Diablo (28 page)

“Kane?” Her voice was soft, and a hand reached out, touching his shoulder lightly.

His father had been right. He was appropriately named, and the damned preacher should have spelled it right, warning everyone away.

“Go home,” he said harshly again.

“I won't go without you,” she said in a stubborn voice, and he knew she detected the anger, the hopelessness in his tone. He also knew they tied her closer to him. She was a caretaker. Regardless of where she lived and how she was raised, she was as compelled to care for those she loved as he was to destroy them.

He caught her hand. “Don't care for me,” he said. “I'm not worth it.”

She practically threw herself into his arms. It took all the strength he had not to wrap them around her and hold her tight. She had more courage in her little finger than he had in his whole body. He felt so damned humbled by her. And she was kissing him. Kissing him on every bare spot he had. She was trying to tell him he was worth caring about, damn it, and he didn't know how to convince her otherwise without telling her the truth.

He gently disentangled her, ending the gentle rain of kisses, though it took every ounce of his self-discipline to do it. She felt so good. Being
loved
felt so good, or it would if his conscience weren't a roaring furnace.

“We'd better go,” he said, knowing now any efforts to send her home would be futile.

She slowly backed away and stood. She knew she had won. He had to smile. She was always so determined, so damned full of guts combined with that rare gentleness that always attacked him at precisely the wrong time. He had no weapon or shield against either.

“What about Calico and Hildebrand?” she asked, back to being practical.

“We're going to scare the hell out of them,” he said.

He stood. He knew he shouldn't do it, but he couldn't help himself. He took her in his arms and just held her for a moment. Then he let her go and strode to where the two men were tied. Hildebrand was conscious. Calico was not. Kane swiftly dealt with the unconscious man first, taking his gunbelt and buckling it around his own waist. He untied the man's feet and pulled off his boots, then his trousers to reveal the long underwear underneath. He then untied Calico's hands and took his shirt, quickly binding the hands together again.

He made sure there were no hidden weapons. Then he approached Hildebrand, who stiffened.

“I'm going to untie you, friend,” he said coldly. “And you're going to take off your shirt and trousers.”

“Hell I am.”

“You have an alternative. You can die,” Kane said coldly. “You would, in fact, were Miss Thompson not here.” He looked over at Nicky, who'd dumped Calico's clothes several feet away and now held her rifle again. “Kill him if he makes a wrong move,” he said. “And, just in case she doesn't, I have your friend's six-shooter, and I would take great pleasure in blowing you to hell.”

“You should,” Hildebrand said defiantly, and Kane admired his courage. “I'll get you for this.”

“You might.” Kane leaned over and untied his hands. “Take off that shirt, then untie your ankles.”

Hildebrand hesitated, and Kane cocked the pistol in his hand. Hildebrand slowly did as he was told. When he was down to his underdrawers, Kane looped a prepared rope around Hildebrand's hands and tied it, taking the end and tying it to Calico.

He approached Nicky. “Where's your horse?”

“Not far,” she said. “I didn't want her to warn them.”

He grinned. Damn, but she was smart. He nodded toward her rifle. “Hold it on them. If either makes a move, shoot him.” Kane took the bundle of clothes to where the three horses were tethered. He packed them in a saddlebag, then saddled his own horse, putting the other two on a tether.

He mounted and rode over to the two men and Nicky. He offered her his hand.

“You're not leaving us?” Hildebrand asked, his voice rising slightly. Calico started stirring. “Tied like this? We'll die.”

“No great loss,” Kane said, “but I didn't tie you that tightly. You can get free in an hour or so … if you try hard enough.”

“We'll die without a horse or weapons, damn you.”

“You have a chance. It's a better one than you were going to give me,” Kane said coldly. “Just don't even think about returning to Sanctuary. Ever. Nat Thompson knows about your plans. He'll kill you on sight. If he doesn't, he has a lot of friends who can.”

Calico was now trying to sit up. “As for your friend here,” Kane said, glancing over toward the guide, “his life won't be worth a damn any place in this territory. You both will be wise to make tracks north. Far north.”

“Damn you,” Hildebrand said.

“If you do survive,” Kane said conversationally, “I wouldn't suggest you sell any information to the law, either. If you don't hang, Thompson or his friends will hunt you down wherever you go.”

He turned the horses and started going.

“Diablo,” Hildebrand yelled. “You can't leave us like this.”

But the devil could, and did.

Mary May's daughter was a miniature version of her mother, with ringlets of auburn hair and bright green eyes and the same raw energy. The minute the child saw Mary May she ran and hurled herself into her mother's arms, and Mary May swung her around as Sarah Ann screamed with delight.

Ben watched with bemusement, as Mary May then pressed the child's cheek to her own and just held it there for a moment before planting a big kiss on her face.

“I missed you, lovebug,” Mary May said, her eyes brighter than Ben had ever seen them. Perhaps it was the sheen of something wet that made them so luminous.

“Love you too, Mama,” the little girl said clearly, her hand clinging to Mary May's as she was lowered to the ground. Then Mary May led her over to Ben, and Ben watched as the little girl's eyes kept moving up and up and up. He must seem a giant to her.

“This is my friend,” Mary May said. “I told him how pretty you were, and he wanted to meet you.”

Sarah Ann curtsied, then looked at the woman who stood in the doorway of the neat bungalow for approval. She won a smile and a nod for her efforts and beamed.

Ben was enchanted. He knelt down so he wouldn't be quite so big, so frightening, and held out his hand. “It's very nice to meet you, Sarah Ann.”

“Pweasure,” she replied, looking this time to Mary May for approval. Mary May knelt, too, and swooped the girl into her arms again.

“Now where did you learn that, lovebug?”

“Cuwwy,” Sarah Ann mumbled happily as she buried herself in Mary May's arms.

Ben grinned. Mary May had said the lady taking care of Sarah Ann was Mrs. Culworthy. “Cuwwy” was evidently Sarah Ann's version of “Cully.” But even happily sheltered in her mother's arms, Sarah Ann grinned over at him. She was as natural a flirt as her mother.

Mary May finally let go and stood again. “I brought you something,” she said.

If a beaming smile could get any brighter, it did, and Mary May smiled happily back. She looked years younger, almost like a girl herself. “You stay here with Ben while I get it,” she said. “Is that okay?”

Sarah Ann turned to Ben. “Are you my papa?”

Ben nearly choked. He looked up at Mary May, who shrugged slightly, but he didn't miss a momentary sadness that washed over her eyes. She knelt again. “Your papa died, lovebug. He's in heaven, looking down after you.”

Sarah Ann's face set stubbornly. “I want a papa
here
, like Lizzy has.”

Mary May looked helplessly at Mrs. Culworthy.

Sarah Ann turned back to Ben and cocked her head as if she was considering him for the post. It was an impossibly grown-up gesture, and Ben wondered whether she was mimicking her mother or whether it was just plain female instinct. He also felt as helpless as Mary May looked. He didn't know much about children, hadn't even been around one in years.

Then Mrs. Culworthy stepped in. “I think we'd better see what your mama brought,” she said, and Sarah Ann's curiosity was suddenly captured.

The stubborn look became expectant. “What is it?”

“You'll see in a minute,” Mary May said. “Mrs. Culworthy?”

The older woman went to take Sarah Ann's hand but the child went to Ben instead. “I want to stay with him.”

Mary May looked helpless again, and Ben felt his heart turn to butter. Mary May was usually anything but helpless. Sarah Ann obviously was her one vulnerability. He leaned down. “And I would like you to stay with me,” he said gallantly, winning a giggle.

Mary May threw him a grateful look, then hurried to her horse.

Ben went inside with Mrs. Culworthy and took the chair the woman indicated. Sarah Ann crawled up on his knee without so much as a by-your-leave and her hand touched his face as if exploring it. Her fingers were soft and chubby, as she was, and even through his awkwardness he was quite aware of falling under her spell.

“Do you know a story?” she asked.

He didn't. Not one. He felt terribly inadequate.

“No,” he said.

Her face fell, and he felt totally unfit to hold a child. God, it had been so long since he'd been a boy, and even then he didn't remember being told stories. His mother was always sick, his father was either tending her or at his law offices.

“Can you play market?” Sarah Ann persisted.

Feeling even more inept, he raised an eyebrow to Mrs. Culworthy, who looked at him with pity.

“We'll teach you,” she said.

“To market, to market,” Sarah Ann said in a singsong voice, then stopped expectantly. After a moment of silence, she turned to him in disgust. “You're the horse. You go clip-clop.”

Mrs. Culworthy signaled with her leg what he was to do. He experimentally moved his leg up and down like a horse and was rewarded with a giggle.

“To market, to market to buy a fat pig,” Mrs. Culworthy and Sarah Ann responded, “Home again, home again, jiggidy jig jig.”

At that particularly vulnerable moment, Mary May returned, a package in her hand. She looked at Sarah Ann, then Ben, and he felt an odd and very unfamiliar warmth. Sarah Ann tumbled off his knee and made for the package.

It was a doll, a beautiful doll with red hair and green eyes, and Ben watched as Sarah Ann cradled it just as her mother had cradled her.

“Thank you,” she said solemnly, all grown-up again. “She's beautiful.”

“She looks like you, lovebug.”

Sarah Ann looked at Ben, obviously fascinated with him. “You name her.” It was such a transference of trust that Ben felt his heart quake. But he was utterly out of his field. He was competent enough at capturing bad men; he had no idea what to name a doll. Yet, she looked at him so expectantly, he searched his mind for names until he found one he hoped would do. “Susannah,” he said. “Like in the song, ‘Oh, Susannah.'”

Sarah Ann looked not quite sure. She deferred to her mother, who nodded. “I think it's a wonderful name.”

Satisfied, Sarah Ann's gaze went back to the doll. “Zuanna,” she mispronounced happily.

Ben felt proud. As proud as if he'd captured an outlaw. Prouder, in fact. He saw Mary May's gratitude, the sheen in her eyes again, and he felt ten feet tall. He didn't think he would ever feel quite like this again.

He watched as Sarah Ann introduced the doll to Mrs. Culworthy and then cuddled it, whispering motherly things to Suzanna. Then she brought the doll back to him. “You hold her,” she demanded.

Ben took the doll, not quite sure what was expected of him. “She needs a daddy, too,” Sarah Ann told him solemnly. “Even just for a little while.”

He swallowed hard. He was thirty-eight years old, and until that moment he'd never realized what he'd missed in allowing his job to consume him.

But now he wondered if he hadn't missed a sweetness every man should know.

Chapter Eighteen

Ben and Mary May were on their way an hour later. Sarah Ann had cried, saying she wanted to go, too. Mary May had leaned down and kissed the tears away. “I'll be back next week,” she promised.

While Ben had learned the rest of “To Market,” Mary May had talked to Mrs. Culworthy. Worry puckered his companion's face as she left the house, this time carrying a bag of food prepared by Mrs. Culworthy.

Ben helped Mary May mount. He was close enough to see the tears in her eyes, though she tried to hide them with a smile. Seeing she was unsuccessful, she turned away.

Ben didn't say anything, waiting for Mary May to talk, and finally, after an hour she did.

“I don't know what to do,” she said. “I tried to dissuade Mrs. Culworthy from leaving, but she has to go, and she hasn't found anyone to care for Sarah Ann.”

“Why don't you?” he asked frankly.

“I don't want her shamed,” she said, her mouth frowning.

“She knows you're her mama,” he said. “What does she think you do?”

“I don't know,” Mary May said with anguish. “I thought about letting her think Mrs. Culworthy was her mother, but I couldn't. I couldn't stand her calling someone else Mama. And then there was always this possibility, that Mrs. Culworthy would leave. She told everyone my husband died, and that I had remarried and my new husband wouldn't take the child. At least, it's kept me respectable enough that other children would play with Sarah Ann. But I've always feared someone would recognize me. Mrs. Culworthy was a godsend. She protected me and Sarah.”

“And now?”

“I don't know,” she said. “I don't know how to do anything else, not well enough to support a child. I haven't been able to save much because I've been sending it to Mrs. Culworthy.” Her back was straight, her chin set, just like Sarah Ann's had been when she'd announced she wanted a father
now.

Ben was silent for several moments. “Her father?”