The Barefoot Bride (59 page)

"A woman." She stood to clear the table, struggled briefly with the strange gloom she felt, and smiled when it vanished. It was the present that counted, she reminded herself, and today Sterling was still here. Tomorrow would bring about its own difficulties, and she saw no reason to worry about them until they arrived. "Well, Sterling, that woman, whoever she may be, will just have to wait. You can't go to Tucson. Not now."

He turned from the window and saw she was calmly rinsing the dishes. He noticed her oh-so-sure-of-herself grin too. "You listen to me, you hotheaded, presumptuous little spitfire!" He strode quickly toward her. "You aren't going to dictate to me! You don't own me, and I have no obligation whatsoever to you or those heathen children. I must have been as stark raving mad as you to have even spent the night here! But stay long enough to challenge, battle, and conquer your villain with one hand and rebuild your shack with the other? Ha!
That's
a fantasy that I assure you will never come true!"

She looked at him and arched her eyebrow. "You won't leave me. You just won't do it."

Her calm certainty... the serene, confident glow in her gaze made him even more determined to leave. "I won't leave, huh?"

The color of his eyes was the dark, scary gray of the sky just before a terrible storm hit, and she was reminded again of the tremendous strength locked within his powerfully built body. A shiver of fear coursed through her, robbing her of speech. She shook her head instead.

"Yeah? Well, open wide those whiskey-brown eyes of yours, Chimera, and watch me!" With that, he stormed from the cabin and charged toward Gus. Jerking his saddle and bridle from a haystack, he threw the tack on the horse and tightened, buckled, and tied everything with lightning-fast speed. Mindless of the fact he only wore too-short trousers and a frilly shawl-skirt, he mounted and rode out of the yard at a full gallop, not even bothering to head in the direction of the stream where he'd left his boots. He'd buy some elsewhere.

"Gnomes," he mumbled as Gus raced down the forest path. "Werewolves," he muttered as he passed the tree from which he'd hung yesterday. "Truth potion, snore potion, rabbit potion. Lizard tails, Aristotle, and a camel. Cow tinkle. Cow tinkle, Gus! Of all the preposterous... harebrained, lunatic, demented... crazy—"

A sudden movement ahead cut off his tirade. Gus reared in fright. "Dammit, Gus—"

Again, he stopped short. Staring straight at him, their gazes black, fierce, and unblinking, were three mounted Apache warriors, their war clubs clutched tightly within their bronzed hands. Sterling, motionless in the saddle, his heart pounding, stared back at them, silently daring them to make a move toward him. When not a one of them responded to the challenge in his silver eyes, he eased his hand carefully toward his gun.

But before he even touched the pistol, the Indians turned their horses and disappeared into the thick forest. A ragged breath escaped Sterling, and it was a very long time before he was able to concentrate on anything but the harrowing experience. Slowly it dawned on him that the Indians had been very near Chimera's cabin. And there was only one reason he could think of for their close proximity.

The Apache baby.

But how the hell did they know about Venus? Sterling was sure he'd been completely alone when he'd delivered and traveled with her yesterday. Yesterday? Hell, so much had happened to him, yesterday already seemed like years ago.

He twisted in the saddle and looked down the path that led to the cabin. Another tremendous sigh escaped him when he realized what he had to do.

He couldn't leave Chimera.
He'd
brought Venus to her, and it was
his
responsibility to make sure the Indians didn't commit murder to get the child back. Because even if the Apaches didn't know about Venus now, it wouldn't be long before they did. She already looked just like an Indian. And she'd grow up looking more and more like one. "Well, hell, Sterling!" he swore at himself. "She
is
an Indian!"

What if the whole damn tribe returned? How was he going to hold them off single-handedly? Sure, he could return the baby to them, but after they had her, he'd probably lose his scalp in reward for his efforts.

The only solution he could think of was to wait until Venus was older, stronger, and then take her to San Francisco de Sales, the orphanage in Sonora where he'd grown up. He hated the thought of returning when he'd only recently left, but what choice did he have? He sure as hell didn't want to take the baby to Tucson, and leaving her with Chimera was too dangerous.

But staying with Chimera until Venus was old enough to make the trip down to Sonora?
Dios mio,
he prayed.
Why did You let this happen to me?

"Damn, damn, damn!" he shouted at the treetops. "I'll have Apaches breathing down my neck, Gus. Sprague's thugs will be back. That man-eating camel is out for my blood. The triplets are going to make it their lives' work to torture me. And Chimera..."

Chimera, at this very moment, Sterling knew without a shadow of a doubt, was chanting some ridiculous spell designed to bring about his return. He'd ride into the yard, she'd smile smugly, and tell him her magic had brought him back. Then she'd start instructing him on how she wanted the cabin built. She'd talk incessantly, veering so far off her subject so many times that Sterling was certain he'd have lost what little wits he still possessed before sunset.

Urging Gus toward Misfit Mansion, a name he decided suited the broken-down cabin, he realized Chimera's prophecy had come true.

Tucson would have to wait.

And the woman who lived there... the woman who'd given him life and left him at the orphanage... the woman he wanted to love... the woman he hoped beyond hope would love him too...

His mother, the woman who could give him his true and inherited identity, who could fill the emptiness inside him, would have to wait too.

Chapter 4

Everett Sprague swiped his fingers through the graying tufts of hair at his temples, then slammed his hairy fist onto the polished surface of his massive desk. His fleshy face purpled with rage, he spun on his heel and looked out the window, his gaze sweeping across his ranch.

His hired man, Willard, shuffled uneasily, his boots smearing black mud on the ivory rug. "Mr. Sprague, sir," he began, twisting his hat between his sweaty fingers, "I ain't lyin'. I tell you, as soon as she finished chantin' that spell, my gun exploded outta my hand!"

Everett turned and glared at him. "Are you saying you believe in magic, Willy?"

Willard turned away from Everett's pale, malicious eyes. "I—I don't know what to think, sir. She—"

"Has help, you idiot! Whoever owns the horse you saw tied up in front of her cabin was obviously hidden from sight!
He
shot your gun, Willard. And as for the magic... that woman cast a spell over you, all right. A spell for stupidity! You're more of an imbecile now than you were when you left here this morning!"

Willard looked at everything in the room but Everett. The Spragues had to be the richest people in the entire world, he thought, staring at the luxurious furnishings Everett's wife, Hazel, had brought from the east. Their ranch, the Dragoon Diamond, so named because the boundaries formed a perfect diamond shape, was one of the largest around. They owned the best cattle, the best horses, the best everything. They already had what most folks only fantasized about having.

But Everett desired more, Willard knew. He demanded Willard help him get it, and Willard wanted the money Everett had promised him for convincing the wild woman to sell. But somehow he had to convince Everett to give him more time. "Mr. Sprague, she might have a lawman there with her. Y'know I'm wanted in Texas. I can't take those kinds of chances, sir, but what I can do is keep an eye on the place and find out who's stayin' with her." He hated bargaining with the son of a bitch, but there was no escaping from beneath Sprague's thumb.

Everett sat down in his overstuffed leather chair and lit a fat cigar the size of his own fingers. "You'll do more than keep an eye on the place, Willy. You and a few of the men will go back, kill the man who's with her, and then begin carrying out my threats."

"But—"

"I want her to lose everything. Not all at once, but little by little. It'll scare her, you see. She'll wonder where I'll strike next. She'll be terrified for the safety of those brats she's raising. Today you and a group of my other men can ride back out and shake them up. Every week or so, make some other kind of catastrophe happen. After a little of that, when there's nothing left for her to lose and she realizes she can't beat me, she'll sell. She may even be so scared she'll leave without bothering to sell. She's pushed me too far, and I want her to suffer for denying me what I want."

"But what will people—"

"What people?" Everett asked, and smashed his cigar into a crystal ashtray. "There aren't any people nearby except the Apache. They can't be considered people, and whoever heard of them helping a white woman anyway? And even if she should go for help at some settlement, who'd believe her story? Most folks think she's crazy. Who'll listen to a madwoman? The others who believe in her sorcery are afraid of her. They won't stay around her long enough to hear her out, and they certainly won't come to her aid. She has no one. She's at my mercy, and she'll soon learn I have no mercy."

"But the man—"

"Kill him. You don't have any qualms about doing that, do you, Willy? If you do, they must be recent ones. You murdered... how many was it? Seven people in Texas?"

"In self-defense. It was in self—"

"Of course," Everett cut in with a knowing nod. "You had to defend yourself. I understand. And I sympathize with you. How dare those bankers, customers, and guards try to overcome you when all you wanted was to rob the bank? What's this world coming to when thieves can't go about their business without people getting in their way?"

Willard hung his head and fought his fury. Sprague had seen his wanted poster during a cattle-purchasing trip to Texas, and now he knew all about what had happened there. Willard had to do exactly as the bastard said or risk being turned over to the Texas lawmen. Running was useless. Sprague would have him hunted to the ends of the earth. But the man had sworn to keep Willard's whereabouts a secret as long as Willard continued do his bidding. But dammit, messing around with that witch... she was magic, and no one was going to convince him otherwise.

"Sir?" he faltered. "If you don't mind me askin', why's her land so important to you? It ain't any different from what you already own. And Mr. Sprague, sir, it... well, it might be haunted! I didn't believe in none of it before, but—Sir, before she cast that spell, she was singin' some eerie song over that pot—"

"Willy?" Everett said, and withdrew a pistol from his desk drawer. "Get going before my bullet sings an eerie song right through your heart."

Willard could not leave the room fast enough. In his haste, he ran right into Hazel Sprague. Mumbling an apology, he whisked past her and down the hall.

Hazel could not suppress a shiver. Willard was a frightening man. His face was oily and deeply pitted. Hazel usually avoided him, which wasn't difficult since his distinctive hair with its stark white streak could be seen from far away. He said the hair had turned white after a black widow spider had bitten his scalp, but Hazel didn't believe that story. The white streak of hair was a sign of the devil, to her way of thinking.

She turned back into the room, her gaze instantly drawn to her thick carpet. "Well, just look at the mud that son of Satan tracked all over my grandmother's rug! Everett—"

"I've got more important things to do than discuss your grandmother's damn rug, Hazel. Now go back to doing whatever the hell it is you do and leave me alone. I've got work to do." He replaced the gun in his drawer and took out another object.

Hazel stared at the gleaming silver necklace her husband held. Nervously, she patted her graying hair, then wrung her hands. "The treasure. You never think of anything else." She pulled a white handkerchief from the pocket of her gown, and, as was her habit when she was upset, she began dusting the furniture. "I still say you should forget about it. That necklace might not be part of any treasure at all! Just because you found it on that old hag's land doesn't mean the rumors about her buried fortune are true. Someone—
anyone—
could've dropped it!"

"Hazel, how many times have we argued about this? It's part of the gypsy treasure, I tell you! The rumors are true! That old crone, Xenia, buried a fortune of silver on that miserable piece of land, and I'm going to find it!"

He stepped around the desk, stopped directly in front of his wife, and thrust the necklace under her nose. "Look at it, Hazel! Does it look like something someone would just
drop?
It's solid silver! Where and how that gypsy hag found it is beyond me, but I've heard enough about gypsies to know that thousands of them have been roaming the world for centuries! They probably string across this entire earth!"