Mexican Fire (34 page)

Alejandra sympathized with all of them.

Mercedes cuddled her fretful adopted son. “What is taking the men so long?”

“Maybe something happened to them.” Maribel's balled fists went to her cheeks. “Maybe soldiers found the Señores. And Pepe—the same fate could have befallen him!”

Evita scowled, then curled her lip. “You worry about Pepecito because his eyes have been on your skinny form.”

“That is not true,” Maribel protested, though it was. “And I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself.”

Alejandra sighed. “Please, please, everyone—hush! It will serve us no good to bicker and quarrel. And this is no time for indulgence. The men will return with something wonderful to eat, and Pepe will bring no telling what. We'll have a feast. In no time.”

Mercedes pushed out her lower lip. “That won't help Chico.”

“Yes, it will. He'll have his first taste of solid food. And that's that.” Alejandra hoped the baby could tolerate such, provided it ever appeared. What was the matter with her? Reece would not return empty-handed. She motioned to each woman in turn. “We will have our grand meal, then we will move on. Let us busy ourselves readying for these things. Evita take Chico from my sister, and give him the sugar teat again. Maribel, you fill the water jugs, then gather wood for a cookfire. Mercedes, I've seen several nice fish swim by in this stream, so you and I shall catch some. ”

“Dulce, we have never fished in our lives. How are we going to ‘catch some?' ”

Alejandra lifted her chin. “I haven't quite figured that out. But we will.”

 

 

The full moon had been rising for over an hour. The ladies were sitting quietly by the wagon, the baby in Mercedes's arms and Frisco curled at Alejandra's feet, when Reece and Moran approached the campsite. Pepe was notably missing. Reece held a skinned rabbit in each hand.

“Dinner,” he announced, walking closer and worrying about Pepe.

Clearly visible in the bright, night sky, Alejandra jumped to stand and reached behind a rock. Each of the women grinned. Proudly, Alejandra held up a string of fish, three of them. “Our contribution.”

“Well, I'll be damned.” Reece went over to kiss her cheek as Moran did the same with Mercedes. “Aren't you the one, my Jandra? Where did you get those fish.”

“Mercedes and I trapped them with the crocheted shawl Tio Humberto gave me.”

Alejandra's reward was a pat on the derriere and a “You're going to make a fine frontier wife.”

“As long as I can keep myself in crocheted shawls, I suppose.” She winked. “But, um, well, as for right now . . . Will you clean these fish?”

“Eddie, she's talking to you.”

“Ah, ha,” Moran said after a moment of contemplation. “Clean the fish, just as I did the rabbits. Of course. Where is my scalpel?”

Alejandra handed over the catch, then asked Reece, “We were becoming terribly worried. What took you so long?”

Heat spread from Reece's neck to the roots of his hair. “I'm a bit out of practice with hunting. It took several tries to land those rabbits. To tell the truth, if I never had to stalk wild game again, it would be too soon.”

She chuckled. “Well, El Cazador, it looks as if we'll be eating a lot of beef, once we get to Texas.”

“Exactly. And speaking of eating . . . I hope nothing's happened to our other food-fetcher.” Reece turned to eye the road Pepe had taken away from here. “Have you seen anything of him?”

“Uh, yes.” Alejandra chewed her lip.

“I'm right here.” The diminutive
mestizo
called from Reece's right.

He turned. “Ohmagod.”

Moving out from behind a boulder, Pepe had a rope in his hand. A goat was attached to the end of it. Reece had reached the end of
his
rope. As if there wasn't enough trouble in getting this bunch out of the hell known as Mexico, they had acquired another traveler.

Reece pointed a menacing finger at Pepe's prize. “We're not taking that
goat
with us.”

The nanny pitched back her head and bleated. Evita and Maribel stepped aside, way aside. Edward and Mercedes said nothing. Even the baby, wide-eyed in his adoptive mother's arms, just stared. Raising his head from the wagon, Frisco—a true lapdog—barked at the strange animal.

Reece was seething. “If it isn't enough that we've got a squalling baby and a barking dog . . . Why don't we just turn ourselves in to the Santanistas, and be done with it?”

Alejandra touched his arm. “Darling, I know you're frustrated, wanting to find your brother, but—”

“Do something about that yapping mutt.”

“He's your dog, too.”

“Damned stupidest idea I ever had.” Reece hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “Pepe, get rid of your damned smelly goat before she—Dammit, she's chewing on that blanket!”

“Shhh. Darling, she'll feed Chico. And she can ride in the wagon. She won't slow us down.”

Reece did an about-face. “I'm going to make a fire.”

“Need any help?” asked Pepe.

“No!”

Alejandra motioned toward a pile of sticks. “Maribel already gathered wood.”

“Good. Somebody around here is worth their salt.”

That hurt! How dare he . . . after she and Mercedes had broken their nails and wetted their clothes, trapping those fish! “That was uncalled for.”

“If you're not going to quiet that dog, bring the rabbits and fish. We need to eat and get rolling.” Reece went for the firewood and took it in his arms. Not giving the goat or Pepe so much as a look, much less Alejandra, he stomped away from the campsite.

Hands full, she hurried after him. A couple of hundred yards away from the campsite, he dropped the wood. It scattered at his feet. Pushing the strewn mess into a pile with the heel of his boot, he drew his knife to fashion a spit.

“Reece, you're acting childish over the goat.”

Sitting on his heels, he had a Lucifer in his hand preparing to light it, but he didn't. A long moment later, he struck the fire. He fitted the rabbits and fish onto the spit, then settled them over the now crackling fire. Flames lightened the night, even more so than the full moon.

Yet Reece didn't reply.

“You're acting as if something's wrong far greater than an extra traveler,” she said. “Did something happen when you and Edward went for the game?”

“Yes.” His shoulders slumped. His troubled blue gaze turned up to Alejandra. Shaking his head, he got to his feet. The heat of his touch seared her shoulders as he curled his fingers around her. “Eddie . . . Edward and I had a talk.”

She didn't like the sound of his tone. “What about?”

“He doesn't want to chance Perote. He wants to go on to Vera Cruz. Now, and as quickly as the entourage will allow.”

“I hope you told him no.”

“I agreed with his suggestion.”

Incredulous, she asked, “You'll give up looking for Garth?”

He shook his head. “No. But I've decided to let the rest of you go on without me. Without me and Pepe. We'll ride to Perote. You and the others will keep on course for Vera Cruz.”

“Reece,” she reminded, “it was
my
original idea to go by Perote. I won't have you abandoning me.” She wouldn't allow him out of her sight, for she feared if she did, they might never see each other again. It would be painful, of course, parting from her sister and Chico as well as the others, especially poor little Frisco, but she would
not
waver. She reached to feather a kiss on Reece's lips. “You should know I will not allow you to leave without me. You and me—and Pepe—we're going on to Perote.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Suddenly a sound drew their attention. The thump of a fish falling into the fire. Then another. Skin sizzled on the flames, curled. Alejandra, imagining their dinner up in smoke, grabbed for a fish tail and jerked it off the coals. Reece grabbed, too.

“They're ruined,” she wailed, batting her over-hot fingers against her skirt and falling victim to self-pity such as had saturated the other women.

“They aren't ruined, not at all.” Reece reached to turn the spitted rabbits, then brushed soot from the fish. “They're just right.”

“Dios, we'll be a pair on the frontier. You're tired of hunting, and neither of us can cook.”

“Au contraire,
excuse my French. I can still wield a knife . . . after a time . . . and both of us have just learned a lesson in cooking.” Reece grinned. “Fish cook quicker than rabbit.”

She laughed.

But he turned serious again. “Jandra, about splitting up . . .”

“I won't do it.”

“We've only two horses.” Reece's hands curved around her waist. “One for me, one for Pepe.”

“He'll have to go with the others.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She was not going to give. “Reece, it's me or Pepe. Take your pick.”

He picked Alejandra.

Thirty-six hours later they approached the village of Perote. Dawn was breaking, but a thick cloud of fog settled over the mountain. They stopped the horses. Rayo and the gelding put noses to the ground and chomped at the grasses. Alejandra squinted toward the hazy village.

“What now?” she asked Reece. No reply. “Reece?”

“Looks like we're in trouble.”

She turned. Three guns were pointed at them. Three guns manned by a trio of skinny men in sombreros and worn clothes.
Bandidos!

“Raise your hand, señora, Señor.”

As Reece and Alejandra complied, the youngest appearing one—the most fearsome!—waved his pistol and smiled viciously at the most grizzled man. “Look what we have stumbled upon. I believe it is the colonel and the woman sought by the Santanistas. Fate has smiled on us, hombres. The bounty is high. . .”

Wrinkled and nervous, the oldest desperado wetted his lips. “Maybe we shouldn't, Enrique.”

“Cisario, you are soft as a woman,” Enrique snapped. “Pancho, get the Señor's gun. And make sure he doesn't have a knife hidden. Tie their hands.”

The tallest
bandido
glanced at Cisario, then stepped forward to divest Reece of his weapons.

“Wait a moment,” Alejandra said. “Can we discuss this? I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

“There is nothing to discuss,” replied the mean-mannered Enrique. “We have captured you. Now we take you to the soldiers here in Perote. Then we get our reward. But if you give us trouble, we will not hesitate to shoot you . . . and collect the lesser reward.”

Shaking in fright, Alejandra swallowed, then Reece said, “Take me, but let the woman go.”

“Do you figure me for a fool, Colonel?” Enrique asked, sneering. “Pancho, I said tie them up! No, wait. I will do it, then I will know the bonds are tight.”

Enrique handed his gun to Pancho before going for a rope. He approached Alejandra, but Reece's “Don't you put your hands on her” stopped him. Momentarily.

“Hit the ground, Jandra!”

She did. But clutched Cisario's legs as she went, knocking him from his feet and grabbing his dropped gun. At the same time Reece ducked low, pitched forward, chopped his forearm across Pancho's side. Enrique tried to snatch the pistol from Alejandra's fingers. The gun went off. Blood spurting from his stomach, Enrique fell forward.

Cisario was scrambling to his feet. “My boy, my boy! Enrique!” Gun hanging limply from his fingers, he fell over the young man's body. And sobbed.

Pancho had dropped one gun; he and Reece struggled for the other. Alejandra reached to the ground, her fingers curling around the gun butt. She raised the pistol. “Cease!” she ordered Pancho. He did. He raised his arms.

Reece started to haul the old man up from his dead son, but he pulled the gun from Cisario's hand, then patted his shoulder. He stepped back and looked at Alejandra. His eyes were troubled.

Cisario, his bones creaking, stood. His hands were covered with blood. “Stupid boy,” he murmured. “Stupid, stupid boy.”

Reality struck her. She had killed a man! She hadn't been able to take Santa Anna's life, but she had taken it from a poor peasant. Yes, the band had threatened her and Reece, but they were a motley crew. A poor and downtrodden band of men.

“Jandra, hand me that gun. Tie their hands.”

She took the rope from Enrique's stilled fingers. The deed done, she stepped to Reece's side. He pointed pistol muzzles at Pancho and the older man. Cisario glanced at his dead son.

“Señor Cisario, I am sorry for . . .” Her voice broke.

His sad eyes closed. “He was too evil for his own good. I warned him of the dangers when he wanted to seize the two of you.”

Reece spoke. “Have you got a horse to carry him to his resting place?”

“We have burros,” Pancho supplied.

Reece reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He stuffed it into Cisario's hands. “That should more than take care of burying your son.”

“Gracias,
señor, but I will not accept the money,” Cisario said weakly. “We will bury him under my almond tree.”

“Keep the money anyway.”

Cisario shook his head. “But he was not my son. He was a friend. Before he became . . . I thought of him warmly, though.”

“I'm so sorry,” she repeated. “Please keep the money.”

Pancho pointed out to his companion, “It will buy horses for . . . those who need them.”

Reece eyed Pancho. “Are you ready to do some reasonable talking, between me and you?”

“Sí.”

“Do you know anything about the recent prison break at Perote?”

“No.”

“Are you sure about that, Pancho?” Reece stepped forward to shove the barrel under the bandit's chin. “Or would you like for me to pull the trigger?”

Alejandra couldn't stand to see anymore blood shed. “Wait! Señor Pancho, I have more money. If you know anything, and you tell us, I will pay you.”

“What do you want to know?”

Reece eased his arm back. “For instance, what happened to the escapees?”

Pancho scanned Reece's features. Question loomed in his countenance. “Who are you, Señor?”

“I am the brother of Garth Colby.”

“Yes, I can see a resemblance.” Pancho nodded. “But are you not the Anglo colonel wanted by El Presidente?”

“I'm that, too.”

Cisario crossed himself and murmured a prayer.

Puzzled, Reece asked, “What do you mean, you can see a resemblance? Do you know my brother?”

Pancho nodded.

Cisario spoke. “We helped our Federalist comrade, Señorita Fuentes, free her brother and the
norteamericano.
A horse was shot from under Señor Garth, and another broke a leg during the flight. But we managed to get the men and the señorita to my hideaway.”

Reece's shoulders stiffened. “I've been told my brother was injured. Is he all right?”

“
Sí
. And Felix Fuentes is recovering.”

All the tension left Reece's face. “Thank God.”

Alejandra covered her face with her hands as Cisario said, “They will leave as soon as we can get more horses.”

Of course she was happy for Reece: he had found his brother. But she had killed a man who did what Reece had sought to do—free Garth. And that same man had been a Federalist. Loathsome though he was, she had killed a
Federalist!