Reese smiled without much humor. "Now I know why she was so determined to get you out of that place. Believe me, it wasn't my intention to hurt her, Luke. If I did, I'm sorry."
Luke eased back down on the bedroll, his face a study in conflicting emotions. "Grace is special. One of a kind. But then I suppose you know that."
"Hard to miss it." He swallowed hard, cursing the fate that was about to steal that specialness away from him.
The sun was on its way down. In another forty-five minutes it would be dark. He planned to ride back to Querétaro tonight and find a room there. He turned back to Luke, struck by the fact that he had the same bluebonnet blue eyes as his sister. Turner eyes.
There were things that needed saying. No point in putting them off.
"Listen," Reese said, standing up. "Dominguez promised to help you get back. I left a boat back on the river, two days' ride east of here, outside a little village called Zimapan. Grace can show you where." He took an agitated drag on his cigarette, stared at it, then threw it to the ground, crushing it with the toe of his boot.
"The boat's yours to Tampico," he continued. "Leave it with the woman taking care of Brew. She'll know what to do. I'll get it later. If you hurry, you can just catch a ride with a captain named Tom Newcastle up the coast." He paced several steps, then turned around and as an afterthought, added, "Grace's and Brew's passage is paid straight through to Virginia. Don't let Tom tell you otherwise. He has a bit of the pirate in him."
"Thanks for the warning," Luke said, watching him carefully. "Why don't you come along? We could use the company. And I'm sure Grace wouldn't argue."
"Sorry, I can't. I've got someplace to go," Reese answered too quickly, then met Luke's searching stare. "You'll take care of her, won't you, Turner?"
Luke had the good form not to look insulted by the question. "She's my sister."
"Right." Reese shifted uncomfortably.
"However," Luke drawled, examining an abraded knuckle, "I seriously doubt brotherly companionship will suffice for Grace now. She's changed. Become a woman. A beautiful one, at that. I suppose that fact won't be lost on the eligible male population of Front Royal."
"Edgar Buchanan?" Reese tried to keep the sneer from his voice.
Luke shook his head. "Edgar Buchanan's illustrious clan claims membership in the FFV—the First Families of Virginia. However, in his case, those initials stand for Four-Footed Vermin. I fully intend to steer her clear of the snake if that's any comfort to you."
It was, then again, it wasn't. Because no matter who she ended up with, it seemed almost impossible to reconcile the idea that it wouldn't be him. He couldn't stand the thought of Grace in another man's arms.
He said, "If there's anything she needs, if anything comes up... I mean, if she needs to reach me for any reason, she can write in care of the postmaster of Tampico. I'll be stopping there now and then to pick up mail."
"Is there a reason she'll need to reach you, Donovan?" The edge to Luke's voice said that he and Grace weren't fooling anyone.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. With a careless shrug he didn't feel, he said, "Y' never know. She might want to drop me a line now and then."
He prayed he hadn't left her carrying his child. If he had, he'd never abandon her. He'd send her money, or whatever else she needed for the child and herself. The admission stuck in his craw like a fish bone. The thought of Grace raising up his son or daughter without him was a pain too great to bear. Almost as sharp as losing her.
He put the thought out of his mind. He couldn't think about that now. Not now, when he had to tell her good-bye.
He leaned down, extending his hand to Luke. "I've got to pack up. I'm glad it all worked out for you, Luke. Good luck."
"Likewise," Luke said, taking Reese's hand in his. "You're leaving now?"
"Soon as I pack up and say my good-byes to Grace."
"I'm obliged to you, Donovan. If I can ever return the favor..."
Reese slipped his hat on and tipped the brim toward Luke. "Thanks. Bye, Luke."
* * *
By the time he'd packed and gone to look for Grace, she'd finished her bath. He found her sitting in the center of a circle of Dominguez's men as if they'd adopted her. She'd changed into her rumpled green calico. Her still-damp, ebony-colored hair caught the rosy colors of the setting sun. She was laughing at something one of the men had said. It made her look even younger than she was and more beautiful. But that wasn't what truly arrested his attention. It was the shot glass of tequila poised midway to her lips that stopped him dead in his tracks.
Tequila? Teetotaling Grace?
"Ay, mu-cha-cha! Bebela! Drink!" came the shouts from the rebels circled around her. Magdalena was there as well, smiling and urging her on. "Viva la señorita!"
"Grace," he called sharply. "What are you doing?"
Grace glanced up at him first with surprise, then defiance. She laughed and tossed the fiery drink down like an old lush. That is, until it hit her throat. Then she choked, her eyes bugging out, and she grabbed her neck as if it were on fire.
He stalked closer to the group. The men smiled up at him in welcome, offering him a seat beside them. He ignored them.
"Grace," he repeated, louder this time.
She cleared her throat and casually squeaked, "Oh, hello, Reese." She held the shot glass out for Miguel to refill. Obligingly, he did. She smiled too brightly up at Reese. "Want to join us?"
"No."
"After all, the rescue is over. Luke is safe. Your debt is paid. You're free to do whatever your heart desires—drink, leave..."
"Grace, stop it."
"Why didn't you tell me how much fun it could be?"
He reached down and knocked the drink from her hand.
She gasped as the liquid went sailing. "Now look what you did—"
He grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her upward, pulling her in tow toward his saddled horse. Behind them, a rumble of amusement went through the circle.
"What are you doing?" she cried. "Stop that! Don't you manhandle me, Reese Donovan. I don't wanna go."
"We need to talk."
"I don't wanna talk," she protested, digging in her heels. He could smell the tequila on her breath. A thimbleful had her swaying on her feet.
"Well, we're going to." He hoisted her in the air and slung her over his shoulder.
"Ow! Put me down! Who do you think you are, anyway?"
"Someone who's been there, darlin'," he retorted.
"Darlin'? Hah! I'm nobody's darlin', least of all yours!"
"How much of that tequila did you drink?" he asked, plopping her down sideways on the ebony-colored horse Dominguez had given him.
"Ow! Hardly any. Not enough."
Reese launched into the saddle behind her, drawing her up practically into his lap.
"Let me down! Where are you taking me?" she yelled, prying his hands away from her waist. He clamped them back in place.
"Out of temptation's reach."
She was angry. That much was clear. She didn't speak to him all the way up the ridge that overlooked the camp. It took all of ten minutes to get there. Huge boulders precariously perched on ancient sandstone fulcrums littered the way. The evening air was scented with sage and palo verde. Beyond the ridge was a dramatic sweep of horizon cast in the purples and blues of the setting sun, the rolling valley, thick with foliage.
Drawing the gelding to a stop, he dismounted and reached up to help Grace down. She menaced him with a glare for a moment, then hopped down all by herself.
She took two steps out of his reach, folded her arms tightly against her chest, and turned her back on him.
He said, "You're angry."
"How observant."
"This isn't easy for me either."
"Oh? I'd say you're taking the easy way out, wouldn't you?"
"No."
"Yes, you are. Because you're too much of a coward to risk your heart. You're not leaving for my sake. You're leaving for your own."
Anger flashed through him, hot and unexpected. He grabbed her arm. "That's not true and you know it."
"Do I? You've wanted to leave since that first day. You've admitted as much. Now that it's over, you can't wait to make good your escape. It's so much simpler, isn't it, than facing the truth?"
"Which is what?"
"That you love me. That we're meant to be together. That together we're stronger than apart. And whatever happens, nothing, nothing could be more powerful than that."
A red-tailed hawk sailed effortlessly on the air currents fifty feet from where they stood, watching them like a spectator at a fight.
Reese's hands tightened on her upper arms. "It can't always be your way, Grace. As much as you want it, life doesn't work that way."
"Not in your world, certainly. Because you leave no room for hope, Reese. You're so dead certain that life will always kick you in the teeth, you can't imagine the other side. Well, there are no guarantees. There's no blueprint saying this will happen just so, or that will. We take chances, risks. And we can choose to do it alone, or together. Who's to say what tomorrow will bring? Maybe it won't turn out the way we hope. But maybe it will, Reese. Maybe it will."
He gritted his teeth, releasing her. "You'd be implicated just by being with me, don't you see that? I can't bring this thing down on you."
"You won't, you mean. Well, who are you to decide for me what risks I'm willing to take?"
He had no answer for that. Damn her woman's logic. Everything she said made perfect sense, yet no sense at all. He knew what he had to do. He'd thought of every angle for weeks. There was no getting around the inevitable.
The evening breeze picked up just then and tore at their hair and clothes, cool and angry as the words between them. She forced him to look at her by stepping practically under his chin.
"Tell me you don't care for me, Reese. Say it to my face. And I'll walk away now. Forever. Go on, say it."
He looked her in the eye, and lied. "I don't care for you."
"Liar." She shoved him, hard.
Caught off guard, Reese stumbled back toward the edge of the cliff. He saw her eyes widen with fear as she realized what she'd done. She reached out instantly and grabbed his arm, yanking him back toward her. Off balance, Reese stumbled forward, taking her with him. They landed hard on the ground, rolling away from the cliff's edge in each other's arms.
Their breathing fell into a harsh, angry unison. "Liar," she choked out, her eyes filled with tears.
"Why can't you just let me go?"he murmured, his mouth a heartbeat away from hers.
She gulped back a sob. "Why can't you just let me love you?"
There was nothing left but to drop his mouth on hers in an angry, desperate plea. She met him halfway, twining her arms around his neck and drawing him closer yet. His tongue took posession of her mouth, as hers did of his. There was nothing vaguely like gentleness in the kiss, only the frustration of two people being torn apart from the inside out.
Never again would he find a woman who matched his soul stroke for stroke the way she did, who knew him better than he knew himself, who made him almost believe that all things were possible. How could he ever walk away?
The metallic click of a gun's hammer locked into place from somewhere close by. He froze, opening his eyes to see the devil watching him from a rock.
"Well, now, ain't this touchin'?" Ephram Sanders said, pointing a pistol at the spot between Reese's eyes.
Chapter 23
Grace looked up in horror. "Reese—"
"Couple o' lovebirds, eh, Hee-dalgo?" Sanders said.
"Si, patron." Hidalgo leered at them, his Henry rifle marking the same spot as Sanders's.
"Reckon the last we seen of her," Sanders said, getting to his feet, "she was a he. Ain't that right, Smith?"
Reese glanced up to find the deputy standing off to the left, clutching his rifle across his chest with both hands. He said nothing. A heavy shadow of a beard covered his jaw and he looked worse for the pace they must have kept up these past weeks.
"Get up," Sanders ordered.
Slowly, they did. Tucking Grace slightly behind him, Reese lifted his hands away from his gun, weighing the odds. Check that. There were no odds. If he went for his gun, they were both dead. If he didn't go for his gun, they were just as dead. And too far from camp to be heard.
He glanced at the tracker. "You're even better than I've heard, Hidalgo. Tracking us down the Gulf. That was real clever."
"Your friend, Newcastle, left a paper trail a mile wide. Everyone in Bagdad knew he did business out of Tampico," Sanders admitted. "After that, trackin' you here was easy as a Pair-a-Dice whore. Fellow named Kiddwell-Winthrop the Third was of particular help."
The greenhorn he'd bought the boat from, Reese remembered with a tightening of his jaw. He wondered if he was still alive. "You're just a little out of your jurisdiction here, aren't you, Marshal?"
Lifting his gun slightly, he said, "Judge Colt, here, disagrees. Now pull your gun out of your holster, easy like."
"Reese," Grace whispered.
"It's all right," he lied, lifting his gun out of its holster with a hiss of metal against leather. He turned to Sanders. "Your argument's with me, not her. Let her go and we'll settle this between us."
"On the contrary, Donovan. The girl made a fool of my deputy in my own jail. I don't cotton to that sort of thing. Nor do I need a witness floating around telling folks I stretched the boundaries of the law. Drop your gun, Donovan. Send it over here."
Reese let his pistol fall to the ground, then kicked it in Sanders's direction. The marshal gestured to Hidalgo, who lifted his rope from his saddle, sending the lariat into a flat spin. It sailed easily over Reese's shoulders, cinching around his arms. Reese grunted as Hidalgo yanked it even tighter.
"Don't!" Grace cried. "Please don't do this. I beg you."
"You beg?" Sanders echoed. "I wonder how far a woman like you would go to save her man?"
Reese took a step forward. Hidalgo jerked the rope, cutting painfully into his arms.
"Stay away from her, Sanders. Or so help me—"
"You'll what? I don't think you're in any position for threats, Donovan."
Grace waved an accusing finger at Sanders and backed up a step. "You won't get away with this, do you hear? If you kill us, my brother will find you and shoot you down for the low-down cur you are."
"Is that so?" Sanders laughed, unmoved by the threat.
"Yes. That's so. You, masquerading as an officer of the law! You are a huckleberry below everybody's persimmon!" she sneered as if that were the lowest insult she could sling. It probably was, Reese decided, shooting her a warning look. She ignored him, as usual.
"You railroaded Reese into jail and you know it," she went on, her heels crumbling the ground at the edge of the cliff. "Your scurvy sense of law and order falls far short of the mark."
"Grace," Reese warned.
"Your brother, Deke, asked for it, harassing me like he did. Why, he practically assaulted me right there in the saloon! And he was set on challenging himself against Reese's gun. He drew first. Reese was only defending himself. You can't hang a man for—"
"Grace."
"-self-defense!"
"Shut her up," Sanders warned, lifting the tip of his rifle in her direction.
That was a feat God himself couldn't manage, Reese mused, glancing at the edge of the cliff they stood on. It angled sharply down a steep dirt-covered hill more than seventy-five feet. Dangerous, but not lethal—if she fell right.
"And you, Deputy, to go along with it when you know—"
There was one chance and one chance only, Reese decided as she ranted on. If the slide didn't kill her, then maybe at least she'd get away.
Reese threw his weight to his side, colliding with her hip and sending her sailing airborne off the side of the cliff.
She screamed, grabbing Reese's shirt midair, pulling him with her. Hidalgo's rope tightened, jerking him backwa
rd. Unable to break his fall, he landed hard, half on and half off the edge of the cliff, with Grace dangling from his shirt front.
Sanders cursed. "Get them back up here!"
Grace's bloodless fingers clutched in a stranglehold around the fabric of his shirt. "I'm slipping!"
"Let go," he said. "For God's sake, Grace, let go and you'll have a chance."
Hidalgo backed his horse up, dragging him inexorably away from the edge of the cliff.
Grace looked down. "Oh, my—!"
He implored her. "Please, Grace, you can do it. Let go. Go get help!"
Grace's eyes widened as Sanders's head, shoulders, and pistol appeared over the edge of the cliff. She could see directly into the dark cylinder of the barrel.
She let go, sliding down the incline with alarming, bone-jarring speed. Tiny rocks and roots abraded her hands and her skirts flew upward around her waist. Then she started to roll.
Bullets pinged into the ground near her. The world was upside down and backward and she lost sight of Reese altogether. Desperately, she clutched at every rooted object for a handhold. To no avail.
Reese rocked to his left, rolling his weight hard against the marshal's legs, throwing him into an off-balance sprawl at the edge of the cliff. His gun fell beside him and Sanders reached for it. At the same moment, the sharp retort of a gun exploded nearby. Reese waited for the impact, certain the bullet was meant for him. Instead, Hidalgo pitched forward off his saddle, dead before he hit the ground.
Where had that come from? Had someone from camp found them?
Sanders whirled, his gun seeking the same answer.
"Don't try it, Marshal."
Reese looked up at the strained sound of Connell Smith's voice.
"Smith?" Sanders said incredulously.
"Put down the weapon," Smith instructed, keeping his gun aimed at Sanders's heart.
"What are you doin'?"
"What I should have done weeks ago. Put it down."
"Not on your life, you lily-livered turncoat," Sanders said slowly, lifting his gun to meet the deputy's.
"I won't let you kill them," Connell said evenly, unflinching in the face of his own certain demise.
The Lady Takes A Gunslinger (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 1) Page 30
