Mexican Fire (27 page)

Edward braced his arm on a tree branch. “Excuse me for immodesty, but, yes, he was fortunate. And I was honored to help such an illustrious leader.”

“I should imagine he'll want you for his permanent physician, once he reaches the capital.”

Glancing to El Presidente, Edward grimaced. “I shall be glad when he is healthy enough to relinquish my services.”

“Pray, why?” Alejandra asked, amazed that Edward wasn't as devoted as she had figured.

“My world is in the United States. But, even if it weren't, I don't condone his behavior with that little girl.”

Neither did Alejandra. “That is Santa Anna's way.” She wanted to add a scathing denunciation, but keeping mum about her sympathies was the best course, even with this doctor who didn't like his patient. “What will you do when you leave?”

“It's back home for me.” He smiled. “I do love the civility of New York.”

Civility of home. Wasn't that a wondrous concept? Her home country, unfortunately, offered no such allure. She loved Mexico with all her heart, but wouldn't it be nice . . .

“Have you visited outside of Mexico?” Edward asked.

“Many times. New York is a fascinating city, and there's no need expounding on the charms of London and Paris.” But what was it like in Reece's Tejas?
Give yourself mercy, Alejandra.
She took Edward's hand and smiled. “Just listen to that music. Let's dance!” She led him back into the fire-lit dancing arena. He whirled her into his arms and around the earthen floor. No one could fault Edward's dancing skills, yet. . . he lacked the smoothness and grace of a certain Anglo mercenary wearing the braid and epaulets of colonel in Santa Anna's army.

A colonel who was at this moment gamboling with the horse-faced daughter of General Cruz Velasquez. Alejandra saw red. Then green.

“What's the matter?” Edward inquired tenderly. He glanced in the same direction as Alejandra; his tone changed. “Oh, him. He is a rogue and a rake. Consider what he's done to you already. It pains me, all the loose talk in our camp.”

No reply was forthcoming. Foregoing the propriety that Edward had mentioned, and that she had once held dear, Alejandra was out of his clutch and making her way through the dancers. She wanted Reece. Wanted him and needed him. And she would not allow another woman to have the man she adored!

Her shawl falling to the ground, she cut in front of Maribel Velasquez. “Excuse me, señorita, but this is my dance.”

Maribel, shocked and open-mouthed, stepped back.

Alejandra snaked her arm around Reece's waist. He felt warm despite the evening chill. And he smelled like bay rum and virile male. Just from touching him, a rush of excitement went through Alejandra.

“You are mine,
querido,
and I am yours,” she said, barely noticing the attention from the crowd. “We have denied each other long enough.”

His mouth eased into a smile. A tight smile. “Lovely display, Alejandra. But you'd better watch your back. Right now!”

He jerked her to the side, just as Maribel, a dagger in her hand, lunged forward. Alejandra cried out in surprise. The general's daughter fell to the ground, having stumbled over Reece's big feet. Reece grabbed Alejandra and hauled her away. Or tried to. Maribel jumped to stand, her fingers grabbing Alejandra's skirts.

“You will not make a fool of me,
puta!”
she roared, her teeth flashing.

She attacked again, this time her knife catching on the sleeve of Reece's uniform. Blood stained the material. My God, what have I started? Alejandra wailed inwardly. Her fingers moved to cover the trickle of blood. The blade tip sliced across her forearm. Pain stung her arm. She covered the wound appearing to be minor.

“Stop this!” Santa Anna roared, hobbling on crutches to the melee. “I order you, Maribel Velasquez, to quit.”

Maribel lowered her arm as well as her head.

“What is the matter with you, young woman?” Santa Anna lifted a crutch to point at her. He teetered, almost falling before a minion grabbed his elbow to right him.

“She insulted me,” Maribel came back meekly, her hair falling across her lowered face.

“What else did you expect? Everyone in this camp knows Doña Alejandra is Colonel Montgomery's woman, even if she has consorted with my physician. Why do you think I invited her to the capital?”

General Velasquez cut through the persons banding around the fracas. “Daughter, let's go to our tent.”

“No.”

Reece's arm tightened around Alejandra's waist. Her head was hanging, too. She hadn't meant to insult Maribel. Her heart had overruled her head, she had wanted Reece's attention so. “I'm sorry, Maribel,” she said, extending her hand in an offer of conciliation. “Please forgive me.”

Mirabel nodded.

Edward Moran stepped forward. “I'll attend your wounds,” he said to Alejandra, then grudgingly glanced at Reece.

“Don't bother,” she replied, “I can take care of them. ”

“As you wish.” Edward turned to the general's daughter, and took her dagger to situate it behind his belt. “Señorita Velasquez, may I have this dance?”

Edward was such a gentleman, and his gesture brought Alejandra relief. General Velasquez nodded at Reece, then at Alejandra, and stepped away. A volatile situation had been downplayed thanks to Santa Anna's authority and his physician's gallantry. Velasquez had shown valor in the face of insult, his daughter grace enough to accept an apology. For these things, Alejandra was grateful and repentant. The Centralists, in some instances, were not a bad lot.

Reece nudged Alejandra's ribs. “I guess you and I had better have a talk.”

“Yes . . . yes, of course, but . . .” The pain in her arm suddenly throbbed. Hers wasn't a deep gash. Neither was Reece's, yet infection could set in. “Do you have any of Pepe's salve?” she asked, recalling the night Reece had tended her pistol wound.

“I ought to let you . . . aw, what the hell.” Frowning, he pointed in the direction of his tent. “Let's go.”

Alejandra at his heel, he stomped to his canvas quarters. Thirty feet or more separated it from the nearest abode. An aged peon, his small body dominated by a poncho and an old straw sombrero, tended the fire outside Reece's tent. “That will be all, José.” The subordinate nodded before taking his leave. “Make yourself comfortable on that camp stool, Alejandra,” Reece said in English and motioned toward a seat by the fire before lifting the tent flap to disappear inside. Alejandra eased down on the folding chair. Reece returned with a jar of salve and a roll of bandage in his grip.

A small white dog nipped at his heel. The Christmas present she had left at Casa Montgomery.

Reece, abashed, relegated the pup back to the tent. Bending, he secured the ties. Alejandra had known the pup was part of the entourage, but she said unnecessarily while chuckling, “You brought the dog along.”

“Right.”

“Why?”

“To remind myself of mistakes made.” Reece continued to scowl. “Let's get this doctoring out of the way.”

He tended to her arm, she tended to his. Not a word was spoken in the doing. As Reece shrugged into his jacket, Pepe made an appearance. “Doña, are you all right?” he asked, adoration reflecting in the firelight.

“I'm fine, Pepe, thank you.”

It had been comforting to know Pepe hadn't done anything to harm Reece. Even though she had announced they belonged to none but each other, their relationship seemed to be at end, yet she wished for his safety. And prayed for his success in finding his brother.

Reece picked up a bottle of spirits, held it out to his
mozo
and smiled. “Have a plug, Pepe old boy. Then do me a favor. Guard this area. Make sure no big ears are trained on me and Alejandra.”

“Sí,
Señor.” Pepe took a swallow. “Eye-yei-yei. This will put hair on my chest.” He handed the bottle back to Reece, winked at Alejandra, then went to his guarding.

Reece stretched out on the ground, using his laced fingers for a pillow.

“Reece, you shouldn't lounge like that,” Alejandra cautioned. “You will dirty your wound.”

“Don't he a fussbudget.” He did, nonetheless, reach for his saddle to substitute for his wrists. His gaze settled on Alejandra's. “Strange thing happened to me a while back. Right after Christmas to be exact. I ran into your sister in Coatlpoala.”

“So, that's where you were.”

“You don't want to know what she was doing there?”

“I know what she was doing there.” Alejandra was extremely curious about the outcome of her sister's visit, but Mercedes was capable of taking care of herself, and if she wasn't, Alejandra would be the first to know. “I don't know what you were doing there.”

“Maybe I needed time to think. About us. Did you ever consider that?”

“Since you've avoided me, I can only assume you came to some conclusions I won't be pleased to hear.”

“Any decision I'd come to had already been made . . . on the beach in front of my house.”

Dread in her voice, she said, “So, you truly want our relationship to end.”

“It has ended.”

It was a good thing Alejandra was seated. Her legs couldn't have held her. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Tears formed–damn them! “I . . . I'll miss you, Reece.”

“Since you're set on staying in Antonio's presence, we'll be crossing paths.” Reece paused. “Have you had any luck ferreting out information to feed to your compatriots?”

“No.”

“And you won't. Antonio's got his eye on you, and he isn't going to let any information, unless it's of the diversionary variety, leak to any possible spy.”

Alejandra wouldn't admit his logic made sense. Ever since this cavalcade of Centralism departed from Manga de Clavo, she had been concerned over the success of keeping her fellow Federalists abreast of Santa Anna's plans.

She rubbed her bandaged arm. “Does he know I'm a Federalist?”

“If I were he, I wouldn't put anything past you.” Reece chuckled, a humorless sound. “But he finds you attractive.”

“Despite my age?”

“Despite your dotage.”

“There is a blessing in the approach of a twenty-third birthday, then,” she joked, but her thoughts turned serious.

If she did have some influence . . . Well, why not use that influence in a positive manner? Forget spying on Santa Anna. She would do her best to
influence
him. Yes, that was it. She would do a bit of constructive convincing!

Relief washed over her like water over stones. At last she knew exactly what to do for her country.

Now what was she going to do for herself? Why not try a little maneuvering with Reece? Suddenly she realized thwarting Santa Anna had become secondary in her determination. Maybe it was selfish, putting personal considerations above the good of her country, but she was powerless to stop herself.

She cut a covert look at him. He reached in his saddlebags for a cigarillo. Yet his eyes were on her. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, then loosened the blouse laces. “Nice evening, isn't it?” she said dreamily.

“Tie up your blouse, Alejandra.”

“But it's hot sitting so close to the fire on such a pleasant night.”

“Then move your chair back.” Blowing out a puff of smoke, Reece gazed upward to the stars. “Alejandra, what do you want from me?”

She could name a million things, most of them of the loving variety, but he didn't want to hear such, much less act on any of it. Wanting him in a very physical way, she needed to be wanted in that same manner. But they had differences to iron out, and it would be best to do that before she made good on wants and needs.

She settled for . . . “If we can't be lovers, well, it would be nice if we weren't adversaries.”

“Old lovers can never be friends.”

She winked saucily, impudence she didn't feel. “Let's start a new style in romance.”

He chuckled. “You never cease to amaze me.”

“Reece . . .” Her teeth tugged on her bottom lip. “Christmas night we said a lot of hurtful things. I've had a lot of time to think about those things, and I want you to know something. You are
very
special to me. More special than anything or anyone.”

Rolling to his side, he braced himself on his good elbow. The cigarillo dangled from a corner of his mouth. His smiling mouth.

“Another thing,” she said, “I have not been ‘consorting' with Dr. Moran. And I trust you haven't been
involved
with Maribel.”

“I'm glad to the first. I haven't to the second.”

Alejandra was more than glad that he hadn't made good on his Don Juan reputation! And he was pleased about her denial, she could tell when he squinted and smiled past a curl of smoke, then asked, “How would you like to begin this new relationship?”

“The truth about a few things would be a good start.” She rose from the chair, then fell to her knees next to Reece. “I want to know all about you.”

“Didn't Pepe enlighten you on the subject?”

“He told me the whats, not the whys.”

Reece studied his cigar. “Then you know enough.”

“You're wrong. I want to know what makes you Reece Montgomery.”

He didn't answer. Alejandra feared he never would.

Tonight could be the turning point in Alejandra's life. Right here, under the stars, the sounds of Santa Anna's fandango floating from the Centralist camp, she stared down at Reece. He seemed pleased over her admission that he was special to her, yet he refused to answer her question.

“Please tell me about yourself,” she whispered again, wanting and needing to know what shaped the man, the Texan.

She touched Reece's head, her fingers sliding into the thick, flaxen hair. He trembled beneath her touch. The urge to kiss him dazed her, yet she collected her impulses. Moving back, she repeated her previous request. He rolled to his side and reached for another cigarillo, yet nary a word passed his lips.

“Reece, please talk to me.”

Obviously turning the topic from himself, he replied, “There's something I'd like to air. Was part of your motive in leaving Veracruz embarrassment over the things being said about us?”

“My reputation has gone awry here lately, but the answer is no. I seek to stymie Santa Anna, but I wanted to be with you as well.” She realized the moment she said this that it was true.

He stretched to his feet, to his formidable height. But he didn't approach her. Instead, he walked to the farthest tent pole and shoved dirt against it with the toe of his boot. Turning his eyes to Alejandra, he said, “I regret your losing face. I know how much appearances mean to you. You're a damned good woman, and I'm sorry I've brought you shame.”

“I went into our affair with my eyes open.” She stared into the campfire. “It hasn't turned out as well as one might hope, but I don't regret our involvement. I can live with the result.”

So profoundly she had changed since meeting him, she meant those words.

“I supposed that's good,” he said roughly. “Were you truthful when you said I'm special to you?”

“Never more so in my life.” Silence fell, then deepened. Finally she said, “Why won't you talk with me about yourself?”

She needed to hear his explanations. Then she would admit the extent of her feelings. They had to be love. What else could explain her sentiments? She wanted to be part of Reece's life, forever and ever and ever. Of this she was almost certain. First, she had to make sure her trust and devotion weren't misplaced.

Surely they weren't.

A twig crackled in
la fogata;
she warmed her chilled hands over the flames. “Your silence hurts more than being the object of gossip.”

He glanced to the left and right, and waved to Pepe, who guarded the perimeter of Reece's camp. “There's a creek about a quarter mile from here, farther up the mountain,” he said to Alejandra. “Want to see it?”

Privacy was an excellent idea. She took his hand.

On the leaf-carpeted and ascending walk, Reece told her about his younger years, about his parents, about Garth Colby. She learned about the brothers' departure from the wilds of St. Louis after their father's death. Amusing anecdotes about New Orleans and learning the gambling profession followed.

They were alongside the gurgling mountain stream now. He shrugged out of his uniform jacket, tossing it across a tree branch, and continued to speak. The subject had nothing to do with his past. “Beautiful, isn't it? I love the outdoors.”

“It is lovely,” she replied and hugged her arms. Leaving her shawl on the ground after Maribel's attack hadn't been wise. “But it's getting chilly.”

Reece stepped behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. His lips dropped to the top of her head. “Better now?”

“Mmm, much . . .”

Several moments passed without either of them speaking. She watched water cascade down the grade. Her injured arm began to twinge. His must, too. “Too bad we left your liquor at camp. I could use a little bit of painkiller.”

“Call me man of the hour.” He moved from her, then reached for his coat to extract a goat-skin flask. “Good Kentucky bourbon at your service, ma'am.”

She laughed. “You do think of everything.”

“How can you say that when I haven't built us a fire yet?”

“I'll hold my praise until you've done your chores,” she answered lightly.

“You could help, you know.” He lifted a brow. “Some branch-gathering wouldn't be beneath your dignity.”

They set about gathering wood for a fire. Within minutes it was roaring. The flames added light to the half dark of evening. Dusting her hands, she turned to Reece. He watched her, his eyes and stance intense.

“We make a pretty good team, don't you think?” she commented.

Reece shoved his thumbs into his waistband and hunched his shoulders. “Is this another lead in to, ‘Reece, help me?' ”

She started to take offense, but considering all that she had asked of him, she couldn't. “I was pointing out one of the things we do well together.”

“I can think of a couple–Never mind.” He opened the flask. “Here, have a drink.”

The mellow bourbon was smooth going down, its alcohol flowering through her veins to take the edge off her wound and her trepidations. “Shall we sit down?” she asked, her voice low.

“Go ahead. Think I'll stand for a while.”

Here she had thought they had been making headway. Well, the night was still young. She settled on a three-foot tall rock, then turned her regard to Reece's tormented face.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“I guess it's time to get back to the truth.” He ran his fingers through his hair while pacing along the stream bank. “You know I fought at San Jacinto. How do you feel about it?”

“I admire your courage in facing battle. But I'd like to know what gave you such bravery.”

Reece studied her for a second before squinting up at the moon. “It all had to do with Garth. At least it started that way,” he added. “New Orleans really wasn't the place for him. He yearned for open spaces and big land. He's the epitome of the Go Ahead man, like Davy Crockett. Had to push into the frontier, had to stake him some land, had to make his place. Did a good job of it, too. He's got a nice-sized spread south of San Antonio.”

“And you cared nothing for those things?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“As a young buck, I was more interested in sowing oats and shuffling cards.”

“Excitement still interests you.”

“Not as much as being in Texas. All it took was a couple of cattle drives along El Camino Real for me to find the place I want to put down roots and make my fortune. You ought to see the way the grasses sway in the breeze. The cattle grow fat as pigs. And the sky–it's Columbia blue and goes on forever and ever. ”

Infected with his enthusiasm, Alejandra tried to imagine that far away place. “It is really such a paradise?”

“Absolutely.”

“But it, like Mexico, is a place of unrest.”

Reece's smile faded. “Since the Mexicans have left, it's a fine and fitting place, I've heard.”

“I . . . I'm sure it is.” And it probably was. Alejandra, nonetheless, would argue no more about
civility
. “Tell me more about your brother?” she asked, truly curious. “How did you find out about him being imprisoned?”

Reece exhaled before answering, “His fiancée sent word. So I beat for Texas. By the time I got there, independence had been declared at the provisional capital, Washington-on-the-Brazos . . . and our Antonio was well on the trail to squash it. It was chaotic in Texas, I probably don't have to tell you. The constitutional congress was trying to put together a republic, and they–”

She couldn't help but interrupt. “I've been told the lot of them were more interested in personal gain than in sending reinforcements to the west. Please don't think I'm trying to antagonize you, but would I be wrong in saying the Alamo defenders as well as the rebels in Goliad were abandoned in their time of need?”

“Why whitewash the truth?” Reece grimaced. “Travis begged for help at the Alamo. No one complied. Sam Houston might have, if he could've gotten past Travis disobeying him by not retreating from that rundown old church, but Houston was off with his Indian friends, figuring to get their support against you Mexicans. Travis made the best of it, though. ‘Give me liberty or give me death.' ”

Santa Anna had refused to grant even the most minor of face-saving conditions, but why bring it up? The world was aware of the atrocities. “A surrounded church wasn't the case in Goliad. La Bahia is a proper presidio, probably one of the best fortresses in the Americans, isn't it?”

Reece nodded grudgingly. “I suppose so.”

“And Colonel Fannin abandoned it for open-air combat.”

“No one ever said West Point taught instinct.”

Alejandra took another sip of painkiller. She watched Reece. His shoulders hunched, he seemed to study the stream. “When did you come into the fight?” she asked.

“When Becky McNeely got killed in the Runaway Scrape. ”

“Pardon?”

He repeated his statement. Then, “The settlers got scared, once they heard Santa Anna was leaving no survivors. It was a mad exodus to the east. Becky and her family abandoned everything but the family dog when they retreated toward the Sabine River.” Reece's hands tightened at his side. “Trouble was, she drowned in the Brazos while they were fleeing.”

Resentful at his finding principles through some female, yet feeling awful for the hapless girl, Alejandra sniffed. “Who was Becky? I suppose you must've loved her a lot.”

“You do have a jealous streak.” Pure satisfaction eased across Reece's features. “But you shouldn't in this case. She was Garth's fiancée, and I loved her like a sister.”

“I shouldn't have jumped to a conclusion.” Abashed, Alejandra studied the ground. “Does he know she's passed away?”

“I have no idea. All I know for sure is, she and Garth were the primary reason I volunteered to fight with Sam Houston. But the Alamo and Goliad run a close second. I, by God, wanted Texas for Texans. But mostly I want my brother back.”

His was a dangerous mission here in Mexico, and Alejandra worried for Reece. Oh, how she loved this man! Love? Did she love him? Yes! She wanted to spend the rest of her days–and nights!–proving it. She had been correct in suspecting that tonight would be the turning point in her life.

But how did he feel about her?

“You have prevailed, my Reece, in–”

Reece shortened the distance between them. “I've prevailed in nothing. I came to this country determined to spy on Antonio . . . and find my brother in the doing. My government and Antonio have kept me fettered too long in the latter.”

Quivering with apprehension, she said, “You aren't . . . tell me you're not planning to do something rash.”

But he wasn't listening. “I've prevailed in nothing.”

She had an answer for him, but would he want to hear it? Surely he would. What was it he said to her, that first night at Casa Montgomery? She could never forget the gist of it. “I want to be your first thought in the morning. I want to be your last thought at night. I want to cross your thoughts at the oddest moments, as you do mine. Let me be the one whose caresses are more welcome than wine or music or riches or . . . anything else.” For Alejandra, all of that had come to pass.

So much had happened since that night, but . . . why should she hesitate in admitting her feelings? “You've prevailed in capturing my love.”

Reece's brow furrowed, as if he hadn't heard right. “What did you say?”

“I said I love you, Reece Montgomery.”

“Jandra, my darling, are you sure about that?”

“As sure as heat in August.” Pleased that he had shortened her name, thrilled that they were reconciled, she sidled toward him, and brought his hand to her bosom. “As sure as this heat in my breast.”

He covered her hand with his. A lazy smile cut across his mustachioed face. “I think we've talked enough about the past, my Jandra. Shall we get on to the future?”

“Capital idea.”

“Jandra . . . I'm not talking about talking.”

“Are you referring to this?” Her fingers moved to the burgeoning evidence of his maleness.

With a low growl, Reece bent his head to nip her neck. “I'm not talking about the price of eggs in China.”