He had to stop this before he completely disregarded the jury’s decision, the evidence, the sentence. The turmoil boiled inside him; this debilitating battle between desire and principle was tearing him apart.
Had he lost his absolute certainty of her guilt?
He knew he didn’t want her to be guilty, but did he still believe she had killed her husband? That question was crucial. Without this certainty, his mission had no moral justification; without such a justification, he would never have taken her from Mountain Valley.
He didn’t know what he believed any more. He had only to look at her and nothing else seemed important. What did right and duty and self-respect mean when set against her life? Or his own peace of mind?
He was caught. No matter which way he turned, he would never know peace of mind where she was concerned.
Every time he tried to ignore her, his every sense seemed to focus on her presence. If he talked to her, she made him question her guilt. Half the time she made him so angry he wished he could hand her over to the sheriff right now. The other half of the time he wished Texas were on the other side of the world.
He could no longer control his response to her, and that scared him.
The sooner he got away from her the better.
“What are you going to do when my uncle comes?” Victoria asked when she had finished eating. She still hadn’t moved from where Trinity set her down.
“Maybe he won’t catch up with us.”
“He will.”
“Maybe we’ll be in Texas before that happens. I’ve been deputized by Sheriff Sprague, so it’ll be against the law for him to interfere with me.”
“It was against the law when he broke me out of jail. Do you think he’s going to hesitate with you?”
“No.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“Fight.”
“I know that. I want to know if you’re going to try to kill him.”
“I don’t want to kill anybody. My only purpose is to take you back to Bandera. If I could do it without firing a shot, I would.”
“But if you can’t?”
“Then I’ll fight.”
“Will you try to kill Uncle Grant?”
“I’ll first shoot to drive them off. Next I’ll shoot to wound. Only in the end would I shoot to kill. I may be a despised bounty hunter in your eyes, but I’m not a killer.”
“Do you expect a killer like me to appreciate the difference?”
“Why do you insist upon clinging to this tale of innocence?”
“Because it’s true!”
“Only two people in the world believe you.”
“A few more than that, and they’re all coming after you right now.”
“Your uncle can bring every cowhand in the Arizona Territory, and I’ll still get you back to Texas”
“Have you stopped to realize you might be the one who gets killed?”
“I knew that before I started.”
“Is it so important that you take me back?”
“Not you specifically. In one sense, you’re not important at all. But in another sense you represent all the people who’ve committed crimes and escaped punishment. That’s why I took the others back. That’s why I’m taking you back.”
“She must have hurt you very deeply for you to hate so long and so fiercely.”
“I don’t hate anybody long and fiercely,” Trinity snapped. “I’m certainly not doing this because of some woman. Some of us have deeply felt principles we live by. When people violate those principles, we feel compelled to bring them to justice. Not every man can do that. I can, so I do.”
He couldn’t tell her of his disgust with his mission or of the doubts he couldn’t dismiss. She wouldn’t believe the one and would only take advantage of the other.
“Lots of men could do what you do, and many have for some part of their lives, but sooner or later they give it up. You have chosen to give up your life, or what anybody else would consider a decent life, to pursue this goal. No one does it year after year at the expense of the normal kinds of fulfillment, unless some powerful emotion drives him on and makes it impossible for him to do anything else. You’re driven by such an emotion, and a woman was the cause of it.”
“Even if you’re right, it’s none of your business,” Trinity said. “You’d better get to sleep. Tomorrow will be another long day in the saddle. You’ll need all your strength.”
“You’re never going to get out from under this compulsion to do something you don’t want to do until you do something about it,” Victoria said. “Keeping it locked inside just allows it to grow stronger year by year.”
“And just what do you propose I do?”
“Talk about it. Get out all the hatred and anger you’ve buried inside you all these years.”
“There’s nobody to talk to, so I guess I’ll have to put your excellent advice aside for a while longer.”
“You could talk to me.”
“Talk to a murderer about a murderer? Wouldn’t that be something akin to carrying coals to Newcastle?”
“I guess I should have expected that” Victoria said. “Funny, I never have been able to get used to that word.”
Trinity cringed at his unplanned use of the word as much as Victoria. It made him feel lower than a worm. She looked so tried, so defeated. No, not quite defeated, just momentarily down. And instead of worrying about herself, she had tried to help him. And he had cut her off.
But he had to. He couldn’t deal with her selfless, altruistic side while taking her back to her death. Just another example of the effect Victoria had on him: He hadn’t thought so frequently about Queenie for years.
No, you haven’t tried to solve the problem for years. You’ve simply refused to think about her. Whenever your feelings got too near the surface, you started another chase. The physical change, the concentration needed to bring those men in without getting yourself killed, enabled you to put Queenie in the comer for another several months before the process started all over again.
But was he fooling anybody? Victoria had known him only a few days, and she figured him out. True, he dropped a few hints, but she guessed half of what happened. Had other people been able to read him just as easily?
He cringed at the thought of having gone through thirteen years with people able to look into a past he thought he had hidden. They must have thought him a great fool. Some must have even pitied him.
Trinity disliked being thought a fool, but it positively enraged him to be pitied. He had carried his own weight all his life, sometimes against considerable odds. He took pride in it.
He took pride in it because he couldn’t take pride in having brought Queenie to justice.
So that was it. He had spent thirteen years trying to escape Queenie’s curse without even once guessing the true nature of the curse. Yet Victoria had led him to the answer in just a few days.
He hadn’t seen it because of his stubborn pride. Maybe he wasn’t so damned smart after all. He certainly wasn’t as smart as he thought.
“Maybe you’re right,” he admitted, “but it’s not something I want to talk about. Now get some sleep.”
But Trinity couldn’t sleep. He had proven vulnerable to her every attack so far. He even found himself again wishing she were innocent then he wouldn’t be suffering these pangs of doubt.
If he didn’t get himself under control, he’d soon find himself looking for ways to prove her innocence. If that happened, he might as well hand her over to somebody else.
No, by damn, he hadn’t failed yet and he didn’t mean to start now. What might prove more difficult was dealing with his buried anger over Queenie’s getting away with murder. That ate at him like a canker. That’s where he had to start, but he didn’t know how to begin. He’d run so long he didn’t know how to stop.
Maybe he should ask Victoria. He hadn’t been able to solve anything having to do with Queenie in thirteen years. Why not give her a chance?
&
nbsp; But he couldn’t do that. It would be the same as admitting he was wrong. All his adult life he had depended on being right. Everything he had done, the reasons for his doing it, depended upon an unshakable conviction that he was right.
How could he have taken so many men to their death with out being absolutely certain of their guilt?
But nothing felt right about Victoria. And he was ashamed to admit he didn’t know whether it stemmed from a deeply felt conviction or naked desire.
Victoria was so tired, her body ached so much, yet physical exhaustion couldn’t eradicate the excitement she had felt over the intimate nature of Trinity’s touch.
She had been nearly unconscious when he began to massage her body, or she would never have let him touch her. She doubted he would have offered if she had been awake. Now she couldn’t forget the feel of his hands on her legs, shoulders, and back. Even now the spot on her thigh tingled.
When Jeb had touched her, it had been purely incidental, a brushing against her or rolling over on her in bed when he was too drunk to know what he was doing. She had felt nothing but disgust.
Everything felt different with Trinity. The last hour or so before they reached camp, she had responded to the strength of his encircling arm, the nearness of his body, the comfort of his protective presence.
She wanted him to touch her again, but she vowed to keep him at a distance. She didn’t want him to guess she did it because she was afraid to let him touch her. If he knew, she would be lost.
The way he felt about women, he’d probably assume she would be willing to sacrifice her virtue to save her neck. She didn’t want to the, but she’d never do that.
But hadn’t she wanted to be alone with him at the ranch? Wasn’t that thought somewhere deep in her mind when she ignored Buc’s advice and went to see him?
Not exactly. At least … not at first. She had found him attractive, but she also found him conversationally exciting and stimulating. Now, however, she found her view of him rapidly changing. He was so cold. He had no emotional response. He had defined their relationship in exclusively physical terms. She didn’t dunk he even had an idea there might be anything else.
But she was beginning to see much more than a man who went after criminals for money. He had spent years trying to hide from his past. Maybe that past had forced him to become an outcast and take up this reprehensible profession. Maybe, if his past could be laid to rest, he could put all that aside.
Victoria hardly dared let herself think about the Trinity of her imagination. If she were ever seduced by the vision of what he could be, she might lose sight of reality and let herself love him.
The thought shocked her. She had to be insane. Only demented women fell in love with their jailers!
But Victoria couldn’t think of him as a jailer. True, he held her captive, but only because something held him in an even more unyielding captivity. She might break away; he never could … but he must.
She had to help him. There was a very different man trapped inside. She couldn’t tell what that man would be like. She might be foolish to tamper with something she knew nothing about—it might be dangerous. She wouldn’t know, though, until she prodded him into opening up to her. Or turned on her. Was that a chance she was willing to take?
Yes. Unless she were mistaken, mere was something quite wonderful inside him. Something tragic had happened when he was a young man, at a time when he was most impressionable, but also at a time when he was most idealistic. He might say he had become the man he was because he wanted to, but Victoria didn’t believe it. He had become that man because he had to.
She didn’t know if she could change that. She didn’t know if she should try. Her safety, the rest of her life, depended on her escaping from Trinity and never seeing him again. If he ever found her after Buc and her uncle rescued her, he would try to recapture her.
“We ought to stop now” Grant Davidge said. “We’ve lost the trail. I doubt we’ll find it again in the dark.”
“It doesn’t matter if we find it or not,” Buc insisted. There’s only one way to Bandera. We’ve got to keep going.”
“We haven’t stopped since we started out,” Grant pointed out. The men are all in, and so are our horses. We’ll all be better for a good night’s rest.”
“You can rest if you want,” Buc said, “but I’m going on. I can’t sleep knowing he’s out there alone with her. No telling what he’s done.” Buc ground his teeth in impotent rage. “I’m going to kill that man with my bare hands if I have to.”
“He won’t hurt her,” Grant said. “He only wants to take her back to Texas.”
“How can we know? Maybe that’s all he wanted to do when he came here, but Victoria’s a beautiful woman. I don’t know of any man who could be with her for more than a few minutes without having thoughts he wouldn’t dare speak of. Smith is not above telling lies. He has no honor at all.”
“I’m with Buc,” Red said. “I didn’t like him from the start. I aim to put a bullet between his eyes.”
“Nobody touches Smith until I’m done with him,” Buc said. “After that, you can do what you like. If you can find enough of him to do anything with.”
Trinity didn’t have the heart to wake her. She looked so tired. And so lovely. He wondered how she could look so defenseless, so harmless in her sleep. He had plenty of proof to the contrary, yet all he felt now was a desire to let her sleep so he could look at her.
She lay on her side, her head resting on her arms, her hair falling across her face, the blanket pulled tightly up under her chin. She made him think of a family he had helped long ago. They had a little black-haired girl who insisted that Trinity let her sleep in his lap. That little girl had been the only human in the world who had ever completely trusted him, who didn’t feel the slightest trace of fear. For three nights he had felt more contented than at any time since his mother’s death.
Not that there was anything little girlish about Victoria, but watching her gave him the same warm feeling he got when he put little Maria to bed. He wanted to stay close, keep her safe, hold her in his arms, keep her warm.
He smiled ruefully. Victoria wasn’t at all like little Maria. Victoria would probably freeze before she let him keep her warm. He thought of the feel of her warm, soft skin under his hands. She wouldn’t have let him do that either if she hadn’t been so stiff she couldn’t move. He wondered if she enjoyed it or if she simply endured it because she had no choice.
He wouldn’t ask her. There was no point in inviting her to tell him how little she thought of him. She seemed only too anxious to do that without prompting.
Chapter Twelve
The warmth of the sun on her skin woke Victoria. She opened her eyes only to be forced to shield them from the glare. She rolled on her elbow and looked for Trinity. She saw the horses saddled and waiting, coffee and breakfast warming over the fire. Trinity sat on a boulder nearby, watching.
“What time is it?” she asked. Very tentatively, she stretched. When she found her muscles didn’t ball into painful knots but instead ached rather pleasantly, she indulged in a luxurious stretch.
“About seven-thirty.”
“I thought you wanted to leave before dawn.”
“I decided you needed some extra sleep.”
“That was kind of you” Victoria said, surprised.
“Not really. If yesterday is any example, I’d have to ride with my arm around you, which you won’t like, or tie you in the saddle, which I can’t do without irritating the skin on your wrists.”
Victoria was disappointed by Trinity’s rationale. She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say, but he could have started with basic humanity. She found his coldly analytical attention to her comfort irritating. “Aren’t you afraid the delay will give my uncle time to catch up?”
“We got a good head start. Besides, I intend to drive you extra hard today. You’ve got about five minutes to get dressed. We have to be gone in fifteen.”
Vict
oria cursed silently. Every time she thought he just might be human, he proved her wrong. She didn’t know why she continued to keep hoping he wasn’t as bad as he seemed.
She threw back the blanket and started to get up. Her legs collapsed under her.
Trinity had his arms around her before she could fall.
“I guess I’m not in as good a shape as I drought,” she said. She tried to push him away, but she didn’t try very hard. She liked his arms around her. They felt just as good as she remembered. Besides, she really couldn’t stand by herself.
“I thought you were in remarkable shape when I had to chase you all over that mountain.”
“I don’t spend all my time arranging flowers,” she said, trying a few unsteady steps on her own. “I ride every day, and I’ve climbed a lot of mountains doing my survey.”
“You’d better sit down. Let me get you some breakfast.”
That’s very thoughtful of you, but I have to wash up and get dressed.”
“Not today. I’ve wasted too much time already. You have just enough time to eat.” He handed her a plate and a cup of coffee. She set both down without tasting either.
“I can’t go a whole day without at least washing my face, brushing my teeth, and changing clothes. I should have a bath. I feel positively filthy.”
“You’ll feel a lot worse before we reach Texas,” Trinity said. “Now eat your breakfast or toss it away. I can’t wait any longer.”
So much for thoughtfulness, Victoria said to herself as she quickly swallowed coffee, which had grown bitter from sitting over the fire so long. The beans were better, not that she liked beans for breakfast, but any food was welcome on a cold morning when she had been riding for two days.
While she ate, Trinity broke open the fire and kicked dirt over the hot coals. He poured the last of the coffee on the coals to make sure they were out. When Victoria finished eating, he rinsed her plate with water from his canteen and then stowed everything in his gear.
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