The Reward

by Beth Williamson

  “When you send the message, send the boy Malcolm.”

  Diego sighed. “You know about him?”

  “Sí, and I think Damasco may use him to punish me. I do not want that boy hurt.”

  Diego’s hand fell on Malcolm’s shoulder and squeezed. “You are a good man, Malcolm. Your mother would be proud.”

  Mention of his mother reminded him that he had not thought about her for the past few days. He would think about her when Leigh was safe and the war was over.

  “Gracias, amigo. That means a lot to me.” Malcolm’s voice was hoarse.

  “Poor little Leigh. Is she okay?”

  Malcolm smiled in the gloom. “Sí, she is okay. Leigh is a fighter.”

  He saw a slash of white when Diego smiled back. “She is like a little wolf, no? All fangs and fierceness.”

  Yes, she was a wolf. And he was her mate. Like all wolves, they were mates for life. He had to save her ranch or they would both die trying.

  ———

  After thanking Diego and bidding him good night, Malcolm crept toward the house itself. This was his one opportunity to speak to Alejandro and he wasn’t going to let it pass. From what Leigh said, he was dying and would not last much longer. Malcolm tried to feel grief at the thought, but could not summon that emotion from the depths of his childhood. Alejandro had stopped being a father to him when he was six years old and Damasco was born.

  Perhaps it was Isabella’s influence, or perhaps it was all Alejandro. Either way, Malcolm was tossed aside like stale bread and left to rot in the stables until he turned eighteen. He wasn’t angry anymore, but he needed to speak his mind and say his piece to his father. There was a great deal of things he needed to lay to rest before the rest of his life could begin.

  After reaching the house, he stayed in the shadows of a pecan tree for ten minutes near the double glass doors of the library. There was no one about. He slid his knife out of its scabbard on his back and maneuvered it in the lock, popping it easily. The knife went back in its place and Malcolm eased the door open, wary for any noise to give him away.

  Malcolm entered the dark room and closed the door behind him. The smell of the room hit his nostrils and he was suddenly awash in memories. The scent of leather, of fine cigar smoke, of expensive bourbon. The last time he stood in this room was so long ago…it had been the day Damasco was born. Alejandro had told Malcolm his new room was to be in the stables, that he was such a responsible boy at the age of six he needed to contribute and earn his living. It sounded like such a grown-up adventure and he happily moved into the stable. Eager to please, eager to be thought of as a man. He had been a boy, a fool, and realized within a day he wasn’t sent to the stables to earn his living. He didn’t even get a wage. He was sent there because Papa’s wife had a baby boy, someone who took his place and was destined to inherit Rancho Zarza. He ate with the servants and his clothing was never so fine again. When he outgrew his clothing, it was replaced with the coarse material worn by the rest of the servants’ children.

  He had cried himself to sleep for six months. Each time he tried to talk to his Papa, he was told they would talk later. Later never came. Here it was, so much later, a lifetime had passed—a lifetime full of hate and resentment, of unhappiness and loneliness. He actually felt the prick of tears to be back in this room. The room where his entire life had changed.

  Swallowing his memories, he crept to the door and opened it as slowly as he could. The doors in the house were monstrous things, eight feet high and ornate like chapel doors. Alejandro’s room was in the west wing of the house. Diego had confirmed it for him.

  Malcolm crept through the darkened hallway on his toes, not letting the heels of his boots hit the stone floors. When he reached the end of the hallway, he turned right and saw the glow of light coming from under Alejandro’s door.

  His heart started beating faster. He was about to see his father, a man he hadn’t laid eyes on in over fifteen years. A man he hated, resented, but somehow, deep down where little Malcolm lived, still loved.

  He stood outside the door, listening. All he heard was an occasional sound, like the turning of a page and someone coughing. Alejandro was reading and he was alone.

  Malcolm pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  The man lying on the bed in a voluminous white nightshirt was not Alejandro. It was a shriveled old man Malcolm had never seen before who didn’t look surprised at all to find a strange man in his room in the middle of the night.

  “Malcolm. I thought you would come to see me. Dios mio, hijo, but you have grown into such a fierce-looking man.”

  Malcolm nearly stumbled when he heard the man speak. That was Alejandro’s voice coming from a wizened old stranger. No, not a stranger.

  Madre de Dios!

  This was Alejandro. His father. Yellow and wrinkled with age, liver spots marching up his face and hands. His hair was wispy and sparse and his cheeks were sunken in his face, making his eyes look like an owl’s.

  “Papa?” It was out of his mouth like a croak before he could call it back.

  “I don’t look so good, no? They all lie to me and tell me that I don’t look too bad, but I know the truth. They can hide the mirrors, but when little Leigh comes to see me, she tells me the truth. I am worried for her, Malcolm. I think Damasco and Isabella are planning to do her harm.”

  Malcolm simply stared. Here was the monster of his bad dreams, reduced to the size of a child. He was welcoming him, expressing concern for Leigh, and acting as if fifteen years of hatred had not sat on his father’s shoulders like an unwelcome guest.

  “Sit, sit. Por favor, Malcolm. You give me a neck ache, you are so tall.”

  Without thinking, he walked to the bed and sat on the edge. When Alejandro clasped his hands together and smiled, he saw the father of his youth. The father who taught him how to ride, how to shoot, how to dance. The papa who gave him rides on his shoulders and peeled apples with him.

  Was it all that simple? Would it just be washed away because Alejandro willed it?

  “I have hated you for so long, Alejandro.”

  He sighed. “Yes, hijo, I know. I turned away from you and listened to Isabella, forgetting about my firstborn son. I have no excuse, but I can still beg you to forgive me.”

  “People say many things when they know they are dying.”

  Alejandro laughed rustily. “Sí, you are right. And I am no exception. Can you take off your hat so I can see you, hijo?”

  Malcolm pulled off his hat, knowing his hair was still stuck to his skull with dried sweat from his midnight hike up the wall.

  Alejandro looked him over and smiled. “I see myself thirty years ago. I also see my sweet Leslie in your eyes.”

  “Do not think I will allow you to mention my mother.”

  He held up a hand in surrender. “This is your time, hijo. Say what you came to say.”

  Suddenly, he didn’t know what to say. So many words crowded in his mouth like little demons of hate, jumping up and down, waiting to be spewed forth. Did he want his last time with his father to be all about hate? Or was he ready to forgive?

  “Why?” was all he said.

  Alejandro sighed. “There is no simple reason. I was already engaged to Isabella when your mother came to me and told me she was pregnant with you. Leslie was such a beautiful, strong woman. I loved her. I think I still do. But my papa had plans for my marriage and they didn’t involve a Scottish immigrant orphan with no family and no money, and certainly no pedigree. I could not marry Leslie, but I kept her as close to me as I could. Isabella never forgave me for that and Leslie didn’t either.”

  He looked into the shadows and his eyes focused on the past. “When you were born, I was so happy. I wanted to shout it to the world that I had a son. I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you, hijo. Kicking and screaming into the world. Since Isabella didn’t conceive for so long, I selfishly kept you fed and clothed and taught you everything a father could teach a boy. I took wh
atever time I had and guarded it. The day was coming when she would have a child, only it took longer than I thought.”

  His eyes misted. “Isabella told me she would see to it that you would have an accident and not live to see your next birthday if I didn’t send you out of the house. Her family was powerful and I was weak with worry for you. The guilt ate away at me as I saw you suffer and struggle. So I took the coward’s way out and stopped looking.”

  Malcolm listened with his ears and his heart. He heard the truth coming from Alejandro. And he was glad he hadn’t let the demons loose out of his mouth.

  “Then Isabella had you whipped while I was gone to Houston for two weeks. I think she even planned it, had Damasco push you and push you until you snapped. She knew you had my temper and played on it. She wanted to kill you and devised a way to do it. By the time I got back, you were dead. Or so I was told. Leslie would not speak to me and within six months she was gone. Little Leigh moped around like a shadow of herself. Isabella and Damasco had never looked happier.”

  “Yet you were not surprised to see me step in the room.”

  Alejandro turned his gaze back to Malcolm and he was shocked to see tears streaming down his father’s face.

  “Lorena told me two days ago. She has always loved you like a nephew. A good woman, that Lorena. She was right to tell me. I could not get a message to you, but I hoped, no I prayed, you would come to see me so I could meet the man you had become.”

  Malcolm was afraid to ask. “And what do you see?”

  Alejandro cocked his head and studied Malcolm’s face. “I see a man who has had a hard life. A man who has honor and dignity. A man who knows what’s right and may have lost his way a time or two, but found his way back to who he really is. I see a man I am proud to call my son.”

  The tears clogging his throat were raw and salty. He had waited so long, so damn long, to hear those words from Alejandro. Did he really mean them and could Malcolm accept them? Probably not entirely, but they meant something. The crack in the wall around his heart grew wider.

  “Alejandro, Isabella and Damasco are up to something. They have set out to ruin the Circle O and take it from Leigh. Do you know anything about it?”

  Alejandro’s brows drew together in a frown. “No, I know nothing about it. But I am not surprised. Since I cannot take care of my business, Damasco is taking care of it. There is talk of the railroad coming to Millerton and the route it takes will make the landowners wealthy.”

  The railroad. Son of a bitch! That was it.

  “The Circle O must be in the path the railroad will take and Damasco wants a big piece of that pie. He’s rustled more than half the cattle, killed some, even tried to kill her. Bandejo. She must have an angel on her shoulder to have survived the last two years.”

  Malcolm was angry; no, he was absolutely furious. It was all about money and greed. Forget human life, or kindness, or respect. Or family.

  Alejandro’s light touch on his hand drew him back from his inevitable explosion.

  “You must stop them. I am not strong enough to help you, but I can at least distract Isabella to keep them apart. Damasco alone is not as strong without his mother behind him.”

  “I will stop them. They will not take the Circle O or succeed in killing Leigh. You have my promise on that.”

  Alejandro squeezed his hand. “I am glad to hear that, hijo. Now can you stay a little longer and talk to your papa?”

  His eyes were full of pain and the shadow of death, but also a hint of hope. That hope made the final decision for Malcolm.

  “Yes, Papa. I will stay a little longer.”

  ———

  It was the middle of the night, long past midnight, but Leigh couldn’t sleep. She sat on the front porch steps with a rifle across her lap, staring at the stars. Malcolm had been gone for more than a day. She was not only worried about him, she missed him. It was a lonely supper again without him. Not to mention the absolute yearning to feel his hands on her, to feel him inside her.

  She needed Malcolm to erase the shadows of Damasco’s hands on her body. Goddamn him for reawakening her demons long since put away. She had been young and more than stupid to follow Damasco into the stables to see the new foal. More than stupid to stare at him when he locked her in the stall and forced himself on her. He had been fifteen years old for God’s sake. Yes, but he had been big, like Malcolm, and so much stronger than she. And she had been shocked that he would force himself on her. She didn’t even cry “no” until after he’d penetrated her and spilled his seed almost immediately. It was like it had happened to someone else. But years later it still had the power to hurt her. He still had the power to hurt her.

  She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  “Amante,” came a whisper near her ear.

  She whirled around, dropped the rifle with a clatter and launched herself at a crouching Malcolm, knocking him flat on the porch. Her lips found his and she dove into him for all she was worth.

  “Malcolm,” she said in between kisses. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “I can see that.” He chuckled. “Do you think we can go upstairs and actually use a bed?”

  He was hard against her already and she responded by rubbing herself up and down on him. She sat up so she straddled him.

  “Can I go on top? Like this?”

  He groaned lightly. “Sí, por favor. I would love to have you ride me.”

  She rose after one last ferocious kiss and held out a hand to pull him to his feet. Then he did the most amazing thing. He scooped her up in his arms.

  “Can you open the door?”

  She reached down and opened the door. He turned sideways and carried her in, then stopped while she closed and locked the door again.

  “Put me down. I’m too heavy for you,” she whispered.

  “No,” he said, giving her a nibbling bite on one breast. “I am not letting you go again.”

  She nearly giggled. Giggled, for Pete’s sake. What was she…a silly girl?

  “Let’s go upstairs then.”

  He carried her up the stairs like she weighed nothing. When they entered her bedroom, he set her on her feet, slowly sliding her down his hard, erect body.

  “Lock the door.” His voice was rough, seemingly at the edge of his control.

  She did as he bade and returned to his arms.

  “Amante, I need you naked, beneath me. I need to be inside you. Now.”

  He started pulling at her shirt until she stopped his trembling hands. “I’ll do that.”

  He took a great, gasping breath and stepped back. In the weak moonlight filtering through the curtains, she saw him taking his clothes off as fast as she was. She needed him, too. Oh, God, how she needed him.

  “Hurry.” He reached for her. She was just shucking off her pants and drawers. In a blink, they were both naked and he walked her toward the bed as his kisses ravaged her mouth. When her knees hit the mattress, she fell back and he landed on top of her.

  He was so damn hot and incredibly hard. His chest hair rubbed on her nipples, which were already like rocks, tantalizing and teasing them mercilessly.

  “I can’t wait, amante. Please let me in.”

  She felt as frantic as he was. She spread her legs and he drove into her wet pussy in one stroke. It was a wild joining. More of a mating, like the wolves he had said they were. She clawed at his back as he pumped into her again and again. Stroking her, biting her nipples and neck. Licking and kissing over and over.

  “Oh, God, Malcolm. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” she chanted as he pulled her legs up to circle his waist and drove deeper and harder. He was touching her soul, guiding her along to the place where they were one.

  Yes. More. More. Just a few more strokes. Please.

  “I’m coming, Mal. I’m coming.” As she tried not to scream the words, he plunged into her until her heart stopped beating. It was a moment that hung in the air like a full moon. Bright, shiny, perfect.

&nbs
p; “Amante!” he said hoarsely into her ear. She felt him shudder as she clenched around him again and again. His seed spilled into her, giving his life into hers. Joining them.

  He laid his forehead against hers. “This is where I am. Home. I am finally home.”

  Yes, home. Together they were home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Leigh woke up in the middle of the night in a man’s arms for the first time in her life. The feeling of belonging, of being safe, was indescribable. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. His shoulder was hard beneath her head, yet it was the most comfortable place she had ever slept. Her nose was pressed up against the crook of his neck and she breathed in his scent. His essence.

  She kissed his neck, tasting the salty tang of his skin.

  “Amante?” His voice was husky from sleep.

  “I’m here.”

  He chuckled a bit hoarsely. “Sí, you are definitely that.”

  “Where were you, Malcolm?”

  His fingers grazed her neck. “I followed Earl. He ended up at Rancho Zarza. With Damasco.”

  She didn’t have doubts about Damasco’s guilt, but to know for certain she’d been harboring a snake in the grass was hard to swallow. She’d thought herself smarter than that. To be fooled for so long, to have so much taken from her, proved to the world she was the stupid woman they all thought her to be.

  Malcolm must have sensed her mood.

  “It was not you, chica. I think he moved the cows in small herds. Over the course of two years, small amounts are less noticeable, no? Diego remembers seeing the smaller herds. He thinks he knows where they are.”

  Nonetheless, she still felt like an idiot. “Can he help?”

  “He is going to keep watch for us. I asked him to send little Malcolm when it begins.”

  Her hands roamed his chest, feeling the crisp curling hairs sliding through her fingers.

  “When ‘it’ begins?”