“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sereda. Since you’re at my service, would you please tell Jasper here that I’m just trying to find my horse?”
He inclined his head to her as if he conferred with royalty and then turned to the mounted guard. After a couple of exchanges of rapid Spanish with the man, Miguel Sereda turned back to her. “Enrique says your horse is in the corral.”
Still peeved at Enrique, Jacey made a face at Mr. Sereda. “I know that. The problem is, he won’t let me past to go to the corral.”
“That is because Señor Chapelo has left orders that you are not to be over here. Or in fact, anywhere outside of the villa … unless you are with him. Surely you knew this?”
Jacey felt her face heat up, but Mr. Sereda grinned and turned to Enrique, shooting off a dozen or so brusque words that saw the guard’s expression turn belligerent. But he nevertheless backed up his horse, allowing a passage for Jacey, much to her pleased surprise. Mr. Sereda then turned to her and took her elbow. His grip was warm, but almost painfully tight. “Come, señorita. I will take you to your horse.”
Jacey’s first alarmed instinct was to pull her arm free, but that seemed rude and unnecessary, under the circumstances. Because it was broad daylight, she reasoned, several people milled around, and he was only doing what she’d asked of him. And if she needed it, her knife was strapped to her thigh. So, she allowed him to guide her. But a vague unease still pricked at the back of her conscience, troubling her. Giving in to it, Jacey eyed her escort. “You don’t seem to be too concerned about disobeying Mr. Chapelo’s orders.”
At her side, Miguel smiled. “Neither do you, señorita.”
* * *
He’d kill her, that’s what he’d do. He’d find her, make sure she was all right, and then? He’d kill her. It was that simple. He should have known better than to give in to those black doe’s eyes of hers at breakfast and allow her out of her room. But he had. When would he learn?
Alone, reluctant to enlist help in finding her, since he’d have to admit she’d slipped away from him, Zant stalked angrily through the courtyard, hoping she’d come here to sit and enjoy the fountain. Hands to his waist, he stopped and looked around. Jacey Lawless sit around and enjoy a fountain and flowers? Hardly. The fragrant enclosure’s emptiness testified to the truth of that. He shook his head, as if trying to dispel the taunting voice there that whispered he was more worried than mad.
Think, Zant, think. What’d she say at breakfast? She’d said she wanted him to teach her Spanish. And then she’d said she didn’t want to stay in her room. Because…? It was hot and boring and she couldn’t—Dammit, that was it. She couldn’t see to her horse. Relief flooded through him. She’d gone to check on her horse. Zant huffed out his breath and turned to make his way to the courtyard’s vine-bedecked ornamental gate.
The gate. Not this one, but the heavy one that opened into the camp where the corrals were. A frown marred his features and slowed his steps, until he was standing in place. Who had let her through that gate? He’d asked Blue last night to make sure all the men understood that if she was seen anywhere on the grounds by herself, or with anyone but him, then she was to be brought to him … unharmed. Anyone disobeying that order would be fired. Or worse.
Zant searched his mind to remember who was on duty this morning. The “who” was important, because the man would either be loyal to him or to Don Rafael. With no middle ground. Joyous homecomings and public reconciliations aside, Cielo Azul was an armed camp of divided loyalties.
“Señor Chapelo? Un momento, por favor?”
His hand to his gun, Zant spun around and found the speaker. The guardia named Enrique stood outside the low courtyard gate, his sombrero in his hands. The middle-aged man quickly swiped a thick, stubby hand through his sweat-matted black hair and straightened his clothing. Zant smiled at this nervous show of respect as he strode over to the man. But who, Zant wondered, was this simple man loyal to? Him or Don Rafael? In Spanish he asked, “What is it, Enrique?”
Answering in Spanish, Enrique told his story. “The young lady, the señorita, only minutes ago, she came through the gate to the houses outside.”
Zant’s heart skipped a beat. Just as he’d suspected. “Was she alone?”
“Yes, sir. I stopped her, as Mr. Blue instructed last night, but she insisted on seeing her horse. I tried to tell her—but she does not understand Spanish—that you did not want her out there. With my horse, I blocked her way. Twice. But Mr. Sereda came upon us and ordered me to allow her to pass. I told him my orders were from you. He said to hell with your orders, that he took orders from no one but Don Rafael Calderon himself.”
Miguel Sereda. A muscle in Zant’s jaw jumped. “What happened next?”
Enrique looked down and twisted his sombrero in his hands. “I am sorry to say that I yielded to him. I did not know what to do.” He looked up, indecision and confusion mirrored in his dark eyes. “What are we to do? Mr. Sereda speaks for Don Rafael. And you have only been home these two days. No one knows what to do.” Looking hopeful, he added, “But I did follow them—”
“Them?”
“Mr. Sereda and Miss Lawless. He took her to the corral as she requested. They are there now with that black beast of hers.” Enrique became quiet and then bowed his head. “I have disobeyed you, my chief. And now I will gather my family and my things and be gone from here.”
My chief. Zant stared hard at the man. Enrique was most likely loyal to him. He needed all the men he could get. But he also had to be able to trust them, to know every one of them would obey his orders without question, without being swayed, such as Enrique had been. This was his fault. He hadn’t made his intentions clear enough yet. Well, he could take care of that right now. So, unsmiling, he put his hand on the man’s arm. “Don’t leave. Return to your post. Stay there and remain watchful.”
Enrique let out a long breath. “Thank you, Mr. Chapelo.”
Zant acknowledged the man’s gratitude with a nod and then pushed open the ornamental gate, walked past the guard, and headed for the mesquite gate in the adobe walls. After a pace or two, he turned and called out Enrique’s name. The short, heavyset man looked up. “Tell the men I am truly home to stay. Tell them they can trust me. And Enrique, if you disobey an order of mine again, I’ll kill you myself. Tell the men I also said this. Do you understand?”
Wide-eyed, Enrique stiffened. “I will tell them. And I swear to you on my mother’s grave that it won’t happen again. I will take my own life first.”
“It’d go a lot easier on you if you did.” Zant then turned and sprinted the few remaining yards to the gate. Once there, he shouldered through it and zigzagged his way around the curving, narrow streets of the small adobe city.
At his approach, silence fell over the many women hanging out wash or gossiping or bathing small children. Older boys stopped their rough games, stepping aside for him to pass. A few of the bolder ones called out smiling greetings to him, addressing him as jefe. Zant acknowledged them, but only with a nod or a raised hand. His attention was distracted by the hooting and laughing voices coming from the close-by corrals.
Sidestepping a yellow dog that darted in front of him, Zant turned the next corner and stopped. A quick once-over of the area revealed only the men whose job it was to tend the horses. Ranged around the corral’s wooden fence, they whooped and cheered a caballero breaking a wildly bucking mustang. Knowing Jacey as he did, Zant eyed the cowboy atop the bronco. No, it wasn’t her. Then, hands to his waist, his mouth firmed into a grim line, he made a second sweep, this time picking out individual faces.
Jacey’s and Sereda’s weren’t in the crowd. Not that he’d expected them to be. Because Sereda wouldn’t remain in the open with her. He knew these caballeros knew of Zant’s orders regarding her. One or more of them would have come to him, just as Enrique had. That thought narrowed Zant’s eyes. Enrique had come to him … just as Sereda knew he would. That son of a bitch.
Sereda wanted Zant to know he had Jacey. Because…? He wanted Zant to do something rash, prove she was much more to him than just a prisoner. And thereby…? Give Don Rafael an edge in this game of nerves and rebellion they were all playing.
Zant clamped his jaw against the urge to bellow out a string of curses that could change the weather. Sereda was smart. This horse-breaking was the perfect distraction for him to spirit Jacey away. He’d kill that oily bastard if he’d so much as—
Zant turned on his heel, proceeded around the corral, staying at the mens’ backs, and entered the horse barn. He breathed in the scents of hay, leather tack, and manure without a second thought. At the other end of the open barn doors, Zant stepped into the sunlight and spotted Sangre, proud, fierce, and aloof in his own corral. The gleaming roan stallion raised his head, stared at Zant, and went back to his feeding.
Zant could remember not so long ago when he’d been just like his horse. Hadn’t needed anyone. Hadn’t let anyone close to him. Had lived his life for himself. But now? Jacey’s sweet little ornery face popped into his head. He’d find her, make sure she was okay, and then he’d kill her. And after that? He’d throw himself in the same hole with her because life wouldn’t be worth living without her. Dammit.
Winding his way through the workaday commotion coming from the various shops that made Cielo Azul self-sufficent, Zant heard the sound of Jacey’s voice. From somewhere around the next corner, she was laughing and chattering. Not a care in the world. Quickening his steps, he rounded the long barracks that housed the unmarried men. And stopped short, putting his hands to his waist.
There she was. Riding bareback and without so much as a halter or bridle on her gelding. Holding on to a long lock of black mane, she pranced the big horse around the enclosed circle of his corral. And there, leaning against the outer railing, thoroughly enjoying the display, was Miguel Sereda. His hungry, leering gaze was fastened on her. He followed her every skirt-hitched-up-to-her-thighs move.
Zant focused on Jacey. She appeared oblivious to any and all as she, with the unspoken, unseen gestures of a true equestrienne, effortlessly worked her mount through various gaits and commands. That long black hair of hers bounced along with her breasts. He’d seen enough. A mixture of fear for her, anger at her, and jealousy over her stiffened Zant. His hand instinctively reached for the Colt holstered at his hip.
Drawing his gun, he held it up in the air and fired. The sharp report spun the armed Miguel his way, jarred the gelding out of his canter, and threw Jacey forward over the black’s neck. From all sides came the sounds of running feet and shouting voices. Within seconds the suddenly silent crush of men loosely circled them, staying well back from the arena … out of fear, respect, or perhaps just desire to keep out of the line of fire.
Seeing Paco and Blue among the men, Zant felt safe enough to make a show of holstering his Colt, of purposely daring anyone to draw on him. But his speed was legendary. And perhaps the recent deaths—at his unmerciful hands—of Rafferty and Ramon Quintana were still fresh in the mens’ minds. Whatever their reasons, there were no takers.
A smile of triumph tweaked a corner of his mouth, but Zant kept his gunfighter’s gaze on Miguel. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jacey, still atop her motionless gelding, but silent and watchful. Just like the crowd of men. Just like Miguel.
Zant curved a grin at the man, daring him. Did his grandfather’s right-hand man wish to reveal by deed or word what shone so plainly on his sneering face? The hate. The ambition. The conniving intelligence. With a gunfighter’s unerring instinct, Zant sensed the thickening of the air, felt the approach of this critical moment between them. He blanked his own face of all emotion … and waited. The moment arrived. And then passed. Zant relaxed his stance. Miguel would not challenge him. Not this day.
Still, Zant did not look away, in case Miguel waited only for him to be distracted before going for his gun. Which he knew was more the pistolero’s style. Eyeing his enemy, Zant broke the heavy silence by calling out to Jacey. “Get down off that horse and come here.”
When she immediately dismounted by sliding down the black’s sleek left side and started his way, Zant’s only visible response was to twitch his nose against the sweat beaded under it. But inside, he was slumping in relief. With her, it could’ve gone either way. No one knew that better than him.
Only when Jacey was safely at his side did Zant speak again, this time in Spanish. He directed his words to Miguel, but knew that what he said would be marked by all the men present. They would then spread his message to those who weren’t witnesses to this first of many showdowns. “I’ll tell you the same thing, Sereda, that I just told Enrique. Disobey any order of mine again—no matter what it is or who it pertains to, and I’ll kill you myself. Is that clear?”
Miguel’s swarthy jaw clenched, but then, with seemingly no effort at all, his entire demeanor changed. He dropped his aggressive pose and relaxed his expression. His grinning face now radiated conciliation. But Zant wasn’t fooled, not even when Sereda bowed to him. “You have my sincere apology. I meant no harm, Don Chapelo. The lady requested to see her horse. I merely accommodated her wish.”
“Neither you nor anybody else will accommodate the lady in any way. With any wish—or anything else.” He swept the crowd with his gaze. “Understand?”
Nodding heads, mutters of “Sí,” and darting gazes met his words. Sereda turned and walked away, his bearing stiff and erect as he pushed his way through the gathered men. Zant marked his retreat and then, trying to gauge the impact of his words on the men, sought Blue’s eyes. His blond friend winked and smiled. Zant nodded his acknowledgment and then looked to Paco. The big man glared threateningly at every man around him.
Covering an amused grin by swiping his hand roughly over his lips, Zant then looked to the side, looking for Jacey. She was gone.
* * *
Jacey stalked stiff-legged back through the squatting adobes. She didn’t have to speak Spanish to know what had just happened. That damned Zant Chapelo had called out Mr. Sereda on her account and had done so in front of all his men. Like two stallions with one mare. Well, he was just lucky she’d accepted the seriousness of the moment and had kept her mouth shut and gone to him. But nobody treated her like some danged victory scalp he could hang from his belt, as if she were his to—
A hand clamped around her arm, stopping her with staggering unexpectedness. As she was spun around, her tied-back hair swung over her shoulder and around her neck. Startled, fearful, Jacey fisted her hand and came around swinging. But Zant easily caught her wrist and glared down at her. A second glance showed her that Paco impassively flanked his jefe.
Jacey sucked in a deep breath flavored with raised dust. “Zant!”
“That’s Don Chapelo to you, missy.” He began dragging her along beside him. Paco dogged their every step.
Her bottom lip stuck out, Jacey jerked at her imprisoned arm and fought him every step of the crowd-lined way. Eyeing her audience, seeing all the women staring at her, Jacey hissed, “What do you think you’re doing?”
Not even doing her the courtesy of looking at her, and ignoring the women to both sides of them, Zant gritted out, “I don’t think I’m doing anything. I know I’m taking you back to your room. You’ve proven you can’t be trusted.”
“Like hell. You let me go right this minute, or I’ll—”
He stopped. This time he did look at her. Suddenly she wished he wouldn’t. Because his granite-hard, unyielding expression was the same one he’d leveled on Mr. Sereda. “Or you’ll what, Jacey?”
She had no idea. Sudden inspiration told her to change the subject. “Look here, Don Chapelo, you’re taking this all wrong. All that Sereda fellow did was take me to my horse.”
“He did a hell of a lot more than that, Jacey. And so did you. Miguel Sereda is a vicious, back-stabbing snake who happens to be Don Rafael’s right-hand man. And by disobeying my orders with regard to you, by forcing Enrique to let you pass, he all but challenged my right to lead here. That’s what he did.”
“Well, I didn’t know all that, did I?”
Zant glared at her. “What do you have to know? Didn’t I tell you before we arrived here what was at stake? Grow up, for God’s sake. Quit bucking me at every turn. I’m not trying to boss you or own you. I’m trying to keep you alive, me alive, and this whole damned place from exploding around us. I thought you were smarter than this, Jacey. I trusted you to keep your word. And what happens? I nearly had to kill a man, just to make a point with all the other men.”
Feeling about two inches tall, Jacey looked down at her leather sandals. “I’m sorry, Zant. You’re right. I shouldn’t have done it.” She then sought his eyes, hoping to see forgiveness there. There was none, “I said I was sorry.”
“That doesn’t undo what you’ve done. You lied to me, you sneaked off, you said God-only-knows-what to Sereda—”
Forget guilt and forgiveness. Now her Lawless back was up. “I didn’t tell him anything … about anything. And you’re to blame for a lot of this, you know.”
Her words hung in the air between them. Oops. The moment … and time … and the entire Earth … stood still. Jacey’s blood congealed in her veins. Her eyes widened as her heart picked up speed. Were the man not holding on to her wrist, she would have run away like a scared rabbit.
Zant’s expression went from darkly challenging … to bright red … to deep purple. Veins stood out at his temples. Daggers flew from his eyes. His jaw hardened into stone. Had fire shot from his flared nostrils and smoke from his ears, had his Stetson flown straight up in the air under its own power, she could not have been more frightened.
Once or twice, the man opened his mouth. But no words, or even sounds, issued forth. The corded tendons in his neck popped up under his skin with his efforts at … control? He raised his free hand to point at her, but still no words issued forth.
Jacey stood as still as a cactus, barely daring to breathe. Suddenly Zant made a jerky move. Jacey braced herself for whatever was coming. Zant gave her over to Paco, whose hammy paw closed around her same wrist. Zant then turned on his heel and stomped off.
Jacey and Paco, along with the myriad of women and kids gathered around them, watched the young lord’s departing back. When he rounded a corner and disappeared from view, Jacey looked up at Paco, drawing his sombrero-shaded attention down to her. “Whew, Paco, I think I made him mad.”
This time, language was no barrier. Paco nodded. “Sí.”
* * *
Right back where she’d started. Jacey paced her locked room. Damn the man. She’d apologized. What more could she do? Why couldn’t he get it through that thick skull of his that she wasn’t bucking him? It was already past the middle of November. If the mountain passes to home got snowed under, then she couldn’t get back before next spring. She had to get her answers, find her keepsake, kill the thief, and go home. It all seemed pretty straightforward to her. Why wasn’t it clear to him?
Defeated, Jacey groaned and flung herself facedown onto her bed. With her arms and legs flopped out limply, she lay there not thinking, just breathing, her eyes open, her senses absorbing, her fingers fiddling with her long hair. Stirred gently by a breeze wafting through the open balcony doors, warm air caressed her skin. Men’s voices called out lazily. A horse neighed. A child laughed. Chirping birds and a barking dog added their voices to the afternoon’s lullabye. Despite her anger and her concerns, Jacey closed her eyes.
When she jerked awake, rolling to sit up on the bed’s side, the room was shadowed in dusk. Every sense alert, she sat still. What had awakened her? She looked around the room. Nothing had been moved or had changed. And she was alone. She listened a moment and heard the heavy shifting of Paco’s boots outside in the hall. Everything was as it should be. Wasn’t it?
A sudden stinging pain in her cheek made her jump and forced a cry from her. Her hand went to the already-swelling bump there and rubbed. She looked around herself on the bed. There on the lace counterpane lay a rounded pebble. She picked it up, examining it as if it could tell her where it had come from. She bent over the bed’s side to examine the floor. Found another one.
Straightening up and frowning, she stared at the open double doors to the balcony. And waited. Sure enough, another pebble sailed through. This one Jacey easily dodged, following its arc until it landed on the throw rug at her feet. Completely intrigued now, she jumped up and skittered to the French doors, stepping outside only far enough to see who was down there.
Jacey’s jaw dropped. She stepped boldly into view, steadied herself with her hands on the wrought-iron railing, and leaned over, calling out in the loudest whisper she dared. “Blue! What are you doing? Someone will see you.”
The blond, good-looking man smiled and, keeping his voice as low as Jacey’s, called up to her. “No they won’t. There’s no window under your room. And these bushes hide me from the guards on the walls.”
Jacey squinted through the gathering darkness as she looked around the open central plaza. He was right. She called down, “What do you want?”
He shrugged. “Just wanted to know how they’re treating you in there.”
Jacey chuckled. “Awful, that’s how. I’m locked in this room here except for meals—”
“And horseback riding.”
Jacey pitched his own pebble right back down on his head, completely missing him. He shook a finger up at her, as if scolding her. Grinning, she again whispered. “They make me wear fancy dresses. And at dinner I have to sit at a long table between them, like I’m a target.”
He nodded. “You are.” He then looked furtively around him. When he raised his face to her again, gone was the chuckling humor and friendly banter. A sense of urgency was now evident in his features. “Don Rafael and his men just rode in, Jacey. He’s back early. Now, look, we didn’t expect this. But it can’t be helped. You’ll have to eat with him alone tonight.”
Confused, the least bit alarmed, Jacey frowned. “Alone? Where’s Zant?”
“He’s … not here. And I’m ridin’ out to meet him right now. I’ll tell him what’s happened when I catch up to him. But before I leave I wanted you to know that Zant didn’t plan it this way—for you to be alone here with Don Rafael. He thought you’d be safe enough.”
Jacey swallowed. “You’re not making me feel any better, Blue.”
Before he could answer, the thudding hooves of fast-approaching horses disturbed the night. Blue faded into the villa’s shadows, and Jacey stepped back inside her room. Peeking out, she saw about five or six mounted men ride by and then leave the compound through the main gates, which had been tugged open for them by the sentries.
When the horses’ hoofbeats receded into the distance, and after the gates were closed, Jacey stepped back out to see Blue standing where she’d left him. “Those riders have anything to do with you?”
He grinned. “Let’s just say I’m supposed to be ridin’ with ’em right now. I’ve got to go. You just … well, just watch your step and your words tonight with the old man. I figured if I warned you, you could take care of yourself.”
“I will. Does Don Rafael know Zant’s not here, or will I have the honor of telling him?”
“He knows. I told him myself. I said Zant’s visiting the cantinas and the señoritas in Santa Cruz. That’s the nearest town to here.”
Caught off guard by the scorpion sting of jealousy that pricked her, Jacey blurted out, “But he’s not really there, is he?”
Grinning, Blue said, “No. But I’ll tell him you asked.”
“Don’t you dare. But tell him.…” She took a deep breath. “Just tell him … I said to be careful.”
Blue’s expression warmed. He winked up at her. “I’ll tell him, sweetheart. For all the good it’ll do. Like you, he doesn’t seem to know the meanin’ of the word ‘careful.’”
Crunching bootsteps followed by silence told Jacey that those were Blue’s parting words. Digesting his words, she stood there a minute, looking out over the compound, which seemed to hunker down with the night. She noted the armed men walking the wood bracings built high into the adobe walls.
Her mouth turned down into a frown. It seemed Don Rafael kept enough men about the place to call them an army. She looked at the big main gates. Locked, secure, heavy, forbidding. Why all the safeguards? Why all the guards? Why were they looking out into the hills and the desert beyond? Were they expecting an attack by some other army? And if so, what were they doing inside these walls that called for such an attack?
Jacey put a hand to her fluttering stomach. What had her own search for justice landed her in the middle of? Glory’s words came back to haunt her. Something about her riding off to what could be her own death, instead of some sorry old outlaw’s. Baby sister, you couldn’t have been more right.
Then, feeling threatened and cornered, Jacey firmed her lips into a tight smile that reflected her calculating thoughts. Whereas only minutes ago, the idea of a meal alone with Don Rafael was unsettling, now she looked forward to it. Maybe she could learn something from him to help Zant’s cause here. But more importantly, she hoped to find out something of interest to her own mission. Because all roads on her trail ended here. With Don Rafael. And tonight, she had him all to herself.
* * *
“Ahhh, Señorita Lawless, here you are at last. And such a vision in that lovely gown. You are truly worth the wait. Come. Manuel has built us a nice fire. Join me here by it, won’t you?”
Jacey eyed the fireplace. It was big enough to roast a whole beef in. She then eyed Don Rafael, who held his hand out to her. Would he fling her into the fire? Her smiling face not reflecting her wary thoughts, Jacey held up her midnight-blue taffeta skirt and tromped into the very formal, very large.… She looked around. What would you call this thing? A town-meeting hall?
Barely hiding her distaste at his touch, she took her black-clad, white-haired host’s proffered hand and allowed him to seat her. He led her to a high-backed, padded chair, which proved to be completely uncomfortable when she sat down. Wary as a cornered wolverine, Jacey perched on the edge of her seat and again eyed that roasting oven he called a fireplace. Too close. With both hands, she clutched the chair under its padded seat, half stood, and inelegantly scooted it a few scraping paces away.
When she righted herself and her chair, she looked up to see Don Rafael staring at her, amazement and censure warring for a place on his long, aristocratic face. But Jacey refused to be intimidated into a blush of embarrassment. Too bad, if he didn’t like it. She then noted that the overstuffed leather chair onto which Mr. Calderon finally lowered himself looked much more comfortable. Did he intend for her to be uncomfortable? Why?
With the roaring firepit of Hell between them, she lifted the wineglass off the tray held out to her by a servant. She eyed the black-eyed, brown-skinned man bowing in front of her. That was another thing that bothered her. Other than Conchita, not a one of the servants did anything to distinguish themselves from the others. Was that from training? Or fear and unhappinesss? Or was it a calculated silence? If so, to hide what? And from whom?
Pretending interest in the cavernous room’s many furnishings, Jacey looked all around, sipped at her wine, sweated from the fire, and warned herself to keep a cool head. Because once her suspicions were aroused, she saw a monster under every bed, a threat in every look, a hidden meaning in every gesture. And tended to act without thinking. Just as she had this morning.
Feeling the old man’s stare on her, she finally looked across to Don Rafael. Sure enough, he was boldly observing her over the top of his wineglass. He didn’t look away or down or say a darned thing when she just as blatantly looked him in the eye. Somewhat unsettled and wondering what to do next, she opened her mind to Papa’s voice and words of caution.
He’d laughed … she could hear him now, could feel his big, rough hand tousling her hair … and said, of his three girls, he figured Jacey’d be the one to purposely walk into some old bear’s den and challenge him on his own ground. Look where I am, Papa. A grin of fond remembrance stole over her lips.
She drank it down with her next sip of wine and watched Don Rafael set his drained glass onto a low table next to him. He then sat back and, resting his elbows on his chair’s arms, tented his long, thick fingers and considered her. His arch smile gave her the unsettling feeling that he was reading her thoughts and smiling right along with her.
Feeling her bravado slip, Jacey quickly recited Papa’s advice to herself. He’d said that if you wanted to be the last one standing, then watch everyone and everything going on around you—and do it before the shooting started. Because it was too late when the bullets were flying. Trust no one. And know where everyone in the room is. Watch your own back. He’d even teased her … And make sure your gun’s loaded, Jacey. It is, Papa. I just don’t know where it is.
“You’re deep in thought, Señorita Lawless.”
Jacey started at the sound of Don Rafael’s eloquent voice. Her wine sloshed dangerously about in its glass. Holding it out away from her, she looked over at him. Before she could censor her mouth, she blurted out the first thing that came into her head. “You asking me or telling me?”
His burst of laughter reacted on Jacey’s nerves the same way an arrow shot at her by an angry Apache would. That did it. She reached over to her left and put the wineglass down onto a low table that exactly matched the one next to Don Rafael. She’d be wearing more of the red stuff than she could drink of it, if she held on to her full glass any longer.
“You are a delight, señorita. No wonder my grandson finds you so enchanting.”
Alarm raced along Jacey’s nerve endings, alerting her. She now heard Blue’s words of a couple of hours ago. Watch your step and your words. “Who says he finds me enchanting?”
Smiling now, showing strong white teeth that Jacey figured could tear apart a small animal … or a small woman, he nodded his white-haired head at her. “Why, I do. And he does, of course.”
Staring at him, smiling just enough for politeness’ sake, Jacey remained absolutely silent … by biting the inside of her cheek until it hurt.
Apparently seeing he was getting nowhere with that line of questioning, Don Rafael switched tactics, went for her jugular. Almost literally. “I find your necklace to be of particular interest. I noticed it last night at supper, also. What is that unusual pendant? Does it have some special meaning to you?”
Holding his penetrating gaze, Jacey automatically sought and fingered the silver rowel dangling from the chain around her neck. “Yes, it does.” And well you know it. “It’s a rowel from a silver spur. Only the men of the Lawless gang wore this particular type.”
He nodded. “I see. Then perhaps that is from … your father’s spurs?”
So he wanted to play cat and mouse? Her gaze unwavering, Jacey simply replied, “No.”
He raised a bushy white eyebrow and allowed himself the barest of smiles. “Tell me, Señorita Lawless, what really brings you to Cielo Azul?”
Up to her elbows in the poker game of her life, Jacey considered her answer. And decided to stick with what she knew best—hedging and sass. “What brings me here? Why, your grandson and my horse, as near as I can recall. Remember me? I was the one yesterday with her hands tied to the pommel. Which, like locking me in my room, was some of your grandson’s handiwork. Because he finds me so enchanting.”
Don Rafael’s eyes narrowed, but otherwise he showed no sign of anger or impatience. “Ahh, yes. Now I remember. That was you, wasn’t it?”
Knowing he didn’t expect an answer to that, Jacey looked around the room, crowded as it was with huge paintings in dark, swirling colors of grand-looking Spanish men and women. Calderon ancestors, no doubt. Grandmother Ardis’s tiny little portrait would be all but lost here. Which wasn’t very far from how Jacey felt. “This is some spread you’ve got here, Mr. Calderon.”
He nodded his head in acknowledgment, apparently choosing to accept her words as a compliment. “Yes. Generations of my family have built upon this land over the past three hundred years. One day, it will all be my grandson’s.”
Jacey riveted her attention on the frightening old man. Those last words of his sounded like a threat. She didn’t say a word. And the silence stretched out between them.
Finally, the old don shrugged in a very smooth, aristocratic manner. “I understand, señorita, that I have you to thank for Zant’s … capitulation?”
Jacey had a glimmering of a notion about what that word meant. Frowning, giving nothing away, she asked, “How so?”
Her opponent leaned forward in his seat, as if readying himself to spring for her. His voice vibrated with warning. “You tell me, Señorita … Lawless.”
Jacey narrowed her eyes and sat forward in her own chair. “Look, Mr. Calderon, you and I both know I’m being held here against my will. And for some reason that has to do with you sending hired guns after me and my sisters. It seems funny to me that your guns showed up on the same day my folks were killed. So let’s cut through the horsecrap and say what we mean.”
Well, that hadn’t taken long. So much for heeding Blue’s words of caution. And Papa’s.
Don Rafael matched her glare for glare and then abruptly sat back in his chair. His big hands clutched clawlike at the leather-padded armrests. “As you wish, Miss Lawless. But I’m afraid you’ll find you never should’ve opened that particular door.”
At that moment, a loud and fearful babbling in Spanish out in the terra-cotta-tiled foyer, accompanied by the sounds of a breakable something hitting the floor and shattering, grabbed the two combatants’ attention. Jacey came to her feet, as did Don Rafael. She turned with him to face the room’s square portal. Wide-eyed, her heart pounding, her hands clutching at her full skirt, she started when a frantic Manuel ran past, his face a mask of terror. He didn’t bother to slow down long enough to explain.
The little man had no more than passed from view before the mesquite-wood front door banged open with the force of a lightning bolt and struck the thick wall behind it. Terrified, Jacey drew in a deep breath and held it. A second of absolute silence passed. Then the boot-scuffing and spur-jangling sounds of someone’s purposeful and unerring approach, each long stride bringing him closer and closer, assaulted Jacey’s already overwrought nerves. Whoever this was, he wasn’t bringing good news. Not with a walk like that.
He turned the corner and stopped, standing framed in the entry. Jacey’s heart flopped over in her chest. Zant. Tall, powerful, exuding danger, he stood with his booted feet apart, his arms held loosely at his sides. A sudden wind gust blowing down the hallway, allowed in by the open front door, billowed his black duster, like raven’s wings, around him. The ankle-length coat then settled obediently over his denim-covered legs. From under the forbidding brim on his equally black Stetson, he focused his gleaming eyes on her. She could only blink at him. His gaze then slipped to Don Rafael. And back to her.
Jacey felt herself shrivel under his intense scrutiny. His square-jawed, handsome face, bronzed by sun and wind, only accentuated his deep frown. He stood immobile in his gunfighter’s pose. The unbuttoned front of his duster allowed a glimpse of the firepower holstered at his hip and tied to his muscled thigh. Firepower he wouldn’t hesitate to use.
He finally opened his mouth to speak. In a voice husky with warning, he gritted out, “Am I in time for supper?”