Читать книгу The Mercenary's Kiss - Pam Crooks - Страница 10

J eb had one hell of a hangover.

A night with too much whiskey and too little sleep had left him paying the price for his indiscretions. The journey from Laredo north to San Antonio wasn’t helping his affliction any, but Creed had been insistent.

They had a train to catch.

Taking a shortcut through the woodlands lining the Nueces River helped. At least the trees shaded the sun, and the air was cooler. Quiet. Jeb was in no mood to be civil to anyone who happened to come his way.

Even Creed knew to keep his mouth shut. Not that he was in any better shape than Jeb. Years of friendship kept them suffering in companionable silence.

The river looked inviting, though, and Jeb craved a smoke. Their mounts needed rest and drink. He figured they could spare the time, and Creed acknowledged his gesture to pull up with a curt nod.

After dismounting, Jeb stretched muscles tight from too many hours in the saddle, then led his horse to the bank. He removed his hat and raked a hand through his hair. He’d have to get a haircut when he got to San Antonio. A shave and a good, long bath. After being out of the country so long, he’d have to learn how to act in polite society all over again.

He squatted at the river’s edge and caught a glimpse of his reflection on the glistening surface. He refused to speculate on what the General would say if he saw Jeb now—hungover, bleary-eyed and looking barely civilized.

The General wouldn’t approve. But then, he never approved of anything Jeb did.

Jeb splashed cold water over his face and scrubbed all thought of his father from his mind. Cupping his hands, he poured water over his head. The liquid felt good against his scalp and helped ease the steady throb in his temple.

Creed hunkered beside him and handed him a rolled cigarette, then lit one for himself. Jeb drew in deep on the tobacco and squinted an eye toward the treetops. The silence enveloped him. The peace.

He felt the rumble of horses’ hooves moments before he heard them. Creed twisted, searching for riders. Jeb saw them first, just beyond the woods.

He reached for the Colt strapped to his thigh and leapt to his feet, all in one swift motion. Instinct warned a group of men riding as hard as this one was either looking for trouble—or running from it.

He slipped behind a sycamore tree for cover and heard Creed do the same. Back pressed against the trunk, weapon raised, Jeb glanced over at him. His grim expression mirrored Jeb’s unease.

Jeb gauged fifty, maybe sixty yards separated them from the riders. Mexicans, heavily armed. A dozen of them, led by one man. Jeb glimpsed a flash of red, but the trees and distance marred a clearer view, and he couldn’t see what the leader held in front of him.

“What do you make of ’em?” Creed asked in a low voice.

“Damned if I know,” he muttered.

One look this way would reveal the horses Jeb and Creed had had no time to hide, but none of the Mexicans bothered. Within moments, they were gone, leaving behind only a cloud of dust in their wake and a bevy of unanswered questions.

Questions Jeb had no intention of answering.

“Could be those Mexican revolutionaries the lieutenant colonel was telling us about last night,” Creed said, returning his weapon to its holster.

“Maybe.”

But Jeb didn’t want to think about Kingston or what he needed. He hadn’t wanted to think of it last night, and he didn’t want to think of it now. He strode toward his mount.

“Whatever those men are up to doesn’t concern us anymore, Creed,” he said firmly. Unable to help it, he looked across the woodlands to the path that had fallen silent. “They’re heading south.” His mouth curved, cold and determined. “And we’re heading north.”

To San Antonio. To a new beginning.

And nothing was going to keep him from either one.

At the sight of the overturned medicine wagon wedged between the trees, Jeb drew his horse up abruptly.

Creed reined in beside him. “An ambush?”

“Looks like it.”

The team had been cut from their harnesses and set free. Jeb spied them drinking at the river. He removed his Colt from the holster, just in case, but it seemed whoever had attacked the wagon had left.

“I’ll check the rig,” Creed said. Weapon drawn, he crept toward it and inspected the interior, then gestured that no one was inside.

Still, the stark silence troubled Jeb. He urged his horse closer, saw a woman lying on the ground and half-hidden among the tree’s shadows. Dread rolled through him.

A gray-haired man lay a short distance away. Jeb took in the crimson stain on his shoulder, the contorted leg. The man moaned, appeared to fade in and out of consciousness. Creed rode toward him and dismounted.

Jeb sheathed the Colt, his attention on the woman again. He slid from the saddle and knelt beside her to check for a pulse.

She was still alive. Blood oozed from an angry gash on her forehead. The wound appeared fresh, and he figured her assailant hadn’t been gone long. Minutes, most likely.

The band of armed Mexicans had been riding hard from this direction. Jeb studied the wagon. It wouldn’t have been easy to overturn a rig that size. But a dozen men on horses could do it. Easy.

He suspected these were the men Lieutenant Colonel Kingston told him about, revolutionaries so ruthless even the President of the United States was concerned. And Jeb suspected, too, they were hightailing it home, to the relative security of their own country against possible retaliation from this one.

He ran a grim glance down the length of the woman. Her blouse was partially unbuttoned, revealing the creamy flesh of a breast, but her clothing wasn’t dirty or torn, and he made a cautious guess the band hadn’t added rape to their abuses.

He slipped an arm beneath her shoulders, but she whimpered, and he halted. Her head lolled toward him. In the filtered sunlight, he noticed the swelling from a purpling bruise on her cheekbone.

She’d put up a fight against whoever hit her, and a compassion he didn’t often feel stirred inside him.

Her hair had fallen loose from its ribbon. He brushed the long, golden strands from her cheek and noted its satin texture, the warmth and softness of her skin. The delicate bone structure of her face.

Even bruised and bleeding, she was a beauty.

She whimpered again and shifted a little against him. Her lashes fluttered, as if she tried to open her eyes but couldn’t.

“Easy,” he said in a low voice. “You’re going to be all right.”

Her eyes flew open. She struggled to focus on him. He’d been knocked out a time or two himself and knew how she clawed her way out of the blackness. Suddenly she gasped and pushed away from him.

A wildness filled her expression. She twisted back and forth, searching, her features frantic. “Nicky! Where’s my baby? Nicky!”

Baby?

He exchanged a quick glance with Creed, then reached out to touch her, to calm her, but she flinched violently, and he drew back.

“There’s no baby here,” he said carefully.

She stared at him. She made a sound of anguish, of unadulterated grief, and the depth of it cut right through him.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God!” She wavered on the edge of hysteria.

“They kidnapped him?” Jeb asked, stunned.

She nodded, her fist pressed to her mouth.

“Christ.”

“Elena, honey,” a hoarse voice rasped.

She swung toward the man lying on the ground. She scrambled to his side and buried her face in his chest. “Pop, he’s gone.”

The man shook with a silent sob. “I know, honey.” His trembling fingers speared into her hair, holding her to him. “God help us, they took him.”

Her head came up again. The wild look in her face had returned. “We have to find him. We have to go now.”

“Lennie—”

“Come on, Pop.” She tugged on his suit coat. “You have to sit up. I’ll get the horses, and we’ll go after him.”

Jeb rose and walked toward her.

“He’s not going anywhere,” he said quietly. Firmly. He squatted beside her. “He’s hurt too bad.”

Eyes as green as leaves in the jungle seemed to stare right through him. As if Jeb had never spoken, she turned away and appealed to her father again.

“I can’t leave you here,” she said, her tone growing more desperate. “You have to come with me, Pop. We have to find Nicky.”

He moaned. “Lennie, honey. I—” He swallowed. “I can’t go with you. I—I need a doctor, and—and—”

“We’ll get you a doctor,” she said, the hysteria creeping in on her. “After we find Nicky. I mean, we have to find him first and—”

“I might not make it, Lennie. I’m hurtin’ bad.”

“You will make it!” She drew back suddenly. “The elixir.”

She darted to the wagon and disappeared inside. Jeb could hear her scavenging through the contents, and just when he thought she might need some help finding whatever she was looking for, she appeared, wielding a wooden crate.

She dropped it on the ground and knelt beside her father. Working quickly, she wrenched the top open, snatched one of the brown bottles and whisked off the cap.

“My elixir,” Pop wheezed, watching her as if his life depended on it. “Yes, give me some.”

She slipped her arm behind his neck to help him sit up. “Take a double dose, Pop. It’ll help you feel better.”

He drank the stuff right out of the container.

Skeptical, Jeb took a bottle from the case and scanned the label proclaiming the amazing benefits of Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound.

“Medicine,” Creed said as he read one, too, and pursed his lips.

Quackery was more like it, but Jeb kept the thought to himself. He’d never put much faith in patent medicines or the men who sold them—scam artists who preyed on ailing citizens who’d give away their hard-earned money for the promise of good health and a clear mind.

He tossed the bottle aside. But if this man and his daughter believed in the herbal compound, damned if he would tell them otherwise.

A trickle of the coffee-colored liquid slipped from the corner of Pop’s mouth, and he ran his sleeve across his chin to wipe it away. He exhaled a slow breath and eased back down on the ground.

“Thank you, Elena,” he whispered.

She recapped the bottle. “I’ll get the horses. I’ll be right back. We’ve lost too much time already.”

Jeb had heard enough. His arm snaked out to grasp her wrist, keeping her right where she was. Her startled expression made Jeb wonder if she even comprehended he and Creed were there.

“You can’t take your father with you,” he said slowly, succinctly. She yanked against Jeb’s hold on her, but he held her fast. “You can’t go, either. You’re bleeding, and you—”

“Let go of me,” she snapped.

“You need a doctor, just like he does.”

“Let go of me!”

Again she strained against him, and Jeb marveled at her strength after everything she’d endured.

But he was still a hell of a lot stronger than she was. And he wasn’t letting her go anywhere just yet.

“Ma’am, he’s right,” Creed said. “You need some medical attention before you—”

“They have my son,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Yes,” Creed said. “And we’re real sorry about that. But the fact is, you’re hurt bad. Both of you are.”

Creed was the pragmatic one. Diplomatic and even-tempered most of the time. But impatience shot through Jeb. He cut right to the chase.

“You have any idea who you’re up against?” he demanded.

Her nostrils flared. “Yes! I do!”

“Those men are dangerous.”

“They took my son, damn you!”

“They kill for the sport of it.”

“I don’t care who they are or what they’ll do. I want him back.”

Jeb clenched his jaw. Of course, she did. What kind of mother would she be if she didn’t? He had to try a different tactic, convince her she couldn’t go off half-cocked on the revolutionaries’ trail.

“They’re long gone by now,” he said. “Headed for the border, most likely. You think you’re going to find them by yourself?”

Green eyes flashed. “If it’s the last thing I do.”

“You need some help,” Creed said. “Surely you know that.”

Creed spoke the words Jeb rebelled against saying. Or thinking. An image of San Antonio slid into his brain. The train waiting there. California and all his newfound plans.

“My father and I will go after Nicky,” she said defiantly.

A brilliant, flickering flame appeared over those plans….

“Like hell you will.” Jeb released her.

She rubbed her wrist. “I’m not leaving Pop behind.”

Her father peered up at her. Some of the color had fused back into his cheeks. From the elixir? Or from hope?

“Maybe these gentlemen will help us,” he said.

She turned to Jeb. If she thought he looked nothing like a helpful gentleman, she didn’t say it.

But her contemptuous look confirmed it.

“They could get us to San Antonio,” Pop went on. “We can contact the authorities when we get there.”

“No.” She returned the bottles of elixir to their crate in jerky movements. “It’ll take too long to arrange a search party. Tomorrow at the earliest. I won’t consider it.”

“Elena.”

“I’m not going to San Antonio. I’m going after Nicky. And I can’t leave you behind, so you’re going to have to come with me, do you hear?”

The shrill tone of her voice revealed the panic billowing inside her. Jeb steeled himself against it.

“Are you going to set your father’s leg before you go?” he asked softly.

Her glance darted to the twisted limb.

“He can’t ride a horse with a bullet wound. And that bullet needs to come out. All the blood he’s lost will make him too weak to even stay in the saddle.”

She swallowed.

“Guess you could have him lie down in the wagon. But then, you’d have to right it first.”

Her head swiveled toward the trees, to the wagon wedged on its side between them.

“The harnesses need mending before you could even think about hitching the team. By then, it’ll be dark. Pitch-dark. Going to be hard to find your way.”

Her lower lip quivered. Jeb steeled himself against that, too.

“I can’t leave my father,” she said. “He’s all I have, besides Nicky, and I need Pop to help me find my baby and—”

She halted, her bosom heaving. Jeb clenched his teeth.

He didn’t want to be affected by this woman.

He didn’t want to be needed by her.

He thought of Lieutenant Colonel Kingston. The General. He thought of honor and integrity. Of patriotism. He thought, too, of leaving the country he’d just come back to. One more time. And his plans for California disintegrated like smoke in the wind.

“I’ll help you, damn it.”

She gaped at him. For a long moment, no one spoke.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I can. I’ve been chasing men like them for years for the United States government. And right now, you have no one else.”

“I don’t even know you,” she said.

“You will by the time we get to Mexico.” He rose and headed for his horse. “Creed can take your father to San Antonio.”

“Why should I trust either of you? How do I know you won’t kill us or—or something along the way?”

“Elena, honey.” Pop took her hand, and she clung to his so hard her knuckles turned white. “If these gentlemen had a notion to hurt us, they would’ve done so by now.”

“Oh, Pop.” Her eyes welled with tears, and she burrowed her face against his neck. “I don’t want to go with him. I want to go with you.”

“Did you hear him, Elena? This is what he does. For the United States government.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“Nicky needs you more than I do.”

Her eyes met his, and her shoulders squared fiercely.

“All right, then.” She swiped at the tears on her cheek and took in a long breath, then rose and strode toward Jeb.

He glanced down at her. The top of her head barely reached his chin.

“Tell me what needs to be done first,” she said.

He untied a coil of rope from his saddle horn. “You’re bleeding. We need to stitch you up.”

“No. I’m fine.” With her thumb she swiped at the blood trailing down her temple and smeared it on her skirt. “The next thing.”

She was pale, and she’d taken a hell of a hit against the side of her face. The gash on her temple looked nasty. But neither was life threatening. She was anxious to get moving. Jeb decided not to push the issue.

“Get the horses,” he said. It was the easiest of the jobs for her. “We’ll need them to get the wagon back on its wheels.”

She nodded and began walking toward the river.

“Then find a sturdy branch,” he called after her. “Strong enough for a splint.”

Her hand lifted, acknowledging his command without turning. She broke into a run, her urgency a tangible thing.

An urgency Jeb was beginning to feel, too.

He could only hope she understood all that lay ahead for them.

Dusk had nearly settled by the time they finished. The wagon sat on all four wheels again. The team was harnessed and ready to go. The old man lay on a cot on the ground, resting comfortably enough, his leg set and strapped to a splint.

But then, Elena had given him a generous dose of Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound. Jeb figured the man was pretty much numb from it.

She hovered over him, fussing, as much for his sake as her own. But the old man couldn’t be in better hands than Creed’s. He’d promised Elena he’d drive all night to San Antonio, that once they rode out of the woods and got back onto the main road, the trip wouldn’t take long. He even offered to send word to the rest of the troupe explaining what happened. His sincerity went a long way in appeasing her.

“You’re sure about all this?” Creed asked in a low voice.

“She can’t go hunting for those men alone,” Jeb said grimly. “I’ll catch up with you in California later. See that the old man is taken care of before you board that train. Find him a good surgeon to take out the bullet.”

“I will.” Creed hesitated. “Lieutenant Colonel Kingston will want to know what happened here.”

Hell, he should know. Jeb hoped the officer and his superiors ordered the whole United States Army to war against the revolutionaries.

“Report the incident. Just keep my name out of it,” he said.

“The General will find out sooner or later,” Creed said.

“Not if I can help it.”

“You ever going to reconcile with him, Jeb?” he demanded. “Now might be as good a time as any.”

Jeb glared. Creed knew better than to even suggest it.

“Well, you’re taking a hell of a chance going after the rebels,” Creed went on, glaring back. “With a civilian, no less. And a woman at that.”

Jeb heard his worry. It wasn’t often he and Creed disagreed. “You have a better plan?”

“Go back to Laredo. Find Kingston. Enlist his help.”

Jeb considered Elena. Her baby. The hours already gone.

“No,” he said. “There’s no time.”

“You’d both be safer.”

“Going to Kingston first would be the smart thing to do,” Jeb conceded. Not that Elena would have agreed to it. His mouth quirked. “But then, when have I ever done the smart thing?”

“Damn, you’re stubborn,” Creed said, shaking his head.

Jeb grunted. That had gotten him into trouble more times than he cared to count.

He glanced at the sky. He wanted to see Creed on his way before it got dark. And they still had to load the old man into the wagon. He pulled on his gloves.

“Elena.”

Her head lifted. At Jeb’s unspoken command, she bit her lip and nodded, then bent to drop a kiss to her father’s forehead. “It’s time, Pop.”

“I know.”

She pressed her cheek against his. “I’m afraid. For you. For Nicky. For all of us.”

“Me, too, honey.” He stroked her hair, over and over. “But you have to be strong. No matter what happens.”

“I’m not sure I can be.”

Her head lifted, and Jeb saw that her cheeks were wet. She stepped away, allowing Jeb and Creed to lift the cot into the wagon, taking care as best they could not to jar the injured leg unduly. By the time they came out again, she’d mounted her horse. Her gaze found Creed’s.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything.”

He shrugged off her gratitude and climbed onto the driver’s seat. “Be real careful. Both of you.”

She nodded once, then tugged on the reins. By the time Jeb lifted a foot into the stirrup, she’d spurred her horse into a hard turn and galloped out of the woodlands.

Heading south.

Without him.

He muttered an oath and tore off after her.