The Outlaw's Bride. Catherine Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ nodded, but she didn’t truly understand. Where was the venganza—a man’s proud avenging of his father’s spilled blood? By all that was right, Patrón should have gone after the killers.

      “The Horrells made a pact to kill every Mexican in Lincoln County,” he was saying. “For a month, they rode through the countryside slaughtering Mexicans. Finally they went to Texas, stealing mules and horses, murdering both Mexicans and gringos along the way. Eventually, the Seven Rivers Gang ambushed and killed some of them, but the rest made it safely to Texas. They were indicted, of course, but none was ever taken into custody.”

      He paused. “I’ve heard that some of the gang—not the Horrell brothers, but others who rode with them—returned to Lincoln. But we don’t talk of this. It’s better left alone.”

      Isobel studied the tower of stones as they passed it in the moonlight. If the Horrell Gang had ridden through the countryside in 1873 killing every Mexican in sight, might they have murdered her father? His golden hair would have distinguished him from the Mexicans of the territory, but his native tongue was Spanish. Perhaps he had encountered the Horrell Gang on their journey to Texas. Perhaps they had heard him speak and gunned him down.

      “These men,” she said softly. “Which of them returned to Lincoln? What are their names?”

      Before he could answer, Noah spoke up. “Juan, I need to tell you that my wife’s father was killed near Lincoln about the same time your father was shot down. We’re looking for his murderer.”

      “I guessed there was more to this marriage than met the eye. So you wonder if the Horrells may be involved? What else? This woman knows more than she says.”

      “I witnessed Tunstall’s murder,” Isobel admitted. “Snake Jackson has vowed to kill me.”

      “Noah, you must take your wife to Santa Fe,” Patrón said. “To her relatives. In Lincoln County, no one is far from violence. Look at Billy Bonney. John Tunstall gave him a clean slate, taught him to read, paid him well. Now I fear the boy’s past will catch up with his present.”

      “Billy’s always hot for blood,” Noah said. “The kid would rather pull the trigger than talk things over.”

      Patrón gave a wry chuckle. “How many men is Billy claiming to have killed now? Seventeen? Or is it twenty-one? Señora Buchanan, the men of the West will tell you many things. Do not believe one tenth of what they say, and you will have no trouble here.”

      Glancing at Noah, Isobel lifted her damp skirts and stepped into the warm Patrón house. If Juan was right, she should not trust her own protector. Nor could she be sure that the Tunstall-McSween faction was nobler than the Dolan gang. After all, Jimmie Dolan had the law on his side, and he was allied with the powers in Santa Fe.

      Doubt slinking through her stomach, she drew her shawl tightly over her shoulders as Juan placated his agitated wife in Spanish. Isobel understood every word, of course, and had to work at maintaining a look of innocence. Once Juan had assured Beatriz she was not to blame for Isobel’s disappearance, she led them down the hall to a bedroom. After unlocking the door with one of the keys at her waist, she lit a pair of candles on an ornate bureau.

      Awash in a yellow glow, the guest room held a bed, a washstand, a chair. A small crucifix hung over the bed, and a cross of woven palm leaves topped the washstand. Beatriz pointed out logs and kindling, then nodded, smiled and left.

      Noah knelt and began building a fire. “What was Juan telling Beatriz?”

      “He said I followed you because I’m so devoted to you. And that you’re in love with me.”

      Noah’s hand halted. He glanced across at Isobel. She was looking out the window. “Juan is going to talk to you tomorrow,” she continued. “To tell you the correct way to treat your wife.”

      Striking a match, Noah held it to the tinder. Was Juan really fooled about the marriage? Did he see something that neither he nor Isobel could admit? Sitting back on his heels, Noah spread his hands over the crackling flames. He didn’t trust himself with the woman. Maybe she didn’t feel anything, but he sure did.

      “My parents had two bedrooms at our hacienda in Catalonia,” Isobel said as she joined him by the fire. “With a door to connect them. Where will you sleep?”

      Noah looked up, read the trepidation in her eyes and stood. “I said I wouldn’t touch you.”

      “And Juan told me not to trust any man in the West.”

      “Do you have a choice?” At her nervous expression, he pulled a chair to the fire. “Relax, Isobel. Sit here. I want to talk about your father.”

      She perched on the edge of the chair. “What about him?”

      Noah pushed a log with the poker, and a spray of sparks shot into the air. “Do you know which day your father was killed?”

      “No. Only that it was late December. He had spent Christmas with my uncle at Fort Belknap, then he followed the Goodnight Trail north.”

      “Is your father buried here? In Lincoln?”

      “At the cemetery. I promised my mother I would go there.” Her lips trembled, and she stopped speaking.

      Noah knelt again, reached out and covered her hand with his. “I’ll go with you.”

      Isobel was cold, shivering. She clutched the ragged shawl close around her in one white-knuckled fist. How vulnerable she was, Noah realized. She was scared, too, though she would never admit it. Without her land titles, Isobel had nothing. She insisted she could shoot well enough to protect herself, but a cold-blooded murderer had threatened to gun her down.

      “We’ll visit the courthouse tomorrow,” he told her. “They’ll have the record of your father’s burial. We can check the date and look for someone who remembers where the Horrell Gang was that day. But, Isobel, you’ll never be able to track down the killer. You should go to Santa Fe and try to stop the transfer of the titles.”

      “You’re asking me to forget my father’s murder? Do you really think I can stop a land transfer without any documents or proof?” She shook her head. “Impossible without the titles. And without the land, I cannot marry Don Guillermo.”

      At the mention of her intended husband, Noah stood and slapped the wood dust from his thighs. “Who cares about ol’ Don when you’ve got me? I mean, what more could a lady want?” He couldn’t hold back a grin as her eyes went wide. “Why, there’s a gal right here in Lincoln who’d be mad as a peeled rattler if she knew about this arrangement.”

      “What arrangement?” Isobel stood. “Your woman has no cause to feel jealous. We have a contrato, a contract.”

      Edging past Noah, she walked to the washstand, drew her shawl from her shoulders and draped it on the bed. After pouring water into the bowl, she splashed her face and rinsed her hands. Dabbing an embroidered linen towel on her cheek, she turned back toward Noah.

      “For that matter,” she said softly, “there are many men who would gladly trade places with you, vaquero.”

      Noah took a step toward her. “I don’t doubt that. For a woman who’s fretting over land titles and a Spanish dandy, you have a lot more assets than you know.”

      “What СКАЧАТЬ