THE OUTLAW AND THE LADY

by Lorraine Heath

  "Your mother—"

  "Should never know. It would be cruel to tell her you found a man who resembled your son—"

  "Resembled my son? Is that what you bloody well think?" He took a step closer, and Lee saw the faint moonlight glistening within the tears in his father's eyes. "You are my son, by God. I don't give a bloody damn what you call yourself. You are my son!"

  Lee bolted away from the tree and began to pace. "I have read your story. I know the kind of man you are. You are a man of honor." He came to an abrupt halt, faced Montgomery, and hit his own chest. "I have killed."

  "You think I haven't?"

  "You kill within the confines of the law."

  "Sometimes situations cannot be defined by law," Montgomery said quietly. "This morning, you could have shot at us."

  "Angela might have gotten hurt."

  "You could run now."

  "I thought you said you had a mean fist?"

  Montgomery smiled, actually smiled. "I do, but I have old legs. You'd outdistance me in no time, assuming you're as quick on your feet as Spence. He's your brother, you know."

  "I can see the resemblance between the two of you."

  "You also have a sister named Mercy who's fifteen. As serene as her mother."

  A sister—a sister it would be best if he never met.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Montgomery leaned against the tree. "So what am I to do with you?"

  "Forget you found me."

  "Not bloody likely. Why did you kill Floyd Shelby?"

  Lee lowered his head and studied the shadowed ground between his feet. "He did not deserve to breathe the same air as my family." He lifted his gaze.

  "Care to be a bit more specific?"

  He thought of Juanita's pain, her tears, and the vow he'd given her. She'd suffered too much already, and he knew revealing the truth would do little to vindicate his actions. He wasn't willing to risk hurting her further, and he didn't know if Montgomery would respect his desire to protect Juanita. "No. I cannot explain my reasons for killing him, but other things that happened, what Vernon Shelby did, I can explain. Angela said if I told you that you might help my brothers get their land back."

  Montgomery shoved himself away from the tree. "Let's walk a bit more. I can think better when I'm walking."

  Once again, Lee fell into step beside him.

  "I thought of you every day, but never thought of you growing up," Montgomery said. "I used to have to take smaller steps so you could match my stride."

  And for a fleeting instant, Lee captured the memory of walking in the tall shadow of a man … and holding his hand.

  * * *

  Lee sat within the circle of the fire, continually reminding himself that he was a prisoner, even though he was no longer shackled. Sooner or later, the manacles would go back on.

  "I heard your family stole cattle," Spence said.

  "Lies. They were good people."

  "Did vigilantes kill them?" Spence asked.

  "Shelby and his men—with the sheriff's blessing. Men who came here after the War Between the States and had no respect for the Mexicans who had worked the land before them. They stole what belonged to us, what had been earned with sweat and blood."

  Montgomery raised a brow, but Lee wouldn't take back his words. After so many years, he'd begun to think of himself as more Mexican than white, if he thought of the shade of his skin at all. He couldn't have loved the Rodriguez family more if he had been born to them.

  "Vigilantes killing rustlers has long been an accepted practice where cattle empires thrive. Barely two years ago in Wyoming, they hanged Cattle Kate and her lover for stealing cattle," Spence said.

  Lee had a strong urge to plow his fist into Spence's face. "Are you saying that Shelby's actions were justified?"

  "I am simply insinuating that he did not set a precedent with his actions. Nor is he the last do to do what he did."

  "Did the family have a deed to the land?" Montgomery asked.

  Lee wasn't certain, but surely they possessed some proof of ownership. "Sam Houston deeded the land to them. I would think there would be a record of that somewhere. You will see that the land is returned to them?"

  Montgomery gave a long, slow nod. "If indeed we can prove the land is theirs and was wrongfully taken from them. What is your brothers' involvement in Floyd Shelby's death?"

  "None at all."

  "The bank robberies?"

  "I alone am responsible for my crimes. My brothers are not to be held accountable for what I did."

  "You leave a hell of a lot of tracks for a man who rides alone," Montgomery said.

  "They may ride with me on occasion, but they had no part in the crimes I committed." A small lie, but under the circumstances, he thought it entirely justified.

  "They won't be punished," Montgomery said, and Lee heard the reputation for honesty and integrity his father had acquired reverberating in his voice.

  His father. For a brief moment, with the relief that his family would be safe, he almost considered allowing his original family back into his heart. But it would be hard enough to walk to the gallows with what he had to give up. Impossible if he were forced to relinquish more.

  He thought it a shame that Fate had chosen not to be kind. He wished Kit Montgomery had never learned the truth about him, had been left to believe that his son died all those years ago.

  In truth, now he had died twice. The third time would no doubt be, as they said, a charm.

  * * *

  "It's numbing, isn't it?" Gray asked quietly, "when the dead return to life?"

  Kit realized that Gray would be the one to know. After all, his wife's first husband had managed the feat.

  He and Gray were the only ones remaining by the fire. Except for the men standing guard, everyone else had retired to their bedrolls. Kit's sons lay on opposite sides of the camp. Neither seemed to be sleeping.

  "Numb. An apt description. I'd always expected to feel overjoyed, ecstatic, but all I can think is that I'm going to have to watch him hang."

  "I supposed you could allow him to escape."

  "I've seriously considered it." He stared at the dancing flames. "But all that would gain me is waiting in dread for news that he truly was dead. He still has a crime to answer for. Bounty hunters who would not be as tolerant as us in their treatment of him would continue to search for him. I need to find a few answers, answers he's not willing to provide."

  "Why do you suppose that is?"

  Kit shook his head. "I'm not sure. Although I've considered that he might be trying to protect someone. Obviously not himself."

  "So what's your plan?"

  Kit heaved a sigh. "Take him to Emilia." The small town in south Texas was nestled just south of the Nueces River. "That's the town nearest Shelby's ranch. I'll make some inquiries. But regardless of his reasons, as justified as they might be for killing the man, I can't overlook that he shot him from behind."

  "Are you going to tell Ashton?"

  "No. This burden I must carry on my heart alone. She is too frail to survive losing Damon again. I'm going to send Spence home, but he's only to tell her that Angela is safe. As for you, my friend, it's time for you to return to Fortune, let Angela's sisters know she is well, and take care of your own family."

  "If there's anything at all that you need—"

  "I need another miracle."

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  « ^ »

  "I think I spotted a seamstress shop on the other side of the mercantile when we rode in yesterday evening," Angela's mother said, as they walked along the boardwalk in Emilia, their arms looped together.

  Emilia. Angela liked the name of the place, but dreaded what the town represented for Lee. Lee. She still couldn't think of him as Damon. To her he was still the outlaw Lee Raven.

  From what she'd been able to learn, Kit had taken him to the jail. At first she'd hoped he'd let Lee escape. Instead, he'd explained that he needed to make inquiries
into the events that had happened the night Shelby attacked his family.

  But would he find enough information to exonerate Lee? And if he didn't, how long could she wait before she destroyed the fragile bond of Lee's love for her by telling Kit all that she knew? If she told him, would he still want proof from others? Would Juanita be willing to recount the events of that horrible night in order to save her brother?

  There were so many avenues for his salvation, none of which he seemed willing to seriously consider—all because of a vow two children had made.

  Angela and her parents had taken two rooms at the small hotel. They'd wanted her to return to Fortune, but she couldn't until she knew Lee's fate. Kit had acquired a room as well. He'd told all but two of his men to return to their normal duties, none of which included staying in Emilia.

  She'd tried to talk with Lee a few times as they'd journeyed here, but he'd been reticent, aloof, unwilling to understand her actions, unable to forgive her. He'd repeatedly demanded that she not say anything about Juanita. With him turning from her and her heart breaking, how in the world could she enjoy this outing with her mother?

  "Perhaps we'll stop at the millinery and order you a new hat as well. You always enjoyed hats," her mother said.

  "Mama, I'm really not interested in shopping."

  "Angela, you can't continue to wear that outfit. It's filthy."

  "We can wash it."

  "I'd prefer to replace it. Besides, now that we're in a town, I can't keep wearing britches."

  She welcomed the smile of remembrance. "Why not? You prefer them to a dress."

  "Yes, well, there are times when I at least like to pretend I'm a lady."

  She squeezed her mother's arm. "You are a lady."

  Her mother scoffed, before saying, "Here we are. The Seamstress. How original."

  Angela heard a tiny bell jingle in welcome as her mother opened the door. Taking a deep breath for fortification, Angela followed her mother inside, hoping they'd have some ready-mades.

  "Howdy, howdy," a woman called out. "I'm Bonnie. No offense, but you look like you were rode hard and put away wet."

  Her mother laughed lightly. "I hope we're not that bad off, but we do need some new clothes as quickly as we can get them."

  "Then I'm the one to help you. I got a few ready-mades that I can add a personal touch to if you like, or we can start from scratch."

  Angela ran her hand along the counter. The last thing she wanted was to spend any more time in here than necessary.

  "Hopefully, we can find one of something you already have made for each of us, and then we'll start from scratch on the others," her mother said.

  Angela suppressed a groan. Her father had told her once that getting her mother to shop for clothes was a chore. Over the years, she'd obviously decided it was a chore she enjoyed.

  "The others?" Bonnie repeated.

  "We're not sure how long we'll be in town," her mother explained.

  "Are you here for the hanging?" Bonnie asked. Angela gripped the edge of the counter as dizziness assailed her. Were they already anticipating this horrifying event?

  Her mother slipped her arm around Angela's waist and drew her close, offering support. "No, we're not here for a hanging."

  "But you heard, didn't you? Heard that they brought Lee Raven in last night?"

  "Yes, we're aware of that," Angela said sharply. "But we're not here to discuss that fact. We're here to get some clothing."

  "Oh, of course. With your coloring and all, I bet you both want something in green."

  Angela didn't care. She really didn't. Just throw an outfit at her, and she'd take it.

  "Green would be fine," her mother said.

  "Well, let me see what I got here." Bonnie's voice floated up as though she'd ducked behind the counter. "Funniest thing about that Lee Raven. Turns out that he's Damon Rodriguez. Can't say as I'm really surprised."

  Every nerve in Angela's body snapped to attention. "Why do you say that?"

  "Well," Bonnie's voice grew louder as she set something on the counter with a thump. "Vernon killing his family and all. I mean, I was surprised when I heard Damon wasn't dead. We thought he'd died that night, along with the rest of 'em. But once I heard he hadn't, then I wasn't surprised that he'd been taking Vernon's money. Still, it shocked me that he'd killed Floyd … not that I don't think he needed killing—"

  "Why do you think he needed killing?" Angela asked, acutely aware that she sounded like a bloody echo, and not giving a damn that she did.

  She heard a hand running over cloth. "He had a mean streak in him a mile wide. I didn't like the way he looked at women, either, even ones as old as me, like he could see clear down to your drawers."

  "Did you know Damon well?" Angela asked, desperate to find answers, to know him as he had been.

  "Oh, yeah. Knew the whole Rodriguez family. Mrs. Rodriguez came to me for all her clothing. Nicest woman you'd ever meet. Real genteel, like Spanish nobility, or something. Only they didn't lord it over you. Made you feel good just to be around them."

  "What was Damon like?"

  "Just like his brothers, 'cept for not lookin' like 'em, of course. Polite as you please. Their mother kept a tight rein on them, but never took a switch to 'em. Didn't have to. Those boys adored her. All she had to do was give 'em a look that said 'You've disappointed me' and they'd straighten right up. Never heard a bad word come out of their mouths. Always tipping their hats to the ladies. They'd come to town on Saturday, dressed in their finery. Short black jackets and britches decorated with silver thread. Their best sombreros. I think that's what got Vernon's goat."

  "What do you mean?" Angela asked.

  "Well, he didn't think it was right for them to be raising Damon in the ways of Mexico, on account of he wasn't truly Mexican. Never could see any harm in it myself. Like I said, every one of them boys was a gentleman. 'Sides, Vernon wasn't living 'round here when they took the boy in."

  "Were you?"

  "Sure was. Nobody thought he was going to live. Everybody 'round here said she ought to let the boy die. Obviously somebody didn't want him for a reason. But Mrs. Rodriguez told 'em she had to listen to her heart. She was determined that boy would live. Had a way with herbs and prayer. Burned so many candles in the church that even at night it looked like day around there."

  "And he survived," Angela said softly.

  "Yep, and when he wasn't so scraggly anymore"—she slapped the counter—"Lord have mercy, was that boy handsome! And a pleasure to be around. Always took people aback the first time they heard him talk, though, on account of his Mexican accent, but he was a charmer. Just like his brothers. Course, then Ramon took an interest in Christine, and that didn't sit too well with Vernon."

  "You knew about Ramon and Christine?" Angela asked, confused. She'd thought they'd kept their love a secret.

  "I got eyes, ain't I? They never did nothing in public to let on that they had feelings for one another, but Lord, the way that young man looked at her—like she hung every single star in the sky. A woman could do no better than to have Ramon Rodriguez glance her way, I can tell you that. Course, Vernon never saw it like that. Couldn't see beyond the fact that they were of Mexican descent. Kept saying they didn't belong here. Surprised the livin' daylights outta me when we learned the family was stealing cattle. Made no sense."

  "Because they were such good people," Angela offered.

  "'Cause they were richer than Midas."

  Stunned, Angela leaned forward. Lee had failed to mention that. "They were wealthy?"

  "Richest people in these here parts. But like I said, you wouldn't know it by the way they acted. It was the little things. Fine clothes, good horses, huge hacienda. Little over half of it burned that night. I expected Vernon to tear the rest down, but he never did. Reckon he figures it serves as a reminder of what can happen when you go against the law."

  "Or what happens when someone takes the law into his own hands," Angela said quietly.

  *
* *

  Within the confines of the small cell, Lee sat on a bunk, his back against the brick wall. Iron bars separated the narrow room into four compartments. The clanging of the door after he'd walked into the cell had reverberated between the walls, through his tightened chest. He was that much closer to paying for his crime.

  A Texas Ranger, Sean Cartwright, sat in a chair outside Lee's cell. His back was also against the wall, his hardened gaze focused on the door that led into the sheriff's main office, a rifle resting across his lap. When the sheriff had brought in breakfast, Lee had seen the speed with which Cartwright could maneuver the rifle and aim it at the door. He thought the man was almost as skilled with weapons as he was.

  "It makes no sense to me that while we traveled here, Montgomery did not bother to shackle me, but when I am behind bars, he sets you up to shoot me if I try to escape."

  Cartwright gazed at Lee. "I ain't here to stop you from escaping, boy. I'm here to stop 'em from lynching you."

  Lee sat up a little straighter. "Why put me here at all?"

  "'Cuz a wise man knows some rules you break, and some you're better off just bending. Captain's a smart man. He knows which is which. 'Sides, it's harder for those who might want to see you come to a bad end to get you out of here than it would be to get you out of the hotel. You ain't exactly popular in this state."

  "You've been with Montgomery a long time?"

  "Yep."

  "Is he as skilled with a rifle as they say?"

  "Better."

  "When they hang me, if my neck does not snap, do you think he would … he would shoot me."

  "Truth be told, I expect I'll see gunplay at a Bible meeting before I see you hang."

  "But I'm sentenced—"

  "This state owes your pa a debt. The governor knows it."

  "You think he would grant a pardon?"

  "If the captain asked for it."

  Lee sank back against the wall. Would he ask for it? If he told him what had happened that fateful night, would he believe Lee, or would Juanita have to face the past as well? Would they understand his shooting a man from behind? Even he had regretted that cowardly act.