Diablo's Angel (Ranchero Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  Diablo saw the hurt in her dark eyes and how more tears pooled there. He felt her pain, not her physical pain, but the pain to her heart, thinking she wasn’t wanted. He had known such pain, believing someone had cared for him, though just not enough.

  He hadn’t planned on telling her anything, except that her departure would be delayed. But the hurt in her eyes somehow touched him in a way that troubled him. He had long ago buried all feelings. He had had no choice if he was to survive what life had forced him to embrace.

  So why did he feel for this woman who unexpectedly had entered his life?

  “Your family is eager for your return.”

  Her dark eyes sparkled with tears that threatened to fall as she asked, “Then what delays my return?”

  “I delay your return.”

  “Why when you admit you want me gone?” she asked, wiping at her eyes before more tears could fall.

  “Your family believes I abducted you and that I want ransom paid for your return. Until they learn the truth and arrangements are made for your safe return, you will stay with me.”

  “An easy solution. Send me home, I’ll tell them the truth. You have my word on it,” she said eager for him to agree.

  His laugh was anything but pleasant and killed the hope that had flared in Crista.

  “I trust no one, Crista, and your brother would come after me regardless of what you tell him. Your family’s honor would call for it.”

  “I’m sure the whole terrible mess can be explained,” she said, doing her best to convince him.

  “That it will and until it is, you will remain my guest, since you have never been my captive.”

  She went to continue to argue her point, but he raised his hand with a snap, silencing her.

  “This must be handled carefully and cautiously if you don’t wish your brother to die, for if he demands revenge I will have no choice but to kill him.”

  Crista stared at his back as he left the room and when she heard the door close, tears trickled from her eyes once again. The thought that Esteban could lose his life because of her broke her heart. She might not have seen him for years but the few memories she had of him had always touched her heart.

  Angry and disappointed that she would not be returning home as soon as she hoped, she forced herself to accept her situation for the sake of her brother. Diablo did say that her family was eager for her return. She had to hold that close to her heart and be patient, a virtue she seriously lacked.

  Crista sat on the porch the next morning, enjoying the bright sun and the gentle mountain breeze that kept the temperature comfortable.

  “Where do the people go?” Crista asked Evia, pointing to two adults and three children in a cart.

  “A better place,” Evia said with a smile.

  “Alma said the same thing. What do you mean? Is this place not safe?”

  “Things grow tense between the few bands of outlaws in the area. Things are changing, more people moving into the area, more buildings going up, law and order being demanded. Outlaws will find it more and more difficult to thrive in Los Angeles.”

  “Diablo is moving his band of people to safer ground?” she asked, worried this was something else that would hamper her departure even more.

  “I should say no more,” Evia said, looking nervous she had said too much, and hurried off.

  Where was Diablo moving his people and why only take so many at a time? Why not move them all at once? Strange too that Evia should share such information with her. Information Crista could share with authorities once she returned home. But what difference would it make? The land was unfamiliar to her and she wouldn’t be able to tell anyone how to find this place, and what would it matter? It would be deserted by the time the authorities reached here.

  She looked out over the encampment, women, young and old talking, children playing and laughing, delicious scents of food cooking drifting in the air, men in conversation, and she wondered what had brought all of them here. The children weren’t running from the law and what of the women? It puzzled Crista.

  Her curiosity nudging her, she decided to see what she could find out. She spotted Alma turning on the path that she and Diablo had taken yesterday and went to join her.

  “There is water nearby?” she asked, seeing the bucket the old woman carried as she came up behind her.

  Alma jumped and turned with a start.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to frightened you,” Crista said as she reached the woman.

  Alma shook her head. “It isn’t your fault. My mind was busy with too many thoughts.”

  “Burdensome thoughts?” Crista asked, not needing to since it showed in the old woman’s eyes, the wrinkles around them appearing deeper, and her steps were slow as if her burden was too heavy to carry.

  “Si,” Alma said with a nod.

  “Let me at least lighten your burden a little,” Crista said and took the bucket from the woman before she could protest. “How does your granddaughter do?”

  “She is young and foolish, but aren’t we all young and foolish at one time.”

  “A friend of mine once said that foolishness is a lesson that we learn, if we’re lucky,” Crista said, recalling Lucia’s words.

  Alma smiled. “You have a wise friend.” Her smile faded. “My granddaughter has yet to learn the lesson. She continues to defend a man that lies to her and raises his hand against her. Her madre was the same way and paid heavily for her foolishness. I don’t want to see that happen to Vilia.”

  “Has Vilia only known life here in the encampment?” Crista asked, not only wanting to learn more about the people here, but genuinely concerned for Alma and Vilia.

  “Vilia has no memory of life before here. She was barely three-years-old when Diablo sent me here with her. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know what would have become of me and Vilia.”

  “Where were you before you came here?”

  “Another outlaw camp, where people were treated horribly,” Alma said.

  Crista watched as the old woman shook her head and wondered if she was trying to shake away the memories.

  They reached a stream and Alma stopped by the water’s edge, looking out in the distance. “My daughter, Angelia, fell in love with an outlaw and ran off. She was all I had. My husband died when she was barely ten and since he and I were never blessed with more children, it was only me and Angelina. Life was not easy for us. She returned to me pregnant and begged me to go with her. She told me she feared giving birth without me. I couldn’t deny her and I couldn’t deny how lonely it was without her. So I went with her. What I found broke my heart.”

  Crista wrapped her arm around her, but said nothing, knowing the old woman hadn’t finished purging her burden.

  “Cortes, the man she loved, was a brutal outlaw. He beat my daughter and took any woman he wanted. She meant nothing to him as did my granddaughter. I once asked permission to leave with my daughter and granddaughter. He laughed and told me that they both belonged to him and he’d kill anyone who tried to take them from him. The only thing I could do was be there for her and my granddaughter.”

  When Alma stayed silent long enough to have Crista think she would say no more, she asked, “What happened to Angelia?”

  Alma wiped away the tears running down her cheeks. “She came to her senses when Cortes got angry one day and lashed out at Vilia for crying, leaving a large bruise on her. She told me that we had to leave. She feared for her daughter’s safety. Diablo attacked the camp before we could make our escape.”

  “She was killed in the attack?” Crista asked, upset for the woman.

  “No, Cortes killed her and himself, when he saw that Diablo would be the victor. Cortes would have never been able to live with the defeat. And as he had told me, he’d never let Angelia go, so he took her along with him in death.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Crista said, feeling terrible for what the old woman had suffered.

  “I don’t want the same for Vili
a, but how do I stop her when I couldn’t even stop my daughter? I fear she will run off with Ortiz and she will suffer as her mother did.” She sighed softly. “I used to pray that Cortes would die so my daughter would be free. Now I pray the same for Ortiz, since I fear that is the only way Vilia will be free.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Crista jumped along with Alma and they both turned to see Diablo standing not far from them.

  “I joined Alma on her walk to fetch water,” Crista said, seeing Alma hurrying to wipe away her tears.

  “Ramos will fetch the water for you Alma and walk you back,” Diablo said.

  Crista didn’t notice the young man, standing off to the side. She supposed it was due to Diablo’s looming, dark presence. He took up all the space around him.

  “Worry not, Alma. All will be well,” Diablo said and with a wave of his hand, Ramos stepped forward, filled-bucket in hand, and took Alma’s arm as he walked off with her.

  Crista went to follow the two.

  “You will sit and rest your leg before returning to camp,” he ordered and pointed to a large rock, the surface smooth enough to sit on.

  Crista didn’t argue. It gave her a chance to talk with him, since she knew he wouldn’t leave her here alone.

  Her tongue got ahead of her as usual. “Where is this better place that you are sending the people to that I see leaving here?”

  “You ask questions that don’t concern you, but that doesn’t surprise me,” Diablo said and felt a quickening in his gut when a smile blossomed on her face. It turned to a slight laugh as she tilted her head for a moment, the sun’s rays catching and highlighting her beauty.

  Every time he saw her, there was something that captured his attention. That wasn’t true. She had captured his attention from when they had first met. Something he had been trying to ignore and something he was failing miserably at.

  “You have come to know me,” she said with a soft tinkle of laughter in her voice.

  Not as much as I want to. He silently cursed his sudden thought.

  “This is good since you know I hide nothing from you.”

  “Something most people do,” he said.

  “Like yourself?” she asked.

  “There could be many reasons why I conceal my identity.”

  “I only ask for one,” she said, keeping her eyes focused on him.

  His response was quick. “I am too ugly to look upon.”

  Her smile faded. “Did you suffer some horrible accident and was left scared or do you believe yourself ugly?”

  “Someone need not strike a physical blow to leave another scarred.”

  “Sadly, you’re right. Physical wounds heal within a given time, but wounds to the heart and soul can last indefinitely.” She turned her head to look at the meandering stream. “You think the pain is gone, then a memory rises from the depths of where you thought you had buried it deep enough, and it hurts all over again.”

  It was obvious she spoke from experience. He assumed it was the memory of what had happened to her leg or was there something else that had caused her pain? And why should it matter to him when it shouldn’t matter to him at all, and he wondered why it did.

  “Will you be moving me from here to a better place?” Crista asked.

  “You go where I go.”

  “That is not an answer,” Crista accused, trying to hide her surprise at his response.

  “It will suffice.” He held his hand out to her. “Time to go.”

  She took his hand, knowing her refusal to do so would have him taking her by the arm. He wore no gloves and when his hand closed around hers with a tender strength, a flutter erupted in her stomach that startled her.

  “Your leg pains you?” he asked when her step faltered.

  She let him think just that. “A little, but there is no need to remind me to rest. I am aware what it takes for my leg to heal.”

  “Yet you don’t do what you should,” he said as they walked along the path.

  “I normally do, but…” She let her words trail off, sorry she had said anything.

  “Tell me,” he ordered, his hand tightening around hers.

  She thought how odd the words that came to her lips, particularly since he was holding her hand. “I’m vulnerable here, whereas at home I was surrounded by people who loved me.”

  “You felt safe,” he said, and she nodded.

  They continued walking, Crista saying no more and Diablo remaining silent as well until he left her on the porch.

  “The devil brings nothing but heartache,” he said and turned and walked away.

  She watched him. The devil always brought heartache, but what about the man beneath the shroud? Who was he? What had caused him to become an outlaw? Why did he hide? Was he disfigured? Or was there another reason he concealed his identity?

  Her curiosity often got her in trouble but her curiosity about Diablo could prove dangerous.

  Chapter 9

  Crista’s leg healed well over the next few days and by the end of the week she knew it was nearly fully recovered. She hadn’t seen much of Diablo. It was almost like he purposely avoided her, but she didn’t mind. It was better that way. She had too many mixed feelings around him. One minute he seemed kind and caring and the next it was as if he was the devil himself. He was not a man she could trust, but then why did the thought strike her that she ever could trust him? He was an outlaw, an infamous one at that.

  The sound of music caught her attention and she stepped outside. The campsite was alight with campfires, delicious scents filled the night air, and people danced as if in celebration. Her eyes immediately went in search of Diablo but she didn’t see him anywhere.

  Alma and Evia sat together smiling and watching the young ones’ dance. Crista was surprised to see Vilia dancing with Ramos, but then Ortiz had yet to fully recover from the whipping he had received. It was good to see Vilia enjoying herself and from the look on Alma’s face, she was pleased to see her granddaughter doing so.

  Crista thought to join them, but she really wasn’t one of them. Diablo might think of her as a guest, but she felt more a captive. Once again she let her glance drift around the camp and when she caught movement in the shadows, she knew it was Diablo.

  She left the porch, keeping herself removed from the activities as she made her way to where she had seen the dark shadow among the night shadows.

  “You don’t join the festivities?” she asked as she drifted into the shadows to join him.

  “You don’t as well?” he asked surprised she had seen him there.

  It took a few moments for Crista’s eyes to adapt to the darkness and finally make out the dark shroud that covered Diablo.

  “I asked you first,” she said with a teasing laugh.

  “The devil is not festive. What is your excuse?” he asked.

  She laughed. “I suppose that’s true. Or perhaps it’s because the devil can’t dance?”

  “The devil can do anything. And your excuse?” he reminded, she having ignored his question.

  “I am a stranger among strangers,” she said, suddenly feeling the weight of loneliness. The lively music had brought to mind the many celebrations she had enjoyed with her family in Spain. “What do they celebrate?” she quickly asked, not wanting to dwell on memories that nearly brought tears to her eyes.

  “Life,” Diablo said, seeing sadness wipe away her smile.

  “They are happy.”

  “And you wonder how they could be?” he asked, seeing her brow wrinkle in question.

  “Only because of you,” she said.

  His brow wrinkled in question this time, though she couldn’t see it. “Me?”

  “Si,” Crista said with a nod. “They lead a simple, but full life filled with family and friends, a blessing indeed. However, being with you, a notorious outlaw, can cause them great sorrow.”

  “I wouldn’t let that happen,” he said with a confident defiance that couldn’t be ignored.


  “So you believe, but there is one thing in life that we can all count on… that fate can change everything in a mere blink of an eye. And we are left to deal with what fate has dealt us.”

  “And fate has brought us together,” Diablo said and silently cursed himself for saying so.

  “But why?” she asked without thinking.

  “I suppose that is for us to find out,” he said, thinking fate had made a dreadful mistake, which made him say. “Do not think to trust the devil, Crista.”

  Feeling emboldened by the lively music, she found her response spilling from her lips, “I would never trust the devil. It’s the man beneath the shroud that stirs my curiosity.”

  She was shocked when she found herself planted against his chest, his arm tight around her waist. “This shroud protects you from looking upon evil himself. So make no mistake, there is no difference between the two.”

  He shoved her away from him and disappeared deeper into the shadows, dismissing her without saying a word.

  Crista made her way back to the porch and went inside the house, no longer interested in the festivities. A deep sorrow had grabbed hold of her, twisting and turning her stomach and her heart. She ached for the family who had taken her into their care and the wonderful life she had had with them. They were home to her, not this foreign land that held nothing but heartache. As young as she had been when she left here, she could still clearly remember how her madre had handed her to the strange woman and they had sailed away on a big ship. Her little heart had broken that day and she didn’t think it had ever mended.

  Her home, the family she loved was in Spain. This wasn’t her home and she feared it never would be. Fate had seen to that when Fate had sent the devil to greet her on her return to Los Angeles.

  Crista went to bed wishing she could return to Spain and the family she loved.

  “No, Madre, no, I be good,” Crista cried as her mother handed her to the strange woman. “Please. Please, Madre, I be good.”

  Crista bolted up in bed, the all too familiar dream returning after years of keeping it buried. She hurried out of bed, worried she would fall back asleep only to be trapped once again in the awful nightmare. She rushed to the other room, her bare feet skimming the plank floor, so anxious was she for a drink of water and for a reprieve from her nightmare.