Fifteen
“There was little air to breathe in there,” Antonie gasped as she and her three companions rapidly exited a noisy, crowded saloon.
“Like a damn cattle pen,” Cole grumbled as he took her arm and led her down a side street.
It was a little quieter down the side street. At the bottom stood a small, two-story building that proved to be another saloon. One glance inside told them that it was what they wanted. It was only interestingly crowded and the noise was lively, not deafening. The hails that greeted them told them that other men from their crew had also preferred an atmosphere a little less insane.
Antonie recognized Royal’s married hands as well as the older men. Looking around and paying close attention to Cole’s and Justin’s replies to the greetings, she realized there were men from the neighboring ranches as well. The three saloon girls would undoubtedly have as much business as they could handle but only their companionship was what was really wanted by most of the men there.
“Hey, Toni, I thought you were going to have yourself a real fancy night at the hotel,” called one of Royal’s men from a corner table.
Smiling at Luke Cousins, Royal’s foreman, she replied, “Fancy nights end early, Luke.”
“Well, darlin’, sit yourself down and we’ll do our best to keep you entertained until as late as you like.”
She laughed softly when he grinned and pointedly shuffled the cards he held. “I intend to keep what little is left of my pay, or most of it.”
“I’m not greedy, darlin’. Where’s the boss?”
“He stayed with the Dumfrey family,” Cole replied as he set a beer in front of Antonie and sat next to her.
No more mention was made of the boss and that suited Antonie just fine. She hoped to forget Royal for just a little while at least.
The level of betting was kept low and Antonie eagerly joined in the card game. She drank the beer which flowed freely but did not seem to mix badly with the wine she had indulged in earlier. It did, however, begin to make her a very gay companion.
* * *
Royal finally located the saloon where Antonie was, recognizing the voices of his men before he even stepped inside. He was not overly surprised to see Antonie had challenged Luke about who could produce the fancier footwork in accompaniment to Charlie Foster’s fiddle playing. With a shake of his head, he got himself and Baird a glass of beer and joined the others at the table, ignoring their knowing grins.
“I call it a draw, Toni,” Luke gasped as they collapsed into their chairs. “I’ll work on a new step and win next time.”
“Ha!” Antonie looked at Royal, not daring to think that he might have come looking specifically for her. “Where are your ladies?”
“Tucked up safely in their beds,” Royal drawled, “as all proper young ladies should be.”
“Carramba! It is glad that I am not ‘a proper young lady,’ ” she said the last four words in a falsetto tone. “So boring to go to bed so early.”
“Depends on where you go to bed.” Seeing the light of mischief that brightened her lovely eyes, Royal purred, “Don’t say it.”
“Pity.” She pouted and had a drink of beer. “It was good.” She laughed with the others and indulged in several minutes of nonsense before turning back to Royal. “Well, what did you think of Antonie’s lady, eh? My dress was pretty.”
Royal found it hard to stay angry with her, especially when she was in so ebullient a mood. “Very pretty. The color suited you.”
She flipped off her hat to display her still done-up hair. “I could not take down the hair. Pattie worked so hard.”
Tomás chuckled. “You cannot leave it up forever, chica.”
Putting her hat back on, she grinned at Tomás. “Sí, or it might walk away on its own, eh?” She frowned. “What is the time? Maybe these ladies do not go to bed as early as I think, eh?” She pulled out Juan’s watch, one of his few possessions he had left to her.
“Look at that. There’s a catch there,” pointed out Baird. “That usually means there’s a little compartment.”
With a little work and Baird’s assistance, Antonie got it open. There was a small piece of paper inside and enfolded in that was a lock of her hair. On the paper, in a scrawl that she immediately recognized as Juan’s nearly illiterate attempt at writing, was written: “From my child’s beloved head when she was ten.”
A grief she had never given full vent to welled up inside of her, choking her. Very carefully, she replaced the items, shut the watch and put it away. Somehow, the sentimental gesture by a hard man touched off the pain of loss even his burial had failed to. She regretfully admitted that the drink which had cheered her was now making her more despondent than she might have been.
“I will leave now.” She stood up. “Buenas noches.” She strode out of the saloon without a backward glance.
“I better go to her,” Tomás said, surging to his feet.
Grasping the young man’s arm, Royal also stood. “I will.”
“She needs comfort now, not angry words, señor.”
“I know.” He tossed off the rest of his beer. “It was Juan’s watch.”
“Sí.” Tomás sat back down. “She has never really grieved for him.”
“Mmm. And she is not as tough as she’d like us to think.”
Tomás looked directly into Royal’s eyes and, clearly referring to more than Antonie’s grief, said quietly, “No, señor, she is not.”
Refusing to acknowledge that he understood, Royal muttered his good nights and strode off after Antonie. He would mull over Tomás’s words later, for he knew it would entail a fair amount of soul-searching. Right now, however, his main concern was Antonie.
He found her halfway along the main street. With her head bent, she was striding toward the hotel. It was hard to tell if she was crying until he reached her side. Then, when he glanced beneath the brim of her hat, he saw the tears on her cheeks. He fell into step beside her, silently accompanying her all the way back to her room.
“I never cry,” she said in a voice thick with tears as she sat on her bed and buried her face in her hands.
“It is nothing to be ashamed of.” He took off her hat and then knelt to pull off her boots. “You loved the man.”
“He was very good to me.”
“Yes, he was and, despite what he was and how he lived, he loved you. I saw that years ago.”
She watched as he undid her holster. “He taught me all I know. He tried to make me a lady.”
“Honey,” he cupped her tearstained face in his hands, “you’re very much a lady. You haven’t failed Juan in that way.”
“No? I became your puta,” she said quietly, looking into the jade green eyes that could so easily melt all her resistance.
“My lover,” he corrected sternly as he sat beside her and took off his boots.
“There is a difference?” She made no attempt to stop his preparations to spend the night in her bed.
“Oh, yes.” He tossed his hat onto a chair and pulled her into his arms.
“You say that to make me happy so that I will not refuse you, eh?” She slipped her arms around his waist.
“Not at all. I would not insult your intelligence by mouthing nonsense. If nothing else, I am honest with you.”
That he was, she mused, not stopping him as he undid her shirt. She even arched her neck to allow his warm lips better access to her throat. He wanted her. He never hid that fact. Neither did he fill her ears with empty promises and words of love that he did not mean. That hurt, even though she preferred a lack of love to deception and false hope and all the pain that could bring her.
In all honesty, she had to admit that she wanted him—desperately. She could not blame him for the fact that her heart was involved as much as her body was. He had not asked for that. She had not really asked for that either. Passion had been what she had been looking for, not the pain of a love unwanted and unreturned.
Glancing up at him as he removed her shirt, she saw the half-smile that touched his face. “What is funny?”
His appreciative but amused gaze moved over the frilly camisole she wore. “All this lace beneath the men’s clothes.”
“I thought it was very pretty. I have never worn such lacy things before.” She slowly began to undo his shirt.
“Incongruous but lovely.” He removed her pants, smiling again when he revealed her frilly drawers.
She tumbled back onto the bed and he leaned over her, resting on his forearms. The look in his eyes told her exactly what he wanted. A shiver of desire tore through her lithe frame. There was no fighting that warmth.
Brushing his lips over hers, he murmured, “It’s been a long time. Too long. I’ve missed you.”
“I did not send you away.” She finished removing his shirt then moved her hands lovingly over his muscular torso.
“No, I kept myself away,” he murmured as he began to unpin her hair. “I resented the loss of your full attention.”
“That was the cause of your anger?” she asked curiously as she undid his trousers, sliding her hands down the back of them and smoothing them over his taut buttocks.
“Yes.” He ran his hands through her thick silken hair. “You’re mine. I didn’t like sharing any part of you.”
“I belong to no one,” she said quietly, edging his trousers down over his slim hips.
Slowly, he stood up and removed the rest of his clothing, seeing her statement as a challenge. “I put my brand on you that first night, sweet thing.”
“A brand on me?” she gasped, scrambling to her knees on the bed. “I am not one of your cattles.”
“Cows or cattle, not cattles. No, you aren’t, but the principle’s the same. You’re mine, honey.” He pushed her down onto the bed and gently but firmly pinned her there with his body. “I was noticing tonight that my brand was fading a bit. It needs remarking.”
Glaring at him but not indulging in any useless struggling when he held her wrists over her head with one hand and began to untie her camisole with the other, she snapped, “I am not a possession, I am a woman.”
“Very much so,” he said quietly as he removed her camisole and let his gaze feast on her full breasts.
It was a struggle to recall that she was annoyed over his attitude when he began to flick his tongue over the peak of each breast. “You do not listen to me, gringo.” She winced at the way the word emerged sounding suspiciously like an endearment.
“No. You don’t listen to me.” He continued to circle her breasts with his tongue as he removed the rest of her clothing. “You’re mine, my little blond witch, and here and now I intend to prove it.” He covered her mouth with his before she could offer any further argument.
She knew she lost whatever battle she had been fighting. The intoxicating power of his kiss, his stroking plunging tongue, erased any anger she possessed. As if to be sure of that surrender, he kept on kissing her until she had no thought in her head save for the pleasure he could give her, was giving her, and how much she wanted him.
“Skin like silk and tasting of the sweetest honey,” he murmured huskily as he slid his eager mouth down to her breasts
She thrust her hands into his thick hair as he feasted on her breasts. He left the tips of her breasts taut, wet, and throbbing as he moved his erotic attentions to her stomach. He stroked her legs with his hands, making them burn and grow heavy. No coercion was needed to make her open to him, allowing him full access to her secrets. The way he fondled and probed her so intimately had her muttering words of passion and love but a remnant of caution had her speak in Spanish, a language he was not proficient in.
“Ay de mi,” she gasped in shock when his mouth suddenly took the place of his hand, his tongue replacing his fingers. She was still unused to such intimacy but he held her firmly in place when she tried to pull away. Very soon whatever shock she felt faded beneath waves of passion. She arched to him, crying out in the heat of her desire.
“Now, querido, now. I want you with me,” she moaned, clutching him and dragging him into her feverish embrace.
His possession of her was swift, his hungry kiss devouring her cry. She barely heard his words but they drove her wild. She clutched at his slim hips while she wrapped her legs around him tightly. Their cries of release mingled as they crested passion’s heights together. Clinging tightly to each other, they floated back down into sanity. It was a long while before their sated bodies parted even slightly, Royal staying wrapped securely in her arms, his face tucked into her neck and his hand cupping her breast. Antonie tried not to be seduced into any false hope by the tenderness of the moment.
“You can’t expect a man to want to share something like that, Antonie. You are mine.”
“And you are mine, Royal Bancroft?” she asked softly. “As you claim your brand marks me, does mine mark you?”
For a moment, he did not answer. The idea was not as distasteful as he had expected. It was also fair. Although she was asking for a commitment of sorts, she was not seeking vows of love or promises of marriage. If she wanted that, he felt she would have asked outright. He frowned when he found that he was more than a little disappointed that she did not speak of love. Shaking that away as foolishness since he was not about to offer her love or marriage, he brought his mind back to the matter at hand.
“Yes, I believe it does,” he finally replied. “I haven’t had the slightest urge for another woman since you walked into my life.”
“Do you know,” she murmured, fighting to hide her delight over his words, “I always remembered you, your hair and your eyes.”
He chuckled sleepily. “Same here. Purple eyes and cornsilk hair came to mind every time someone said Juan or Ramirez.”
“Perhaps, mi vida, we were fated.”
“I’m beginning to wonder.”
She held him close, resting her cheek against his hair. It was wonderful to have him back with her. A sense of possession was not love, but it did indicate that he was not without some feeling for her. She loved him so much that that was enough to stir hope and bring her delight. He was caught in passion’s trap as strongly as she. For as long as it held him, he was truly hers.
Although half-asleep, Royal sensed something in the way she held him. It was a possessive touch, but it was not stifling. He did not feel trapped. Somehow he knew she would not cling if he wanted to leave, no matter how she felt about it.
He knew he had to give some serious thought to how he felt about her beyond his passion for her and his need to possess her. However, he was too tired at the moment. When she had left his bed, he had developed difficulty in sleeping. The restless nights spent aching for her caught up with him now that he was back in her arms, his hunger momentarily satisfied. Royal knew that he should think about that, too, that there was some message there, but he decided to sleep first.
* * *
Antonie suddenly woke up. Instincts developed during eleven years of living with a man on the run brought her out of her sated sleep wide-eyed and alert. Royal blissfully slept on, still wrapped in her arms.
She moved one slim arm away from him, slipping her small hand beneath her pillow to clasp her gun and ease it out. She intently searched the darkness, found nothing, and then looked toward the door. She was not surprised to see it stealthily open; she only tensed, ready to fight.
A darkly dressed man slipped into the room, and silently closed the door after him. In his hand was a pistol which, as he neared the bed, he raised and aimed at her and Royal.
From beneath her lashes, Antonie saw their erstwhile assassin smile. She knew he had seen their guns placed at a safe distance, out of their immediate reach, and thought them helpless. When he cocked his gun, she cocked hers and wondered how one of Raoul’s men could believe her to be so foolish as to go to bed unarmed and helpless. She knew Raoul favored murders in the night.
When he readied his aim, she acted swiftly, her sudden movement startling the man. Antonie fired, taking his pistol neatly out of his hand, then fired again, wounding him high on the arm. The man screamed and tried to go for the door. Antonie stood up, for a now wide-awake Royal was in her way, and shot the man in the leg. She finally accomplished what she had aimed to do. He was unable to escape but was not so badly wounded that he could not talk, perhaps give them some much needed information.
“Christ! Get something on,” bellowed Royal, tossing her his shirt. “Those shots will have everybody racing for this room.”
She barely managed to get his shirt on and Royal was doing up his pants when the door burst open. The twins and Royal’s siblings were the first to appear, all in various states of undress. Behind them began to form a curious crowd attired in hastily donned robes.
Royal had just finished telling the twins and his family what had happened when the sheriff, called by the hotel manager, elbowed his way into the room, his deputy in his wake. It was not so easy for Royal to repeat his tale to the sheriff. The man did not know Antonie as her friends did. He saw a lovely woman only, one who hardly looked able to lift a pistol, let alone shoot it so well.
“Had to hit him three times, did you?” the sheriff asked Antonie.
“Sí. I got rid of the gun he had. Then I shoot him in the arm to make sure he stays but his legs still work, eh? So, when he ran to the door, I shoot him in the leg. Then he stays. We need to ask him questions.”
“Get rid of the people in the hall, George.” When the deputy left, the sheriff said, “I ask the questions around here.”
“Look, this man and others like him have been dogging me for months,” Royal said. “I want to know why and for whom.”
After a moment of thought, the sheriff nodded. “Fair enough. Ask away. This sort doesn’t usually talk much though.”
The sheriff proved right. Raoul’s man refused to answer any of Royal’s questions. Only Antonie and the twins knew it was not loyalty but fear that kept him silent. She watched for a while then stood up, picked up her knife, and approached the man. The way to break Raoul’s hold was to put, if not a greater, then a more immediate fear into the man.
“May I try?” she asked Royal. “You will agree that I know these people better than you.”
“What’s the knife for?” the sheriff demanded.
“Persuasion,” she purred. “Oro? Tomás? Stand him up.” She saw Royal murmur to the sheriff and knew she had free rein to play her game. “Now, you dog,” she said to the would-be assassin in Spanish, “you will tell me who pays Raoul to do these things to Bancroft.”
“I will tell Juan’s whore nothing,” he spat then screamed when Oro and Tomás twisted his arm, aggravating his wound.
“Oh, you will tell me, swine. I know you fear Raoul’s anger, but I could do worse than kill you.” She gently ran the point of her knife down the front of his trousers, letting it come to rest at the base of his manhood, and smiled when he broke out into a sweat. “He would only leave you dead. If you do not tell me what I want to know, I will leave you less than a man.”
“Señorita,” he squeaked when she applied enough pressure to the knife to cause him a slight but frightening twinge.
“Slowly. I will do it slowly. Inch by inch.” She chuckled and grinned at Oro and Tomás, who also chuckled when she said, “Three slices ought to do it.”
The man was too frightened to be insulted. “I know nothing. I swear it. I only do as I am told.”
She pressed hard enough to draw a little blood and hoped he would break, for this was as far as she could take the game. “I think it is not all a secret. You see and you hear, eh?”
“Yes, yes,” he squawked, trying to scramble away from the knife she held, but unable to break the twins’ firm hold.
“Well?” She reached for his belt, neatly cutting it with her knife.
“A gringo. A Texan pays Raoul. I do not know the name. No name. I swear it, señorita.”
“Why does this Texan hire Raoul and his dogs? What is the plan?”
“To ruin the Bancrofts. Tonight I was to kill you. He thinks you and the Degas twins spoil his plans. He wants you dead.”
Antonie shrugged. “He has always wanted us dead. This is not new. You did not mean to kill Royal Bancroft?”
“To wound him if he was with you. Only to wound him. I was to make him think that he was to be killed but that the attempt failed. You were to die. The Texan wants you dead, but I was not told why. You are much hated.” He looked at Antonie as if he had a very good idea of why that was.
“Tomás, Oro, release him. Say nothing of the plans for me,” she said in Spanish as the sheriff collected his shaken prisoner. “What Raoul has planned for us is part of an old hate and a private one.” The twins nodded reluctantly and she reverted to English to tell Royal and the others what she had learned.
After lengthy explanations and some more debate, Royal and Antonie were again left alone. Royal bolted the door, then moved to lean against the bedpost to look quizzically at Antonie. Idly, he mused that he had never seen a woman before who could look so good in a man’s shirt.
“Not so sure I like the idea of sleeping with a woman who keeps a loaded gun under her pillow,” he drawled.
She smiled, slid her arms around his neck, and kissed him. “It used to be a knife but that can only be used once, when thrown, eh?”
“Oh, yes, a pistol’s much more useful,” he mumbled as she slowly moved her lips down his throat, gently caressing his chest with her hands.
Perhaps it was the brush with death or the threat of it which continued to hang over her head, but Antonie was suddenly desperate to make love. She covered his broad chest with kisses. She paused to tongue and suckle his nipples, his sounds of pleasure stirring her passion.
He tightened his hands in her hair as she kissed his taut belly, dipping her tongue into his navel. She neatly undid his pants. As she slowly lowered them, she trailed warm kisses down one strong leg, tasting and nibbling. When she had fully removed his pants, she edged her way back up his other leg, lovingly stroking every place she could reach with her hands. Without pause, she began to pay homage to his virility.
Royal could do little more than brace himself against the bedpost and groan her name. Her mouth, her tongue, her teeth, and her hands all worked with a gentle thoroughness to bring him more pleasure than he had ever known. If he had not had indisputable proof of her innocence, he would have thought her well trained.
Suddenly he could stand no more. He grasped her beneath her arms, tossed her onto the bed, and hastily stripped his shirt off her. She lay sprawled beneath his crouched body, open, unresisting, and very evidently ready. He glanced up at her face, watching her tongue slowly lick her lips with a voluptuous relish and, with a hoarse cry, kissed her fiercely.
There ensued an onslaught upon her senses that, at times, Antonie feared she would not survive. Royal left no part of her untasted or untouched. At times he was so fierce she was sure she would be bruised, but it brought her only pleasure. He kept her riding passion’s crest until she thought she would weep with her need for release. Clutching at him, she tried to pull him into the embrace she craved.
Then he was there, driving into her with a force that made her cry out. But a moment later, he rolled over, keeping them united so that she was on top of him. Her need was at such a height that she needed no prompting. She took control with a delighted vengeance. For the second time that night, they burst through desire’s barriers, their cries of release blending into one voice.
Wrapped securely in each other’s arms, it was a long while before they had the strength to speak. The tremors of residual delight took many moments to fade from their sated bodies. Antonie lay sprawled on top of Royal with neither the inclination nor the energy to move.
“That was incredible,” Royal finally said, his husky whisper breaking their contented silence.
“Sí,” she agreed sleepily. “I do not think we can better that, eh?”
“We could always try.”
“I do not think it would be good for our health, mi amor,” she teased.
“You’re probably right.” He kissed her briefly. “You are the lover every man dreams about.”
As she nuzzled his neck, she smiled slightly. Pleasure and disappointment arose at his remark. It was a lovely accolade, but she would rather he thought of her as his love, not just his lover. Feeling droopy-eyed, she scolded herself as she let sleep take her over. One could not make love come no matter how much one gave it or wanted it. She had received more than she had planned on already. She would make herself be content with that.