The Lady Takes A Gunslinger (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 1) (40 page)

In her sleep, she burrowed instinctively closer to his warmth. Her hand drifted out from beneath her covers to close over his upraised bicep. He took a deep breath and held it, praying she would move it. Her scent invaded his senses like a shameless lure, disintegrating his resolve. Think of something else, he told himself. Anything else.

She whimpered his name in her sleep, her breath coming fast and shakily. She was having a bad dream, he realized. He could almost hear the heavy thud of her heart through her fingertips.

"Grace." He curled an arm across her shoulder. "Wake up."

With a start, she did, rising out from under the blankets like a shot. Disoriented, she blinked owlishly at him. "Reese?"

With his first glimpse of her, his eyes went wide. He scuttled backward, at first certain he'd made an awful mistake. Then he recognized her. "Your hair."

She blinked, then reached up to touch it. "I know."

He pulled her up against his shoulder. "It'll grow back, you know. Besides, I kind of like it this way."

"You do?"

"Aye." He kissed her forehead. "See? Nothin' to get in my way."

She pressed her face against his neck. "I'm scared, Reese. Would you... could you just hold me?"

He curled his arms around her. "Sure. Sure, darlin'." He could feel the tremors run through her as she pressed her body against his. He closed his eyes, absorbing the feel of her against him. This embrace would have to last him a lifetime.

"Reese?"

"Hmmm?"

"About what Magdalena said, about your being a national hero?"

"Forget that," he whispered, stroking her hair.

"Did you really save Juarez's life?"

"Believe me, it wasn't as heroic as they're saying. I didn't even know who Juarez was at the time. I just saw a man raise his gun to shoot an unsuspecting man who wasn't looking the right way, and I changed his mind."

"Then you
are
a hero," she said sleepily.

"No. I'm a gunfighter, Grace. It was instinct. Pure gut instinct."

She tightened her arms around his back. "If you say so."

"I do." Not that it mattered. She'd already made up her mind. "Go back to sleep. There's only a few hours left till morning."

A long silence whispered between them. He listened to the steady sound of her breathing, the chirr of the crickets, and the hiss of the fire, knowing absolutely that she hadn't done as he'd asked. Her heart was thudding against the wall of his chest like a hammer.

Finally she whispered, "Reese?"

"What, darlin'?"

"Do you think we'll die tomorrow?"

"I've no plans for it, lass," he replied tightly.

She kissed his neck hesitantly, lingering there as if sorting her thoughts. "Well, if we do, there's something you should know."

"What's that?" His hand cupped her head achingly closer.

"I might not get a chance to say it again, so I'll say it now." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Lifting up on one elbow, she looked him in the eye. "I love you, Reese Donovan, and I always will. I've loved you since before we met. I dreamed of you long before I walked into that saloon and laid eyes on you. And no matter what happens tomorrow, that will never change."

He started to speak, but she drew her hand up alongside his jaw, and kissed his cheek. "No. Don't say anything. I couldn't bear it if you did. Just hold me. Just hold me like you'll never let me go and let me fall asleep here on your shoulder. Just for tonight."

Reese swallowed heavily, tightening his arms around her. He didn't speak. For her sake, he couldn't. If he had, he might have told her that her words could have been his. He loved her in a timeless way that even he couldn't understand. But he'd never say those words to her. Not now. Not ever.

He held her there under the dome of stars until he felt her relax against him, her breathing deep and steady with sleep. And even then he didn't let her go. He clung to her as if she were a part of him. And hours later, when sleep finally stole over him, he dreamed of holding a child; a green-eyed child with thick, golden hair, who looked like Grace.

And in that dark place of dreams where no one could see, he smiled.

Chapter 21

The cantera-rock towers of the Church of San Francisco cast long shadows across the garden-studded Plaza de Santa Cruz at the center of town. Midday heat had driven most indoors. Except for the dozing burros and horses tethered to hitching rails and a score of children splashing playfully in a watering trough beside a tree-shaded gazebo, the streets of Querétaro were virtually empty.

The chime of the heavy bell tolled once to mark the half hour as Reese and Grace entered a small wooden door on the building's east side and slid, unnoticed, into the nearly empty church. Wearing borrowed clothes that hung as loose as flour sacks on her small frame and a large hat, Grace looked every bit the part she played. They passed parishioners bowed in silent prayer and a long table full of votive candles flickering in the dim light from the sanctuary windows. She mimicked Reese's genuflection as they crossed to the confessionals and kept her shorn head down.

Reese nodded to her, indicating that she wait for him there. Then he opened the small, ornate door and disappeared inside.

A small lattice screen slid open on the inside wall. Just beyond, a shadowy figure made the sign of the cross.
"Bueno, mi hijo,"
said the priest on the other side.

Reese opened his mouth to speak and hesitated. Like a hinge rusted with disuse, the words issued hoarsely from him. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

Reese had spoken in English. The priest shifted on his hard wooden bench, and replied in kind. "You are
Americano."

"Yes, Father."

"Bueno,
go on. What have you to confess?"

"It's been fifteen years since my last confession."

There was a pause. "That is a long time, my son."

A lifetime, Reese thought. He leaned closer, speaking low. "My sins are too many to name. I've killed more men than I care to count, wasted my life on drink, lusted after women, stolen the heart of one in particular."

"And do you love this woman?"

Reese hesitated. "Yes, I do."

"Then to steal her heart is not a sin."

"I don't mean to tell you your business, Father, but it's surely a sin the way I did it."

The priest sighed in understanding. "Are you repentant for these things, my son?"

Reese stared at the confessional door, imagining Grace standing outside it waiting for him. The thought of her there made his stomach clench. "Do you mean, am I sorry for what I did, or that I wouldn't do it all over again if I had the chance?"

"The church cannot absolve you of sins you have not yet committed, my son."

"Then, yes. I am repentant, Father."

Reese watched the priest's hand make the sign of the cross through the shadowy lattice. "Then in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I absolve you of your sins." He said a few words of prayer in Latin, then was silent for a moment. When Reese made no move to leave, he said, "
Hay mas?
Is there something else?"

"Yes, Father," Reese said, sliding the gun silently from his holster. "I'm afraid there is one more sin I must confess."

* * *

Grace slid the coarse brown raiment over her clothes and pulled the cowl over her head. Reese did the same and tied the rope belt and crucifix loosely at his waist. Her gown was a little too long, his a bit too short. Reese removed his boots and donned a pair of hide sandals.

She glanced at the priest, who sat tied to a chair in the corner of the small room, his mouth gagged. "I don't think anyone saw us," she told Reese.

"Thanks to the padre, here. He was very cooperative." He pulled his gun out from its holster, checked the cylinder, and tucked it inside the loose-fitting sleeves of his robe. He handed a long strap, fitted with small knives pocketed along its length, to Grace. These she tucked inside her robe.

"Take one of these," he told her, handing her a small, worn Bible and a glass flask of holy water. Then, with his arms out at his sides, he turned toward the priest.

"Will we pass for clergy, Father?"

The priest watched them silently.

"You have our apologies," Reese told him. "I hope you'll understand when this is over why I had to be tyin' you up. The clerics in these parts are known for their Imperialist sympathies. I don't know where you stand, but it doesn't matter." He made the sign of the cross. "You're hereby absolved of responsibility, Father."

The priest muttered something through his gag, then jerked his head toward the door.

"We're goin'," Reese replied. "If you could manage a few Hail Marys for us to the man upstairs, we'd greatly appreciate it. I've a feeling we'll need them."

* * *

Side by side, they walked along the street, keeping their heads down. The sun beat mercilessly through the heavy material of the robes as they made their way across the Plaza de Santa Cruz toward the monastery. They passed a man with feet propped on the walkway rail who appeared to be sleeping. He looked up as they passed, and Grace saw that it was Tipo. With a small grin, he winked at them.

She arched one eyebrow, and passed by. She hadn't yet forgiven the man for his ineptitude with knots.

As they walked, Dominguez's men appeared one by one, either hidden in the shadows or perched on rooftops. Reese nodded to each one almost imperceptibly. They had just passed a shadowy doorway when a hand snaked out and yanked Grace backward. Reese's gun was already in his hand when he saw it was Dominguez, holding two fingers to his lips for silence.

"
What
?" Reese demanded, slipping into the shadows.

"My friend,
lo siento,
but there has been a change of plan."

"A change of plan! Now?"

"I just got word that during the night, one of Maximilian's men defected to Juarez's general, Escobedo. He is a lieutenant on Maximilian's personal staff."

Reese took in Grace's confused expression, and looked back at Dominguez. "How does that change our plan?"

The rebel leader took Reese's arm. "It is Lopez's intent to bring down Maximilian from the inside."

"It could be a trick," Reese warned. "Are they out of their minds, trusting one of Maximilian's own lieutenants?"

"He has proven his intent is sincere. It is critical that they go in at noon with Lopez, leading the assault."

"Noon!" Reese nearly choked. "That's less than twenty minutes away!"

"Si,
amigo.
There is no changing it now. You have not time to get them out."

Grace gasped. "No time! My brother and the others have no time! We must get them out! They could all be killed in an assault. They'll be like ducks in a shooting gallery! What chance do those men stand once the guards hear the assault beginning?"

Reese's eyes met hers. She implored him and challenged him with a desperate look. She was right. He knew it. They'd come too far to let it all fall apart now. Twenty minutes was an edge Luke needed. They would have to give it to him.

"The plan stays," he said. "We go in and get it done as fast as we can and get out before Lopez arrives."

"You are playing with fire, Señor Donovan," Dominguez warned with a grin of respect, "but I like your style. I will get word to Magdelana and the others.
Buena suerte, amigo.
Good luck."

"We'll need it," Reese replied, easing out of the shadows and heading toward their goal.

As they approached the doorway of the monastery, a woman carrying a large basket full of bread rounds strolled across the street toward the two uniformed guards standing at the ready at the front door. Grace could see it was Magdelena, though without her chaps and hat, she looked nothing like the bandita who'd kidnapped them yesterday.

Her black hair was long and flowing around bare shoulders. Her colorful skirt hitched playfully just below her bare knees. Her hips swayed seductively as she passed the guard. Grace watched the man's eyes follow her movements. Suddenly, Magdalena tripped, sending the bread scattering across the dusty street. It took no more than a glimpse of her long, bare leg to convince one of the guards to come to her aid. She made quite a show not only of dismay, but of her ample bosom as well. As she reached for the scattered loaves, she batted her eyelashes at the guard.