The Outlaw and the Lady (22 page)

“You call her ‘sweetling,’” he said quietly as Kit approached.

“Yes.”

Nodding, Damon lifted his head. “We lived in a house with stairs.”

“Yes.”

“I had a…a gray horse…”

“Merlin.”

“I was a knight.”

“Yes. Sir Ravenleigh. We used to go to Fortune each summer for a jousting tournament, a ritual we started the first year that Harry, Gray, and I came to Texas.”

Damon held his gaze. “I cannot tell you why I killed Floyd Shelby. I can only tell you that I have thought about that moment a thousand times, and if I had it to do over…I would still kill him.”

“By shooting him in the back?”

“Any way that I had to in order to get the job done.”

Kit nodded. “Very well. I need to get you back to the jail.”

Damon fell into step beside him as they left the room and walked out of the hotel. “I don’t suppose you would consider releasing my brothers. They are harmless.”

“I put them behind bars for their protection. I’ve made several inquiries and it seems Shelby succeeded at convincing everyone in town that your family was a pack of thieves.”

“Rodriguez!”

Kit swung around at the angry voice bellowing from down the boardwalk. A short, stocky man strode up to them, his ruddy cheeks so red that Kit feared he’d have an apoplectic fit at any moment.

“Vernon Shelby,” Damon said beneath his breath.

“Ought to be a law against a man diggin’ his own grave and then not lyin’ in it. I want my money, every penny you stole from me, you son of a bitch!”

Kit was amazed at how calm his son remained in the presence of this highly agitated man.

“I do not have it,” Damon said in an even voice. “You stole our land. Land Houston granted our grandfather for his help in Texas’s fight for independence.”

“You don’t honestly expect anyone to believe that, do you?” Shelby roared. “They’re Mexicans! Who the hell do you think Sam Houston was fighting?”

“You would be wise not to open your mouth to speak, because when you do, you show your ignorance. Not all Mexicans fought with Santa Anna. Some wanted what a free Texas would provide. Three signed the Texas Declaration of Independence. Seven died defending the Alamo. They risked much for freedom, just as our grandfather
did. What did you risk, Shelby, when you never touched Texas soil before 1880?”

“Boy, you’ve always had a smart mouth. You’re gonna tell me where my money is, and you’re gonna tell me who told you where to find it!” With arms flailing, the man lunged at Damon.

Kit grabbed him, threw him to the ground, and stood over him. He heard the cocking of a rifle and knew Sean was nearby. “I’m Captain Montgomery, Texas Rangers. You’ll not strike this prisoner.”

The man struggled to his feet. “I don’t give a good goddamn who you are. I’m Vernon Shelby, and I have powerful friends in this state.”

“So do I,” Kit said in a silky voice. “Don’t underestimate my influence.”

Shelby jabbed his finger in the air at Damon. “Before you hang for murdering my son, you’ll tell me what I want to know. By God, you will.”

Kit watched him storm down the street. “I don’t much like that man.”

“Indeed,” Damon said with an astonishingly accurate British accent. “Then you would have despised his son.”

T
he day had passed painstakingly slowly. Lee paced the small confines of his cell. Ten steps one way. About-face. Ten more steps. He must have pivoted a thousand times since Montgomery had returned him to this hell.

“You know, boy, that pacing is about to drive me plumb
loco
,” Cartwright drawled.

“I’m not a boy,” Lee snapped.

He plowed his hands through his hair. The shortened strands ruffling across his fingers reminded him of Angela. He did not want to think of her, the dark circles beneath her lovely eyes, her gaunt cheeks that made it look as though she was losing weight.

He started pacing again. “What is Montgomery up to?”

“Reckon he’ll tell us when he’s good and ready.”

Lee came to an abrupt halt and glared at Roberto. “When was Jorge going to put his magnificent plan into action?”

Roberto shrugged and raised his hands.

Lee sank onto the cot. “I need to get out of here, to find out what Jorge is thinking.”

The far door creaked on its hinges. Lee bolted to his feet and wrapped his hands around the bars. If it was Montgomery, maybe he could convince him to release him. Disappointment reeled through him as Spence walked into the room. Lee certainly had no desire to see this man. He dropped back onto the cot.

“I’ll take a watch for a spell,” Spence said as he sauntered toward the chair.

Cartwright stood and stretched. “’Preciate it. How long you want?”

“Just come back when you’re ready.” Spence sat in the chair without making a sound as Cartwright closed the door in his wake.

Like a gentleman, Lee thought derisively.

“Well, brother, this is cozy, isn’t it?” Spence asked.

Lee’s stomach clenched. He still found it difficult to think of a family other than the Rodriguez family belonging to him. “I am not your brother.”

“How I wish that statement were true. I’ve spent the last fifteen years living within the shadow cast by your disappearance, carrying the burden of being the eldest,” Spence said. “I was the heir presumptive to Ravenleigh, our family’s estate in England. Until we stumbled into you. Now I suppose that honor is yours.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Whether or not you want it, British law will insist that you take it.”

Lee unclenched his teeth. This man’s arrogant presence made his jaws ache. “Why are you here?”

“Curiosity. I wanted to again look at the man who deepened the lines in my father’s face and put the tears in my mother’s eyes.” He held Lee’s gaze. “I love my parents—our parents. Your death is likely to destroy them.”

“You should have thought of that before you conspired with Angela to betray me!”

Spence shot to his feet. “She was trying to save you, you bloody idiot! There were eleven of us. Do you honestly think you would have come away unscathed?”

“I prefer a bullet to a rope.”

“What of your brothers here? Do they prefer a bullet to life?”

Lee darted a glance at his brothers before meeting Spence’s stare. “I would not have let you kill them.”

“With at least eleven rifles trained on the house, twice that many pistols loaded, and men who weren’t afraid to use them, how in the bloody hell were you going to stop us?”

“I am very skilled with weapons.”

“So are we,” Spence said with deadly calm. “Now, tell me what would you have done?”

Lee backed up a step.

“To protect your sister and your youngest brother, what would you have done?” Spence asked.

Lee shook his head.

“To stop a single bullet from being fired into the house, what you would you have done?” Spence yelled.

“I would have surrendered!” Breathing heavily, Lee glared at the satisfied expression on Spence’s face.

“Exactly,” he said quietly. “Angela was afraid if we tried to take you at the house, your brothers would do something stupid. Considering the fact that you now are enjoying the company of two of them, I think her concerns were justified.” He took a step closer. “You didn’t see her when she made her decision to deliver you to us. I did. By God, she looked as though I’d plunged a rusty knife through her heart.”

Lee’s anger deflated, and his chest tightened until it ached. “She should not feel that way.”

“Tell her that, not me.”

“Where is she now?”

Spence shrugged. “It’s a little after ten. She’s probably in bed. If you don’t give me any trouble for the remainder of the night, I’ll send her over with breakfast in the morning.”

Lee shook his head. “I do not want her to visit me in here.”

“Understandable. Oh, by the way”—Spence reached inside his jacket—“Angela mentioned you were looking for a specific book, so while I was home, I looked around.” He extended a dime novel toward Lee.

Holding his breath, unable to believe it, Lee took the offering and, in awe, trailed his fingers
over the cover, over the words:
The Marshal Who Didn’t Wear a Gun
. “I have looked everywhere for this book.”

“And here you’ve owned a copy all along.”

Lee lifted his gaze. “I don’t understand.”

“Father gave that to you years ago. Look inside.”

Reverently, Lee folded back the cover and read the words.
“For my son Damon. May your journeys through life always lead you home. My love, Father.”

“Don’t believe everything you read,” Spence said.

Lee glanced up. “What?”

“Father has a tendency to laugh at the grandiose exploits they print about him.”

Lee didn’t care. He sat on the edge of the cot, still unable to believe that he was holding this book, that it was his. “Alejandro, Roberto, I am going to read to you.”

As he began to read, he realized that he’d heard the story before, long ago.

Angela strolled along the boardwalk, missing the stalwart wooden Indian, longing for the cacophony of sounds that spilled out of her father’s saloon. This town had a saloon, but she found no comfort in the din. Nothing was familiar, nothing calming. She concentrated on counting her steps. As long as she walked in a straight line, and pivoted at the end of the street, she should be able to find her way back to the hotel easily enough.

Not that she particularly wanted to return. She’d grown accustomed to sleeping with Lee,
longed to be held by him again, to feel the strength in his arms, the warmth of his breath, the steady pounding of his heart beneath her palm while his scent wafted around her. Only he wasn’t Lee; he was Damon.

She pressed a hand to her chest as the joy exploded within her, only to be shredded by the pain ripping through her. How could she have been so blind? She had fallen in love with a man four years younger than she was, a man who had been a boy whom she’d taken delight in, played with, and loved as an older sister loves a young sibling.

He had always seemed so familiar. Had her heart known all along?

And now, was her love that of a child for a child, or a woman for a man? Whichever it was, it was tearing her apart.

She had lost Damon once; she was losing him again. Her grief eclipsed what she’d felt before. She’d been a child then, but now she was a woman. She might lose him, but his family would not—neither family would lose him.

She would tell the authorities what she knew, and by God, she would make them believe it.

She would make them feel the agony she’d heard in Lee’s voice when he awoke from the nightmare. Five years ago, he had been a boy, only fifteen, forced to choose between two evils—kill a man, or leave his sister to the man’s brutally. How could anyone blame him for deciding to pull that trigger? But after talking at length with Kit, she’d come to understand his concern was the reason
behind Lee shooting the man from behind. Obviously, she didn’t know his entire story.

She understood his need to protect Juanita. Juanita would never recover from the incident by hiding away. She and Lee both had to face the past if they were to heal and have any chance at a satisfying future.

The boardwalk came to an end. She spun around and halted. She’d stopped counting her steps. How far had she strolled? It really didn’t matter. Before she’d begun her walk, she’d run her fingers over the entrance to the hotel until she was certain she’d recognize the double doors with the glass embedded in them. She’d simply have to trail her fingers over each building as she passed, across windows and doors, until she reached the one she recognized.

Except for the far off music from the saloon, the town was incredibly quiet, like the eye of a hurricane waiting for the winds to be unleashed. Her heart began pounding. She wasn’t lost. She skimmed her fingers across a smooth window, onto roughened wood. A stench, similar to that of spoiled eggs, assailed her. She stilled and cautiously inched her hand along the wood. It hit a barrier. Coarse, hairy skin that sent images screaming through her mind of rough handling, harsh breathing—

“Little lady, we got us some unfinished business.”

His brothers had drifted off to sleep, but Lee continued to read about his father’s exploits. His
father. He thought it was only just beginning to sink in that Kit Montgomery was truly his father. He had thought Fate cruel, and perhaps it still was, but it had also given him a gift. Bits of faded memory that began to fill the emptiness that had been a part of him for so long.

Cartwright had returned to finish out the night watch. Spence had left, leaving Lee to wonder whether or not he might have turned out as polished and refined if he had not been playing a fifteen-year game of hide and seek. He’d never known his beginnings, but with the Rodriguez family he’d always felt as though he knew his roots. They’d taken hold the first time Maria Rodriguez had embraced him. They’d embedded themselves deeper into the fabric of their love many times after the first time Juan Rodriguez had called him “son,” the first time Lee and Alejandro had gotten into a scuffle and Lee had won, bloodying Alejandro’s nose in the process. He had expected the family to turn him away then. Instead, they’d only held him more tightly.

The far door banged open, and Lee came off the cot as Montgomery stormed into the room, Bainbridge limping in his wake.

“It seems we at last know your brother’s magnificent plan,” Montgomery said, as he thrust a slip of paper through the bars.

Lee quickly read the words. “I’ve got Raven’s whore. Deliver him to the hanging tree or she dies.” He shook his head. “Jorge would never call her that.”

“Shelby then?” Montgomery asked.

Lee plowed his hand through his hair, searching the recesses of his memory…his gut tightened into a painful knot. “One of the men he hired to capture me thought Angela was my whore and attacked her. Shelby might have had the man do this so he could convince you to deliver me where he wants me.”

“Where is this hanging tree?” Bainbridge asked.

Lee darted a glance at Alejandro, who blanched. “It is on our land, near what remains of our house. It is a giant oak. The one from which they hanged our father and brother. The one from which Shelby wishes to hang me.”