Read Online Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) by Georgina Gentry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Georgina Gentry
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disappointment. The pistolero had seemed to enjoy it, but not enough to be swayed into helping her. And that final indignity of stealing her small ring after taking her on the grass like a common servant! . . .
But of course, he was common—just a saddle tramp—while she was of the finest family. She could never have considered him seriously anyway. The man she had been betrothed to came from as blue-blooded a family as her own.
She touched her finger where she had worn the amethyst flower all these years and then ran that hand with great agitation and anger through her ebony tresses. Santa María! Bandit! Ah, si , he was only a bandido, a thief after all! She wondered what had become of him? Had the unsuspecting tejano been loco enough to ride that stallion right into the area from which it had been stolen six months ago?
At that very moment, Bandit was riding up to an isolated little cantina a few miles to the north of Monterrey. Guitar music and laughter floated through the cantina’s open windows.
A mug of beer would taste good, he thought, dismounting before the water trough, watering the pinto stallion. It was only as he led the horse over to the hitching rail before the cantina that he suddenly noticed the vaquero in the shadows, leaning against a post.
Bandit started, his hand going automatically to the Colt worn low and tied down under his left hand.
“Easy, hombre,” said the other in a voice that was almost a whisper. He slowly came out into the moonlight and Bandit noted he was slender and cadaverous, but handsome in a menacing sort of way, maybe part Indian. He took off his sombrero, ran his hand through black hair that glinted with streaks of silver.
Bandit sighed, shrugged. “Beg pardon,” he apologized in his Texas drawl. “Been on the prod too long, I reckon; find myself slappin’ leather at the slightest noise.”
The vaquero laughed softly, shifted the lucifer he chewed from one side of his mouth to the other. His eyes reflected the moonlight, and Bandit noted they were as black as the pits of hell and reflected back at him almost like mirrors behind which there was no soul. Without thinking, he brought his left hand to his vest, to finger the lucky coin that his mother had pressed into his palm as she’d died.
“Hombre,” said the stranger, “where did you get that horse?”
Bandit’s hand dropped to his gunbelt again. “What in blue blazes is it with this horse?” He thought of the lavender-eyed beauty again, felt her tiny ring encircling the smallest finger on his right hand. “Everyone is might curious about this stud. That’s the Flying Eagle brand of my folks from up near the Red River.”
“Is that a fact?” The vaquero shrugged easily as he came over to study the stallion up close. He wore no pistol, Bandit noted. “ Tejano, you look familiar. I swear I’ve seen you some place before,” he said, “have you ever been below the border?”
“Never have.” Bandit shrugged, his hand still on the ivory-handled butt of his colt. “And you’re mighty nosy. Now if you’ll perdône me ”—he gestured with his head toward the noise and music of the cantina—“I’m afixin’ to sample a little of the hospitality of the area, see if we’re simpático .”
The saddlebags, mustn’t forget to keep those saddlebags with him at all times. Somehow sooner or later, he intended to return that army payroll. It was bad enough to have those three bank robbers searching for him; he didn’t want the whole United States Army after him, too!
But even as he swung around to unbuckle the saddlebags from the big horse, a crowd of drunken vaqueros stumbled through the swinging doors of the adobe cantina. They paused uncertainly, swaying on their feet and laughing. “Hey, Romeros,” one called to the black-haired man, “we miss you inside! We want to have a drink with our caudillo , our foreman.”
Romeros smiled, indicated Bandit with a nod of his head. “I was just
But of course, he was common—just a saddle tramp—while she was of the finest family. She could never have considered him seriously anyway. The man she had been betrothed to came from as blue-blooded a family as her own.
She touched her finger where she had worn the amethyst flower all these years and then ran that hand with great agitation and anger through her ebony tresses. Santa María! Bandit! Ah, si , he was only a bandido, a thief after all! She wondered what had become of him? Had the unsuspecting tejano been loco enough to ride that stallion right into the area from which it had been stolen six months ago?
At that very moment, Bandit was riding up to an isolated little cantina a few miles to the north of Monterrey. Guitar music and laughter floated through the cantina’s open windows.
A mug of beer would taste good, he thought, dismounting before the water trough, watering the pinto stallion. It was only as he led the horse over to the hitching rail before the cantina that he suddenly noticed the vaquero in the shadows, leaning against a post.
Bandit started, his hand going automatically to the Colt worn low and tied down under his left hand.
“Easy, hombre,” said the other in a voice that was almost a whisper. He slowly came out into the moonlight and Bandit noted he was slender and cadaverous, but handsome in a menacing sort of way, maybe part Indian. He took off his sombrero, ran his hand through black hair that glinted with streaks of silver.
Bandit sighed, shrugged. “Beg pardon,” he apologized in his Texas drawl. “Been on the prod too long, I reckon; find myself slappin’ leather at the slightest noise.”
The vaquero laughed softly, shifted the lucifer he chewed from one side of his mouth to the other. His eyes reflected the moonlight, and Bandit noted they were as black as the pits of hell and reflected back at him almost like mirrors behind which there was no soul. Without thinking, he brought his left hand to his vest, to finger the lucky coin that his mother had pressed into his palm as she’d died.
“Hombre,” said the stranger, “where did you get that horse?”
Bandit’s hand dropped to his gunbelt again. “What in blue blazes is it with this horse?” He thought of the lavender-eyed beauty again, felt her tiny ring encircling the smallest finger on his right hand. “Everyone is might curious about this stud. That’s the Flying Eagle brand of my folks from up near the Red River.”
“Is that a fact?” The vaquero shrugged easily as he came over to study the stallion up close. He wore no pistol, Bandit noted. “ Tejano, you look familiar. I swear I’ve seen you some place before,” he said, “have you ever been below the border?”
“Never have.” Bandit shrugged, his hand still on the ivory-handled butt of his colt. “And you’re mighty nosy. Now if you’ll perdône me ”—he gestured with his head toward the noise and music of the cantina—“I’m afixin’ to sample a little of the hospitality of the area, see if we’re simpático .”
The saddlebags, mustn’t forget to keep those saddlebags with him at all times. Somehow sooner or later, he intended to return that army payroll. It was bad enough to have those three bank robbers searching for him; he didn’t want the whole United States Army after him, too!
But even as he swung around to unbuckle the saddlebags from the big horse, a crowd of drunken vaqueros stumbled through the swinging doors of the adobe cantina. They paused uncertainly, swaying on their feet and laughing. “Hey, Romeros,” one called to the black-haired man, “we miss you inside! We want to have a drink with our caudillo , our foreman.”
Romeros smiled, indicated Bandit with a nod of his head. “I was just
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