The ogling switched to Joaquín and turned menacing. A sickening premonition dispelled the last traces of Priscilla’s earlier pleasure. She had to do something, but what? Without another thought, she swung a leg high over the saddle-horn and jumped to the ground, rifle in hand.
She glared from one man to the next. “I can defend myself, Joaquín.” Will jumped to the ground behind her.
Priscilla didn’t dare turn around to look at him. Her attention focused on Billy the Kid; she felt her stomach go weak. Before she lost her nerve completely, she added, “Any man here who doubts it, bring your rifle and we’ll settle up.”
“I’m backing her,” Will announced.
“Won’t be any need—” the Kid started to say.
Joaquín slid off his horse and stood beside them. “You men have always treated me fair, but if push comes to shove, for the record, I’m on Jake’s side, too.”
The screen door slammed. Another, taller man crossed to stand amicably beside Billy the Kid. “Miss McCain can count me on her team, as well.”
Priscilla’s gaze found the speaker. A shiver raced down her spine. If ever a man looked out of place, this tall, gray-haired, fastidiously dressed man looked it here. A stiff white collar ringed his neck above a black suit. His coloring was dark, here in the dim yellow light, at least. His carefully styled gray hair sparkled with cleanliness.
“Who’s he?” Will whispered from behind.
She shrugged.
Billy the Kid slapped the newcomer on the shoulder. Even though the little outlaw had to stretch to reach the taller man’s shoulder, it in no way diminished Billy the Kid’s stature. “Seems you’re properly chaperoned here in our den of thieves, Miss McCain. I’ll trust you to keep your troops under control.”
The Kid’s invitation to come inside, weapons and all, had barely left his lips when he turned to those on the porch and shouted. “You heathens keep your hands to you’selves.”
Later, sitting across a scarred wooden table, eating green-chile stew from chipped enamel bowls, Will whispered in Priscilla’s ear, “He should have included eyes in those orders.” The men kept their distance, remaining far enough away from Priscilla that they couldn’t be accused of touching her, but their eyes were glued to her.
All except the older man who had offered his protection. He sat apart in a darkened corner, neither participating in the card game in progress around a dirty mattress, nor joining the new arrivals at the table.
In fact only Billy the Kid sat at the table with Priscilla, Will, and Joaquín. He and Joaquín talked back and forth, Joaquín catching him up on their activities since leaving Santa Fé.
“Victorio pulled out for Tres Castillos.”
“He’s one tough hombre,” the Kid observed. “Should’ve stayed and fought it out.”
“He’ll have fight enough to keep him busy south of the border,” Joaquín predicted.
The Kid looked pensive. “If anyone was ever hounded more’n me, it’s them redskins.”
“I thought you were supposed to go to Tres Castillos,” Priscilla told Joaquín at a lull in the conversation.
He stuffed half a biscuit in his mouth. Without looking at her, he spoke around his mouthful. “When José Colorado brought word that the hills were crawling with Haskels, Victorio sent me to find you and Radnor.”
“And we found you instead,” she replied. Even in this hovel filled with outlaws, Priscilla felt her joy return. What a memorable day this had been! Will told her he loved her; Joaquín called her, Sister. And here she sat, between the two of them. Her hand slipped to the bench beside her. Will covered it with his own, squeezed, reassuring. He loved her. He’d said it!
Across the table, the Kid rolled a cigarette. Joaquín took out the makin’s and started his own. From the far corner a lighted cigarette winked when the stranger drew on it. The man who’d come to her aid. “Who’s the man in the corner?” she asked.
The Kid’s hands stilled on the tobacco-filled wrapper.
“That question’s out of line, Jake,” Joaquín cautioned.
Billy the Kid’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “This place might not look like much to you, ma’am, but it’s the only safe place most of us have. A man on the run can always find shelter here. If we questioned everyone who approached—”
“You questioned us.”
Joaquín tensed and Will cleared his throat.
Billy the Kid laughed. “You’re made out to be a real fine shot, Miss McCain, but no man’s ever called you an outlaw.”
“I understand.” Priscilla stared into the darkened corner. “But—he sounded like he knew me.”
“New Mexico’s a small territory,” the Kid said. “Any man in these parts is likely to know the name McCain. Most men know of you.”
Priscilla left it at that. When Billy the Kid rose to leave the table, Will stopped him.
“We have our bedrolls. Any problem with us taking them out under the trees?”
“None, lawyer. Clem’ll be out there standin’ guard.”
“A trusting soul,” Priscilla quipped after they retrieved their bedrolls from the barn where one of the Kid’s men had unsaddled and rubbed down their horses.
“Trusting souls don’t live long in this neighborhood,” Will returned.
They walked silently away from the house, each carrying a load of bedding. Beyond the circle of house light, Will put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close.
“That was a damned stupid thing you did back there, Priscilla.” His voice didn’t censure, but she bristled, nonetheless.
“It wasn’t stupid. It was necessary. Pa says a man has to establish a base of strength early in a conflict.”
“I doubt Charlie intended for you to confront half a dozen armed outlaws. Jumping off your horse with your rifle cocked; don’t you know you’re supposed to take things slow and easy around men like that? Isn’t that the phrase they use?”
“Well, it worked. Pa says a man—”
“If you’re not careful, cowboy, Charlie’s philosophies’ll end up getting you killed.”
She leaned into him. “You were there, Will. And Joaquín. I don’t see what the fuss is about.”
“You wouldn’t. For a woman as bent on seduction as you’ve been the last few days, you turned back into a hardened cowboy real quick.”
Priscilla felt her cheeks flush. “Seduction?”
He chuckled. “You’re something else. I’ve never known a woman who’s better at hiding her bag of feminine tricks. I’ll have to admit, when you decided to play seductress you took me by surprise.”
Although his tone indicated he was teasing, she cringed. “Did you mind?”
“Mind? Hell, I ate it up and begged for more. Or didn’t you notice? Of course, all that play-acting wasn’t necessary.”
“Play-acting? I wasn’t—”
“I know.” His husky voice sent desire spiraling down her spine. He drew her to a halt, tossed the bedroll to the ground, and studied her beneath the pale moonlight. “Not even the Lord Above could put two separate people in skin as soft and tight as yours. You’re no seductress, Priscilla McCain, but you’re one hell of a woman.”
She glowed. Basking in his teasing, she dropped her armful of bedding on top of his.
“What I’m wonderin’,” he was asking, “is where you learned the art of seduction? That’s one thing I’ll have a hard time believing you learned from ol’ Charlie.”
She laughed at the idea, then kissed him lightly on the lips and felt a groan rumble from his chest.
“I don’t know where I learned it,” she admitted. “It surprised me, too. It must be something women are born with, like…like a sixth sense or something.”
He hugged her close. Slanting his lips across hers, he kissed her long and deep. When they drew apart, she said, “It’s strange. From almost the first day I met you I experienced all kinds of unusual sensations. They confused me. I didn’t understand them. Actually, they embarrassed me.”
“Embarrassed you?”
“I felt giddy and hot; my head seemed to spin every time I was around you; I had trouble thinking straight. Do you know what I mean?”
He nipped her nose with a wet kiss. “I know, cowboy.”
“It’s like I told you. From the beginning I had the strangest feeling that my body knew things my brain hadn’t learned yet. I began to worry. I wanted to ask Mama, but…well, I couldn’t…” Her words drifted off; she grew pensive, recalling her parents’ disapproval of Will. “I thought about asking Jessie, but I never got up the nerve.”
“So you learned it on your own?” His voice was soft, tender, admiring, even.
“Pa says desperation tests a man’s abilities and finds him prepared or wanting.”
“Desperation, huh?”
Bending toward her, Will stopped short of kissing her. This time he pulled her tight and buried his lips in her hair. When he turned her loose, it was with a purpose.
“We’d best get our bedroll laid before those outlaws start howling at the moon.” The site where they had stopped was a hundred yards or so from the house. “This okay?”
She grinned, thinking of home. Home, where her persuasive skills would be tested again, this time against her parents. She was anxious to return, to put the trouble with the Haskels behind them, to present Will’s case to her parents.
“It isn’t Spanish Creek,” she responded, “but I guess it’ll do.” Curious, she watched him stomp the ground with a bootheel.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking the bedrock. That rocky hill you put me on the first night out of Santa Fé nearly cracked my bones.”
She laughed. “You took it in stride, greenhorn.”
He continued stomping his heel to the ground. “I learned young that if you let someone know they’re getting under your skin, they tend to burrow deeper.”
She watched him reach for a bedroll, and spread it on his place of choice. He topped it with the other roll of bedding. She smiled, pleased. “So, I’m under your skin, am I, greenhorn?”
“I guess you could say that.”
It wasn’t the way he’d put it earlier in the day when he declared his love for her. Words she had savored time and again through the turmoil that followed. It seemed like a year ago, now, so much had happened since he made that startling confession of love. “Tell me again.”
“You get under my skin.”
“Not that.” She touched his shoulder, drawing his attention. When he straightened, she moved into his arms. “What you said this morning—your reason for wanting to saddle the horses.”
Although his face was in shadow, she could feel his eyes penetrating the darkness, driving into her. He didn’t move a muscle, except for one hand, which he lifted slowly and with infinite tenderness stroked her face.
“I spoke out of turn,” he said in a quiet, husky voice that stopped her heart. Or was it his words that stopped her heart?
Out of turn? She stifled her distress, tried to clear her head. To think. To reason. Out of turn? He couldn’t mean it.
Only moments ago he had teased and flirted with her. Even now he caressed her with tenderness. And before all those times…before those wonderful times. He was a passionate and gentle lover, yet, here he was, on the verge of denying it all, yet again.
“I should never have said—” he was saying.
“Stop.”
His hand poised where it was, a finger at one corner of her lips.
“You said it, Will.” She braced herself, daring her voice to tremble. “You said it, and it’s done. I won’t let you take it back.”
Moving away, she knelt and began to smooth out the wrinkles in the bedrolls. With difficulty, she managed to use studied movements, to resist the urge to fling it all in his face.
Will knelt beside her, placed a hand on her shoulders. She flinched.
“I’m sorry, cowboy.”
She fought back tears. But for some reason she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “Don’t lie and say you didn’t mean it, Will.” His hands gripped her shoulders. “I know you meant it. Maybe you didn’t mean to say it, but you feel it. You love me, damnit.”
Even as she berated him, she knew it was the wrong thing to do. But she couldn’t keep her blasted mouth shut. “I love you, too. But I’m not at all sure I want to live the rest of my life with a man who possesses such a mercurial temperament.”
Will dropped his hands from her shoulders. She heard him sigh heavily, then finally crawl into the bedroll. After a lengthy silence he spoke through tight jaws. “I never asked you to live the rest of your life with me.”
“Good.” She remained on her knees, as still as a frightened hare. “Because if you had, I would have refused.” She knelt so long, her legs began to ache. But it was nothing like the ache in her heart. She’d lost him, and she didn’t even know why. And she certainly didn’t know what to do about it.
“Priscilla?”
He sounded contrite. She didn’t respond.
“Come to bed, cowboy.”
Cowboy? Who was this man, who could tell her he loved her and show it in so many ways it must be true, yet who in the next breath denied it and everything he did and felt? Who was he, this Will Radnor who set her on fire and abolished all hope from her soul at one and the same time? This man who could break her heart and then blithely call her to bed?
“Come on,” he urged.
Feeling his hand grope in the darkness, she shifted away from him. After he stilled, she fumbled around, found one corner of the cover, and eased herself down. But just when she thought for sure he’d gone to sleep and left her awake to protect herself against that houseful of lusting outlaws, he spoke again.
“I’m sorry, Priscilla.”
She didn’t dare move. He was too close. His voice came from somewhere very near her shoulder. She wished for two bedrolls. But wishing didn’t count for much at the moment.
“You’re right.” She heard him sigh. “You usually are, of course.”
“Don’t try to placate me, greenhorn.”
“I’m not trying anything, except to be honest with you, and maybe with myself, for a change. You’re right about it all. I love you. But I didn’t mean to say it.”
Distracted from her anguish by the sound of his own, she turned to find him as near as she’d thought. In the darkness she could barely make out his form—his broad shoulders, the curve of his head. But she didn’t need to see him. She could feel him, his breath, his heat…his agony.
Lifting a hand, she touched his cheek, and the next thing she knew she was in his arms. He held her close, stroking her back, breathing his warm sweet breath into her hair. She snuggled against him, holding him with a death grip, and wished they didn’t have their clothes on.
“How long do you think we’ll stay here?” she whispered.
“Forever, I wish.”
Miracle of miracles, they left for Spanish Creek the following day. Early the next morning Will and Priscilla folded their bedrolls and carried them to the barn. Joaquín met them there, accompanied by the mysterious stranger who had pledged his help to Priscilla the evening before, then promptly disappeared into the shadows.
Joaquín exhibited uncustomarily high spirits. “Jake, this is the man you’ve been expecting.”
The tall stranger, who looked close to Pa’s age, Priscilla thought, bowed, a formal gesture that further separated him from the ruffians who inhabited this outlaw hideout. “Bart Ellisor, Miss McCain.”
“Mr. Ellisor.” Taken by surprise, she didn’t think to curb her tone. “You’re supposed to be helping Pa defend Spanish Creek. Didn’t Jessie make that clear?”
“Jessie left no doubt, young lady, but my travel options are, shall we say, limited. I couldn’t very well take a stage. Authorities from Texas to California would have loved that.” He grinned then, relieving some of her anxiety. “Goes with the work.”
“But Pa…” She cast Will a worried glance.
“Charlie’ll make out,” Will assured her.
“What’s wrong with Charlie?” Bart asked.
“He was injured in a fight with the Haskels—”
“Kate’s alone at Spanish Creek?”
“Except for an aging foreman and a less-than-worthless archaeologist,” Will furnished.
“That settles it.” Bart turned to Joaquín. “Tell Mr. Bonney we will accept his offer.”
“What offer?” Priscilla wanted to know.
“Mr. Bonney offered us his help in escaping the Haskels. His men will create a diversion, while we leave by another route.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Priscilla turned radiant eyes to Will. “We’re going home.” He scowled. She knew what he was thinking. “After we secure Spanish Creek—” she began.
“How does the Kid intend to perform this miracle?” Will interrupted, speaking to Bart.
“The man called Clem is out locating the Haskels’ position,” Bart explained. “When he returns, Mr. Bonney will take his men into the hills to engage them in a skirmish. Meanwhile, we’ll head south, work our way east, then north. It’ll take longer to reach Spanish Creek, but we should have safe sailing.”
“We’ll do it!” Priscilla looked up to find Bart Ellisor favoring her with a wistful expression.
“Did anyone ever tell you how much you favor your mother? Except for Charlie’s eyes, of course.”
Clem rode in then, preventing further discussion. But Priscilla’s brain overflowed with questions about this handsome, mysterious stranger and his connection to her parents. Obviously, they had known one another well, yet her parents rarely spoke his name.
Leaving the hideout in the wake of Billy the Kid’s gang, Joaquín led them through the mountains by a southern route. Hours later they turned east, as planned. The mood was serious—Priscilla’s spine tingled a good part of it—and afforded little opportunity for conversation. By mutual, if undeclared, consent they ate their noon meal—hardtack and jerky, washed down with flat canteen water—in the saddle. It was well after sundown before they stopped for anything other than to rest and water the horses—their destination, an isolated patch of grass beside a spring on the eastern side of the mountain range they had worked all day to cross.
Reluctant Enemies Page 25
