Golden Roses

by Patricia Hagan

  “Dolita, it’s a coyote,” Amber called softly. “Or some other wild animal. And it was a long way off.”

  “Not a wild animal. Not a long way off.” Dolita peered into the shadows, trembling. “It was a human—and not human.”

  “Human and not human?” Amber laughed nervously. “Really, Dolita, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Realizing that Amber was not slowing down, Dolita kneed her horse on.

  They rounded a bend…and froze. Ahead, illuminated by the ghostly crimson glow of a torch, was the bloody dripping head of a cockerel, nailed to a crude wooden cross. The silent breeze gently ruffled its feathers. Dolita crossed herself, but Amber could only stare, transfixed.

  Concentrating solely on the cross, the women did not see the two faces watching them from the ridge above, faces painted blood red, wide white circles drawn about the eyes and downward to circle noses and mouths.

  Chapter Twenty

  Maretta closed her eyes and lifted the glass to her lips, draining the contents in one long swallow.

  She was only mildly startled to hear the soft clink as the fresh carafe of sangria touched the rim of the bathtub, and she didn’t bother to look around. This maid was so much more obedient and attentive than that stupid Dolita, she thought with satisfaction. Here she sat in her wonderful tub, the girl hovering nearby to make sure her glass was kept full.

  “You are a good servant.” Maretta sighed, taking another long sip. “You fulfill my every desire.”

  “Every desire, sweetheart?” a masculine voice growled. “There are a few things servant girls can’t do for you.”

  Maretta sat up, water sloshing over the sides of the tub. “Cord!” she cried, staring wide-eyed at the handsome, smiling face above her. “What are you doing here? How did you, get in the house? I have guards—”

  “Your guards aren’t very efficient,” he drawled. “They drink tequila and fall asleep. I had no difficulty crawling up to your balcony once it got dark.”

  Maretta smiled. “Will you share my drink…and my bath?”

  “Both invitations are too good to turn down,” Cord said with a grin. He unbuttoned his shirt and jerked it off, and Maretta shivered at the sight of his broad, muscular chest.

  He unbuckled his belt, unfastened his trousers, then stepped out of them and kicked them out of the way. He wore nothing beneath.

  He stepped over the rim of the tub, bending his knees so that Maretta was encircled within his legs. Drawing his feet closer, her own legs became entwined about him, and she could feel his stiffening shaft against her thighs. The warm, encompassing water lent a dreamlike quality to the encounter.

  She leaned forward, eyes half-closed, and wrapped her arms around his neck as she pressed her oil-slick breasts against his chest. “Cord, mi amante,” she whispered huskily, her tongue flicking out to trace his lips. “How I have missed you! So many nights I have lain awake remembering how you held me, touched me, set me on fire. I was afraid you would not come to me ever again.”

  He reached to cup her face with one strong hand, bringing his lips down to claim her mouth. His voice was husky. “Did you think I could ever turn my back on what we had?”

  “Oh, Cord! Cord!” She began covering his face with kisses, her fingers grasping his hair and holding him closer. “How I adore you! Never have I wanted a man as I want you!”

  His hands moved to slide down her back, to cup her buttocks and press her firmly against him. His swollen member slipped between her thighs, and he rode her against him without penetration. She began whimpering as the delightful sensations rippled through her. “I was here a couple of nights ago,” he whispered as he continued to drive her toward frenzy, “but you weren’t here.”

  “Oh, Cord,” she begged frantically, her fingernails digging into the firm flesh of his back. “Take me, please take me now.”

  He grinned. “We’ve got lots of time, sweetheart. You’ll be begging me to stop before this night ends. Now, I want to know where you went that night. Who’s the new man in your life, eh? Who’s trying to steal you from me?” He began to thrust his hips upward, driving himself even more tantalizingly between her thighs. “I know I haven’t been around much lately, but I’ve had things to do. I promised Armand I’d look after Amber, but she took off before I could send her back to the States. I’ve just been so busy. So tell me who’s moved in to try and take my place.”

  “Oh, no one, no one…” she moaned, barely able to speak over the trembling waves of heat in her body. “No one, I swear it. You are the only one for me, forever and always. Oh, how I love you…want you—need you.”

  “Tell me who he is, Maretta,” he whispered as he undulated his hips. “You don’t get what you want till I get what I want. That’s the way this game is played.”

  She raised her face to look at him with eyes that mirrored anguish…as well as deep lust. “I was not with a man that night, Cord. You must believe me. Oh, please, please believe me.”

  Cord clamped his hands on her thighs, holding them still, preventing her from moving. “You’re going to tell me where you went that night,” he whispered. “Or it’s over. Start talking.”

  “It was not what you think, Cord. Believe me. I did not sleep with a man. It was…business, about the ranch. Please.”

  “Business!” He spat in disgust. “You expect me to believe that?” He gave her a rough shake that sent more water splashing over the tub rim. “Tell me, Maretta. Did your business have anything to do with Amber and Dolita’s disappearance?”

  “Oh, why do you care about that slut?” she cried. “Cord. Forget her.”

  “Not until you tell me where you took them.”

  Desperate, she told him everything. While she talked, Cord realized she was telling the truth. He asked slowly, cautiously, his mouth moving slowly over hers. “Who helped?”

  “Puetas,” she gasped, trembling. “I know him only as Puetas.”

  Cord swore. He knew he should get up, dry himself, dress, and leave. But he couldn’t quite make himself do it.

  He felt the desire still within him, and with one swift movement, he pulled her legs upward and entered her. In just a few moments, he took them both to sweet release.

  Cord reached the squat structure where he remembered Puetas bunked and peered inside. It was dark. He stood perfectly still as moments ticked by, wanting to make sure there was no movement within. When he was sure the Mexican cowboy was asleep, he moved to the door.

  It opened with a squeak, and Cord knew Puetas was instantly awake and fumbling for his gun. Cord lunged across the room for the bed and grabbed the man’s throat, pressing him down on his back. Slowly, Cord began to squeeze the life’s breath from his body.

  “It’s me—Hayden,” Cord said in a deadly voice. “In a few more seconds, you’re going straight to hell unless you tell me what I want to know.”

  Beneath him, Puetas made gurgling noises and struggled frantically to nod.

  Cord released the pressure ever so slightly. “Do you know where Valdis Alezparito is hiding out?”

  “Sí.” The sound was barely audible. “Sí.”

  Cord moved away quickly to stand beside the narrow cot. His eyes had become adjusted to the darkness, and he could make out Puetas’s trembling form.

  “I will tell you.” Puetas gasped, clutching at his painfully constricted throat. “I am not willing to die for that one.”

  Cord smiled. “No,” he drawled. “You aren’t going to tell me, you son of a bitch. You’re going to take me there. Get your worthless ass up and get dressed. And remember,” he added slowly, “I can find him myself eventually. You’re just making things a little easier, so it won’t bother me a bit to kill you. Remember that, and don’t get any ideas.”

  “No, no. I will make no trouble.” Puetas moved cautiously as he got out of bed and reached for his trousers. “I will take you there, but please, do not tell him it was I who betrayed him.”

  “Move,” was all Cord would reply.r />
  Puetas obeyed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Cord rode directly behind Puetas, ever alert should the vaquero get any notions. He thought miserably of Amber, at the mercy of that bastard. Mercy! Valdis Alezparito was the worst kind of rogue because he was, in fact, a coward. And cowards went to extremes to try to make up for their lack of courage by exercising every brutality they could, whenever they could.

  His hands gripped the reins tightly, wanting the pain of the leather cutting into his flesh to take his mind off his anger. How he wanted to choke the life from Alezparito! But now was not the time for heroics or vengeance. All that mattered was getting Amber out of there. And once he did, by God, he was going to make her leave Mexico with him. There was no way she could take Armand’s boy from the village, though he could well understand her wanting to do so. The Indians would kill the child before they would let him go.

  Cord had finally come to understand his feelings for Amber, and they had nothing to do with the promise made to Armand on his deathbed. Amber was unlike any woman Cord had ever known, She was beautiful, but spirited and intelligent as well. Oh, he had fought against his feelings, struggling to keep his vow never to love another woman, regarding them all as treacherous. He had struggled hard.

  Cord bitterly recalled those first days after Amber’s disappearance. He drank heavily, but could not wash away the memory of sparkling eyes and hair like liquid silver.

  Just as he had vowed to move heaven and earth to find her, the letter had come from Major John Wesley Powell, Cord’s commanding officer during the Civil War.

  Thinking of that letter provoked other memories, painful memories: the bloody days of the war, fighting for something he believed in…and trying like hell to stay alive so he could return to Christina.

  Christina.

  Cord smiled bitterly, there in the darkness as they rode.

  Tall, slender, her eyes the color of spring grass, her hair a mass of ginger curls, Christina’s beauty seemed sculpted. She had an air of confidence and dignity about her that was almost a coldness. Both her family and his were rich, prominent, and everyone approved of their planned union.

  Cord frowned as he felt the agony return. Yes, he had loved her, planned to marry her, and all the time she was a two-timing slut with no more scruples than a worn-out old whore. To the cream of society she presented a picture all grace and charm. A real lady. And while she was writing him long letters of love and devotion, for him and for the Northern cause, she was bedding a brawling dock worker.

  When he came home on leave and heard her tearful tale about the bastard raping her, he’d gone completely crazy and stormed down to the waterfront to give the man a sound beating and scare him to death. But it hadn’t worked out like that. The guy had a knife. And Cord had a gun. He used it.

  He had thought it a clear case of self-defense and gone back to war. A week later, Major Powell informed him that the man he had killed was the son of a prominent New York banker who had rebelled against his family’s strict upbringing and left home for a different kind of life. The family was screaming murder and wanted justice, and Christina was brokenhearted and telling everyone that Cord had gone after the poor soul in a rage of jealousy. Cord had met Armand by then, and when Major Powell told him the thing for him to do was disappear for a while, Cord took his advice and had come to Mexico. The war was technically over, anyway, so he didn’t feel he was a deserter.

  Cord found peace in Mexico, and he knew it was better to stay there than go back and face a hangman’s noose. But as time passed, and all feelings for Christina dissipated, he wanted to go back and clear his name. To hell with her reputation. Let the world know what a slut she was.

  Now had come Powell’s letter telling him that Christina had suffered a breakdown, brought on, possibly, by the remorse she’d been carrying. She had admitted inciting Cord with a lie. She had had a fight with her lover, and he had threatened to tell Cord of their affair, so she lied to Cord to save herself. If Cord would return, the major wrote, there would be a hearing. Cord would be cleared. He would be able to pick up the pieces of his life in America.

  Powell had also written of plans for an expedition to explore the upper Colorado River and the region called the Grand Canyon. A skilled organizer and promoter, Powell had raised funds to finance their private expedition. The major was a dedicated teacher and scientist, and the loss of his arm during the war was compensated for by his knowledge, his dreams, and his experience. He was set to go, and the expedition was to begin in late May.

  Cord wanted to go. He wanted to go bad. The thrill of exploration fired him, and he wanted to be a part of discovering the navigation possibilities of the Colorado River.

  Cord shook away his reverie. Right now the important thing was freeing Amber.

  “We are almost there,” Puetas called softly, urgently. “He hides in the mountain just beyond the next rise, in a big cave, about an hour’s ride.”

  “Have you been in the cave?” Cord quickly asked.

  “Yes. It is big, and there are many small alcoves. I know which one Valdis sleeps in, and that’s probably where he is keeping the señorita. Set me free, and I will show you the way inside.”

  “Don’t bargain with me,” Cord said brusquely. “I’ll blow you in half if you don’t show me the way.”

  “So?” Puetas forced a gruesome laugh. “What difference does it make to me who pulls the trigger? When Valdis finds out I betrayed him, he is going to kill me.”

  Cord thought a moment, realizing Puetas was right.

  “At least give me a chance,” the Mexican pleaded. “I swear before the Holy Mother that I will not lie to you. I will show you the way, then I will just keep on riding away from here. I do not wish to die.”

  “All right,” Cord said finally. “Lead the way in, and I’ll let you go by yourself from there.”

  “You will not be sorry,” Puetas assured him. “I promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Amber lay on her back, stunned with exhaustion and terror, as she had been for days. Beneath her, the crude straw mattress prickled and stung her naked flesh. Above her, flames from a torch danced eerie patterns on the cave’s ceiling.

  It was damp, and she was hungry. How long had it been? Two days? She was too dazed to know. She made no sound. For the moment, mercifully, she was alone. She had not dared look for Dolita, pretending she was still in a stupor, but she prayed that Dolita was all right. Dolita. With a wrenching of her heart, she imagined Dolita being ravished again by Gerras, and she despaired.

  Amber dozed, and when she awoke she heard the sound of soft weeping. Dolita! She was not far away! “Don’t cry,” Amber whispered. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “No,” Dolita moaned. “We are doomed. There is no way out.”

  “Listen to me!” Amber lifted herself from the mat and whispered fiercely. “We can’t give up. There has to be a way out of here, and I’m going to find it.”

  Dolita said woodenly, “And what if you are found missing? What if Valdis comes for you? There is only one thing we can do. We must pray.”

  “We’ll hide and we’ll look for some weapon to defend ourselves.” Amber shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know what we’ll do, Dolita. I just know we’ve got to try. If we go down, we go down fighting.”

  They rose unsteadily and moved to the opening in the rocks that led to the main part of the cave. In the last glow of the torch, Amber saw Dolita crossing herself.

  Amber was not Catholic, maybe not really anything, but she took a deep breath and did the same thing.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  There was no moon. Thick black clouds had rolled across the mountains to cover the sky. The wind, steadily rising, was the only sound as it whistled up and around the trees, causing limbs to clatter like giant bones.

  Cord could barely make out Puetas, riding just ahead.

  Suddenly Puetas reined in so sharply that Cord jerked to one side to keep from running
into him. Puetas whispered nervously, “We should go on foot from here. We are going inside from the secret way.”

  “How do you know about this secret way?” Cord asked suspiciously.

  Puetas said, “I was with Valdis when he found this cave, years ago. We explored the passageways, and we thought we were lost until we found a tunnel leading upward. We crawled out to find we were behind a big growth of cactus and brush. I know where that is. Nowhere else is there such a dense growth.”

  Slowly they made their way up a rocky incline, pausing when they reached a spot directly over the main entrance to the cave. Below, a large campfire burned, flames leaping to illuminate the men gathered there. One man was playing a guitar, another a mandolin, while two women danced, skirts whirling as the onlookers whistled and shouted at the sight of the prancing bare legs.

  Cord leaned close to Puetas and whispered, “Do you know how many men Valdis has got?”

  Puetas was silent, thoughtful, as he contemplated the figures below. “I think fourteen. Counting Valdis, fifteen.”

  Cord quickly counted the men gathered around the fire, saw bottles being passed back and forth and figured they were probably as drunk as they seemed. Good. That much was in his favor. But not in his favor was the fact that Valdis was missing, which meant he was inside, and maybe with Amber. He clenched his jaw tightly.

  “Let’s get on with it,” he said harshly.

  “You must follow me closely,” Puetas whispered as they continued up yet another incline. “There are many rocks. Do not slip and roll into their campfire,” he added, lightness in his voice for the first time.

  “And what are we supposed to do once we get to the opening?”

  “Try to get through without having our flesh torn to the bone. It will not be easy. As I said, it was many years ago that we were here. The cactuses are probably bigger, the brush thicker. Once we get through, we will drop through the hole. It is not too long a drop. From there, we move through the main tunnel.”