Hannah Howell (25 page)

“Hey, lazy, move those bones."

Very slowly, Antonie opened her eyes. She gave an unfriendly look to the grinning man by her bed. This was her first time in a soft bed in three months, and she did not really appreciate him cutting that time short.

“Go away. I want to sleep.” She put the pillow over her head.

Royal took the pillow away. “Come on. Up and at ‘em. Don't you want to see the town?"

“What's to see? Saloons, whorehouses, a jail, and shops. I have seen these before."

“Well, you can see them again. Rise and shine. I'll go order breakfast. Better hurry or it'll get cold,” he said, as he left.

She glared at the door for a moment, then cursed. There was no sense in staying in bed when he had succeeded in waking her up. Grumbling about his inconsiderate behavior, she got up and began her regular morning ritual.

After a moment's indecision, she decided to wear her skirt and blouse. It was not an outfit an Anglo wore, but it was all she had besides her new dress or her pants. If Royal was serious about taking her for a walk about the town, she would give him the courtesy of wearing a dress. He seemed quite accustomed to her wearing pants, but she knew he preferred her in skirts.

Just as she was about to leave her room, she hesitated. With a shake of her head, she buckled on her gun. One of Raoul's men had managed to get into their room last night. Their enemy was near and she could not take the risk of being caught unarmed just to play the lady for Royal.

Royal looked up as she entered the dining room in the hotel. His smile widened when he saw that she had worn her dress and fixed her hair the way she had for the fiesta. When she reached the table, he finally noticed the gun.

“What's that for?"

“The gun?” she asked as she sat down, smiling a greeting to Cole and Justin.

“Yes, the gun. We're only going to stroll around town."

"Sí,
and last night we were only going to sleep, but one of Raoul's dogs found us. I remembered that as I started to leave my room and decided to wear my gun. Raoul is near and it is good to be careful."

“Reckon you're right. Coffee?"

"Sí. Gracias.
Where is Tomás?” She smiled faintly when her question made Cole and Justin look uncomfortable.

“We-ell, he went back to the saloon,” Cole replied finally. “At least, that's what he said he was doing."

“Maybe he did, although, he would have to pay a saloon girl, and Tomás says he will never pay for it.” She grinned when Cole and Justin laughed and Royal shook his head. “You sure he went back into the saloon?"

“You don't really want to know about Tomás's private life, do you?” Royal asked.

“Well,
sí
and no. Sometimes it is good not to know what Tomás is doing, but then he does ask for trouble. Officers’ wives,
patrón'
s daughters, even a marshal's wife.” She shook her head. “He will get shot.” Her eyes narrowed as, through the door to the dining room, she saw Tomás jauntily descending the stairs. “If he went back to the saloon, he did not stay long. Not long for Tomás anyway."

“Ah, coffee.
Bueno,"
Tomás said ecstatically as he joined them at the table.

“What have you been doing?” Antonie demanded, recognizing the self-satisfied look on his face.

“Can a man have no privacy, little one?” Tomás asked.

"Sí,
as long as she has no jealous husband."

“She doesn't, so you may relax."

“That is a nice change."

Shaking her head, Antonie concentrated on her meal. The food on the drive had not been bad, but it had not equaled what she had become used to at Royal's ranch. Sighing in satisfaction, she sat back to savor a second cup of coffee.

She frowned when she saw Oro approach, only to be accosted in the lobby by a burly, very angry gentleman. “Um, Tomás?"

"Sí, querida?"

“You said no jealous husband, right?"

"Sí.
No jealous husband."

“Ah, I see. Then it must be a brother or a father who is preparing to beat Oro to a—how you say—pulp."

When Tomás cursed and rushed out into the lobby, she joined the others in laughing at the fracas that ensued. It was ended when a well-rounded brunette and a skinny blonde rushed into the lobby. The two women soon led the burly man away and Tomás hurried after a scowling Oro, who strode into the dining room.

“She had better been worth my nearly getting my face broken, Tomás,” Oro grumbled as he sat down.

"Sí,
she was."

“Could you not find a nice, unwed orphan?"

“But I did, Oro, and still you complained."

After frowning thoughtfully for a moment, Oro glared at his brother. “Convent girls.
Ay de mi.
I would rather be beaten or shot than prayed over by irate nuns and priests."

“Come on, Antonie, let's go,” Royal said quietly.

Even as she let him help her out of her seat, she protested, “But, I was listening to that argument."

“I suspect it's one you've often heard."

"Sí,
I am afraid that is so.” She linked her arm through his as they left the dining room. “It is usually Tomás who plays and Oro who gets blamed for it, too."

“Never the other way around?"

“No. Oro goes to saloons and whores. He thinks he cannot charm and seduce a woman like Tomás can."

“A man who reduces the girls at the saloon to hair-pulling over him?"

Looking around her as they started through town, Antonie nodded. “He thinks they only act like that because he is kind to them and they don't get much of that. It is one reason he found the situation with Patricia so hard. She was looking at him, wanting him. No charm used, no seduction. Others have looked at him like that, but he did not see it. Not until Patricia."

“Strange that twins should be so different."

“Oh, they are a lot alike, too. When Tomás finds his woman he will be as Oro is with Patricia. He will give her everything."

“Or turn her away if he thinks it's for the best?"

"Sí.
That too."

“You couldn't trust me to see him as just a man, to judge him as just a man?"

“I wanted to. You seemed fair, clean of the poison of prejudice, but,” she shrugged, “even Maria was not sure if that went deep enough to let Oro and Patricia be together. I just wonder if you know how much trouble there could be."

“Oh, I know what's coming,” Royal assured her. “I also feel confident that plenty of our friends and neighbors are fair-minded enough to let it make no difference. The ones that matter will accept it."

"Sí,
and Patricia has a big family to help ease the sting. What is this place?"

“The bank. Come on."

“No. I will wait here. When I go into a bank, I get the urge to stick my gun in the teller's face and demand money."

His lips twitched as he looked into her impish face, enjoying the way her eyes sparkled with laughter. “Funny. All right. I'll only be a few minutes."

Leaning against the outside of the building, Antonie watched the people walking by. It was evident that the so-called respectable citizens of the town felt it was safe to walk the streets when the sun was out. Her amusement grew when she realized that they all stopped at some invisible line, never crossing it. On the other side of that line were the saloons, the whorehouses, and the cowboys. Obviously, even in broad daylight, they did not dare to venture into that area.

“Ah,
señorita.
All alone?” said a slurred voice to her right.

She grimaced with distaste when a less than sober and less than clean cowboy draped an arm around her shoulders. When she tried to slip free of his grip, his hold tightened and he and his friends laughed. It was clear that getting free of this entanglement was not going to be easy. She could only hope that there would be no scene.

“I am not alone,” she warned them. “My man is in the bank."

“She's blond and blue-eyed,” said one of the cowboy's equally filthy friends. “You sure she's a
señorita,
Joe?"

“Sure she is,” Joe replied. “No white woman'd wear this bean-eater outfit."

“Let me go,” Antonie demanded, angered by his derogatory remarks. “My man will return soon."

“Well, now, darlin', old Joe can show you a better time. I wouldn't leave you standing alone outside no bank.” He tried to nudge her in the direction of the saloons. “Come on, sweetheart, let me and the boys show you some fun."

Digging in her heels, she turned toward him and pulled her gun, smiling coldly when he blanched as she pressed the barrel into his groin. “If you do not leave me alone you will have nothing to show me some fun with,
gringo."

“Hey, Joe, you all right?"

“Tell your friends to stay where they are,” she ordered.

“Don't move, you two,” Joe squeaked.

Royal stepped out of the bank and tensed. Anger flowed through him when he saw the cowboy holding Antonie but he fought to stay calm. He did not know exactly what was going on. Since Antonie was not struggling, he calmly stepped up behind her and wondered what made the cowboy look so ill.

“Having trouble, darling?” he murmured.

“Jesus, mister, don't startle her or nothing,” croaked the cowhand, his horrified gaze falling to Antonie's gun.

Following that look, Royal almost laughed. “Ah, I see you have everything under control."

"Sí.
These men were just leaving.” She holstered her gun even as the trio bolted down the street.

Draping his arm around her shoulders, Royal drawled, “You realize you denied me the pleasure of acting the protective male."

She grinned at him. “Had a hankering to punch a nose, eh?"

“Some. Was he much trouble?” He started walking again. “I can see I'd better not leave you alone."

“Ah, the cowboy thought I was a
señorita
and that of course meant that I was a
puta
to be dragged off."

Hearing the bitter anger in her voice, he briefly tightened his hold on her in a gesture of sympathetic understanding. Her Mexican peasant attire marked her in a lot of eyes. He was surprised that her blond hair and blue eyes had not given the cowboys a moment's pause, even though that alone did not guarantee her a minimum of respect. Not every Mexican peasant girl was a whore, just as not every Anglo woman was a lady. He had even met some Mexican whores who were far more genteel than some Anglo ladies.

“I thought we'd stop in at the sheriff's office,” he said, steering both their minds away from the ugly scene.

Antonie grimaced. “Why do we want to do that?"

“Well, maybe he's got more information out of that fellow."

“Maybe. He might have remembered something."

“Er, Antonie?"

"Sí?"

“Do you think you could ease up on threatening a fellow's, well, manhood?"

“Make you nervous,
querido?"
she teased.

“Hell, maybe. It just seems so, well, vicious."

“I have never carried out such a threat."

“You sure as hell make a man think you will. You had me and the sheriff sweating some last night."

“That is the trick. Juan told me to always make them believe you. He also taught me that to threaten that which makes a man a man is almost always successful. It is a man's weakest point, he said. Not only in his body but in his head. But, if it troubles you,
querido,
I will try to think of something else."

“No. You do what works, what keeps you safe."

Royal almost grinned as they walked into the sheriff's office. The man looked very surprised. When that look changed and became grim, Royal was no longer amused. He suddenly wondered yet again if Antonie was being hunted by the law. They were pretty far out of
bandido
territory, but wanted posters were spread wider and farther every year.

“Funny you two showing up now,” the sheriff said.

“We came to see if the prisoner did any more talking,” Royal said.

“He didn't and he won't,” the sheriff added as he headed toward the cell, signaling Antonie and Royal to follow him. “Don't suppose you know anything about this?"

There was no need to look beneath the haphazardly spread blanket to know that the man was dead. The amount of blood visible could only come from a fatal wound. Antonie felt slightly ill. The man's death had been messy and she could not help but wonder if that had been intentional.

“Raoul,” she whispered, turning away and striding back into the sheriff's office.

“You all right, Antonie?” Royal asked gently as he joined her.

"Sí.
Just a little sick feeling. It passes."

“You said something, ma'am?” the sheriff asked as he sat at his desk.

“You sit down, Antonie,” Royal urged her. “You look a little pale. I can answer any questions."

She nodded and sat down. It puzzled her that her stomach should be so sensitive. She was no stranger to death even at its most gruesome, although she was usually spared the worst. Idly, she wondered if being with Royal was softening her in some way.

“I heard a name,” the sheriff pressed.

“You did, Sheriff,” agreed Royal. “Raoul. Raoul Mendez. Heard of him?"

“Hell, yes. He ain't in this area. ‘Course the tales come up with the cowboys."

“Well, I'm afraid Mendez came this time."

“He's here?” the sheriff asked, frowning.

“I was surprised that he would get so far away from the border but, yes, he's here."

“He's the one trailing you. You mentioned it last night."

“He's trailing us, but someone is paying him to,” Royal added.

“Who?"

“That's what I've been trying to find out. No luck so far. How'd this happen?"

“Someone must've come to the cell window. Fool probably thought he was getting rescued. They shot him. Used a damn big gun, too. I heard him cry out, then there was a shot. Went running in and found a godawful mess. Shot him square in the face. No sign of who did it. I'm just waiting on the undertaker. Was he a Mexican
bandido?"
the sheriff asked quietly as he studied a fine watch.