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Esteban thought for a moment. “Where does she have family?”
“Monterrey.”
“Too far. I cannot leave my men for that long. Is there no one closer?”
Father looked at Mama and silent communication seemed to flow between them. “Your cousin, Gertrudis? Juan and his family?”
Mama nodded, but there were tears in her eyes. “Bejar. The Texians have control of the city now. Perhaps she will be safe at their hacienda until we can bring her back.”
It didn’t make any sense to Victoria. She moved closer to whisper in her father’s ear. “But, Papa. If the Texians are in control, surely that will be where Santa Anna goes next?”
Under the guise of a bracing hug, she felt his slight nod. “Go to Juan,” he said softly, urgently. “His family is well thought of in Bejar. He will be able to protect you.”
Papa let go and turned to Esteban. “You will escort her there? I have your word as a gentleman that you would guard her honor?”
With a formal bow and a click together of his boot heels, Esteban answered solemnly. “With my life.”
She barely heard his answer. The strange look between her parents, the things her mother said—what was it that they wanted of her? It dawned on her then. She must warn her cousin Juan that Santa Anna was near, so that the people of Bejar could prepare themselves. Excitement thrummed through her.
Didn’t Esteban understand? She tried to keep the urgency from showing on her face. Was he so intent on getting her to safety that he hadn’t evaluated the consequences? Or, more likely, did he suspect that she, being a woman, gave such things little thought?
“You must trust me, Victoria,” Esteban said, mistaking her hesitation for fear. He started to leave, but at the door he stopped. “Wear dark clothes. Pack only what you can carry on your horse and meet me in the stable in fifteen minutes.” He walked through the doorway.
She turned to her parents. “I will warn Juan. You can count on me, Papa.”
“The journey will not be easy,” he said, a worried look on his brow. He crossed to her writing desk and withdrew a sliver of paper, and then dashed off a quick note. Straightening, he blew on the indigo ink and then folded and handed it to Victoria. “This tells the approximate size of the army and the names of the generals here, but you must let Juan know there are two other armies to the south gaining ground. He must prepare immediately.”
She tucked the paper in her fist and glanced between her mother and father. “What will become of you?”
Father shook his head. “For now I’ll do as the soldiers ask. This General Romero appears to be a respectable man. I do not think we will come to harm.”
He folded her into a hug, and she drew in the scent that was his alone, mixed with the tobacco of his favorite cigar. “Get dressed now. There is little time.”
She turned to her mother. “Mama,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around the woman’s neck and shoulders.
“Vaya con Dios,” her mother said, tears wetting her face. “Be strong.” With an extra squeeze, she let go and stepped away.
A lump formed in Victoria’s throat. Would she ever see her family again? She could not allow herself to believe otherwise. She clamped her teeth together, afraid her parents would see her trembling. She must be strong as her mother said—strong and resilient. Pulling herself up tall, her shoulders back, she memorized her parents’ proud faces. “A Torrez has safeguarded this land for generations. Now it is my turn and I am ready. I will make you proud.”
The first night of their journey north, when Victoria dismounted from her horse, her legs would not obey her. She crumpled to the ground, and only the mare’s intelligence, or perhaps its weariness, kept the beast from trampling her. As conditioned to riding as Victoria had been all her life, she still ached in places she did not know could hurt—her thighs, her knees, her hips. Esteban treated her with courtesy and care but dared not slow his pace to accommodate her. She wouldn’t have wanted it, anyway. She had to get to Juan to warn him. If only her body was as strong as her resolve.
Late into the night of the fifth day, they reached the town of San Antonio de Bejar. The moon cast the church tower and adobe houses in a pale-blue light, the sight surreal in her state of exhaustion. Her eyes kept drifting shut as she struggled to stay in her saddle. Sleeplessness and the aches and pains from the trail had taken their toll. She could barely keep Esteban in her vision. He sat taller in the saddle, alert for trouble as they entered the small town. He’d changed from his soldier uniform into a cotton shirt and canvas pants for the journey. The common peasant clothes along with a serape made it possible for him to ride all the way to her cousin’s door without being challenged. She glanced around, aware for the first time that no one had stopped them, no one had questioned them.
Guards should be posted. The soldiers had no idea that Santa Anna was so close—right on her heels. Things would change once she spoke with Juan. She was sure of it.
Her horse stumbled. She grabbed a hank of mane and adjusted herself in the saddle, as her eyes drifted closed again. The sound of subdued voices carried to her. Vaguely it registered that Esteban had dismounted and talked quietly to a couple in the doorway of an adobe house. They were dressed in their night clothes. She looked up at the starlit sky with the dipper constellation overhead so large and clear. How late was it? A chill went through her and she gathered her heavy cloak closer.
Esteban led her mare down the street and they stopped before another house. A man stepped through the large doorway—her cousin, Juan.
She hurried to dismount, feeling Juan’s firm hands helping her at the last. She turned to face him. Drawn and worried, his face appeared older by more than the passage of two years since she’d last seen him. “The soldiers…you must warn them…” Her tongue, thick and dry, did not want to work.
“You are a long way from home, prima. Come inside and tell me what has happened.”
“Esteban…” She remembered her manners.
Juan’s lips pressed to together. “He is already getting some food from my cook and then will be on his way.”
“You will let him go? He will not come to harm?”
Juan nodded. “Yes. Although I am afraid he has seen how unprepared we are here and will take that information with him for his own use and that of the Santanistas.”
“We will prepare. We will tell the soldiers at the fort.”
Her cousin opened his mouth to say more, but then clamped it shut, his jaw tightening.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You will learn soon enough. Come inside for now.”
Chapter Two
Jake Dumont paced the length of the small room, trying to rein in his temper. Exhausted after traveling over half the country, he didn’t need the setback Lieutenant Colonel Travis had just thrown in his path.
“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Jake demanded. “Brandon came here to fight. He wouldn’t turn tail.”
“I’m not suggesting he has,” the colonel said from his seat behind the small wooden desk. “Bowie sent him and another soldier to San Patricio five days ago.”
“I was told you were in charge.”
“I am—of the regular recruits. Jim Bowie heads the volunteers.”
It was frustrating enough falling farther behind his brother due to the winter storm that blew through the Arkansas Territory with a vengeance, but then a day out of Bеxar his horse had been startled by a cougar looking for an easy meal and had suffered an ugly clawing on his flank. To arrive and find he’d missed Brandon by less than a week had him ready to hit somebody.
He studied the map on Travis’s desk, committing to memory the lay of the land and nearby towns. San Patricio was a far piece to the south.
“What is Brandon’s assignment there?”
“To learn what he can of Santa Anna’s whereabouts and gather more troops.” Travis met his eyes over the hand-drawn map. “He failed to mention that he is a doctor. Didn’t even ask about the hospital here.”
“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 Segu?n. 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 se?orita 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.
“Se?orita 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. “S??”
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.
“Se?orita,” the woman said in Spanish. “Capitаn Segu?n 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.
