Kitabı oku: «In the Arms of a Hero», sayfa 3

“You’re going to walk out of here with me and act like you want to go. We’re going to board that fishing boat docked at the pier and I’m taking you down the Rio Blanco. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll be forced to kill whoever tries to come to your rescue. Do I make myself clear?”

Her big green eyes grew wide and round. She nodded her head affirmatively.

“I’ll remove my hand, but if you try to scream, I’ll muzzle you.”

He lifted his hand. She opened her mouth and took in a deep breath. They stared at each other for a moment before Quinn eased her away from him. He reached over and lifted his M-16, draped it across his shoulder and then checked the straps on his backpack.

Swinging open the door, Quinn grabbed Victoria’s arm and pulled her out into the street. The sun lay low in the western sky, like a ball of melting orange sherbet. Victoria realized that she had to do whatever this man told her to do. At least for the time being. She didn’t doubt for one minute that he was capable of killing anyone who got in his way.

With his big hand gripping her arm, Quinn led and she followed. Just as they exited the outskirts of town and headed down the dirt road leading to the river, a thunderous explosion rocked the earth beneath their feet. Crying out in shock, Victoria threw herself into Quinn’s arms. He wrapped her protectively in his embrace.

“That was too damn close,” he said. “Looks like Esteban’s boys have arrived in Palmira. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

She ran as fast as she could to keep up with Quinn’s quick pace, but after a few minutes, she felt as if he were dragging her. When she protested, he slowed his gait just enough to accommodate her. The river lay ahead of them, about a hundred yards. A rusty old boat that had seen better days sat anchored at the pier. The name printed on the side of the hull was barely legible, but Victoria thought it read Evita. A scruffy, breaded man wearing battered slacks and a dirty T-shirt stood on the deck of the boat. He looked as if he were waiting for someone.

He’s waiting for us, she thought. Waiting to take them down the Rio Blanco, away from Palmira, away from the people who depended on her. What would Ernesto and Dolores do when they realized she wasn’t coming back? How would they cope with the sick, the wounded, the dying?

Quinn threw up his hand and waved at the captain of the Evita. The man grinned, exposing two gold front teeth. He waved and motioned for them to come aboard. When they reached the edge of the pier, Quinn hoisted Victoria onto the deck, then jumped on board.

“We must hurry,” the captain said in Spanish. “I want to be downriver before—”

A bullet whizzed past the captain’s shoulder and pierced the metal bucket hanging on the pole to his right. Within seconds a squad of soldiers sprung out of the woods and descended on the pier.

“Get this tugboat moving,” Quinn hollered to the captain as he shoved Victoria flat on her face to the deck. “Stay down!”

She lay flat on her belly, but lifted her head enough to see what was going on around her. Fear ate away at her stomach like a powerful acid.

A barrage of gunfire pelted the boat. A shot hit a crewman, who yelled as he dropped overboard into the river. Crawling across the deck several feet, Quinn eased his M-16 over the edge and aimed it at the oncoming soldiers. With the ease and precision of a highly trained mercenary, he mowed down the soldiers before any of them could board the boat. But within minutes another contingent of rebels emerged from the woods—twice as many men, with twice as many guns. If the captain didn’t get the boat moving immediately, not even Quinn McCoy could hold off that many attackers.

Three

Victoria’s body shook uncontrollably as she crawled across the deck toward Quinn. A barrage of bullets pierced the deck of the Evita, killing another crewman and wounding a third. The captain weighed anchor just as two soldiers leaped aboard the boat. Quinn rolled over quickly and aimed his M-16 at the invaders. Before either man had time to attack, Quinn shot each where he stood. Victoria covered her mouth to stifle a cry. Quinn glared at her, his piercing blue eyes issuing her a warning.

The rebel troops stormed the pier. Victoria’s heartbeat accelerated so fast she felt as if she’d faint. But she’d never fainted in her life and wasn’t going to let today be the first time. She crawled to Quinn’s side, somehow feeling safer close to him. The thought wasn’t a rational one. She acted purely on instinct.

Quinn’s big body dripped with perspiration as he held their attackers at bay. He was like a one-man army, but Victoria wondered how much longer even he could hold off so many soldiers.

The boat’s old single-engine motor groaned once, then a second time and a third, finally dying on the fourth try. Three rebels headed straight for the boat. Quinn shot one, but the other two managed to climb aboard.

The boat’s engine groaned again. Victoria said a silent prayer. Suddenly the motor roared to life. Thank you, God! Now, maybe they had a chance.

The two soldiers separated, flanking Quinn. Victoria held her breath. What could she do to help him?

Quinn reacted swiftly, using the butt of the M-16 to smash into one rebel’s head as he swung his leg high into the air in some sort of karate movement. His foot made contact with the other soldier’s chest, tossing him backward onto the deck.

Just as the downed rebel started to rise, there was the sound of a gunshot and a bullet ripped through his body. Victoria glanced up at the helm and saw that the captain held a revolver in his hand.

The Evita eased slowly from the pier. Quinn reloaded his weapon. Running along the riverbanks, the soldiers continued firing at them. Before he took aim again, he glanced over at Victoria.

“Keep your head down, princess. We’re about to make our getaway.”

She nodded agreement, but didn’t think he saw her. His attention focused on the task at hand. She slumped over and closed her eyes.

So this is what war is truly like, she thought. No amount of television coverage could depict the harsh reality of soldiers killing and being killed. How could anyone endure it? Brutally taking another’s life to stay alive.

In his years as a mercenary, how many men had Quinn McCoy killed? Didn’t it bother him at all to annihilate so many men in one battle? Apparently he was more than just an ordinary expert at this sort of thing. No doubt about it, her father had gotten his money’s worth when he’d hired Quinn.

But she had no right to condemn Quinn. Not when he had just saved her life. However, if he’d left her in Palmira, she wouldn’t have been caught in the cross fire. She would be safe at her clinic. But for how long? She had no way of knowing for sure what the rebel troops would have done to her. Even now, Captain Esteban’s troops could be murdering every wounded man at the clinic.

She should be there, with Ernesto and Dolores. She was needed… The soldiers would rip through the town and then leave it in ruins. Afterward, her services would be needed even more than now. If she could find a way to escape and return to Palmira, she could hide out until the rebels moved on, then go to the clinic. There were people who would help her, if only she could get away from Quinn.

Once the boat cleared the riverbank, leaving the rebels behind, Quinn draped his M-16 over his shoulder, then inspected the bodies lying on deck. One by one, he hoisted the corpses and dumped them overboard. Victoria watched in silent horror as he disposed of the men he’d killed. She found herself repulsed by Quinn and yet at the same time strangely drawn to him, too.

She didn’t like her father’s hired gun, in fact she almost hated him. But after recent events, she had gained a grudging respect for his expertise. Obviously, Quinn was a man accustomed to getting things done, regardless of what it took to accomplish his objective. He was, most definitely, a man you’d want on your side in any battle.

What would such a man be capable of doing to protect a woman he cared for, a woman who meant something to him?

“Looks like you’ve got work to do,” Quinn said.

“What?” Still stunned by her oddly romantic thoughts, it took Victoria a couple of seconds to realize he was referring to the two wounded crew members. “We left my medical bag at the warehouse, so I don’t have any supplies with me, but I’ll do what I can.”

“I’ll help you see to them.”

He followed her to the starboard side of the creaking vessel, where both men lay on the deck.

“Shouldn’t you keep watch or something?” she asked. “What if the rebel soldiers are following us?”

“My guess is that Esteban’s men are too busy burning, looting and ravaging Palmira to worry about following us. Besides, I don’t think there are any other boats in Palmira, especially none that could make the nine, ten knots the Evita probably can. And as far as I know, General Xavier doesn’t have a navy at his disposal.”

Victoria cringed at Quinn’s comment about Palmira being ravaged at this very moment. Thoughts of her friends’ safety came instantly to mind. “I should be at the clinic with Ernesto and Dolores.”

“What’s your problem, princess? Do you have some sort of death wish?”

Quinn bent to one knee and lifted the bloody crewman’s limp body, then turned him over very slowly. The man groaned in pain. The exit wound had created a large gaping hole in his stomach. Shutting her eyes momentarily, Victoria admitted to herself that there was nothing she could do for this man. If she had some morphine, she could make his dying easier. But she had no medical supplies of any kind.

“Do you suppose the captain has any medicine?” she asked Quinn.

“I doubt it, but my bet is he has plenty of whiskey aboard.” Quinn made direct eye contact with the crewman, then spoke to him in Spanish. “Take it easy. We’ll do what we can for you.”

“Go ask the captain if he has any whiskey,” Victoria said. “I’ll check on the other crewman and see how bad a shape he’s in.”

Quinn nodded, then headed toward the cockpit, from where the captain steered the Evita down the Rio Blanco, slowly but surely taking them farther and farther away from Palmira. She watched the captain making hand motions when Quinn approached him, but she was too far away to hear what was being said. Suddenly remembering there was another man in need of her medical attention, she hurried over to check the crewman lying a few feet away.

The young man forced himself up on his elbows. His mahogany face turned ashen. Victoria inspected him visually, from head to toe, and found the bullet hole in his pant leg.

“I don’t think it’s bad, señorita.” he told her. “But it hurts very much.”

While she ripped the pants up to his thigh, she heard whispers and mumblings. Glancing over her shoulder she noticed several people coming from below deck, and realized, for the first time, that she and Quinn weren’t the only passengers aboard the Evita. She didn’t recognize anyone, so she doubted they were from Palmira. Had these people come downriver hoping to escape the forward-moving band of rebel soldiers? Three men, one woman and two young children emerged cautiously, their attention caught first by the wounded crewmen and second by the redheaded Anglo.

Victoria examined the man’s leg. “The bullet will have to be removed. Otherwise gangrene could set in and you’ll lose your leg.”

“Ask your man to take the bullet out,” he said. “Please, señorita.”

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Chico.”

“Hello, Chico. My name is Victoria—”

“Here’s the whiskey!” Quinn shouted.

Victoria gave him a puzzled look. Why had he yelled at her? She wasn’t deaf. “Thanks. Now, if you’ll take care of—”

Quinn grabbed her arm, then jerked her to her feet and up against him. He hissed his words into her ear. “Don’t tell anyone your name!” He glanced around and saw that the other passengers were watching them. “Hi, there, Chico,” Quinn said. “I’m Quinn McCoy and this is my wife, Victoria.”

Quinn’s deadly glare warned her not to contradict him. He was right, of course, she realized. They had no way of knowing who they could trust.

“Chico has a bullet in his leg that’s going to have to come out,” she explained. “He wanted you to—”

“Fine. I can handle it. Here, you take this whiskey—” he shoved the bottle into her hand “—and go do what you can for that man over there.” He nodded toward the dying crewman.

“But I should be the one to take care of Chico’s leg. After all I am a nur—”

“You’re my wife,” Quinn reiterated. “You’ll do what I tell you to do. You see to the dying and let me remove the bullet from Chico’s leg.”

Her cheeks crimson, her eyes narrowed to angry slits, Victoria stomped across the deck. After sitting, she lifted the dying man’s head onto her lap. She opened the cap and placed the whiskey bottle to his lips.

After only a few sips the man stiffened, then went limp. Victoria checked his pulse. He was dead. She gently closed his eyes, then eased his head onto the deck.

“Do you need any help?” she called to Quinn.

He looked up from his examination of Chico’s wound. “Bring the whiskey with you,” was all he said.

“Is Franco dead?” Chico asked.

“Yes, I’m afraid he is,” Victoria told him as she handed Quinn the whiskey bottle.

Victoria leaned against the railing, letting the night breeze cool her face and body. A full moon illuminated the murky water beneath them and the dense jungle that surrounded them. Vine-covered trees lined the banks of the winding Rio Blanco. Cascades of greenery swayed gently, their silhouettes dark and foreboding.

A pair of screeching macaws, their long tails drooping behind them, flew from one bank to the other. An ant shrike cried out from the jungle.

“Time to go to our cabin.” Quinn slipped her hand into his. “We both need some sleep before the captain puts us ashore near Delicias early in the morning.”

“How early?” she asked.

“Probably around two-thirty or three,” he said. “We go from Delicias up Mt. Simona to El Prado, where my plane is waiting for us.”

“If all goes as planned, you should have me back in Texas by tomorrow night, shouldn’t you?” She fought the urge to jerk her hand free of his, but knew that if she hoped to escape, it was best to cooperate with her kidnapper.

“If all goes as planned.” He tugged on her hand. “Come on. After the day we’ve had, we could both use some rest.”

She allowed him to lead her down the stairs, below deck and straight to the smallest of the three tiny cabins. Inside the closet-size room, stacked bunks hugged one wall, leaving an open space of only a few feet on the other side.

“Sorry that there’s no facilities in the cabin for a bath,” Quinn said.

“I can take a bath when I get home to the Double Crown.”

“Your old man’s ranch is really something,” Quinn said. “It’s like a small kingdom.”

She smiled coyly. Being friendly with Quinn should set him at ease, perhaps convince him that she had finally accepted defeat and wouldn’t give him any more trouble. She wanted him off guard. He needed to relax just enough to allow her to leave the cabin without his being aware that she was gone. She would have to wait until he was asleep, then she would speak privately with the captain. If she could persuade him to set her ashore at the nearest village, surely she could find someone willing to help her get back to Palmira.

“Is that why you call me princess, because my father’s ranch is like a kingdom unto itself?”

“Yeah, something like that.” He surveyed her from head to toe. “You take the top bunk.”

She forced herself to continue smiling, although she realized he wanted her in the top bunk because it would be more difficult for her to crawl down and get out the door without his hearing her. All right, so getting away from him later would be more difficult. So be it. She could be as quiet as a mouse if necessary. When he awoke several hours from now, he’d have no idea she wasn’t still asleep in the bunk above him.

“Sure thing.” She lifted her foot to place it on the first rung of the wooden ladder.

“Need any help?”

Before she could reply, he placed the open palm of his big hand flat against her buttock, then gave her a shove. She gasped at the intimate contact. Hurriedly, she scooted into the bunk and laid her head on the rumpled pillow. Her rear end tingled where Quinn had touched her. Get over it, she told herself. Quinn was the first man who’d ever touched her that way who didn’t think of her as either a kid sister or just one of the boys. Quinn’s touch, no matter how innocent, had possessed a sensual quality. At first contact, it had seemed as if her were caressing her.

Now, why would Quinn McCoy be attracted to you? a little voice asked. You’re hardly the type who drives men wild with passion. All your life, you’ve been a tomboy and none of the guys you’ve been around ever treated you like a woman.

Then she remembered. The man likes money. And my father has millions. He told me himself that money is the only thing that’s ever mattered to him.

Quinn sat on the edge of the bunk. His back and shoulders ached. He had the beginnings of a rotten headache. But he didn’t dare fall sound asleep. If he knew Ms. Fortune, and he believed he did, she would make a run for it, straight to the captain, the minute she thought he was asleep.

Why couldn’t the fool woman get it through her head that Palmira—actually anywhere on Santo Bonisto—was the last place on earth she needed to be?

He could tie her to the bunk, he supposed, but a part of him actually liked the idea of chasing her down and bringing her back to the cabin. What he really wanted to do was to give her a good spanking. He figured that was what was wrong with her now. She’d probably grown up without the least bit of discipline. Rich parents usually let their kids get away with murder.

Victoria might have outsmarted the men in her life up to now. Or perhaps she had used feminine persuasion to get what she wanted. But not this time. There was no way he was going to allow her to return to Palmira. She might be willing to risk her life to fulfill her promises to the locals, but he wasn’t willing to let her take that risk. The only promise he’d made was to Ryan Fortune. A promise that he’d do his best to bring Victoria home to Texas.

Quinn stretched out on the bunk. His feet dangled off the end. His shoulders were broader than the bunk, so he turned sideways to make room. Every muscle in his body screamed. He was tired, sleepy, and sore from head to toe. He longed for a good night’s rest.

If he feigned sleep too soon, she was bound to become suspicious and probably wouldn’t make her move. He had no choice but to bide his time before he allowed her to slip out of the cabin and make a mad dash straight to the captain. Even if for some reason he didn’t catch her before she cornered Captain Martinez, her pleas would fall on deaf ears. When he’d borrowed the whiskey earlier that evening, he’d made arrangements with the captain. Money talked. And at present, despite Ms. Fortune’s wealth, she didn’t have a dime to her name. But Quinn did. And wasn’t it ironic that the money belonged to daddy?

Quinn grinned. He was actually looking forward to chasing Victoria and subduing her. She was sure to put up a fight, since she had to know this would be her last chance to escape. By morning they’d be on their way to the U.S. He had seen glimpses of the hellcat inside Victoria, and just the thought of her spitting and clawing at him aroused him. He couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to make her purr.

Minutes ticked by. Quinn shuffled around in the bunk, letting her know he was having difficulty resting. She, on the other hand, didn’t move, barely breathed. She’s waiting, he thought. Waiting patiently for him to fall asleep.

After nearly and hour Quinn moaned, then quieted. Within minutes he was snoring loud enough to wake the dead. He lowered the volume of his snores, enough so he could hear her when she climbed out of the top bunk. He didn’t have long to wait. Within five minutes she eased down onto the floor and hovered over him, checking to make sure he was really asleep. He continued the mock snoring until he heard the cabin door open and close.

Taking his time, he maneuvered his big frame out of the lower bunk, then stood and stretched. Should he allow her to make it all the way to Captain Martinez or should he cut her off at the pass? Either way, she was going to be fighting mad.

When he opened the cabin door, he found the narrow hallway empty. Only the old boat’s creaking and the hum of the engine disturbed the eerie quiet. He climbed the steps to the deck and glanced toward the cockpit. There she was, halfway to the captain. After losing all but one of his crew—and that man was recovering from a bullet wound—Martinez had little choice but to pilot the boat himself tonight.

Quinn crept along behind her, waiting for the right moment to grab her. He wasn’t sure what alerted her to his presence, but somehow she sensed he was behind her. She turned sharply. Her mouth opened on a silent cry.

“Going somewhere, princess?” he asked.

“I thought you were asleep!”

“I snore sometimes when I’m awake.” Grinning, he took a step toward her.

She backed away from him. “You knew all along that I’d make a break for it once you were asleep. You let me think I had a chance of escaping.”

“Call me devious.” He moved closer to her. When she backed against the rail, he reached out for her.

She scooted down the railing, avoiding his touch. “I’ve got a few other choice words I’d like to call you.”

When he reached for her again, she slapped at his hands. Just as she lifted her foot to kick him, she slipped. She lost her balance and fell backward over the railing. Her body hit the water with a resounding splash. Sputtering with fury, she screeched at Quinn.

“Don’t just stand there,” she told him. “Help me before the crocodiles eat me!”

“Hang on,” he told her, then hailed the captain.

Quinn dove overboard, then swam over to her. When he pulled her to him, she didn’t resist. The captain lowered a rope. He and two of the male passengers pulled first Victoria and then Quinn aboard the Evita. All the passengers, including the children, watched as the two soaking wet Americans were hauled onto deck.

“Sorry about all the fuss,” Quinn said. “My wife and I were taking a moonlight stroll on deck and she just lost her balance.”

The men all laughed and the women smiled demurely. The wide-eyed children seemed dazed by all the excitement.

Quinn clasped Victoria’s upper arm and guided her down the steps and back to their cabin. After slamming the door shut, he locked it. She stood in the middle of the tiny room and glowered at him.

“Why couldn’t you just let me go? I planned to hide out somewhere until the rebels left Palmira. I’d have found someone to help me, to hide me out until then.”

“You’re plum loco. Do you know that?”

“Isn’t two hundred and fifty thousand dollars enough for you?” She pulled her shirt from under the waistband of her pants, then twisted the river water out of the material. “Do you have to have the entire half million? For once in your life, do something for the right reason, not for the money.”

Quinn unbuttoned his shirt, removed it and hung it on the frame of the bunk bed. “You’ve got it wrong. If I make it back to the U.S. alive, your father pays me the other quarter million, whether I bring you back or not.”

Victoria found herself gaping at Quinn’s muscular chest. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen partially undressed men before. After all, she had a father and three brothers and cousins, and there had been ranch hands galore on the Double Crown. Not to mention all the men she’d treated as a nurse.

“You’ll get the whole amount whether or not you return with me in tow?” She couldn’t seem to move her gaze from his chest up to his face. “Then I don’t understand what difference it makes to you.”

Quinn removed his boots and socks, then unzipped his pants. Victoria’s gaze moved downward. Her eyes widened. Quinn tugged off his wet pants and hung them on the opposite side of the bunk bed.

“You might want to turn your head, unless you’d like to see everything,” he told her.

She whirled around, turning her back to him. “You didn’t answer my question. If you’ll get your money with or without me, why won’t you let me go?”

Quinn rummaged through his backpack, pulled out his one change of briefs, then slipped into them. The only other clothing he’d packed was a T-shirt, which he lifted up into his hand.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes.”

“I’ll be all right,” she said stubbornly. No way was she going to strip with him right there in the room with her.

“All I’ve got dry is a clean T-shirt,” he told her. “I’ll leave it here on the bottom bunk, then I’ll wait outside the door until you’ve changed. And I’d appreciate your hurrying. I wouldn’t want to give any of the other women aboard this tugboat a thrill.”

She stood stiffly, her back still to him as water dripped off her hair and clothing and puddled around her feet.

“If you’re not changed when I come back through that door, I’ll strip you myself!”

She spun around just in time to see him leave. She eyed the white T-shirt lying on the lower bunk. She had no choice but to follow his instructions, unless she wanted him to remove her clothes for her. The very thought of Quinn McCoy putting his hands on her sent shivers racing through Victoria’s wet, chilled body.

As she hurriedly undressed, she caught herself eyeing the closed door, wondering how long Quinn would wait before returning to the cabin. She tossed the wet clothes on the floor, picked up the T-shirt and pulled it over her head. It was too large, of course. The hem struck her midthigh. But she didn’t feel quite as naked as she’d thought she would.

He knocked on the door, then entered to find her stretched up on tiptoe to reach the frame of the top bunk, where she was hanging her shirt. Quinn took a good long look at her shapely legs. Allowing his gaze to travel upward, he noted the firmness of her behind barely hidden under his T-shirt. He liked what he saw.

Victoria turned to face him and gasped aloud when she realized that he wore nothing except a pair of cotton briefs that did very little to conceal. Forcing her gaze upward, she caught him staring at her breasts. She glanced down and noticed that her peaked nipples were clearly visible through the thin T-shirt. Instinctively she crossed her arms over her breasts.

Quinn closed and locked the cabin door, then took a couple of steps toward Victoria. “My T-shirt looks good on you. Mighty good.”

“Don’t you have anything else you can put on?” she asked him, trying desperately not to lower her gaze.

“Nope. I’m afraid not. I didn’t pack for a vacation, you know. Does my state of undress bother you?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that… Oh, nothing!”

Quinn removed a small vial from his backpack, unscrewed the lid and took a hefty swig of the liquor inside. “Rot gut,” he told her. “My own particular brand.” He held out the vial to her. “Here, princess, drink a little of this.”

“I don’t need—”

He shoved the vial in her face. “Drink a little or I’ll pour it down you. It’ll calm your nerves, warm your belly and maybe help you rest a little.”

Hesitantly she accepted the silver vial, then lifted it to her lips and drank. She strangled on the strong liquor as it burned a path from her throat to her stomach. Quinn laughed when she coughed several times and held the vial out for him to take.

Her cheeks flushed pink. Her green eyes sparkled with a mist of tears. The dozens of tiny freckles that sprinkled her nose and upper cheeks seemed to have been hand painted with coppery gold dust.

Quinn shook his head to dislodge such fanciful notions. Where the hell had that thought come from? He never got sentimental over a woman. Any woman. Certainly not one he’d been hired to protect.

Quinn grabbed the vial, then shoved it into the backpack. “Better turn in. It won’t be long before we reach Delicias.”

She nodded agreement, then climbed up into the top bunk. Quinn stretched out in the lower bunk and wished the damn thing was longer and wider.

They lay there quietly for several minutes. He could hear her breathing and suspected she could hear him. He’d bet money neither of them would get any sleep. Something was going on between them—something he didn’t like. He hadn’t let a woman get to him on a personal level since he’d been a stupid kid, who thought with a particular part of his male anatomy instead of his brain.

“Quinn?”

“What?” He hadn’t meant for his voice to sound so harsh.

“You never did answer my question.”

“What question?” He turned sideways, trying to arrange a comfortable position for his aching body.

“Why are you determined to take me back to Texas, if my father’s going to pay you the full half million even if you don’t bring me back with you?”

“Let’s just say that when I’m hired to do a job, I do it.”

“Is that the only reason?” She stared up at the ceiling, her heartbeat erratic as she waited for his reply.

“What other reason could there be?” He socked his fist into the small, lumpy pillow beneath his head.

“I don’t know. I thought maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“Never mind.”

“Don’t go thinking it’s anything personal,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as her. “I wouldn’t leave any woman to the likes of Esteban and his men. I’ve seen what animals like that can do to a woman. And it’s not a pretty sight.”