And the Devil Makes Five

Chapter 10 – Listen to Your Heart

The house was surprisingly big for a poor Mexican village. Three actual bedrooms with real beds. Carmenita explained to her new friends that the family consisted of her mother and father, two grandmothers and a grandfather, and three younger brothers and sisters. They'd gone to the town her mother was born in to visit relatives that might be able to give her father a job. They wouldn't be back for three more days, and Carmenita had the place to herself while they were gone.

No one had slept in over twenty-four hours. Beau and Doc found a bedroom and decided they could sleep in the same room with no problem; they'd been lying next to each other for more than a week. Bret and Bart took the other bedroom, and both headed for the bed. Carmenita stopped Bart just before he closed the door and took his hand, leading him away from that room and towards the third bedroom, her room. He paused in the doorway. "Carmenita, I – " was as far as he got before she stood on tiptoe again and kissed him.

She leaned into him and pressed up against him, and she was warm and soft – and every square inch of his body still hurt from the unexpected trip down the well. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her back away from him. "Carmenita, I can't do this. No puedo hacer esto. Hay demasiado dolor."

She squirmed out of his grasp and pressed against him again, then put her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers. It was too much for him, and he kissed her and groaned, caught somewhere between pleasure and pain. She wrapped her fingers in his hair and kissed him hungrily, almost challenging him to let go of her. He couldn't.

He picked her up and carried her to the bed, and as he laid her down she reached for him and it wasn't Carmenita that he saw. It was another woman with brown and gold hair – and violet eyes – and suddenly it all came rushing back to him – Millie Ridgeway, and his love for her, and his intention to marry her. He let go of Carmenita like she was on fire and backed out of the room, running from the house and into the night. At the rear of the shelter he fell to his knees and let out a howl like a wounded animal, as the reality of what he'd walked away from slammed him right between the eyes. He dropped his head and retched, vomiting his insides and all the coffee within him out onto the hard earth.

It was over as fast as it came, and by the time his brother found him he had nothing left inside him, physically or emotionally. Tears stood in his eyes and threatened to spill onto the earth as he looked at Bret, knowing what he'd left behind when he quit Cheyenne. His brother dropped to the ground and embraced him, and held Bart as he sobbed for what he'd lost – Caroline and Rose and Millie, just the latest in a string of women he couldn't or wouldn't hold onto.

If Beau or Doc heard, they pretended not to. Bret held him and rocked him like he had when Bart was small and had a nightmare, until the terror was past and they could both sleep.

When Bart woke, he remembered everything from the night before – and the weeks past. He was the last one up – probably because he'd been the last to sleep. He got out of bed warily and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't dreamt it, but he wished he had. There was a knock on the door and Bret entered – with a cup of coffee. "Morning, sleepyhead. How ya feel this morning?"

Bart sat up and held his head in his hands. "I've felt better." He let go of his head with his right hand and reached out to take the coffee. It tasted bitter, and he wondered how much was the coffee and how much was the taste left from last night. "Carmenita here?"

Bret shook his head. "Nope. She went to the cantina already."

"At this time of the morning?"

"I don't think she wanted to see you any more than you wanted to see her."

Bart ran his hand through his hair. "I have to talk to her, Bret. To explain. I owe her that much."

"You don't owe her anything, Bart."

"Last night – "

"Last night is over and done with. Let it go."

"Like you did with Marybeth?"

Bret looked at his brother. That one hurt, even though Bart hadn't intended it to. "Just like that."

"How am I supposed to do that? I remembered, Bret. I remembered about Millie."

Bret stood there and stayed silent for a minute while Bart got more of the coffee in him. Then he finally asked, "What are you gonna do about it?"

The answer was swift and final. "Nothing."

"Then there's no reason to hold on to it."

For once, Bret made sense. What was the use of torturing himself? It was over and done. It was too late to go back, even if he could. He stood up, a new sensation of resolve in his heart. "Brother Bret, let's get out of here."

XXXXXXXX

The little caravan, four horsemen and a fifth pack animal, set out from Santa Pietro that morning. The goblets had been wrapped in shirts and stored separately – one in Bret's saddlebag, one in Beau's – the gold chain and cross was still in Bart's pocket. He hadn't told anyone about the late find, and he assumed Bret hadn't either. It would be a nice surprise when they discerned a way to dispose of the chalices.

They headed for Piedras Negras first, to see if they could learn something about the value of their discovery before attempting to do anything with it. Little was said as they rode; especially about last night. Not even any pointed remarks by Doc; the man he and Beau heard cry out last night was a man in agony, and they knew it. Bart appeared to be alright this morning, but none of the other three was willing to test the fragile peace that seemed to have taken hold of him.

They rode until the day became too hot to go any longer, then found what shade they could and took refuge until twilight. Bart dozed on and off, his thoughts bouncing between total calm and absolute turmoil. He knew the decision not to attempt any kind of reconciliation with Millie was the right one; still he agonized over it until his mind had enough and shut his emotions down completely. Finally he slept, without dreams or guilt, and woke just as it was getting dark. His horse was saddled and ready; Bret had seen to that and let him sleep as long as possible.

The next leg of the journey began, in silence and in the dark, across the nighttime desert. There was barely enough moonlight to see by; it was not only cooler but safer this way. The Federales didn't patrol the desert at night, and the banditos didn't carry out unexpected raids. And in the dark of night Bart didn't have to pretend to any of the three men he rode with that he was all right. Doc and Beau chatted in the darkness, about nothing important, and on occasion Bret offered a comment or two. Bart rode and didn't care that he wasn't included in the conversation; actually never even noticed it. He just rode.

Bret kept a watchful eye on his brother, not knowing what to expect. Last night was nearly the worst he'd ever seen Bart, almost as bad as the morning he'd walked out of a Montana jail cell some months ago, absolutely shattered. The episode last night – for that's truly what it was, an episode - was a different kind of pain than the night in Montana – this was an emotional pain, rather than a mental one. Bret had no doubt that Bart would get over this, but it would require a struggle. Bret would be with him every step of the way, doing all in his power to help ease the burden. So far Bart had shown no sign that he resented Bret for not telling him about his forgotten love for the Ridgeway girl – and the older brother prayed fervently it would stay that way.

Dawn came again. One more night of riding and they would be in Piedras Negras. There was a small monastery in the town that might be able to provide information on the chalices or the chain and cross, without alerting authorities that the treasures had been found. At least that was the hope of the three men that were thinking about the plundered valuables. The fourth tried to think of nothing, and sometimes he was successful.

Once they'd camped for the day, Beau finally had a chance to talk to his cousin. "Is he gonna be alright?" was the first thing out of Beau's mouth.

"I think so," came Bret's reply. "It's got to do with Millie Ridgeway."

"I should have known," Beau stated. "A woman. He can always tie himself up in knots over a woman."

Bret snorted. "Look who's talking."

"Yeah, but I don't fall head-over-heels in love and then leave 'em."

"It wasn't his fault, Beau. When he was poisoned he lost a lot of his memories. The Ridgeway girl was one of 'em."

"You knew? Why didn't you tell him?"

Bret hesitated. How much to explain to Beau? Five years ago he wouldn't have given it a second thought; he would have shared everything with 'brother number three.' But this wasn't five years ago, it was now, and all their relationships were different. "He knew he was missing things. I asked him if he wanted me to tell him, and he said no."

"How serious was it, Bret?"

Again, that hesitation. Finally, "He was gonna marry her, Beau."

A long, low whistle. "That's like holdin' on to a stick of dynamite after you light it."

"Yeah, don't I know it."

Now things began to make more sense. "And last night?"

A slight shake of the head. "He remembered."

"Is he still talkin' to you?" Beau had to ask the question – there was pain in Bret's eyes that needed explaining.

"So far. Hope it stays that way." There was an undercurrent of desperation in Bret's voice that worried his cousin. There would be no living around either one of them if they were estranged again. And Beau had the foreboding feeling he was going to need both of them around him in the coming days.

"I take it what triggered all this was – "

"Carmenita. Yeah. Doc was right, she had a hankerin' for our brother."

Beau was encouraged when Bret said 'our' brother. He'd felt the distance between them and didn't like it. Using the old familiarity reassured him about their unbreakable bond. He felt like part of the family again, something he'd been missing.

Just then Doc moseyed over. "Coffee's about done," he offered. It was obvious they'd been talking about Bart, and Doc was concerned. This had started out as a pleasant little jaunt, a nice diversion from the ordinary and had turned into something a lot more unsettling. Especially since it was obvious that the minor flirtation between his friend and the Mexican beauty had become something more serious last night. "Anything I can help with?"

"Yeah, Doc, there is," Bret answered quickly. "See if you can get Bart to talk, would ya?"

"What about?" Doc wanted to be sure he avoided any off-limit subjects.

"Anything. Anything at all."

No puedo hacer esto. Hay demasiado dolor – I can't do this. There is too much pain.