Bound for Temptation

by Tess LeSue

  “Buñuelos. They’re called buñuelos. Buñuelos de viento.”

  Emma was too busy eating them to reply, but she filed the name away. She’d find the recipe somehow. “Ain’t you going to eat yours?” she asked, astonished that Tom hadn’t so much as touched his.

  He shook his head.

  Cheerfully, she swapped her empty plate for his full one and set to work. She was halfway through her second helping when she heard the hue and cry go up. The bell over the courtyard gate was ringing furiously. Distantly, they could hear shouting from the front courtyard. A servant came dashing in, and the dinner erupted into chaos.

  “What’s happening?” she demanded, not able to understand a word anyone was saying.

  “Hell,” Tom swore, seizing her by the elbow and hauling her to her feet. “It’s English George and Irish George.”

  “What about them?”

  “They’ve escaped.”

  19

  TOM HAD TO grit his teeth to keep from yelling. He wanted out. Out of this hacienda, out of this goddamn black dress and out of this mess with these mad nuns. Most of all, he wanted out of these mixed-up feelings he got every time he looked at Sister Emma. Even when she was lying straight to his face, she made his heart twist and his stomach fall and his skin itch. Who knew a woman could do this to a man? He’d never felt this way, not in his life, not once. Not even for Alex, he realized with a shock. And he loved Alex.

  Didn’t he?

  Thinking about Alex made him feel like yelling even more. He didn’t like feeling like this.

  He hauled Sister Emma up the stairs, ignoring her questions. He’d told her all she needed to know. The Georges were out. And Tom was plenty worried. Those two pistoleros were mean as slaughterhouse rats and liable to come calling for revenge.

  “You’re sure that’s what they said?” Sister Emma demanded, wriggling out of his grasp as they reached their room.

  “Get packing,” he said shortly. “We’re done here.”

  “It’s the middle of the night!”

  “That never stopped you before.” He started throwing things into bags.

  “You’re sure they said the Georges escaped?” She was like a dog with a bone. She just wasn’t going to let up.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Oh, thank God!”

  “Thank God?” Tom had a sinking feeling. He straightened and lifted his veil, fixing her with a steely look. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

  “No.” But the wretched woman was smiling.

  She’d lied to him too many times for him to trust her now. There was an etched tin cross on the wall. He snatched it from its hook and held it out. She looked at it, confused.

  “Swear on it,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Swear on that cross that you had nothing to do with their escape.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you trust me, Mr. Slater?”

  “No.”

  She crossed her arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever given you reason to mistrust me.”

  He looked at her in disbelief. “You told me Anna was a mute señora,” he reminded her.

  “Well.” She rolled her eyes. “That isn’t anything to hold against me.”

  “You’ve been lying to Don Rey about me.”

  “I only did that to protect you.”

  “If you’re telling the truth, you’ll have no trouble holding that cross and swearing on it, will you?”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “I have no idea,” he growled. “Why in hell would you?”

  “Fine,” she snapped, “give me that.” She snatched the cross off him. “I swear I had nothing to do with it,” she intoned.

  “At all.”

  She pressed her lips together. He knew it. She was lying. Or at least dodging the full truth.

  “What have you done?”

  “Nothing!”

  “What have you done?”

  “Nothing!” She looked down at the crucifix. “It’s just . . . I might be glad they escaped.”

  “You what?”

  “I’m a little bit glad,” she admitted. “I didn’t hold with them getting the rope when they hadn’t done anything. That’s all.”

  They were interrupted by Anna, who came tapping at the doors to the balcony. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt . . .” Her gaze dropped to the crucifix. “I’ll just collect Winnie and leave you to it, shall I?”

  “Winnie?” Tom frowned at her. “She’s not here.”

  “She must be—she’s not in our room.”

  “She isn’t?”

  He and Emma exchanged a look. Winnie had been left tucked up tight in bed when they all went down to dinner.

  “Are you sure she’s not in there?” Emma headed for the adjoining room.

  Tom made to follow, but Anna stopped him. “Your veil,” she protested. “There are people everywhere.”

  Sighing, he pulled the black veil back over his face. By the time he got to Calla and Anna’s room, Emma and Calla had yanked all the bedding off the beds and were looking through the wardrobe. He could hear Emma cursing. “She’s not here,” she said, emerging from the wardrobe.

  “I told you that,” Anna said. She was beginning to wring her hands. “You don’t think anything has happened to her, do you? I should never have left her. What was I thinking? I got all turned upside down by the thought of a fancy dinner, and I assumed she could watch us from the balcony if she got worried, or if she felt lonely.”

  “Don’t move,” Tom told both of them. He wondered if he could track the girl. He wasn’t used to tracking people indoors. “Where would you go, if you were a little girl?” he asked.

  “I’d want to see the party,” Emma said immediately. She walked to the railing overlooking the central courtyard. He collected a lamp and followed. Below, the servants were clearing away the tables and chairs.

  “I’d want to see all the fancy people and the food and listen to the music,” Calla added.

  Sister Emma slid along the railing, moving slowly around the gallery. “I’d want to see it from every angle.”

  He followed her. While Emma stared down into the courtyard, Tom held the lamp up, checking the doorways around the gallery.

  “There,” he said, as he spied a flash of color. It was a blanket. The kind a small girl might wrap around her as she went wandering a gallery at nighttime.

  “We need the girl, not the blanket,” Sister Emma told him, continuing her prowl along the balcony. Tom picked up the blanket and tried not to feel irked.

  “Down this end she would have been able to see you properly, Anna.” Sister Emma stopped at the far end of the gallery. The four of them paused and stared down at the courtyard below.

  “Maybe she fell asleep somewhere up here,” Tom mused, scanning the doorways. But a horrifying fear was taking shape. There was a stairway by the exterior balcony, the same balcony they’d stood on as they’d watched Machado arrive. Tom moved out onto it; the garden was still, the torches guttering. The gate was standing ajar, left open by the Dons after they’d ridden out in pursuit.

  The sight of the gate gave him a bad feeling. A very bad feeling.

  “We need to find her,” Sister Emma said, and judging by the barely suppressed panic in her voice, she was having the same bad feeling he was.

  “I’m trying to find her,” he snapped. But hell. They’d have to comb every inch of the place . . . and what if she wasn’t there . . . what if . . .

  “I don’t see how standing here is finding her,” Sister Emma railed at him.

  “Enough,” Anna ordered. She’d clearly had enough of both of them. It was time for action, not carping. Impatiently, Anna took control of the search. “You hush for good now,” Anna hissed at Tom. “You’re mute, remember?”

 
Mute be damned.

  “You hush too,” Anna snapped at Emma when she went to talk. “You can snip at each other once we’ve found Winnie. Until then, you can shut your yaps and get looking.”

  Shamefaced, the three of them followed Anna down the stairs and into the front courtyard.

  “We’ll split up,” Anna said firmly. “Calla and I’ll search the church and garden; you two take the courtyards.”

  “You sure you want to leave them together?” Calla asked.

  “You want either of them?” Anna said sharply, stalking off. Calla clearly didn’t as she went trotting after her.

  “They took her, didn’t they?” Sister Emma said bluntly, as soon as Anna was out of earshot.

  “We don’t know that yet.” Tom did his duty and searched the courtyard.

  “We’re wasting time! If they took her, we need to go after them!”

  “She might still be here,” he snapped. “There’s no point tearing off into the dark on a wild-goose chase if she’s curled up in a corner somewhere asleep.”

  “You must be kidding! That kid is too timid to be out of Anna’s sight for half a minute—you really think she came down here in the dark all by herself!”

  “She ain’t in the church,” Anna said desperately, as she returned to find them still barking at each other.

  “We haven’t checked the stables or the rest of the house, or the servants’ quarters for that matter,” Tom said, trying to sound soothing. He gave Emma a warning look. There was no point in upsetting Anna more than she was already, not before they knew what was what.

  “She’s probably back in the house,” Sister Emma agreed with him stiffly, and he was grateful for it, no matter how grudging it was. “Maybe she’s in the kitchens, or curled up on one of those comfy chairs in the big room. Maybe she’s even gone back to your room and found us gone.”

  Tom highly doubted it, but it was good to see Anna strengthen at the thought. Calla looked far less convinced. She and Emma exchanged a charged look.

  “Why don’t you all go and look in the house?” Tom suggested. “I’ll check the stable and servants’ quarters.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Sister Emma said belligerently.

  “Oh good,” he said sourly.

  Fortunately for both of them, she stopped carping at him as they searched the gardens on their way to the stable. There were precious few people left about; they could hear voices drifting from the servants’ quarters, but the stables were quiet. Quiet and in disarray from Rey and Machado’s hastily put together lynch mob; lanterns still burned on the hooks, illuminating the gaping stall doors.

  They heard a noise from the far stall.

  “Winnie!”

  Tom tried to grab hold of her, but the fool woman was dashing for the stall before he could stop her. He swore.

  “Emma!” he yelled, his voice cracking in fear. “You got no idea who’s in there!” He managed to reach her as she skidded to a halt in front of the stall. He pulled her behind him.

  “It ain’t Winnie,” he told her furiously, “and you should know better. What if it had been the Georges?”

  “It ain’t,” she said, shoving him out of the way.

  It sure wasn’t. It was three Indian kids, poised in the middle of harnessing a horse.

  “Hey,” Sister Emma said. “I know her! It’s that servant girl! What’s she doing?”

  “Stealing horses by the look of it,” Tom said, observing the three of them, frozen in the act of saddling a couple of Don Rey’s horses. “He’ll hang you if you take those,” he said to the kids. Then repeated it in Spanish. “Horse theft is a hanging offense.”

  “You can have one of my animals,” Emma said hastily while he was still translating himself. “There’s no need to steal.”

  He sighed. Did she honestly think all three of them could ride out of here on a single animal? Hell. The three of them looked powerfully young as they stood there in the stall. The boys were big, and they were strong, but they were clearly still just boys.

  “You can have one of my packhorses too,” he said grudgingly. They were going to be in a world of trouble as it was, without adding horse theft to the list.

  They looked at him in astonishment and more than a little fear. He swore as he realized why. He’d forgotten he was supposed to be a woman.

  Sister Emma glared at him. And then she started up with her lies again. “Doña Elvira got her voice back—isn’t it a miracle? It’s a bit low and rough, as the pox clearly damaged her throat but the Lord works in mysterious ways, doesn’t He?”

  Tom spoke over her, in Spanish, which he knew she didn’t understand. “Have you seen the girl we were traveling with? This high.” He gestured with his hand. “Dark hair, big eyes, answers to the name Winnie. I know you’ve seen her before,” he said to the girl. “Have you seen her tonight? She’s missing.”

  The girl shook her head, but one of the boys behind her said something quietly. They had a quick, animated discussion with their backs to Tom and Sister Emma.

  “What are they saying?” Sister Emma demanded.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know the language. It’s not Spanish.”

  She glared at him. “You know they’re probably talking about how you’re actually a man. You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you?”

  “Señor?” The girl interrupted them. “We saw the girl. Tonight she was wearing a white nightdress. A fancy one. And she had her hair in braids. Yes?”

  Tom nodded yes. Sister Emma was looking back and forth between them. Tom knew she wouldn’t be able to hold her tongue for much longer.

  “She went with her father,” the girl told him.

  “We go now,” the bigger of two Indian boys said firmly in Spanish. “If you can’t give us horse, we take these.”

  “Wait.” Tom blocked their way. He ripped his veil off. Who the hell were they going to tell anyway? The minute they set foot off the property, they’d be fugitives. “No one’s going anywhere until we know where the girl is.”

  The Indian boy took a step back. He looked Tom up and down.

  “Don’t think about it too much,” Sister Emma advised him cheerfully. “Some men just like to dress in women’s clothes.”

  Tom ignored her. “What do you mean she went with her father? She doesn’t have a father.”

  “What are you saying?” Sister Emma demanded. “And why do you need your veil off to say it? Do they know where Winnie is?”

  There was more conversation between the three, in a language Tom didn’t know.

  “That didn’t look good. Why is she rolling her eyes?” Sister Emma was just about frothing at the mouth now. “What’s she saying? You’re being deliberately cruel. Stop punishing me.”

  “Would you hush for five minutes and let me get to the bottom of this? I’m not punishing you, goddamn it.”

  “Don’t blaspheme.”

  He didn’t dignify that with a response. “You’re saying a man took Winnie?” he prodded the Indian kids.

  “He said he was her father,” the girl repeated, shooting her companions a dirty look.

  “Who said he was her father?”

  There was another exchange between the boys.

  “The fat man,” the girl clarified. “The one everyone is hunting.”

  Irish George. Tom’s fists clenched. If that grabby-handed two-bit pistolero was here now, he’d smack him in his fat face.

  “He’s not her father,” Tom said tightly, trying to keep a rein on his temper.

  “What’s going on?” Sister Emma slapped him on the arm. “Tell me. That look on your face is worrying me.”

  “The Georges have her.”

  “Goddamn it!”

  “Hush,” he snapped. “Do you want half the household to come running?”

  “Yes! We need t
o go after them!”

  “Honey,” he said, barely managing to keep his voice even, “if you scream bloody murder and half the house comes running, what do you think they’re going to do to them?” He jerked his head at the Indian kids. “It’s pretty clear they’re lighting out of here.”

  Emma blanched.

  “He’s not her father?” The girl looked appalled. She turned and railed at the two boys, particularly at the one who hadn’t spoken yet.

  “Does your friend speak Spanish?” Tom had to raise his voice to be heard over her scolding.

  “No,” the bigger boy said. “He’s new to the ranch.” The boy sized him up. “Were you serious about giving us horses?”

  “On one condition. You help us track those bastards.”

  The boy laughed. “Not for all the horses in this stable. We’re going home.”

  “Goddamn it all to hell!” Sister Emma stomped her boot. “If’n you don’t start translating, I’m going to pitch a fit! And I’ll be so loud the goddamn king of Mexico will come running.”

  “Mexico doesn’t have a king.”

  “She’s a nun?” The boy seemed dubious.

  “Apparently. But then I’m apparently a woman.”

  “They headed south,” the girl said. “If you give us horses, we’ll help you.”

  The first boy wasn’t pleased.

  “If you don’t start telling me what’s going on, Slater, I’m going to shoot you.” Sister Emma wasn’t joking. The crazy woman was reaching for her gun.

  “Calm down, woman, they’re going to help us.”

  “We didn’t say that,” the boy objected, still in Spanish.

  “Yes,” the girl disagreed, in halting English this time, “we did. We’ll help you, sister. We’ll find the girl.”

  “Guess I won’t need this, then.” Sister Emma took her hand off her gun.

  Don’t be too sure. Tom regarded their motley group. How on earth they were going to get the girl away from the Georges without anyone getting hurt was beyond him. And then there’d be the matter of Don Rey and Don Machado . . .

  “I’ll go get Anna and Calla.” The nun went off half-cocked as usual. “We’ll need to take our wagon. I doubt we’ll be coming back here. While I’m gone, you work out how we’re going to get out of here without everyone seeing us.”