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Chapter Eight

A cool breeze swept down from the mountains while Deacon rode the thirty miles to El Vaquero. On the journey, he pictured Don Erasmos barking out orders in the massive hacienda while maintaining a frenzied vigil until Juan returned with him in tow. Weary after a long day in the saddle and anxious over what the following days would bring, he couldn't stop thinking of Maddie.

He met her for the first time at his parents' funeral. Seemed like everyone who lived in Lincoln County showed up to watch his ma and pa committed to the earth. Don Erasmos rode into 5Horses with an entourage—two wagons, a horde of servants, a cook and his fourteen year old daughter, Madrid. Even at that young age, the girl had acquired a natural grace and breathless beauty. Thick, black hair tumbled beyond her shoulders, heavy and unruly against her small face and delicate features. Their eyes had met for a brief moment during the graveyard service. Brimming with tears, hers were the color of wood soot, dark brown with glints of amber. After she left, he'd searched for months to put a name to the shade and finally stumbled upon it in a book of French paintings. Bistre was the color of ink the Old Masters used in their paintings, and the perfect match to the coalescent hues in the Spanish girl's eyes.

Three years passed before he saw her again. Like now, her father sent a messenger and an invitation to 5Horses, offering him a large sum of money to break in a small herd of wild mustangs. He would be a guest at the hacienda for two months with everything a man could want or need provided at his request. The pay was too good, and his yearning to see the girl that haunted his dreams too strong, to pass up the offer.

When he arrived at the Arrende ranch that day, Madrid stood near the corral inspecting her father's recent purchase. If he thought her lovely at fourteen, he'd underestimated the future promise of her beauty. Thin as a whippet with pert breasts and long limbs, the gangly girl with runaway hair and elfin features had blossomed into an exquisite woman. Every time he looked at her, he fantasized about kissing those lush lips and sliding his tongue down that flawless, bronze-tinted skin. He wanted her, and before the week played out, she knew he wanted her.

Like the others he'd taken to his bed, he thought her an easy conquest. Taming a woman was no different than quieting a wild-eyed, frightened mare. But Madrid was no ordinary woman and he'd never felt such unfettered desire when in her arms. No woman's kiss had taken him to such heights or sent his heart into thundering beats. Maddie didn't succumb to his throaty words and bold advances. She knew what she wanted in life and it didn't include a toss in the hay with him…or any of the ranch hands that shared her world night and day. He admired her for that, realized her beauty paled next to her infallible sense of self and the aspirations and dreams she set her sights on. She hungered for more in life, for her, for him, and hell, at one time for them. But he had fucked it up, squandered that love because of Tess and Callie. He pictured himself a wrinkled old man withering away in a squeaky rocker on the porch. He'd still be searching for his sisters, and Maddie would be holding her grandchildren close, loving them as fiercely as she loved everything in life. His stomach roiled at the thought.

Morning and afternoon had passed before he rode into the hacienda through the last spears of daylight. El Vaquero stood on a low mountain ridge, looking down on an unforgiving, creviced countryside littered with cacti and agave. The hacienda went on for miles it seemed with its hand-made, adobe brick walls and matching roof tiles. He didn't imagine much had changed inside. The large rooms boasted level brick floors with soaring ceilings, stone arches and cobbled pathways that lead to the main courtyard outside. Flowering gardens graced the courtyard with a profusion of colorful blooms originating from Maddie's mother Celesta—a woman he'd never had the honor of meeting, but whose spoken name elicited adoration reserved for a Catholic saint. Don Erasmos made his millions farming wheat, and supplying most of the neighboring towns and cities with his prize horses and cattle. Grandeur was the name that came to mind, right down to the chapel and church housed inside the hacienda.

Vaqueros and a plethora of Mexicans lived in smaller abodes on the property, all dependent on Don Erasmos for food, clothing and medical aid. Doctoring often came in the form of mescal, a cure-all for whatever ailed them. The cure-all relieved sprains, symptoms of a cold and even the grippe. The Don of the hacienda espoused the virtues of mescal in one sentence, "Good for what ails you and good if nothing ails you." Deacon knew the potent drink would not cure what ailed the man now. Don Erasmos would not be well again, physically or mentally, until Maddie came home.

A Mexican dressed in the common clothes of a peon—short, white cotton trousers and matching shirt—greeted him with a toothy smile near the wide verandah. "I will see to the horses, señor. Don Erasmos waits for you inside."

He looked down on Vapor and dismounted. "Stay with Tejas." The front door of the massive adobe structure looked sturdy enough to keep Santa Anna's army at bay for weeks. A woman greeted his knock with a timid smile. He recognized Sarita, and she him. Dressed in a dark cotton dress, her waist was covered in the usual reboso, a sling type sash for carrying babies. Her long, black hair, adorned with strips of red cotton, hung in two plaits down her back. She was barefoot, which didn't surprise Deacon. These people of the earth wore sandals only if they planned to travel a great distance.

With a flourish of her arm, Sarita led him toward the room that served as Don Erasmos' biblioteca, his library. She turned the handle and pushed the door open. "Señor Bannister is here." With rigid back, she leaned against the wooden door as he passed.

Deacon heard the door click shut and then Don Erasmos' booming voice blotted out further sound. "Come in, son, come in."

Worry and fatigue etched the rough features of the man's face. Tall, with a solid build, midnight hair and eyes almost as dark, he walked around his desk, pointed to a chair for him and plopped into one opposite. Vigilant about his surroundings at all times, Deacon had already seen the man looking out the nine-paned window in one corner of the room. Don Erasmos called out to him. "Emmett, please join us."

Emmett pivoted, walked toward them and settled into the third chair.

"I don't believe you two have formally met. Deacon Bannister, Emmett Plummer." They reached across the short expanse and shook hands. Plummer's were well-groomed and soft. "Emmett owns the bank and lumber yard in White Oaks." Don Erasmos added as an afterthought, "And he's Maddie's fiancé.

"So I hear."

"Time is of the essence here so let's get down to business." Pained emotion crossed Don Erasmos' eyes. "I sent for you, Deacon, because this is nasty business we're dealing with. I think it will take a…" Maddie's father paused as if searching for the right word.

"Don't hold back on my account." Deacon stole a quick glance at Emmett before focusing on Don Erasmo again.

"We're dealing with the Apache here, a brutal, violent tribe. I need a man who isn't intimidated, a man they might fear, a brittle, calloused man."

Deacon couldn't help it, he snorted. "Nice words for nasty bastard."

"There's no love lost between my people and theirs."

"From what Juan tells me, they didn't take her because she's Spanish or Mexican or even because she's a woman."

"Yes, yes, I know some think they took her because she speaks to the dead, but what if they're wrong? I can't take the chance. I want her back, whatever it takes. If they want money, that's not a problem."

"The Apache don't have much use for money, sir, and I won't know for sure why they took her or what they want until I talk to them, if I get the chance," he added under his breath.

Emmett's long, narrow face contorted into a look of disbelief. "Did you just say Madrid can speak to the dead?"

"I-I assumed she discussed that with you at some time, Emmett." Don Erasmos took on the astonished look of an owl. "I see you're shocked. Well, this is no time for secrets, not where her safety is concerned." The elderly man started several times to explain. "Deacon, perhaps you can..."

"Apache believe when evil people die, they don't leave but return to torment and wreak havoc on the living."

Emmett cocked his head. "What does this have to do with Madrid?"

"Maddie's madre was what the people in this area call a spirit chaser." Deacon glanced at Don Erasmos. "They have the ability to speak to the dead, or most 'round here believe they do."

"Do you believe in this hocus pocus Bannister?"

"Doesn't matter what I believe. Apparently the Apache think she inherited her madre's abilities. Juan says that's the reason they took her."

"Is this some type of sick joke? Madrid… speaks to the dead? Why wasn't I told?"

Don Erasmos jumped in. "That's a question for my daughter when she returns. And I do mean when she returns."

The room fell silent while Emmett stared at the floor, his forehead creased in thought. Long minutes later, he lifted his head. "How do you plan to accomplish her return?"

Emmett's lack of confidence in him and the man's superior air wasn't lost on Deacon. "I won't know until I enter their camp—if I get the chance to enter. I hope to trade for her release."

Emmett released a noise somewhere between a grunt and a snort. "Trade? She's not a horse, Bannister."

"She is to them, no more, no less."

Don Erasmos ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, evidence he hadn't shaved for several days. "What do you mean, Deacon?"

"Look, you both need to understand something. Maddie's worth depends on what she can do for them. She holds no more value than a horse, or anything tangible. They took her for a reason. If she can't help them, they'll dispose of her faster than butter melting in a hot skillet." Deacon softened his tone. "I'm sorry Don Erasmos but you should know what you're up against."

"Then the sooner you leave the better."

"Right, so if we're done here, I best get some shut-eye. I'll leave at first light."

Emmett wrung his hands. "How do you know where to go?"

"Juan gave me a map." Deacon shrugged. "Other than that, instinct."

"Instinct?" A condescending chuckle left Emmett's lips. "Sounds reckless to me."

"You're her fiancé, Plummer." He almost spat the words. "If you think you can do better, what's stopping you from going after her?"

Emmett ignored the question and offered a sneer. "For the record, Madrid told me everything, and I do mean everything, that happened between you. If you have any thoughts of dredging up old memories on your rescue mission, forget it. She's mine now."

"Are you certain?"

Plummer's face turned scarlet and he scooted to the edge of the chair.

"I'm talking about the part of telling you everything. You didn't know the natives believe she can talk to dead people… which begs the question of whether or not she's really yours."

"Why you—"

"Enough!"Don Erasmos put a hand in the air. "Bickering won't get my Maddie back. Emmett can't go after her because, well because, he knows nothing about the natives or the terrain." He met Emmett's eyes with a hard glare. "As for who my daughter belongs to, I think Maddie would say she belongs to no man."

"My apologies, Bannister. I guess everyone is on edge. Don Erasmos is right; I have no experience in this sort of thing, wouldn't know how or where to begin."

Deacon accepted his apology with a subtle nod. "Like I said, I'll be leaving at dawn. Have your men pack the burros."

Don Erasmos blew an anguished sigh. "Unfortunately, Emmett must return to White Oaks this evening, but I'll be up to see you off."

"Yes, business waits for no one, I'm afraid." Looking down, Emmett skimmed a thumb over his nails. "I'll return to El Vaquero as soon as possible."

Deacon came to his feet and headed for the door. Sarita would be waiting on the other side to escort him to the same room he'd stayed in during his last visit. He didn't like Emmett Plummer and told himself it had nothing to do with the man's betrothal to Maddie. What sort of man would allow another to go after his fiancé, and what sort of man would place business over her safe return? Deacon meant to damn well ask her the minute he saw her.

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