28

Chance’s eyes popped open when he heard the floorboards creak. He shook Ronnie’s shoulder. She moved in absolute silence, though he heard the whisper of a scratch when she picked up her gun off the bedside table.

He grabbed his own gun, loaded and cocked, and swung his legs out of bed, snatched up his crutch, and hobbled quietly around the bed. Ronnie was already behind the door. She stepped away from it enough that if someone came in, pushing the door open, it wouldn’t hit her.

He touched her arm. The night was dark, but his eyes had adjusted and were sharp enough to see her nod. He loved this woman more with every breath, and that was saying something because he’d been breathing with her for over twenty-five years.

Chance had his crutch under his left arm and his gun in his right hand, aimed straight at the door. A squeak out in the hall was the pantry door—Chance recognized the sound of its hinges as it was opened.

Obviously the intruder didn’t know where he was going. He’d have to open two more doors, one to the fancy front room and the next to the mostly empty office.

After that he’d make his way to their bedroom.

Chance steadied himself and listened, all his senses on alert. He smelled something he couldn’t place at first. Sharp, with a burnt aroma to it. Then it came to him. It was one of those black Mexican cigarettes some of his cowpokes smoked. The intruder in the hall had finished one just recently.

A second door opened. There was no squeak this time, just a whisper of a swinging hinge. Chance drew a deep breath. Two more to go. He shifted his weight to keep from putting too much strain on his broken leg.

He wasn’t all that conscious of it aching anymore, but he’d been careful, with an overly attentive wife to kindly remind him of what not to do. The doctor wasn’t here now, but Ronnie was a good partner in a fight and she always wanted his best.

Chance took another breath, leaned back against the wall. Another door opened. The office. There was no furniture in there so the man soon swung the door shut.

Silence followed. Chance couldn’t tell if the man was walking down the hall toward their room or standing still. After another minute, he sensed the intruder standing outside their bedroom door. Then the knob turned slowly, and the door cracked open just an inch. The man was looking in, studying the room, no doubt seeing it was in use. He’d found his prey.

With a loud bang, the door slammed open. Gunfire exploded into the room. The bullets centered first on the bed, then began sweeping the room, coming ever closer to where Chance and Ronnie were hiding.

“Windy must’ve gone to check his traps.” Watts commented on the empty campsite. “Good, hope he gets something. I can use a meal.”

After he haltered his horse and staked it to graze, Alonzo approached Angie and swiftly unhooked whatever held her on the saddle. She kept up her ruse of unconsciousness as he dragged her feetfirst off the horse to stand. The blood rushed from her head and down to her feet. It took no faking at all to let her knees buckle and for her body to pitch sideways from the hot pain.

Alonzo grabbed her before she fell and carried her to an oak sapling. He sat her down so she could lean back against the tree, then untied her feet and hands.

“You should have stayed out of this, Señorita Angie,” Alonzo said under his breath. Angie couldn’t decide if he was talking to her or to himself. “Bodens bring trouble to everyone they touch.”

Angie kept her eyes closed and sagged to the side. She was so dizzy from hanging with her head down for so long, she wondered if she might black out.

Alonzo tugged the gag from her mouth. Whether he was just talking to hear himself or she’d done something to give away that she was awake, he went on, “We’re far enough away that no one will hear you scream. But don’t do it anyway. I will gag you again if you do.”

Angie remained limp. The gag had been too tight. Her face and neck were in such pain that she didn’t know if she could have screamed even if she wanted to. But a defiant place in her heart told her that as soon as her face didn’t hurt so much from the brutal gag, she might scream just on principle.

Then a wicked throb from the spot she’d been thumped by Alonzo’s gun made her decide not to defy him again without a very good reason.

“I know you’re awake, señorita.” Alonzo sunk his hand deep into her hair and jerked her forward, tilting her head back.

His hand closed over the spot where he’d hit her, and she couldn’t control a moan of pain. She flickered her eyes open, hoping he’d believe she was just coming around. He was inches from her, his face filling up every bit of her vision.

Speaking softly, because she really wanted to know, she asked, “Why, Alonzo? I can’t figure it out. You don’t look like a man who’s had a bad life. Why turn to murder? What about the Bodens makes you do such a foolish thing?”

“Bad life, señorita?” he sneered and dragged her to her feet by her hair. “I watched my papa suffer for years because my grandfather was too arrogant to do what was necessary to keep his land. It was Grandfather’s by right, then my padre’s, then mine. The old Don should have fought for it. He should have begun his own revolution. Instead, he turned his back on that heritage, but he never gave up the anger. He never gave up his hatred of America. I was raised on that hate.”

Angie knew part of the story but not every detail. “Then aim your anger at the men who signed the treaty that moved this land into America. It was a treaty signed by both governments to end a war. And if not them, aim your anger at the governor who took away your grandfather’s land grant. Chance Boden didn’t—”

“Chance had nada to do with it? Is that what you were going to say? Well, you’re wrong. My papa had a chance to marry François Chastain’s daughter, Veronica. She had shown some interest in him, and Papa would have treated her well. But when Chance Boden came along, Chastain pushed them together. He wanted his daughter married to a man who had full claim to American citizenship. Boden was a lowly pioneer from Boston. But his ancestry was right, while Papa’s was wrong. Chastain was on his deathbed, urging Chance and Veronica to marry. That stopped mi padre from becoming a partner in what was left of the old land grant. My family would have been restored to wealth.”

“But I thought Chastain was afraid of losing his half of the land grant, too. He was trying to save it by picking Chance Boden. If Veronica had married Ramone, they might have lost the land. How was it Chastain’s fault that the grant was stripped from the old Don? It sounds like they were friends.”

“They were not friends! They were partners—something much more important. Chastain stood like a coward, jumping to the tune of the governor to keep his land, and he said nothing to stop my grandfather losing his.”

“But he couldn’t have stopped the governor, could he?”

“He could have thrown his half of the land grant in the governor’s face. He could have been loyal. Chastain was a mere cowhand who rode with the Don at the time. My grandpapa knew many influential people and would have been given a land grant eventually. But then Chance rescued someone and drew the governor’s attention. With that act and my grandfather’s connections, they were given this land. And later, when the grant was revoked, the governor who’d arranged it was gone.”

“Wait a minute,” Angie said. “Are you telling me Chastain, Justin’s grandfather, performed a heroic deed, and because the Don happened to be riding along with him, he was given land, too?”

“My grandfather had influence. Chastain would never have been considered—”

“So Bautista took a land grant that wasn’t due him . . .”

“He would have been royalty in Spain. It was more than his due. It was his right.”

“. . . and resented that a common man like Chastain had the courage and strength to risk his own life to save another.” Angie couldn’t believe her nerve. She braced herself for Alonzo to strike her. “While your grandfather no doubt stayed safely away from whatever danger Chastain faced. And then managed to manipulate the governor into including him in Chastain’s reward through pressure from cronies.”

“You know nothing of what you speak.”

“I know a coward when I hear of one. Bautista was nothing but an arrogant coward. And Ramone, your own father, let Chastain die while his killer, Dantalion, ran free. Another coward.”

“My father’s face was cut open. He was half blind and unarmed. He knew he’d die if he stayed.”

“A brave man could have found a way. Who knows how many others Dantalion has killed through the years while your father lived safely in Mexico City.” Angie thought of the wanted poster. Dantalion, under another name, wanted for murder. “Now you’re fighting for the rights of your family, rights earned by the Don grabbing the coattails of an honorable man like Chastain. You claim those rights by shooting at people from cover like the worst kind of coward. You’re trying to kill men who have supported you and respected you, all while they nurtured a viper in their bosom. And the lowest yet, harming women to gain your own ends, like the greatest of yellowbelly weaklings.”

Alonzo slapped her hard. “No one disrespects the family of de Val.”

Pain exploded behind her eyes, but she had to go on. The truth was too disgusting to keep inside. “You disrespect your own family with every breath you take.” Her voice rose with each word. “You’re the third generation of contemptible cowards. It flows in your blood like a sickness.”

He struck her again, this time with the back of his hand.

Because she knew he would only hit harder, and maybe do worse than strike her, she said more quietly, “No matter how many times you hit me, it won’t change the truth. In fact, slapping a defenseless woman only proves I am right.”

His gun appeared between them. He had it pointed at the sky, but his eyes burned with rage. His breathing came fast and loud, the only sound she could hear. She braced herself for a bullet.

Maria’s death came to mind, and Angie realized there had been one de Val with true courage. “Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” Angie prayed for that kind of courage.

She sensed God whispering into her heart. Yes, Maria’s act was true love and true courage. But she had done it to protect a decent man, not because she was taunting a dangerous criminal. In her soul Angie knew—now was not the time to die. Not when it would save no one.

She must wait. She must survive. There might come a time when her sacrificial love would be called for, but not now. So Angie bit back the words she wanted to speak, words that might unleash Alonzo’s killing fury. Yet from his rising rage, she knew it was already too late.

“Put the gun away.” Watts came up beside Alonzo and ripped the pistol out of his hands.

Alonzo turned on Watts like a hungry wolf, but Watts reacted to that anger without one flicker of fear.

Angie saw then she was right. Alonzo was indeed a coward. And while he might hurt a woman, even kill her, he’d never go up against a dangerous man like Arizona Watts.

“Don’t waste your lead until it’ll do some good.” Watts gave Alonzo his gun back by shoving it into his belly so hard that Alonzo gasped and bent in half.

Then Watts turned to Angie and grabbed her face with one of his rough, callused hands. He squeezed until she had to fight not to whimper in pain. “Goad the Mexican all you want, girl. He’s a coward just like you said. I shot his aunt and he never spoke a word of complaint. She was betraying us, and I stopped her. Meant to get Boden too, but there wasn’t time. Alonzo’s a coward, but a useful one, so I’ll take his side over yours.”

Watts terrified her, and he did so without shouting, without hitting, and without drawing his gun.

“But you oughta be real careful what you say to me, pretty lady. I can see a way we could kill you right now, and so long as the Bodens don’t know you’re dead, we can still beat ’em. Keep that in mind when you’re workin’ your mouth. Arizona Watts ain’t a man you can prod.”

He released her with a forcible twist of her head that pained her neck something awful. Without looking at Alonzo, who still had his gun in hand, who’d heard the insulting things Watts had to say about him, Watts went back to building up the fire.

When she’d escaped Watts and was recaptured by Alonzo, Angie had thought Alonzo was the leader and the brains behind all the trouble. Now she knew different. Alonzo was no doubt more intelligent than Watts, but out here in the West, toughness won out over a sharp brain and a weak spine every time.

Windy emerged from the woods with three dead jackrabbits, skinned and gutted, hanging from his hand by their back legs. He looked at Angie, skidded to a stop, and scowled. “That ain’t Sadie. ’Lonzo, what are you doin’ with her?”

“We know who she is.” Alonzo pushed Angie back against the little oak, and she cracked her head against its trunk. “No matter. She’ll do just fine to bait our trap. Now roast those rabbits so we can eat.”

Using force with her and a harsh voice with Windy were Alonzo’s way of soothing his pride. Angie wondered if a coward’s wounded feelings made him even more dangerous.

Alonzo pulled her hands behind her back so they were around the slender tree. She slouched, hoping her position, when she straightened, would leave her hands some slack. He didn’t seem to notice and made quick work of binding her. Once his foul hands were no longer touching her, she gingerly rested her hurting head against the tree.

Carefully she wiggled her hands behind the tree, testing the ropes, while keeping her head bowed so she looked defeated. Afterward she had hope that she could get free. Only not now. Not with three dangerous men within a few steps of her.

With few other choices, she decided to rest for a while. And while it twisted her stomach to think of food right now, if they offered her part of that roasted rabbit, she’d gladly eat it.

Because she was going to need every ounce of her strength.