Marco and the Devil's Bargain by Carla Kelly Page B

closer?” he asked, doing his best.
    â€œ Señor, where are you from?” she asked.
    â€œ I’ll tell you, if you come closer,” he coaxed.
    She shook her head. “Toshua told me not to.”
    â€œ The Comanche?”
    â€œ Yes. Nurmurnah, Comanche, The People, what you will.”
    She stood her ground. Maybe he could tease her a little. “You prefer a Comanche to a white man?”
    â€œ That one.”
    So much for his charms. This one wasn’t impressed. He thought she would leave, but she stood in the doorway and looked him straight in the eyes. She seemed to be measuring him, studying him. To his disappointment, she shook her head. It was only the slightest shake; he doubted she was even aware he had noticed. On some scale he did not understand, he, Anthony Gill, had been weighed in the balance and found wanting. Well, join the line , he thought, suddenly weary. I haven’t impressed anyone lately .
    He smiled at her, hoping she would stay, because he liked her. He had noticed her wedding ring; maybe he just couldn’t help himself. “There is a husband to be reckoned with, eh?”
    â€œ Oh, yes. He would kill you as easily as look at you, if you prove dangerous.”
    Why couldn’t he let this go? He shuddered elaborately. “I had better avoid him.”
    â€œ I do not believe you can, señor. He is the juez de campo of this district. He will take an interest in you, because you are so obviously not from here.”
    That was plain enough. Anthony remembered the dying words of the pox-ridden trader. Was it time to inquire the whereabouts of one Marco Mondragón? Perhaps Señor Mondragón would keep him safe from nosy officials. He could ask a servant later, someone who might be more sympathetic than the pretty wife of the juez de campo , whatever that was. It appeared that his luck was as bad as ever. Or he could ask her. What harm would it do?
    â€œ Señora, I have been told to find Marco Mondragón. Do you know …?”
    Her eyes widened, her amazement quickly replaced with wariness. “Marco is the juez and he is my husband.”
    Anthony sighed. His luck had not changed.

Chapter Six
In which a Comanche confesses and there is no absolution
    C aught in the act. Why couldn’t it have been one of his servants, instead of Toshua? And why, after more than a year of the silent man’s presence, was he still trying to impress a Comanche? It couldn’t be done.
    Blame the cat, who followed him about, now that Paloma was knitting socks and probably having a good time, and not even thinking about her husband pining for her. Only two days? He was lonely and put upon and now Toshua had caught him playing fetch with a cat.
    â€œ Shew, señor?” was all Toshua said, after he let himself go quietly into his office by the horse barn. “Shew?” And de veras , he was almost smiling.
    It was too late to brazen it out, not with Chica carrying that little yarn ball in her mouth and dropping it at Marco’s feet for another throw. “It’s what Paloma says when she throws this little bit of yarn. Call me a fool and get it over with.”
    That was a definite smile, even if it was brief. Marco threw the yarn ball without benefit of Shew! and Chica ignored him. Marco shook his head and turned back to the latest brand report he was copying to take to Santa Fe in early autumn. He looked up after a moment. Toshua had not moved.
    â€œ What is the matter?” He tried to speak casually, but there was something he did not like in the Comanche’s expression, some uneasiness around the eyes. “Paloma ….”
    If Marco expected reassurance from Toshua, he was doomed to disappointment. Calm, calm , he told himself. You are an officer of the crown . Easy to think, except that he was a husband first. He cleared the paper to one side and pointed to the chair Paloma usually occupied, when she knitted while he