Rainbows and Rapture (44 page)

“Russia?” Santiago prodded, baffled by her sudden silence.

She closed her eyes for a moment, dwelling on the reasons she’d let her ox go. She’d wanted the best for
him
, had wanted him to be happy.

Did Santiago, the man she loved beyond reason, deserve any less?

Pain tore through her. She hated her train of thought, wanted to erase it from her mind, and tried to think of something else. Something happy.

Happy.
And they lived happily ever after.
The line seemed congealed in her brain, frosting over everything else she tried to think of.

“Russia.” Santiago lifted her face again. “Open your eyes,
querida
. Look at me.”

She kept them closed for a few seconds longer, knowing that when she opened them, sorrow would completely overcome her. She’d see him. Her prince.

And who would he see? Not the virtuous woman of his dreams, but a whore. Worse, a whore who could never bear him the children he’d professed to want.

He would not see his princess.

“Russia?”

Slowly, she raised her eyes to him. “This,” she murmured, “is the story of Cinderella.” She couldn’t seem to think of anything else to say.

He saw her hand smooth across the page. She couldn’t read, so how did she know what story it was? Moreover, why were her beautiful eyes brimming with sorrow? “How do you know that’s Cinderella?” he asked softly.

She looked at the book, pointing to the dark smudges on the page. “These come from you. From your hands.”

He saw the black marks and stiffened.

She bent her head lower, relieved when her hair cascaded around her, veiling her face, concealing the tears that fell despite her efforts to keep them back. “Where is…Calavera?” she whispered, her heart in her throat. “Is it very far away?”

His mind spun. In seconds, his thoughts all came together, forming a solid and icy block of frigid comprehension. “Anxious to get there?” he asked, his voice as cold as his realization.

Her head still bowed, she made herself nod. “How soon will we git there? We been goin’ so slow, and— We gotta find Wirt. We—we need to hurry.”

“And why is that, Russia?” he bit out. His jaw clenched tightly. He already suspected the reason behind her wish to hurry, but some dark and morbid thing inside him wanted to hear her say it.

Russia cringed inwardly, knowing the words she was about to say would haunt her forever. “We gotta hurry,” she whispered, “because—because we got lives to git on with. Yours…out there in that big ole world, Santiago. And mine? I—” She broke off, trying desperately to invent grand plans for her future.

“Settle down,” she exclaimed shakily. “That’s what I aim to do, y’see. Once Wirt ain’t in the way no more, I ain’t never gonna be on the run again.”

“And where will you go?” To his own ears, his question had the sting of a thousand whips.

She couldn’t look at him. He’d see her tears. “Go?” God, where
would
she go? she wondered, frantic to give him some feasible answer. “I— Um…Whisperin’ Oaks,” she blurted out suddenly, the town the only one she could think of. “Yeah, Whisperin’ Oaks. That’s where I’ll go.”

His body rigid with fury, Santiago rose. He’d hoped so hard that she’d forget Ben Clayton. That what they’d shared would make a difference in their relationship. He’d begun to think it had. He’d allowed himself to believe it had.

He knew now it hadn’t. Glancing quickly at her book, he saw the black marks on the white pages. He saw, too, the dirt beneath his nails.

“Mount,” he ordered, his voice harsh with rage, scalded with hot bitterness. “We’ll ride fast and arrive in Calavera by late this afternoon.”

* * *

Calavera. From a distance it seemed to push out of the ground like some ugly thing from hell. As Santiago watched it come closer, his finely honed instincts warned him that the devil himself lay in wait within it.

He cast a quick look back at Russia. She lay low over her mare’s neck, and he knew she was exhausted.

He’d pushed the horses hard and fast. She hadn’t fallen off once. Not once. No doubt it was her desire to get all of this over and done with that had kept her in the saddle, he seethed. After all, she had a wedding to attend. A happily-ever-after to live in Whispering Oaks.

With her dear Prince Charming.

He twisted back around in the saddle, urging Quetzalcoatl into an even faster gallop. The stallion’s pounding hooves sent sharp pebbles and hard clods of dirt everywhere. Viciously, they peppered Santiago’s face. He didn’t resist the pain of the stings. It was far less brutal than the horrible pain in his heart.

His thundering arrival into Calavera caused a scurry of chaos. People took one look at him and began to run. Women and children hurried into the safety of buildings, and several men raced toward the marshal’s office. The street was completely empty in minutes.

As he dismounted, Santiago watched the townsfolk disappear and concluded that they believed he’d come to murder them all. The grisly tales about him had apparently found their way there.

He didn’t give a damn. He would never again give a damn about anything.

Without Russia, nothing would matter. Nothing.

He heard her mare stop behind him. Heard her dismount. He refused to turn around and look at her. “Go to the marshal’s office and stay there,” he told her, his eyes scanning the small, dusty town. He saw a few listless mules and several patches of wilted weeds, but other than that, there was no sign of life. The sight suited his black mood. “Explain to him that I’ve come for Wirt Avery and that I won’t be stopped. Not by him or anyone else. Stay there until I come to get you. Until—until I’m finished.” His actions jerky, he tied the horses to the hitching post and began checking his weapons.

Russia examined her surroundings, wondering where everyone was. “Santiago, you don’t know what Wirt looks like. You cain’t—”

“I can. This town’s not big. I’ll find Avery in a matter of—”

“You ain’t even sure he’s here. How—”

“He’s here.”

Her eyes widened. “How—How do you know?”

“Don’t doubt me, Russia. The marshal’s office is across the street. Go there. Now.”

She didn’t want to leave him. Soon she’d be separated from him forever, and she wanted every minute she had left with him. “Why do I have to go to the marshal’s office?”

Finally, he turned and faced her. The sight of her made him feel weak with emotion. It was for her own safety that he wanted her sheltered in the lawman’s office. God only knew what kind of violence Wirt Avery was capable of causing before dying. “Do as I say.”

Though he’d spoken the command softly, Russia heard the hard danger beneath it. Mutely, she watched as he examined his guns. The cold efficiency with which he handled those steel revolvers frightened her. There was nothing gentle at all about him now. He was not the man she knew.

This was the gunslinger who never missed his target.

This was Santiago Zamora, the legend.

She knew then that Wirt Avery was, indeed, in Calavera. “How long—”

“As long as it takes him to die. Now go do what I told you.”

Realizing he’d dismissed her for the final time and that he would hear no more from her, she turned and walked across the street. When she reached the steps that led to the marshal’s office, the door swung open.

She stopped, so shocked that she stopped breathing.

Marshal Cobbett Wilkens smiled. “We meet again.”

Russia felt a lurch of dark apprehension. Something was wrong here. She reached for the porch post.

But it was Santiago’s arrival by her side that steadied her, kept her from falling. She realized he must have recognized the Rock Springs lawman. “Santiago,” she whispered fearfully, “what’s he doin’ here in—”

“Recognize me, Zamora?” Marshal Wilkens cut her off.

Santiago tightened his hold around Russia’s waist. His eyes narrowing, he stared at the marshal and the five armed men who stood with him. A sound came from behind him. The sound of bootheels striking the hard dirt street. A sickening sense of foreboding permeated his entire being.

He and Russia were completely surrounded.

“Lay down your weapons, Zamora,” Marshal Wilkens ordered, his thin lips curling. “You’re under arrest.”

“Arrest?” Russia shouted. “What—”

“Russia,” Santiago mumbled into her ear, “be quiet. Don’t say another word.” When she obeyed, he pierced the marshal with another penetrating glare.

The perilous depths and dangerous glitter in Santiago’s black eyes caused Marshal Wilkens to take a step backward. It was a moment before he got hold of his fear, a moment before he remembered there were twelve armed men on his side. He threw back his shoulders and raised his hand.

One look at the drawing pinched between the marshal’s bony fingers erased every shred of confusion from Santiago’s mind. In that instant, he knew every detail of the scheme Wirt Avery had obviously worked. He arched an ebony brow and looked back at the marshal. “It’s a fake, and you damn well know it,” he said calmly.

Marshal Wilkens was stunned by Santiago’s cool demeanor. Did the man possess even a hint of fear? “I know nothing of the sort, Zamora. Throw down your weapons, or I’ll be forced to shoot you through your black heart.”

Russia gasped, choking on her quick breath and terrible fear. “Dear God, no! Santiago—”

Quickly, he laid his hand across her mouth, quieting her. After a brief silence, he heard what seemed like thousands of gun hammers clicking. They clicked softly, but the sound roared in Santiago ‘s ears like cannon fire. If he were alone, he’d be tempted to shoot his way out of his predicament. But he wasn’t alone. Russia stood beside him. The thought of a stray bullet hitting her made him sick inside.
Santa Maria
, what was he going to do?

“Worried about your whore, Zamora?” Marshal Wilkens taunted. “There’s no need to be. None at all. Her loving father is here. He wants to reform her, you understand,” he explained, not for Santiago’s benefit, but for that of the townsmen around him. “He plans to take her home where she belongs. Any devoted father would do that for his daughter. It’s the right thing to do. The
only
thing to do, and I pray he’s successful. Mr. Avery? Come collect your daughter.”

Hideous fear engulfed Russia as she watched the marshal and his men move to the side, allowing another man room to pass. Her eyes locked on pale blue ones. Set in a fleshy face covered with filthy red hair, they glowed with twisted happiness, pulsing excitement. With unmistakable lust.

“Come to Papa, darlin’,” Wirt urged, holding out his huge hands to her. “Come to yer sweet ole papa.”

She tried to scream, but gagged instead. Burying her face in Santiago’s shirt, she searched desperately for some comforting thing. Wildly, she sought his scent, that special fragrance that would make her feel safe.

She couldn’t find it. She smelled Wirt. Nausea welled, gagging her again. “Don’t let me go,” she whispered into Santiago’s chest. “Don’t let me go, please don’t, please don’t, please—”

“Make him let go of her, Marshal!” Wirt shouted. “God Almighty, I want to hold her so bad, my arms is shakin’ somethin’ fierce!”

“Take your daughter, Mr. Avery,” Marshal Wilkens said compliantly. “Go and get her.”

Santiago raised his Colt. “Another step, Avery, and I’ll send a bullet through your—”

“She’s mine, Zamora!” Wirt exploded. “My daughter!”

Marshal Wilkens advanced. “Let her go, Zamora.”

Russia felt all the strength leave her body. She sagged against Santiago, panting in terror. “Santiago, please. Please.”

Her plea squeezed around his heart. He glared at Marshal Wilkens again. “I’ll see you in hell if you go through with this.”

Reminding himself that he had the upper hand, the marshal managed to resist the heart-stopping fear caused by Santiago’s softly spoken warning. He raised his chin. “Let the girl go, Zamora.”

“And if I refuse?”

Marshal Wilkens smiled, then pushed his hat back with the tip of his finger. “Then we’ll shoot you.” He raised his rifle again, his action imitated by all the men who stood with him.

Santiago kept his Colts steady.

The marshal’s men walked nearer. So close that Santiago could see the pores on their faces. Gun barrels pushed into every available spot on his body. Some wide, some small, all lethal. He even felt a knife at his throat. A trickle of blood dripped down his neck.

Russia clung to him like his own skin. Her body shook uncontrollably, and he felt her hot tears drenching his chest. The need to hold and protect her seared into him, but he forced himself to remain still when he saw what Marshal Wilkens was doing.

Discreetly, the smiling lawman held a shining silver pistol to Russia’s side, moving the gun so that Santiago couldn’t miss seeing it. He knew then that the bastard would give the order to shoot. Every bullet fired would be aimed at his own body. Every bullet save the one from the marshal’s shining silver pistol. That one would end Russia’s life.

His surrender was his only way of saving her.

He didn’t resist when one of the men disarmed him. He put up no fight when another man yanked his hands behind his back and bound them tightly. Only when Russia lifted her face and gazed into his eyes did he move. He bent to kiss her.

Just as his lips touched hers, Russia felt herself being torn away from him. The fat arms that curled around her then brought back remembered horrors.
“Santiago!”

Her plea for his aid—aid he had no way of giving her—chilled him to the very marrow of his bones. “I’ll find you, Russia,” he swore softly. “Wherever he takes you, I’ll find you.”

Marshal Wilkens bit back a smile. “I’m afraid that’s one vow you won’t be able to keep, Zamora. That is, unless you have the power to come back from the grave. Calavera isn’t big enough to hold you, and it’s my duty to see that all its citizens are safe. The only way I can do that is by making sure you’re dead. The fact that you refused to lay down your weapons when under arrest proves what a danger you are. Men? Do you agree with me?”