The Mercenary's Kiss

Elena hated the harsh truth of his logic and debated taking off in a hard run southward—away from him. After all, she didn’t need his services, despite what Pop said. She could find her way to the nearest border town without him. She could find help with the local lawmen, too. The sheriff. The chief of police. She’d wire the governor of Texas if she had to.

But the revolver was proof Jeb intended to do things his way without a care to hers.

“He’s my son,” she said through her teeth. “If he were yours—”

“—I’d do the same thing.” The interruption was swift. Impatient. “You’ll do him no good when you’re too exhausted to think straight.”

“I’m not exhausted!”

“You will be when the adrenaline stops. Now let’s go.” The revolver waved toward the river again.

He was wrong. She could ride for hours yet. All night, if she had to. And then again all day.

Nicky would be missing her right now. Was he crying? Calling her name? He wouldn’t understand who the men who’d taken him were or why she wasn’t there with him. He’d never gone to sleep before without her cuddling and rocking him first.

Elena bit her lip. The need to hold him in her arms again stole the very breath from her lungs. She ached from it.

She sat straighter in the saddle. She had to keep looking for him, but for now she’d do what Jeb commanded her to do. She’d ride to the river so they could rest. Then, when he fell asleep, she’d slip away and resume her race to Mexico.

The plan soothed her. Gave her focus. Allowed her to turn her mount toward the water without further protest. Elena watched Jeb dismount and tie his horse to the shrubbery growing wild along the bank.

Despite her plan, she couldn’t bring herself to do the same. The minutes ticking away tortured her with the knowledge she should be chasing after her son instead of sitting here going nowhere.

Jeb glanced at her. “Get off the horse, Elena.”

She suspected he knew what she was thinking. But did he have an inkling of how much it hurt to have Nicky stolen from her?

He couldn’t possibly. And what did he care anyway? He didn’t even know her or her baby.

The self-pity rolled through her in waves. She blinked hard at the tears that surfaced with a vengeance, and swallowing convulsively, she swung out of the saddle.

But once on the ground, her knees threatened to give way. With the horse and the night’s shadows to shield her from Jeb’s view, she gripped the saddle horn and sagged against the horse’s neck. She buried her face against the warm hide.

She just needed a few moments to compose herself. She needed control. Strength. She needed—

“Elena.”

She whirled toward Jeb with a gasp.

“Sit down while I light a fire.”

His fingers closed over her elbow, but she jerked free. She didn’t want this man touching her when he was so determined to keep her from going after Nicky.

“I don’t want to sit,” she said. “I want—”

“I know damn well what you want.” In the silence of the night, his voice sounded rough. “You just can’t have it yet.” He took her elbow again, but this time his grip remained firm. “Sit over here.” He pulled her with him away from her horse. “I’m going to start a fire. We’ll eat. Then we’ll sleep. When it’s morning, we’ll get up, eat breakfast and ride again.”

She stiffened at his condescending explanation. Did he think she wouldn’t understand the routine? He released her, but she remained standing. “You needn’t talk to me as if I were a child.”

“I’m just telling you the way things are going to be.”

She glared at him. “Have I no say in any of this?”

He kicked pieces of wood into a pile with the toe of his boot, then lit a match. In the glow of the flame, his hard eyes met hers. “No.”

“Nicky is my son. Not yours.”

“Which is why I’m giving the orders. I can think better than you can.” He hunkered over the firewood. In moments, flames hissed and snapped. He straightened again. “So until you can step back from being afraid for him, I’m going to do your thinking for you.”

He strode toward the horses. Clearly he considered the conversation at an end. Elena’s mouth opened to protest.

But she closed it again. He didn’t even spare her a glance as he bent to uncinch the saddle on his horse. Why would he bother to listen to anything she had to say anyway? He hadn’t so far, had he?

She folded her arms and shivered, more from worry for Nicky than the chill in the air. Energy coiled through her, a tight, nervous energy that threatened to spiral out of control.

She began to pace. Jeb expected her to trust him. Why should she? She knew nothing about him—his skills, his background, his credibility. Yet she was supposed to let him lead her around by the nose? Place in his charge the daunting task of finding her precious child? What would he know about confronting the ruthless Mexican, Ramon?

Then again, what would she?

Jeb expected her to step back from her fear and worry. Ha! Easy for him to say. She couldn’t imagine a hard man like him ever having a child of his own. How would he know what it was like? What could Pop have been thinking, insisting that she go with him?

But what choice did she have at the moment?

The first ragged edges of fatigue seeped into her muscles. With it, doubt. And a whole new round of worry raised its ugly head. What if she failed Nicky? What if she never saw him again? What if—

Elena stopped short. She had to stop thinking like this. It’d destroy her if she didn’t.

“If it’s any consolation, the men who kidnapped your baby are holing up somewhere,” Jeb said from behind her. “Just like we are.”

Elena whirled. “We have no way of knowing that.”

“It’s the middle of the night. Their horses have to rest, too.”

Elena was no stranger to the care of them. She knew the importance of keeping them watered and fed, that a tired horse could soon be a lame one. And without strong mounts to help them flee with Nicky, they’d be vulnerable to the repercussions.

“Yes, of course.” She tiredly tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear. It was an angle she hadn’t thought of, and the knowledge that, at the very least, she and Jeb weren’t losing ground in their chase was somewhat reassuring.

“I’ve got beans warming on the fire.” He opened one of his saddlebags and removed a leather case, slim and rectangular in shape. “Let me have a look at that cut on your head.”

His words reminded Elena how the Mexican had struck her with the butt of his rifle. She touched her fingers to the tender spot, the blood from the gash long since dried.

She spied her valise on the ground, laid there by Jeb when he had unsaddled her horse. The small suitcase bulged from all she’d hurriedly stuffed inside—essentials for Nicky, along with a few things for herself. She lifted the lid and took out a bottle of Pop’s elixir.

“What’re you going to do with that?” Jeb stood on the other side of the campfire, feet spread, hands on hips. The broad brim of his hat kept his features in shadow, but the hard set to his mouth made his disapproval clear.

She latched the valise. “The injury needs to be disinfected.”

“I’ve got whiskey for that.”

“Pop’s elixir is better.”

“That so?”

“Yes.” She refused to defend Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound to him. Except for her father, no one knew its benefits better than she did. “I always carry some with me. I never know when it’ll come in handy.”

“And now is one of those times.”

She ignored his sarcasm. “Yes.”

Folding a washcloth, she saturated a corner, then dabbed the wet fabric against the laceration. The slight sting indicated the elixir was working its magic.

“I’ll do that.” Sounding impatient again, he took the washcloth from her and indicated a fallen log he’d dragged closer to the fire. “Sit.”

She hesitated. She truly did need his help, she supposed. Without a mirror, it was impossible to see what she was doing.

But she fully expected his method of cleaning the wound would be as brusque as his manner. Bracing herself for it, she gave in and perched on the log warily. He straddled it, his body at a right angle to hers.

“Turn toward me,” he said. He cupped her chin and tilted her face toward the fire.

It’d been a long time since she sat so close to a man other than Pop. Elena didn’t move while Jeb studied the laceration first, then the swelling on her cheekbone,

She could smell horse on him. Tobacco and leather.

Raw masculinity.

The strength of it rocked her. It was all she could do to keep from pulling back, to distance herself, a defense mechanism that had slammed into place the night of the Mexican’s brutal attack.

“You’re going to get a shiner out of this,” he said, his words dragging her from her discomfiture. He ran the pad of his thumb over the puffy skin beneath her eye, his touch far more gentle than she had anticipated. “You’ll need a few stitches, too.”

“We’ll find a doctor for that later,” she said firmly as he took the washcloth and began wiping away the old blood. “I don’t want to delay finding Nicky for something so frivolous.”

The washcloth halted. “Frivolous?” Jeb grunted and resumed cleaning. “The gash is deep. He hit you hard.”

Elena swallowed. Jeb was right on that count.

“The wound needs to be closed,” he went on. “And I never intended to waste time finding a doctor. I’ll sew you up myself.”

Startled, she drew back. “You?”

“Yes. Me.”

The apprehension grew in leaps and bounds. “I’ve never had stitches before.”

“You think I’ll botch the job? Or hurt you?”

Her lips clamped tight. That’s exactly what she thought.

He tossed aside the washcloth and reached for the leather case lying on the ground next to him. “Then you’d better understand one more thing between us, Elena. Besides following my orders, you’re going to have to trust me.”

He opened the container. Firelight glinted off an assortment of surgeon’s tools—knives, tweezers, pliers. And an ominous-looking saw.

An amputation kit, Elena realized, taken aback.

He removed a needle and spool of thread, pulled out a length and broke it off.

“Are you a doctor?” she asked.

“Far from it.”

“But you have knowledge of medicine? Surgery?”

He threaded the needle deftly. “What I’ve learned about treating injuries, I learned in the field.” His gaze, dark and shadowed, met hers. “The hard way.”

The field?

“This will hurt some,” he said, distracting her from the question of how he had acquired his experience. And where. “But I’ll work as fast as I can. You want a shot of whiskey first?”

“No.” She reached for Pop’s elixir. “I can numb the skin with this. It’ll only take a few minutes.” Again she drenched a clean portion of the washcloth and pressed it over the laceration.

“What’s in that stuff anyway?” he demanded.

“Only Pop knows. He’s never told anyone. Not even me.”

“Why not?”

“Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound is a solution he’s formulated himself from the secrets of the ancients.”

“The secrets of the ancients.”

“It doesn’t matter what the ingredients are. All that’s important is the elixir is therapeutic.” She considered him and the disdain he didn’t bother to hide. “Your opinion of it is irrelevant.”

“You’ll think differently when you feel the needle going through your skin when you could’ve had whiskey instead.”

“The pain will be minimal, I assure you.”

He sighed and shifted his position. “Sit on the ground and lean against my leg.”

He nudged her off the log and directed her to sit sideways between his spread knees, then eased her head back to rest on his thigh. The position gave him clear access to the laceration.

“This will only take a few minutes, so don’t move.” He took the washcloth from her and tossed it aside. The needle and thread hovered above her. “I’ll work as fast as I can.”

He brushed the hair away from her forehead and began closing the wound, each dip and pull of the needle practiced and smooth—and as pain-free as she’d predicted. Again Elena wondered about the circumstances from which he had acquired his skill. He seemed to have learned from them well.

In her close proximity, she dared to study him. His dark eyes were narrowed in concentration. Beneath her head, the muscles in his thigh were firm, his strength a palpable thing. She noted the days’ growth of beard and hair hanging too long past his collar—and how they gave him a dangerous look.

Yet she felt no fear of him. Not now, at least, though the memory of his long-barreled Colt pointed at her earlier clearly indicated he wasn’t a man to be crossed.

He tied off the thread, and Elena quickly lowered her lashes. True to his word, the suturing had only taken a few minutes.

“Eight stitches,” Jeb said grimly, snipping off the ends with small scissors taken from the amputation kit. He straightened, and Elena pulled away.

“Thank you.” She sat cross-legged in the grass and tentatively probed his handiwork with a fingertip. He’d closed the wound neatly.

He regarded her for a long moment. “Who took your son from you?”

For a little while, her worries for Nicky had faded under the distraction of Jeb’s doctoring. Now they came crashing back all over again.

“I know him just as Ramon,” Elena said. “And I only learned that when he and his men ambushed us.”

“Why would he take the boy?”

She strove for the calm she needed to discuss the situation. Given his intention to help her, Jeb was, after all, entitled to know. “I can only speculate. Ramon never knew he existed until today.”

Jeb’s features hardened in suspicion. He leaned forward. “There are a hell of a lot of babies in this country, Elena. Why would he take yours?”

She tamped down the ugly memories that reared up, as she always did when they returned to haunt her. She drew in a breath. “Ramon raped me two years ago. I haven’t seen him since. Until this afternoon, that is.”

A moment of stunned silence passed.

“Nicky is his.”

“Sweet Jesus.”

“So I’m quite certain he will not give my baby back…very easily.”

“No.” Jeb’s gaze didn’t waver. “He won’t.”

“I don’t even know who he is,” Elena went on, the words pouring from her now that Jeb had turned the spigot. “That—that night, he robbed us of the entire take from one of Pop’s shows. The fact that he—Ramon—came upon us today was pure chance.”

“You know nothing about him, then?”

“No.” She considered Jeb, his unexpected willingness to change his travel plans to go after the Mexican and his men. “Do you?”

“Not for sure.”

“But you have an idea?”

“A speculation.”

This time Elena waited. By the tight set of Jeb’s mouth, it was easy to see he knew more than she did.

And what he knew wasn’t good.

“His name is Ramon de la Vega,” Jeb said, pulling no punches. “He’s a follower of Emiliano Zapata. They’re revolutionaries. They intend to overturn the government of the President of Mexico.”

Her heart began a slow, thundering pound. “Oh, God.”

“They’re cold-blooded killers, Elena.”

“How do you know that?” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. Her first instincts screamed—prayed—he was lying to her. That he only wanted to scare her. That this whole conversation was a terrible nightmare he’d dreamed up to torture her.

But one look at his expression revealed he was dead serious.

“I’ve worked for the United States military a long time. I kept track of men like de la Vega.”

“Why would he want a baby with him? Nicky will only slow him down. He’ll—he’ll—”

Something flickered in Jeb’s features, something shadowy and distant, but it disappeared before she could define it.

“Probably intends to have the boy follow in his footsteps someday,” he said.

“What?” she gasped.

“It’s what fathers do,” he added, his tone sarcastic.

“No. I won’t allow it. I absolutely refuse—” Elena clamped her mouth shut. The idea of Nicky becoming a revolutionary like Ramon was so ludicrous it didn’t warrant discussing further.

Jeb rose, went to the fire and stirred the beans with a knife.

“Do you have a husband?” he asked. “Someone we should notify of the boy’s kidnapping?”

A husband. Elena stiffened. What man would want her? A woman with an illegitimate child, violently begotten by a man as lawless and despicable as Ramon de la Vega. A woman whose innocence had been destroyed by his lust.

“No,” she said. “Besides my father, Nicky and I have no other family.”

Except for the medicine-show troupe, and they’d find out soon enough what happened. She didn’t want to think of the worry they’d all endure when they did.

Jeb slathered a tortilla with the beans. “So it’s just you and me, then.” He rolled the thin bread and held it toward her. “Name’s Jeb Carson, in case you’re interested.”

Her stomach revolted at the thought of food. “I’m not hungry.”

“Eat anyway.”

His low voice held the command she’d begun to associate with him—a man who was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.

She quelled the urge to refuse and took the tortilla from him. The thin bread was warm against her hand, but she didn’t take a bite.

“So what’s yours?” he asked, spreading beans on several more. “Besides Elena?”

“Malone. Elena Malone. My father’s name is Charles.”

He nodded, as if he’d already guessed that much. “The label on the elixir claims he’s a doctor. Is he?”

Jeb sounded skeptical again. Her chin hiked up a defensive inch. “If you’re inquiring if he has a certificate stating his degree as such, then no. But he’s a doctor in the truest sense of the word, if one considers his dedication to healing people of their ills with his medicine.”

Jeb grunted, his mouth full of tortilla. Watching her coolly, he swallowed. “The elixir making him rich?”

She made a sound of exasperation. “My father’s financial affairs are none of your—”

“Just answer the question, Elena.”

She thought of the bills incurred with every performance, of how imperative it was to sell enough bottles of Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound to pay them. She thought of how they lived from show to show. Hand-to-mouth. And how she’d grown to tire of it.

“No,” she said. “Not hardly. Why?”

“Might be de la Vega is thinking of ransom for the boy.” Jeb took another bite of tortilla and beans.

Oh, God. The notion had never occurred to her.

“Costs money to buy arms and food for his men,” he added. “Revolutions don’t come cheap.”

“I’ll pay any price he demands. I’ll rob a dozen banks if I have to.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“I’m prepared to do anything to get Nicky back,” she said, just in case he needed reminding. “Are you?”

The last of the tortillas he’d made gone, Jeb reached inside his jacket, withdrew a small bottle of whiskey and took a quick swig. He held out the bottle to her. She shook her head in refusal, and he recapped it.

“I expect finding your son will be one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do.” He strode toward his saddle and bags and tossed a Winchester rifle onto the ground. A gunbelt with two revolvers. An extra Colt pistol. Several knives.

The man was a virtual weapons arsenal. She had no idea he was so heavily armed.

“That’s all we have to defend ourselves with against the whole damn bunch,” Jeb said. “We have a lot of ground to cover to find them. And they’ve got half a day on us.”

Elena’s spirits sank. His perception of their ability to fight their way to Nicky was, obviously, more realistic than hers.

“But am I prepared to do anything to get him back for you?” Jeb squatted next to her. The firelight splashed over his unshaven features. Dark danger emanated from him. A ruthlessness that could stagger the fiercest of his enemies. “Yeah. Ramon de la Vega will pay the price.”

A sudden apprehension skidded down her spine. She didn’t yet know what Jeb Carson was capable of, if his words were false bravado or deadly conviction.

But, oh, how she wanted to believe him.

He had no more power to see into the future than she did. How would he know with any certainty that he could steal her son back from the Mexican rebel?

Jeb tossed a bedroll toward her, then laid a second one out on the other side of the fire. He stretched his lean length over it, then dipped into his pocket for a cigarette.

He seemed to have dismissed their conversation in favor of a leisurely smoke, but her stomach churned with worry. Did he expect her to relax as easily as he did?

He turned and caught her staring. He indicated the beans and tortilla she still held. “Eat up, Elena.”

She eyed the food with distaste. “I don’t want it.”

“Eat so you can get some sleep. I want to pull out at dawn.”

She rebelled against the command. Saying nothing more, she arranged the blankets. Before crawling beneath them, she tucked the tortilla into a fold where he wouldn’t notice. She’d eat later when she had more of a mind for it.

She settled onto her side, facing away from Jeb, and pulled the edge of the blanket to her chin. Heat from the fire warmed her back, and she stared out into the black night beyond their camp.

Had Pop arrived in San Antonio yet? Had Creed kept his word and gotten him to a hospital safely? Was he in pain, or was he taking doses of his elixir regularly to prevent it?

And, oh, God, what of her baby? She missed Nicky so much. The ache soaked clear into her bones.

Where was he? Tears stung her eyes. Was he safe? Was he sleeping peacefully? Was he warm enough? Had he cried himself to sleep, wanting her?

But even more important, would she ever hold him again?

Chapter Five

J eb came awake instantly. Somewhere deep in his subconscious, his instincts told him she was gone.

He breathed a fervent oath and rolled to his feet. Only low-burning embers remained of the fire he’d lit, and he strained to see past them in the dark. Elena’s blankets were still there, but no womanly form lay beneath.

He turned toward the horses, his brain racing to determine how long she’d been gone and formulating a plan to go after her. But both their mounts grazed near the river. The saddles and valise still lay on the ground, and he began to suspect she hadn’t left after all.

Then where was she?

A faint nicker jerked his attention to the river again. The sound came from Elena’s mare, a palomino and part of the team they’d unhitched from the medicine-show wagon. The low, throaty sound conveyed concern, the kind when an animal senses trouble for his owner.

Jeb drew closer, his hand on the butt of his Colt. Moonlight peeked through a gossamer veil of cloud cover and provided enough illumination for him to search one side of the bank, then the other. He found her huddled near the water’s edge, her head bowed over her drawn-up knees, her body still.

Jeb frowned. She had probably sought out the river for the solace it could give her. He’d done the same thing himself a time or two over the years.

His hand fell away from his gun. She was thinking of her baby, he knew. Anyone could see how much she hurt from being separated from him, that the worry and anguish cut deep. She needed time to sort through the pain. To get a hold on it.

But Jeb couldn’t leave her just yet. Some unseen force kept him right where he stood, watching her, his concern building the longer she sat there looking so damned alone.

Maybe he should go to her. Lend a shoulder. Listen, if she needed to talk.

But he hesitated. Emotional women left him feeling inept, even one as hurting—or as deserving of a good cry—as Elena. Hell, he’d rather face a firing squad.

She hadn’t noticed him, so he lingered. Just a few minutes to assure himself she’d be all right sitting there at the river’s edge in the middle of the night.