Mexican Fire (32 page)

Reece wasn't terrified. The day he couldn't defend himself against the crippled Little General . . . Concern did get to him, though. His days as right-hand man to the once and present President of Mexico were numbered, and he couldn't leave without tying all the loose ends of his situation. And Alejandra's.

 

 

After dinner, Reece and Alejandra rendezvoused in her room. Frisco demanded a few minutes of attention, then the poodle curled up in his bed, which gave the lovers an opportunity: they laughed at Mexico's Little General and his preposterous plans, then made love around the glow of three dozen tall beeswax candles. When the lights weren't much higher than a nub, Reece lay naked with his arms around her equally naked form, and considered the options for getting them both out of the capital in two whole pieces. Trouble was, there were a lot of mitigating factors.

Alejandra moved her head to look into his eyes and surprise him that she wasn't asleep, as she usually was after their lovemaking. “Reece,” she said, her voice serious, “do you think Santa Anna will make good on his promises? The constructive ones, that is.”

“He wants to be remembered as a great man. Unfortunately for him, his ‘greatness' will be overshadowed by his dementia.”

“Remembered? Who cares how he'll be perceived by future generations? The important thing is, what about now?”

Reece brushed his lips against her temple. “I'd say my work for Texas is finished.”

She wiggled around to place her palm on his chest, then rest her chin on a hand. “What do you mean, your work is finished?”

“Antonio will be so busy with his grand plans that the people of Mexico–and elsewhere–have nothing to fear from him. Whatever the case, he won't rise against Texas.”

“Don't forget, you're speaking of a war-monger, not some ardent humanitarian.”

“He's a practical-minded warrior, Alejandra. He knows when he can go no further. Already he's begun to accept, well, that he has reached his limits. He's too vain to let Mexico go to war again without him in the vicinity to capture any possible glory, and his handicap forestalls leading an Army.”

“I think you're wrong, Reece. He will be furious over the Vera Cruz treaty, then he'll spoil for renewed war.”

Reece shook his head. “I think
you
are wrong. He'll reconcile himself to the fact he doesn't have the money, or the means to get it, for armed aggression.”

“I believe you, but . . .” She sniggered. “The people will see Santa Anna for a fool when he stands and cries at his own funeral.” Serenity then eased across her lovely face. “He will do what I set out to accomplish: show himself as unbalanced. Mexico will have had enough of him.”

“Exactly.”

Her fingers moved across the back of Reece's hand, tightening. “My work is finished.”

Reece went still. What did she desire, now that her heart was free?

Alejandra chewed on her lip for a moment. “There's something I've wanted to tell you all day, since I don't want to keep anything from you, but the opportunity was never right.”

“Go on.”

“It has to do with paying off the French. I–I had a part in it. You see, Papa and I financed the partial payment. I sold Campos de Palmas to contribute to the peace fund.”

Had he heard her right? She had disposed of her precious plantation? She, ardent Medicana, sacrificed for France's benefit? Well, she
had
said so. Reece grinned, his smile as big as the Lone Star republic. “You're one helluva woman,” he growled in English. “Good God, you're one helluva woman.”

“I thought you'd be pleased.”

He had to mull that reply. Why would he be pleased that she'd sold out for the sake of France? Maybe she hadn't. Maybe she sold out for the sake of freedom . . . freedom to pursue another life. Like with him.

He intended to find out.

With a matter of this magnitude, though, it was better to slip into it, like easing into a tub of hot water. “You got any plans, now that you're homeless?”

“I might. Do you have any ideas?”

That was a tease in her inflection, and Reece approved of it. It had infinite possibilities. “Texas is a nice place. I think you'd find it to your tastes. Maybe.”

“Do you think I could start another coffee plantation there?”

“No, but you might take to living on a cattle ranch. ”

“Oooh.” She screwed up her face. “Cows smell.”

“Like gold in the bank.” He edged his hand to the rise of her breast. “A rancher could take pretty good care of his woman, provided her expectations weren't too high.” He paused. “Now, I myself, have a start on money set aside. It's not much, just ten thousand greenbacks in a New Orleans bank. Texas owes me a nice spread of land, and cattle are to be had for the rounding up . . . so I could use that money to build a house and put a few nice things in it for a woman.”

She wasn't moving a muscle, yet her hazel eyes were shining. “Reece, are you trying to tell me something? Or perhaps to ask me something?”

“Yes.”

“Oooh, you exasperating man!” She leapt to straddle him. “Damn you, Reece Montgomery, will I be forced into the Mercedes approach?”

“Mercedes approach?”

“Yes, you
culo
, you burro, you monkey! Are you forcing me to ask for your big old hand in marriage?”

Well, he hadn't figured his proposal would be turned on him, but Reece wasn't a soul to look a gift horse in the mouth. Schooling his facial muscles, he donned an innocent look. And answered her question. “Yes.”

She laughed and bent to kiss him. Her lips hovering a half inch above his, her voice husky, she said, “Now that I've asked you, what is your answer?”

“Yes.”

It was a shame Alejandra and Reece couldn't just marry, then skip arm in arm out of Mexico City. Tonight in the black hours of night would be as good a time as any, but they both agreed too many considerations kept them from leaving immediately. It went without saying that Santa Anna wouldn't allow his turncoat aide simply to depart, should Reece be found out, and any absence was certain to prove that stance.

Escape was the only avenue, which was as narrow as an alley in the Parian.

Making a fist, Reece straightened his elbow on the bed. “Our work may be finished, Alejandra, but Garth isn't free, and I'm not giving up on him.”

“The only place he could be is Perote. You've scrutinized all the other prisons,” Alejandra said and ran her fingers across Reece's whitened fist. “Pepe should return soon . . . hopefully with good news.”

“Let's hope it's very soon, and the news is very good.”

Joyously happy that Reece had accepted her proposal, yet worried about the outcome of that trip to Perote as well as their escape plans, Alejandra alighted from bed and donned a wrapper. “I can't leave my sister here. And there's Edward and Chico. And his wet nurse.” She reached into a drawer for a candle, then lit it. Golden light cast Reece's angular features into sharp, anxiety-filled relief. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she took his hand. “What about Maribel?”

“Grrrrr.”

Frisco, having awakened and left his satin-lined box, jumped to place his paws on her thigh as if to say, “What about me?”

Reece reached for the tail-wagging poodle, and placed him on the sheets. “Don't worry, pal, we'll take you with us.” For his comment, he received a lick of approval to the hand. Reece exhaled. “Looks like we'll need to wait for Pepe.”

“Surely we'll meet him along the way.”

“Too chancy. And he is going with us.”

“I think we should take the chance of finding Pepe, Reece. We ought to be away from here before this night is through.” Making light, she added, “Especially with this threat to castrate you, my darling. It will be bad enough, putting up with the golden smell of those cows . . . without adding a eunuch to the scenario!”

In mock horror, Reece came back, “Good God, you're right.”

They laughed. But he turned solemn again. “We'd best get our plans together.” Reece got out of bed and reached for his breeches. Lacing them up, he walked to the balcony doors. A big hand pushed the draperies apart, and he opened the door. She walked to his side. The clip-clop of horse hooves rose from the street surrounding the
zócalo
as breezes entered the bedchamber.

“Let's see here now . . .” Reece scratched the edge of his mustache. “Say we do waylay Pepe, and he says Garth is at Perote. We've got to beat for there. But there's me and you and Pepe. Your sister and her bunch, which adds four. Maribel. Add one highfalutin dog. That makes a party of nine. Not exactly the recipe for an incognito departure from here.”

“We'll make it.”

“How in hell are we going to slip unnoticed to Perote, when we've got a convoy accompanying us?”

“We'll think of something.” Alejandra hugged her midriff. A quarter minute passed. “Reece, I've got an idea. My Tio Humberto will assist us. He helped 'Rasmo, and I know he'll do whatever Mercedes and I ask. I'm sure he'll have supplies and whatever we need to get to Vera Cruz.”

“We can use all the help we can get.” Reece wheeled around and crossed to his discarded shirt. Pushing his arm into a sleeve, he said, “Don't bother packing, we must travel light. We can't use your carriage, either; its crest and splendor will draw too much attention. Get dressed. Wear something simple, something you can ride in.”

Already she had poured from the pitcher and was dipping a cloth into water to freshen herself. Within a short space of time she'd pulled a black riding habit from the wardrobe. Thank God her mother had taught her to sew; Alejandra whipped a cache of money and jewelry into muslin sacks, then basted them to the inside of her clothes.

“Do you have a gun?” Reece asked. “And do you know how to use it?”

“Yes, to both. And I've a dagger.”

“I remember . . . You threatened to use it on me.” He winked. “Keep them on your person.”

She collected the velvet ribbon that served as Frisco's lead. Bending to tie it around his neck, she heard Reece say, “I'll go alert the others. Do you think it's safe to tell them we rendezvous before dawn at your uncle's house?” At her nod, Reece said, “All right. We must get going. I'll check the barracks–Pepe
might
be there. You take the dog and meet me at the stables.”

When Reece had dressed in his uniform and was near the door leading to the corridor, Alejandra said hesitantly, “What if Garth isn't at Perote?”

Shoulders went stiff. Reece didn't breathe. A couple of moments later he flattened his hand against the door jamb, ducking his head. “If my brother isn't there, then . . . He has to be dead.”

“He can't be. He just can't! Not after all your efforts . . . and faith.” She went to her beloved and placed her arms around his narrow waist. Leaning her cheek against his back, she said, “We'll find him, my darling.”

She'd do whatever was needed to help Reece find the happiness that freeing his brother would bring. As well, for whatever it took to get them out of Mexico, she was prepared. She was not prepared, however, when, five minutes after Reece had left her room, a servant brought a summons. Even though it was a quarter past four in the morning, His Excellency the President demanded Doña Alejandra's appearance in his office.

Immediately.

Her choices were two. Go on to the stable, or placate Santa Anna one more time. The latter seemed the best choice, since non-compliance would stir trouble even before she and Reece could get away with Frisco at their heels.

She nodded at the message bearer. “I'll be right there.”

Using a cane, and heavily dosed with laudanum, El Presidente wobbled across his office floor and grimaced at putting weight on his stump. Two lamps provided the only light, giving the room an eerie quality. Or perhaps the dull lighting had nothing to do with it. More likely, it had to do with Alejandra's nervousness and Santa Anna's wretched mood.

In the few minutes she had been in his presence, she'd learned he wasn't pleased that Reece hadn't been in his quarters to answer a similar page. And he'd discovered the full implications of the Pastry War treaty. Pain and disappointment had driven him to the opium bottle.

Frisco on a short lead and at the hem of her riding garb, Alejandra stayed near the door.

“Guadalupe Victoria knew I would never agree to such terms! And I have been betrayed,” the president said, his voice hazy and troubled. “How could he? Does he know nothing of
decoro nacional?”

“Your Excellency, please consider, everyone is tired of war, and raising the blockade will give us . . .” Appeal to his vanity, she reminded herself. “Will pay for your grand plans.”

“What good are valiant deeds if I cannot lift my head in the eyes of the world? I will be jeered, just as I was after those lowlifes snatched Tejas from me.” His long face wrinkled into self-pity; tears welled. “It could be my undoing.”

She certainly hoped so. Soon, she felt confident, the whole of Mexico, if not the world, would know the true Santa Anna. “Don't think on your misery. The Pastry War is over, Your Excellency . . . if you'll allow it.”

“My hands are tied on so many, many things. I yearn to reclaim Tejas, but I cannot lead an army, nor can we finance any more wars.” He wallowed in his despondency for the space of a moment or two. “But I shall use this time to glorify my name,” he said, uplifted in spirit.

In one breath he fretted over people laughing at him, in the other he sought immortality. But his intentions confirmed Reece's summations.

Santa Anna halted a dozen paces from her. For the first time, he focused his eyes and scrutinized her appearance. “What are you doing, dressed for riding?”

“I couldn't sleep, so I was planning a ride out to the lovely grounds below Chapultepec Castle. I seek to watch the sun rise there.”

“With your dog?”

“Frisco enjoys a fast trot.”

Santa Anna hobbled toward her; she backed away. Her shoulder thumped against the door frame. Frisco bared his fangs, ready to pounce at Santa Anna. “Stay,
niño,”
she ordered.

“I'd say you're planning something covert.” Swaying, Santa Anna stopped a half dozen paces from her. “It appears to me as if you are ready for travel. Does this journey include our Cazador?”

Thinking fast, she replied,
“Claro
,
desde luego.
He is my lover. Who else would I ask to accompany me? To the grounds of below Chapultepec,” she tacked on.

“A hot-blooded lover such as the colonel seeks to comfort you–in the wee hours of morn–with a ride through the countryside? Ha! The ride he'd suggest would be atop his
pene!”
Slaver dribbled from the corner of Santa Anna's mouth. “Did you know, Alejandra, that is where I will have you? Atop my staff.”

Sickened, Alejandra pointed out, “I–I'm much too old. And I am pledged to Colonel Montgomery.”

“I think you should bid him
adios.
I suspect he is not true to me. I have thought on his mockery tonight, and I believe he would do me false.”

“Oh no. He is devoted to you,” she said, faking a yawn. “I must take my leave now, Your Excellency. Chapultepec is out of the question. I find I'm weary and would like to sleep.”

He stumbled toward her as she reached for the door handle and pulled on Frisco's lead. “The only sleeping you will do is after I've finished with you,” he promised.

I
shouldn't have answered his summons!
But she had, and must do something to get out of this office, to get out of this palace. To get to Reece—and out of this country !

“You disappoint me, Alejandra, cowering like that. I thought you would be a she-cat worthy of our mating.” He stumped closer. “But I will still have you. Right on this floor.”

But when his shaking fingers grabbed for her, Frisco leapt forward. His fangs dug in to the wooden stump as his head propelled from side to side. Santa Anna teetered. His cane fell from his grip. He yelled. Thanking God that no Santanista soldiers or servants were within hearing distance, apparently, Alejandra lunged forward to thrust the heels of her hands against his chest. He toppled backward, sprawling on the tile floor.

Wiping a hand across his mouth, he watched her grab the dog into her arms. He laughed, an evil and drugged sound. “She-cat, come to your president and pay honor to him.”

Alejandra yanked open the door handle and ran for her life and Frisco's. She made it through the sconce-lit corridor and halfway down the stairs before a viselike hand reached out from behind her. Jerking to a halt, she turned her head and stared into the angry face of General Cruz Velasquez. Without a word, he grabbed the pup from her grip and tossed him down the stairs. A whoosh of air left his lungs as he landed.

“Frisco!”

“You cry for a dog after what you've done to our leader?” Velasquez asked viciously as Frisco shook his little head and tried to stand. “Guards! Come quickly!”

Instead, Reece materialized from the foyer. With giant, running strides he rushed toward the staircase. A knife appeared from his boot. Arm raised, he threw it. It caught the general in the chest. Velasquez tumbled forward and lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. Alejandra knew by the unnatural twist of his head that he was dead.

She felt nothing but relief.

But could she and Reece—and Frisco!—make it out of the palace and beyond the
zócalo?