“Everyone gets scared.”
“Not me.” She tucked the pistol into the folds of her skirt as he’d instructed, and squared her shoulders. “I can’t afford to get scared anymore.” She looked up, catching him unaware. “Can I?”
He didn’t have a choice but to give her the truth. “No. Whatever you’re afraid of, you’ve got to face it down for Miguel’s sake.” He cocked his head, listening. Miguel’s cries weren’t getting any weaker. The boy had his mother’s stubbornness. “And your own,” he added, getting to his feet.
“I don’t matter.”
No way was he letting that stand. “A lot of people have spent a lot of grueling hours in the saddle proving otherwise.”
Her chin came up. “They have, haven’t they?”
“Yes, so do what I tell you and stay alive.”
He held out his palm. When she didn’t immediately place hers in it, he crooked his fingers. He thought she muttered something about “bossy” before giving him her hand. He pulled her to her feet, steadying her a second while she found her balance. “The gun’s heavy, so don’t wear out your arm pointing it into empty space. Remember that surprise is your best weapon.”
Miguel stopped crying. A creeping unease raised the hairs on the back of Tracker’s neck.
Shit.
“Stay here.”
“No.” Ari grabbed his arm. “He’s my son.”
“And I’m going to get him, but as mean of a son of a bitch as I am, I can’t do what needs to be done if I have to worry about you, too. You interfere and Miguel will die.”
Her face went white, but she let Tracker go. “Do you think there’s trouble?”
Anything was possible out here. “I’m about to find out.”
9
Not a bird sang for the five minutes it took Tracker to creep up on the campsite. Not a breeze stirred. Not a damn thing moved except himself, in a slow, careful crawl across the ground. It was possible Shadow had come back. It was just as possible he hadn’t. Until he knew who or what had made Miguel stop crying so abruptly, Tracker wasn’t taking any chances. Thirty feet from his goal, he ran out of cover. Kneeling carefully, he brought his rifle up. A man squatted in front of the baby. Too close to the boy for a head shot, and so close a bullet might pass through, making a chest shot risky. Tracker lowered the muzzle, aiming for the stranger’s knee.
“Move,” he whispered. He held off firing, as something about the man struck a chord. There was nothing distinctive about his clothing, but the way he held his head…
“I think you misplaced something, amigo.”
Tracker lowered his gun. “What the hell are you doing here, Zacharias?”
“At the moment, quieting this little one so we don’t have that band of Comancheros north of here breathing down our necks any sooner than we have to.” He looked over his shoulder at Tracker. “Who is the mother?”
“Ari.”
Zacharias whistled under his breath. “You found her?”
Tracker nodded. Before he was halfway to Zach, the man came to the obvious conclusion.
“And she had a baby?”
Zach wasn’t Isabella’s personal bodyguard because he lacked discretion. “Cute kid. Looks Indian,” he added.
Tracker nodded again. He could finally see what Zach was doing. He was distracting Miguel with a silver cross strung on a rawhide thong.
“What’s his name?”
“Miguel.”
Zach twisted the string. Every time sunlight flashed off the bright metal cross, Miguel kicked his feet and waved his hands. “Actually,” Zach said, eyeing first Miguel and then Tracker, “he looks enough like you that he could pass for yours.”
“He is.”
That got him a look. “Now you can perform miracles? Because I’m guessing this boy was conceived while you and I were hunting the Packard gang.”
“He’s mine by claim, not blood.”
“Went Indian on her, eh?”
That was one way of explaining that all-encompassing need to protect Ari that’d consumed him when the men had cornered her in that sleazy bar. The other option would have been murder. He could easily have killed each and every one. And even Zach was fast getting on his nerves. “You looking to get your ass kicked?”
“Not particularly, but you’ve always been a man who goes after what he wants, and if you decided you wanted Ari and an opportunity came up…” He shrugged. “It stands to reason you’d take advantage of a God-given chance to have it all.”
Zacharias always did see too much.
“A white woman like her isn’t going to recognize an Indian marriage.” That didn’t mean she couldn’t be infatuated with him.
“Well, neither would a possessive son of a bitch like you.” He chucked Miguel’s chin. “It’s not permanent enough.”
“She needs me.”
Zach pursed his lips and nodded. “So you have the advantage.”
“Yes.” If he wanted a woman who was only with him through fear.
“Are you going to utilize it?”
Tracker shook his head. “There’s no point. When her memory returns, the only thing looking at me will do is send her screaming.”
“You are an ugly son of a bitch.”
“I can still probably find the time to kick your ass.”
Zach chuckled. Miguel chuckled with him, happy with the attention.
“You think she will scream because you look Indian?”
“Yeah.”
Chucking Miguel under the chin again, Zach sighed. “That’s going to be a problem, because this little one couldn’t look any more Indian. Is she going to turn away from him, too?”
Tracker couldn’t imagine it, but Ari had been through hell and back, tortured in spirit, mind and body. She coped by not remembering, but the violence of her episodes made him think those memories might be coming back. And once they did, Miguel would be a living, breathing reminder of every cruelty she’d endured. It would take one hell of a forgiving heart to get past that. How could anyone ask the victim of rape and torture to rise above it? How could anyone blame her if she didn’t?
“Speaking of the mother, where is she?”
Tracker swore. “Sitting in the draw with a gun ready to shoot whoever pokes their head over the top.”
Zach motioned him on. “Then by all means, you fetch. I’ll stay here with Miguel.”
“Afraid of getting your pretty face mussed?”
“Sí, that is it. For my brains, I have no concerns.”
Tracker had forgotten how amusing Zach could be. It was easier to remember how deadly.
“Be sure to announce yourself, eh?”
He did more than announce himself. He made enough noise while approaching the draw to wake the dead. And when he got to the lip, for good measure, he called down. “Ari?”
She didn’t answer. His heart skipped a beat for the second time in ten minutes. Shit, he was getting too old for this. There were only so many places a woman could hide. The white of her shirt gave her away. She’d tucked herself beneath a scraggly bush, behind some sagebrush, coiled up like a rattler hiding from the sun. By squinting, he could see the gun barrel pointed at the draw. She was clearly ready to strike.
Half walking, half sliding down the washout, he asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
He’d feel more comfortable about that response if she didn’t have such a white-knuckled grip on that gun. “Want to hand me that before someone gets hurt?”
“What? Oh?” She tossed the gun in the dirt in front of her. Tracker winced, imagining the sand in the barrel.
“Worried it might go off?”
“Yup.” And now he was worried it couldn’t. “Me, too.”
“Where’s Miguel?” With both hands she started tugging at the branches above her head.
“With a friend.” He picked up the gun and inspected it. “Problems?”
There didn’t seem to be any sand in the barrel.
“Nope.” Ari worked h
er way free of the web of branches she’d crawled beneath. She broke off several in succession, letting them dangle from her hair. “Where did you find a friend in the middle of nowhere?”
Tracker held out his hand, palm up. “Sometimes, sweets, you find friends in the strangest places.”
When he did so, she placed hers in it. He drew her to her feet.
“Where’s Shadow?”
“He’ll be along soon. He went to find water.”
“Who is this friend?”
“Zacharias is one of the Montoyas’ top men. When hell opens its gates, he’s the one who wanders in to stir up trouble.”
The twigs looked ridiculous hanging from her hair. Tracker’s fingers twitched to untangle the heavy mass. If they weren’t standing in the middle of Comanchero country he’d have given in to the urge.
“Who are the Montoyas? Should I be impressed?”
“Sam MacGregor is Hell’s Eight. He married Isabella Montoya. The Montoya spread is quite big.” Tracker took a twig from her hand. A couple strands of hair that were stuck on it wrapped around his finger. He did love that wild hair of hers. It said more than anything else that here was a woman a man could cajole, but never tame. “And yeah, you should be impressed.”
Another stick was removed and placed in his hand. “Then I’m impressed.”
The next stick looked like it was going to take a while. “He’ll go to hell and back for one of ours. Otherwise I wouldn’t have left him there.”
She headed in the direction of the campsite. “Thank you.”
She was in a surprisingly agreeable mood. Falling into step beside her, he said, “Shadow told me what he said to you.”
She kept walking, not looking at him. “He did?”
“Yes, he did.”
“I’m surprised.”
“I may not agree with all what Shadow decides is important, but he’s my brother, and we don’t lie to each other.”
She skipped a step to keep up with Tracker’s longer stride. “He loves you very much.”
“That doesn’t make it all right.”
“It makes it understandable, though. No one wants a family member to take up with a crazy woman.”
“You’re not crazy, and the last time someone told me what to do, I was in knee pants.” Tracker shortened his stride. He could probably get the stick out if he made a couple strategic cuts.
“Stop staring.”
He took her elbow and helped her up the hillside. “You have a stick in your hair.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
He could do that. “Your sister loves you, too.”
There was a break in her stride. “Does she?”
“Yes. She does. She’s had us scouring the country for a year for you without really knowing if you were alive or dead.”
They were almost back at the campsite.
“I don’t remember her.”
“You will eventually.”
“Maybe.” She really didn’t believe her memory would come back.
When they got back to the site, Zach had Miguel out of the cradleboard and was bouncing him on his knee. The baby was giggling and drooling, clutching the cross in his hand. Zach stood as soon as he saw Ari.
“Hola, Mrs. Ochoa.”
Ari cut Tracker a glance. “You convinced him of that nonsense?”
“He’s gullible.”
Zach laughed. “You are as beautiful as tu hermana.”
“You know…” She stumbled over the name. “Desi, then?”
Zach shrugged. “Not so well as I know Sally Mae, Señor Tucker’s wife. Or Isabella MacGregor, La Montoya. She is a fighter, La Montoya. Her I have been with since she was an hija.”
“Sally Mae is a pacifist,” Tracker interjected.
Zach snorted. “Only until you fall sick. Then she is all orders, and if you try to get out of bed…” He rolled his eyes. “Then she is mean as a pinned badger.”
“So stay in bed.”
“By myself?” Zach shook his head and swung Miguel in his arms. “This is not done.”
Tracker had also forgotten how charming Zach could be. When Ari smiled, he took her arm and steered her away from Zach, toward a small rock, the only approximation of a chair there was. “Why don’t you sit here and see about getting Miguel some lunch.”
Zach passed him the baby, a knowing smile on his lips. He was too damn handsome for his own good. Bastard. “Thank you.”
“De nada.”
“Is Sally Mae really mean?” Ari asked, settling Miguel against her.
“Sally Mae is as sweet as honey. Zach is just a lousy patient.”
Zach snorted. “A man can stay in bed only so long.”
Ari might buy that dismissal of concern, but Tracker knew the extent of Zach’s injuries. “Seems to me you should still be in it.”
“When Shadow sent a message he was coming down here, I could not resist following.”
“So basically, no one follows your orders,” Ari observed to Tracker as she draped a blanket over her shoulder.
He took a position between Zach and her, blocking the other man’s view. “Apparently not.”
Zach rolled his right shoulder. Tracker spotted the stiffness in the joint and the way Zach favored the right side of his body.
“Those ribs still stove up?”
He shrugged. “Not so much I couldn’t come to help.”
“What made you think I needed help?”
Zach’s horse whickered a greeting to something in the dusk. A horse whinnied back. Ari held very still and looked at Tracker. He mouthed, “Shadow.” She relaxed, but not much.
Zach shrugged. “There was something about the way you left that told me, this one, she is the one. Shadow sensed the same.”
“Who’s talking about me?” Shadow entered the campsite, leading the string of horses.
“I am.”
“How the hell are you, Zach?” Shadow cast Tracker a glance. “That Buster of yours has to shake hands with everything that moves. Edible or otherwise.”
Tracker took the reins and chuckled. “He does have a social side.” Tracker started unpacking the saddlebags.
Miguel fussed. Ari shifted him to the other breast. Tracker led the horse aside. Shadow and Zach followed.
“You spoil that animal,” Shadow said.
Tracker shrugged. “He runs when I need him to.”
His brother jerked his thumb in Ari’s direction. “And her, is she going to run like the wind?”
“You take what life gives you, Shadow. You know that. For however long it gives you.”
“You think life’s giving you her?”
“For now.” Buster bumped him with his head. Tracker scratched the gelding behind his ears. “She needs me.”
“And you need her.”
Yes. “If anything happens to me, Shadow, you stand in my stead with her.”
“You married her?”
“In our father’s way.”
“That means you’re packing up and leaving soon, too?”
Their father’s abandonment had hit Shadow harder than Tracker. Probably because Shadow had clung longer to the belief that they ever had a chance of pleasing the miserable son of a bitch.
“Not if I have a say.”
“Shit. You might not have a say.”
“She doesn’t know her past, she doesn’t know her future. She lives tossed between the chaos of the episodes and the present. Until she can face what happened, I’ve promised to hold her safe.”
“When she does remember, there’s no guarantee she’ll stomach your touch.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Do you have a plan for that?”
“I’m working on it.”
Shadow’s expression didn’t hold out much hope for his nonexistent plan. “I hope it’s a good one.”
Zach interrupted. “There’s something we need to discuss.”
“Shoot.”
“Yesterday I spotte
d a band of Comancheros riding hard this way.”
“Probably Antonio and his crew.”
“You know this man?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“Last night, I overheard them talking.” Zach said that as if it were nothing.
“Jesus. You crept close enough to a Comanchero camp to hear them talk?”
“We needed to know their plans.”
Zach had an utter disregard for safety. In many ways he reminded Tracker of Sam. Same devil-take-the-hindmost air. Same willingness to risk it all.
“And?”
“The one that hunts her. He is making a special trip.”
Shadow straightened. “Well, that’s good news.”
“He’s actually coming out here?” Tracker asked.
“It was said that if the Comancheros can bring Ari, Desi or the baby to San Antonio before the eighteenth, there is an extra thirty thousand in it for them.”
So the bastard would be within reach. San Antonio was a ten-hour ride from Hell’s Eight. Hell’s Eight had friends in San Antonio. “Dollars?”
“Sí. Dolares.”
Word of a bounty that high would have every lowlife saddle bum in the state looking for Desi and Ari.
“Anything else?” Damn, he hoped there wasn’t anything else.
“Yes.”
Tracker braced himself.
“I sent a signal to Hell’s Eight to ride to the east corner.”
He should have known Zach would know about Hell’s Eight sentries strategically positioned around their land, and the smoke-signal system they used to communicate across their territory. Being high-spirited Isabella’s bodyguard was enough of a challenge that Zacharias was committed to finding new ways of securing Montoya lands from outside threats.
“I also left a note at drop-off four as to where they should be waiting for us.”
Hell’s Eight also had locations around their land where they could leave information for each other.
“You know about the blind canyon?”
“He’s the one who showed it to me,” Shadow interjected.
“It was how we escaped the Comancheros last time.”
Tracker had wondered how he and his men had cheated certain death.
“You are a very clever man, Zach.”
He smiled a smile that didn’t lighten his expression. “Sí, this is true.”
Tracker’s Sin Page 13
