Rocky Mountain Ride (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 7)

by Lee Savino

  She shook her head. “If you go, you will not return.”

  “How can you say that? I’ve pledged my life to you. Everything I’ve done has been for your benefit.”

  “And now things are hard and you want to leave. A telegram from your father and you run home. Let me tell you this, James Sebastian Chivington the third, you are more than your father’s money.”

  He could feel his face flush, and hated it. “I know that.”

  “Do you? Because you do not act it.”

  He hardened himself, turning away. “I cannot be the husband you need me to be without my inheritance.”

  “You can. I only need you. I don’t want your money.”

  Whirling he strode close to her, grabbing her shoulders. “Well you need it. You need money. Where are you going to get it? Your farm is failing, Francesca.” He raised his voice. “You and these peasants can’t hold it together, even if you plowed the fields yourself.”

  Her eyes shone with tears of rage. “You sit and judge us. Before you came here, you’d never done a day’s work in your entire life.”

  Sebastian forced himself to answer calmly. “I will not give up my inheritance. It is mine. I am going, and I will return. I will speak to Juan about hiring men to protect the ranch—

  “No, please, mi amor, do not leave me.” She slid to her knees before him. “Please.”

  “I’m not leaving for good, Francesca.” He tried to lift her and she wouldn’t, hanging on to his leg.

  “Do you want me to beg? To show you how much I need you?” she sobbed wildly.

  Sebastian glanced around the garden, suddenly aware they were making a scene. “Darling, please, pull yourself together.”

  “Ah yes,” she said, still on her knees. She dragged a hand across her face to wipe away tears. “Act like a lady, be noble, and pure. Do not feel so much. Where have I heard this before? My father and husband, every man in my life. All my life I’ve tried to obey men who would control me. And where has it gotten me?” She waved a hand, chest heaving with gasping sobs. “A failing ranch, a field full of graves. My enemies rise against me.”

  “Francesca—”

  “No.” She recoiled. “Do not touch me. We are through. I have crawled for you for the last time. You wish to leave, leave. You lied to me. I thought you were a man. You are still a boy, tied to his father’s purse strings. But you are more than just your father’s money. I need you, Sebastian, you.” She grasped his lapels, begging again.

  “Francesca…my father doesn’t approve of our union. But I can convince him.”

  Her face fell. “It will be too late.”

  “How, Francesca? What can I give you? If not money… jokes my wit? My pride?” He caught sight of Ana in the kitchen doorway, watching them with a stricken expression. Francesca’s gaze never left his face.

  “I did not marry you for your money. I married you for you.”

  Now Cage was approaching from the barracks, eyes on the fighting couple.

  “Are you so certain of that?” he muttered, catching her hands in his in an attempt to calm her down.

  She stepped back as if she’d been struck. Immediately he noticed his mistake.

  “Francesca, I didn’t mean it—”

  “Get out,” she said in a shaking voice.

  “Darling—”

  “Get out,” she screamed. “You want to go?” She gestured wildly to the garden wall. “Go. I spit on your money. I don’t need it.”

  She turned on her heel and hurried to Ana, who wrapped her mistress in her arms and pulled her inside the house.

  Sebastian hardened himself to the sounds of sobbing. His wife would cry, then she would see reason. She’d understand it was for the best.

  It wasn’t the best plan, but he couldn’t lose his inheritance. It was all he had to bring to their marriage, besides a growing work ethic and worthless past.

  “Is it true, boss?” Cage sidled up to him, hands in pockets.

  “Oh don’t you start,” Sebastian cursed and headed to the bedroom to pack. The sooner he was gone, the sooner he would return.

  At least, that’s what he told himself.

  *

  As soon as the hacienda faded into the distance, the weight of his new quest hit him. How was he going to convince his father to hand over the money?

  The only way might be to renounce her. It would pain him, but he would still send the money, of course. She could marry Diego. That might be the best for her. He’d never amount to anything, best she discover that now. All the things his father had said about him were true…

  The scent of sage wafted over the field to him, and pulled his memory. Francesca raising her gun to shoot him, then ass up over a log. Riding through the orchard, laughing at him. Striding across the fields to the acequias, snapping orders to the vaqueros. Wrinkling her nose when he came home covered in mud, seducing him in the bath. Waiting for him in the grove, handing him a candle and telling him his past was wiped clean…

  Holding his hand as they crossed the fields at sunset.

  She took what she wanted, and beyond that, she needed nothing more. His father would forever be disappointed, but Francesca bared her body and soul to him every time she knelt, or lay across his lap for him to discipline.

  His life was a meaningless quest without someone to love like that. His money wouldn’t change her feelings one way or another.

  He was halfway across the valley when he stopped his horse.

  “I’m a fool,” he said out loud.

  Cage reined in beside him, but said nothing.

  “I’m a bloody, godforsaken idiot. What am I doing?”

  “Don’t know, boss,” Cage said patiently.

  “I left her. I promised I wouldn’t run at the first spot of trouble, and that’s exactly what I did. What was I thinking?” He glared at Cage. “What the bloody hell were you thinking, letting me leave?”

  “Honest truth?” Cage met his employer’s gaze head on. “I was gonna guide you all the way to Colorado Springs, wait ‘til you collected the travel money, then hit you over the head and take everything you have to help your bride.”

  “Oh, jolly good,” Sebastian breathed.

  “I’d pawn your horse and ridiculous suits, and give the money to Francesca. I’d be in a hurry to get back to the ranch, otherwise, I’d take a horsewhip to you.”

  “The least I’d deserve,” Sebastian agreed.

  Cage nodded. “Better than the end you’d meet if your little lady rode after you with a gun.”

  Sebastian’s humor slipped away. “I don’t deserve her.”

  “You don’t if you ride to Colorado Springs. But stick by your woman and do right by her, no matter what. You’ll never deserve her, but she’ll love you anyway.”

  “I don’t understand.” Could she take him back after this? Knowing all the mistakes he’d made, and would make?

  Cage shrugged. “Women are sentimental like that. Motherhood instinct. They love us even when—”

  “When we’re awful little shits?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I have to go back,” Sebastian said in a determined tone. “I have no money to pay you, Cage. I don’t expect you—”

  The silver haired man held up a hand. “I’m in it for the long haul. Way I was made.”

  Sebastian took a deep breath and nodded. His whole world was tilting on its axis, but with Francesca at the center, he felt he was right where he needed to be, on solid ground.

  “Just tell me what to do,” Cage continued.

  “Right,” Sebastian said. “I have an idea.”

  *

  When Sebastian reached the hacienda an hour before dusk, he felt noble for the first time in his life. He’d never realized how he’d patterned himself after the duke. If calling women slatterns, using them like whores and abandoning them was what it took to be the sort of man his father respected, he didn’t want to be one. He’d write to his father about his inheritance, telling him to stuff it up his ar
se, and wash his hands of the whole lot.

  “I’m a free man,” he told his stallion cheerfully, as he galloped through the orchard. “All I have is a horse and my armor, and the love of a lady. Just like a knight of old.”

  His spirits dampened as he strode around the gardens, calling for Francesca. The apothecary door was ajar, so he looked there first. It was empty, so he shut the door carefully and loped off to the hacienda, noting that his wife’s horse was in the stable.

  The kitchen door was locked. Frowning, he pounded on it.

  “Ana!”

  She opened the door, and he took a step back at the furious look on her face.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m an idiot.”

  Her look softened somewhat, but she still blocked the door, glaring at him.

  “I never should have left. I was a fool, and I’m sorry.”

  “You left her—”

  “I know, I swear I’ll never do it again.”

  “It’s too late, señor.” She crumpled a little. “She is not here.”

  “Too late…where is she?”

  Ana’s shoulders shook as she cried, “They came for her, and you were not here. Juan could not stop them alone. They took her—”

  “Who?” even though he knew.

  “The people who blame her for Camila’s death. They took her to the church, and I don’t know what they will do.”

  “Stay inside and bar the door,” he ordered, and raced to his noble steed, praying he wasn’t too late to have failed her.

  *

  Francesca sat in the cool bowels of the church. They had come for her late afternoon, throwing open the door of the apothecary. She had recognized a few of them.

  “Señor Ruiz, how is your gout?” she asked calmly.

  “Be silent.” The man she’d known from childhood approached and slapped her. His face was twisted in disgust.

  Francesca looked around at the rest of the villagers and saw no mercy, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

  “Put a bag over her head, lest she give us the evil eye.”

  Bound and blindfolded, Francesca let them lead her through the streets. She didn’t need to ask where they were taking her. When she heard the church bells, and felt the flagstones of the cathedral under her shoes, she knew

  She felt a terrible calm to her very bones, beyond sorrow, beyond hope.

  Her mother, her father, her husband, and finally her love had gone and she was alone.

  The villagers pushed her into the church, and silent men brought her downstairs to a dank, chilly place. Someone tugged the bag off her head and Bishop Bernardo stood in front of her.

  “Welcome, my child. It has been too long since you have come to visit us. Not since you were very young.”

  “My father made me attend mass. Then I started studying my mother’s arts and chose not to return.”

  “Your mother led you down a dark path, but there is redemption, if you repent.”

  Francesca shrugged. “I have no sins.”

  “The town says otherwise. They came to me listing many sins. One of them being murder.”

  “I did not murder Camila. If anything, her own husband’s neglect and cruelty did.”

  “It is your word against his.”

  “And of course, you believe the man’s.” She sighed. The bishop’s face had a greedy, gloating look. He hated her and her mother because he could not control them. They moved outside his rule, untouched by his message of sin and despair, the chains he used to bind people.

  “If I find you guilty of your crimes, you will hang.”

  Francesca thought of the ranch, the day to day struggle. Ana and Juan would have to find a new mistress or master. The apothecary would probably be burned as a witch’s haven, as would the grove of mothers. Perhaps Juan or Ana would take her dead body and bury it. Or perhaps not. Her spirit would rest in the trees, waiting forever for an Englishman to return.

  “Very well,” Francesca told him. “I am ready to die.”

  A grin spread across the priest’s face.

  *

  They locked her in a small room to await judgment. She’d settled on the only chair when the door creaked open.

  She looked up tiredly. “Diego?”

  “Sister.” There was a restless energy to Diego that made her uneasy.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to free you.”

  She didn’t rise. “How?”

  “The townspeople will listen to me, if I tell them to release you into my custody. You will be safe with me.”

  She studied him for a moment. “What do you want in return?”

  “Nothing,” he answered too quickly.

  “Nothing?”

  “Francesca, we have longed for each other since we were young. Why not enjoy ourselves now?”

  “I am married.”

  “The Englishman? Then where is he?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “My men say he’s returned home.”

  “Your men? Are they watching the hacienda?” She felt the barest flash of anger. “Are they watching me?”

  Diego cocked his handsome head. “Only to keep you safe. Since the Royal Mountain gang came to trouble the hacienda, I’ve kept an eye on you, little sister.”

  “How do you know it was the Royal Mountain gang?”

  He shrugged.

  “You know because you ran with them. How else did they know what fences to destroy, or the movements of the vaqueros, or when to come to my home?”

  He didn’t confirm or deny, but the smugness in his face told her she was right, and that he was proud of what he’d done. “You want my land.”

  “I want you.”

  “Gaining me gains my land.”

  “That’s one way,” he said, and Francesca guessed the other way: her death.

  “Is this a proposal of marriage?”

  “Your English fop is gone and you are a widow again. I can take you back to my home and care for you. I’ll give you food, shelter, protection, as long as you need.”

  “As long as you need me,” Francesca corrected. “You’ll step in, run my ranch, take control of my property. Then, unless I’m duly grateful, you claim I went mad and killed myself, drowning myself in the acequia?”

  He didn’t deny it.

  “Did Charlie the Red kill Cyro?”

  “Who knows? Someone followed my brother from the saloon that night.”

  “He was not going to meet the outlaw,” Francesca guessed. “Cyro went to meet you.”

  “We were going to do business together. But he said he didn’t trust me. My own brother.”

  “So you shot him.”

  “Me or another…does it make a difference? Nothing stood between me and what I wanted.”

  “Except me,” Francesca stated.

  “You would’ve come around. If this damned Englishman hadn’t intervened.” Diego prowled around her chair. “But now he’s gone. Everyone has left you, Francesca. You are all alone, and must accept my help.”

  “Go with you, and turn my ranch over, or stay here and die.”

  “Yes, Francesca. I win. With or without you, I win.” He waited, as if expecting her answer.

  “I would sooner lie with a snake than with you,” she said. “At least I expect the snake’s venom. Your poison has no natural purpose. Your brother would be ashamed of what you have become.”

  “My brother was a weakling,” Diego sneered.

  “Your brother was a man. I am glad my father gave me to him, and not you.”

  Two feverish spots of color appeared on Diego’s cheeks. “They will hang you if I give the word. But I can still tell them it’s all a misunderstanding. I will take you under my rule and punish you as you should be punished. They will listen to a man. They will let you live.”

  “No, thank you, Diego. I have already told Bishop Bernardo that I am ready to die.”

  The Bishop entered as if he had been waiting out
side the door.

  “And you will soon get your wish. It is time.”

  *

  As she stood before her accusers in the church, Francesca kept her eyes on the statue of a tortured man in a crown of thorns, writhing in agony. The bishop’s voice echoed around the stone cavern, listing all Francesca’s sins.

  “We allowed this witch to continue to practice her dark arts, and follow her mother down the path to evil. We invited her into our homes, around our women and children. Her powers have been growing; she bled the butcher’s wife from afar. And now we have drought, because we have allowed this abomination in our midst.”

  “The acequias have always been full until now,” someone in the crowd murmured.

  “She has done it. The witch,” another agreed.

  Movement caught Francesca’s eye. Diego Montoya stood in the wings of the church, watching the proceedings. How soon after her death would he ride to claim the ranch?

  “There is the matter of Señor Cyro Montoya’s suspicious death. He was killed in a brawl true, but why would he be in that saloon, he was not a drinker?”

  Her eyes widened. They intended to blame her for her husband’s death? She spoke up, her own voice rolling over the crowd.

  “That is not true! I would never hurt my husband. His brother lured him there, and hired a man to kill him.” Or shot Cyro himself, Francesca thought. Watching the angry flush rise over Diego’s face, she believed it was possible that this man could kill his own brother.

  “Why would a man kill his own brother? Señor Montoya is respected. He would not do that.”

  As the bishop defended him, Diego stood with his hands clasped and a sad look on his face. Francesca knew then that Diego had planned it all, and used the priest and the Royal Mountain Gang to wage war on his brother’s ranch until it was within his grasp. The crowd agreed with the bishop, and Diego turned and strode out of the church. The town would pity him, a man who lost his brother and brought justice to the scheming sorceress wife. He set events in play when she refused him at the funeral, causing trouble at the ranch to see if she’d run to him for help. And when she didn’t, he planned to destroy her.

  And he’d won.

  The bishop loomed over her, triumphant in his role of judge and jury, and executioner.

  Madre, save me from men who want power.