It was nearing midnight by the time Castillo and Hunter made their way to the salon where piano music was being played by the deft hands of Mrs. Bonham. They’d only just returned, and Castillo was in no mood for socializing, but it couldn’t be helped. They were late, their plans to return by supper waylaid by the shoot-out. Hunter had said his mother and Carolina’s mother were due to arrive today along with another family, so it would be suspicious if he was absent. Emmy could put them off with the lie of an unexpected business meeting in Helena for only so long.
Castillo had been awake for almost twenty-four hours, and nearly all of those had been spent in the saddle. He couldn’t remember if he’d eaten anything aside from that hasty breakfast before taking watch before dawn, but his hunger had long since turned into an empty ache that had moved up to settle in his chest. Four more men, including Bennett, were dead today because of his quest for vengeance. In the past he’d consoled himself with the knowledge that the dead were bad men and his vengeance had saved them from wreaking havoc on the world.
Somehow that reasoning wasn’t working tonight.
Tonight he simply felt angry, frustrated and uncertain, when he’d been so damn sure for so long that the path he walked was the righteous one. Even thinking of the hacienda, eventually rebuilt in all its splendor, didn’t help alleviate the doubt creeping up on him. Would it be worth the cost? The cost to his soul? His pulse galloped when he thought of Carolina, but he forced himself to stay calm. She was a hope that was out of reach. That life wasn’t for him.
Despite their giving chase, the lone rider had disappeared, or so it seemed. Castillo and Hunter had come back to the ranch to figure out what Bennett’s cryptic words meant.
Hunter pushed the double doors to the salon open, and Castillo instinctively reached out to push the left one, but grimaced when the movement tugged at his bullet wound. He’d taken a look at it during his hasty bath, but hadn’t been able to dress it. And he was pretty certain he’d opened it up when he’d shrugged into his coat, but hadn’t had time to see to it with Hunter knocking on his door. It didn’t matter. He’d stay downstairs for half an hour, long enough to meet everyone, and then he’d head upstairs to bed. Warm, wet blood trickled down his arm beneath his coat and he modified the timeline. Perhaps a quarter hour would be enough time to say hello.
The music kept playing, but Tanner saw them as soon as they entered and called out to them. Emmy rose from the chair at his side, “Hunter! Castillo!” She hurried over to greet them, her face a beacon of relief and happiness as she tried to hug Hunter as if he’d just come back from a business meeting and not a brush with death. Her fingers tightened around him, though, in a white-knuckled grip. Castillo murmured a greeting, but his gaze sought one person. He found her perched on a settee near the piano holding a glass of wine and talking with one of the newcomers.
Carolina. She was perfect in a dark blue gown with her golden hair done up in soft curls. She belonged here in a room just like this, with soft music and fine things. Not back at his hacienda surrounded by decay and failure. Their eyes met. She didn’t smile or offer a greeting, but her direct gaze nearly leveled him. Her brow furrowed as she looked him over, as if she knew the hell that had been his day. It seemed as if she could see so much more than everyone else. A part of him wanted to go to her and confess everything that had happened, to bring her into his world. But he couldn’t put her in danger.
Tanner drew his attention and introduced him to his wife, Isabelle. She gave him a cold, blue stare, barely managing to utter a greeting or give a tilt of her head. Castillo could only imagine how awkward the encounter was for her, but the way she looked at him reminded him that he didn’t belong here. Not really. He wasn’t one of them. No matter how he dressed, his accent would set him apart.
Kathleen Hartford was next, Carolina’s mother. The woman was shorter than her daughter, with a pleasantly plump face, and she smiled at him warmly. Castillo looked carefully, but he didn’t see anything of Carolina in her features. He couldn’t help but remember the breakfast conversation from the day before and only barely managed to restrain himself from asking her why she was being so unreasonable when it came to Carolina’s profession.
Next were a Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham, some distant relatives on the Hartford side, and their two adult sons, one of whom had brought a wife—the woman Carolina was talking to. He said hello to them all, and social custom dictated that he greet Carolina as well. “Good to see you again, Miss Hartford. How are you this evening?”
He wanted to drag her out to the porch and ask her, while he smoothed out the worried furrow between her brows with his lips, How are you? Did I take too much last night? Can I hold you and pretend that things are different?
“Good to see you again, Mr. Jameson.” She offered him a small smile, a social smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m doing well. How are you?” Her gaze flicked down to the still noticeable cut under his eye from where Johnson had punched him. Thankfully, it hadn’t bruised too much. Then she took in the rest of his body in a glance that was so fast no one seemed to notice. But she didn’t look reassured when she met his gaze again.
Castillo wouldn’t lie to her, not anymore, but he couldn’t tell her everything that had happened. “Well enough,” he said, instead.
Come with me, Carolina. Come and let me hold you.
Did she regret her decision to call off their plan? Had she missed him today? Damn. He was tired if he was wondering if she’d missed him. It didn’t matter. She was too sensible to become besotted with him, while he, apparently, wasn’t sensible enough. He wondered if she’d mentioned anything to Prudence, and his gaze shifted to the older woman who sat in the chair adjacent to the settee. She didn’t bother to smile at him and just raised a disapproving brow. Apparently, her niece had explained that he wouldn’t be a suitor to her anymore. He’d probably hear an earful once Prudence could get him into a corner alone.
With a final nod, he moved to the table next to the open double doors that led out to the porch and poured himself a whiskey. Now that exhaustion was setting in, his shoulder was starting to throb. It had pained him the entire ride, but the movement had kept him distracted. The liquid warmed his belly as it went down, so he went ahead and poured himself another, hoping the next one would dull the edges of the pain.
“Are you hurt?”
He whirled at the sound of Carolina’s soft voice coming from so close behind him. She stood with her back to the room, her eyes wide with concern. A quick glance behind her confirmed that no one was paying them any attention as Hunter and Emmy spoke about the wedding. “I’m fine,” he said, meeting her gaze.
She frowned, clearly unconvinced. “Did you find out anything?”
“What do you mean?” He hated this deception, when all he really wanted to do was talk to her.
“Castillo—” She bit her lip and looked around to make sure no one had heard her. Then she continued in a softer voice, “I know you weren’t in town on business. You don’t have to tell me what happened, I just want to know if you found what you were looking for.”
For some inexplicable reason, an ache welled in his throat. He had to swallow several times to make it ease, and glanced down to the amber liquid in the tumbler he held so that he wouldn’t focus on her eyes. Those eyes saw too much. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“That abrasion on your cheek under your eye. What happened?”
He didn’t want to lie to her, he’d already done that enough in their brief time together, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. “One of the horses got too anxious. Ran me into a post in the stall.”
“That’s a new one.” She gave him a rueful smile and looked back toward the people in the room, trying to appear as if they were having a normal conversation. “I’ve heard it caused by walking into a door, falling against a table, but never once has it been caused by a horse.”
“What are you talking about?”
“An abrasion left by a fist, Castillo. I see many women at my father’s practice, and a few have husbands with unfortunate tempers. I know what it looks like when a fist hits flesh.”
“I don’t have a husband with an unfortunate temper. And any man who hits a woman is a coward who doesn’t deserve his balls.”
There was silence for a moment, and then she laughed. She tried to hold it in and it made her shoulders shake. It was one of those laughs that came from deep inside, and it was apparently contagious because he started laughing, too. He had to turn his back to the room so no one would notice. She did the same, holding on to the edge of the table as she tried to get herself under control. She pulled off her spectacles, wiping daintily at a tear that had escaped her eye. He watched her fingers move over the creamy skin of her cheeks and felt that rush of arousal come back. He had the strangest urge to brush her fingers aside and feel her silky skin for himself. To delve his fingers into her hair and pull her close so that he could cover her mouth with his. To possess her fiery strength and beauty.
Putting her spectacles back on, she looked up at him and her smile had faded. His thoughts must have been clearly written on his face, because her gaze darted down to his mouth. He was watching her pink tongue so intently that he felt the phantom tingle of it against his own lips.
“You’re worried. I noticed that the men on watch moved in closer to the house today.”
He must’ve had a question on his face, because she nodded out toward the night. There was a tiny dot of an orange glow from a lit cigar just past the stables, halfway to the hills. Castillo had had them move in closer since he was taking some men out chasing Derringer today, and those tracks from the morning had gone unexplained. She was too observant. “Yes.”
She nodded, letting out a breath as if she’d been holding it, then took the last sip of her wine. Forgetting his wound, he reached out and took the empty glass from her to set it on the table, an excuse to touch her, but he grimaced when his shoulder throbbed from the movement. Reading his face, she looked down for some sign of his injury. “You’re bleeding!” She kept her voice low but her face registered shock at the little bit of blood that had stained his shirt cuff.
He sat her glass on the table and covertly pulled his coat open. The white sleeve of his shirt was streaked red with blood, and it was making its way across the front of his shirt.
“Mierda…” he muttered and closed his coat before anyone else could see it.
“No wonder you look pale. What happened?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He clenched his teeth as he looked from the open double doors leading to the porch to the doors opening into the house, trying to determine which route was best for his escape.
“How long ago did it happen? Have you bandaged it?”
He shook his head, refusing to discuss it here. “I have to go.”
She nodded and seemed to realize this wasn’t the place for this conversation. “Of course. Go upstairs and I’ll follow to bandage it.”
“No. I can take care of it.” The last thing he needed was to be alone with her in his room again. Wounded or not, he didn’t think he had it in him to stop things again if they got out of hand.
“If that were true, you would’ve already taken care of it,” she muttered through a smile she flashed Emmy as the people in the room started to break up into smaller groups for conversation.
“I didn’t have time.” Castillo didn’t know why he was defending himself to her, because he had to admit her concern was nice.
“Go, and I’ll follow you,” she whispered.
“I can do it,” he said, but he turned and slipped out onto the porch, hopeful that she’d ignore him.
* * *
Caroline had to wait nearly twenty minutes before she could make her escape. The evening had been winding down until Castillo and Hunter walked in, and then it seemed as though everyone got a second wind. As soon as he disappeared, she’d been pulled into a discussion that she couldn’t even remember now as she hurried up the stairs to her room.
Thankfully Grant Miller had realized he should keep his hotel room in Helena for the length of his stay and had left before supper, so he wasn’t a complication she had to deal with tonight. Part of her wanted to tell Castillo, but his wound was more important right now. She’d tell him tomorrow. As if the maid had been waiting for her, Mary poked her head out of the sitting room that had been turned into her bedroom, ready to help with Caroline’s gown.
Caroline wanted to wave her off, but acknowledged that she couldn’t get out of the gown on her own, and it’d look suspicious if she said no. Instead, she plastered on a smile and allowed Mary a few minutes to help her out of her gown, but as soon as she’d put on her night rail and wrapper she said good-night and locked the door behind the maid. Rushing to the armoire, she grabbed the bag containing her medical supplies and ran to the balcony door. When she pulled it open, Castillo was right there, staring down at her. She would’ve yelped in surprise had she not remembered Mary just next door and caught herself. His expression was unreadable.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“Waiting for you.” He glanced down to her bag. “I knew you wouldn’t leave it alone. I came so you wouldn’t risk getting caught in my room. Let me in.”
She moved back, and when he’d stepped inside she locked the door and pulled the drapes closed. “Do you really think it matters if I’m in your room or you’re in my room? If we’re caught, then we’re caught.” She didn’t know why she was arguing the point with him. Her hands shook a little as she fully comprehended the fact that he was in her room and they were alone and there was nothing at all stopping them from kissing as they had last night. A pleasant rush of heat moved over her skin as she remembered it.
Castillo had already taken his coat off and changed his shirt in his room, though this fresh one already had a bloodstain growing over his upper arm. Oh. Right. Nothing was stopping them from kissing again but for the fact that he had a potentially serious injury and was bleeding. She berated herself for forgetting even for a moment that he was in her room for a very good reason. “Come sit down by the lamp.” She rushed over to set her bag down on the bed, and hurried into the washroom to wash her hands and fill up a pitcher with water. Grabbing a towel, she rushed back to his side.
He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt as he eased down to sit on the edge of the bed and shrug it off his shoulders. When he grimaced, she helped him pull it off, draping it over the footboard.
“What happened?” she asked and started to gently wash the wound. Some of the blood had dried so it was difficult to see the extent of the damage.
“I was shot.”
“Shot?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice, and what could only be described as absolute terror squeezed her chest. Someone had tried to kill him. Biting her lip, she forced herself not to think about it and concentrate on the wound. There was only flesh and blood in front of her right now. Not Castillo.
She’d never had to treat a gunshot wound before, had never even seen one, and searched her memory for some mention of that type of a wound from her father. Should she go get him?
“It’s not bad. It was only a graze,” he said, staring at the lamp.
Now that some of the blood was coming away she could see that he was right, there was no bullet lodged in his arm. It looked as if the bullet had grazed his upper arm, tearing out a chunk of flesh with it, but overall it was a clean wound. She tried to keep herself from imagining what sort of activity could’ve resulted in such a bullet wound and how close he’d come to being killed. There’d be time for those thoughts later. “You’re very lucky. A few more inches and it would’ve splintered bone, which would’ve required surgery.”
He nodded. “It’s not the first time.”
She had to swallow to keep her voice steady. “You’ve been shot before?” She kept her gaze on his wound as she cleaned it. The wound wasn’t horrific. There were no bits of cloth to dig out and the flow of blood had likely kept any infection from festering.
“I’ve been shot at before,” he clarified.
“Derringer?” she asked, moving the bowl of blood-tinged water to the table and patting his arm dry with the towel.
He took a deep breath and hesitated before he answered. “This—” he indicated his shoulder “—is the closest I’ve come to Derringer in years.”
Was he involved in something far worse than simply trying to find his grandfather’s murderer? “Then, who shot at you before?” She tried not to sound too interested as she opened her bag and rifled through it for the bottle of iodine and the package of surgical gauze, but she suspected that she failed miserably at keeping the interest from her voice.
“You don’t want to know, Carolina. It’s better if you don’t know.” His voice was tired, and his eyes were troubled and wary.
“But I want to know.” Lord help her, she did. Instinct was telling her there was more to him than met the eye, but her heart was telling her that whatever was going on, she wanted to help.
“I don’t want you involved.”
She hesitated, knowing that she should heed his warning. “You might feel a little discomfort from this.” She applied the iodine and covered the wound with the fresh gauze. He sucked in a breath but it was the only indication of pain that she saw. “Will you hold this so I can get your bandage?”
He held it in place with his other hand and she moved to pull out a small skein of linen. Pulling out a length, she cut it free and wrapped it around his arm, tying it tight enough to keep the gauze in place but loose enough it wouldn’t restrict circulation. “You need to keep it clean for the next few days.” She repacked her supplies and pulled out a small bottle of laudanum. “Drink a little of this. It’ll help with the pain.”
He wrinkled his nose as he looked at the brown glass bottle she held. “I don’t need anything.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “You were shot chasing an outlaw. You don’t have to prove anything to me. Believe me, I’m aware of your status as a man.” Immediately the air between them became charged as visions of last night came to mind. She’d felt him hard against her thigh. Another reason she was aware that he was a man.
He grinned at her and managed to look a little arrogant.
“Open.” She held the bottle to his lips. He obeyed and she poured in the approximate amount he’d require, before closing the bottle and returning it to the bag, which she stowed in the armoire. When she turned back to him, he was watching her. “I can make you a sling to keep pressure off,” she offered. “You don’t want to reopen the wound.”
“I think a sling would cause too many questions.”
He was probably right, but she couldn’t resist teasing him. “You could say you were kicked by a horse.”
She could tell he was fighting it, but his lips tipped up in a smile at the reminder of how he’d lied about the abrasion on his cheekbone. “Castillo.” She sat down beside him on the bed, unsure of what she wanted to say, but knowing that she wanted to reach him. After last night, things had changed between them. Something special was happening.
“Don’t, Carolina.” He reached out and covered her hand with his right one. A flicker of awareness came to life in her belly at exactly the same time her mind was telling her to leave him alone, that he was a dangerous man. There was naked longing on his face, despite his words.
“But—”
“You’re good at what you do.” He indicated the wound on his shoulder. “You’ve got a nice touch. I can understand why you’d want to be a physician.”
She noted the fact that he was trying to change the subject, but allowed it to happen. “My mother thinks I should take up nursing. Actually, she thinks I should have nothing to do with patients and marry a physician if I absolutely must support the profession.” She gave him a self-deprecating smile. “But at least in nursing she can imagine me as a sort of Florence Nightingale bringing hope to the sick.”
“And you can’t do that as a physician?”
She shrugged. “Yes. I admit to not understanding her reasoning, either.”
He smiled again, and his gaze flicked to where their hands met. She didn’t know if he realized that he was absently rubbing his thumb over hers. Taking a breath, she decided to just confront him. “Castillo, last night—”
“I killed someone today.” He blurted out the words before she could finish. “Today four men are dead because of me. Two by my own gun.”
“Oh.” She sucked in a breath because it felt like the air in the room had become too heavy to breathe. “But they were connected with Derringer. Right?” She only realized that she’d been holding her breath when he nodded and she let it out slowly.
“There was a shoot-out,” he explained, but he didn’t elaborate. She realized how tired he looked. There were shadows under his eyes and his skin was pale.
“You had to defend yourself, Castillo.”
“Did I?” He let go of her and raked his hand through his hair, keeping his left arm immobile across his stomach. “That’s what I thought at one time. But look what’s happened. My brother Miguel was almost killed. Kidnapped by enemies I’ve made in my quest for vengeance. That’s why I insisted he go back East to school. I wanted him away from all of this.”
“That’s understandable. You’re looking out for him.”
“You’re missing my point, Carolina.” He took her hand again and shifted so that he faced her. “Last night I let things go too far, because the truth is that I really like you, too. But I’m not good for you. I put everyone I love in danger. Whatever is between us can’t go further.”
Her heart pounded and she couldn’t help but turn her hand over in his so that they were palm to palm. She nodded because she understood that, even while something inside her fought against it. “I’m going to school in September. Won’t you return home to your hacienda in Texas…once everything is over with Derringer?”
“I’ll need to rebuild. Somehow.” He nodded and squeezed her hand. “You understand? This can’t last.”
She did understand. She saw it so clearly that it made her heart ache. “I know.”
He groaned and pulled her closer, catching her under the chin to lift her mouth to his. It was as if finally accepting the inevitability of their parting had finally given them permission for this small indulgence. His mouth covered hers and before she knew it her hands were in his hair, holding him closer. They kissed until they ran out of air and then he buried his face in her neck. “Carolina,” he whispered, his day’s growth of beard tickling her sensitive skin. “I’ll never get enough of your smell.” His mouth sucked at her flesh. “Can I stay for a little while?”
“Yes, please stay.” She should make him go, but she couldn’t. If this was all the time they had, she wanted so much more than she knew he’d be willing to give her.
He drew back to look at her face while she tried to memorize the exact shade of gold and green of his eyes. Leaning forward, as if giving her time to pull away, he kissed her again, his good arm going around her to draw her even closer, and then he pushed her back on the bed. He rose up on his right arm over her and gently pulled off her spectacles, setting them on the bedside table. She couldn’t help but touch his beloved face, her fingers tracing the strong contours of his cheekbones and jaw before running over his full bottom lip. She didn’t want to think that she could love him already, but the ache in her chest certainly felt like something close to it.
He kissed her fingertips, before moving to lie beside her and drawing her against his chest. Caroline curled into him, more comforted by his strength and warmth than she’d anticipated. He kissed the top of her head as she settled her cheek against his chest, and his good arm curled around her. As his hand stroked up and down her back, she listened to the sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear. After a while, the laudanum took effect and his breathing shifted to long, deep breaths as he drifted off to sleep. She tried to savor the moment for as long as she could and then she followed him into sleep.