Reluctant Enemies

by Vivian Vaughan

  “But…” Her sobbing became erratic. “I just hope Pa knows…it’s not Spanish Creek…it’s him…”

  “He knows.”

  “But I’ve never told him. What if he…We have to save him. He can’t…I’d want to die if anything happened to Pa. Help me, please.”

  Will’s arms tightened around her. His heart felt like it might actually break. He knew it would if he turned her loose—when he turned her loose. He buried his face in her hair and wished he could stand this way forever, holding her, loving her. “I’ll do my best, cowboy.”

  Bart brought Will’s horse, and he stepped astride.

  Crockett scared up a salt sack he’d tied to a limb. “Wave it high,” he admonished.

  “Take it slow,” Bart cautioned.

  Will looked down at Priscilla.

  “Please, Will…”

  “Run to the house,” he said. “Stay close to your mother.”

  She stared at him, her eyes red, her face swollen. She seemed about to fall apart. He wanted desperately to hold her a while longer, to take her to the house and tuck her in bed and sit beside her until she remembered that she was a strong woman; until she realized that her world would still turn without Spanish Creek, without her father, without himself.

  Riding away from the adobe ranchhouse, Will tried to slough off his apprehension. Priscilla would be all right. All he had to do was pull a piece of magic out of the air and save Charlie McCain, then Priscilla would be all right.

  He recalled thinking not too long ago that a man would have a hard time living up to Charlie’s image in Priscilla’s mind. Now she’d said as much. Which was just as well, since he could never have her anyway.

  But when he rode away from that barn with her pleas for him to save her father ringing in his ears, Will couldn’t keep from wishing that she’d shown a tiny bit of concern for his own safety.

  “Those are the demands, Oscar. Take ’em or leave ’em.”

  “I think we’ll leave ’em, Yank.”

  Will had ridden a mile or so up the western mountainside before he came upon the Haskel camp. His skin fairly crawled with the images of their brutality fresh in his mind. He didn’t recognize the man who stepped in front of his horse, and the interloper didn’t introduce himself.

  “I’ve come to bargain with Oscar Haskel.”

  The man leered, revealing a mouthful of tobacco-stained teeth. “He’ll bargain, that’s fer shore.” Without asking permission, the guard took hold of Will’s reins and led the horse behind some brush.

  It was a setup that bespoke permanency, Will noticed immediately. The Haskels weren’t skirmishing, they’d come to win the war. Two pitched tents, a plank table with long benches to either side, rifles stacked around trees—he guessed a couple, three dozen of them. Oscar had dug in and was loaded for out-and-out war. Visions of Priscilla charging into this camp set his temper on edge.

  Will sat his horse, trying to regain his cool. Oscar Haskel bent his head and stepped through the opening of one of the tents. His left arm was in a sling, but that didn’t seem to slow him down. He didn’t ask Will to step down, and Will wasn’t sure he’d be inclined to do so if invited.

  “Joey here says you’ve come to bargain.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, now, there isn’t much left to bargain with, way I see it. Spanish Creek…” Oscar paused and looked from side to side, as if to establish the fact that he had already taken some of Charlie’s range. “Spanish Creek belongs to me. Charlie went to a lot of trouble to break that half-breed out of jail—”

  “Charlie had nothing to do with that jailbreak.” Will glared at Oscar. No, he thought again, being short an arm hadn’t slowed the man down. Hell, the way Oscar operated, he could afford to have both arms in slings. Oscar Haskel paid men to do his shooting for him.

  “What proof do you have?” Oscar demanded.

  “A man is innocent until proven guilty, Oscar. What proof do you have?” Will fully expected Oscar to boast that he needed no proof. But he didn’t. That was more Newt’s style. Will glanced around. “Where’s Newt?”

  “Newt? Gone to town. That little señorita of his turned on him, but he’s found another. You know Newt, can’t stay away from the women. Never saw a woman who could keep him satisfied more’n—”

  “I’ve come on business.”

  Oscar Haskel stopped talking. With a generous amount of disdain, he stuffed the cigar back in his mouth. “Business? What business?”

  “I’ve brought an ultimatum.” Will suppressed a grin at Oscar’s surprise, but he reminded himself it was only surprise, not surrender.

  “As an officer of the courts of the Territory of New Mexico, I’m drawing up papers that charge you and Newt with various crimes: two counts of false imprisonment; two counts of harassment; and Newt with one count of assault with intent to commit murder.”

  “Murder? Newt didn’t murder anyone.”

  “Have you had a good look at Miss Laredo’s face?”

  Oscar chomped on his cigar.

  “I don’t doubt the injuries extend to other parts of her body, but her face is evidence enough.”

  “Ol’ Newt may have kicked that bitch around, but he never set out to murder her.”

  “No? Well, the charge will be filed and Newt can explain for himself.”

  “Listen here, Yank. I’ve had about all I intend to take of your high-prancin’ city ways. I told you before and I’m tellin’ you again—one last time—we do things differently out here.”

  “And I’m telling you again and for the last time, Oscar, New Mexico Territory belongs to the United States and is bound by the laws of the land.” In a sudden gesture of bravado, Will waved his fist at Oscar Haskel. “If Charlie McCain isn’t sitting at his own kitchen table by noon tomorrow—in good health—I’m riding into Santa Fé to file the charges as outlined.”

  “File ’em, Yank. File ’em. See what good it does.”

  Futility swept over Will, but he didn’t let it show. “It’ll do some good, Oscar. Maybe not the first time, but I won’t give up. You can kill Charlie, you can take this damned ranch, but the only way you can stop me now is to shoot me in the back when I ride out of here.” The thought crossed Will’s mind that he was beginning to sound a lot like Priscilla. Maybe that’s what it took to live around such lawless men.

  Oscar removed the cigar from his mouth again. “That half-breed, Wounded Eagle, ride in with you?”

  Will glared without responding.

  “Reckon that means he did. When Newt gets back, he’ll be comin’ in after him.”

  Will pulled the reins against his horse’s neck.

  “You’re a fool, Radnor, you know that? A fool. Risking your life for a little piece of land that doesn’t even belong to you.”

  Suddenly Will had had enough. He turned a harsh eye on the arrogant man. “I’m not risking my life for a little piece of land, Oscar. I’m risking it for a great, big piece—the United States of America.”

  Oscar Haskel frowned, showing Will his unbounded ignorance.

  “Unless we’re willing to risk all for the law of the land anytime and everywhere it’s threatened, we won’t have a country to risk our lives for. Law and order, Haskel. You took an oath to uphold it, same as I did.”

  Fifteen

  Priscilla stood in the clearing and watched Will ride away. Behind her Bart lounged in the shadow of the barn door.

  “Do what Radnor suggested,” he said. “Run to the house.”

  Priscilla’s eyes remained fastened on Will’s disappearing figure. “Do you think he can do it?”

  “Radnor? Who knows? Like he said, it’s worth a try.”

  “Mama hates him.” When Bart didn’t comment, she turned around.

  “Likely she has her reasons,” he observed. “Mamas usually do.”

  “There is no reason. How could there be? She’s only known him a few weeks. Of course, he’s a greenhorn, but he’s shaping up real nice. He worked for
the Haskels when he first came to town.” This idea cheered her. “He should have proved by now which side he’s on. If he can persuade Oscar Haskel to set Pa free—”

  “Priscilla. Your mother needs you at the house.”

  Priscilla followed Bart’s line of vision to where her mother stood in the back door staring toward them. From the distance Priscilla couldn’t read her expression, but she was obviously distraught. Those blasted Haskels!

  “Come with me, Bart. She needs us both.”

  “Right now all she needs is you—and to know that her little girl is safe.”

  “But you’re—”

  “I’ll help Joaquín and Crockett keep watch. With Charlie gone, that’ll ease Kate’s mind a lot more than having me underfoot.”

  “You’re so understanding.” She watched him glance again toward the back door where Mama waited.

  “I’ve had a lot of years to learn, honey.”

  His tone was pensive. Without thinking, Priscilla threw her arms around his neck. He flinched when she touched him, and when she kissed his cheek, he drew back as if she’d put a branding iron to him. “I’m so glad we found you. And that you’re my uncle.”

  He remained unresponsive. She knew she’d embarrassed him. An old outlaw like him, having a girl throw her arms around him and kiss him in broad open daylight. But blast it, he was her uncle.

  “Give us time,” she told him. “Pretty soon you’ll be so comfortable around us, you’ll never want to leave.” She recalled promising Will a family. From the sound of things Bart Ellisor needed one, too. “We’re your family, Uncle Bart.”

  “I gave up families a long time ago, honey.”

  “No—”

  “I’m better off this way, so you don’t go tryin’ to change things.”

  From the kitchen door Kate watched Priscilla stare after Will Radnor. She saw her turn back toward the barn. Kate’s stomach bunched in knots. She gripped the doorframe with a tight fist. She was on the verge of calling out, when Priscilla threw her arms around a shadowy figure, drawing him into the light. Bart Ellisor.

  Kate’s knees started to buckle. She tightened her grip. Her daughter in the arms of Bart Ellisor! How much more could she take and remain sane? First, Priscilla had run off to the mountains with Will Radnor, then the Haskels abducted Charlie, now Priscilla in the arms of…of that demon.

  Strengthened by fear for Priscilla, Kate hurried down the walk. Priscilla turned suddenly and hailed her.

  “Coming, Mama.”

  Kate caught her breath. Her life sped by. The only life she had ever allowed herself to recall. Her life here at Spanish Creek with her family—Charlie and Priscilla.

  When Priscilla ran toward the house, Kate saw her as the little tomboy she’d despaired of ever growing to womanhood. Britches and boots and crooked pigtails. Not even washing her mouth out with soap had stopped Priscilla’s occasional bout of cursing.

  She couldn’t count the number of times in the last few years when she’d tried to get Priscilla into a corset and petticoats. She still hadn’t succeeded, but her daughter’s sudden fancy for lacy camisoles and silk shirts had been sign enough that Priscilla knew what she wanted.

  And what Priscilla wanted, she usually got. They hadn’t exactly spoiled her, but there hadn’t been any reason to deny her the freedom she thrived on out here at the ranch.

  And what joy that little girl had brought her! Pure joy for nineteen years, joy enough to erase much of the despicable past and give Kate herself a second chance at happiness.

  Deep inside she’d always known boots and britches wouldn’t be enough for Priscilla. Beautiful, passionate, and idealistic as only the young can be, Priscilla had been destined to find a man. A man who would change her, show her the joys of being a woman.

  But never would Kate have believed, not in all her many visions of that day, that when it arrived, it would be so ghastly. Of all the men in the world, Priscilla had fallen in love with Will Radnor. And as if that weren’t enough, she’d brought Bart Ellisor back into their lives.

  “Mama, you shouldn’t be out here.” Reaching Kate, Priscilla threw an arm around her shoulders and turned her toward the house. “Joaquín and Uncle Bart will keep watch.”

  Kate’s feet ground to a halt. “That man is not your uncle.”

  “He said—”

  “He can claim to be God, Priscilla, but he is not related to you.”

  “But…Why would he lie?”

  Kate drew a shaky breath. Without fully realizing it, she allowed Priscilla to guide her back to the kitchen. As from afar, she heard voices.

  “I’ll help you get her to bed, Priscilla.”

  “I’ll do it, Jessie. Why don’t you fix her some tea? You’ll find violet leaves in the right-hand cupboard. That should relax her.” Kate felt Priscilla’s arms around her shoulders. “Will’s gone to try to talk some sense into Oscar Haskel, Mama.”

  Kate barely heard her. She felt helpless, yet somehow full of strength. Like a mother cougar in the mountains surrounding Spanish Creek, her one thought was to protect her daughter. “That man! Stay away from him, Priscilla.”

  Priscilla sighed audibly. “Don’t worry about that now, Mama.”

  “I have to. You don’t know—”

  “I know Will’s helping us get Pa back. That’s the important thing. We’ll get him back. Then everything will be fine.”

  “Nothing will be fine!” Kate pulled away. She scanned the kitchen. The walls seemed to move, to fall inward. Any minute they would crush her. She shielded her head with her arms.

  Priscilla tried to pry them down. “Let me help you back to bed. I’m sure you haven’t had any rest since Pa’s been gone and even before…since I pulled that terrible stunt.”

  Kate peered through her arms. “What stunt, Priscilla?”

  “Breaking Joaquín out of jail.” She tugged again at her mother’s arms. “I didn’t mean to worry you, Mama.”

  As from a distance, Kate heard her little girl’s voice, begging for something. Priscilla rarely begged. She usually got her way without it.

  “I didn’t realize how worried you would be,” Priscilla was saying. “I thought it was the only way to save Joaquín’s life. And you did want that, didn’t you, Mama?”

  Kate stared vacantly, trying to grasp Priscilla’s words, to understand. What was happening to her child? To her world?

  “I didn’t know Pa would come after me. I didn’t know they’d arrest him. I thought Bart would get here to help him defend Spanish Creek.”

  Bart. Bart Ellisor. And Priscilla. Bart and Priscilla. Alone together.

  “How long?” Kate demanded.

  “How long for what?”

  “How long were you out there together?”

  “Mama, I’m trying to be patient—and to understand. I’m sorry I worried you, but nothing bad happened to me in the mountains. Nothing bad at all.”

  “You were with him. That’s bad…”

  “Blast it all, Mama!” Priscilla was almost shouting. Priscilla never shouted, not at her. Sometimes at Charlie, but never at her. “I’m home and I’m safe, but Pa’s out there. It’s Pa we should be worrying about.”

  “Your father would die if…”

  “Hush. Just hush. I’m in love with Will Radnor, and he’s in love with me. There’s nothing you or Pa can do to change that. Right now I’m too worried about Pa to talk about it.” Kate felt Priscilla tug harder on her arm. “Come to bed, Mama. Jessie’s making you some violet tea—”

  Kate jerked away. “I won’t drink it. I won’t let you put me to sleep. I have to protect you from that…from that man!”

  “For heaven’s sake, Mama, Will isn’t even here. There’s nothing to protect me from—”

  “Not from Will Radnor. From Bart.”

  Priscilla turned her loose. With the small bit of sanity left Kate, she watched her daughter’s face contort in disgust. Good, she thought. Good, she sees Bart for what he is. But Priscilla’s next words were a
ngry. Almost hateful.

  “Oh, Mama, how could you even think such a thing? You raised me. You loved me. Don’t you know me? How could you accuse me of…of…such indecency?”

  Kate heard Priscilla’s angry pleas. Her hurt. But the truth was heavy, overwhelmingly painful. Her poor baby. “It isn’t you, Priscilla. It’s them…it’s Bart.”

  “That’s disgusting!” Priscilla was shouting at her. Really shouting this time. “Go ahead, imagine me with all the men in the world. I don’t care. All I care about is Pa. And I’ll do whatever it takes to free him. Even if it means giving up Spanish Creek.”

  As though a whirlwind had blown up and swept her off, Priscilla swirled away. Kate reached for her, but too late. The back door was already slamming.

  “Here, Kate.” Jessie placed a steaming cup on the table. She pulled out a chair and guided Kate to it. “Sit down and drink this. I’ll go after her.”

  Kate sat, suddenly weak. It was the fear. Tears brimmed in her eyes. When Jessie left, she would cry. When Jessie left…

  Jessie didn’t leave. “Kate, I may be speaking out of line, but…I mean, I never had a daughter. Actually, I never had a mother, not one who was strong enough to fight for me. But the way I see it, you need to explain things to Priscilla.”

  The suggestion brought Kate’s head up with a snap. “What?”

  “Explain things. Everything. About Will Radnor. And about Bart.”

  “No.” Kate stared aghast. “Never!”

  “She needs to know, Kate. She deserves the truth.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you understand how hurt she’ll be? When this is all over, even if Will manages to get Charlie back, everything will come to a head. There’s no other way, now. And it’s Priscilla who’ll be hurt the most.”

  Kate inhaled, finding the horror of Jessie’s words somehow soothing. That was reality. Priscilla, her daughter, whom she would protect at all costs, to herself or even to Charlie.

  She stared into the steaming cup of tea that was supposed to put her to sleep. To sleep, when she must remain awake and in possession of all her faculties in order to protect Priscilla. Especially with Charlie gone. He would expect her to protect Priscilla. She tried the tea, a sip, then a larger swallow.