knees when her hand could no longer clutch the smooth fabric. Slowly each fist opened and, with her palms flat, her hands slid over his stomach and down his thighs. Sobbing quietly, she was at his feet, her head pressed against his sinewy leg. In desperation, she locked her arms around his leg and clung to him, crying as though her heart were breaking.

  For a long time, Kaytano stood above her. He slowly raised his arm and wiped the blood from his face on his shirtsleeve. When Suzette finally stopped crying, Kaytano stooped and lifted her up into his arms. She put up no fight. She was wrung out, completely exhausted, subdued.

  He carried her to one of the narrow beds and laid her down gently. Through puffy eyes Suzette watched him cross the room and return with a soft wet cloth. When his fingers went to the buttons at the neck of her dirty pink blouse, Suzette couldn’t even move. He could do anything he pleased with her now; she could no longer fight him.

  Deftly, Kaytano flipped open three buttons, stopping at the swell of her breasts. With a touch as delicate as a surgeon’s, he gently washed her red eyes, her smudged cheeks, her runny nose. He turned the cloth over and pressed it to her neck and throat, carefully lifting the golden heart in his lean fingers, sliding the damp cloth underneath the chain.

  Placing the heart back in the hollow of her throat, Kaytano moved the cloth up to Suzette’s hairline, as, almost tenderly, he smoothed the dirty, tangled hair back from her forehead and cheeks. Suzette felt a deep weariness claiming her as he tended her.

  He slipped her kid shoes from her feet and pulled a blanket up to her waist. That done, he rose and stood above her, looking down at her through heavy-lidded eyes. Her lashes fluttered sleepily, then flew wide open when his dark head bent close to hers and in a voice so soft and deep it made her shiver, Kaytano whispered, “Welcome to Robber’s Roost, Suzette Brand.”

  25

  “Dear God, I hope she’s not suffering.”

  “Austin, don’t torture yourself this way.” Tom Capps poured two glasses, of bourbon.

  Austin came back to the desk. Fingering the dainty, soiled pink blouse, he shook his blond head in despair. “Tom, will you look at these clothes. They’re torn and filthy and…and…” He dropped the blouse and banged his big fist. “The bastard sent her underwear, her shoes, stockings—everything! He stripped her naked, Tom.” Austin trembled with rage and helplessness.

  “Austin, have a drink and calm yourself. She’s alive. That’s the important thing, isn’t it? I don’t think he’ll harm her.”

  “Not harm her!” Austin bellowed, his face blood-red. “How naive you are, old friend. Why do you think he took her! Not harm her.” Austin ran a hand through his blond hair. “As we speak that savage is…he’s…” He fell silent and sat down heavily in the chair behind his desk.

  Tom Capps pushed the jigger of whiskey to Austin. “Please, Austin, drink it.” Tom looked at the big man slumped over the desk, his head in his hands. He’d seen Austin face dangers and tragedies in the past, had witnessed his hurt and grief before, but never had Austin’s gray eyes held the kind of agony he saw there now. In the two weeks that had passed since Suzette’s disappearance, Austin had hardly eaten, and he slept only an hour or two at a time. He paced the floor and moaned, cursing the dark bandit who was holding his wife; raging at his impotence against the elusive half-breed.

  Austin had know
n from the minute he was notified of Suzette’s capture. “Kaytano,” he breathed, “damn your soul to hell! I’ll kill you for this. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll kill you.”

  After the initial shock, Austin had swung into action. Half the rangers in the state of Texas were searching for Kaytano and his blond captive. Law officers in every city and town were notified; posses were formed, rewards offered, informants sought out, bribes made. A legion of men was sent by Austin himself to search for his beloved Suzette.

  Not one clue had been turned up. There was no trace of the slippery Satanic savage and the helpless young woman he’d stolen. Nothing, that is, until a crudely wrapped box arrived through the mail, postmarked San Antonio, Texas. It was addressed to Austin Brand. Denis Sanders brought it to the ranch, sweeping his hat off his head, telling Kate that he’d come to deliver a package to Mr. Brand.

  From the library, Austin heard Denis and called to him, “In here, son.” Denis, aware of his employer’s tragedy, awkwardly walked into the big room, nodding to Austin and to Tom Capps, who stood in front of the fireplace. He quickly thrust the box into Austin’s hand and fled.