“Tell him you feel that way. Tell him relatives don’t have to be by blood; they can be by choice.”
It was the wrong thing to say, of course. For she immediately drew him back, kissed his lips, and replied, “By choice, like us.”
They waited for dark. Joaquín scouted a trail up the north side of the mountain keeping to the densest covering of trees and underbrush. The plan was to stick together until they neared Santa Fé, then separate. Will would ride alone into town where every man on the street could see him approach the jail.
Alone. Like he already felt. He’d succeeded in talking Priscilla into staying behind. She was needed to keep Oscar Haskel from taking the ranch while they were away. And to keep up the ruse that no one had left.
“That’ll be hard to do, with all of you gone.” She’d rolled her eyes. “Unless Red shows up.”
Although he hated to leave Priscilla alone, Will was hard-put to wish for Red Avery’s return. “Saddle several horses,” he suggested. “Ride yours in plain view. After a while, change clothes and pretend to be me.”
She eyed him up and down, cocky. “I could pull it off a lot easier, if I had that derby of yours.”
“It isn’t a derby, cowboy, it’s a bowler.”
“Well, if I had it, I’d make a more convincing greenhorn.”
He wanted to kiss the smirk off her lips, but her mother came up just then, so he stepped into the saddle with a promise. “Since you’re so fond of that hat, guess I’ll have to give it to you one of these days.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “It’s you I’m fond of Will Radnor. Be careful.”
Kate reached them. “While you’re in Chimayo, Mr. Radnor, would you look up Ol’ Sog, our range cook? We haven’t had word from him since Priscilla left him there with a broken leg.”
“Glad to, Mrs. McCain.”
“Judge Anson can point you to the doctor.”
“He’s the only doc in town,” Priscilla put in.
Kate turned to her daughter. “I’d like a word with Mr. Radnor alone, darling.”
Priscilla’s smile froze. “Mama, don’t—”
“Go ahead,” Will interrupted.
Her gaze held his; he could see defiance build quickly. “Hold down the fort, cowboy.” He tipped his hat. With an exaggerated sigh, she retraced her steps to the veranda, where he could see her standing with fists on hips, her golden hair highlighted by the pale light of the moon.
Kate didn’t speak until Priscilla was out of earshot. “Thank you for helping Charlie, Mr. Radnor.”
Will studied Priscilla across the distance. “I’m not doing this for Charlie.”
“I know.”
“Yeah, well, Charlie should be home by morning.”
“What then?”
Will knew what she meant. Likely she was afraid to put it into words. Likely he’d be afraid to answer, if she did. The absurdity of him rescuing Charlie McCain went beyond all reason…until he considered Priscilla.
“Before Charlie gets back,” he suggested, “why don’t you and Priscilla sit down and have a long talk?”
“Yes. We must…”
“When this is over, she’s going to need you.”
Will watched her go cold. “That’s what Jessie said.”
She wasn’t thinking about Charlie’s trouble with the Haskels now; Will could see that. Nor even about Priscilla. She was wondering what Will intended to do to her husband.
Well, he was wondering the same thing.
“I’ll tell her, Mr. Radnor.” Kate stared him directly in the eye. “But only my story. You insinuated yourself into my daughter’s heart. It’s your job to tell her why you’ve done it.”
Stars shone down from the black dome of sky. Will followed Joaquín up the mountain and down the backside. Bart Ellisor and Titus Crockett kept pace to either side. Each of them had a story. Joaquín, whose dream of Charlie McCain being his father had been quelled once and for all time; Bart Ellisor, who had somehow earned the wrath of the McCains and obviously regretted it. Why else would he have risked capture by authorities from Texas to California to rush to their aid?
Will wondered about Titus Crockett. What was the crusty old foreman’s story? Priscilla claimed Crockett had quit as foreman of one of the largest spreads in Texas to come to New Mexico with Charlie. Why?
Will tried to concentrate on Crockett. He tried to concentrate on Joaquín and what was surely one of the biggest disappointments in a man’s life. He tried to concentrate on Bart Ellisor’s reasons for becoming an outlaw.
Mostly he tried to concentrate on the night ahead. On the morning, when he would enter the jail and face Newt Haskel and, with luck, free Charlie McCain. But his mind was filled with Priscilla.
They rode through the night, their horses’ hooves thundering over the earth in a dramatic rush toward a climax that Will both dreaded and was anxious to have behind him. He rode with half a mind and knew he needed to get hold of himself.
But hour after hour passed, and all he could hear was the thunder of the horses’ hooves. The cadence reverberated with one word—regret. It spiraled through him, burrowing into the crevasses of his mind, into the fabric of his flesh, into the very marrow of his bones. Regret.
Joaquín warned of a landslide up ahead. They found another route.
Regret.
They arrived outside the city at precisely the appointed time. Sunrise.
Regret.
They parted ways.
“Give me fifteen minutes,” he told Bart.
“I’ll be there.”
Regret.
Will rode down the long, winding street alone. All was still, inside his head, outside in the street. In the distance he saw a string of burros loaded with the day’s firewood wend down the mountainside. He watched small, barefoot boys flog the animals with switches. But he heard nothing.
Except the word regret.
He stopped across the street, dismounted, hitched his reins over the rail. He walked toward the jail. His bootheels thudded on the packed street. His spurs jangled with each step, reminding him of how far he’d come. One month ago he wouldn’t have known a spur if he’d seen one hanging on a nail. Today the sound rang with dismal familiarity. It reminded him of the Romans, of the Coliseum, of the fanfare. The sound of valor, the sound of champions, the sound of success.
The sound of spurs and boots and afterwards, what?
Regret.
Newt stood spread-eagled in the open doorway, his scarred boots wedged against each facing, his expression insolent.
“I’ve come to see my client, Haskel.”
“You broke him out of jail, case you forgot.”
“Charlie McCain.”
“He cain’t have no visitors. Especially not you.”
Will had expected such a reaction. “Listen, Newt, we in the legal profession sometimes have to put personal animosity aside and tend to business.”
Newt glared. “Make fun of me all you want, Radnor, but I ain’t simple-minded.”
“I didn’t mean to imply you were. I want us to understand each other. You have a prisoner to protect. I respect that. I have a client to advise. He’s entitled to my services, Newt, under the law. We both know that. So, like I said, let’s put personal feelings aside and obey the law.”
“You’ve gotta be plumb loco to think I’d fall for the same stunt twice.” Newt glanced away, staring toward the plaza beyond the jail. Will watched embarrassment mottle his face.
“Tell you what, Newt. Come on in there with me.”
Newt jerked his head around.
“Come with me. Stand beside me while I confer with my client. I don’t have to allow that, of course, but under the circumstances I’ll let you tag along.”
When Newt still didn’t move, Will edged himself through the door. After initial resistance, Newt stood back and let him into the outer office.
“Get your keys, Newt. Take me in there.” Will watched Newt step outside and look around the corner of the buil
ding. In his mind’s eye he pictured the grove of cottonwoods where Priscilla had waited the night they broke Joaquín out of jail. He heard her voice, her teasing…
“I’ve come alone, Newt.”
“Wouldn’t do you no good, if you hadn’t.” Newt dug in his pocket for the keys. “You won’t take me for a fool twice.”
“Never intended to, Newt.”
Newt unlocked the door, then ushered Will inside, making a show of unsnapping the thong on his holster. “Jes’ remember, I’m right here beside you. One false move an’ I’ll gun ya down.”
Will gave him a scathing look, but said nothing. Then they were there. Before the cell. Will was reminded of the last time. Until the prisoner rose from the cot near the back and hobbled forward.
“Where’s your cane, Charlie?”
Charlie’s blue eyes narrowed. “Where’s my daughter?”
“At Spanish Creek.”
Charlie stopped in front of Will, mesmerizing him with those damned blue eyes. Will could see how Joaquín—and just about everyone else in these parts—had gotten the wrong idea.
Forty-nine years old, with stubbled chin, wiry, disheveled hair, and a head wound scabbing on his left temple, Charlie McCain was nonetheless a formidable man. Those blue eyes were hard as pressed glass.
“What’re you doin’ here, Radnor? Who’s side’r you on, anyhow? What the hell’d you do with my daughter?”
Will barely comprehended Charlie’s barked interrogation, conscious only of the man and of his own mission. Something soft and unfamiliar stirred deep inside him.
Stunned, Will stared at Charlie and wondered when he’d stopped hating this man who had been his nemesis for twenty-three years. Had it been the evening they spent reminiscing on the darkened veranda, the first time he’d gone to Charlie’s aid? Was it the way Charlie had called him son—the sound ringing pleasantly in his ears even while he abhorred the speaker? Or had his love for Priscilla intervened? Had he started seeing Charlie through his daughter’s eyes?
Will struggled to dredge up the old hatred; that it was hard to do, worried him. He needed that hatred, now more than ever.
“I’ve found a way to clear Joaquín of those horse theft charges, Charlie.”
“I’m listenin’.”
Will handed him the document he’d drawn up on Charlie’s own Spanish Creek stationery. Charlie didn’t even look at it. He continued to glower at Will. Whatever Will’s new sentimentality, Charlie didn’t appear to be affected by it.
“How’s my daughter?” Charlie barked.
“Fine.”
“What’d you mean, fine?”
“She’s fine, damnit. She’s at home with your wife.” Will looked over at Newt. “And with all the others. They’re all there. Except that worthless Avery. He took off after they kidnapped you.”
“Humph!”
“Bart Ellisor is there, too.”
That got Charlie’s full attention. His free hand gripped the bar. “Bart? How’s Kate takin’ that?”
“She’s fine, Charlie. Read the paper. Newt here was kind enough to let me in, but his patience is gonna run out in about two more minutes. Read it and if you agree, sign it.”
Charlie scanned the document. “I can’t sign this.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Those…” Charlie cast Newt a withering glance. “They don’t belong to me, damnit.”
“Victorio and most of his people were killed at Tres Castillos.”
Charlie’s face fell. “Victorio?” Life seemed to leave him. “No.” He slammed a fist against the bars, then gripped them with both fists, crumpling the document. “Who’s left?” His voice sounded like it had come from an old man.
“Nalin escaped. She’s at Spanish Creek. She told Joaquín the truth.”
“Lord have mercy!” Charlie twisted his neck, looked at his Stetson, lying on the bare mattress. He turned back to Newt, barking a command. “Get me the hell outta here.”
“No way, José,” Newt quipped.
“My family needs me, damnit, and you’re holdin’ me on some trumped-up charge. You dadburnt—”
“Charlie,” Will interjected. “The paper. I only have a few minutes. Newt’s patience is wearing—”
“I don’t give a—”
“The paper. Are you going to sign it or not?”
Charlie finally looked Will in the eye. Will had never been good at charades, not even the parlor-game version. He stared straight into Charlie’s eyes and hoped a meaningful frown would do. He dared not glance out the window or toward the back door.
“I can’t do anything for you, Charlie. But Joaquín is my client. Sign that paper and I’ll ride to hell and back to find an honest judge to record it.” Will handed Charlie a fountain pen, which had also come from Charlie’s desk at Spanish Creek.
Finally, Charlie seemed to get the message, for he took the pen, signed the paper, and thrust the whole crumpled mess back into Will’s hand. “Much obliged.”
Will nodded to Newt. “I’m finished.” Will hadn’t turned his back good, when Charlie stopped them.
“Joaquín? How’s he takin’ it?”
Will turned back, stepped toward Charlie. Newt was right beside him. “It’s hard to tell,” he replied honestly. “Disappointed, I’m sure. Who wouldn’t be, to find out your father had been some whoring old congressman when you’d lived your life hoping he was Charlie McCain?”
The two men locked gazes and Will had the distinct impression of two old bull moose locking horns.
“Old congressman?” Charlie asked.
“Senator Oran Darnell. Senior, I suppose. The present Senator Darnell is about my age.”
“How’s Nalin?”
“Mrs. McCain’s taking care of her.”
“Priscilla?”
Will turned away without responding. He’d already assured Charlie that Priscilla was fine. He couldn’t do that again. It might be true now, but it wouldn’t be for long.
Then he saw Bart. The old outlaw had entered the jail and slipped down the hall. His face was covered with a bandanna. Over it his eyes met Will’s.
“What the hell—?” Newt sputtered.
Bart had thrust a double barreled shotgun into Newt’s ribs before the sheriff realized what was happening. Will slipped past.
“See ya, Charlie,” Will called. Exiting the jail, he stepped into the saddle and rode. It was a full day’s ride to Chimayo, and he wanted to make it by nightfall.
Seventeen
When night came Priscilla took up watch from the veranda out front. She couldn’t get Will off her mind. Would his plan succeed? Could he free Pa and clear Joaquín—and keep himself alive and well in the process?
Pa’s arrest had served one purpose. It had shown her how much she loved him. Not that she’d ever doubted it, but now she knew she’d put too much importance on Spanish Creek.
Oh, she loved this ranch. No question about that. She couldn’t stand to think about living any place else—surviving any place else. But if it came down to choosing between Spanish Creek and Pa’s safety—his life—there was no choice.
The night sky glittered with stars. Priscilla settled back and tried to stay alert and keep her mind on the Haskels who were out there plotting the end to Charlie McCain’s world.
“Priscilla?” Kate walked on kitten feet across the tiled veranda floor. “Will I disturb your watch if I sit with you?”
“Of course not, Mama.”
They sat in what Priscilla took for companionable silence, until she realized her mother was fidgeting. “Pa’ll be all right,” she soothed. “Will’s plan is good. They can pull it off. Especially with Oscar and most of his men camped on our doorstep.”
“I know. I…uh…”
Priscilla heard her mother draw a deep breath. “I need to talk to you, darling.”
“Fine.” But it wasn’t fine, Priscilla thought, suddenly wary. She recognized Mama’s tone; she was fixing to get another lecture about Will.
&n
bsp; “Jessie said I had to tell you, and she’s right. Mr. Radnor said it, too.”
“Will?”
“He said I had to tell you before he and your papa return.”
Priscilla stared out at the stars. They were fuzzy, moving—swimming in an ocean of black. For some reason, her insides grew weak—Mama’s ominous tone, likely. “I’m listening.”
“Don’t be aggravated, darling. Please. This is…the most difficult thing I’ve ever been required to do.”
“Then don’t do it. I don’t want to hear anything—”
“The truth. You must know the truth. Now, before your world flies apart.”
“Oh, Mama, don’t overdramatize. We’re both worried sick about Pa, but Will’s taking care—”
“Priscilla.” Kate’s tone—gentle, yet commanding—halted Priscilla’s objections. “There is no way in the world I could overdramatize, as you call it. Part of the story belongs to your papa. I’ll leave that to him and to…” She reached for Priscilla’s hand.
Uneasiness crawled up Priscilla’s spine. She shifted the rifle to the other side and took her mother’s hand. It was cool, clammy. Kate gripped her tightly, finally drawing both their hands to Priscilla’s knee, where she patted and stroked her daughter, as one would a child.
“Such a big girl. All grown up. Where did the years go?”
Mama should have had other children. “I don’t know, Mama, but I enjoyed them, every minute of them. Now, I’m beginning to feel guilty. I should have paid more attention to you and Pa. I don’t remember ever telling Pa I loved him.” The words came unbidden; equally unbidden were the tears that formed in her eyes. “Or you, Mama. I’ve never told you how much I love you.”
“I know you love me, darling. Your papa knows, too. But we haven’t been honest with you. I don’t mean we lied, but we’ve kept things from you. We had our reasons. Some of the dastardly things in our past were best forgotten. And when would we have told you? These things a child could never understand, yet we’ve only now realized…How time has slipped away. You’re all grown up. You’re a woman now.”
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