“Lonny King.” He had his hat in his hands, and he bent the brim as he stood there watching her. Deborah smiled.
“Well, Mr. King, I thank you for being so polite. And I shall try to rest well indeed.”
She shut the door softly behind her and crossed to her bed. She’d dressed hastily that morning, hearing the commotion and not wanting to be left out. Judith had gone inside abruptly upon seeing Don Francisco, and she supposed she was still in her room. Hiding.
Poor Judith. It was obvious she was falling in love with Dexter, and he didn’t seem to notice. Deborah sighed. She had never dreamed life could become so complicated when she was in Natchez, never thought beyond marriage and babies and long, lazy days. What a simple little fool she’d been.
Deborah knelt beside her bed and felt under her mattress for the letter she’d been given in Sirocco. She’d read it so many times she should have memorized it. Yet she still savored the words, reading them again and again as if they came from Zack.
The handwriting was neat and spare, feminine. Deborah wondered about the writer, and if she loved Zack. She must, or she would never have written a letter like this. The page crackled as she unfolded it, scanning the lines with an eager need for reassurance.
Mrs. Diamond,
You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Zack Banning’s. He doesn’t know I’m writing you, and I’d rather he didn’t. I just want you to know, he has not forgotten you. If you truly care for him, you need to remember that. I cared for him when he was wounded, and he spoke your name over and over.
He loves you. I do not want to see him ride off again without knowing how you feel. Please, if you care, tell him.
It was signed, Sally Martin. Deborah stared down at the words for a while, trying to envision the woman who cared enough about Zack to interfere. Then she folded the letter and tucked it back beneath her mattress for safekeeping. She could imagine Dexter’s anger if he ever discovered it.
Deborah sat on the edge of her bed for a while, gazing out the window.
In the distance, she could see the ridged hills that seamed the horizon. She thought of the Comanche camp sometimes when the wind blowing through the cottonwoods sounded like the music of tall pine trees. Had the people survived the effort of the government to put them on reservations? She hoped so. She was tired of killing and war and death.
Her hand moved to rest on the gentle swell of her abdomen, and she wondered if she should try to tell Zack of his child. He had a right to know, but it would only make more trouble. Dexter would not release her, and Zack would come for her. There would be shooting, and someone would be killed.
No, she could not risk it. It was better if he left thinking she didn’t love him, than to know she did and they could not be together.
Closing her eyes, Deborah sat on the edge of her bed for a long time, and thought of the way things might have been.
Judith stuck her head in the door. “Deborah. Dexter wants to see you.” It took a moment for her to wake. She hadn’t realized she’d been sleeping, and glanced at the window. Afternoon shadows slanted across her bedroom walls.
Deborah sat up. “What does he want?” A frown creased her brow, and Judith shook her head. “I don’t know, but he seems pretty agitated. I think he’s still mad about having to let Don Francisco go.”
“Surely he’s over that by now. It was a week ago.” She pushed at the hair in her eyes, and tried to keep her eyes open. She slept so much now, as if her body was greedy for the rest.
“Maybe so,” Judith was saying, “but he’s been talking about it to some men out there.”
Alarmed, Deborah burst out, “He’s not planning on anything dangerous, is he?”
“Worried about him?”
“I’m worried about an all-out war,” Deborah shot back, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing. “If you will remember, two more of our men were killed in a gun battle yesterday.”
“I remember, all right. I’m the one Dexter talks to at night while you hide here in your room.” Deborah looked up at her. “Censure, Judith? You must know how I feel.” “Yes,” Judith said softly, “I know. But Deborah, you need to understand Dexter. He’s not as harsh as he sounds to you, he’s only hurt.” Deborah saw the distress in Judith’s eyes, and realized that she had grown very fond of Dexter. Too fond. When had it happened? She’d not noticed because she hadn’t cared, and she knew that her cousin would never want to admit it to her. It would be a betrayal, and though Judith had betrayed Hawk, she’d done it for love of Deborah. God, what a mess. She wished she could tell Judith to beware of Dexter, but she knew she wouldn’t listen.
“I find it difficult to believe that Dexter Diamond is hurt because of me,” she said slowly. “Worried about losing his claim to the Velazquez lands, yes, but not me.”
Judith made an irritated sound. “Are you still angry because he hit you and said all that about getting rid of the baby?”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Yes, for a while. But you have to understand, he was hurt and upset.”
“I see.” Deborah slid her feet into her slippers and crossed to the dresser. She tugged a brush through her hair, watching Judith in the mirror.
“Just think—the next time he gets hurt and angry, he could hit me so hard I lose the baby. And I have the feeling that’s just what he wants.” Judith flushed and knotted her hands in front of her. “You wrong him, but I guess you won’t see that.”
“And you won’t see the truth.” Deborah clubbed her hair into a knot on her neck and tied it with a ribbon, then turned to her cousin. “I hope you don’t end up hurt as well.” Tears trembled on Judith’s lashes, and she wiped them away.
“Please—forgive me. I say hateful things that I don’t mean.” Deborah managed a smile. “I know. We’re both caught in the middle of something that’s like a runaway train. Neither of us knows how to get off and stop it.”
“That’s true enough.”
“Who does Dexter want me to see out here?” Deborah asked as they left her room.
Judith shrugged. “I don’t know. They just look like a bunch of scruffy buffalo hunters to me. Don’t get downwind of them. You’ll get the heaves again.”
At first, the sun was in her eyes, and Deborah didn’t see the men, then one of them turned, grinning at her. She stared at him, and felt her heart do a flop. He was tall and thin, with lanky blond hair that hung to his shoulders.
And he was smirking. She’d seen that leering grin before, high in the mountains when he had tried to buy her from White Eagle.
“Comancheros,” she murmured. The man was gesturing to her and then looked at his companion. Deborah saw Frank Albright turn and look at her with a satisfied smirk. Beyond him, she saw Lonny King’s young, troubled face, and felt the first premonition of danger.
“Deborah,” Dexter was saying, “this man says he’s met you before.”
“Sure I have,” the Comanchero said, stepping closer to her. “’Course, she was wearing buckskin and belonged to a handsome buck last time I saw her.” Diamond’s face was a cold mask, and Deborah felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. She wasn’t really surprised to hear the Comanchero’s next words.
“Hear tell that Hawk is roamin’ around here callin’ hisself Zack Banning now. You better watch your woman, Diamond, or that Injun might steal her back.”
Deborah felt Dexter’s dark gaze pierce her, and knew he would make her pay for her mistake. Behind her, Judith was saying something, but her words were drowned out by the rising roar in her ears as she stared at the Comanchero and Frank Albright’s smug expression.
“What do you mean?” Zack’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he raked the sheriff with a quelling stare.
“Just what I said, Banning. After the stunt you pulled, you need to move on. You’ve got Velazquez after you as well as Diamond, and I’m getting tired of burying folks.”
“Have I broken any laws?” Carpenter blew out a heavy breath. “None I can p
in on you, no.
Velazquez won’t press charges.” Zack smiled, and he could tell from the sudden tightening of the sheriff’s mouth the effect it had on him. “Maybe he isn’t, but I might.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Figure it out. Rumor had it for a while that I was dead, remember?
Velazquez had me shot and left in the desert to die. He’s lucky I didn’t do the same to him.”
“Maybe you’re the lucky one. Dying from a bullet is a sight better than dying at the end of a rope.”
“It’s all relative,” Zack shot back. “Dying is dying, and when it comes down to it, the way a man dies is usually a reflection of the way he lived. We all take chances. Don Francisco took a big one when he didn’t make sure I was dead.”
Carpenter’s mouth twisted, and his gray brows lowered over his eyes.
“That’s indisputable. But if you kill him, you’ll hang for murder. Simple as that. I got enough to worry about with him and Diamond making this county into nothing but a big war without wondering whether you’ll shoot it out on the main street with one of his hired killers.”
“So tell Diamond, not me.”
“I’m telling all of you, by God!” Carpenter roared, slamming his fist down on his desk so hard papers flew to the floor. “Clear out of town, Banning! Dammit all, I don’t want your death on my mind.” Zack straightened. “My life is my own, my death is my own. It should weigh on no man.”
“I don’t work that way.” Carpenter glared at him. “You ain’t in this world all by yourself. Your life touches a whole lot of folks, and if you get yourself killed, there’s going to be some repercussions. I think you can figure out what I mean if you think about it.” For a moment Zack didn’t say anything. Then he drew in a deep breath and nodded. “I have thought about it. But she is taken care of, and there’s nothing I can do.”
“Yes, there is. Save her a little bit of damn pain and clear out before she has to attend your funeral.” Carpenter shot him a frustrated glance, then shrugged. “Can’t figure women out, but there you have it. She’s a fine woman and doesn’t deserve being hurt. She’s been through enough.”
“So how did you know?”
“Hell, I ain’t stupid, Banning. Just because I’m dumb enough to get elected to sheriff and get myself mixed up in a frigging range war, doesn’t mean I can’t see or hear. There aren’t too many people in Sirocco who hasn’t heard what went on out there at the Velazquez place, or that she thought you were dead and married Diamond to get away from that crazy-mad Mexican.” His eyes narrowed under the shelf of brow. “If you care about her at all, you’ll leave town.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Zack said tightly. “Thanks for the heart-to-heart chat.”
Carpenter grunted irritably. “Any time.”
Zack slammed the door behind him and stared down the wide main street for a moment before stepping off the porch. Damn. What did it take to get people to mind their own business? It would be Deborah who suffered, not him. He didn’t care that much what people said. He’d listened to rumors and lies and truth for most of his life, and it no longer had the same power to hurt him. But Deborah— Christ! She didn’t deserve to be the butt of gossip, to have people stare at her and whisper behind their hands. She deserved a lot more than that, and he knew what Carpenter had said was true.
If he left town, the gossip and rumors would die down soon enough.
Something new would come along to replace it. Hell, Diamond and Velazquez might even kill each other off and give them that to talk about for a while. Too bad Diamond hadn’t given in to the temptation to kill Velazquez. He would have enjoyed watching them both go down.
Zack stepped down off the porch and into the street. He needed a drink.
Then he’d leave town, and leave Deborah to lead her own life. God, he hoped she found happiness. None of this was her fault.
A hush fell when he pushed open the double doors to the Six-Shooter Saloon and walked in. Unperturbed, he strode to the bar and ordered a beer.
The bartender slid it across the wet surface and dunked the proffered coins in a dingy glass, then stepped back and away as if afraid. The tinkly music of the piano plinked out an erratic tune again. Zack felt eyes on him, and as he lifted his mug of beer, he glanced up into the mirrored shelves behind the bar.
A faint smile curled his mouth. Frank Albright sat at a table with his back to the wall, watching Zack from beneath the brim of his hat. Zack shifted slightly so that he had ready access to the pistol on his thigh, then leaned one elbow on the bar as he sipped his beer. He waited.
Of all the saloons in Sirocco, he had come into this one. This confrontation would be inevitable, and he knew by instinct that Albright would provoke it.
It took Albright only ten minutes to make up his mind, and he rose from the table while a younger man grabbed at his arm and said softly, “Don’t, Albright! Just leave it alone, will ya?” Apparently, Albright had no intention of leaving it alone. He shook off the younger man’s arm and walked toward the bar, while the music stopped abruptly and several chairs scraped back from tables as patrons decided to abandon half-finished drinks in the interest of safety.
“Hey, Banning.”
Zack ignored him for a minute, sliding a glance up at the reflection in the smoky mirror to keep an eye on his movements. Albright spoke again, belligerent this time, his tone sharp.
“Banning, I’m talkin’ to you.”
“I heard you.”
Zack didn’t bother looking up or turning around, as if Albright made no difference to him whatsoever. He dragged his sweating mug across the surface of the bar idly, streaking the wet rings. Then he took another sip, still watching Frank Albright’s reflection.
The younger man stood up, his voice insistent. “The boss ain’t gonna like it if you make trouble and get folks to talking, Albright.”
“Shut up, Lonny,” Albright said without looking at him. “This ain’t none of your concern. Me and Banning got some unfinished business between us.”
Zack turned slowly, lounging back against the bar with his elbows braced on the edge. He rested his heel on the footrail and eyed Albright coldly.
“You got me mixed up with someone else. I don’t do business with snakes.”
Albright stiffened. “That right? You’re awful damn cocky for a stinkin’
breed. Ain’t that what you Comanche call yerself? Snakes? You ought to feel right at home with a whole nest of ’em, the way I hear it.” There was the clunking noise of overturned tables and the creak of the saloon doors as Zack slowly straightened. Men scattered, and there was a feminine squeal as one of the saloon whores fled.
“You’re right, Albright,” he said slowly and saw the surprise in the other man’s eyes. “I feel a lot more at home with snakes than I do with men like you. You’d put any self-respecting rattler to shame.” Anger flared in Albright’s eyes, and his face flushed an ugly red. He kicked a chair out of the way and took two steps forward before stopping.
“Care to talk about that outside?”
“I’m not interested in dodging cow piles just to stand in the middle of the street and watch you die, Albright.” Zack turned back to the bar as Albright made a sound somewhere between a snarl and a sputter.
“Goddam you, Banning,” he finally got out. “Turn around and fight!” Zack ignored him. A mutter ran through the men watching, but he didn’t care. Let them think what they wanted. He had no intention of letting Albright force him into stepping outside if he could avoid it.
The jangle of Albright’s spurs set his teeth on edge, and he tensed. With deliberate, slow movements, he lifted his beer mug and took a long drink.
The bartender had moved down to the far end of the bar and was watching him with an incredulous stare, and he heard someone cough.
A grim smile curled his mouth, and he knew what people had to be thinking: He’d lost his edge since he’d come back; he was afraid to fight. They were right, and they
were wrong. He had lost his edge as far as feeling that constant pressure to prove himself to be as much man as any other. But he wasn’t afraid. Death would be welcome when he thought of the alternative, the long years ahead that were empty and mocking.
“Banning,” Albright snarled again, and this time Zack saw the quick movement of his reflection in the mirror and turned, his hand flashing down in a blur as he spun on his heels in a half-crouch, pistol bucking in his hand.
The shots seemed to roll on top of one another in a loud explosion that was deafening in the saloon. Someone yelled, and there was the sound of boots thudding on wood and the bang of the saloon doors being shoved open. Zack stayed in his half-crouch a moment longer, eyes narrowed against the acrid curl of smoke and gunpowder.
Albright had been knocked backward by the force of the bullet that hit him, and lay groaning on the floor, his pistol still clutched in his hand. The young man with him stared down at the gunman for a moment, then looked up at Zack.
“You want in on this?” Zack asked tersely, and the youth shook his head. “No. I told him not to do it.” Zack gave a single nod, and when no one else moved or seemed inclined to, he straightened slowly. Albright’s shot had seared across his right shirt sleeve, wide of the mark. He reloaded, shoved his pistol back in his holster, then leaned back against the bar and watched as men came forward to lift the groaning gunman up to take him to the doctor.
“That was good shooting, mister,” Albright’s companion said slowly.
He held the felled man’s hat in one hand and his pistol in the other. “But Mr.
Diamond ain’t never gonna believe that you didn’t provoke it.”
“Diamond is not my problem.”
“No, but he might make himself one.” Zack looked at him coolly. The young man was nervous, but earnest.
Some of his irritation eased a little.
“Is this a threat?” he asked lightly.
“No, sir. A warning.”
A spurt of surprise made Zack look at the youth more closely. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said finally.
Comanche Moon Page 33
