Hannah Howell (37 page)

“Red hair, tall. Pretty.” His voice grew weaker as he lost his battle against encroaching death. “Collins.
Señorita
Collins."

“Well, there's your suspicions confirmed,” said Cole. “Dear Marilyn and her darling papa have been behind all this."

Royal shook his head. “The word of a dead
bandido
won't hang anyone for our parents’ murder, not when we're the only ones who heard it."

“Could do to scare them far enough away so that they can't bother us anymore."

“True, but they'll find other victims. Maybe there's something in the cabin."

“Let's finish this first. If anyone sees this mess, they'll know something ain't right."

“Think someone might be coming, Cole? More men?"

“Can't say. The only one who could've is dead now. It can't hurt to be careful though."

As he continued with the grisly work of hiding all signs of battle, Royal's mind was on Antonie. He had made a lot of mistakes with her. The biggest had been not taking an honest look at how he felt. Blindly he had stumbled along, thinking only of possession and need. Passion and jealousy had directed his every step.

Worse, in the back of his mind, he had never forgotten her background. He had not let her erase whatever taint there might have been, and there was no ignoring the fact that she had sensed that. It was undoubtedly the reason why she had been so quick to believe that he would make love to her one night and propose marriage to Marilyn the next morning.

Picking up a shovel, he joined Cole in digging a shallow grave, after searching the bodies for papers. There had been nothing. With Cole having worked for the law, their word might be enough to put the Collinses in jail, if not hang them. Royal still wanted hard proof to erase any chance of their slipping through the law's fingers. If all he accomplished was to run them out of the area, he knew he would always wonder who they were hurting.

“What are you going to do about Antonie?” Cole asked, interrupting Royal's dark thoughts.

“Hell, Cole, I'm not sure,” Royal admitted, “but she's damn well not going to go back to Mexico, and she's not marrying Tomás."

“You going to marry her?"

“Yes, even if I have to tie her up to get her before a preacher. Degas is a fine name but not for my child."

He wished he had as much confidence as he was able to put into his voice. Antonie could well be finished with him, and he could not really blame her if she was. Then again, she had never spoken of love either. What had led her into his arms had been “the fire” as she had called it, and for all he knew, that fire could have fizzled out.

When he went back into the cabin, he prepared some coffee. Cole had gone to relieve Justin, who was bringing most of the horses to the cabin. No one had eaten since last night and Royal, with what he could find in the place, began to make breakfast. That started, he brought coffee in to Antonie, O'Neill, and Oro.

“Ah, this tastes much better than the warm tequila which Raoul serves,” Antonie sighed after savoring a mouthful of coffee.

“How's it look, O'Neill?” Royal sat down on the other bed.

“She will heal,” O'Neill replied. “With luck these shallow cuts will not scar."

“I am getting a very big collection, eh?” Antonie winked at a grinning O'Neill. “Add the one on my arm and the one under my ribs and that could make five."

“Which is five too many,” Royal grumbled. “How is the baby?"

“A man of great subtlety,” Antonie murmured, causing O'Neill and Oro to laugh quietly. “The child is fine."

“Are you sure, lass?” O'Neill asked, frowning at her. “That is the one thing that needs watching. No pain or pressure?"

“No, O'Neill,” Antonie replied. “The child moves even now. It is well settled."

“How settled?” Royal asked, fighting the urge to put his hand on her abdomen and to feel his child himself.

“You think now maybe it is yours?” Antonie snapped.

“Don't be an ass. It would be nice to know just when I'll become a father."

“In a little less than three months,” she muttered, her weariness and the situation with Marilyn making her short-tempered.

“Good God,” Royal breathed, realizing that that took them back to the first night or shortly thereafter.

For a moment his thoughts were sidetracked. With all the trouble and the cattle drive, he had not realized how time had slipped by. His thoughts then became a hasty cataloging of all that had occurred during that time.

She had done a lot of hard riding, spent hours in the saddle, been shot at, been hit, and on and on. Through all that she had been carrying their child. Antonie had been carrying on like a ranch hand and a hired gun at a time when a woman should be coddled and cared for. She could not only have lost their child, but done herself a great deal of harm.

“You are sure you have so little time left?” Oro asked while Royal was caught up in his thoughts. “It does not show at all."

"Sí.
When I got to thinking back, that is the length of time I came up with."

“You went on a long, hard cattle drive while pregnant?” Royal snapped.

“I did not know I was with child when I went."

“Well, just when did it occur to you?"

“There is no need to be sarcastic. What do I know of these things?"

“You must have noticed something."

Antonie scowled at Royal, wondering what was putting him in such a temper. She was the one in pain. It seemed to her typical of a man to think that, just because she was a woman, she should know certain things, things no one had ever told her.

“I noticed a thing or two, but there could be many reasons for these things, eh? How am I to know my stomach thickens not from too much food but from a baby? You think Juan or Manuel or Julio or Oro or Tomás or any of the other
bandidos
sit me down to say, ‘Antonie, this is what will happen if you get with child?’ Did you?"

“Enough. You made your point.” Not ready to give up, Royal added, “You could have talked with a woman when, well, when things started to happen that had nothing to do with whether you were eating well."

“I did, after the drive, when I got back to the ranch. Stop yelling at me."

“I'm not yelling."

"Sí.
You are. Between your teeth and quietly.” She flashed a glare at the laughing Oro and O'Neill. “Why did
you
not notice?"

Royal felt a light color seep into his cheeks. He should have noticed something. Despite all the misunderstandings that had kept them apart for a time, there should have been an interval here and there when nature put a short halt to their enjoyment of each other.

“She has you there, laddie,” O'Neill said jovially, then ignoring Royal's scowl, turned to ask Antonie, “Got a name for the babe?"

"Sí,
I have, O'Neill. I will call my son Juan Ramirez.” Her eyes narrowed when she saw Royal's expression. “You do not like that?"

“You're spoiling for a fight, aren't you, darlin',” O'Neill murmured, laughter trembling in his deep voice.

“Juan is a fine name,” Royal snapped. “Juan Ramirez would be a fine name, too, if it did not belong to the most notorious
bandido
in Mexico. I will not have my child named after a
bandido
who was one of the most wanted men for over a thousand miles around."

"Sí,"
Antonie replied, anger tightening her voice. “He was the best. And, this is my child and I will name him what I want.” Her look dared him to argue.

It was a dare that Royal was preparing to heartily accept when Justin suddenly walked in, saying grimly, “Someone's headed this way."

“One rider,” Cole said as he followed Justin in. “I think you can guess,” he added with a meaningful look at Royal.

“Now maybe we can get our proof.” Royal started toward the door.

“One sight of you fellows and whoever it is will be off before you can blink,” O'Neill said, stopping Royal's confident advance.

Royal frowned at O'Neill, knowing what the man said was true. “You have any suggestions?"

“I do. You stay hidden here and I will meet this envoy.” O'Neill stood up and dried his hands. “The only ones of Raoul's men I knew are lying out there. No one knows me around here. I also think I look suitably rough and nasty."

“Only to those who don't know you,” Antonie said with a small smile.

“You think you can convince the one coming well enough to get some information?” Royal asked.

“Royal, this
gringo
before you could sell a glass of water to a drowning man,” Oro said. “He also knows enough about
bandidos
and their ways to act like one. Even if the one who comes did not know you, none of you could do that."

“I reckon you're right.” Royal sat back down. “I want a confession."

“Get you as much of one as I can,” O'Neill assured him. “Any hard proof as well, I suspect."

“The paper to hang them with would be wonderful. I'll settle for whatever you can get, O'Neill. A confrontation will at least send them to their heels. Hard proof will put them where they can't pull this stunt again, and that would be fine indeed."

“Aye, and I'll do my best to get it. I've an idea or two on what'll suit. Not a sound out of you, no matter what you hear. Just keep in mind that I'm playing me a game or two. I've got to convince this person that I'm one of Raoul's mad dogs, and if I do it right it just might be convincing you, too.” As he went out of the door, he paused and added, “If this is a false alarm or anything goes wrong, I'll be sure to let you know."

Shutting the door, he went into the other room only to hastily return with most of the breakfast Royal had begun. Returning to the outer room, he settled himself at the table with a small breakfast and a cup of coffee. As he waited, he tossed around a few ideas on how to conduct himself.

Within the small room, Royal took O'Neill's place on the bed by Antonie. Cole and Justin settled themselves on the other bed. They all ate quietly and quickly, finishing by the time the rider reached the cabin. Everyone watched the door, their bodies tensed as they listened closely. Antonie watched Royal move to the door. She, too, was tense but not only because of what was to happen. She felt that Royal knew who was coming and she dreaded watching how he would react.

Twenty-four

O'Neill hid his surprise when a slim, lovely redhead entered the cabin. He met her narrow-eyed look with perfect outward calm as his mind worked feverishly. Things fell into place suddenly and he nearly smiled. Instinct told him that this was the woman responsible for the trouble between Royal and Antonie.

“Who the hell are you?” Marilyn snapped, her gaze moving over O'Neill with an appreciation she was not able to hide.

“Liam O'Neill, ma'am. And you?"

“Where's Raoul?"

“Ain't here. Waiting for him myself."

“No one's here?"

“Just you and me, darlin'."

She preened slightly beneath his leer. “I've never seen you with Raoul before."

“I been resting, you might say."

“Really. Perhaps I don't believe you."

Liam suddenly grabbed her arm, twisting it in a way that brought her to her knees by his chair, an intimidating action that succeeded in cracking her cool facade a little. “No one calls Liam O'Neill a liar."

Marilyn's cool facade was slipping, but not because of fear. Here was a man she knew could display all of the refinement of a fine gentleman, yet also knew how to display his superior strength to a woman. He could give her all the subtlety that Raoul and his ilk lacked. In this man, she could have the best of both worlds, the gentlemanly airs her station in life required, and the brutality her body craved. Simply the thought of such a combination was a heady one.

“He couldn't leave,” she protested. “There was a job he needed to do first."

“Ah, you mean killing that little bitch of Juan's."

“Yes, he said he would do it."

“Done. He didn't leave the bitch on the cross here for few'd see her. He's gone to put her where notice'll be taken."

“At Royal's doorstep.” She could not hide how she savored the thought. “Did she take a long time to die?” There was a pleased, even eager, tone to her voice.

“Well, now, he did say something ‘bout that. Said she'd proven to be all he would have expected of Juan's
niña.
Reckon that means she lasted a long time.” He hid his disgust when he saw how that news actually aroused the woman.

“God, I wish I had been there to see it. When will Raoul return?"

“He didn't say. He told me to make myself at home."

“That does not include me."

“No? That ain't how he put it."

“That pig forced me to pleasure him and his men. Look, I brought the last of the money, but he promised me proof."

“Looks a healthy sum. You really wanted her dead, didn't you,” O'Neill drawled.

“Yes,” Marilyn hissed, “and I wanted to see it. I wanted proof."

“The blood on the ground beneath the cross should be proof enough. Now, Raoul, he told me you always gave a—shall we say—bonus. I'm thinking I'll collect it this time."

“No,” Marilyn struggled when he grasped hold of her but was careful not to break his grip. “You can't force me to play your whore."

Seeing how her gaze kept flicking to his groin, Liam demanded, “Can't I, darlin'? Raoul told me you like it rough and often."

“Get your filthy hands off me."

Antonie watched Royal as Marilyn made her protests, protests Antonie knew to be false. His gaze was riveted to the door and a frown darkened his features. She could not, however, discern just what the frown meant.

Royal was struggling with indecision. He wanted a confession and told himself that Marilyn deserved no consideration. His gentlemanly instincts were aroused, however, by what sounded like treatment too rough for a woman. Cursing softly, he wished he could see Marilyn's face through the battered door. Then he would know how to act. But what he heard next swiftly killed any doubt.

“Tell me how he does it,” Marilyn urged.

“You'd like to hear that, would you?"

O'Neill's descriptions of Raoul's tortures made Antonie shudder, for she had come too close to personally enduring them. Oro's hold on her tightened in sympathy. She tried hard to concentrate on what was being said, to heed every word of the confession O'Neill was leading Marilyn into.