Mexican Fire (22 page)

“Don't you say one more word about my precious Miguelito!”

Reece tossed a hand toward the heavens. “Isn't it
precious,
how he left you to chase after good, decent freedom fighters. Till he got his from one of Buck Travis's men.”

She stood in stunned silence. She understood that Reece was jealous of Miguel, but what was that “good, decent freedom fighters” business? How could he revere the land-grabbing rebels of Tejas? What was this person called El Cazador?

“You're not a man.” Her eyes slid contemptuously down his form. “You are an animal. A beast unworthy to—”

With a growl, he jerked her into his arms. His mouth swooped down to her sealed lips. “Open your mouth to this beast,” he growled. “Open it, or I'll do it for you.”

Her pulse quickened. Her lips remained sealed. Squirming and ducking, she broke away. “You bastard!”

She did not escape. The wind left her lungs as he seized her again, hauling her backside against his thighs, her shoulders against his chest. In the ensuing moment, he spun her around and forced her to the beach.

Sand biting her back, Reece atop her, his fingers twisting into her hair, she cursed, “Villain!”

“Call me anything you please. You've got a dandy list of insults tailor-made for me. And by the time we're through here, you'll have a few more to add to it.”

“I will kill you, El Cazador, Tejano swine,” Alejandra vowed, furious enough to choke him . . . yet she knew her threat lacked conviction. Something told her that Reece's bizarre attitude had nothing to do with their relationship. Did it have something to do with his reference to “good, decent freedom fighters?”

Taking into account the enigma of Reece Montgomery, Alejandra concluded that whatever it was, it probably countered her beliefs.

They lay sprawled on the wet sand. Reece had forced her there, and he felt no regret. A twinge of conscience, maybe, but he wouldn't succumb to it. His anger at Alejandra had been generated by frustrations over Garth, but having it thrown in his face that he was nothing compared to her husband, along with being nothing more than a marionette in her schemes, had him furious. Damn her for everything!

Yet he still wanted her—and wanted to be wanted by the devious Alejandra Sierra.

“You won't kill me,” he said, deriding her threat of moments ago. “You desire too much what I've got to offer. Be it a bridge to the French . . . or this.”

He took her lips in a bruising kiss. She began to respond, despite herself, he was certain. He took satisfaction from her action, and wanted to wring her comely self of all her defiance, all her insolence, all her supremacy, all her provocativeness—all the wild contradictions that were Alejandra Sierra. He damned fate along with his weaknesses.

When he deepened his kiss, she bit down on his tongue. He jerked his head up. “Mexicana spitfire.”

Her chest heaving, she spat, “Tejano cur!”

“Think what you please. But when this night is over,” he said with a grate, “you'll never compare me again to your precious Miguel.”

“It would be a sacrilege to utter your names in the same breath.”

Reece glared down into Alejandra's truculent face. Her dark hair spilled against the sand; her eyes blazed in defiance. With waves crashing to shore, reflecting the phosphorous light from the Gulf of Mexico, he pushed his shaft against her thigh.

“Remember my name, Mrs. Sierra. El Cazador.” He slid his knife from his waistband. “The Texan hunter. The Texan predator.”

“Force won't rouse my passions, El Cazador,” she said, grinding out his designate.

“I don't care if you aren't hot for me,” he lied, his hand skimming over her hip, his heart pounding against the wall of his chest. “But mark my words, I'll have you. Right here, right now.” Then he would cast her out of his life. Even if it killed him. In one savage maneuver, he sliced her riding jacket open.

She slapped him, her efforts feeble against his considerable strength. With a guttural cry, he tore her chemise. His head dipped to lick her nipples. They puckered beneath his tongue. He heard her moan of pleasure, her “damn you” as well. He groaned. It was torment, wanting her so fiercely . . . when he shouldn't want her. He loved her, yet all she cared about was herself and her cause—the crusade instigated in honor of her dead damned husband.

And the fight hadn't left her. “Let me go!” Her clawed fingers went for Reece's eyes.

He moved. Taking the knife between his teeth, he grabbed both of her wrists, deftly securing them in one of his hands. He wrenched her wrists over her head. He refused to heed the conscience that shouted, “Don't be the cur she accused you of being.” His free hand went for the knife once more. Moonlight glinted off the sharp edge as he held it aloft.

She gasped. “Will you kill me?” she asked, her voice holding no signs of fear. “If I die, I die fighting.”

“I won't even scratch your skin . . . unless it is by my face stubble. I mean only to divest you of that which impedes my sword.”

Her knee caught his groin. Hard. He shouted in pain. Letting go her wrists to grab his private parts, he fell to the side. She gained leverage. And tossed a handful of sand in his eyes.

Trying to blink away the grit, he pushed her back into the sand, then kneed her thighs apart. The tip of his knife went to his breeches laces. “Rapist!” he heard her scream.

That charge brought him to sanity. What in the hell did he think he was doing? What could he prove by brutality?

If he wanted her out of his life, all he had to do was make a break.

He pushed away from her. “You won't be violated. I'm through with you.”

“No!
I
am through with you, El Cazador!”

He glanced at her hands. They shielded her breasts. “I'd better get you something to wear.”

“Just get away from me, that's all I want from you!”

“Beyond my help with the French.” Levering to his feet, he added, “Go home, Alejandra Sierra. Collect your compatriot. Be at Antón Lizardo, at the riverside wharf, no later than dusk tomorrow. A longboat will take you to Admiral Baudin.”

He took off down the beach in the opposite direction of Casa Montgomery.

 

 

Emotionally as ragged as the tattered clothes she clutched to her chest, Alejandra huddled, shivering, beneath the lights of Casa Montgomery. She had hoped Pepe Zecatl would not be here, that she could find something to wrap herself in before returning to Campos de Palmas, but Reece's servant had reappeared.

Incredibly soon from escorting Lupita home.

Whatever the scenario, Alejandra was half clothed. She couldn't tarry at the base of the
casa,
dreading Reece's return. Which he was certain to do. Probably with profuse regrets and empty promises that she was neither willing nor ready to accept.

She needed the comfort of home, but this was a predicament she was in. She could not ride half naked.

“Pepe,” she called, “I need your help.” When he opened the French doors, she hid behind a hibiscus bush. “Don't come any closer. Fetch one of Señor Montgomery's shirts, a heavy one. And a piece of rope. Then toss them down here. Hurry.”

In no time at all, Pepe returned and tossed the clothing down to her. She shrugged into the shirt, then tied the rope around her waist. Pepe's “He hurt you, didn't he?” stopped her from leaving.

“I'm fine.” She cursed the break in her voice. Would she ever be fine again?

“Are you telling the truth? Doña, he didn't . . . You know . . . He didn't touch you in a harmful way, did he?”

Reece's verbal attack had hurt more than any physical one could have.

His
mozo
descended the stairs. He held out a crystal snifter. “Take a drink. It will make you feel better.”

She started to decline, but didn't. The brandy warmed her body but not her heart. Pepe made two attempts to cajole her into the house; she wouldn't go. Any reminder of Reece Montgomery was more than she could handle.

“If you're worried the Señor will return, don't. I know him, Doña. When he is upset—I know he is by looking at you—he walks for hours.” Pepe patted her arm. “Come in. Please. There is something I would like to tell you.”

“What is it?”

He gestured toward the house. “Come inside.”

In spite of her apprehensions, she complied, her fingers clutching the oversized shirt beneath her chin, her eyes avoiding the main room's surroundings. Sit on one of Reece's chairs, she would not, even though Pepe insisted.

Pulling herself together, she took a breath. She thought about earlier this evening, when she had scolded Pepe over his disrespect for Reece. “I apologize for calling you down,” she said. “After all Reece has told me about you, I should have known you two are friends more than anything.”

“There is nothing to forgive. I know you meant to defend him.” Pepe turned to pour more drinks. “You are a fine woman, Doña,” he continued over his shoulder. “I have admired you from afar, just as the señor did. May the wolves chew his hide.” Pepe, his voice rife with feeling, added, “I am not blind, lovely lady. I don't know
all
he did to you out there on the beach, but it pains me to see you molested, and—”

In no fashion could Pepe know all that Reece had done.

It was then that a white ball of fur leapt out of a box, making for Alejandra. A pink tongue lolled out of its mouth. It was one of the pups from Cantina del Hombre Gordo.

“Señor Montgomery sent me back for the dog,” Pepe explained. “He is your Christmas present.”

Her heart melted. She bent, taking the squirming mound into her arms. He reached to nip her chin playfully. “Oh, you,” she scolded.

“You like the
perro?”

“I don't want to.”

“Why? Because you don't like dogs? Or because of your mistreatment by the hombre who bought him for you?”

“I have nothing against four-legged animals.” She lifted the pup above her head, then rubbed her nose against his cold, wet one. An even wetter tongue raked her upper lip. “Ugh.” She returned him to the crook of her arm. It had been a sweet gesture, Reece's wanting to gift her with the dog to assuage her loneliness.

Something within her needed to understand Reece.
Curiosity, that's all it is. Just curiosity.
Yet she knew that wasn't true. He had been disturbed, terribly so, all afternoon and evening. Asking him to help Don Valentin had been more than untimely. He had said and done objectionable things to her. But her awful accusations had been just that. Awful. She wanted to understand
why
his mood had been sour.

“Pepe, you seem well-acquainted with Colonel Montgomery. How much do you know about him?”

“What I know has everything to do with why I asked you to stay.”

She took a chair, holding the pup on her lap. Pepe perched cross-legged on a table several paces in front of her. “Does he sympathize with the
norteamericano
rebels in Tejas?” she asked boldly. “And what is his true purpose in Mexico?”

“He seeks many things in our country, but mostly his ties are to blood. He is here to find a man called Garth Colby.”

“Who is that?”

“His half brother.”

Reece had a brother? Tonight he had mentioned family, but she never thought of him in a familial circle.
Dios,
she was as short-sighted as Mamacita! Her mother never gave a consideration to Papa's family; it was as if they didn't exist. Maybe Reece was right—maybe I am self-centered, Alejandra assessed.

But what about Reece and his family? She tried to imagine him surrounded by parents and siblings, but what did she know of the family Montgomery? How little she knew about Reece. Suddenly she yearned to know all about the mysterious man she had grown to cherish. And all about what made him enigmatic.

“Tell me about his brother,” she implored. “What happened to Garth Colby?”

Pepe swigged a swallow of brandy, then made a face. “Señor Colby has been missing for three years. Our Señor believes he is imprisoned here.”

“Does he have any proof?”

“He knows the man was arrested and sent south from Texas. Apparently Señor Colby isn't jailed in northern Mexico. The Tejanos know this for certain. But they have no information about southern Mexico. ”

“Why doesn't Reece just leave and try to find him?”

“It isn't that simple, Doña. First of all, it would take more than one man to break into our prisons. Señor Reece is smart, he knows this. And he has a better plan, though it is by no means fast. As a respected colonel in the Centralist Army, he can walk into the gates and demand Señor Colby's release.
If
he can find an excuse to walk in those gates.”

“So that's why Reece has aligned himself with Santa Anna.”

“Yes.”

Alejandra drew the puppy to her chest and stroked its back. How awful it must be, not knowing the fate of one's kinsman. Even though she and Mercedes were at odds more than they were cordial, she couldn't imagine life without her. If Mercedes were missing, Alejandra would go to any lengths to find her. Just as Reece was doing for his brother.

She realized, at long last, why Reece was in Mexico and what he thought to gain from it. Her anger receded as respect grew. “He was upset tonight,” she said. “He confessed it was over Christmas and family.”

“The season sometimes brings out the worst in a person, and he has been gnashing at the teeth, worrying over his brother.”

“I wish I had known.” Ever since the
posada,
she had been monopolizing his time, when he had wanted to take his leave. “I've been selfish. I should have been more understanding.”

“He does not want you to know him.”

With skeptical eyes, she honed in on Pepe. “Did Reece tell you these things?” The reply was a shake of head. “How do you know all this?”

“I know. That is all you need to know.”

There was something peculiar, something diabolic about Pepe's reply, and Alejandra pressed her back against the chair. “Why do I think you would do him false?”

“Because you are perceptive.”

Her fingers let loose the dog; he jumped to the floor. She left the chair. “He speaks of you with the highest regard. he trusts you. Why is this trust misplaced?”

“Just look at yourself.” Pepe motioned to the shirt she wore. “He sliced your clothes. No telling what else you suffered. As a man of honor, I cannot stand back and let you go unavenged.”

Her countrymen put high stock in defending their women—when they weren't fighting them—but she was not Pepe's woman. And his code of honor had her suspicious. “Pepe, he didn't molest me.”

“I don't believe you. How can you defend him, Doña, after what he did to you?”

“Then why did you defend him?”

“Only to make you feel better, because I know you love him. I see it in your eyes, in your smile, in the way you look at him.”

She ought to deny all that, but somehow the words wouldn't form.

A grimace raked Pepe's usually pleasant face. “I have lost respect for him over his attack upon you. And I have other reasons.”

“What other reasons?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss them.” He smiled sympathetically at Alejandra. “Do yourself wise, Doña. Leave now and don't come back. Forget he exists. If you persist in your attentions, he will cause you further trouble. Then he will have to be stopped. By
me.”