Tyra's Gambler

by Velda Brotherton

  He looked her up and down, had her turn around, and chin in one hand shook his head. “If you had a dress, I might, but not with your legs all covered up with britches. Men in here want to look at legs.”

  “I do have a dress, and I certainly have legs.” She’d forgotten all about the dress stuffed in her saddlebag. No telling how it looked after all this time. Probably have to cut it off, though, or maybe tuck the skirt up into the waist. When the girls twisted and turned in their short attire, they showed frilly underclothes. The women had worn such garments at Fairhaven in Victoria, but she had none. She hadn’t worn a dress since arriving in Kansas.

  The bartender eyed her, raised his shoulders, and told her to put it on and return. Then he’d say if he could hire her. He didn’t sound real hopeful. But she ran outside where the horses were finishing off their grain and fetched the saddlebag, pulled out the dress, and held it up to see how it looked. Like a wad of rags, that’s how.

  A tall man emerged from the shelter of the porch. In the darkness he resembled Zach, but she was no doubt imagining that. He came down the steps and grabbed her arm, and he was Zach and she was afraid she was dreaming. How in the world could this be?

  “What are you thinking on doing, Tyra?”

  Her heart nearly stopped at the familiar voice. Zach, her Zach. White-hot fury overpowered any excitement, and she rounded on him.

  “Turn loose of me, this instant. You have no say over me. You left me all alone. Go, git away from me.” She slapped at his hands till he pulled them back.

  Lord, how she wanted to go into his arms. Feel his lips on hers. But not now. Not ever.

  He ought to grab her up and smack her on the butt, but Zach knew better than to attempt such an act. So he wrapped her up in both arms and held on, dodging the backward attempts to kick his shins. Her hollering attracted a lot of attention, but no one came to her aid. Most just pointed and laughed. Watching a man tame a wild girl was nothing new in these parts, and certainly nobody’s business.

  She finally quit struggling. “All right, Zachariah, you’ve made your point. You’re stronger and meaner than I am. Now, please put me down so I can go to work and earn my way west. I’m thinking of going all the way to California. What you told me about it was very nice. Put. Me. Down.”

  “Only if you throw that thing away and go with me inside. I’ll make some more money and share it with you.”

  “The hell you will. You left me all alone for five…no, six days, so what makes you think I’d want or need anything from you now?”

  “Dammit, I’m sorry. I trailed you the whole time. After I saw you weren’t going back home, I stayed within eyeballing distance of you. Nothing was ever going to happen to you. Dammit, why didn’t you go home?”

  “And why didn’t you join me when you saw I wasn’t going home? I wanted you, Zach. I cried for you. But you’d better know something for sure. I was not afraid, not one time. I took care of myself.”

  He chuckled. “I saw that. I sure did. Why the hell do you think I felt I could leave you? I knew you could take care of yourself.”

  She shoved at his arms, still tight around her. “Put me down. I’m tired of you talking to the back of my head.”

  “Promise you won’t run?”

  “You know something? I have legs as pretty as any girl in there, and I could kick higher and flirt better, besides shooting the eye out of a deer across that road yonder. I do not promise anything. Tell you what. If you promise you won’t take off without me, I’ll do the same. Otherwise no, no, no.”

  Being so close, the feel of him, his strong hands and arms, the sound of his voice, were almost more than she could stand. But he wasn’t getting her back that easy. Not unless he made a vow not to leave her again. And he didn’t.

  Then he left to play some cards, and she leaned on the bar, sipping at a tepid beer. The Americans certainly did not produce very good ale, but she was getting used to it.

  Several times shouts came from the poker table. Zach was winning almost all the hands. He told her once the trick that kept him alive when he walked away with his pockets full was leaving all of them satisfied that they’d won a hand or two from him.

  “Never strip a man of his dignity,” he told her, and she guessed that meant a whole lot more than a simple card game.

  She had retired to the bench outside, where a cool breeze fanned away the sweat, when at last he left the game and swaggered out through the swinging doors.

  “I suppose you robbed those poor men of their entire wages.”

  “Well, nearly. No one makes those fellas play a game of chance. Gambling is as much fun as it is profitable, at least for us winners.” He laughed, that deep happy sound touching her to the core.

  Dear God, how she loved this man, but tonight he was going to pay for leaving her. Was he ever going to pay.

  The mercantile was closed for the evening, so they’d have to make do with what they had till morning. Zach took the lead, and just outside of town, in a thick stand of trees, he dismounted, glanced up, blue eyes the color of a spring sky. “You staying with me or going on?”

  “Zachariah, you are the most irritating man I’ve ever known.”

  He came to her side, slipped her boot from the stirrup, and reached up to enclose her waist in his large hands. She dropped easily into his arms and curled against his chest.

  “I love you, pretty lady.”

  His breath, warm against her ear, sent shivers of delight through every inch of her. So much for her vow to make him pay. She couldn’t wait to get things unpacked, then sit beside him, rest her ear against his chest, and listen to him talk about the stars, or horses, or cattle, or gambling. Didn’t matter what he spoke of in moments like that. All his words led up to lying with him under the stars, making slow, easy love, and sleeping curled together.

  If Zach had to choose the one thing in this world he would forever remember, it was this night, with Tyra in his arms and the peaceful darkness that cradled them. He would carry it always, like one of those tintypes that captured the very essence of a moment in life. Thoughts of what must come pecked at him, but he shoved them away.

  For a long time he simply held her, reveling in her touch, her fragrance, the sound of her voice chiding him softly so that he had to laugh. Easy to see she wanted badly to berate him but couldn’t manage it. Finally she gave up, clasped his chin in one hand, and kissed him deeply. Just what he needed to roll her on top of him, fit her neatly across his lap, one leg on each side, her lovely breasts in his line of sight, a waning moon shimmering their ivory perfection.

  His fingertips tweaked them so that he barely felt the satiny skin. Easy, gently, he traced around their pale orbs, delighted in how the skin puckered and the nipples turned to pearls.

  She wiggled against him, teasing his growing passion, which she straddled.

  “Uh, darlin’, maybe you could sort of—uh, let him in?”

  Leaning backward a bit, which did a job on his aching groin, she smiled and tweaked one of his nipples. “Not yet, my love. Not yet. He has to be punished for the nights I yearned to have him in, as you so elegantly put it. Besides, I want you to kiss these, if you please.”

  Shifting forward, which teased him until he groaned, she presented one breast. He took it eagerly, the taste as sweet as the woman herself. Even though she continued to bedevil him past all endurance, he had a good idea what this was leading up to and so allowed it. For she would relent soon, and position herself so he could slip deeply inside her. Thinking of that, he took the other breast in his mouth, and when he did, she made a sound of pleasure and raised enough to allow what he’d been waiting for.

  It was like magic, that coming together. Maybe when she was born she was made to fit him, like he had a key to her soul and their connection was planned a very long time ago.

  In he went, slipping his way through the moist warmth that closed around him, pulsed with her orgasm. She rode him, crying out each time she came, until he roared into the c
oming himself. Rose with her into the blackness, touching stars, the moon, the faces of angels. And then it was quiet except for their breathing, and he held her so tight she gasped, but didn’t complain. He kept her there, stretched along his length, her cheek pressed to his heart, breath puffing through the hairs on his chest.

  A breeze lifted as if to cool them, drying the sweat, cooling their locked bodies.

  Dammit, what a fool he was. Couldn’t stay away from her. What was he going to do? Soon, too damn soon, he would not have her anymore. His own doing. All he had to do was stay with her, forget the enemy he pursued, take her to California where she would be safe from the promised revenge that hung over him. But that would not save his mother, who would never leave Santa Maria. Besides, he had grown up being taught to face his responsibilities. Even when it meant killing someone.

  She whispered something he couldn’t hear. “Hmm?”

  “Let’s take a bath.”

  “Where?”

  “I can hear the water running, through the trees. Must be a creek or spring.”

  “I think you could find water on the Sahara Desert.” He released her, then rose to trail along behind toward the rippling sound. “Don’t forget to make lots of noise in case of snakes.”

  She squealed and backed up to follow him. “You go first.”

  The quarter moon hung high in the sky, shimmering on the water. It was indeed a spring, bubbling seemingly out of nowhere. Someone had piled rocks in a circle to hold back the water and form a pool.

  Naked, she stepped over the rock wall and placed her foot carefully. “It’s cold.”

  He could do nothing but gape at her, the moonlight shining off her hair to form a halo, her pale skin gleaming. “Dear God, I forget how beautiful you are when you’re not wearing your getup. You are gorgeous.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. Smiled. “That’s a mighty big word for a gambler. I thank you for noticing. Us Duncan girls are all rather gorgeous, don’t you think?”

  One leg lifted to step into the water, he laughed, then sank down beside her. The pool wasn’t deep, circling their waist. She glanced up at him, then straightened out until she bobbed just beneath the surface.

  “Come here, kind sir. I need you.” Arms lifted, she fluttered her eyelids.

  He straightened out beside her, head propped in one hand. “You know what cold water does to our friend, don’t you?”

  “I do, indeed, but I have plans.” She ran a hand between their bodies. “I’ll bet I can get him to rise for a bit of loving.”

  He relaxed beside her, enjoying her touch, pleasuring her in return. Above, an owl hooted. Another answered in the distance.

  Damn, it was hard to believe that this time tomorrow he would ride alone into the Valley of the Gun to hunt down Geronimo Lanigan and end this stupid hate game.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Something was up with Zach. Even when he was with her he wasn’t there. Not entirely. All she could do was wait till he decided to tell her what was going on. He wasn’t one to talk something to death, either. One thing for sure, it was bad, whatever it was, and she wasn’t going to like it one little bit. He reined Cabron off the trail and to the left. Morgan and the pack horse followed.

  “Where are we going?” A bad feeling washed over her. He hadn’t said anything about going somewhere. The path was seldom traveled, and she told Morgan to stop.

  “It’s just a ways off the trail, Tyra.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Come on. It won’t take but a minute. Someone I need to see before we go on.”

  Reluctant, she nudged Morgan with her heels and followed along. She did not like this one bit. Not the way Zach had been acting. He was up to something.

  The moment she laid eyes on the place at the end of the long overgrown lane, fear grew around her heart. What scared her more was his turning there without saying one word. The cross at the entrance, a gated opening in an adobe wall that encompassed an immense garden, sent terror scrabbling up her spine. Memories, tamped down so deep they dug their way out as if rising from a grave, awoke dread.

  She dropped his hand, which she’d held all morning while they rode. “What are we doing here?”

  “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  “And it had to be a secret up till this moment?”

  He looked sideways at her without turning his head, something he did when he didn’t want to discuss a subject.

  “And who is this person you want me to meet?”

  The horses kept walking, his silence growing till they reached the closed wrought iron gate. She tensed in the saddle, backed Morgan up a few steps when he leaned down and yanked a leather strap that rang a bell.

  “I’m not going in there. You go, do what you have to do. I’ll wait here.”

  The clanging of the bell split the morning silence. He spoke without looking at her. “She’s a close friend. I need you to talk to her.”

  “Then have her come out here. I’m not going in there. What’s the name of this place, anyway? And why are we here? What am I supposed to talk about to this ‘her’ I never heard of?”

  “Her name’s Dolores. This is Casa de los Cinco Ángeles. She’ll tell you why. It’s not a place like you were at in England. Nothing like that at all.” Voice firm, he faced her with an expression so set on stubborn it sent shivers through her.

  This was about to be something she could not control, no matter how much she needed to do so. Love caused some scary experiences sometimes. It made you do what you would otherwise never even consider. She would walk into a hail of bullets for this man, without question. And that realization scared her badly, because she did not want to die. Even more so, she did not want him to die. But worse than dying was going through that gate and into her past. A close friend? He didn’t have close friends.

  “Zachariah, don’t ask me to do this. Please.”

  “It means the House of the Five Angels, Ty. Angels. These women are truly angels.”

  “Well, I’m not exactly on good terms with angels. And you can bet they don’t care that much for me.” Tears blurred her vision, but not so she couldn’t make out the figure approaching. Not an angel but a small prune of a woman in a long black dress. Her white hair was braided and coiled around her head.

  “She doesn’t look like an angel to me.” As if she had any notion what those looked like.

  He faced the smiling woman, removed his hat, and held it over his heart. “Good morning, Señora. My name is Zachariah Benson, and I’d like to see Sister Dolores.”

  Tyra backed Morgan up some more, whispered, “No. No sisters, Zach. Please.”

  He dismounted, walked to Morgan, and hooked his fingers through the bridle. “You know I love you, don’t you?” His tears glistened in the morning sunlight.

  Without speaking she nodded, frantic with a desire to flee. He was about to betray her. This man she loved more than anything in this world and no doubt the next, if there was such a thing.

  “Dolores saved my life. She cared for me after I was shot. I would have died, Tyra. She is truly an angel. Around here they are known as the five Spanish angels. They’ve spent their lives taking care of those in need. They especially pray for lovers. It’s an old legend I’ll tell you later. But I need you to trust me and meet her. Talk with her. I’ll be with you, and if after that you feel you can’t do this, then we’ll think of something else. Please, Tyra.”

  The tears she’d seen coursed down his cheeks. It took the death of his brother to make him cry. Now he couldn’t seem to stop. She swallowed hard. “Do what? You’re going to leave me here. No, don’t do it. I beg you. I’ll run away, follow you, no matter what you do. They can lock me up. I’ll get out.”

  “Tyra, honey. Just listen. Talk to her, please. I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He rubbed Morgan’s neck, looked her in the eyes.

  “I don’t want to talk to her, yet you’re asking me to do that.”

  He gazed up at her, expression
one of caring, of love. “Do this much for me. I promise I won’t ask more. Just talk to her.”

  She’d once told him she would do anything for him, and he wanted this so badly. Surely he would not ask her to do something that would harm her.

  A deep, deep breath. Had to let him see she wasn’t pleased. “All right. I’ll go in and talk to her. There, in the garden under those trees. I won’t go into that church or whatever it is. And if anyone tries to make me, I’ll shoot them.”

  He released the horse’s bridle, smiled up at her, and rubbed her knee. “You know I love you. No one is going to drag you kicking and screaming into that church.”

  Hinges groaned on the gate, and the old woman swung it wide, stepped aside so they could ride through. Only a few feet inside, Tyra dismounted and took reluctant steps in the thick green grass to stand under a tree hanging heavy with purple blossoms. A safe distance from the church. “I’ll just wait here.”

  He left the pack horse, who stood placidly beside Morgan, and led Cabron to follow the old woman. The two horses tore at the crisp green grass, tails flicking lazily at flies. Too bad she couldn’t take everything as calmly as these animals. The cloying fragrance of the flowers overhead upset her stomach. Heat from the climbing sun sent sweat running down her spine. She kept glancing up the empty lane where the old woman and Zach had disappeared. Why didn’t he come back?

  Finally he approached on foot, leading his horse. A woman dressed in a flowing white robe, with her head covered in what appeared to be a white shawl, walked beside him, hand tucked under his arm.

  As they drew closer, she saw the shawl was really a lace mantilla fastened on either side with combs and flowing free over black hair pinned into a bun. Slight lines spread from the corners of her dark eyes and cupped her mouth. She might have been in her forties or fifties. No way to tell exactly. Her searching glance sought out and locked on Tyra. Nothing but kindness lit that face, and the smile that bloomed there reinforced the expression. Still, it wasn’t safe to trust her.