“Just you wait, Reyes. Soon enough everyone here will know who you really are. How do you think Papa Jameson will feel when he realizes his firstborn is a notorious outlaw?”
Castillo didn’t particularly care how Tanner felt about anything, but he didn’t want things to get difficult for Hunter and Emmy. If it was revealed that Hunter had been involved with the gang, he could go to jail for a long, long time...or even worse. Gritting his teeth, Castillo tightened his grip on his gun, and said, “No one would believe you.”
“Not me, hombre. You’re right, no one would believe me.”
“What in hell are you talking about, Bennett?” Then it hit him, and he realized why the man was talking crazy and laughing like he wasn’t in the middle of a shoot-out. “You’ve been shot.”
Bennett laughed again, and this time it was followed by a moan. Castillo darted around the rock and trained his gun on the man. Bennett fired, but the shot wasn’t even aimed and went wide. Bennett’s left forearm was bloody where it pressed against his belly. It looked like he’d been shot in the arm, but when Bennett shifted, blood poured from a wound in his gut. It flowed so fast that he only had a few minutes before he’d bleed out.
“Where’s Derringer hiding?”
Bennett smiled and it looked gruesome. His teeth were red with blood and some trickled out the corner of his mouth. “You won’t find him until he’s ready.”
There was movement behind Castillo on his left side. Bennett raised his gun in a weak grip, but could barely get it off the ground to fire. Hunter didn’t even flinch as he came up beside Castillo. A moment later, Zane came up on his other side, drawing Bennett’s attention.
“How do the whores like the scar I gave you, savage?”
“Hasn’t had much effect,” Zane deadpanned.
Hatred flashed in Bennett’s eyes. “I should’ve killed you for what you did to her.” Whatever else he might have said was cut off by a series of deep coughs as he struggled not to suffocate in the blood.
Zane tensed. One look at his face and Castillo knew he was cursing the fact that Bennett’s death was depriving him of the retribution he’d planned. All those nights they’d spent out under the stars, eating their dinner around a fire and planning revenge, and this was how it ended for Zane. The man who’d cut his face, the man who’d taunted him and said that he’d rather see his own sister dead than married to a “half-breed savage” was now dying.
“Christine came to me, Bennett. She loved me,” Zane said, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Blood flowed from Bennett’s mouth now, far more than the earlier trickle, but still he managed to spew his hatred as he slumped over, too weak to stay upright. “She’s married now—” his words were interrupted with a watery cough “—to a decent man.” His eyes fluttered and he coughed again. “Doesn’t change the fact that she’s a whore.”
Zane clenched his jaw so tight, Castillo could hear his teeth grinding. Bennett had found Zane and his sister together one night. They’d nearly come to blows, but Bennett hadn’t stood a chance against Zane’s bigger size. When Derringer had come back to burn down the hacienda, Bennett had come with him, intending to kill Zane. He’d only been able to disfigure him.
Castillo looked over at his friend, but a flash of movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Bennett had raised his gun in a surprisingly steady and strong grip and was pointing it at Zane. Before Castillo could adjust his aim and pull the trigger, a shot rang out.
The shot came from so close, it filled the air with the acrid burn of the ignition. Bennett’s eyes went blank and he slumped onto the ground. Zane didn’t say a word as he holstered his gun. Castillo rested his hand on Zane’s shoulder. “Let’s go get Derringer. Then it’ll be over.” Zane nodded and they made their way to their horses, ready to follow the trail of dust, hoping it was Derringer. Bennett’s words weighed heavily on Castillo’s mind.
Chapter Thirteen
It was nearing midnight by the time Castillo and Hunter made their way to the salon where piano music was being played by the deft hands of Mrs. Bonham. They’d only just returned, and Castillo was in no mood for socializing, but it couldn’t be helped. They were late, their plans to return by supper waylaid by the shoot-out. Hunter had said his mother and Carolina’s mother were due to arrive today along with another family, so it would be suspicious if he was absent. Emmy could put them off with the lie of an unexpected business meeting in Helena for only so long.
Castillo had been awake for almost twenty-four hours, and nearly all of those had been spent in the saddle. He couldn’t remember if he’d eaten anything aside from that hasty breakfast before taking watch before dawn, but his hunger had long since turned into an empty ache that had moved up to settle in his chest. Four more men, including Bennett, were dead today because of his quest for vengeance. In the past he’d consoled himself with the knowledge that the dead were bad men and his vengeance had saved them from wreaking havoc on the world.
Somehow that reasoning wasn’t working tonight.
Tonight he simply felt angry, frustrated and uncertain, when he’d been so damn sure for so long that the path he walked was the righteous one. Even thinking of the hacienda, eventually rebuilt in all its splendor, didn’t help alleviate the doubt creeping up on him. Would it be worth the cost? The cost to his soul? His pulse galloped when he thought of Carolina, but he forced himself to stay calm. She was a hope that was out of reach. That life wasn’t for him.
Despite their giving chase, the lone rider had disappeared, or so it seemed. Castillo and Hunter had come back to the ranch to figure out what Bennett’s cryptic words meant.
Hunter pushed the double doors to the salon open, and Castillo instinctively reached out to push the left one, but grimaced when the movement tugged at his bullet wound. He’d taken a look at it during his hasty bath, but hadn’t been able to dress it. And he was pretty certain he’d opened it up when he’d shrugged into his coat, but hadn’t had time to see to it with Hunter knocking on his door. It didn’t matter. He’d stay downstairs for half an hour, long enough to meet everyone, and then he’d head upstairs to bed. Warm, wet blood trickled down his arm beneath his coat and he modified the timeline. Perhaps a quarter hour would be enough time to say hello.
The music kept playing, but Tanner saw them as soon as they entered and called out to them. Emmy rose from the chair at his side, “Hunter! Castillo!” She hurried over to greet them, her face a beacon of relief and happiness as she tried to hug Hunter as if he’d just come back from a business meeting and not a brush with death. Her fingers tightened around him, though, in a white-knuckled grip. Castillo murmured a greeting, but his gaze sought one person. He found her perched on a settee near the piano holding a glass of wine and talking with one of the newcomers.
Carolina. She was perfect in a dark blue gown with her golden hair done up in soft curls. She belonged here in a room just like this, with soft music and fine things. Not back at his hacienda surrounded by decay and failure. Their eyes met. She didn’t smile or offer a greeting, but her direct gaze nearly leveled him. Her brow furrowed as she looked him over, as if she knew the hell that had been his day. It seemed as if she could see so much more than everyone else. A part of him wanted to go to her and confess everything that had happened, to bring her into his world. But he couldn’t put her in danger.
Tanner drew his attention and introduced him to his wife, Isabelle. She gave him a cold, blue stare, barely managing to utter a greeting or give a tilt of her head. Castillo could only imagine how awkward the encounter was for her, but the way she looked at him reminded him that he didn’t belong here. Not really. He wasn’t one of them. No matter how he dressed, his accent would set him apart.
Kathleen Hartford was next, Carolina’s mother. The woman was shorter than her daughter, with a pleasantly plump face, and she smiled at him warmly. Castillo looked
carefully, but he didn’t see anything of Carolina in her features. He couldn’t help but remember the breakfast conversation from the day before and only barely managed to restrain himself from asking her why she was being so unreasonable when it came to Carolina’s profession.
Next were a Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham, some distant relatives on the Hartford side, and their two adult sons, one of whom had brought a wife—the woman Carolina was talking to. He said hello to them all, and social custom dictated that he greet Carolina as well. “Good to see you again, Miss Hartford. How are you this evening?”
He wanted to drag her out to the porch and ask her, while he smoothed out the worried furrow between her brows with his lips, How are you? Did I take too much last night? Can I hold you and pretend that things are different?
“Good to see you again, Mr. Jameson.” She offered him a small smile, a social smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m doing well. How are you?” Her gaze flicked down to the still noticeable cut under his eye from where Johnson had punched him. Thankfully, it hadn’t bruised too much. Then she took in the rest of his body in a glance that was so fast no one seemed to notice. But she didn’t look reassured when she met his gaze again.
Castillo wouldn’t lie to her, not anymore, but he couldn’t tell her everything that had happened. “Well enough,” he said, instead.
Come with me, Carolina. Come and let me hold you.
Did she regret her decision to call off their plan? Had she missed him today? Damn. He was tired if he was wondering if she’d missed him. It didn’t matter. She was too sensible to become besotted with him, while he, apparently, wasn’t sensible enough. He wondered if she’d mentioned anything to Prudence, and his gaze shifted to the older woman who sat in the chair adjacent to the settee. She didn’t bother to smile at him and just raised a disapproving brow. Apparently, her niece had explained that he wouldn’t be a suitor to her anymore. He’d probably hear an earful once Prudence could get him into a corner alone.
With a final nod, he moved to the table next to the open double doors that led out to the porch and poured himself a whiskey. Now that exhaustion was setting in, his shoulder was starting to throb. It had pained him the entire ride, but the movement had kept him distracted. The liquid warmed his belly as it went down, so he went ahead and poured himself another, hoping the next one would dull the edges of the pain.
“Are you hurt?”
He whirled at the sound of Carolina’s soft voice coming from so close behind him. She stood with her back to the room, her eyes wide with concern. A quick glance behind her confirmed that no one was paying them any attention as Hunter and Emmy spoke about the wedding. “I’m fine,” he said, meeting her gaze.
She frowned, clearly unconvinced. “Did you find out anything?”
“What do you mean?” He hated this deception, when all he really wanted to do was talk to her.
“Castillo—” She bit her lip and looked around to make sure no one had heard her. Then she continued in a softer voice, “I know you weren’t in town on business. You don’t have to tell me what happened, I just want to know if you found what you were looking for.”
For some inexplicable reason, an ache welled in his throat. He had to swallow several times to make it ease, and glanced down to the amber liquid in the tumbler he held so that he wouldn’t focus on her eyes. Those eyes saw too much. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“That abrasion on your cheek under your eye. What happened?”
He didn’t want to lie to her, he’d already done that enough in their brief time together, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. “One of the horses got too anxious. Ran me into a post in the stall.”
“That’s a new one.” She gave him a rueful smile and looked back toward the people in the room, trying to appear as if they were having a normal conversation. “I’ve heard it caused by walking into a door, falling against a table, but never once has it been caused by a horse.”
“What are you talking about?”
“An abrasion left by a fist, Castillo. I see many women at my father’s practice, and a few have husbands with unfortunate tempers. I know what it looks like when a fist hits flesh.”
“I don’t have a husband with an unfortunate temper. And any man who hits a woman is a coward who doesn’t deserve his balls.”
There was silence for a moment, and then she laughed. She tried to hold it in and it made her shoulders shake. It was one of those laughs that came from deep inside, and it was apparently contagious because he started laughing, too. He had to turn his back to the room so no one would notice. She did the same, holding on to the edge of the table as she tried to get herself under control. She pulled off her spectacles, wiping daintily at a tear that had escaped her eye. He watched her fingers move over the creamy skin of her cheeks and felt that rush of arousal come back. He had the strangest urge to brush her fingers aside and feel her silky skin for himself. To delve his fingers into her hair and pull her close so that he could cover her mouth with his. To possess her fiery strength and beauty.
Putting her spectacles back on, she looked up at him and her smile had faded. His thoughts must have been clearly written on his face, because her gaze darted down to his mouth. He was watching her pink tongue so intently that he felt the phantom tingle of it against his own lips.
“You’re worried. I noticed that the men on watch moved in closer to the house today.”
He must’ve had a question on his face, because she nodded out toward the night. There was a tiny dot of an orange glow from a lit cigar just past the stables, halfway to the hills. Castillo had had them move in closer since he was taking some men out chasing Derringer today, and those tracks from the morning had gone unexplained. She was too observant. “Yes.”
She nodded, letting out a breath as if she’d been holding it, then took the last sip of her wine. Forgetting his wound, he reached out and took the empty glass from her to set it on the table, an excuse to touch her, but he grimaced when his shoulder throbbed from the movement. Reading his face, she looked down for some sign of his injury. “You’re bleeding!” She kept her voice low but her face registered shock at the little bit of blood that had stained his shirt cuff.
He sat her glass on the table and covertly pulled his coat open. The white sleeve of his shirt was streaked red with blood, and it was making its way across the front of his shirt.
“Mierda...” he muttered and closed his coat before anyone else could see it.
“No wonder you look pale. What happened?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He clenched his teeth as he looked from the open double doors leading to the porch to the doors opening into the house, trying to determine which route was best for his escape.
“How long ago did it happen? Have you bandaged it?”
He shook his head, refusing to discuss it here. “I have to go.”
She nodded and seemed to realize this wasn’t the place for this conversation. “Of course. Go upstairs and I’ll follow to bandage it.”
“No. I can take care of it.” The last thing he needed was to be alone with her in his room again. Wounded or not, he didn’t think he had it in him to stop things again if they got out of hand.
“If that were true, you would’ve already taken care of it,” she muttered through a smile she flashed Emmy as the people in the room started to break up into smaller groups for conversation.
“I didn’t have time.” Castillo didn’t know why he was defending himself to her, because he had to admit her concern was nice.
“Go, and I’ll follow you,” she whispered.
“I can do it,” he said, but he turned and slipped out onto the porch, hopeful that she’d ignore him.
* * *
Caroline had to wait nearly twenty minutes before she could make her escape. The evening had been winding down until Castillo and Hunter
walked in, and then it seemed as though everyone got a second wind. As soon as he disappeared, she’d been pulled into a discussion that she couldn’t even remember now as she hurried up the stairs to her room.
Thankfully Grant Miller had realized he should keep his hotel room in Helena for the length of his stay and had left before supper, so he wasn’t a complication she had to deal with tonight. Part of her wanted to tell Castillo, but his wound was more important right now. She’d tell him tomorrow. As if the maid had been waiting for her, Mary poked her head out of the sitting room that had been turned into her bedroom, ready to help with Caroline’s gown.
Caroline wanted to wave her off, but acknowledged that she couldn’t get out of the gown on her own, and it’d look suspicious if she said no. Instead, she plastered on a smile and allowed Mary a few minutes to help her out of her gown, but as soon as she’d put on her night rail and wrapper she said good-night and locked the door behind the maid. Rushing to the armoire, she grabbed the bag containing her medical supplies and ran to the balcony door. When she pulled it open, Castillo was right there, staring down at her. She would’ve yelped in surprise had she not remembered Mary just next door and caught herself. His expression was unreadable.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“Waiting for you.” He glanced down to her bag. “I knew you wouldn’t leave it alone. I came so you wouldn’t risk getting caught in my room. Let me in.”
She moved back, and when he’d stepped inside she locked the door and pulled the drapes closed. “Do you really think it matters if I’m in your room or you’re in my room? If we’re caught, then we’re caught.” She didn’t know why she was arguing the point with him. Her hands shook a little as she fully comprehended the fact that he was in her room and they were alone and there was nothing at all stopping them from kissing as they had last night. A pleasant rush of heat moved over her skin as she remembered it.
A Marriage Deal with the Outlaw Page 15
