Samantha turned to Lorenzo suddenly and surprised him by putting her arms around his waist. Before he could get over his surprise, she pulled back, his gun gripped firmly in her hand.
“Madre de Dios!” he gasped.
But even as he spoke, Samantha was leveling the gun at the man in the room. The gun exploded, smoke curling in the air, but the bullet hit the ceiling because Lorenzo had knocked her arm upward as she fired. He caught her wrist and tried to pry the gun away.
“No!” she screamed wildly, fighting him with all she had. “Damn you, let go! I’ll kill you if you don’t let me finish this!”
Quickly the gun was yanked from her hand—but not by Lorenzo. Hank Chavez stood before her, his eyes a dark, turbulent storm. But Samantha didn’t care how angry he might be. He couldn’t possibly be as furious as she was with herself for failing to shoot him.
Samantha twisted in Lorenzo’s grip and kicked him squarely on the shin, freeing herself. She struck Hank’s cheek, but his head was turned and the damage was slight. He caught her wrists and twisted them behind her back. The pain shooting through her shoulders effectively stopped her from kicking at him, and she went still.
“Damn you!” she cried.
“Shut up!” Hank hissed. Then he called furiously to Lorenzo, who was still standing in the doorway looking utterly amazed, “You have brought the wrong woman! How could this happen?”
Lorenzo was utterly lost by then. “The wrong woman?”
Hank could barely contain his fury. “Can you not see for yourself that she and I are acquainted? She is Samantha Blackstone!”
“Sí,” Lorenzo agreed, speaking slowly now. “Samantha…Blackstone…Kingsley.”
Hank whirled Samantha around, his fingers biting into her shoulders. “Is this true?”
“Go to hell!”
He shook her. “Is it?”
“Yes, damn you! Yes!”
He let go of her, and she fell back. “Take her into the other room. See that she stays there.”
Lorenzo grabbed Samantha’s shoulders. “You intend to keep her here in this house?”
“I know her, Lorenzo. I know what she is capable of. I want her where I can keep an eye on her.”
“No!” Samantha turned fiery green eyes on Lorenzo. “You told me I wouldn’t be harmed,” she reminded him. “But he nearly broke my arm just now and has left bruises on my shoulders. You can’t leave me here with him! I demand to see your boss!”
Hank laughed, a cruel, taunting laugh. “And just what do you want to see me about, niña?”
She caught her breath and swung around to face him again. “You—El Carnicero? I don’t believe it. He’s short and ugly and—”
“And you feared him?”
“No, of course not.” But she knew how unconvincing she sounded, and admitted, “The stories about him are terrible.”
“Perhaps,” Hank conceded in a level voice. “Most people do fear him, and it served my purpose to use that fear.”
“But you’re not El Carnicero.”
“No,” he admitted.
“Is there really such a man?”
Hank nodded. “He is still in his territory to the south, unaware that I have borrowed his name. I needed the man’s reputation.”
“So you’re a bandit.” Her voice was heavy with contempt. “I should have realized it before, after what you did to me.”
“Any man would have been driven to do what I did, niña,” Hank said.
Samantha’s face burned. She wished she had never brought the subject up at all. Lorenzo was looking at her so strangely.
“Is he really your boss, Lorenzo?” she asked.
“Sí. I follow his orders.”
“But are you loyal to him?” She placed a hand on his arm. “Or can your services be bought? I can pay you a great deal of money to take me out of here—more than he will give you from the ransom.”
“That is enough!” Hank growled.
“What’s the matter—Rufino?” Samantha mocked Hank. “Are you afraid he might accept my generous offer?”
“Tell her, Lorenzo,” Hank snapped curtly.
“I cannot help you, señorita,” Lorenzo said almost apologetically.
“He has your complete loyalty then?”
“Sí.”
“Perhaps someday you’ll tell me why,” Samantha replied in a deliberately sarcastic voice.
Hank’s eyes narrowed, turning a dark slate gray. He had managed to bring his fury under control, but he was having difficulty with it.
“Get her out of my sight, Lorenzo. I have heard more of her bitchy tongue than I can bear.”
“And I cannot bear another moment in the same room with you!” Samantha managed the last word before she dragged Lorenzo across the room to the only other door. She threw the door open and stepped through it without another look at Hank.
The room was very small and contained only a narrow bed against the far wall, an old trunk, and a washstand. The floor was bare, as was the single window, closed now against the cold mountain air.
“Does he sleep here, Lorenzo?” Samantha asked quietly, staring at the rumpled bed.
“This is his room, sí.”
“Was,” she corrected, and went to the bed to tear off the blanket and sheets, throwing them on the floor. “I won’t sleep on the same bedding. I refuse.”
Her back was to Lorenzo as his voice came to her softly. “You hate him. Why?”
But she would say no more about Hank Chavez. “Will you bring me clean bedding?”
“Sí, and hot food.”
“Never mind the food now,” she said curtly. “I’m too upset to eat.”
“As you wish.”
He started to leave, but she caught his arm and said desperately, “Stay with me, Lorenzo.”
“Here?”
“Yes, yes, here. I don’t trust him.”
“But I cannot stay in this room, señorita.”
His eyes were drawn to the narrow bed, and she said, “Stay in the other room, then. Please, Lorenzo. You can’t leave me alone in this house with him.”
“He will not hurt you.”
“How can you say that? You saw what he just did to me. He would have done worse if you had not been there. I know it.”
“What I saw was you attacking him,” Lorenzo replied unsympathetically. “I do not think I would have been so lenient with you if you had tried to kill me, señorita.”
“You men stick together, don’t you?” she returned bitterly. “He wasn’t hurt, was he?”
“Yet you did try to kill him.”
“Oh, get out of here and leave me alone!” she cried miserably. “How could you understand? You’re just like him!”
Samantha turned her back on him, and after a moment he left, closing the door quietly. Hank was standing in front of the fireplace in the outer room, leaning his hands on the mantel, staring at the fire he had just lit. When Lorenzo approached him he turned, then chuckled.
“What? La princesa must have clean sheets? Those were changed yesterday.”
Lorenzo shrugged. “Since you have slept in them, she will not. Why does she want to kill you, amigo?”
Hank turned away. “I do not think you would care to know the answer to that,” he said coldly.
“You hate her, too?”
“Sí, I hate her, too.”
Lorenzo shook his head. “Myself, I have never seen such a beautiful woman,” he said sincerely.
“How can you tell, as filthy as she is?” Hank muttered.
“I can tell. And I do not think I could hate such a one, not for any reason,” Lorenzo remarked reflectively. “I do not understand how you can.”
“You let her beauty cloud your judgment, Lorenzo. Do not be deceived,” Hank said coldly. “That one uses men. She tramples on their souls and then casts them aside without another thought.”
“So.” Lorenzo grinned with sudden understanding. “You loved her.”
“Perdición! I could never
love such a vixen. Do not mention it again!”
Lorenzo frowned at Hank’s sudden show of temper. “She wants me to stay with her. She does not trust you, and I begin to see why.”
Hank laughed humorlessly. “Your job is over. You have brought her here. Now she is my responsibility.”
“You will not hurt her?”
“Not as long as she behaves.”
“That is little reassurance, amigo. You saved my life, and for this I owe you. I hope you will not make me regret giving you my loyalty.”
Hank grew impatient. “Will you stop worrying? She is not worth your concern, Lorenzo, and I assure you she can take care of herself.”
“I would not see her hurt.”
“Leave it alone, Lorenzo,” Hank growled. “You have let her fool you. She is as calculating and scheming as any man—and just as deadly. And I warn you, I will hold you responsible if she gets her hands on a weapon again.”
Lorenzo reddened at the reminder of his humiliation. He could not believe all the things Rufino said about the girl, not really. True, she had meant to shoot Rufino tonight, but this was a desperate situation for her. She had been kidnapped, at gunpoint.
What could he do if the girl angered Rufino again? Lorenzo left reluctantly, without the reassurance he wanted.
Chapter 19
THE door opened without warning, and Samantha sat bolt upright in bed, pulling the covers up with her. She had on only a short laced camisole and the tight bloomers she wore under skirts. She had not expected anyone to barge into the room or she would not have undressed that far. And for that someone to be Hank…
“I want a lock on that door,” she told him in a scathing voice.
He looked pointedly at her dirty clothes, lying over the trunk. He grinned as she pulled the covers higher. “You shall have it—but I will keep the key.”
“Never mind, then.”
“No, I insist. It will be done this morning. And so that no one can break in through the window to harm you, I will have that boarded up, as well.”
“Damn you,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Why don’t you just tie me to the bed!”
He grinned, his eyes laughing in the old familiar way. “If you give me reason, chica, it will be a pleasure.”
“I’m sure it would be,” she grumbled, and then her voice rose. “Oh, why did I have to miss you that day by the stream? Why did my hands have to shake?”
Hank stiffened, and his eyes turned a stormy gray. He clenched his fists, making an effort to hold them at his sides. He wanted to wring her neck. But more than that, he wanted…no, he would not touch her again. It had not helped to get her out of his system when he had touched her before.
“You did not miss,” he told her. “One of your bullets found my side.”
“A lot of good it did,” she said hotly. “You’re still alive.”
“You are the most bloodthirsty—”
“No, I’m not!” she cut him off. “Until I met you I never wanted to kill a man! And what are you doing here anyway? I prayed I would see you again—but in jail, not like this! Why are you waging war on my father?”
“It is not a war.”
“You’re trying to drive him out of Mexico! Why? What has he ever done to you?”
Hank debated what, if anything, to tell her. Because she knew him, knew his name, and knew he wasn’t El Carnicero, she might ruin his plans. There was supposed to be no connection between the bandido and the stranger who would soon buy the Kingsley land. But Samantha would know that the bandido and the new owner were both himself—if she ever saw the new owner. But why should she? She would have to leave Mexico with her father.
“Your father has done nothing to me, Samantha,” he said in a reasonable tone as the idea took root in his mind. “It is my cousin he has wronged.”
“My father never hurt anyone!” She was quick to deny the charge.
Hank shrugged. “You do not wish to listen, so I cannot explain.”
She glared at him. “All right then. What has my father done to your cousin?”
“Antonio went to your father recently and offered to buy your rancho.”
“Antonio is your cousin?”
“Yes. Antonio de Vega y Chavez,” Hank replied. “But your father would not listen to his offer and would not name a price, any price.”
“Why should he?” Samantha demanded. “He has no wish to sell our land.”
“But it is not your land, Samantha. It is my cousin’s land.”
“You’re crazy.” She laughed at him. “My father bought that land. He paid for it. He—”
“He paid cheaply for it. He bought it from government officials, who claimed it was church land. In those days, any church land sold could be easily given back to the church with the next change of government and, therefore, lost to the new owner. That’s why it was cheap.”
“But you admit that my father paid for the land. How can you say it’s not his?”
“Because the officials who sold the land to your father had no right to sell it. It was not church land. It was Vega y Chavez land, stolen from my family during the revolution.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“Did no one ever tell you of the previous owners? Your neighbors, the Galgos, the Barojas? They knew of the massacre at the Hacienda de las Flores.”
“Massacre?”
“Yes, massacre,” Hank repeated, his voice cold. “Some Juárez guerrilleros came to the hacienda and claimed it as church property, which gave them the right to confiscate it. Antonio’s father was killed for protesting. His grandmother died in his arms, too old to stand the terrible shock.” Hank paused, the memory as painful as it always was. “All the men were forced into the army—or shot for resisting. I will not tell you what happened to the women and the young daughters of the hacienda.”
Samantha was sickened, for she could guess. “And your cousin? What happened to him?”
“He was forced into the army, and later he was thrown into prison for continued resistance. It was while he was in prison that his land was sold to your father. He could do nothing to prevent it. The old deed to the Hacienda de las Flores had been burned by the guerrilleros. There was only the word of people who knew Antonio that the land was his. This was not enough for the corrupt officials who were making profits from the sale of ‘church property.’ There was nothing Antonio could do except hope to buy back his land one day. He has dreamed of nothing else…all these years.”
“Are you a close cousin to Antonio?” Samantha ventured. “A first cousin?”
“No, but you have been in Mexico long enough to know that all family here, no matter how distantly related, are considered close. Antonio is like a brother. I feel his frustration as if it were my own.”
Samantha was, of course, unaware of his irony. “I’m sorry, Hank, I really am,” she said in a moment of real compassion. “But surely you must see that my father is not at fault here. He didn’t steal your cousin’s land. He bought it in good faith. He has the deed, too.”
“You are saying my cousin should just forget about the land that has been in his family for generations?” he asked harshly. “He lived on that land for more than half his life. How long have you lived there?”
“That is beside the point,” she told him tightly. “My father owns the land now, and you have no right to try and force him to leave. You’re not being fair.”
“My cousin has lived with his dream too long to give it up. He will pay your father more than it is worth.”
“But my father won’t sell it!”
“He will if he ever wants to see you again.”
She gasped. “You bastard! So that’s why I’m here. Of all the terrible, stinking—”
“Enough, Samantha!” Hank cut her off sharply. “I do not like the way this has gone any more than you do, but your father has been so stubborn. And my men were very angry when he sent the soldados after them.”
“He had good reason to ask the soldie
rs for help.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But that did not make them less angry. In fact, one of the men who saw you suggested the kidnapping.”
“Saw me?” she said, uneasy. “Are you saying I was watched?”
“Of course. Everyone was watched. We did not even know Kingsley had a daughter. You were first seen with your large escort going to the ranch, and then again each day after that. It was not difficult to go to a neighboring ranch and find out who you were. But believe me, if I had known it was you, you would not be here now. You were the last woman I wanted to see again, Sam.”
“Don’t call me that! I told you—only my friends call me that!”
“Of course, and we are not friends,” he said with mock seriousness. “But I would rather not call you Señorita Kingsley. I have come to dislike that name a great deal. If you had been honest with me when we met and told me your real name, I would have made the connection later, when I learned who was the owner of the Hacienda de las Flores.”
“When you learned?”
“From Antonio,” he quickly amended.
“It wouldn’t have made any difference, though, would it?” she retorted. “You would still have harassed my father.”
“Yes, but you would not have become involved. Tell me. Why did you not use your real name?”
“Blackstone was my mother’s maiden name. I always traveled under that name. My father and I thought I should avoid using the Kingsley name whenever I was traveling, so as to avoid being kidnapped. Ironic, wouldn’t you say? And you’re a fine one to talk about assuming false names—Rufino.”
He grinned, amused by her taunt. “You have me there, Samina.”
Samantha’s eyes flashed, and she started to tell him how much she hated his calling her that name, but Hank held up his hand, the crinkles around his eyes deepening.
“You protest too much.” He grinned. “You may as well know now that I will call you whatever I want, be it Samina, gata…or puta.”
“You—oh!” she fumed, and her covers quivered. “Get out of here!”
He quirked a brow. “You order me, in my own house?” His voice was deliberate.
“Why did you come in here? I didn’t invite you in! I may be your prisoner, but I don’t have to suffer your loathsome company!”