Comanche Woman (38 page)

Bay’s heart began to beat a little faster as she asked, “What do you mean?”

“You know Rip’s had a poor harvest the past two years.”

“Yes. It’s been the same for everybody up and down the Brazos.”

“But everybody didn’t have to rebuild and refurbish a house after it burned down. And everybody didn’t have problems with a cotton gin that eventually had to be replaced. Rip had to borrow money. He mortgaged Three Oaks to do it.”

“That’s impossible. I’ve seen the books.”

“Rip obviously didn’t want you to worry your pretty little head about something you couldn’t change. The truth is, I hold the note on Three Oaks, Bay, and because the latest cotton crop failed, Rip doesn’t have the wherewithal to pay the amount due this year.”

“Surely you’re planning to extend the time he has to pay the note.”

“Yes, of course I was . . . because he would have been my father-in-law. But without that relationship, I can’t.”

“Would you do it as a favor to me?”

“You know I would do anything for you, Bay. But you can understand that business is business. If I extended Rip’s loan simply as a favor to you, without a family involvement, then all those for whom I hold similar notes would expect the same sort of consideration. In no time I’d be bankrupt myself. You can understand why I couldn’t grant you such a favor if you weren’t my wife, can’t you?”

“No, quite frankly, I can’t,” Bay replied. “What you’ve said sounds suspiciously like a threat, Jonas. And I won’t be threatened into marriage with you.”

Jonas realized immediately that he’d made a tactical error, and quickly sought to mend his fences with Bay. “Of course there would probably be some way around the difficulty caused by our engagement being broken,” he said hastily. “But to be equally honest, Bay, I simply couldn’t afford to extend the note for more than another year in such a case, and then—”

“By then Rip could certainly pay what’s due,” Bay interrupted coolly.

“Perhaps,” Jonas agreed. “Probably,” he amended upon seeing Bay’s gaze harden. “Well, what can I say?” he asked, exasperated at her unrelenting expression. “I have no control over the Texas weather or the worms that have wiped out the cotton two years in a row. Who can predict—”

Bay laid a hand on Jonas’s arm to quiet him. “I understand what you’re trying to say, Jonas. And I appreciate your concern. But I won’t be coerced into marriage. Do you understand?”

This time it was Jonas’s expression that hardened. He didn’t like this side of Bay at all, but he supposed that it was what came of allowing a woman to spend so much time on her own traipsing around the Continent. Jonas had never been a graceful loser, but here the stakes were too high. He couldn’t take the chance of offending his future bride by arguing with her. He had no choice except to capitulate. “All right, darling.”

Bay patted his arm as a reward for his reasonableness. “I want a chance to talk with Rip about this,” she said.

“By all means,” Jonas encouraged, certain of Rip’s support of his suit. He covered Bay’s hand with his own as he added, “I’ll abide by your decision. I love you, Bay. And I’d much rather have you for my wife than take possession of Three Oaks.”

Bay held her breath as Jonas leaned over to press another chaste kiss on her cheek. “I’ll see you to the door,” she said.

“No need,” Jonas replied with an understanding smile. “I know my way out.”

Bay sat for a long time where she was, unable to believe the incredible claim Jonas had made about Rip’s financial circumstances. Why hadn’t Rip’s books shown the severity of the debt Jonas had implied? It was hard to believe Rip had deliberately lied to her about such a thing, but apparently he had. And that could only mean the problem was every bit as critical as Jonas had suggested.

Bay felt a queasiness in her stomach that had nothing to do with the nervousness she’d felt earlier about confronting Jonas. What was she supposed to do now? Three Oaks was everything to her father. It was Sloan’s heritage. What kind of daughter—indeed, what kind of sister—would she be if she had a chance to help and didn’t take it?

She would simply have to confront Rip and determine the truth. Once she had all the facts she could decide whether it would be necessary to marry Jonas Harper after all.

Long Quiet heard the sharp crack of the rifle a second before the
thunk
of a bullet connected with flesh. His mount whinnied in terror, and a spurt of blood warmed Long Quiet’s leg as the chestnut gelding buckled under him. Long Quiet reached out with his hands to cushion his fall, scraping his palms raw as they skidded along the rocks and dirt. The horse struggled against an inevitable death before it finally lay still. Long Quiet rolled himself into a tight ball in the cradle made by the horse’s belly and legs and was soon lying in a pool of the animal’s sticky blood.

Since the horse was down, the bushwhacker would know his one shot had found the animal and not the man. A quick look around convinced Long Quiet he couldn’t make it to the nearest cover before whoever was shooting at him got another chance. He decided to wait it out. He could make his escape under cover of darkness.

Through the long day, the flies and insects were a trial, but it was the buzzards that became the greatest irritation. They seemed determined to make a meal of the horse and squawked in agitation when Long Quiet frightened them off. Even with those distractions, Long Quiet had too much time to think.

He only knew one person with a reason to want him dead. Of course he could be wrong. There was plenty of riffraff drifting around Texas. But it was more likely Jonas Harper had decided to eliminate his competition. There was no sense in confronting Jonas without proof. His time would be better spent preparing for the next attack.

He would be waiting when Jonas tried again.

The balance of Long Quiet’s thoughts were spent on planning his future with Bay. It complicated matters considerably that she’d gotten engaged to Jonas, but he was convinced it was only a matter of time before she came to her senses and agreed to become his wife. He was certain he’d made the right decision in coming.

Yet it hadn’t been easy deciding to live in Texas. He felt as though he’d shifted sides in the middle of a war. Of course there wasn’t any war—at least not an overt one—but the feeling was there just the same. He only knew that without Bay his life was empty, as bleak to contemplate as an empty water gourd in the desert.

As darkness fell, Long Quiet had the rueful thought that he’d probably spent the day fighting off buzzards for nothing. Jonas Harper—or his hireling—was probably long gone. Long Quiet used the cover of nightfall to crawl a short distance from the horse’s carcass. When he was clear of the animal, he rose and settled into a steady jog that brought him to the outskirts of Cruz’s hacienda in little more than an hour. He searched for and found a place where he could rinse the worst of the blood off, but there was no way to remove entirely the effects of the day’s events.

He hesitated at the fortresslike entrance to the hacienda. Comanches and Spaniards had been mortal enemies in Texas for hundreds of years. But he was no longer Comanche. The wizened old man who guarded the gate had expected Long Quiet earlier, so he escorted him to the house.

Long Quiet soon found himself in the cool, candle-lit interior of the adobe hacienda. The furnishings in the Guerrero home bore witness to Texas’s possession by Spain and Mexico. Long Quiet sat in a heavy Mediterranean chair with a rawhide seat. He hesitated to set his glass of brandy on the delicate table beside the chair, for the elaborately inlaid Moorish table, with its spooled legs, looked more decorative than functional. Cruz stood at the other end of the large
sala
, the equivalent of a Texan parlor, his hand caressing a smooth blue Talavera jar.

Long Quiet had seen Cruz Guerrero in the past, when he’d competed at the
días de toros
, the roping and riding contests held at the end of the Spaniard’s spring and fall roundup. He’d been impressed by what he’d found.

Cruz was tall, his body rapier-lean but laced with corded muscle. His gaze was hawklike, his mouth sensual above a cleft that rent his strong chin. Long Quiet looked for simple words to describe the aristocratic Spaniard and settled on
commanding
and
proud
. Despite those characteristics, Cruz had a reputation for gracious friendliness.

“I expected you earlier in the day,” Cruz said as he handed a crystal glass to Long Quiet.

Long Quiet rolled the second glass of brandy between his palms as he’d learned to do in Boston. “I was detained by other matters.”

Cruz raised a brow, eyeing the dried blood on Long Quiet’s clothes, but didn’t probe. “I understand you wish to start a ranch and need to purchase some land.”

“That’s right.”

“If I sell to you, we will share a common border. I wish to know more of the man who would become my neighbor. Creed speaks very highly of you, of your integrity.”

“Was it ever in doubt?” Long Quiet said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Excuse me, Señor Coburn. Perhaps I should explain my concern.” Cruz walked over to one of the large rawhide-seated chairs and settled into it as though it were a throne from which he very comfortably ruled his kingdom. “Señor Harper approached me a few months ago about purchasing a great many hectares of Rancho Dolorosa land. Finances have been difficult for most Texans since we won our independence from Mexico seven years ago, and I must admit that since I paid my father’s debts upon his death two years ago, the same is true for me. I found Señor Harper’s offer attractive. I could put the money from such a sale to good use.”

“So why didn’t you sell to Harper?”

“At first I didn’t sell to him because I wanted to find out more about him. After all, he would be my neighbor.”

“And now?”

“Now I don’t trust him.”

Long Quiet leaned back in his chair and watched Cruz, waiting for an explanation.

“I am Castilian. My forebears were related to the royal family in Spain. Yet since we are not
anglo
, it has been a struggle to hold on to what is ours as more and more
anglos
move into Texas. The Guerrero family owns thousands of hectares of land, all of it deeded in grants from the Spanish crown more than a hundred years ago. So far the Texas government has held those deeds valid. If the Republic is annexed by the United States, there is always the possibility that Spanish land grants could be challenged. An
anglo
with a claim against a part of such a grant might very well be able to persuade those in power to cede to him what is not rightfully his.”

“In other words, you think Harper is a thief.”

“A very careful, very clever thief. But yes, a thief.”

“What makes you suspect Jonas?”

“When I would not immediately sell him my land, certain unfortunate yet costly accidents began to occur. I do not like being threatened.”

“And you think I’m more trustworthy than Jonas.”

“Creed says you are. And I value his word. Creed also says you, and not Señor Harper, will marry Bayleigh Stewart.”

“Yes, I will.”

“
Bueno
. When you marry Señorita Stewart you will become part of my family.”

Long Quiet sat forward in the rawhide chair. “What?”

“Sloan’s child, Cisco, is my nephew. Bay is his aunt. I would much prefer having an honest man as my nephew’s uncle. So you see I have very selfish reasons for preferring to sell to you rather than to Jonas Harper. I’ll even loan you a few of my
vaqueros
, my cowboys, and some
mesteñeros
, some mustangers, to help you get started.”

Long Quiet smiled sardonically. “I’d like to see the land before I agree to buy it.”

“Certainly. I will show it to you tomorrow. There is a large adobe house on the property, where my grandparents lived before my father built this hacienda. I think you will find it comfortable. Will you stay here as my guest tonight?”

Long Quiet felt the thick adobe walls closing in on him. It would be hard to live in an adobe house after spending so many years in a tipi. But he’d better start getting used to it.

The thought came that it might be easier simply to steal Bay from her father’s house and run with her. That was the Comanche way, to take by raiding. But where would he take her? Bay couldn’t return to
Comanchería
. And he would have to kill her father and Jonas Harper both if he stayed in Texas and it was known she hadn’t come to him willingly.

It seemed he was bound to the white world—however constraining its customs—if he wanted Bay Stewart for his wife.

“Yes,” Long Quiet said at last. “I’d be pleased to accept your hospitality.”