The Rebel and the Lady

“I don’t think he has healing on his mind right now.”

“No.” Travis’s stare was measuring. “I’d have to agree with you. Rather curious considering his chosen occupation. He was anxious to see some action. Perhaps I provided it for him.”

Jake winced at the arrogant sound of that. Brandon didn’t have any idea what he’d gotten himself into, but Jake did. And it wasn’t all male camaraderie and whiskey. War changed a man, usually for the worse. Especially someone as idealistic as his brother. If Brandon couldn’t see through the designs of one industrious female—the provocation for this foolhardy journey—he certainly wouldn’t be able to comprehend the strategies of warfare and the manipulation of soldiers.

Noting Travis’s perfectly fitted waistcoat and tailored white shirt, Jake wondered if someone so young and full of himself could actually hold the common soldier as important and necessary, or would he see him only as an expendable risk in one officer’s rise up the ranks.

“What is the terrain like to San Patricio?” Jake asked, growing more concerned by the moment.

“Passable—if you follow the river rather than going straight overland. That will take extra time though. A good six days. And I don’t have anyone extra to send with you.”

Jake grunted. “Believe me, if I can find my way here from the Carolinas, I can get there without someone holding my hand.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he considered his options. Fury needed to rest up if that gash was to heal. The horse would obey whatever Jake asked, but that didn’t mean Jake would ride the beast into the ground. Maybe he could leave in a few days and still catch up to Brandon.

A knock at the door sounded and two Tejanos entered the room. One appeared close to Jake’s age of twenty-eight and had the bearing of an officer, although he wore no uniform. Instead, with the split-legged trousers and striped poncho, Jake pegged him as a land owner of some merit. He removed his wide-brimmed hat and held it before him, waiting for permission to speak.

The other looked younger—not quite a man yet, but nearly there judging by the fuzz on his upper lip. His build was slender and bony at the hands and shoulders. He swiped off his hat, stained with grime and sweat, as he stepped up to the desk.

Travis rose from his seat. “Captain Seguín. Diego. Good. You’re back.” He turned to Jake, a new urgency in his voice. “Look—your brother will be back by the end of next week. Why don’t you relax. Rest up a bit. We’re having a party at the cantina tomorrow night celebrating Washington’s birthday.”

Jake raised his brows. “This isn’t the United States.”

“But there are plenty of men from the States here itching for something to combat the boredom. A party should do it. Come have a drink with us.”

It was tempting, Jake thought as he rubbed his scruffy neck again. A shave. A bath. Besides, that mean-looking gash on Fury’s flank had started to fester. He’d stitched it up as best he could, but it was oozing a nasty-smelling discharge. He needed to take care of it. “I might still be here. Where can I find the apothecary?”

“Hospital is up at the fort. Talk to Dr. Pollard. You’ll find lodging there, too—for you and your horse.”

Victoria walked down the street carrying a kettle of chicken soup and grumbling to herself. She had been to the edge of town that morning and still there were no soldiers posted as lookouts. Didn’t the officers understand how close Santa Anna’s army was? Why did they not prepare? It had been four days since she’d arrived in town. She’d expected to help Juan secure his house here and move into the fort—and perhaps prepare the women. No one took her warnings seriously except Juan.

She glanced down at the heavy iron pot she held. All she’d done so far was take food to the hospital in Maria’s stead—not nearly the action she’d desired. Juan had dismissed his cook after hearing the news Victoria brought, and smartly the woman had packed her things and headed back to her home west of town to warn her husband. The soldiers might enjoy this soup after the rations of corn tortillas they’d endured, but what would happen to the injured and ailing men once Santa Anna invaded the streets?

Again she worried about the lack of readiness. Shouldn’t people be doing something? Preparing? It seemed a few Tejanos were, but not the stubborn and blind Americanos.

She strode past the barracks, making a beeline for the stairs to the hospital floor. Just as she mounted the first step, a dark blur of motion dashed out from under the stairway. The large mud-colored mongrel bounded toward her with its teeth bared, a rumbling growl in its throat.

“No!” she cried out, teetering on the brink of losing her balance as the dog dove into her skirt and between her legs. “No! Eyiee!” Hot soup sloshed out from under the kettle’s lid and over the edge to burn her fingers. She would lose it all if she dropped it!

Suddenly a strong hand gripped the kettle and then grasped her elbow, steadying her. She looked up into a face that hadn’t seen the sharp edge of a razor in weeks. His beard was the color of rich coffee but it couldn’t hide the handsome contours beneath. Anglo, she reasoned. Easy to spot with the dark hair, streaked blond by the sun, and cobalt-blue eyes. His body tensed as he held tight to a ruff of fur at the dog’s neck and pulled it away from her skirt. “Guess the smell of that soup was more than the poor mutt could take. You got that now?”

“Gracias,” she said, gripping the kettle to her like a shield. Juan had warned her against being too familiar with the soldiers, saying they saw few women and were as uncouth a lot as he’d ever known. She sniffed. This man reeked of horse and sweat and days on the trail—not exactly a heady combination.

He tipped his hat. “Name’s Jake. Jake Dumont.”

“Gracias,” she said again.

He was blocking her path. She started to sidestep to go around him but then he sidestepped and was in front of her again.

His eyes narrowed under his dark brows. “You don’t speak English? A shame.” His gaze slid over her, moving from the heavy blue cloak that covered her head all the way down to the base of her gray skirt where the tips of her boots peeked out. Angry heat flushed through her. He had nerve, this Anglo!

She raised her chin and gave him the haughtiest look she could muster under the circumstances. Repositioning her grip on the kettle, she started up the stairs, surprised when the man shoved the dog purposely to the side and followed her. She stopped and turned, putting the hot soup between them. If he thought to annoy her, she had plenty of protection.

He glanced at the soup and then back up at her. A devilish look came into his eyes. “You think that would stop me?”

She tipped the kettle in warning. A drop of hot liquid splashed onto his pants.

Faster than lightning, he grasped her wrist. “Careful woman. There may come a day you won’t want that part of me scalded.”

Oh! He was a wicked man!

“Look. Let’s not start a battle where there doesn’t need to be one. I’m just going in the same direction as you—to see the doctor.”

“You are sick?” He seemed like the last man on earth who’d be ill. His firm grip revealed only quick reflexes and crushing strength. Too late she realized her ruse was up. She’d spoken her thoughts out loud—in English.

He smiled slowly, his gaze knowing. “No. But my horse is.”

Captured momentarily by the deep blue of his eyes, her heart thudded in her chest. He was different from anyone she’d known before and so sure of himself. Was this an American trait? She wasn’t sure she liked it. It bordered on rudeness. They had not been properly introduced and here he was still touching her wrist.

As if he read her thoughts, he released her arm and took the kettle from her hands. “Relax, miss. Although you are the prettiest señorita I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, I’ve got other things on my mind at the moment.” Then he passed by and continued up the stairs giving her a disconcerting view of his worn buckskin backside.

She frowned. She hadn’t expected him to suddenly turn charming. Drawing up the hem of her skirt, she followed.

He crossed the room in half the number of strides it took her and set the kettle on a nearby table. Sick and injured men on pallets lined the interior walls. As she approached, the doctor looked up from his desk.

“Señorita Torrez. Thank you for thinking of my men again.”

“They may all eat?” she asked. At his nod, she added, “There is plenty for you, too.” By her count, the two open rooms that served as the hospital held nineteen patients. The aroma of onions and chicken filled the room as she ladled the soup into small bowls on the counter.

She felt the bearded man watching her. All these Anglos had such scruffy beards. They reminded her more of beasts or bears than men. The ones who were sick, she could understand, but the Mexicans she knew in Laredo kept theirs neatly trimmed or did not wear facial hair at all.

She sat down near the soldier on the end pallet and started spooning the food into his mouth, relieved to note the blue-eyed man turned away and started up a conversation with the doctor.

She didn’t mean to listen, but couldn’t help noticing the rich timbre of his voice. So pleasant and soothing. It called to her—resonating deep inside her. He had a slow and easy accent unfamiliar to her, and different from the other Anglos who lived here. But he was too cocky for his own good. He wasn’t to be trusted. A man like that usually took what he wanted and didn’t worry about anyone else’s feelings.

Still, she caught bits and pieces of their talk. He needed something for his horse. Something was infected. Well, at least he’d been telling her the truth about that.

She moved to the next patient, a man with his hands bandaged.

“Pssst!”

Startled, Victoria dribbled hot soup over the man’s chest. “Oh! Pardon me!” She dabbed at the liquid with her apron before looking up from her work to find a woman motioning to her from the doorway of the room. “Sí?”

The woman glanced at the line of bedridden soldiers and at the doctor. She shook her head and made the sign of the cross over her breast.

“Excuse me,” Victoria said to the man she’d been helping, and walked over to the door.

“Señorita,” the woman said in Spanish. “Capitán Seguín is asking for you at the house.”

“Did Diego return?”

“Si.”

Victoria’s stomach clenched. This couldn’t be good. She nodded to the woman. “Gracias. I will come immediately.”

The woman left quickly, and Victoria turned back to the soldier on the pallet. She would not be able to finish helping him. The large Anglo had stopped talking to the doctor and watched her. Suspicion clouded his eyes. Just how much Spanish did he know? Had he understood the woman’s words?

“Doctor Pollard? I am sorry to have to excuse myself. I have been called back to the house. I will come for the kettle later.”

The doctor nodded to her and she turned and headed down the stairs, all the while feeling the other man’s gaze on her. He filled the room with his rough presence and made her feel as though jumping beans were bouncing in her stomach. Not at all a pleasant sensation.

She crossed the small footbridge over the San Antonio River on her way back into town, drawing her cloak close about her shoulders. Loud voices came from inside the small general store as the door opened and a man stumbled out, his arms around a full sack of flour. He dropped it into a wagon loaded high with bedding and pans and tools. A woman held the bridle of the burro hitched to the cart and frequently scanned the street urging her husband to hurry.

Entering Juan’s house, Victoria heard voices in the study. She stopped at the open door.

“Come. Victoria. You should hear this.” Juan motioned for her to enter. He removed his hat and poncho and tossed them on a nearby chair. Apparently he had just arrived at the house himself.

She turned to Diego. He’d grown since she’d seen him last. Now, at eighteen, he stood taller than she and had become wiry. He wore an old leather hunting shirt, most likely from his father. “Welcome, Diego. I’m glad to see you here. What news do you bring?”

He nodded, his face serious. “Santa Anna’s army is halfway between the Rio Grande and here. They’re moving this way.”

“How can that be when I left them at my father’s hacienda just nine days ago? The soldiers are on foot, not riding as I did. They could not travel so fast.”

“It is another section of the army, just as your father warned in his letter,” Juan said. “I’ve told Travis.”

“What is he going to do?” she asked.

“I don’t know. He questions whether to believe me—a Tejano. I can see it in his eyes. He has not been in command long enough to understand how things are here. And he and Bowie don’t agree on much.” Juan pressed his lips together as he took Victoria’s hands in his. “You came here for safety. I’m sorry.”

“No, Juan. I came to warn you. To give you time to protect Gertrudis and your children. To help you prepare.” Frustrated tears came to her eyes and she clenched her fist. “And now the soldiers linger and talk of parties instead of readying themselves.”

Juan would not meet her eyes. “Perhaps I should help you leave town. I can’t take you to my family as I wish to. They are already safely away. Perhaps the town of Mina…”

Trembling took hold of Victoria. She would not keep running. She had as much right to stay as they did. “I do not think there is a safe place left in Tejas. I will not go.”

Juan’s brow wrinkled in surprise. “No?”

“No. If you make me leave, I will slip away at the first chance and come back here. This is my fight, too.”

“Victoria.” He was frowning now. “I want to see you safe. Just as your father wanted. He gave you into my care. I do not take his wishes lightly.”

She pulled herself to her full height. “I understand that, but this is my land, too—as much as it is my father’s and mother’s and yours. It is mine. Our people have given their blood and sweat to this land. Can I do less? My family is here. My place is here.”

His gaze, although still worried for her, also held a measure of pride. He released her hands and nodded his agreement to let her stay. “So be it.”

Turning to Diego, he continued. “I will talk to Travis. Perhaps he will grant leave to the men who have families and farms in Santa Anna’s path.”

“But, Juan,” Diego said. “Your land is there, too. Will you go also?”

“No. I agree with our cousin. My place is here. I am captain. I must set an example.”

Impulsively Victoria threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Then she drew in Diego, too. “This will be where we stand.”

Chapter Three

Jake heard the music coming from inside the cantina fifty paces from its doors. Someone played a violin and another a bass fiddle. Light from the candelabras inside spilled out in rectangular slashes onto the dirt street. When he opened the doors, the strong odors of smoke and beer assailed him. He glanced about the room, half hoping that he’d see the woman from the hospital. A pipe dream. Why would a beautiful señorita come to an American holiday celebration like Washington’s Birthday?

He was no stranger to women from Mexico with their thick dark hair and their chocolate eyes, but he’d been flummoxed with her. When he had glanced from the dog up into her face, he’d actually been tongue-tied like a dull-witted greenhorn. She was that entrancing, with her dark eyes widened in surprise and that slightly shocked look on her face because he had dared to touch her, even though it was obvious he was trying to help. He’d thought at first her hair was black, slicked back as it was into a fancy coil at her neck. Then as the dog had her moving this way and that he saw that no, it was the darkest, richest shade of brown he’d ever seen.

And then he’d gone and goaded her. Unfortunately, he understood why. Guess he was just foolish enough to want to make an impression on her—even a poor one, if that’s what it would take to get noticed. But damned if she hadn’t come right back tilting that soup on him. He grinned just thinking about it—had caught himself stifling that grin half the day whenever the memory popped into his head. As proper as she appeared on the surface, underneath she was a handful—a challenge he couldn’t ignore in spite of the fact he was only here one more day. She was an enticing splash of color in an otherwise drab and dusty town, and he wanted to see her again. He’d dressed as though she might show up, which meant he’d taken a bath, cut his hair and shaved. If she did appear, she probably wouldn’t recognize him anyway.

Jake walked to the bar and watched a group of volunteers raise their mugs as one, guzzle down their beer and then slam their mugs on the table.

“Have fun tonight because we’ll be out there again at daybreak if Bowie orders it,” one man said.

“I’m too tired to heft my fork,” complained another.

“That’s not because you’re tired, Ward. You’re jest drunk.”

“Maybe we should have thrown in with Travis instead.” Ward continued to complain. “Digging a well isn’t my idea of soldiering. Besides, there’s no way we can defend this place.”

Suddenly, a tall commanding figure in buckskin loomed over them. He slammed his fist on the table making the mugs jump an inch high off the table. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that the cockroaches in Mexico have ears?”

“This is Texas, Davey, uh, I mean Mr. Crockett.” A young soldier reddened instantly.

“Not yet it ain’t, but it will be.” Crockett grinned at him, and then spoke in a quieter voice. “North side first. The rest of the walls will hold. And,” he continued, his eyes narrowing on Ward, “Bowie might be ailing, but he ain’t stupid. He’s got his reasons for his orders.” He straightened and headed for a table closer to the music—a table where Travis now sat.

Travis caught Jake’s gaze and motioned for him to join them also.

Jake bought a shot of whiskey and then sat down with the lieutenant colonel.

“Glad you made it, Dumont. May I introduce David Crockett?”

Jake nodded to the man. He’d heard of him. “Enjoy your stint in congress?”

“Not enough to go back.” Crockett took a swig from his mug of beer. “Lot of talk that didn’t amount to anything.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Same as everyone else. Looking for a piece of heaven to stake a claim. Somewhere with good hunting and with bluebonnets that have an ear for good fiddlin’,” he added with a wide grin. “And you?”

“Just passing through,” Jake said noncommittally, glad when Crockett let the subject drop. He leaned back in his chair and relaxed. He was among his own element here and appreciated it. His recent visit home, if he had such a place anymore, had opened his eyes. Ten years was a long time to be gone from Charleston. He no longer fit in there—but then he never really had.

A boy stood on a nearby table and finished lighting the last of the candelabras overhead when a gust of cold air had the newly lit candles flickering wildly. Jake looked up to see what had caused the breeze. The view was like a gut punch. His señorita.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she slipped the heavy blue cloak off her head and let it settle on her shoulders. A high silver comb held in place a black lace scarf over her hair knot, and small silver earrings shimmered daintily from each lobe. She wore a maroon silk dress trimmed with black bows that offered enough of a view of creamy skin at her throat to be enticing but not risqué. The material rustled in a very feminine way as she followed the man she came with, maneuvering gracefully between the tables and chairs. Another Tejano protected her from the back. Jake recognized the two as those he’d seen in Travis’s office yesterday.

“Well, would you feast on that,” Crockett said, letting a low whistle slip through his teeth.

“I am.” Amusement laced Travis’ voice. “And it looks like every other young buck in this cantina is, too. Even Dumont here.”

Crockett met Jake’s gaze. “I didn’t think Seguín would bring that cousin of his in here.”

Jake’s ears caught on the word cousin with a mixture of relief. Not her husband, then, or fiancé. “Why not?” he asked.

“You might use your eyes, Mr. Dumont,” Travis said. “Look at her. Fine bones. She’s not a mixture at all, she’s a lady. Spanish aristocrat. Seguín’s lineage goes way back. Someone like that usually is kept away from the commoners.” He leaned forward as if to tell a great secret. “That would be us. This old cantina could get a bit rowdy for her.”

“I get the feeling she can take care of herself,” Jake said, thinking of his earlier encounter with her. At least she didn’t have hot soup with her now.

Spying them, Juan made his way first to Travis’s table and removed his hat. He was dressed well for such a dusty spot on the map, Jake thought as he glanced over the silver buttons on his shirt collar and the wide satin sash around his waist that matched the señorita’s dress.

“Any more news?” Juan asked in a low voice.

Travis shook his head.

Jake kept his gaze trained on the woman, wondering if she recognized him. If she did, she didn’t acknowledge it.

Juan murmured something in Spanish to the young man with him and they headed to a table across the room.

As the others talked, Jake settled back in his chair and watched the woman. She radiated confidence and something else that tugged at him. The two men who sat with her laughed at something she said and he felt a stab of envy that they enjoyed her wit when he couldn’t. She had charmed them to the point of being lapdogs—something he’d never let a woman do to him. He’d learned his lesson well. He raised his glass to an unseen past and caught the flash of her eyes as they met his. Quickly she looked away, raising her fan to her cover her face.

Crockett let out a laugh and slammed down his beer mug, spraying the table. “Dumont, you’ve got more guts than I took you for. She’s way out of your league. She’ll cut you down to size with that sharp hair comb of hers.”

Jake motioned to a woman serving drinks at the next table.

“You’re out of your mind, Dumont,” Travis said. “Juan will never let you near her.”

“All the better,” he mumbled, wondering what the hell he was doing. “I’m up for a dare. Besides, I don’t know that he’ll have the final say.”

“You’re a cocky son of a gun,” Crockett said. “It’ll be entertaining to watch you get your balls mashed.”

“Thanks for your overwhelming support.”

The serving woman placed a glass of red wine in front of Señorita Torrez. She raised it to Juan, ready to thank him, only to see him scowl and shake his head. Searching the candlelit room, her gaze finally collided with Jake’s and held. She recognized him all right. Awareness pulsed between them. He gave her his best lady-killer smile and rose from his seat, ready to join her. “Gentlemen?” he said by way of goodbye to his table partners. “It’s been an education…”

She frowned and put the glass down. Then she pushed it to the farthest corner of the table.

Jake sat back down with a thump.

“You gonna let that stop you?” Crockett said, barely keeping the smirk from his face.

“Just a setback. She’s playing hard to get.”

Travis leaned forward. “What you don’t seem to get, is that she’s way out of your class.”

“Nothing with skirts is out of my class. But I am choosy.” He’d give her a few minutes, lull her back into thinking she’d get her way and that he’d given up.

“Thought you were heading out in the morning. Why are you interested in dallying with that filly when you’re leaving for San Patricio?” Crockett asked.

Damned if he knew. Just something about her he couldn’t let go. She lowered her fan slightly and he noticed a flush to her cheeks as another glance darted in his direction. Maybe she wasn’t as immune to him as he’d thought. “My horse could use one more day to rest.”