She remembered their time in the barn, the searing pleasure that had obscured everything but the joy they’d felt. Cocking her head to the side, keeping her voice low, she teased, “I don’t know. I think I was pretty bold the last time, in the barn.”
“That you were.”
The sensual softening of his lips emboldened her. She liked feeling that way. Liked who she was with him. Free. Natural. The self it felt she should be, but couldn’t remember. “Maybe when you get me alone again, I can try for something bolder.”
“Damn, sweets, I’m not sure I could take it.”
“Me, neither.”
Behind her she could hear her son start the whining that preceded a wail. Her breasts swelled and tingled. She didn’t have a change of clothes if her milk let down. “I have to take care of Miguel.”
“Yup.”
She couldn’t make her feet move.
Tracker’s hands on her shoulders turned her around. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.” But she couldn’t help feeling that there was something beyond her awareness looming like a thundercloud over this happiness, just waiting to unleash its fury on this new beginning.
Shadow was unwrapping Miguel from the cradleboard. The curse word he uttered wasn’t pretty.
“Mr. Ochoa!” she snapped.
Shadow all but thrust Miguel at her. “Damn, what are you feeding that kid?”
With her next indrawn breath, she understood. Letting him dangle at arm’s length, she gasped, “What did you feed him?”
Shadow didn’t meet her gaze. “What makes you think I fed him anything?”
Tracker came up and stopped dead before taking a step back. “Good God!”
Shadow took two steps back and one to the right. “All I did was give him some of my burrito. To keep him quiet while I was waiting for you two to mosey on out.”
“You gave beans to a six-month-old baby?”
“He liked them.”
“Sure as shit doesn’t smell like they’re liking him back,” Tracker muttered, waving his hand in front of his nose.
Miguel’s face crumpled. His chin wobbled. A tear trickled down his cheek. To Ari’s shock, Tracker took him away, saying, “Give him to me.”
“Do you know how to change a baby?”
He walked over to the saddlebags. “Can’t be as complicated as setting a charge of dynamite.” He rummaged through the bags until he found a clean nappy, soap and a cloth. Miguel just stared at the big man who held him. As Tracker’s hair fell forward, he grabbed a handful and brought it to his mouth.
“You’d think none of them had ever eaten a bean before,” Tracker said, rubbing the little boy’s back.
Miguel grunted, another tear spilling from his eyes.
“Don’t you go believing them. Their shit stinks just like everyone else’s.”
Shadow burst out laughing.
“Oh, my God! Tracker!” Ari cried.
He gave her a hard look. “Do you want him to believe there’s something wrong with him?”
She didn’t. “No, but—”
He cut her off. “Then stop acting like the world’s come to an end because he had a bowel movement.”
He was actually angry. On behalf of Miguel.
“He’s too young to know.”
“The hell he is.” With an efficiency that raised questions, he set about changing the dirty diaper. “As soon as you all started carrying on, he started crying.”
Miguel, rid of the dirty diaper and with a fistful of Tracker’s hair in his mouth, cooed happily.
“I’m sure.”
“There’s nothing wrong with him.”
“I never thought there was.”
“He’s a good baby, and raised right, he’ll be a good man.” Tracker was looking at her like this was something she didn’t know.
“I fully intend to raise him right,” she retorted.
Tracker nodded. “Good. Because he’s going to be Hell’s Eight.”
What Miguel was going to be was her decision. Ari folded her hands across her full breasts and winced. She needed to nurse her son. “That’s not a given.”
Shadow spoke from behind her. “Do not be so quick to deny him a place at Hell’s Eight. For a boy like him, who is neither white nor anything else, being one of the Eight will count.”
How had they gone from discussing Miguel’s diaper to his future? “For what?”
“As a place in which to put his pride when the world would take it away.”
A chill raced over her skin. She rubbed her arms. “He’s just a baby.”
She knew Miguel would face prejudice later in life. She’d seen a bit of it when they’d had visitors at the ranch. But he was still an infant, and the time when he’d have to face the world as an adult was many years away.
“Who will one day be a man,” Tracker said quietly. “To grow up straight, he’ll need a place where he’s accepted.”
“A place where no one will spit on him for being a boy like any other,” Shadow added.
“Yes.” Tracker lifted Miguel up. The boy flashed his toothless grin and kicked his feet. Tracker didn’t smile back. Miguel stopped kicking and his expression grew solemn as he stared at the man holding him. “But no one will spit on you and live, little one. This I promise you.”
Shadow nodded while Miguel stared intently at Tracker, as if seeing him for the first time.
Looking from one brother to the next, Ari knew the feeling. It hit her that they weren’t speculating. They’d faced hatred. They’d been spat on as boys. They’d had their pride taken away. They knew the pain her son could face. She couldn’t picture either Tracker or Shadow as vulnerable boys. They were too strong, too confident, but she could see Miguel as one. And she could see how easy it would be for someone to break his smiling, happy nature with senseless cruelty. All because his skin wasn’t the right color. She tightened her grip on her arms. She’d kill the first person who tried.
Looking over at Tracker she asked, “What makes you so sure he’ll find acceptance at Hell’s Eight?”
As Tracker handed Miguel to her, the wind blew his hair back from his face, leaving nothing to soften the determination in his expression. “Because I’m there.”
Yes, that would do it. Tracker was a fair man with a strong sense of right and wrong. Because of his own heritage, he could offer Miguel understanding and direction. And maybe love? She didn’t know if Tracker could love her son, but if he did, there would be no shirking or holding back. He’d be a father in all ways.
It was something to consider. And in the meantime, he’d made Miguel a promise that was as solid as the man himself. Shadow was right. She shouldn’t be so quick to deny Miguel a place at Hell’s Eight.
“Thank you.”
Miguel fussed, turning his face into her shoulder. He was hungry.
“You’re welcome.” Tracker motioned with his hand. “Why don’t you feed him while I clean this up?”
In a minute, she wasn’t going to have much choice. She sat on the rock and unbuttoned her blouse. Both men turned aside, giving her privacy.
“Where’d you learn to change a diaper?” Ari asked Tracker.
“Worried I’ve got a passel of kids somewhere?”
What was the point in denying the truth? “Yes.”
There was a pause, as if her honesty surprised him. Shadow snorted, whether in laughter or annoyance, she couldn’t tell. The seconds seemed to drag painfully before Tracker said, “I don’t.”
“Have a passel, or any?” Some things a woman had to know, whether it was any of her business or not.
“I don’t have any.”
It was her turn to smile. Leaning down, she kissed the top of Miguel’s head. “Good.”
“Miguel all settled?” Tracker asked, glancing to where the boy played on the blanket she’d laid out.
“For now.”
“Good, then it’s our turn to eat.” Grabbing a tortilla from the stack, he fill
ed it with beans and cheese, then handed it to her. “Holler when you’re ready for another.”
A glance at the plate revealed there wasn’t that much food to go around. Especially when two of the people eating were men. Ari smiled. “One will be enough for me.”
Tracker paused in filling his own tortilla. “If I can’t lie to you, you can’t lie to me.”
“But you need your—”
Shadow grunted and reached for the spoon. “Tia would have our heads if a woman in our presence went hungry.”
“Tia?”
“The woman who raised us after our family was massacred.” He took a bite of his own tortilla, chewing fast.
Tracker hesitated only long enough to order her to eat, before taking a bite of his.
“Are we in a hurry?”
The two men exchanged a look that clearly said they were. “We need to get to Hell’s Eight.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
It was Tracker who answered. “Antonio and his compadres are on their way to Esperanza. Our paths could cross at Drunk Hole.”
The blood left her face in a wash of cold. She wanted to snatch Miguel from the ground and jump on the horse and gallop. “What are we going to do?” Not for an instant did she believe Tracker didn’t have a plan.
“We’re going to ride like hell for the next day and a half,” he told her.
“And what happens then?”
“We hope like hell we get through before the Comancheros.”
Two days of hard riding. How did one accomplish that with a baby? She looked at the cradleboard. Indian babies did it all the time, so it had to be possible, but Miguel wasn’t used to being confined. What if he cried at the wrong time? What if…?
Tracker touched her arm, drawing her gaze. “I told you I’d keep you both safe.”
She had no doubt he’d keep her as safe as he could. But there was only so much two men could do against many. And against Comancheros… Just the name struck unreasoning terror in her heart. It always had. She couldn’t remember meeting Antonio or any other Comancheros, but stories about the atrocities they’d committed abounded. They were horrible men, terrifying in their lack of conscience, vicious in their treatment of those who crossed their path. Tracker had known they were coming, and he’d still held to his promise.
His hand slid over her shoulder to curve around her neck. She wished he’d pull her close. He didn’t, but his thumb tipped her chin up. “Don’t worry.”
She licked her lips. “That’s why you kidnapped me, isn’t it? That’s why you couldn’t wait for the wedding. You ran out of time.”
“Yes.”
“You could have told me.”
He shook his head, his long hair sliding over his shoulders. She curled her fingers, remembering how it had felt in her hands. “Telling would mean explaining. And there were things you didn’t need to hear.”
“Like the truth about Josefina and Vincente?”
His thumb brushed her lips. “Yeah. I would have spared you that.”
“I wouldn’t have believed you, even if you’d tried.”
His fingers moved gently back and forth on the back of her neck. “I know that, too.”
She hated the pity in his voice, hated being pitiful. At the same time, she wanted to crawl into his arms and let him shelter her from the world. He was a nice man, but right now she needed him to be the tough hombre who could take on ten men in a bar and make them all back down.
She held in a moan. Comancheros.
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t go back on my promise to marry you.”
She shook her head. That’s what he was worried about? “It was just circumstances that forced your hand. I understand.”
He shook his head in turn. “Among my father’s people, a public statement of marriage is the same as fact.”
It took her a second to remember what he’d said in the cantina.
“You said that to save me.”
“I knew what I was doing.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. Don’t worry. I’ll get you safely to Hell’s Eight.”
“And when we get there? What then? Do you really consider us married? Do we stay married? Do we divorce?” Do I run from the chaos of my life?
Nothing Tracker felt showed on his face. “That will depend on you.”
“I don’t understand.”
He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. After the briefest hesitation, he handed it to her. She turned it over. Worn from handling, frayed at the edges and torn in a couple places, it didn’t look like much. “What’s this?”
He shrugged. “The answer to your questions.”
She read Desi’s letter over and over during the next nine hours. Memorizing every word over every brutal mile, until she wasn’t sure what was fact, what was fiction, what was real and what was a nightmare. She read it until she couldn’t focus anymore. Ari put the letter in her pocket and concentrated on staying on the horse while the miles passed. She rode until she couldn’t even think, and still Tracker didn’t call a halt.
She understood why; she just wasn’t sure she was strong enough to make it through.
“Just a little longer, sweets.”
Tracker had been feeding her that line for the last two hours. And she’d been feeding him the same line back. “All right.”
Needing something to do besides dwell on her misery, she studied the brothers. If not for the scar on Tracker’s face, it really would be hard to tell them apart. Both men had the same mannerisms, the same bold, handsome features cut into those compelling lines. The same hooded eyes that made her think of hot nights and soft sheets. She glanced down. The same strong thighs. They were twins.
She touched the pocket where she’d tucked the letter. And so was she.
A glance at Miguel revealed that he was still content in his cradleboard, tied to Tracker’s saddle. She offered up a silent prayer of thanks that he was oblivious to the tension pressing down upon her. The letter crinkled under her touch. She had a twin.
She tried the pronouncement again. No sense of recognition lifted the darkness of her past. No sense of loss weighed down her awareness of the present.
Her horse stumbled. Grabbing the horn, she righted herself. She wished she’d thought to ask Tracker more questions. Were they exact twins, like Tracker and Shadow? Did they share the same tastes, the same likes and dislikes?
Do you remember the game we used to play at the summer house?
No, she didn’t. No matter how she tried, Ari didn’t remember a thing. It was so scary to read about her relationship on paper, to have someone love her so much. Someone she couldn’t even remember. She reached for the letter. Someone who told her that the rest of their family was dead, but that she was waiting. Telling Ari that they searched for her, would not give up. That she’d planted daisies. What kind of person planted daisies, for heaven’s sake?
The paper crumpled in her grip. Not for the first time, she wondered if the reason her memory was gone was because what lurked behind that black curtain was too horrible to be borne.
“You hold that much tighter and there won’t be anything left to read,” Shadow said, moving his horse closer.
Her muscles tensed. She didn’t like having him so near. No matter that he was Tracker’s brother, there was something about the man that made her want to run. It wasn’t that Shadow was any more wild than Tracker. Both men were as untamed as this land. For her, Tracker was safe, but Shadow reminded her of something else, someone else. Especially when he tilted his head as he was right now, so the shadows hugged his face.
She steered her horse away. “Thank you.”
Shadow followed. “He meant what he said earlier.”
“Who?”
“Tracker.”
She held her ground. “What did he say?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
All right, she wouldn’t. “I was trying to be polite and spare yo
ur feelings.”
“From what?”
“From the insult of having to be told what’s between Tracker and me is none of your business.”
To her surprise, that earned her a quirk of lips so similar to Tracker’s that her wariness faded.
“So there is some spunk in you.”
Apparently. “Excuse me?”
He went on as if she hadn’t raised her brows. “You’re going to need it.”
“Because your brother thinks I’m married to him?”
Shadow shook his head. “Because he’s Indian.”
“He doesn’t seem to have been raised Indian.”
“Doesn’t matter. The problem lies in the color of his skin.”
“It’s the same as yours.”
“Yup, but I’m not carrying on with a white woman.”
“We are not ‘carrying on’.” She didn’t know what they were doing, but it was more than that.
“In his eyes, you’re married.”
“As easy as it is to get married, I bet it’s twice as easy to get divorced.”
Shadow’s gaze narrowed and anger rolled off him like a summer storm, hard, fast and furious. “You don’t know shit about my brother.”
“And you don’t know shit about me.” A press of her knees set her horse in a faster pace. Though she pulled ahead, she could feel him watching her. Why had she let so much distance get between them and Tracker?
Shadow’s big black came abreast. Her heart skipped a beat when he reached down and caught her horse’s bridle, pulling her up short. “My brother’s willing to die for you.”
She jerked on the reins; Shadow didn’t let go. “I didn’t ask it of him.”
Shadow glared at her. The glance he cast ahead said clearly that he didn’t want Tracker to hear their exchange. She braced herself. “But if Comancheros came upon us right now, you’d be diving behind him and be damn grateful for the opportunity.”
Yes, she would. Anyone would. “Just say what you want to say.”
“He deserves better than to be used.”
“I’m not using him.”
“The hell you’re not. You’re clinging to him like a drowning victim thrown a lifeline.” Shadow caught her arm and leaned closer until his face was just inches from hers. His voice, low and rough, scraped over her nerves. “If you hurt him, I’ll come after you.”
Tracker’s Sin Page 11
