The Ranger Takes a Bride (9 page)

"I can't wait til you make it again." He tried to keep his voice gentle.

She made no visible reaction to his words, except for a slight stiffening of her spine. And then he saw white knuckles where she held the spoon. If she squeezed any harder, that poor metal spoon would bend in half.

What was wrong with her? Was she this tense all the time? Or just when he was around? But she hadn't seemed to be uptight or reserved before. Maybe a bit in San Antonio after he scared off those thugs. But even then, when she hadn't known him from Methuselah, she'd been more relaxed and affable than she was now.

As soon as the meal ended, Alejandra darted to the kitchen and didn't reappear. It was high time he figured out what was going on.

Chapter Ten

Edward
ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he should clean himself up before tracking down Alejandra. At the very least, change shirts and dunk his head in a bowl of water to rinse the sweat off. And maybe a quick shave. Too bad he hadn't stopped for a haircut on his way through Seguin.

A half hour later, he was as clean as he could get without a barber and a bathtub. Jogging down the stairs, he fingered the cut on his right cheek where he'd gotten sidetracked with the razor.

Voices and laughter drifted from the kitchen, so he headed there first. Emmaline and Mama Sarita sat at the small round table, the little girl giggling at something the woman said. Alejandra was nowhere in sight.

Emmaline turned that little cherub face on him. "Uncle Eddie, Mama Sarita's telling me about the three piggies."

He tweaked her chin. "One of my favorites." Turning to the older woman, he asked, "Is Alejandra around? I need to ask her a question."

Her face took on a sad half-smile. "She's in the back, doing the washing."

Nodding, he turned toward the door that led from the kitchen to the rear yard. A blast of cold hit him as he stepped outside. Maybe he should get his coat first. But then he saw Alejandra, and all other thoughts disappeared. She wore what looked like one of Anna's old cloaks, the brown color sharing the same dreary feel of the leafless trees lining the clearing. Even the rose bushes Jacob had planted for Anna beside the house had lost their green leaves and yellow blooms. They now stood as sad skeletons huddled against the chill.

Alejandra's back faced him as she bent over the wash tub, scrubbing. He made a wide arc so he approached her from the side. The last thing he wanted to do was startle her, and add that offense on top of whatever else had her so upset.

He stopped a length away from her. "Alejandra?" He cringed at the hesitation in his voice.

She didn’t react. Just kept scrubbing at a piece of red flannel.

He tried again, in slow Spanish, this time making sure his voice carried a little more strength. "Is something wrong? Have I upset you?"

Nothing. Not even a stiffening of her shoulders.

"I want to help. Please. You can trust me."

That got a reaction. Like a sleeping bear waking, she straightened up from the washtub, and shot him a look that could have boiled water in a snowstorm. He took a step back before he realized his action.

"Trust you?" Her eyes sparked, like a red hot horseshoe pulled from a forge. She rattled off a string of rapid-fire Spanish that took all his focus to try to understand. Only one word clearly stood out to him. Probably because she spit it with the vehemence of a cornered mountain lion.

Soldado
.

And with that word, she flung the red flannel back into the wash bucket, whirled, and fled into the house. The door banged shut behind her.

Soldado? Soldier?

What did she mean by that? Edward shook his head to clear it. This wasn't making a bit of sense.

Was there something in her Mexican background that made her hate soldiers? But how could he know what? Who could he ask? Maybe Mama Sarita would share some of Alejandra's history. But would she really share such details about her beloved friend? Not even his own sister would open up to him.

And then a face popped into his mind. Monty. Monty had lived in Mexico. He wouldn't know anything specific about Alejandra, but maybe he'd know what Mexicans might have against soldiers in general. Or what that had to do with him. And besides, Monty was about the wisest man Edward had ever known. It was uncanny, the knowledge he held.

Edward saddled an Appaloosa gelding and set off toward the North pastures where Anna said the cattle grazed. He finally found the herds in the farthest section, near the line shack where the cowboys took turns staying when the weather got bad.

Monty sat on his horse near the edge of the tree line, still as an oak tree while he stared at the animals. As Edward neared, Monty didn't turn, but his lips moved as if he counted something. The cattle?

Edward halted his horse next to Monty's. And waited. His friend would speak when he was ready. Until then, he'd do best to let the man alone.

As he waited, Edward took in the sight before him. A cool breeze wafted over him, bringing with it the familiar scent of cattle and dust, and the occasional snorts and sounds of tearing grass as the cattle grazed. There was nothing quite like working with a herd of cattle. It got down deep in the soul of a man. Took away the stress and strain of dealing with people. Just you and the animals and the elements.

"You come to work?" Monty's voice finally broke the peaceful spell.

Edward glanced over, but the man wasn't looking at him. He still faced the cattle, but one side of his mouth held a slight tilt. "I'm at your disposal, boss."

Now both sides of Monty's mouth tipped. And it was clear he was fighting the grin that showed in his eyes. "Fancy lawman like you shouldn't be out punchin' cattle with the likes of us."

Coming from any other man, that might have been a jab. But Monty knew Edward had enjoyed his eight years working as a cow hand on Jacob and Anna's ranch. And he knew better than any other how much Edward craved independence. And respect. To be more than just Anna's "Little Brother." And as a Texas Ranger, he'd succeeded.

They settled into silence again. How should he go about questioning Monty? Just come out and ask if there's any reason a Mexican woman would be afraid of soldiers? The approach seemed a bit direct. Soldiers were supposed to be good people. He didn't want to insult the man's country by insinuating the lawmen there were scoundrels. Nope, dancin' around the fencepost was the way to go here.

"Monty, when someone says
soldados
, are they talking about actual soldiers, or just lawmen in general?"

Monty raised a brow, but didn't turn it on Edward. "That's usually talkin' specific about soldiers." It was amazing how Monty had dropped most of his Mexican accent, and picked up the southern twang of most of the local Seguinites.

"So…are there a lot of soldiers in Mexico?" He kept his tone casual.

"Depends on where you're talkin'. And when." Monty's horse shifted its weight from one back leg to another. "Up around the border, near Tamaulipas where the pretty Señorita and your aunt's sister are from, I don't think there's many actual soldiers there these days. Just a bunch of informal militia. Course back about ten years ago, when the French took it over, the place was swarmin' with 'em.
Soldados Franceses
everywhere. They were a rough lot, from what I hear. I'd left Mexico just before they came, though, so can't say for sure."

French soldiers? Ten years was a while ago. But if the episode had been frightening enough, it could leave scars on a person's mind. Especially a young girl's.
Scars
. Is that where the scar on Alejandra's cheek came from? It looked like it could be about ten years old. Definitely not recent.

Horns and handguns. No wonder she spat the word
soldados
like she might tear him apart with her bare hands. But why exactly did she think he was a soldier? Had he ever actually told Alejandra what he did for a living? A Texas Ranger was a far cry from a soldier. They didn't even wear uniforms, just dressed like a cowpuncher. He did wear a badge for most of his assignments, though. Could that be the connection for her?

"Monty, you have any idea if the French soldiers wore uniforms? Or maybe some kind of badge?"

Monty squinted, his face taking on that faraway, calculating look again. "Seems to me they did. Always wore gray jackets with gold buttons parading down the front, and some kind of gold badge sewn over the heart."

A rock settled in Edward's stomach, weighing him down. Did Alejandra think he was a soldier because he wore a badge? Is that why she changed so suddenly when she saw his badge three days ago? But surely she'd seen it before. He thought back to the first time they met in San Antonio. He'd been on his way to an assignment then. But it had been undercover, so he'd left his badge off. The rock in his stomach threatened to rise with the bile climbing into his throat.

God, what do I do?
Alejandra thought he was a soldier? Thought he was as evil as whoever had hurt her all those years ago? His nails dug into his palms as his hands clenched.

"Patience, amigo. It's going to take lots of persistence to prove you're different."

Edward jerked his head to look at Monty. "What are you talking about?"

Monty's mouth twitched. "To show that pretty Señorita you're a good soldier. And if her past is as bad as you think it is, she may not ever trust you."

The man was too good at reading minds. That's probably why he could outsmart even the cleverest longhorns.

Edward turned back to the sea of brown and black hides stretched across the pasture before them. "Patience and persistence, huh. Anything else?"

"Not unless you plan to turn in your badge."

Turn in his badge? Not likely.

~ ~ ~

Alejandra
bent low over the soft cotton cloth as she threaded her smocking needle through the layers. "So do you have names picked out for a boy and girl?"

Anna's lips pinched as she rolled her eyes. "We've had a boy's name picked out since before Emmaline was born. Martin Timothy, after both our pas. But girl's names seem to be a problem. We had trouble agreeing on Emmy's name, and can't agree on a girl's name this time, either." A smile touched her mouth as her gaze dropped back to the gown she stitched. "I think I'm just going to hold out until she's born and hope Jacob's so overwhelmed by the birth he gives in."

A giggle rose before Alejandra could hold it back. "You two are quite a pair. Although, the way Señor O'Brien looks at you, I can't believe he'd deny you anything."

They settled into an easy silence, which Anna finally broke with a soft chuckle. "My sewing was so bad when I was a girl. Until Mama died and I had to do the mending. I patched so many holes in Edward's clothes, my stitches became the smallest among the women in our circle. And Edward didn't just get holes in the elbows and knees of his clothes. He would get big tears in the strangest places—along the sides, the backs, the shoulders. I mended and patched them all." Her mouth pulled into a rueful smile. "And he was always growing. I let out more hems than I could count."

An image of a lanky, brown-haired boy flitted into Alejandra's mind, squeezing something in her chest. She had to stop thinking about him. Latching onto the only part of Anna's comment that didn't pertain to Edward, she asked, "How old were you when your mama died?"

A deep sigh drifted from Anna.

Oh, no. What had she been thinking to ask about such a distressing topic? "I'm sorry. I…"

But Anna shook her head. "No, I don't mind you asking. I was eleven when Mama died. It was hard. Really hard. I lost her just when I was trying to learn to be a young lady. Then having to teach myself how to run a household and take care of Papa and Edward." She breathed another sigh. "I wouldn't have made it through without God's help." Glancing at Alejandra, she added. "But I guess you know what I mean, don't you? How old were you when your mama passed away?"

Alejandra inhaled a deep breath, willing down the anger that always surfaced when she thought of Mama's death. "I was twelve. And yes, it was hard." She tried for a carefree chuckle, but it came out sounding more bitter than anything. "But I had to do it myself. I didn't have God to help."

Anna's eyes shone in a sad smile. "He was there, Alejandra. I promise. Even when it didn't feel like it."

Anger welled up in Alejandra like boiling water. "He was there? When the soldiers ripped my mama from me and slashed her with a sword? If he was there, why didn't he stop them from murdering her, while I was forced to watch? They took away the madre who gave life to me, and left me with only this scar to remember her by." Her fingers found the mark on her face, and the touch brought back the searing pain of sharp metal ripping her flesh.

But then warm skin touched her hand, resting across her fingers that covered the scar.

"Alejandra, you may not be ready to hear what I'm about to say. But tuck these words away, and pull them out again later, as your heart needs them. Sometimes things happen that don't make sense, and it's hard to believe God can love us and still let those things happen. But God has a plan. His plan for your mother was to take her to a better place. And His plan for you is to give you a hope and a future."

She settled her other hand on Alejandra's bare cheek, framing her face between both palms. "But, Alejandra, moving forward into that future requires forgiving God for the past."

The burn of tears threatened to choke out her self-control. She had to restrain them. Couldn't let herself dwell on Anna's words now. That would be the end of her.

Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, Alejandra pulled back. Away from Anna's gentle touch that just might be her undoing. She flicked the back of a finger under her eye where a single tear had escaped her barrier. Then she took up the tiny gown in one hand, and her smocking needle in the other. She couldn't meet Anna's eyes. Couldn't face the disappointment she was bound to see.